Peter Strickland’s comedy-horror In Fabric is memorably disturbing, funny and outright bonkers, like Mike Leigh on LSD. This tale of a killer red dress haunting a fictitious 90s English town (Thames Valley-on-Thames) is strong on style, atmosphere and music, and further confirms Strickland as one of our most exciting writer-directors. Like some of the film’s characters, we are often hypnotised by the audio-visuals and made more sensitive to the weirdness that follows. In Fabric has echoes of other films and TV shows, but Strickland weaves his ideas and influences into a cinematic tapestry that is uniquely his own.
When bank clerk Sheila (Marianne Jean-Baptiste, star of Leigh’s Secrets and Lies) buys a red dress at Dentley & Soper department store she gets more than she bargained for. Sheila has a put an ad in the lonely-hearts column of the local paper, which ends with “Laughter needed.” Life at home with teenaged son Vince (Jaygann Ayeh) and his “disgusting” girlfriend (an unrecognisable Gwendolyn Christie) is not much fun.
Sheila hopes that the dress and a new hairdo will impress the man who answered her ad. But the omens are not good. “What have you done to your hair?” asks Vince. “Looks like the council cut it.” In a scene that Mike Leigh would have been proud of, Sheila’s romantic date in a Greek restaurant is a dog’s dinner: ‘Adonis’ turns out to be rude and miserable. “What makes you laugh?” she asks him (his ad had said: ‘loves laughing’). “Funny things,” he replies, unsmilingly.
By the time Sheila finds a good man (Barry Adamson) she is increasingly disturbed by her red dress. It gives her a strange rash. At night, it shrieks from her wardrobe as if it is trying to escape its metallic clothes rail. It seems to move around the house when she’s not there. When she puts it in the washing machine it goes haywire. Even when unplugged the machine throbs and grinds violently and seems to attack Sheila.
The second part of the film follows the red dress into the life of a new owner, “solid average” washing machine repairman Reg Speaks (Leo Bill). He is similarly terrorised by it and cannot understand the mechanics of what it does to his own washing machine. In a couple of hilarious scenes, Reg explains precisely what is needed to fix it in torpor-inducing detail: “the plungers on the doors don’t align with the seal … the lid-switch and its actuator.” Anyone who has been on the end of plumber-speak will nod off in sympathy. Two other characters in the film seem to like being sent into a trance by Reg and ask him to recite his incantatory bollocks so they can get off on it.
Although In Fabric is set in the 1990s it has a retro feel: its’ collages of fashion catalogues and still photographs are straight from the 1970s. It features a disturbingly ugly mannequin that put me in mind of the Jon Pertwee-era Doctor Who story, Spearhead from Space (1970) which featured chilling shop window dummies that come to life.
Conscious or not, there are echoes of Hitchcock’s Vertigo, Halloween III (Season of the Witch), David Lynch and, stylistically, the Euro exploitation films (giallo) that Strickland is so fond of. After Berberian Sound Studio (2012) and The Duke of Burgundy (2014), which he has admitted were “steeped in genre tropes,” In Fabric is an attempt to make something more original.
Like those films it has a mesmerising soundtrack (Cavern of Anti-Matter) and heightened, sensual sounds that are intended to evoke in the listener an Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response (ASMR). Strickland has said “for me, it’s a response to certain tactile sounds – whispering, page-turning, pencil on paper … I had it since childhood without questioning what it was … I just assumed everyone enjoys those sounds.” On YouTube there is a whole world of ASMR artists who create tingle-inducing sounds.
Cambridge Literary Festival: Sathnam Sanghera in conversation with Kavita Puri
24th February 2021
For a one-off online Cambridge Literary Festival event novelist and journalist Sathnam Sanghera (The Boy With The Topknot, Marriage Material) talked to writer and broadcaster Kavita Puri (Partition Voices: Untold British Stories) about his new book: Empireland: How Imperialism has Shaped Modern Britain.
Kavita Puri: Empireland went straight to number 2 in the Sunday Times Bestseller list. it’s an exploration of Britain’s legacy of its colonial past and I wish it was a book that had been around when I was growing up. The vestiges of Empire are all around us. I pass Liberty every day and had no idea about its origin until I read your book. How is that? How can it be the basis of so much of modern Britain and we just don’t know about it?
Sathnam Sanghera: Empire is bloody everywhere. It’s in our language, businesses, museums; it’s in our psychologies, our multiculturalism and our racism. But we don’t really think about it. We don’t think of ourselves as the nation that had the greatest Empire in human history. We generally think of ourselves as the nation that won World War I and World War II – the nation that defeated the Germans twice, the evil and racist Germans. And what that does it helps us slightly forget that in the 19th Century we were wilfully white supremacists, sometimes genocidal.
The other view of Empire is that it erupts in this strange way. We have this balance sheet view of Empire where it seems to you can balance the negatives against the positives, the massacres against the railways, and come to the conclusion that it’s either good or bad. It’s always struck me that’s a very strange way of viewing 500 years of history. It’s just so complex … It’s like saying, ‘oh, I think biology’s good’, or ‘jelly’s good.’ No, it’s like trying to give a 5-star review to your own life. And it’s just impossible.
So, I had the idea that instead of engaging in that endless, tedious debate, writing about the modern legacies of Empire, because those are the things you can weigh up. Those are the things that matter, as they affect our lives now. And it was also a way of getting out of the toxic politicised debate around Empire.
Kavita Puri: You talk about Jallianwala Bagh. That was the moment when you were making that documentary for Channel 4, when you were almost de-colonising yourself, weren’t you?
Sathnam Sanghera: It was going to Jallianwala Bagh – the centenary of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre in Amritsar – that made me realise that I had to write this book. It wasn’t so much the event itself, which was shocking … it taught me that we have very little knowledge of Empire.
But it’s also the way that the Sikhs were dealt with in the British Empire, the kind of weird combination of indulgence and subjugation, made me realise that was the way Sikhs were treated in post-war Britain. We won the right to ride motorbikes with turbans on, to wear the kirpan, the sword, and we were considered a very successful immigrant community. And there’s always calls for us to have our own regiment in the British Army.
But at the same time when my parents came here they faced discrimination in employment. There was a massive colour-bar in Wolverhampton. Even now there are certain pubs you’ll go to if you’re brown and certain pubs you won’t go to if you’re white. There was racial violence. There was discrimination in housing. The Sikhs weren’t allowed to move into or buy council houses. That’s why they ended up buying a lot of slum housing. And that echoed for me their experience in colonial Britain and gave me the idea of writing something about the legacies of Empire.
Kavita Puri: How did it feel, though, when you went to Jallianwala Bagh. It must have been quite an emotional moment for you, given what happened there?
Sathnam Sanghera: It’s quite a weird place because it doesn’t feel like the site of a massacre … a lot of Indians coming to sing pariotic songs. Because the one thing you notice when you visit India and you talk about Empire is that the average man on the street is very informed. Because they teach it. It’s part of their national story. But it’s not part of our national story. So much so, that I realised that there was ignorance even among British Sikhs, about Jallianwala Bagh.
I told people I was making a doc about it and they assumed I was making a doc about Sikhs in 1984 because that’s what’s nationally more known about. Whereas in 1919 is not very well known … that, in itself, led me to the conclusion that British Sikhs themselves were actually created by Empire. Sikhism was on the decline. Then the Mutiny happened and the Sikhs took the side of the British and the British decided then that certain races were to be trusted and certain races weren’t to be trusted.
And they came up with all this weird pseudo-science, racial science, about Sikhs, that we were the martial race, and they wrote handbooks about us, that we had perfect-sized noses and eyes and ears and physiques to be soldiers. And those became such dominant ideas that they’re almost the prism through which Sikhs see themselves. That’s quite a profound thing to realise, that the way we see ourselves as a community actually goes back to the British.
Kavita Puri: What I took from your book that I hadn’t grasped before, was that the tone and culture of Empire varied hugely. And also at different times you talk about the 1st stage and the 2nd stage …
Sathnam Sanghera: They’re probably 500 stages, to be honest. It’s not like the Roman Empire that had a clear legal framework and a clear mission … British Empire came about for 1000 different reasons. At one point it was the East India Company mainly pushing imperialism. At another point it was individuals. And then the East India Company was abolished and the Crown took over after the Mutiny in 1858.
And the tone changed so much. At one point slavery’s a big part of the British imperial economy. Then we abolish slavery … we try to wipe it out across the planet. At one stage, missionaries are encouraged because it’s seen to be a good thing to spread Christianity. At another point they’re discouraged because they’re getting in the way of commerce.
