Film Review

adrin neatrour writes: Jack Gold’s Medusa Touch has a simple enough plot structure. The protagonist John Morlar is a man who believes that he is able to induce catastrophe by actively imagining the event. Like some modern theme parks, certain movies feel like psychic rehearsals for disasters and calamities yet to come. 
The Medusa Touch – Jack Gold  (UK 1978)  Richard Burton – Lee Remick  
Viewed – Star and Shadow Newcastle – ticket price £4-00

Crystal balling
Jack Gold’s Medusa Touch has a simple enough plot structure.  The protagonist John Morlar is a man who  believes that he is able to induce catastrophe by actively imagining the event.  His murder kicks off a police hunt thriller, headed curiously but entertainingly by a Parisian tec on loan from the Deuxieme Bureau. The action is relayed via flashbacks to a series of psychiatric sessions in which Morlar is being treated for his ‘delusions’ by the coolly costumed Lee Remick. 
 
Like some modern theme parks, certain movies feel like psychic rehearsals for disasters and calamities yet to come.  The Medusa Touch  disguised as a run of the mill thriller anticipates the development of forces already evident in the societal matrix predicting the evolution of their logical spiralling expanding trajectories.  In its connecting of individual alienation from and anger with the prevailing social body Jack Gold  draws forth a thread of understanding that in a sense prepares us for a present lived in atmospheres of fear and insecurity brought about by such ties.  The fictive material of the Medusa Touch  featuring  sabotage of commercial flights and nuclear power stations, and the collapse of  public buildings, prepares the way for its audience to develop  those psychic states necessary for life in the 21st century.    When the technical bases of our civilisation and culture are turned against us and used as the basis to harm and even destroy us a whole new range of predispositions emotions and attitudes are evoked in society.  The Medusa Touch reads as a film that is pre-sensitised to this necessity. 

What is interesting is that the underlying motivation of the main character John Morlar is moral.  Richard Burton morphs from his role as the angry Jimmy Porter in Look Back in Anger (1958) into the role of John Morlar a middle aged man literally possessed by anger.  Although both performances may be unidimensional, it’s a broad banded dimension and Burton who nursed a clenched fist of fierce anger in his belly makes of his portrayal of anger a real felt thing.  Burton knows rage and how to locate it in his performance. Morlar’s anger is triggered sustained and vented as a coherent statement that indicts what he perceives as a corrupted culture.  Morlar’s response which is intentional but at the same time uncontrollable, is to punish us for our arrogance and smugness: to make us suffer for our overbearing pride and to destroy us should we not see the intolerable nature of our lives.   Wrapped as an individual aberration with the trappings of a paranormal explanation (the telekinetic talents of Ted Serios and Mme Kulagina feature prominently) the Medusa Touch describes a moral revolt against a sick culture.  It portrays an individual and enraged terrorism that has no political agenda, and unlike the hokum of Batman and his ilk or inflated gangster/redemption movies such as the Die Hard series, there is no issue of personal gain.  The issues for John Morlar  are simply a distilled righteous moral rage.  A moral rage of such amplified intensity that he is forced into acts of large scale and widespread destruction without compunction or concern or compassion for any victims. The Mantra:  all are responsible all are guilty all will suffer.

The Medusa Touch of course takes up borrows and develops from contemporary developing responses by individuals to what they saw as the West’s arrogance and deeply inlaid corruption.  The ‘70’s see the rebirth of individual terrorism that legitimises extreme actions in the name of morality.  Bader-Meinhof, the Red Army and  the Angry Brigade all had broad political beliefs and agendas, but the perception of their actions was that they claimed legitimacy and immunity from judgement by appeal to the corruption of society and their own moral purity.  The Medusa Touch understands the tendency of moral issues to push disempowered individuals into extreme purist positions.  It certainly anticipates individual careers taken by many who have espoused the beliefs of the Animal liberation movement and the extreme fundamentalist Christian and Islamist groups such as Al Quaida.  Such groups  premise their existence on the destruction of society or societal traits seen as unclean and pursue a kingdom of the saints, a holy city on earth.  Individuals are not contained within a tight political structure (viz Bolshevism or Nazism) but psychically sustained by an expressive belief system. Adherents are supported and encouraged to pursue the ‘movements’ aims and objectives using whatever means they possess and as they see fit.  To the pure all things are pure.  The cost in life and suffering is irrelevant to  John Morlar: it is the moral lesson that is central.

Although filmically the Medusa Touch is conventionally shot and paced the film does create some powerful tense atmospherics.  This ability to create strong theatrical tensions within film seems to be a constant feature of British film making from Powell and Lean through to productions such as the Medusa Touch.  The crafted merging of cinematography direction editing and acting seem to imply a deeply engrained response in British studios and traditions that was and independent of individual directors and producers and consistent over a considerable period of time.
adrin neatrour
adrinuk@yahoo.co.uk

adrin neatrour writes: It looks like an angel to me…. The Lives of Others   F.H.von Donnersmarck   Germany 2006 127 mins: Martina Gedeck; Ulrich Muhe; Sebastian Kock
Viewed: Star and Shadow Newcastle, 16 May 2007; Ticket price – £4-00

Looks like an angel to me

I don’t like movies with angels.  Unless they’re in leathers and ride motorbikes angels seem to permit directors to indulge the most banal types of wish fulfilment.  The Lives of Others(LO) is simply a dressed up retro guardian angel movie which allows director Donnersmarck to indulge a gentle fantasy that owes little to Honnecker’s East Germany and almost everything to Hollywood.

Set in 1983 LO is a long sentimentalised journey that uses the DDR ( East Germany) as a sort of comfortable backdrop against which to deliver a long shaggy dog tale.  The East Germany Donnersmarck depicts in the film doesn’t exist as a place defined by a geography of tortured incongruities and contradictions.  There is nothing in the camera work or the structure of the film that denotes the state as an enforcement system.  Donnersmarck simply shoots his material as he might do a glossy American soap opera, as if the camera had nothing more that it could possibly add to the matter.  The result is that visually the DDR is abstracted unreal sort of place.  Like Dallas.  There is no message from the past or for the future for us in this show. The  vacuous cinematography is matched by the talking heads editing that characterises the film. Donnersmrck’s principle ( his background looks as if it is in advertising and TV drama) seems to be to keep the picture moving by hard cutting in all of the scenes.  The principle is that if you cut fast enough people won’t get bored with the picture (as it’s never in front of their eyes for more than 10 seconds) and secondly they will be distracted from the banality of the dialogue by editing which concentrates attention on emotive reading generated by the action cuts.  In LO Donnersmarck never allows the viewer to watch the interaction in “ two shots” : if he has two ro three people in dialogue, he immediatelycuts in to shot – reaction – shot , so forcing the viewer to take his shots through the sequences.

I think that the reason for the dead cinematography and the manic forced cutting is  that Donnersmarck has nothing to say.   Donnersmarck thinks he is telling a story.  In fact what is doing is force feeding us a plot line.  Story deepens and enhances character; plot diminishes and cheapens the players.  Story has organic ties to the material with which it engages in a complex circuitry.  Plot is simply a mechanical driver whose object is deliver the players from starting point to preordained finishing point.  In some ways it’s an ends and means distinction.  Plot is anally fixated on its ending. So, the means plot utilises: character, setting, dynamics and tensions all completely subserve the delivery of the final sequence.  LO is all plot and no substance.  Donnersmarck thinks that he is telling us a story with a moral: that good men and goodness will survive evil systems.  But in terms of the  plot driven nature of LO the film is  just machine whose function is to manipulate an outcome.  And the idea of the moral which rests upon the notion of choices cannot sit within a mechanical form.  The moral choice in this situation doesn’t exist; what happens in plot driven forms is the characters instead of  acting out scripts in which they have to make choices, get scripts that ask them to adopt particular roles.  And the roles of course conform to cliché. So we have: the whore addict, the Madonna, the Innocent the Warrior and the Angel.  