Then there’s the whole thing about inter-racial relationships. There was a whole period during the early Empire in India when the officers of the East India Company were encouraged, almost, to have relationships with Indian women. And then, suddenly, the Victorians come, and it’s very much looked down upon. It could lose you your job.
So, the tone of Empire changed a lot. And also it was different things in different territories. You could argue that Empire was very different in Goa to Delhi at any particular time. So it was an incredibly complex thing to get your head around. And that is part of the reason why we don’t teach it. Because it’s quite hard to teach. Whereas WW2 is very easy to teach: 6 years; clear beginning; clear end; clear morality …
KP: You also go into detail about some of the atrocities. You’ve talked about Jallianwala Bagh and other atrocities that are certainly not taught in schools. I didn’t know much about the invasion of Tibet … that really stuck in my mind as one of the more horrific aspects … was that the case when you were studying it? Were you taken about by the extent of the atrocities?
SS: Yeah. That was one of the hardest things, in basically 2 years of going through the worst things Britain did – and the positives.
I found the Mutiny, the racial revenge of the British after the Mutiny. Indians committed atrocities too. But the revenge, the vicious revenge and people like Charles Dickens joining this bloodthirstiness to take revenge on the Indians. People being burned alive. Villages begin razed to the ground … quite brutal.
Then there was the Morant Bay Rebellion in 1865 – 400 Jamaicans killed.
Actually, for me, Tasmania – 4-8,000 Tasmanian Aborigines wiped out. And it was a genocide, in the sense that what happened there was used to help define genocide in international law. Sometimes people say there wasn’t a genocide during the British Empire. Well actually, there was. It was legally the first. And what they did was unbelievable … yeah, it was really hard.
I was reading a piece about whether historians get psychologically scarred by writing about violence. There was one famous story of a historian who killed herself after reading about the Japanese war crimes. And I can see why, because it really does take its toll.
Also, I’m British. I want to think the best about my country. So it was hard.
KP: Yes, I can tell you from studying Partition it is very draining. Do you think that the atrocities that were committed is the big reason that Britain doesn’t want to talk about Empire?
SS: I think there’s loads of different reasons. One of them is that Empires are very complicated. How do you even begin talking about it? It’s also really painful … when it comes to slavery it’s much easier to remember that we were the country that abolished slavery, rather than the fact that we also sent 3 million Africans across the Atlantic. That we paid £20 million compensation to the owners and not a penny to the slaves. I think you can remember all those things at the same time. But we don’t do it, do we? We basically remember abolition. There’s also all sorts of reasons why we struggle to remember this stuff …
The main reason is that we haven’t been invaded. Like France after WWII had to face up to what they did. Because Empire was always abroad. There’s lots of evidence that most people were oblivious to it throughout Empire … out of sight, out of mind. We’ve never had a moment when we’ve had to face up to what happened. I think it’s happening now. It’s happening because of Black Lives Matter, because of a new generation of people who are very animated about colonialism and they want to understand.
KP: Why now, though? Why 2021, if you think that the beginnings of the end of the British Empire was in 1947 …
SS: It’s hard to explain why BLM happened. I think it’s partly because of Lockdown. People on their phones, in their homes, seeing the same video again and again. And they’ve got the time to think about it and also become activists.
KP: But that doesn’t necessarily mean that they should draw the line with colonialism, though, does it?
SS: No, no, I can’t really explain. Also, it’s been weaponised by the far right and the right-wing part of the Conservative Party. I think it’s because Empire is basically synonymous with race. When you’re talking about the British Empire, you’re talking about white people conquering brown people. And you’re having different conversations about nationality. It encompasses every controversial subject there is. And suddenly all these different subjects are in the air. They all come together in the subject of imperialism.
KP: It feels like Empire is being talked about now. But when we were growing up it was never about Empire. And if you think that our parents were born as subjects of the British Raj … it was never part of the discussion … the direct line with Empire was never drawn. So, I wonder why now?
SS: I conclude in the book that the reason you and I are here, Kavita, is because of Empire. It’s a very basic legacy. We wouldn’t be here if a bunch of British people hadn’t invaded India in the 17th Century, right?
But there’s a very poor understanding of it in our community and in the black community. The reason people came on the Windrush was not to have jobs. They didn’t have jobs lined up. They came because the 1948 Nationality Act gave them citizenship. And we don’t really talk about that, do we? That’s why the Windrush scandal is such a painful scandal. They were citizens. Imagine if citizens of Britain were deported back to a country they didn’t know. That’s what’s happened.
It’s not just that we helped rebuild Britain after WWII, which is something that is said quite often, but we came as citizens because we have centuries-long relationships with Britain. Because we are British. We are connected in a really deep psychological way. And that has been forgotten. It was forgotten on purpose in Britain.
KP: People from South Asia has been here for hundreds of years because of Empire. You go into some of those quite fascinating characters in your book. Tell us about some of them.
SS: It was Robert Winder’s work in his amazing book, Bloody Foreigners, that really surprised me. The first Bengali in London was born in 1616. Elizabeth I was complaining about there being too many black people in the 1600s. And there’s this amazing guy, Dean Mohammed … he opened the first Indian restaurant in London … He became the first Indian to write a book in English. It’s a terrible book, but still, it was the first. Then he became this self-labelled shampoo salesman. He was basically a massage guy, right? He set up a massage parlour in Brighton and it became so popular that the king became one of the customers … He was hugely famous in his time. But like so many of these brown imperial figures he was forgotten almost immediately as soon as he died.
The same thing happened to a lot of slaves who were in Britain, became famous and then forgotten until recently. Another reason why there is this sudden interest is that brown communities are now a majority in some cities in Britain – Leicester, Slough. I think maybe there’s just the right amount of us that suddenly people are interested.
KP: The younger generation are really curious about their history … Looking at teaching in schools, we were never taught about Empire. What is so difficult about teaching it? It’s part of British history, a huge thing to omit. It’s 2021 – why are the kids not learning about it?
SS: It’s widely politicised. Just look at what’s happened in the last few years. You had Jeremy Corbyn saying that we should teach the crimes of colonialism. And then Michael Gove saying he wanted to teach the ‘triumphs’ of imperialism. And both of them I don’t think are the right way to teach it. This idea that we need to feel pride or shame in our history, it’s so bizarre … the thing is history doesn’t have feelings. History is about facts and there are ways to teach it.
Even though the National Curriculum is a mess and doesn’t really acknowledge how important British Empire is, not every school needs to teach it – academies can break free, private schools … and I’ve been really encouraged by the dozens of teachers who’ve contacted me and said ‘I’m teaching this already.’ The younger generation really want to know and they’re getting their education from the internet. There are some amazing Instagram accounts about colonialism … in that way I feel positive.
KP: We’re not the only country that grapples with our colonial past. I know you cite Germany as being a good example of a country that deals with its difficult past, but even Germany is not great at dealing with its own colonial past. But other European countries aren’t any better, are they?
SS: Imperial nostalgia is something that affects loads of nations. There was a recent poll that asked which countries felt most nostalgic about their Empires … we were number 1 – 27% of Britons said they still wished they had an Empire. So we’ve got the worst case of imperial nostalgia.
You’re right about Germany … but they are having conversations about repatriating some of the artefacts in their museums. France are having that conversation. They’re actually doing it. Macron is doing it. And New Zealand – they’ve completely changed their curriculum recently to reflect their own very difficult colonial history. So there are good examples to be found internationally. But we are not unique.
When it comes to imperial nostalgia there’s no one worse than the Sikhs. We had an Empire. And you will not find many Sikhs who go around saying the Sikh Empire was terrible. Everyone will tell you that is was a brilliant cosmopolitan Empire. It probably wasn’t was it? It was probably violent. So, I think it’s something in human nature that makes people want to believe the best about their heritage.
KP: It’s probably worth pointing out that, even at the time, there were critics of Empire and I thinks it’s important that people realise that the criticisms of Empire aren’t just now. It’s not a modern phenomenon. There were quite prominent people who thought what was happening, that some of the atrocities being committed were wrong.
SS: If there’s one point I want our nation to absorb from this book, it’s this one. Anyone observing anything negative about the British Empire is dismissed as woke nowadays. But if I’m woke, then so is William Gladstone, who spent large parts of his career railing against the jingoism of imperialism. Even Queen Victoria complained when Lord Kitchener wanted to bring back a skull from one of these battles and put it on display. George Orwell wrote incredibly well about the crimes of colonialism. H. G. Wells, E. M. Forster. Churchill said the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre was monstrous. If I went on tv and said that J was monstrous, as I did, I got days of racist hate mail.