LO is an Angel story – specifically a guardian angel story.  It is a film with no sense of place, with no atmospheric presence.  It is simply an angelic variation on a love story with a vague slightly menacing corporate setting that is as much American paranoiac as East German Stasi.   Wiesler a senior Stasi agent organises the total surveillance of the regime pet intellectual, Dreyman.  But his fascination for Dreyman and his girlfriend leads him to take on the role of their protector rather than their persecutor.  Donnersmarck’s plot wants to guide us into thinking of Wiesler as a good man because he carries out his actions altruistically without thought of reward for himself expecting no recognition and willingly taking on risk.  But the plot doesn’t allow the audience any sense of Wiesler’s choices or his sense of  moral dilemma.  From his surveillance station above Dreyman’s flat which he shares with his girl Christa, watching the couple eat talk screw sleep work he adopts the role of  their guardian angel.  There is no message here just an advertising strap line – someone is watching over us.  This benignly bent surveillance becomes the device on which LO hangs the mechanism of the plot, which has little tension, and few twists of the screw that cause the characters any real issues of moral choice.  Christa for instance who as well as being Dreyman’s girl, is also fucking a party big shot, finally betrays him.  But betraying Dreyman  is not her moral choice proper.  It is a decision that is determined by her role: she is a drug addict.  When the state (because she throws over the big shot) threatens to choke her dope, she sings, so that the plot can then grind on to its fake twee moral ending.  But of course Christa’s “betrayal” is a cop out.  Never trust a junkie,  because what’s a junkie going to do to get her fix – anything.       

In LO,  Donnersmarck attempts to raise issues about the DDR, such a suicide, the  widespread networks of informants and intensive surveillance of intellectuals.  But these issues can’t really sit in a movie characterised by actors playing roles.  In the same way as some Hollywood movies adopt or try to promote issues, the feeling is that like baubles on a Christmas tree the issues are there to attract attention to the film rather than to generate more real responses.

It might be that cultures require a generation at least before they are able to look back attentively at the past.  But at this point Germany is looking to Hollywood rather than to its own traditions for understanding what it has experienced.
adrin neatrour   
adrinuk@yahoo.co.uk

adrin neatrour writes: Were an uninitiated observer – say a dude from planet Mars – watch a round of championship golf being played by two men on TV, would that observer understand that what he was watching was in fact a sporting contest? Golf on TV – what you see what you don’t

Were an uninitiated observer – say from the planet Mars –to watch a round of golf being played by two men at the Masters, would that observer understand that what he was watching was in fact a sporting contest?  To judge by the intoned whispered BBC commentary you might think that what was taking place was some kind of religious ceremony.

After watching some play at the Masters 07 on TV I thought a little about what I had observed.  Looking at the golf on TV with a naïve eye what seems to be happening is that small groups of men are walking round a large park.  Sometimes large crowds are watching them. The men are not in any particular hurry. They stroll over the ground never breaking out of a certain relaxed stride.  They are all smartly dressed in the sort of casual clothes you buy at a shopping mall.  Some of the men carry large bags full of clubs; the men who use the clubs walk unencumbered. They stop from time to time and take a golf club out of its bag and strike a small white ball lying on the ground.  They keep hitting their ball until they eventually get it into a little hole that has been drilled into a very smooth sward of grass.   At this point they collect the ball and begin the process all over again. 

Looked at from a certain point of view golf seems not so much a sport as rather a particular sort of statement endorsing a particular sort of life style: the suburban life style.  It comes across as a ritualised expression of suburban etiquette, a carefully played out enactment of how suburban people should interact with each other.
Sport(in the modern sense of the word) is something else.

Sport is an activity in which individuals engage in rule bound opposition and competition. What is striking about golf is that these characteristics are minimalised.  The players are not in head to head contest as in running or swimming events: the players do not square up to each other like gladiators such as wrestlers or tennis players or the team games such a football and cricket: the players do not contest for mastery of a bounded terrain – in the sense that they can manipulate the play area aggressively to the disadvantage of their opponent – as witness sports such as snooker or croquet.  Golf might be thought to resemble sports such as discuss or gymnastics where opponents neither contest shoulder to shoulder nor face to face.  But these sort of sports are characterised by taking place in a closely contained area, a pit, where all the contestants are bound together within a circle of competitive intensity.  These sports also a in general characterised by explosive action of short duration.  Golf shares few of these qualities.

In golf the action, the execution of a shot may be explosive (or not as the case may be – putting is a gentle touch stroke).  But the game is a series of events taking place over the duration of about three hours during which the men walk through 18 holes laid out in a park, which is a diligently maintained space that represents the triumph of land management – landscape – over nature.  The characteristic feature of the sport is that the contestants spend most of their time within the bounds of the game simply strolling engaging each other in occasional pleasantries and always behaving towards each other with the utmost decorum,

On the surface there are few signs that this is a contest – even at the top level of the professional game. The men walk from hole to hole: each plays his own game and tries to get his own ball home.  There is little sense of urgency or of competition. You might if you did not know better suppose that what you were watching was some sort of charming male ritual, perhaps connected with fertility or even the church…..

At this point we have to take account of the suburban housing estate.  In England and the US it is probably no accident that golf courses and the game itself developed and increased in popularity with the spread of suburbia.   In the typical well to do suburban estate the houses are ideally all detached, set back from the street and fronted by tidy manicured gardens whose characteristic feature is either a smooth sward of lawn or gravel, bordered with flower or herbaceous beds.  Where the houses face each other there is a broad road between them, or where, as in modern developments broad roads are too much a luxury even for the upper middle income brackets, the houses are set at angle to each other so that none directly overlooks another.  To the untrained uninitiated eye the houses all look somewhat similar.  The cars parked in the drives mostly look new and gleaming and if you catch the dwellers on their non work days they wear smart casual clothes purchased at the a local shopping mall.  You might think that was it. Groups of similar looking structures occupied by groups of similar looking people who are minding their owe business.   The estate design minimises sound spill between the units and sight lines between the houses do not facilitate easy visual monitoring between the units.  This isn’t a community in the traditional sense but community in its modern incarnation: a group of people brought together because they all share a defining trait in common: in this case the people are brought into community by their shared ability to buy into a neighbourhood that has a high price tag.  A community that has as a consequence of its elective nature, an innate sense of social status.

But these status conscious inhabitants are generally highly intra competitive.  Underneath the surface of the monochrome estate there are often intense rivalries  taking place between individual units for  claims to public acknowledgment of status within the community.  Competition in suburban communities tends to be understated – barely admitted to.  Victory does not go to those who flaunt conspicuous consumption or their wealth.  Victory goes to the understated display related to life style.  Ostentation and vulgar symbols of wealth earn fewer status points than having the right expensive but conservative car, holiday in the right places, send children to the right schools, belong to the right clubs.  Nothing announcers these signifiers as competition, but covertly (occasionally overtly) there is a competing ethos once you live there and understand what is going on.    

Seen in the context of the suburban life style I begin to understand golf as a sporting contest, understated in form but real in substance.  Golf is an extension of the suburban estate ethos, a  life style that has adopted golf as its preferred form of sporting expression.  From the outside of the estate you really see very little, what is happening is a closed off utterance.  You see a group of unexceptional large brick houses, you see two guys watering the lawn. On the golf course the competition is not face to face, there is no overt agonistic display. no triumphant rictus or fist, no verbal aggression.  It is closed utterance.  But competitive it is, as two men walk a golf course in each others affective company, interacting politely and each taking it turn to play their ball. Just as competition exists on the suburban estate across all sorts muted indicators that are  familiar and accessible to the urban anthropologist rather than to the sport’s fan. 