The Ethiopian expedition where we got the Maqdala crown – it sits in the V & A now – Gladstone, at the time, said ‘I hope we can give this back’ … because the way we got it was morally wrong. We need to remember that: Empire was never unanimous. It was always the subject of debate in Britain.
KP: I know you don’t do balance sheets, quite rightly, but (the railways, no, I’m joking!) you do say that the anti-racist movement was born out of Empire and that’s a commendable thing.
SS: I argue in a chapter that our particular brand of racism in this country can largely be explained by Empire. But I do say … the fact that we abolished slavery created the model for social justice campaigns. It was followed by the Suffragettes, various trade union movements. So, I argue that we have a certain tradition of anti-racism in this country., which inadvertently comes from Empire. I had the book read by 5 or 6 historians and they all said I was mad … but I do believe it. That was a powerful tradition. Unfortunately they were drowned out by the imperialists.
KP: I suppose your most controversial argument is that the origins of Brexit lie in Empire nostalgia. Tell me about that.
SS: I almost wish I didn’t have to put that in the book because the reviews have been amazing. But the few negative ones have been from political writers who focused entirely on that, said ‘that’s ridiculous. Brexit wasn’t about imperialism.’ I wouldn’t expect everyone to agree with everything in the book. And that is the thing that’s least important … people voted for Brexit for loads of reasons. But one of them, a factor, was imperialism. This obsession with being ‘global Britain’. Even Liam Fox’s civil servants labelled it Empire 2.0. This obsession with being a great trading nation like in the 19th century.
In Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg we have two of the most imperialism-nostalgic politicians we’ve ever had. Both of them in their spare time are writing books about Churchill or the Victorians. Very rose-tinted views of both phenomena. Johnson’s a man who goes on about ‘flag-waving picaninnies’ and ‘watermelon smiles’. He’s trying to read a Rudyard Kipling poem out in Burma. They’re both so steeped in imperialism that I don’t think they even know, that they realise what they’re doing. But I do think that Brexit is one of the consequences of that.
But there’s all sorts of consequences of Empire from Suez to the Royal Navy. Our mission is still to be global. Why do we, this tiny country, have a global navy? That goes straight back to Empire, I think.
KP: Do you think that nostalgia breeds racism?
SS: nostalgia succeeds because we have amnesia. You need amnesia for nostalgia to flourish. We definitely have selective amnesia. And we have nostalgia. And the nostalgia makes us forget the awful hundred years of willful white supremacy we had. Empire was proudly white supremacist. And someone like Cecil Rhodes would not have denied it. And yet you have people defending him now … that’s what he wanted to be.
KP: You also think imperial history inspires this sense of exceptionalism and that has resulted in dysfunctional politics and disastrous decision-making, some of which you cite as happening very recently.
SS: This exceptionalism isn’t an issue that’s particularly British. The Americans have it for a clear reason. They’re the greatest, most powerful nation in our times. We have a legacy of that because we had the greatest Empire of all time. There’s all sorts of manifestations of it, like the idea that English is the best language. We go round the world shouting English at people. That we have the best pop music, the best writers – we have Shakespeare. And that’s quite a prominent idea in our psychology that’s been, again, harnessed by Boris Johnson. It’s generally not harmful.
But it has been harmful recently when it comes to coronavirus. Because you have this obsession with being world-beating … we’ve had about 50 examples of politicians using the term ‘world-beating’ in the last year or so. It wasn’t just the Tories. Keir Starmer did a bit of it himself.
And what that does is creates this idea that we don’t need to follow the rules that everyone else is following. And thereby we have dysfunctional decision-making. If you think you don’t have to behave like everyone else you end up with the largest death-rate in the world from Covid.
KP: I’ve seen the stuff you get on Twitter and you’re quite upfront about it. You take the people who challenge you head-on. Were you apprehensive about what you were getting yourself into?
SS: Very, yeah. Mainly because I had a taste of it with the Jallianwala Bagh documentary on Channel 4 and, as you know, when you’re on radio and TV you get a whole different level of abuse. I’m used to it at times. I get quite a lot. It’s not just racists. I get Corbynites, trolling, cancelled by various groups over my career. But Empires is just a totally different level. I did an interview with Nihal (Arthanayake) on Radio 5 and both of us had 5 days of trolling. It got to the stage when I couldn’t tweet anything. I just couldn’t see the replies because it was just racism.
I interviewed the black actor David Harewood recently – he does a lot of programmes about race for the BBC – and he said he doesn’t look at his phone now before midday now. When he switches on Twitter there’ll be 20 messages saying he’s a black bastard and then his day’s ruined. So he either doesn’t look, or he leaves it until very late in the day. I’m kind of getting to that stage now.
KP: Do you think you get it worse because you’re British South-Asian and talking about Empire?
SS: Yeah, because not only is Empire a proxy for a debate about race … the imperial story has always been taught and told by white men. It’s always been a man of a certain age on BBC2 getting off a railway carriage in India talking about the gift that the British Empire gave the Indians. And it’s only now that we have brown people telling the story. So, we have David Olusoga, who gets much more crap than me. You have quite a few brown voices suddenly piping up and it’s a bit like that saying, ‘when you’re used to privilege, equality feels like oppression.’ People are so used to the white version of events having brown people tell the story and observe negative things feels like an attack on them personally, which is why you get such a vicious response.
KP: You’ve also got people like Corinne Fowler, who works for the National Trust, who has done very good historical research into the history of some of their houses, who gets a lot of stuff on Twitter as well. On the face of it, the National Trust researching its past shouldn’t be such a kind of flashpoint. It’s so raw for us to even talk about sensibly, isn’t it?
SS: That’s because the narrative is suddenly in the hands of the other side. But also, it’s been weaponised. You’ve got Conservative ministers writing columns saying: ‘this is disgusting.’ You’ve got the Chair of the Charity Commission saying that the National Trust needs to be investigated for the crime of publishing academic research. If someone else had said that they’d be calling it cancel culture because what they’re doing, essentially, is saying ‘we don’t like the conclusions of this research and we want it cancelled, please. I mean there’re just being total snowflakes. And I can’t wait for the day when our new Free Speech Czar takes on the ministers who are encouraging the cancellation of all this academic research. It’s a culture war, basically. The Empire is one of the most vicious of culture wars.
KP: Do you think that atonement needs to happen for what happened during Empire? And, if so, what does that look like?
SS: There is an active debate in America about reparations for slavery. But we’re nowhere near that. In Britain we’re still having a conversation about whether racism exists. I meet people all the time who are journalists and ask me ‘racism doesn’t actually exist, does it? You haven’t experienced any racism, have you, Sathnam?’ And this is a very popular view. How do you go from that to talking about reparations?
What we need to do is to understand our history. Without feeling positive or negative. Get rid of the shame. Get rid of the pride. Let’s just face the facts. And have an argument about what actually happened.
KP: It’s quite telling …what does it say about us as a country that we can’t do that? Empire shaped so much about modern Britain. How is it possible?
SS: Neil McGregor (no snowflake – he was the head of the British Museum, right?) famously said, ‘the Germans look at their history to understand themselves; the British look at themselves and they want comfort.’ I think that gets to the heart of it. We want to be comforted by history and that is dangerous because all sorts of crazy stuff happens.
This is why we’ve got to get rid of the emotion to do with history and understand what academic discipline of history actually is: which is, facts and argument. It’s not feelings. And it’s not bloody statues either. Cause, you know what? There’s this idea that by tearing down statues you’re deleting history. The history of Nazism wasn’t deleted by tearing down Adolf Hitler’s statue. So there’s a lot of dysfunctional modes of thought out there with history.
KP: William Dalrymple’s talked about the Museum of Colonialism. Is that something that you think is useful for our country in trying to come to terms with its past?
SS: When it comes to statues, I like the idea that we have a national day, you know like the Spanish, they throw tomatoes at stutues once a year. We should do the same. The people who hate the statues should throw tomatoes. The people who love them can celebrate them like they’re doing already. The statue thing distracts us from the real issues.
What matters more is that racism is caused by colonialism. That multiculturalism is a result of it. Those are much more serious things. This obsession with statues is a massive distraction. But I don’t want to object to a Museum of Colonialism. It’s not a bad idea. What we need more, though, is something we half-have, which is a Museum of Migration. Because our country is, like all islands, made up of migrants, and if we could understand that, as a nation, we could solve a lot of our problems.
KP: You talk in the book about things like the looting that took place in Madullah (?), the artefacts that are now in the V&A and the British Museum. As you know, the national museums cannot give these things back. They can only be given back on long loan. Manchester Museum, for example, has given back some Aboriginal artefacts. Are you in favour of that? Is that part of atonement?