What we have on the estate is a situation in which competition is incorporated into the life style itself, unstated but always present to the extent that it is a constant frame of reference for the inhabitants who have deeply internalised the rules of their status competition. By extension there is a similar ethos in golf as the preferred form of recreation of suburbia. It embodies a form of competition that is not directly visible, being a product of a lifestyle that in itself is intensely competitive whilst at the same time taking pains to deny that there is any competition (We’re all very friendly here!)  In golf with its handicap system everyone should end up with more or less the same score; the real competition is mediated through a series of social and individuals testings which coalesce into pressure situations in which the individual has to demonstrate to his opponent that he can pass muster.  Golf is not so much won or lost as a match but as a test of character, a test of showing that you are a person of sufficient self control to be a worthy game playing inhabitant of suburbia.  It’s a pressure thing about control under pressure.

Even at the pro level golf is not a game played with a raw visceral self.  Its played with a mask.  Sports often reveal an undisguised and naked aspect or face of the individual.   Defeat and victory release strong emotive forces that tear the social mask away from the individual.  In golf the test seems to be whether one can keep the mask on all the time.  To walk from tee to tee from ball to ball from green to green as if nothing very much was happening.  To stroll across the park exchanging pleasantries and coded barbed comments without reacting to being in the game.  Golf mimics the rituals of the estates from which it recruits.  At the barb-b-q or Christmas party the overriding concern in interaction is with face.  To grin smile and nod and laugh at the right cues and to be prepared to defend one’s status with appropriate gesture or form of words should it be subtly threatened undermining of one’s status.  Golf like suburban life is played with a false self.  A self that is construct of status and the primacy of self image.  A round of golf like the company dinner party is ultimately a test of the robust nature of this false self, and the true object of the game as it has developed in its suburban ritual, even at the highest professional level, is to maintain this false self at a high level of operative efficiency.

This analysis shows golf to be a highly unusual sport in particular at the professional level where code of conduct is highly enforced (other sports of course have this – snooker for instance, but snooker players operate in a pit where the competition is direct and aggressively intended towards the opponent and where interaction with the opponent is not a necessary feature of the competition). The professional golfer are all very nice people who would be welcome as residents in any up market suburban housing enclave.  For the professionals the self of emotions fears and desires is reined in and kept under control. They play with the mask an idealised self constructed out of suburban norms and value systems and this self regimented in the etiquette of middle class niceties is what we see in professional competition on the golf course.
It is no surprise then to understand that the golf course is also a special type of recruiting environment, able to inform the examiners if the applicant is one of us – able to sustain appearances under pressure able to perform with a false constructed self.

At this point I haven’t mentioned that the TV coverage of the Masters, and indeed all golf coverage fully accords with the mores of the game.  The live from the course commentary delivered hushed tones in the reassuring rounded tones of middle England.  The voices are respectful of everyone: the players, the organisation, the spectators and comply fully with the etiquette of  the formal  dinner party.  The coverage and commentary are in relation to current TV and media norms in a sort of time warp, adopting a style and tone of reverence that are of an era when the media knew its place – as servants.  It is interesting that the anchor studio role of Gary Lineker was criticised in many quarters – in particular it is said by the Masters organisers who didn’t like his style.  Lineker’s attitude was in fact entirely traditional. His problem both in accent and tone was that he looks and sounds like that phenomenon known to all exclusive estates, an arrives who didn’t make the appropriate expressive moves and gestures to cover up his provenance.  His crime was the old fashioned social faux pas of not having the decency to cover up or at least make his origins (working class footballer) acceptable unobtrusive. 

As a final note on a point already alluded to, the golf course is a certain type of park.  It is a high maintenance environment (one that is increasingly perceived in arid regions as destructive of environment on account of its demand for copious quantities of water) that is certainly a reflection of the idealised suburban world which supports it.  It reflects a suburban view of nature: it has all the constituent parts of the natural world: shrubs, trees, plants, flowers and grasses(of which few people know the names).  But this swath of nature is benignly ordered trimmed strimmed and managed. It is a non threatening environment and is part of the order of things that exist for the enjoyment of life style. 
adrin neatrour
adrinuk@yahoo.co.uk

adrin neatrour writes: There are four characters in Ahluwalia’s movie. When we are introduced to them for the first time they are all lying down in sleep induced by exhaustion. As the movie progresses we can understand their sleep as an unconscious state in which as they lie prostrate, the succubus of desires slithers across their beds and penetrates their bodily orifices taking possession of their desires. Here are lie the deterritorialised servants of the great corporations.John and Jane – Ashim Ahluwalia – 2005 – India – Doc
Viewed Star and Shadow Newcastle – 23 May 07 – ticket price £4-00

Ahluwalia’s opening sequence is a series of freeform shots of Times Sq  NewYork. The camera pans and soars through the blazing lights of the consumerist iconographies that represent an architecture of possession. The basis of the structure that shapes John and Jane is the interplay between the people and the architectural forms that condition their interactions. 

Ahluwaria’s film is characterised by regular cuts to the exterior of the call centre which is a large contemporary glass clad building evincing the manifest quality of wealth generation.   At night the building glows like a seductive beacon.  Its triangulate form, its solidity of function its representational evocation contrast with the tired workers within it, with the fragile human lives whose belief systems occupy its psychic skin.   The interiors of this edifice comprises two architectural systems: real and virtual.  The real space is functional organised for corporate wealth generation and the direction of mind to this purpose:  the virtual architecture of computer defines role.   Inside the skin of the building there is a land of certainties vigour and action that has a timeless aspect. In contrast outside life is characterised by sleepness.  One of the workers is enraptured by America and as Ahluwahlia records his paean to the USA’s modernity we are shown an image of modern India,  an extraordinary track along a row of some twenty vast apartment blocks that appear to have been plucked from a belt development project of a large US city.  The character only sees the dreams he is not alive to what is happening here now in front of him.  

There are four characters in Ahluwalia’s movie.  When we are introduced to them for the first time they are all lying down in sleep induced by exhaustion.  As the movie progresses we can understand their sleep as an unconscious state in which as they lie prostrate, the succubus of desires slithers across their beds and penetrates their bodily orifices taking possession of their desires.  Here are lie the deterritorialised servants of the great corporations.

Indian weirdness – a documentary – but with the disturbing feel of a drama.  As I watched the four stories of the call centre workers unfold, something in its form kept me thinking that this was a scripted drama.  I found myself looking at the performances of the participants and wondering where they had found such consummate actors.  The acting in the documentary was superb: understated using physical nuance rather than hyperstated faciality and gesturation that is the norm in the west.  What I saw in the performances was the fact that the four participants were  in a critical sense full time actors and actresses.  These workers aren’t just employed to do a job, they are employed to adopt become and be remodelled Selves.  They are trained and coached to be what they are not.  The outer skin of their Indian-ness has fallen away and they have been taught how to become products of the dream, the dream of wealth and riches foretold that is the unwritten but promised nexus of the work contracts they have all signed.   In order to work for the US company that runs the call centre the workers are required to slough off the skin of their Indian culture and put on a new American identity to serve the ideology of the corporation and to enable the workers easy relaxed interface with John and Jane – the emblematic average Americans who are the customers served by the call centre.

It starts with your name.  The call centre workers discard their own names and their identities are fused with a new American name which the workers chose for themselves – Sanjit decides to be Dave, the woman chooses to be Rachel.  The new nomenclature accompanies an intensive course of Americanisation central to which is the identification of the American way, including Christianity as being a superior form of life. This process of indoctrination follows tried and tested methods (bonding to the company ideals by gradated reward systems, inculcation of the company’s banal mantras of success{“It’s not over till I win”}, the depoliticisation and destabilisation of individuals through concentration on a personal achievement and  success ethos with failure being the fault of individual attitude) that are documented both in descriptive and satirical literature (such as Vonnegut’s Welcome to the Monkey House).  The point of the process is so that the Indians workers in Mumbai can take up their stations in the call centre and sell products to the Americans on the other end of the line. The reason that they are always sleeping is that they do long 10 or 12 hour shifts and work to the American time zones.  

At one level this is neo-colonialism at its most invasive where the workers of Mumbai vie with each other to take on the identities of their oppressors and to distance themselves from their own society and culture and compete to adapt the ways and manners of a foreign and invasive economic force.  At another level this is a mutual embrace in as much as there are other processes at work and there are other questions  raised in John and Jane.  Is the call centre Corporation able to exploit an aspirational void at the heart of Indian culture?  The film does not actualise this issue, but Indian society is still dominated by caste, and there is no easy escape out of status assigned at and by birth.  And these call centre workers do not appear to be high caste Brahmins. They live out their hard working lives in high density work and urban environments.  They are educated but the caste system constrains their hopes and chances of social mobility and economic betterment in a society where new images of affluence and consumption increasingly penetrate the traditional psychic barriers.   Lower caste Hindus, the untouchables try to effect escape from the system by converting to Buddhism, Islam or Christianity.  The Indian call centre workers are converting out of the constricts of Hinduism to the unabashed ethos of American self improvement and consumerism.  The one worker in John and Jane who quits the call centre does so in order to pursue another route out of the Caste system – the entertainment industry –  as he takes up modern stage dancing.  It’s also interesting that the icon admired by one of the other call workers is Elvis.  Ahluwalia captures in effect a marriage of convenience an arranged contract that generates circuits of intensity that link and entangle the purposes of the call centre and the aspirations of those who work for it.  The corporation calls for submission of the will: the workers wish to be born again.   

We never see any actual images of the disembodied beings who occupy the space at the other end of the telephone line.  We only hear them.  Almost without exception they are the voices of old very tired people.  They are offered discounts, special deals, inducements etc by the young call centre workers of Mumbai.   As their voices carry through the telephone system onto the track it sounds as if it is the dead who are talking.  These Americans are the voices of zombies, living corpses who are being fed and kept alive by specially trained cadres of duped self hypnotised young people.  What is happening is that the dead are consuming the living.   These young opportunistic misguided men and women from India are living out a zombie movie in which they the unwitting are being fed to the undead.  As it moves through all the fantastic dark humorous interaction between the workers and their American customers,  John and Jane turns into a living horror movie.  The dream is in fact a nightmare. But the workers in John and Jane cannot either tell the difference or awaken.
adrin neatrour
adrinuk@yahoo.co.uk

adrin neatrour writes – What shines out of this Dickens’ adaptation is David Lean’s preoccupation with enchantment… Great Expectations – David Lean – UK 1946   John Mills; Alec Guinness; Joan Simmons (young Estelle); Valerie Hobson (old Estelle)
Viewed 20 May 07  at home on VHS video

Retrocrit

Vistas of Enchantment
What shines out of this Dickens’ adaptation is David Lean’s preoccupation with enchantment.  The notion of the spell gives to the film its form which comprises a movement through of a series of  sets which are conjurated as heavy gaseous atmospherics through whose thickened air shamans emanate and  direct powers proper to their space.  The light has a frozen luminous quality.  It is a world of statues.  It is unchanging.  In Great Expectations each of the succeeding settings from the mist enveloped opening landscape of the Thames estuary through to the great high court is conceived as an atmosphere of psychic imprisonment.  The object of the film is little  concerned with the banality of  narrative, more with the idea of how each place castes its own spell and how the persona are not so much individuals but almost automata whose actions and reactions are functions of  the environments in which they are trapped.  Each location castes its own spell and each character moves as a fabled being through the life of the film.  The film is alive because its settings like a series of snares trap everyone.  It is a dark faerie world that operates through the cold fascination of the child rather than the equivocation of the adult.  A place where people do not fall in love but rather bewitch each other.  

David Lean’s creation of a faerie world is due to his vision and ability to unify the key components making up the atmospherics of enchantment.  The sets and costumes haircuts and hats all have an other-world quality that is of course offset by low key dramatic expressionistic lighting.  The acting style that he commands is an intrinsic  part of the crafting. The actors occupy their roles lightly almost as if they were mediums occupying only temporarily their bodies with external gestures and mannerisms. There is, of course, plot.  But the way in which Great Expectations is constructed devalues its importance.  Instead the film heightens and intensifies the idea of movement from world to world, space to space examining and dwelling on the nature of each place for the behaviour of those who have strayed there.  The end of the film is of course no end: Pip and Estelle, Pip having broken the spell of Mrs Haversham’s house, flee her world.  There is no promise in their flight that they will do anything other than either create another enchanted space or ( like Laurence of Arabia) die from want of enchantment.  Those who have experienced the faerie magic and danced to the music (however demented and exhausting) are forever doomed to seek it out again.  This is something David Lean seems to have well understood and the insight provides a thread that runs through all his films.

Perhaps David Lean was the sorcerer himself in the manner of the old school of British film makers.  Someone whose work was to bewitch, but who understood that the power to enchant is severely locally circumscribed.  It cannot happen in the maelstrom of change: enchantment needs conditions that have a timeless quality in which there is no consciousness of the passage of time.  (Those young folk taken by the faeries are away but for a night but return old, sometimes after the passing of centuries)  Lean’s Laurence of Arabia certainly has this quality which film takes place in the magical environment of the desert, a setting in which only God and the wind and sand are constants and timelessness is part of the landscape. O’Toole like the best of actors in Lean’s films seems to occupy a body( or should it be a swath of flowing robes) rather than possess it, and in Arabia, the filmic Laurence finds the setting in which his powers of enchantment are fully realised and released.

In Great Expectations Mrs Haversham of course has created and lives in one such timeless environment.  She has stopped the clock at the time when she was betrayed.  Everything is frozen in the statuesque light.  From this timeless space, like the bad faerie, she entraps the young unsuspecting souls in her net of malevolence priming them to replay her own psychic traumas for eternity. Like a time machine Great Expectations moves from setting to setting from the marshes to the solicitors office the forge and Court of Law.  It is not a movie that incorporates time as a medium per se but one which penetrates and gives visual form to archetypal places whose enchantment occupies us as much as we occupy them.
adrin neatrour
adrinuk@yahoo.co.uk

adrin neatrour writes: Coming off the rails – The concerns and tensions realised in Cairo Station are embedded naturally into the film’s setting at the very junction of life in 1950’s Egypt – Cairo Station – a crucible for the contradictions and strains experienced by a rapidly changing society.
Cairo Station  – Youssef Chahine – Egypt 1958    78 mins  Fariq Shawqi; Hind Rostrom
Viewed Lumiere Cinema London 12 May 2007 ticket price £6-00

Retrocrit

Coming off the rails
Chahine’s movie is a melodrama in an adapted neo-realist form that has an assemblage of concerns sustained by a circuitry of social tensions.  The concerns and tensions realised are embedded naturally into the film’s setting at the very junction of  life in 1950’s Egypt – Cairo Station – a crucible for the contradictions and strains experienced by a rapidly changing society whose population is exposed for the first time to completely novel external stimuli imported from the West.   The exposure takes place within a deeply conservative religious social matrix which at this moment is without coherent response beyond conditioned distrust.  Individuals are left free to make their own responses and precarious adjustments to the new psychic demands of Westernism. 

 The focus of the action revolves around two groups: the male porters in Cairo central station and the women soft drink vendors who sell their drinks illicitly without a license directly to passengers on the trains.  These groups operate within the setting of Cairo station which location is the core of the film, a direct visual referent to the movement and upheavals of people, transforming their lives creating new possibilities new dangers for Egyptians.  The locomotives themselves, hissing blowing extracting power out of coal and steam, are the engines of change.  Wrenching the peasants from the land and transporting the middles classes to new fields of desire and delight.  The rail tracks criss-cross multiply and divide lead to and from everywhere diverting directing attracting and expelling. For the bourgeoisie these tracks are empowering allowing them the better to exploit and multiply new opportunities. Chahine’s main focus is to chronicle the new constant of endless movement of people from the country to the town, the relentless pressure of the periphery upon the centre.