SS: Absolutely. There’s an idea that if we start giving things back our museums will be empty. And that’s simply not true, mainly because the British Museum only has 1% of its artefacts on display. Even if it gives away 2%, that leaves a lot of stuff it can still display. If we start repatriating items, what you have is amazing scholarship, right? You have amazing exhibitions and you also improve your relationships with the rest of the world.
Because the odd thing is that even though we don’t see ourselves as the country of British Empire, the rest of the world, I think, does. In India they are very aware that our crown jewels contain the Koh-noor diamond, which came from the Sikh Empire. People generally see the British as a country which had an Empire. That’s why you see the British baddies in Hollywood films because they find it very easy to see us as evil. But we don’t. We see ourselves as the good guys, the country that won World War II and beat Adolf Hitler.
KP: If we’re so proud of Empire, why don’t we talk about it? If the Empire was a good thing, as the rationale goes, why on earth don’t we talk about it?
SS: This is another one of the profound contradictions. You’ve got loads of public figures now who are wilfully nostalgic for Empire. And I’m, like, ok then, if you’re really proud of Empire why don’t you join one of these many, many campaigns to promote a better teaching of it in our schools. And they don’t. It’s very revealing. If you’re so proud of it, why don’t you want it to be taught? You’ve got to the heart of one of the weirdest things about us. It’s very strange.
KP: Do you think in our lifetime we will see Empire being talked about in a way that isn’t so angst-ridden?
SS: That’s a good question. It’s going to take a bloody long time. I’m encouraged, despite the last few weeks, because I’ve got a real minister reading my book. He emailed me the other day. Savid Javid’s reading it. Baroness Warsi’s reading it. I got a message from our British ambassador for India – he’s reading it. It makes me think that maybe people are thinking about it on a leadership level.
But I don’t know how you solve our culture war because they seem to be entrenching. The columns that are being written: we had Oliver Dowden this week calling in the heritage organisations to lecture them, saying ‘you must not respond to woke people. Remember that we give you some of your funding’. And that feels like this game has been taken up a notch and the culture war is deepening.
So I have mixed feelings. I feel hopeful from the messages I’m getting from teachers and certain politicians. At the same time I feel utter despair reading what I read in the newspapers.
KP: Are you going to tell us who the minister is?
SS: I’m not going to, but it’s incredibly surprising. The only thing more surprising would be if Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg were reading it. It’s the second most surprising after that …
KP: Do you think they’re passing it round the Cabinet table?
SS: No. But I’ve got hope in Sajid. And I’ve got hope in Rishi as well. I think about Rishi quite a lot.
KP: Yeah, me too, actually.
SS: It’s partly ‘cause we don’t really know him. He could be terrible. So we’re just projecting our feelings onto him. He has to look at the statue of Lord Clive every day. Lord Clive was a man who hated Indians. He said he didn’t have a single happy day in the country. When he killed himself he was said, by Samuel Johnson, to have done it because he was so full of shame for what he’d done to India. When that statue went up the Viceroy of India said it was needlessly provocative. He looks at that statue every day of his life. And I wonder whether he thinks about the historical issues.
KP: You need to send him a copy of his book, don’t you?
SS: He can read it as he drinks from his £180 mug.
KP: In his expensive top. Just finally, Sathnam, the ebbs and flows of these things, we are now in the heart of a culture war. Can we, will we ever talk about Empire and it not be part of the culture war? Do you see this as a moment in our history, a post-Brexit moment or part of the Brexit moment? Will this pass? Do you feel it’s aligned to a particular government? Or do you think it’s deeply fundamental to who we are?
SS: We’re not the only country dealing with it, although we have the worst case of it. In India there’s a very similar thing happening with the BJP Party, railing against historians for being unpatriotic. Almost at the stage of burning books, which is, I think, the stage we are at now. And you have it in America too, in Donald Trump and the way they see the history of the Civil War.
So we’re not alone. There’s a greater movement of nationalism bringing up this history and it does fill me with despair. But, again, it’s the younger generation … the culture they produce. A film like Black Panther that is the 9th most popular film ever made – it’s so radical in what it says about race and Empire and colonialism. It gives me hope that a popular movement for greater understanding is possible.
KP: We talk so much about Empire being divisive, the teaching of Empire can also be the opposite. It can actually bring us together because we see how, for our families and British families, our history is absolutely connected and goes back hundreds of years. So actually, it’s quite important for a cohesive society, you could argue.
SS: Totally. A lot of people ask me, ‘did this 4 years of research make you hate Britain?’ I say, no, it’s given me a deeper sense of myself and this country. I’ve learned that the Sikhs took the British side during the Mutiny. That they fought in huge numbers in both world wars. I’ve learned that they travel across Empire when given the opportunity. It makes me feel more deeply entrenched in this country than I did before. And that’s why I think understanding this history is not just important for brown people. It’s important for all Britons to have a healthy understanding of why we’re a multicultural society.
Questions from the audience
KP: Everyone wants to know the name of the minister …
SS: You could work it out if you know the biographical details of where I’m from. I’ll leave it at that.
KP: This from Joe: Does entrenched national identity inevitably breed racism?
SS: No, I don’t think so. The point in my life at which I felt proud to be British was the 2012 Olympics. And there’s an argument that that depiction of Britain as a diverse cosmopolitan society made people so angry that we had Brexit. I think Jonathan Coe basically makes that argument in his book, Middle England. They’ve been times in recent history when I’ve felt proudly patriotic and it hasn’t been about racism.
KP: Ruth asks: can we become an anti-racist society without understanding Empire? And if not, how can we enable entire generations to learn more?
SS: In my book I argue that you need to understand Empire to understand racism. It’s not just in this country. Around the time of the Black Lives Matter marches, I turned on the News at 10, and there was a 10-minute report about how the British Empire caused the racism in America. I said, ‘what the hell?’ Because obviously they’d introduced their ideas of race to America. So you could argue it spreads much beyond Britain. And I’ve now forgotten your question …
Yeah, well they are learning, like I said, the teachers … another positive thing I’ve experienced is that I thought that the generation above us were beyond hope, that they had their established ideas. But they’re not. I had so many messages from people older than me saying, ‘you know what, I didn’t know anything about this. It has completely changed my mind’. And so you’re never too old to learn.
KP: Leila asks, ‘can you speak to the connection between the need for development assistance and the relationship to Empire?’
SS: I don’t know much about that apart from the way it’s played out in popular culture, so with Comic Relief, the ‘white saviour’ thing. And there was that massive controversy when Stacey Dooley was filmed going to Africa and cuddling a black baby. Why is she regarded as racist for doing that? Ultimately, Comic Relief concluded that they weren’t going to do that anymore. I think that’s a healthy thing.
When you look back at Band Aid now it’s unbelievable, isn’t it? The assumption … the lyrics of Band Aid are incredible, the white saviour act. I think there’s elements of imperialism in the way the voluntary sector works. And definitely in the way in which foreign correspond journalism works. I was on the FT and they had a massive cultural thing, the way foreign correspondents behaved in Africa and India went back to Empire. There’s a whole proxy type of society.
KP: Question from Jan: ‘why do we need to be the best at everything?’
SS: Yeah, that’s my point about exceptionalism – why do we need to be best? I think it’s a deep-seated psychological response to the fact that we were the best. In the book I also go on about an idea that co-exists with that – heroic failure. Even though we’ve got a good case for saying we’re the most successful nation in human history, we also have this tendency to celebrate our failures. So we obsess about Gallipoli, Passchendale. Our football song has a lyric about ’30 years of hurt’. We like to dwell on the times we’ve failed. Fintan O’Toole has written a whole book on this called Heroic Failures. And why is that? One of my theories is that we can’t face up to what we did, it’s A too big and B too painful. So it’s much easier to think of the time when we screwed up and we failed nobly.
KP: You say that, but there were a lot of people who were running the Empire – they’re dead. It’s a long time ago.
SS: But it’s also painful to remember that you lost something, isn’t it?. We were the greatest Empire in human history and now we don’t have it. If that was a person you’d be in deep therapy for the rest of your life.
KP: We’re in the therapy bit right now, aren’t we?
SS: well yeah, involuntary therapy with you and me, but …
KP: Not us, but as a nation.
SS: It’s the weirdest form of therapy, but I suppose so. But yeah, that’s quite a thing to get your head around. What the hell happened, man? We were the largest Empire in history and look at us now! Christ!
KP: Prathima asks: ‘Is development assistance a means of atonement or reparation?”
SS: I’m not sure I can answer that, but I do go into this in the book, in the sense that we have an incredible history in terms of our foreign policy and our involvement in development around the world, which I think goes back to Empire too. And it’s not always bad, in the way that Empire wasn’t always bad. It’s complicated, isn’t it?