One of these pressures is exemplified in the unbridled public appearance and behaviour of the women vendors.   In their work none of them wear scarves and they are possessed of  a primal sensuality that is typical of their class status and age group throughout Europe but atypical in rural Egypt from where they originate.  It is an image however that one suspects that has been imported into this culture through foreign influences – European and American films – projecting public images of woman at odds with traditional Islamic beliefs. These women of Cairo Station are earthy and coarse flaunting their bodies playfully as they make their way through the trains selling soft drinks.  There is one scene in particular that is telling.  The main woman character having boarded a train in the station, ends up dancing in one of the carriages as a travelling American bebop group let rip.  Her dance is unabashedly and unashamedly modern western and physical, and close to the male foreigners emphasises her female anatomy. In Italy or France it might be accepted: but in an Islamic country it is endemically problematic.  Chahine has wired this scene into his film because it is the point at which the relentless outer movement of people finally communicates itself to resonates and intensifies in the female body.  And it is at this point, the issue of female sexuality, where the Western form of the modern would comes off the rails in Egypt.   The dance ends when her boyfriend, one of the porters, sees what she is doing, chases and catches her, and gives her a good beating. 

 It is this same vendor’s displayed femininity that triggers the main chain of events in the film.   One of the characters a recent immigrant who is lame and works at the station selling newspapers covers the walls of the hut where he lives with Western style pin-ups.  This masturbatory environment is paralleled by his obsession with a sex slaying case that has blanket coverage in the newspapers: a young woman’s severed body has been found in a trunk by the railway.  The lame news seller latches onto the soft drink vendor, whose physicality overwhelms him  and whose life becomes reduced to his desire to possess her in the same way that he possesses his pin-up girls.   Unable to persuade her to return his ‘love’ because ‘she’ plans to marry one of the porters, his obsessive  masturbatory urges overcome him and he sets out to trap and kill her as a way of completion and actualising his fascination with the dead woman in the trunk who is now psychically fused with his frustrated object of desire.  The cripple’s plan  miscarries.  He stabs the wrong women and is eventually chased and trapped outside the station shed on the very tracks that have led him to Cairo.

At this moment when the killer is disarmed and captured – the film’s final sequence – Chahine as director/ writer orchestrates an extraordinary ending to the action so that the film becomes both a provocation to and a manifesto of modernism.  The killer is not arrested and taken away by the police.  It’s the emergency psychiatric services that have been alerted and who apprehend him, strapping him into a straight jacket before bundling him away.  Chahine refuses to see his killer as a simple perpetrator of wrong as would almost certainly be the case in a Western film.  Chanhine refuses to demonise the newspaper seller; to cover him with the mantel of evil; the killer is  a victim of forces that have deranged him.  And it is important to note that throughout the film the lame seller is never simplistically villainised; in Chahine’s treatment of him there is always a residual affective sympathy.   Chahine’s statement is the prescient observation that in a real and meaningful sense in the coming maelstrom of change in Egypt it would have to be understood that all were victims, the quick and the dead.   
adrin neatrour
adrinuk@yahoo.co.uk

You’re in the army now….
This is a war movie with an angle – the angle being that the group of buddies whom we follow are members of a regiment raised in Algeria and comprising of native Algerians. They are in effect fighting for the colonial occupying power, and their propensity to enlist and fight was engendered through ignorance poverty and a desire perhaps to get outside the enclaves in which their French masters and the Pieds Noirs{‘Algerians’- of European origin) have sequestered them.Days of Glory (Les Indigines) –  Rachid Boucharab – 2006 France Belgium Algeria; Sami Naceri – Roschdz Zei – Bernard Blancan
Viewed  21 04 07 Tyneside Cinema Ticket Price £6-20

You’re in the army now….
This is a war movie with an angle – the angle being that the group of buddies whom we follow are members of a regiment raised in Algeria and comprising of native Algerians.  They are in effect fighting for the colonial occupying power, and their propensity to enlist and fight was engendered through ignorance poverty and a desire perhaps to get outside the enclaves in which their French masters and the Pieds Noirs{‘Algerians’- of European origin) have sequestered them.

The original French title of the movie is more interesting that the one they have given it for the US and UK theatrical circuit.  ‘Natives’ is probably the accurate translation of the original title – Les Indigines –  and it points up the ironic nature of the film’s account of how native Algerians fought to liberate La Patrie, the motherland from the Germans 1943-1945.  For ‘the Natives’, notional citizens of France, read; expendable cannon fodder. At this time Algeria was a department of France but Algerians, of non European extraction were second class citizens, who volunteered to fight for abstract political ideas (liberty equality fraternity)  from which they were, by virtue of their race (dirty arabs), excluded and for the freedom of a country which was remote and in practice, hostile and contemptuous of them.  The film plays up the contradictions endemic in this situation by developing these ironically counterpoised ideas in a number of characteristic sequences: the love affair between the arab liberator and French woman which generates sexual tension and suppressive counteraction: the fucked up and unjust discrimination endemic in the army – the denial of best rations and leave to the arab soldiers – the denial of promotion and recognition of bravery;  and the fact that the French army cynically regarded these troops as more expendable than their true blooded white Gallic counterparts with the consequence that the Algerian regiments were assigned the most dangerous and  hazardous operations with resulting heavy loss of life and limb.

But in some senses these psychic conditions applied to many of those fighting on the allied side against the Germans.  The regiments raised by Britain in Asia of course, but also perhaps many of the American troops, the farm boys and slum dwellers of the big northern cities, and the black Americans. There is a sense in which they were not fighting their war, and motives and reasons for these groups fighting would have had similarities to their Algerian counterparts. They certainly shared some of the prejudices and vicious if not lethal discrimination experienced by the Algerian regiments, in particular those who were Afro-Caribbean.   Though all US troops will have received the same pay, many  in particular the Afro Caribbean’s if they survived the war, returned to a country whose socio political structure was in critical ways,  alien.  War certainly in recent times is often if not generally soldiered by the underprivileged and lumpen populations who have least claim on the privileges of the socio-political entities for which they fight.

Aside from Les Indigines as a ironic observation and a polemical demand for the  correction of the mean  neglect of and denial of full pension rights by the French state to these soldiers( a point that Les Indigines by highlighting their situation, helped to put right  by restoring to the ex-soldiers full pensions – although belatedly when most will have been dead) the film is disappointing. It is just another war film.  Its well shot and the action sequences are realised with some effect.  There’s no sense of otherness, there is no entering into another point of view, there is no sense in which we see a world of different subjectivities.  The film remains firmly fixated on the exterior.  Les Indigines feels like it is missing a dimension.  We don’t get any feeling of how this experience is moulding  these men, making them perceive the world in a different way.  Les Indigines is worthy both in intent to help correct an injustice and as a buddy realisation but otherwise like most war films limited in ambition.
adrin neatrour
adrinuk@yahoo.co.uk

Adrin Neatrour writes –
Were an uninitiated observer – say from the planet Mars –to watch a round of golf being played by two men at the Masters, would that observer understand that what he was watching was in fact a sporting contest? To judge by the intoned whispered BBC commentary you might think that what was taking place was some kind of religious ceremony. 

Thoughts on The Masters Golf from Augusta – BBC – 6-9 April 2007

Adrin Neatrour writes –
Were an uninitiated observer – say from the planet Mars –to watch a round of golf being played by two men at the Masters, would that observer understand that what he was watching was in fact a sporting contest?  To judge by the intoned whispered BBC commentary you might think that what was taking place was some kind of religious ceremony.