But you could say that the other side of that is getting involved in certain wars, like Iraq and Afghanistan, that we shouldn’t be getting involved in given that we’re a tiny island nation off Europe.
KP: Sinead asks: ‘what are your thoughts on the Commonwealth and monarchy?’
SS: It did take over from the Empire. We had something called Empire Day which celebrated Empire and kids were given half a day off school. It was replaced by Commonwealth Day, which is still celebrated, interestingly. And I’ve had people write to me asking if the Empire was so bad, why were all these countries asking to join the Commonwealth? Well, when they signed up I don’t think they were agreeing to the same thing … Britain made and effort to make sure they weren’t signing up to Empire 2.0.
KP: Mark has a good question: ‘are we, as a nation, just too steeped in grandiosity and hubris? And can we learn to be more humble and kinder?’
SS: Well, we’ve got the problem of Brexit … but I do argue, in a weird kind of way, that Brexit is going to force us to go out into the world. It’s going to force us to have new relationships with India, with African countries and America. And I think what we’re gonna have to learn, possibly painfully, is we’re not viewed the way we think we are. And maybe that experience is going to force us to be more humble. So, maybe, in and inadvertent way, Brexit is going to lead to that humbler and kinder person. We can dream.
KP: Kenneth asks, ‘do you think the lack of understanding about Empire has fed into Western ignorance about Islamic fundamentalism and Islamic culture, which contributes to huge problems with relations with that region today?’
SS: I don’t really know enough about Islam and Muslims and I feel I’m not qualified. But the question about culture is very interesting because one of the most powerful books I read was Edward Said’s book, Orientalism, and that was one of the biggest moments for me, writing the book: it was realising that I had been colonised. That even though I supposedly had this brilliant education, I’d been taught to prize the western novel, the western film over Bollywood, English over Punjabi – that my entire view of the world, because of my education, was western. And I was designed to look down on my culture and anything I knew about India came through Western writers. That was an amazing moment for me, to realise I’d been colonised. I was a bit sceptical about that idea of decolonising curriculums and decolonising your mind. But it’s a thing. It’s a real bloody thing. So, yes, is the answer to that question.
KP: Joe cites you saying you can’t apply modern ethics to the past. How do you reconcile racism and morality? Where do you draw the line?
SS: It’s hard when you’re reading all this stuff not to apply ethics and not to feel shame. But we’ve got to fight it, otherwise we end up in the situation we’re in now where you’ve got a bunch of people screaming at each other, saying ‘I’m proud to be British,’ or ‘I’m ashamed of being British’. And it makes no sense. And it gets us absolutely nowhere.
Hopefully what I have done in the book is to approach all of these difficult subjects with a certain amount of intellectual dispassion. And it’s hard. I had to teach myself. There were times when I felt physically sick. But I forced myself to read lots of stuff that I knew that I wouldn’t agree with. And I think we need to rediscover the ability to tolerate viewpoints we aren’t going to agree with.
Jan Morris is one of those. I quote her more than anyone else. I don’t agree with her. I think she’s insanely nostalgic about Empire, but equally I would recommend her book, Trilogy, as the best single thing you could read on Empire.
Because I think people are intelligent. You can read those books and still learn a lot, filter nostalgia. People have brains. People can read things that we might find difficult. And not just read stuff that reinforces your point of view or your prejudices.
KP: To what extent is amnesia about the Empire driven by the desire to think of ourselves as the plucky underdog facing down bullies in Europe?
SS: This idea of the underdog goes into that idea of heroic failure, that basically we’re England playing Germany yet again in the semi-finals: that’s the way we like to see ourselves, isn’t it? … You see it in someone like Lewis Hamilton when he races – he likes to think of himself as the underdog ‘cause it helps him win. If he feels like the world is against him it focuses his mind and then he wins, even though he’s been world champion for 7 years. I think something similar might be going on for us.
KP: If there’s one thing that you want people to take from your book, what is it?
SS: Apart from the balance sheet and reading things you disagree with, I think mainly it’s the balance sheet – getting rid of that view of Empire. Even people who understand it’s ridiculous keep coming back to it. … History is not a cuddly toy you bought on Amazon that you’re going to give a 5-star rating to. It’s much more complex. So, if people accept the complexity, then we’re on the way somewhere.
Also, read Partition Voices by Kavita Puri because it’s a brilliant book. She’s too self-deprecating to talk about it but it’s doing such important work on a forgotten history. And that, also, is dealing with the remnants of Empire. So read her book, it’s incredible.
This quietly gripping Irish revenge drama has an austere beauty and power. Crisp photography and a Greek chorus score complement a spare script and committed performances to produce something special. Rose Plays Julie might be about rape and its damage, but directors Christine Molloy and Joe Lawlor have created a film with its own elegant ambience: a small gem of ‘European cinema’.
When student vet Rose (Ann Skelly) decides to contact Ellen (Orla Brady), the birth mother who gave her up for adoption she eventually learns the truth about her conception. The two women become close, and while Ellen still cannot bring herself to say out loud the name of Rose’s father, her daughter is determined to confront him: “doesn’t it bother you that he’s out there, acting as if nothing happened?”
Rose puts on a wig and ‘plays Julie’ – her original birthname. She tracks down Peter (Aidan Gillen, adding another charming bastard to his rogues’ gallery CV), now a successful archaeologist and author, and volunteers for one of his digs, keen to further excavate her own past and find out what kind of man her father really is.
Skelly’s composed coolness is mirrored by the film’s interiors. Even when full of students Rose’s college lecture theatres, library and refectory are clinical and inert, coldly beautiful as compositions. The same goes for the outdoor scenes, such as the curious image of Ellen standing in the middle of a tennis court in a white bathrobe, the net down.
A sense of dread is created by a sparse score that becomes louder and more insistent as Rose’s passion is unleashed. Composer Stephen McKeon wrote the music as a Greek chorus, as if the gods are watching on, murmuring and chanting their disapproval. At other times we hear a repeated refrain that sounds like the first few notes from the original Star Trek. Was this intentional, as if to herald Rose’s journey into the unknown?
The film builds to an extraordinary showdown, one which is as compelling as any Mexican standoff yet is confined to the inside of a car. If you’re expecting Hollywood pyrotechnics, you’ll be disappointed, but the ending feels satisfying and psychologically true.
In an online Q & A session for the 2020 Amplify film festival director Molloy explained that they wanted to explore a female-focussed story: “we’re interested in belonging, how we define ourselves … our changing identities, the masks we wear. We wanted to take out the clutter around rape stories (did he do it? etc..) so we could focus on it.”
Actress Orla Brady praised the truth of the script: “everyone’s striving to create strong female characters but sometimes they’re shouting and strident. What I loved about this film was that these people did have their strengths and their huge vulnerabilities.”
Joe Lawlor said that Rose Plays Julie was deliberately provocative, challenging the audience to think of what they might do in a similar situation. It was “not social realism or a highly poetic film … more a European form of vision.”
AMPLIFY! offered a cosmopolitan menu of feature films and documentaries to nourish the soul: this collaboration between FilmBath, Cinecity (Brighton) and Cambridge and Cornwall Film Festivals took viewers out of their Netflix comfort zone into the quirky joys of world cinema. With my 10-film pass I chose films from Ethiopia, Mongolia, Czech Republic, Spain, Belgium, Germany, Chile, Mexico and Ireland.
Running Against the Wind is the first film I’ve seen in which the characters speak in Amharic, but its’ cinematic language is universal. With its stunning Ethiopian landscapes and cityscapes this is a heart-warming coming-of-age tale: two childhood ‘brothers’ who run together for fun meet again years later after following very different paths.
The stark mountains and plains of Mongolia provide the backdrop to Veins of the World, another bittersweet rites-of-passage tale. As his family struggle to hold onto their home and way of life in the face of bereavement and a greedy gold-mining company, young Amra tries to hold things together. Chosen to appear on Mongolia’s Got Talent, he sings Golden Veins, a traditional folk song which becomes an anthem to his homeland.
The Mole Agent (El Agente Topo) will resonate with everyone, especially those whose loved-ones are in a care-home. The premise of this Chilean documentary is a private detective’s investigation into the possible neglect of a client’s mother. It starts with an audition for the titular undercover spy in which assorted octogenarian volunteers are baffled by the workings of a mobile phone. Dapper and gentle widow Sergio Chamy gets the job and we wonder what grim abuse he might discover. But as he touches the lives of the care-home’s residents the film becomes a moving and deeply human meditation on friendship, old age and loneliness.