After watching some play at the Masters 07 on TV I thought a little about what I had observed.  Looking at the golf on TV with a naïve eye what seems to be happening is that small groups of men are walking round a large park.  Sometimes large crowds are watching them. The men are not in any particular hurry. They stroll over the ground never breaking out of a certain relaxed stride.  They are all smartly dressed in the sort of casual clothes you buy at a shopping mall.  Some of the men carry large bags full of clubs; the men who use the clubs walk unencumbered. They stop from time to time and take a golf club out of its bag and strike a small white ball lying on the ground.  They keep hitting their ball until they eventually get it into a little hole that has been drilled into a very smooth sward of grass.   At this point they collect the ball and begin the process all over again. 

Looked at from a certain point of view golf seems not so much a sport as rather a particular sort of statement endorsing a particular sort of life style: the suburban life style.  It comes across as a ritualised expression of suburban etiquette, a carefully played out enactment of how suburban people should interact with each other.
Sport(in the modern sense of the word) is something else.

Sport is an activity in which individuals engage in rule bound opposition and competition. What is striking about golf is that these characteristics are minimalised.  The players are not in head to head contest as in running or swimming events: the players do not square up to each other like gladiators such as wrestlers or tennis players or the team games such a football and cricket: the players do not contest for mastery of a bounded terrain – in the sense that they can manipulate the play area aggressively to the disadvantage of their opponent – as witness sports such as snooker or croquet.  Golf might be thought to resemble field sports or gymnastics where opponents neither contest shoulder to shoulder nor face to face.  But these sort of sports are characterised by taking place in a closely contained area, a pit, where all the contestants are bound together within a circle of competitive intensity.  These sports also in general are characterised by explosive action of short duration.  Golf shares few of these qualities.

In golf the action, the execution of a shot may be explosive (or not as the case may be – putting is a gentle touch stroke).  But the game is a series of events taking place over the duration of about three hours during which the men walk through 18 holes laid out in a park, which is a diligently maintained space that represents the triumph of land management – landscape – over nature.  The characteristic feature of the sport is that the contestants spend most of their time within the bounds of the game simply strolling engaging each other in occasional pleasantries and always behaving towards each other with the utmost decorum,

On the surface there are few signs that this is a contest – even at the top level of the professional game. The men walk from hole to hole: each plays his own game and tries to get his own ball home.  There is little sense of urgency or of competition. You might if you did not know better suppose that what you were watching was some sort of charming male ritual, perhaps connected with fertility or even the church…..

At this point we have to take account of the suburban housing estate.  In England and the US it is probably no accident that golf courses and the game itself developed and increased in popularity with the spread of suburbia.   In the typical well to do suburban estate the houses are ideally all detached, set back from the street and fronted by tidy manicured gardens whose characteristic feature is either a smooth sward of lawn or gravel, bordered with flower or herbaceous beds.  Where the houses face each other there is a broad road between them, or where, as in modern developments broad roads are too much a luxury even for the upper middle income brackets, the houses are set at angle to each other so that none directly overlooks another.  To the untrained uninitiated eye the houses all look somewhat similar.  The cars parked in the drives mostly look new and gleaming and if you catch the dwellers on their non work days they wear smart casual clothes purchased at the a local shopping mall.  You might think that was it. Groups of similar looking structures occupied by groups of similar looking people who are minding their own business.   The estate design minimises sound spill between the units and sight lines between the houses do not facilitate easy visual monitoring between the units.  This isn’t a community in the traditional sense but community in its modern incarnation: a group of people brought together because they all share a defining trait in common: in this case the people are brought into community by their shared ability to buy into a neighbourhood that has a high price tag.  A community that has as a consequence of its elective nature, an innate sense of social status.

But these status conscious inhabitants are generally highly intra competitive.  Underneath the surface of the monochrome estate there are often intense rivalries  taking place between individual units for  claims to public acknowledgment of status within the community.  Competition in suburban communities tends to be understated – barely admitted to.  Victory does not go to those who flaunt conspicuous consumption or their wealth.  Victory goes to the understated display related to life style.  Ostentation and vulgar symbols of wealth earn fewer status points than having the right expensive but conservative car, holiday in the right places, send children to the right schools, belong to the right clubs.  Nothing announces these signifiers as competition, but covertly (occasionally overtly) there is a competing ethos once you live there and understand what is going on.    

Seen in the context of the suburban life style I begin to understand golf as a sporting contest, understated in form but real in substance.  Golf is an extension of the suburban estate ethos, a  life style that has adopted golf as its preferred form of sporting expression.  From the outside of the estate you really see very little, what is happening is a closed off utterance.  You see a group of unexceptional large brick houses, you see two guys watering the lawn. On the golf course the competition is not face to face, there is no overt agonistic display. no triumphant rictus or fist, no verbal aggression.  It is closed utterance.  But competitive it is, as two men walk a golf course in each others affective company, interacting politely and each taking it turn to play their ball. Just as competition exists on the suburban estate across all sorts muted indicators that are  familiar and accessible to the urban anthropologist rather than to the sport’s fan. 

What we have on the estate is a situation in which competition is incorporated into the life style itself, unstated but always present to the extent that it is a constant frame of reference for the inhabitants who have deeply internalised the rules of their status competition. By extension there is a similar ethos in golf as the preferred form of recreation of suburbia. It embodies a form of competition that is not directly visible, being a product of a lifestyle that in itself is intensely competitive whilst at the same time taking pains to deny that there is any competition (We’re all very friendly here!)  In golf with its handicap system everyone should end up with more or less the same score; the real competition is mediated through a series of social and individual testings which coalesce into pressure situations in which the individual has to demonstrate to his opponent that he can pass muster.  Golf is not so much won or lost as a match but as a test of character, a test of showing that you are a person of sufficient self control to be a worthy game playing inhabitant of suburbia.  It’s a pressure thing about control under pressure.

Even at the pro level golf is not a game played with a raw visceral self.  Its played with a mask.  Sports often reveal the undisguised and naked aspect or face of the individual.   Defeat and victory release strong emotive forces that tear the social mask away from the individual.  In golf the test seems to be whether one can keep the mask on all the time.  To walk from tee to tee from ball to ball from green to green as if nothing very much was happening.  To stroll across the park exchanging pleasantries and coded barbed comments without reacting to being in the game.  Golf mimics the rituals of the estates from which it recruits.  At the barb-b-q or Christmas party the overriding concern in interaction is with face.  To grin smile and nod and laugh at the right cues and to be prepared to defend one’s status with appropriate gesture or form of words should it be subtly threatened undermining of one’s status.  Golf like suburban life is played with a false self.  A self that is construct of status and the primacy of self image.  A round of golf like the company dinner party is ultimately a test of the robust nature of this false self, and the true object of the game as it has developed in its suburban ritual, even at the highest professional level, is to maintain this false self at a high level of operative efficiency.

This analysis shows golf to be a highly unusual sport in particular at the professional level where code of conduct is highly enforced (other sports of course have this – snooker for instance, but snooker players operate in a pit where the competition is direct and aggressively intended towards the opponent and where interaction with the opponent is not a necessary feature of the competition). The professional golfers are all very nice people who would be welcome as residents in any up market suburban housing enclave.  For the professionals the self of emotions fears and desires is reined in and kept under control. They play with the mask an idealised self constructed out of suburban norms and value systems and this self, regimented in the etiquette of middle class niceties is what we see in professional competition on the golf course.
It is no surprise then to understand that the golf course is also a special type of recruiting environment, able to inform the examiners if the applicant is one of us – able to sustain appearances under pressure able to perform with a false constructed self.

At this point I haven’t mentioned that the TV coverage of the Masters, which like all  golf coverage fully accords with the mores of the game.  The live commentary is delivered hushed tones in the reassuring rounded tones of middle England.  The voices are respectful of everyone: the players, the organisation, the spectators and comply fully with the etiquette of  the formal  dinner party.  The coverage and commentary are in relation to current TV and media norms in a sort of time warp, adopting a style and tone of reverence that are of an era when the media knew its place – as servants.  It is interesting that the anchor studio role of Gary Lineker was criticised in many quarters – in particular it is said by the Masters organisers who didn’t like his style.  Lineker’s attitude was in fact entirely traditional. His problem both in accent and tone was that he looks and sounds like that phenomenon known to all exclusive estates, an arrivist who didn’t make the appropriate expressive moves and gestures to disguise his provenance.  His crime was the old fashioned social faux pas of not having the decency to cover up or at least make his origins (working class footballer) unobtrusive. 