By contrast, Caught in the Net (V síti) exposes real life online sexual predators. In this shocking and disturbing Czech doc three adult actresses pose as 12 year-olds with Skype accounts. Over the 10 days of filming they are contacted by 2,500 men, most of whom want to use them as sex aids. After a jarring parade of pixelated penises we marvel at the actresses’ ability to stay in character. These encounters boggle the mind with their casual depravity.
The filmmakers disguise the predators by masking their faces, with only the eyes in focus. This has the effect of making them look like sickly bogeymen from a horror film. There is, though, one exception, a young man who is like a beacon of light in the gloom, contacting girls to warn them about the dangers of talking to online strangers.
Were kids happier before the internet? In Las Niñas (Schoolgirls) we learn that Spanish convent girls in 1992 had quite enough to worry about without all this techno torment. And those teenagers with old fashioned hobbies such as violin-playing don’t get much joy either. In The Audition (Das Vorspiel, Germany) a talented young musician is mentored by a music-teacher, whose relationship with her own son becomes toxic. The directors in these films aren’t afraid to use silence to create atmosphere and show character.
This European sensibility is also on show in Rose Plays Julie (Ireland), a slow-burn psychological revenge drama elevated by luminous cinematography and a Greek-chorus score. Ann Skelly is haunting in the main role and Aiden Gillan adds another ‘charming bastard’ to his rogues gallery CV.
Waxworks (Das Wachsfigurenkabinett) has been called the first portmanteau horror film, in which three tales are told via a framing device, paving the way for such anthology films as Dead of Night (1945), Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors (1965) and Tales from the Crypt (1972).
Showing as part of the online Cambridge Film Festival in a digitally recombined and restored version, this silent German Expressionist classic is more fantasy than horror. Waxworks does not have the eerie power of The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, the 1919 trailblazer that featured similar sets and one of the same actors (Conrad Veidt), but it is more obviously aimed at entertaining its audience, with memorable star performances, flamboyant production design, striking technical effects and humour.
The film opens with a writer (William Dieterle) visiting a funfair, where he accepts a job offer from a waxworks showman to write stories about three of his exhibits: Harun Al-Rashid (Emil Jannings), Ivan the Terrible (Conrad Veidt) and Jack the Ripper (Werner Krauss).
His first story transports us to the world of the Arabian Nights, in which Harun, the Capliph of Baghdad falls in lust with a baker’s wife (Olga Belajeff) and attempts to bed her while her husband (Dieterle) is on a mission to prove his manhood by stealing Harun’s wishing-ring.
In his introduction to Waxworks, composer and silent film accompanist Neil Brand claims that the film was a groundbreaker when it came to sex. The sensuous and alluring Belajeff admires herself in a mirror, provoking her baker husband to cup her breasts with his dough-kneading hands. “Your lack of clothes does not disturb me in the least,” Harun tells her later (via the English version’s titles), “my casket of honey.”
There are curves everywhere, from slipper-toes to the sickle-moon peaks of Baghdad’s buildings – pizza-oven mounds which, as Brand points out, reflect the Caliph’s fat body. His snake-charmer’s basket of a turban befits the ego of a man who has a different wife for every night of the year. And the climactic chase through Dali-esque tunnels and holes feels like we are inside some enormous organism.
Desert mounds become the onion domes of Moscow’s Kremlin in Waxworks’ second story, as the film’s mood changes from fairy-tale to nightmare. It features a chilling performance from Conrad Veidt as the sadistic Ivan the Terrible, whose mad staring eyes are like those of Rasputin. ‘Ivan was a blood-crazed monster on a throne,’ read the writer’s words, ‘who turned cities into cemeteries. His crown was a tiara of mouldering bones, his sceptre an axe. ‘His council-room was a torture chamber, with the Devil and Death as chief ministers.’
Waxworks’ last Jack the Ripper (or Spring-heeled Jack) segment is only six minutes long, but director Paul Leni crams it with visual effects such as superimposed images and ghostlike hologram characters, as a knife-wielding killer (Krauss) pursues the writer and his girl through wonky scenery and zigzag shadows. It all feels a bit rushed but reflects the fact that Leni ran out of time and money and had to drop a story in the script about the film’s fourth waxwork, Rinaldo Rinaldini, the Robber Captain.
Rubika Shah’s timely documentary tells the story of the Rock Against Racism movement in 1970s Britain. As a time capsule it is fascinating and frightening. These were ‘dark and hard’ times in which the National Front ‘kicked their way into the headlines’ with their skinhead following and won votes with their promise to repatriate the ‘wogs’ and ‘coons.’ RAR began as an antidote to this ‘racist poison’ whose job was ‘to peel away the union jack and reveal the swastika.’
Film footage from the time seems like ancient history, but the historical echoes are hard to miss, with institutional police racism and brutality rife. Director Shah also nudges us to see explicit links between the NF and the Brexit movement. The inspiration for ‘Take Back Control’ sovereignty could be a banner seen behind the NF leaders: ‘IT’S OUR COUNTRY. LET’S WIN IT BACK’.
And looking at dough-faced Martin Webster and his awful goons, it’s hard not to think of our current shitshow of Leave-supporting loons. By contrast, the optimism and good humour of ordinary young music fans attending 1978’s ‘Carnival against the Nazis’ feels like a ray of sunshine, reminiscent of 2019’s EU marches.
Also uplifting in all this is the rebel music of the era and the courage of grassroots activists like RAR founders Red Saunders, Roger Huddle, Jo Wreford, Pete Bruno and others. In a world without social media, mobiles or computers a group of like-minded music fans managed to mobilise hundreds of thousands of other music fans against racism. They politicised the punk generation at a crucial time when many bands, such as Sham 69, had racist followers. As someone in the film says, ‘punk could have gone either way.’
Rock Against Racism was sparked by the anger felt by Saunders after Eric Clapton drunkenly pledged his support for Enoch Powell during a Birmingham concert in 1976. Also making fascist noises at the time: David Bowie and Rod Stewart. White Riot shows how, via a letter published in the NME, Saunders and co started a movement, organising multi-racial gigs in London which eventually spread nationwide. Sample slogan: Black and white unite and fight! They published a revolutionary fanzine, Temporary Hoardings, which ran for five years.
The film often adopts punk’s DIY cut-and-paste visual style, with rapid-fire collages of art, photos and clips. But it is a serious and sober documentary. It gave me the shivers, but not in the way I was hoping for. As a teenager who went to many RAR gigs in Cambridge (The Ruts, Misty in Roots, The Pop Group, Patrik Fitzgerald etc.) I expected spine-tingling concert footage, perhaps unearthed in recent years. But music-wise White Riot was something of a disappointment. This is probably down to licensing constraints. It felt like the usual suspects, clips we’ve all seen before in many music docs. The Clash and Jimmy Pursey doing White Riot at the 1978 Victoria Park carnival felt a bit panto at the time.
Perhaps, though, Rubika Shah’s film is right to downplay its musical content; RAR’s moral and political cause is more important here. Among the many talking heads is producer and musician Dennis Bovell, then member of reggae band Matumbi, who describes what it felt like to be black in London in the late 70s: ‘you were warned by your parents not to stay out after 10 o’clock. The police could arrest you for being black.’ He explained that he was imprisoned for 6 months in Wormwood Scrubs for a crime he did not commit. Black and Asian kids had to go to school in groups for fear of getting beaten up and spat at.
This was a time when some of mainstream British popular culture was overtly racist: The Black & White Minstrel Show and Love Thy Neighbour (‘a nig-nog moved in next door’) were on primetime telly. According to an inside source, ‘you wouldn’t believe the amount of senior policemen who support the National Front.’ No surprise, then, that there were riots in places like Lewisham when the NF tried to march through it and met with massive resistance. Red Saunders: ‘This was a gang of street thugs out to terrify you. The campaign was life and death for many people.’
In Christopher Nolan’s time-bending, mind-boggling blockbuster the director is in playful mood, peppering the script with sly messages to the audience. “Don’t try and understand it,” says one character early in the film. “I don’t understand it,” says another later, “it’s backwards.”
“Does your head hurt yet? asks Neil (Robert Pattinson) after some indigestible explanation of events. “Yes,” replies the Protagonist (John David Washington) and most of the befuddled audience. In other words, don’t bother trying to keep up with Tenet’s plot. Just buckle up and enjoy the thrilling ride.
In fact, the whole plot could be one big McGuffin, one of Hitchcock’s fabricated but meaningless props to get from A to B. Where is Nolan taking us? He is playing with the concept of time and the outer limits of what cinema can conjure for its audience. “James Bond on acid,” as someone has described Tenet, is only half-right. Its’ muted colour palette and corporate mood is the opposite of psychedelic. But the spirit of Disney’s sorcerer’s apprentice is evident in the fun Nolan has opening his Pandora’s box of technical tricks.
In an opening sequence that will delight those who are tone-deaf to classical music a gang of masked terrorists attack Kiev National Opera House and smash up the orchestra’s instruments. They fight a running battle with guards, who include our unnamed Protagonist. He is caught and tortured before swallowing an odd-looking round metal pill.
Waking up on a ship off the coast of Oslo, he is told by his handlers (who include Pattinson) that he is now working for a secret organisation called ‘Tenet’, whose mission is to save the world from “something worse” than a nuclear holocaust. Like Bond, the Protagonist is shown futuristic gadgets and whisked around the world, from Talinn to Vietnam and Mumbai, via Italy’s Amalfi coast. He bungee jumps off skyscrapers, has some brutally exciting fights and is involved in magnificent car chases.
There’s also a statuesque blonde (Elizabeth Debicki from The Night Manager) and a dastardly villain, the Ukrainian Sator (Kenneth Branagh), who describes matter-of-factly what his men are going to do with the Protagonist’s balls: “It’s very gratifying to watch a man you don’t like try to pull his own balls out of his throat before he chokes.” Branagh is electrifying here, playing against type; any ‘luvvie’-ness has gone the same way the afore-mentioned testicles. Imagine what Charlie Brooker will look when he delivers his verdict on 2020 at the end of the year: that’s how intense and angry Branagh is here.
There’s plenty to enjoy and admire in Tenet. The wonderful John David Washington is still “as fresh as a daisy” here after his breakthrough performance in BlacKkKlansman. ‘Dressed’ by Michael Caine’s city gent, he looks effortlessly cool in a posh suit. But even Washington’s deadpan delivery of some long-winded explanatory dialogue (there’s quite a lot of this in Tenet) can’t quite stop us scratching our heads or yawning. The film does go on a bit; two hours would have been enough and the repetitious tedium of the massed battle at the end felt like watching Attack of the Clones.
For brainy puzzle-solvers, there is an algorithm, temporal inversions galore and the ‘grandfather paradox’ to keep your brain ticking like the clock in Dunkirk. If you pay attention Ludwig Göransson’s Zimmer-like score even contains reminders of those mythical ‘backwards’ messages alleged to be hidden in the run-out grooves of vinyl albums back in the late 60s/early 70s.
Invigorated by a new haircut and tattoo, Helen Macdonald was on sparkling form as she discussed her latest book, Vesper Flights, with author and journalist Patrick Barkham. Writer of the award-winning H is for Hawk, Macdonald is a also a poet, naturalist and historian of science. And, said Barkham, “a talented artist”, a TV presenter and a qualified falconer. A Renaissance woman, in other words, but one who wears her many talents lightly.
Macdonald is a fluent and engaging speaker, by turns funny, surprising, forensic and moving. During a warm conversation with Barkham we were made to forget that this was a virtual Zoom chat between someone in Suffolk and someone else in Norfolk. It felt instead like a proper literary event with an audience. The only thing missing was the applause.
Vesper Flights, said Barkham, was a collection of essays “that will delight” the reader with their “astonishing range,” from swifts to mushrooms, to woods in winter to the Empire State building. Its name comes from the Latin for evening, explained Macdonald: the term is used to describe swifts’ flights, in rising columns, to heights of up to 8,000 feet, “precisely at nautical twilight to orientate themselves. They can see clouds on the distant horizon 100 miles away.”
In the book Macdonald writes: “Swifts are my fable of community, teaching us about how to make right decisions in the face of oncoming bad weather, in the face of clouds that sit like dark rubble on our own horizon.” In order to work out what we’re doing next, she says, we need to follow suit – look further, call in the experts. But the point of Vesper Flights, “is not to be polemical, but to display the astonishing beauty of the world … to bear witness … and ask why we value some creatures and not others.”
Barkham and Macdonald bemoaned the staggering loss of diversity in the British countryside, where glow-worms were once an everyday sight and hedgerows were full of life. This was a loss of “emotional and imaginative worlds” as well as one of species and environment.
Barkham: “Your subject is love for the non-human life around us. Also, I thought, ‘air,’ – migration, travel, flight. One essay that struck me was the one about the Empire State building. Tell us a bit about that.”
Macdonald: “I went up there at night – it was a brief from the New York Times magazine on very high buildings. My mind was blown … there’s so much stuff up there … tons of insects in spring in the middle of the great migration. Through binoculars it was the most impossibly moving thing … birds up-lit by the lights of the tower like slow tracer fire, desperate will pulling these creatures onwards.”
Although she was not religious Macdonald said that the air granted “a sense of the divine … I’m drawn to little epiphanies in the natural world … there’s something else going on. The air is a very special place for me.”
PB: “What are DVCs?”
HM: “It’s a cars/law term – Deer Vehicle Collison. Deer always surprised me when I saw them … before, they were magical to me … we owe it to ourselves to know as much about a creature as possible. The stuff on YouTube is pretty grim … I was just watching animal death. My parrot came to give me a hug … I’m always impressed by deer hunters’ knowledge of the animals they kill.”
PB: “… like the position you take as a nature writer … you offer a more nuanced view. You’re interested in falconry … the tension between bird fanciers and birders.”
HM: “I find all nature fascinating … it’s not free of class or racism … the Romany community keep bred caged birds … a lot of what’s going on is about class … as usual it’s the elite that get away with it all … our class consciousness is imported into what we do with nature.”
PB: “Bird hides – the weird behaviour you get, the snobbishness. How to you feel, as a woman, entering these places? Do you feel patronised?”
HM: “I don’t care anymore … the judging relates to expertise, rather than gender … these spaces are very charged along the lines of expertise … it will always be like entering an ultimate cage fighting thing.”
PB: “You did a huge amount of touring with H is for Hawk …”
HM: “I’ve always been an introvert … on the big tour I met readers who had experience grief and dark times … it made me kind of love people in a much more honest, big way. I used to love the natural world more. Now I love them equally … it was a massive education into how to be a proper person from my readers.”
Before reading a second extract from Vesper Flights Macdonald introduced us to her 17 year-old parrot, Birdoole, who looked cuddly and even has his own Twitter account. But when interviewed on the Today programme earlier in the day, Macdonald had confided: “I have more scars from this parrot than I ever had from any bird of prey.”
Selected questions from the audience:
What is your next long book?
“Midway – it’s about mid-life and the end of the world. Specifically, it’s about Midway atoll, an ex-naval base 1500 miles from Hawaii where I went as a volunteer albatross counter … I’m very excited to start it … in Hawaiian folklore it’s a place where souls come from and return to … wings brush your face at night … it’s like being in the afterlife.”
Which winter migrants do you most welcome?
“Fieldfares. I love them. The rattling flocks … they smell of snow and fjords, carry the Arctic with them … weirdly skittish. And waxwings … unpredictable birds, you see them in rowan trees in car parks and it feels like they’re in the wrong place.”
Are you choosy about the TV programmes you take on?
“I don’t have time to do certain things. But the TV programme (BBC4’s The Hidden Wilds of the Motorway) has been a joy to me. Writing is a very lonely occupation … you miss working in a crew, like being in a musical group … working their asses off to get something made.”
Are you a fan of rewilding schemes?
“We need as much diverse life as possible wherever we can … we are so starved of hope.” Macdonald mentioned Knepp farm in West Sussex, where rewilding has happened very fast and there are now “clouds of butterflies” She cited Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, a .book about the world of botany as described and explored through Native American traditions. “What would it be like if we felt the world loved us back? Rewilding is part of that conversation. Yes, I’m a fan.”
How can we keep nature in the forefront of our minds?
“Hurricanes are directly linked to climate change, as are the storms in California, the lightning that causes wildfires. It’s hard to see individual events as connected to the climate emergency, but they are. We need to get our act in gear … get out there and start shouting.”
The love of nature felt by many during lockdown -how can we keep it up?
“Watching birds in the garden. Just sitting here and watching the natural world. We can take enormous solace from it. A spider over my oven with an egg sac – what’s life like for her? Do an exercise in your head, imagine yourself as something completely different. Lack of empathy is one of our great problems.”
Barkham admitted that Vesper Flights “brought me to tears reading it” and pointed out that “the subject that underlies everything you write is love and loss/grief.” Macdonald:“I had a twin brother who died just after I was born.”
“I discovered that if I held a falcon egg close to my mouth and made soft clucking noises, a chick that was ready to hatch would call back. Hello there! Hello new thing.”