As a final note on a point already alluded to, the golf course is a certain type of park.  It is a high maintenance environment (one that is increasingly perceived in arid regions as destructive of environment on account of its demand for copious quantities of water) that is a faithful reflection of the idealised suburban world which supports it.  It reflects a suburban view of nature: it has all the constituent parts of the natural world: shrubs, trees, plants, flowers and grasses(of which few people know the names).  But this swath of nature is benignly ordered trimmed strimmed and managed. It is a non threatening environment and is part of the  order of things that exist for the enjoyment of life style. 
adrin neatrour
adrinuk@yahoo.co.uk

There is an Africa of anger and an Africa of surfacesBamako – Abderrahmane Sissako – 2006 – Mali France Belgium
Viewed Star and Shadow Newcastle – 22 April 07 Ticket price £4-00

There is an Africa of anger and an Africa of surfaces

The setting for Bamako, also the capital city of Mali, is a humble domestic courtyard where people get on with the business of living; within this courtyard Western economic institutions are on trial for their amoral business dealings with Africa.  The business of the trial and a business of life proceed interpenetrating and weaving through each other. Both present a surface to the viewer, but the nature of the surfaces presented by the trial and by life are different.

In the expressive setting for Bamako Sissako has invented a kind of visual pun, in that a court of law is contained within a courtyard( the pun also works in French which is the vehicular language of the film) And of course this pun also points to Bamako’s playful cosmological inversion in which the lesser contains the greater so that the majesty of the law in all its vastness can be folded into the smallness of a Bamako back court in all its nominal insignificance.   It a sort of quantum Carolean logic which Alice would understand.   All the grand institutions – the World Bank – corporate capitalism – globalisation –  amount to so much the less than the lives contained in this ordinary domestic backyard.   However much these lives are exploited by the workings of corporate greed and Western avarice there is not one iota of doubt that the dignity and worth of the lives in the yard have more value than the absent and abstract forces that seek to rob them.  And that the values they represent of humanity life and warmth will outlive the cold meanness of those who would deprive them of the means to live their lives.  

 Bamako works on the senses and on the intellect using the sound and picture inputs as different strata within the film. The trial with all its accounts represents a surface of reality, what is seen when anger and the consequences of Western economic policies finally come to the surface: after the shipwreck the bodies and the flotsam and jetsam. Intellectually Sissako conducts the trial in the form of summoned voices that detail the disasters that the last 20 years of Reagonite driven aid and global financial ideologies have visited upon almost the whole of Africa.  The words are those of ordinary Africans and despite the formal nature of their utterance the voices in their warmth and urgency tell us directly why Africans are being driven from Africa:  it’s the economy stupid.  The Europeans or rather ordinary European citizens whether in Spain France Italy or the UK stand first aghast and then with anger and resentment at what they see as the unstoppable tide of economic migrants flowing across the Atlantic and the Med towards the chimera of European employment and riches.  What we don’t comprehend or perhaps don’t want to comprehend are the forces that have been unleashed in Africa that have brought about this situation.  It was not always like this.  The implementation of a World Bank lending regime that links loans to the opening up of markets and infrastructure services (water transport education) to predatory globalisation practices of private enterprise and corporate capitalism;  the debt burden, from unequal and often leveraged loan agreements,  despite Geldoff and Blair, Africa still repays a huge proportion of its income to the West.  The consequence is a continent that is impoverished,  an impoverishment that is growing, a tragedy that is deepening.  The migrants who turn up on our doorsteps are there because of us, what is done by the economic systems that give us our daily bread and feed our desire.   So in Bamako it’s Africans themselves who tell it as it is; it’s their story and we should listen shouldn’t we don’t we do we?

If it’s the everyday quality of the African witnesses that make the audio stratum more than a polemic, the picture stratum of Bamako comprises an altogether other dimension of the film creating a specifically optical experience.  What we see is primarily the surface of Africa:  like the surface of the moon beautiful.   Western filmmakers don’t  film this face of Africa; they usually shoot Africa as a colourful exotic backdrop to their action image movies.  To film surface you need a camera that is not restless; a camera that is allowed to stop and observe what is there accessible to the eye.  In Bamako Sissoko is not particularly interested in what lies under the surface.  There are enough pictures of suffering Africa; there is enough soap opera grimacing.  Sissoko avoids images that make immediate direct appeal to the emotions that create a world of feeling with which the viewer would be called to empathise.   Images used in this way would have been crude reinforcers of the audio stratum.  There are in Bamako some strips of action: about a man in the courtyard dwellings who is very ill, the club singer, but they are shot as part of the ongoing stream of life, they are observed from the outside with no permission implied to come inside these stories; no affective invitation.  The visual stratum of the film is filled out with attention to surfaces and textures that are filmed with a primal protean sensuality.  This is Africa!  This is Africa! Not America nor Europe: only in Africa these surfaces across which I take you as across a continent of light texture and touch.  Africa that is most vibrantly warm and whose energy vibrates through light.   Sissoko composes his visual stratum  out of texture and surface:  painted walls – the walls saturated colours that bleed onto the screen;  adobe interiors – dark spaces built from the earth of the continent; black skin –  silken voluptuous absorbing human; textiles – patterns colours alive as animals or plants.  Take the surface that’s what’s here.

This is Africa its surface is as real a statement as the surface of the earth seen from space.  It tells its own story.  In one sense there is only surface in life: the rest is supposition or projection.  It’s a philosophical proposition.   As are the final verdicts of the trial:  that it is not Africa that owes to the West and its financial institutions, but these institutions that owe something to humanity.
adrin neatrour
adrinuk@yahoo.co.uk

Were an uninitiated observer – say from the planet Mars –to watch a round of golf being played by two men at the Masters, would that observer understand that what he was watching was in fact a sporting contest? To judge by the intoned whispered BBC commentary you might think that what was taking place was some kind of religious ceremony.

The Masters Golf from Augusta – BBC – 6-9 April 2007

Were an uninitiated observer – say from the planet Mars –to watch a round of golf being played by two men at the Masters, would that observer understand that what he was watching was in fact a sporting contest?  To judge by the intoned whispered BBC commentary you might think that what was taking place was some kind of religious ceremony.

After watching some play at the Masters 07 on TV I thought a little about what I had observed.  Looking at the golf on TV with a naïve eye what seems to be happening is that small groups of men are walking round a large park.  Sometimes large crowds are watching them. The men are not in any particular hurry. They stroll over the ground never breaking out of a certain relaxed stride.  They are all smartly dressed in the sort of casual clothes you buy at a shopping mall.  Some of the men carry large bags full of clubs; the men who use the clubs walk unencumbered. They stop from time to time and take a golf club out of its bag and strike a small white ball lying on the ground.  They keep hitting their ball until they eventually get it into a little hole that has been drilled into a very smooth sward of grass.   At this point they collect the ball and begin the process all over again. 

Looked at from a certain point of view golf seems not so much a sport as rather a particular sort of statement endorsing a particular sort of life style: the suburban life style.  It comes across as a ritualised expression of suburban etiquette, a carefully played out enactment of how suburban people should interact with each other.
Sport(in the modern sense of the word) is something else.