This hugely enjoyable spy adventure feels like a sixties update of John Buchan’s ‘man-on-the-run’ classic The Thirty-Nine Steps – first-class escapism for our constricted times. I devoured it in a handful of sittings.
As in Buchan’s 1915 ‘shocker’ Lionel Davidson’s debut novel starts with a narrator who is bored with life in London before unfolding events test his appetite for excitement. As we might expect from a thriller set at the onset of the Swinging Sixties, there’s more sex in The Night of Wenceslas, more enlightened attitudes (none of the casual anti-semitism found in The Thirty-Nine Steps) and a giddy sense of emerging freedom.
Davidson’s crisp and witty prose style is a delight and his more colourful characters such as Vlasta, a voluptuous giantess with “bomb-like” breasts, anticipate Pussy Galore et al from Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels: “I watched her leave with a somewhat mixed and fearful anticipation. She was certainly a lot of girl.”
Just as Hitchcock added a female lead and sexual tension to his 1935 film version of The Thirty-Nine Steps, Davidson blows away the cobwebs of convention. His snowballing plot is alive with an intoxicating sense of new horizons, of hidden talents in his characters. Perhaps the most exhilarating part of reading The Night of Wenceslas is the transformation of feckless waster Nicolas Whistler into someone who can do stuff, a man of action, if not exactly an Action Man. If he can be brave, we think to ourselves, then maybe we can. Maybe we’re all better than we think.
In both books a secret message is of crucial importance. Scudder’s notebook contains a code that could avert a world war: Richard Hannay must stay free to fight for our freedom; he must outrun and outwit the British police and the German spies of the Black Stone. The stakes do not appear to be so high in The Night of Wenceslas: Nicolas Whistler ends up as an unlikely spy in Cold War Prague, the bearer of a cigarette paper with a formula written on it that might avert a nuclear war. He, too, is hunted down relentlessly by a shadowy organisation – the Czech state security police or SNB (Statni Narodni Bezpecnost).
Both protagonists are forced into situations where they must become quick-change artists. In The Thirty-Nine Steps Hannay dons the guise of a roadman; he also gives an election speech as a Liberal candidate. To evade the clutches of the SNB Whistler becomes a ‘parky’ sausage seller, later dressing up in Czech national costume after claiming a stranger’s clothes at a swimming bath. Both men disguise themselves as milkmen to escape enemy pursuers.
But Hannay and Whistler are very different characters, products of their time. The former is older, an ex-soldier and mining engineer in South Africa. He is a tough, worldly-wise, a professional adventurer. Whistler is a rather aimless and lazy boy-about-town who cares most about his MG sports car. Hannay’s quest is more obviously heroic, while Whistler’s nightmarish journey is mostly navigated and motivated via the instinct for self-preservation.
He might be selfish, but Davidson’s character is the more likeable, flawed hero. He’s droll and smarter than he thinks, and we enjoy his coming-of-age in The Night of Wenceslas. Whistler’s rebellious individualism feels like part of a cultural shift:
“It should be obvious I didn’t care about the formula. Why should I care about it with my life at stake? There was some great mass delusion in this insane country. They all thought alike. Maybe this was how their own nationals would behave. Hanging on at all costs to the formula, the slogan, the message, the chant.”
The times they are a-changin’: for Nicolas Whistler (and Lionel Davidson) the sixties’ counter-culture starts here.
Cambridge Literary Festival celebrated the culmination of Ali Smith’s Seasonal Quartet with an online ‘illustrated conversation in a lockdown landscape’ between Smith and journalist Alex Clark. We were promised a “unique event using images and voices, curated by Ali Smith and filmmaker Sarah Wood.”
Wood’s images, both moving and static, provided a restful backdrop to the literary chat. Switching between Cambridge and Kilkenny, Smith and Clark’s respective homes, the audience could browse their bookshelves and paintings before moving outside to admire their tomato plants and Smith’s sleepy black and white cat. A refreshing change from Zoom’s relentless in-your-faces.
“You’ve done it!” began Clark, “you’ve got to the end!” Smith said that when she began writing Autumn (published 2016) she was as unprepared as everyone else for the seismic shocks of Brexit and Covid 19 that would inform her four novels. But she remains hopeful: “the novel will always tend towards the humane.” Smith believes that all art forms are about internal and external renewal, that “the novel form, in particular, is about structure, consequence … continuance. It will always be about society, the ways we relate to each other over time.”
Smith read an extract from page 7 of Summer, in which Grace and her daughter Sacha argue over a quotation for a school essay: “Forgiveness is the only way to reverse the irreversible flow of history.” Sacha doesn’t much care who wrote it (Hannah Arendt) or that she got it from a website called ‘Brainy quote’, while her mother cares about attribution: “Context. It matters.”
Clark responds by asking “who do we trust? What is the voice of authority? Do you write something because it sounds good? How do you know what the truth is underneath?”
Smith said that she had a writer friend in Orkney who “shouts out each sentence, so that he gets the rhythm right. Rhythm is around us – the information-led madness whose rhythm is like a heartbeat way over the level … you need to calm down … you need a beta-blocker … Sacha is on her own rhythm, while her mother’s is not her own … a reflecting rhythm – with dialogue life starts to happen. As the short story writer Grace Paley said, the source of life is in that dialogue. There’s something excitingly electric about it. And we long for it.”
Clark: “You’ve written about isolation, aloneness, climate change … surveillance and you allude to all manner of arts across the centuries …”
Smith: “The unprecedentedness at this global level [of the pandemic] … has brought out divisions and hierarchies … who’s got the money to do anything, notions of political division are bristling away … the number of people who are losing their lives … this is a really nasty virus [but also] a complex gift from nature … the clear skies of the lockdown showed that if we needed to change things, they could be changed.”
“Writing at the end of January, something wasn’t quite gelling … then this. It’s about understanding that there is a rhythm happening beyond this time. And if we listen back we can hear the rhythm of the future too.”
Clark: “We now talk about the ‘before times’ … the pandemic has created immense division. For example, over the liberty of wearing a mask. How far can these books go out into the world and show people what life is like?”
Smith: “I began this before Brexit was a word and I’ve ended it now Covid is a word. This novel continues to relate a story of a people at a time … it’s a very hopeful form … (there will be a time after) … allows you to open a stone and make the light come through it … it’s been an extraordinary revelation working with another shape.”
She read another extract from Summer: In the 1940s Daniel is taken off to an enemy alien camp on the Isle of Man, ‘the poor man’s Riviera.’ Through the wire he talks to a boy who doesn’t understand why he is there because he’s not a German. “A prison is always a prison, even in August when the sky is blue.”
Clark: “There are lots of artists in your books. Tell us a bit about Lorenza Mazzetti.”
Smith: “She was an Italian who came to London in the 1950s, part of the Free Cinema movement [with Lindsay Anderson, Karel Reisz and Tony Richardson] … She talked her way into the Slade School of Art by standing there and shouting ‘I’m not leaving until I see the Director. I want a place at this school because I’m a genius!’ The Director agreed and she got in … the first thing she did was find a cupboard full of filming materials and started making films. She hadn’t done this before … Her film Together won a prize at Cannes in 1956. Mazzetti was one of the mould-breaking Brit Postwar filmmakers.
She died this year. Have you heard of her? Almost no one has … she was also a painter and puppeteer … one of those people who breaks the mould. This book has the friendship of her images throughout.”
Clark: “You’re fascinated with makers of art …”
Smith: “None of the art forms exist without others; they flow into each other like a massive river … its’ source is such as giving source … I aspire to the point at which all art forms meet. No novel exists without previous writers … we constantly renew ourselves … the force of hope keeps us going.”
Clark: “This Quartet is an enormous achievement …”
Smith: “Thank you for shepherding me through it … we’ll do this again. We are human and we continue. I’m sending love to everyone out there now.”
Ali Smith finished by reading Clark’s favourite extract from Summer:
But that’s summer for you. Summer’s like walking down a road just like this one, heading towards both light and dark. Because summer isn’t just a merry tale. Because there’s no merry tale without the darkness.
And summer’s surely really all about an imagined end. We head for it instinctually like it must mean something. We’re always looking for it, looking to it, heading towards it all year, the way a horizon holds the promise of a sunset. We’re always looking for the full open leaf, the open warmth, the promise that we’ll one day soon surely be able to lie back and have summer done to us; one day soon we’ll be treated well by the world. Like there really is a kinder finale and it’s not just possible but assured, there’s a natural harmony that’ll be spread at your feet, unrolled like a sunlit landscape just for you. As if what it was always all about, your time on earth, was the full happy stretch of all the muscles of the body on a warmed patch of grass, one long sweet stem of that grass in the mouth.