Sport is an activity in which individuals engage in rule bound opposition and competition. What is striking about golf is that these characteristics are minimalised.  The players are not in head to head contest as in running or swimming events: the players do not square up to each other like gladiators such as wrestlers or tennis players or the team games such a football and cricket: the players do not contest for mastery of a bounded terrain – in the sense that they can manipulate the play area aggressively to the disadvantage of their opponent – as witness sports such as snooker or croquet.  Golf might be thought to resemble field sports or gymnastics where opponents neither contest shoulder to shoulder nor face to face.  But these sort of sports are characterised by taking place in a closely contained area, a pit, where all the contestants are bound together within a circle of competitive intensity.  These sports also in general are characterised by explosive action of short duration.  Golf shares few of these qualities.

In golf the action, the execution of a shot may be explosive (or not as the case may be – putting is a gentle touch stroke).  But the game is a series of events taking place over the duration of about three hours during which the men walk through 18 holes laid out in a park, which is a diligently maintained space that represents the triumph of land management – landscape – over nature.  The characteristic feature of the sport is that the contestants spend most of their time within the bounds of the game simply strolling engaging each other in occasional pleasantries and always behaving towards each other with the utmost decorum,

On the surface there are few signs that this is a contest – even at the top level of the professional game. The men walk from hole to hole: each plays his own game and tries to get his own ball home.  There is little sense of urgency or of competition. You might if you did not know better suppose that what you were watching was some sort of charming male ritual, perhaps connected with fertility or even the church…..

At this point we have to take account of the suburban housing estate.  In England and the US it is probably no accident that golf courses and the game itself developed and increased in popularity with the spread of suburbia.   In the typical well to do suburban estate the houses are ideally all detached, set back from the street and fronted by tidy manicured gardens whose characteristic feature is either a smooth sward of lawn or gravel, bordered with flower or herbaceous beds.  Where the houses face each other there is a broad road between them, or where, as in modern developments broad roads are too much a luxury even for the upper middle income brackets, the houses are set at angle to each other so that none directly overlooks another.  To the untrained uninitiated eye the houses all look somewhat similar.  The cars parked in the drives mostly look new and gleaming and if you catch the dwellers on their non work days they wear smart casual clothes purchased at the a local shopping mall.  You might think that was it. Groups of similar looking structures occupied by groups of similar looking people who are minding their own business.   The estate design minimises sound spill between the units and sight lines between the houses do not facilitate easy visual monitoring between the units.  This isn’t a community in the traditional sense but community in its modern incarnation: a group of people brought together because they all share a defining trait in common: in this case the people are brought into community by their shared ability to buy into a neighbourhood that has a high price tag.  A community that has as a consequence of its elective nature, an innate sense of social status.

But these status conscious inhabitants are generally highly intra competitive.  Underneath the surface of the monochrome estate there are often intense rivalries  taking place between individual units for  claims to public acknowledgment of status within the community.  Competition in suburban communities tends to be understated – barely admitted to.  Victory does not go to those who flaunt conspicuous consumption or their wealth.  Victory goes to the understated display related to life style.  Ostentation and vulgar symbols of wealth earn fewer status points than having the right expensive but conservative car, holiday in the right places, send children to the right schools, belong to the right clubs.  Nothing announces these signifiers as competition, but covertly (occasionally overtly) there is a competing ethos once you live there and understand what is going on.    

Seen in the context of the suburban life style I begin to understand golf as a sporting contest, understated in form but real in substance.  Golf is an extension of the suburban estate ethos, a  life style that has adopted golf as its preferred form of sporting expression.  From the outside of the estate you really see very little, what is happening is a closed off utterance.  You see a group of unexceptional large brick houses, you see two guys watering the lawn. On the golf course the competition is not face to face, there is no overt agonistic display. no triumphant rictus or fist, no verbal aggression.  It is closed utterance.  But competitive it is, as two men walk a golf course in each others affective company, interacting politely and each taking it turn to play their ball. Just as competition exists on the suburban estate across all sorts muted indicators that are  familiar and accessible to the urban anthropologist rather than to the sport’s fan. 

What we have on the estate is a situation in which competition is incorporated into the life style itself, unstated but always present to the extent that it is a constant frame of reference for the inhabitants who have deeply internalised the rules of their status competition. By extension there is a similar ethos in golf as the preferred form of recreation of suburbia. It embodies a form of competition that is not directly visible, being a product of a lifestyle that in itself is intensely competitive whilst at the same time taking pains to deny that there is any competition (We’re all very friendly here!)  In golf with its handicap system everyone should end up with more or less the same score; the real competition is mediated through a series of social and individual testings which coalesce into pressure situations in which the individual has to demonstrate to his opponent that he can pass muster.  Golf is not so much won or lost as a match but as a test of character, a test of showing that you are a person of sufficient self control to be a worthy game playing inhabitant of suburbia.  It’s a pressure thing about control under pressure.

Even at the pro level golf is not a game played with a raw visceral self.  Its played with a mask.  Sports often reveal the undisguised and naked aspect or face of the individual.   Defeat and victory release strong emotive forces that tear the social mask away from the individual.  In golf the test seems to be whether one can keep the mask on all the time.  To walk from tee to tee from ball to ball from green to green as if nothing very much was happening.  To stroll across the park exchanging pleasantries and coded barbed comments without reacting to being in the game.  Golf mimics the rituals of the estates from which it recruits.  At the barb-b-q or Christmas party the overriding concern in interaction is with face.  To grin smile and nod and laugh at the right cues and to be prepared to defend one’s status with appropriate gesture or form of words should it be subtly threatened undermining of one’s status.  Golf like suburban life is played with a false self.  A self that is construct of status and the primacy of self image.  A round of golf like the company dinner party is ultimately a test of the robust nature of this false self, and the true object of the game as it has developed in its suburban ritual, even at the highest professional level, is to maintain this false self at a high level of operative efficiency.

This analysis shows golf to be a highly unusual sport in particular at the professional level where code of conduct is highly enforced (other sports of course have this – snooker for instance, but snooker players operate in a pit where the competition is direct and aggressively intended towards the opponent and where interaction with the opponent is not a necessary feature of the competition). The professional golfers are all very nice people who would be welcome as residents in any up market suburban housing enclave.  For the professionals the self of emotions fears and desires is reined in and kept under control. They play with the mask an idealised self constructed out of suburban norms and value systems and this self, regimented in the etiquette of middle class niceties is what we see in professional competition on the golf course.
It is no surprise then to understand that the golf course is also a special type of recruiting environment, able to inform the examiners if the applicant is one of us – able to sustain appearances under pressure able to perform with a false constructed self.

At this point I haven’t mentioned that the TV coverage of the Masters, which like all  golf coverage fully accords with the mores of the game.  The live commentary is delivered hushed tones in the reassuring rounded tones of middle England.  The voices are respectful of everyone: the players, the organisation, the spectators and comply fully with the etiquette of  the formal  dinner party.  The coverage and commentary are in relation to current TV and media norms in a sort of time warp, adopting a style and tone of reverence that are of an era when the media knew its place – as servants.  It is interesting that the anchor studio role of Gary Lineker was criticised in many quarters – in particular it is said by the Masters organisers who didn’t like his style.  Lineker’s attitude was in fact entirely traditional. His problem both in accent and tone was that he looks and sounds like that phenomenon known to all exclusive estates, an arrivist who didn’t make the appropriate expressive moves and gestures to disguise his provenance.  His crime was the old fashioned social faux pas of not having the decency to cover up or at least make his origins (working class footballer) unobtrusive. 

As a final note on a point already alluded to, the golf course is a certain type of park.  It is a high maintenance environment (one that is increasingly perceived in arid regions as destructive of environment on account of its demand for copious quantities of water) that is a faithful reflection of the idealised suburban world which supports it.  It reflects a suburban view of nature: it has all the constituent parts of the natural world: shrubs, trees, plants, flowers and grasses(of which few people know the names).  But this swath of nature is benignly ordered trimmed strimmed and managed. It is a non threatening environment and is part of the  order of things that exist for the enjoyment of life style. 
adrin neatrour
adrinuk@yahoo.co.uk