27 Dresses

Following the rugby yesterday, I returned to town to visit the cinema. There is not a whole lot on at the moment, so my choice ended up being between Vantage Point and 27 Dresses. I had heard too much that was negative about the former, so the latter won out.

27 Dresses is a 'chick flick' or, a 'rom com' set in New York about Jane (Katherine Heigl), a woman who is the perpetual bridesmaid, but never the bride. This is not so much because she likes being a bridesmaid, rather that she cannot bring herself to say no when asked to fulfil that role. Naturally, being a romance, the film follows her journey from bridesmaid to bride.

The catalyst for this change is the return to N. Y. of Jane's glamorous sister, Tess, played by Malin Akerman. Jane is in love with her boss, George, played by Edward Burns. But her love is a secret known only to her. So it is, then, that after Tess walks back into Jane's life she meets George and immediately wins his heart and a proposal of marriage.

To make matters worse, Jane starts getting pestered by the wedding reporter (Kevin Doyle, played by James Marsden) for the local paper. When he discovers that Jane is the perpetual bridesmaid, his interests shifts from Jane and George's marriage preparations towards her. It leads to an embarrassing article on her in his paper and, of course, true love forever. It is a romantic comedy, after all.

As romantic comedies go, 27 Dresses is in the second division. Say what you like about Richard Curtis, but his stories have an air of internal consistency and believability about them. Take Notting Hill. It is, of course, a fairy tale. But the idea that Julia Roberts could walk into a bookshop and fall in love with the owner - why not. 27 Dresses' first problem is its lack of believability. It is quite possible for someone to go to so many weddings as a bridesmaid, but Jane's response to her sister's impending marriage is forced - I refer here to her jealous character assassination of Tess, which seems very out-of-character. Also forced is her own relationship with the reporter. At one point they are dancing to an Elton John song on a bar - literally - but this is not a showy film so that appears as being too stagy. Then, the relationship collapses following the printing of the article (published against Doyle's will by his editor in a deus ex machina moment). This introduces to the film an element of bitterness - reinforced with the strength of steel by Jane's character assassination of her sister - that is quite out of step with the mood of the film.

It is worth comparing this aspect of the film again with Notting Hill. The disaster moment of that film is the press pack's arrival at Hugh Grant's home the morning after he and Roberts have slept together. It is a wild moment with much shouting, confusion and anger. But it does not represent the first appearance of these themes. They are already present in the fabric of the story, for example, in the fact that one of Grant's friends is confined to a wheelchair following a simple accident; in the fact that that same friend cannot conceive; in the fact that another of his friends is a loser - and knows it - in his work; in Grant's - and Robert's - own circumstances of life etc. I would need to watch 27 Dresses again to try and pick up the nuances of the picture, but on first viewing I had no impression that -one or two belatedly revealed aspects of Tess and Jane's relationship aside - it was anything other than a syrupy romance.

As for that ending - if only the screen writer had learnt from Richard Curtis. Grant and Roberts' coming together at the press conference is dwelt upon allowing the audience good time to breath in the momentousness of the moment. In 27 Dresses, the coming together of Heigl and Marsden's characters is over far too hurriedly.

All-in-all, a disappointing film that failed to live up to the promise of its genre.

Quins Survive A 14 Count

Harlequins 15 Newcastle Falcons 9

How the Newcastle Falcons have played so badly as to end up in tenth place in the league this late in the season, I don't know; England stars Jonny Wilkinson, Matthew Tait and Toby Flood are all members of this team, as well as Carl Hayman, the former All-Black. But there they are, and if yesterday is anything to go by, the reason they are so low is because the team has not learned how to think. What other reason can there be for a team to insist on ploughing through the centre when playing a team down to fourteen men?

As it happened, the game started brightly for Newcastle. Just as Leicester Tigers did against Wasps in the last weekend's Anglo-Welsh Cup Semi Final, they pressured Quins from the start, forcing the home side onto the back foot. This period of pressure must have lasted for a good 15 or 20 minutes. But the only points that the Falcons came away with were three from the boot of Wilkinson.

Harlequins fought back immediately and soon equalled the score. Then, once the Newcastle pressure had been weathered, Adrian Jarvis put away another penalty to go 6 - 3 up. But for a missed penalty, it would have been nine.

It had been raining before the game and was quite breezy during it; rain fell again later, but this does not wholly account for the lack of tries in this game. It was, in that respect, a war of attrition between two sides not miles apart in their skill level unable to really break each other down. The vital difference between them, though, was that that the members of one side gel and those of the other didn't.

Before half time, Jarvis kicked two more penalties - 12 -6. Things were looking comfortable for Harlequins. Before the game, the club had left Quins flags in my stand and the fans had plenty of reason to wave them about. It wasn't a pretty game, much less a glorious one, but we had neutralised the Falcons threat and could be confident of ending it for good in the second half.

Fate, however, threatened to intervene. In the first half, Ugo Monye had had to go off injured. On in his place was De Wet Barry. With 24 minutes gone in the second half, Matthew Tait kicked upfield from the half way line. We followed the ball, only to hear the sound of Ooohs a second later. Tait was down. I heard a supporter near me say that he had been clothes lined by Barry. The medics rushed on, followed by the stretcher. The referee consulted with his touch judge and issued a red card. Such things are rare in rugby - being reserved for the most dangerous tackles - and was pulled out and put away with almost embarrassing speed. It was as if the referee was ashamed that he should have to show it at all. Rugby may be dirty sometimes, but never that dirty. Barry trotted off to the sound of boos and perhaps to watch tonight's WrestleMania contest. If his tackle was as bad as the effect of it was, that will probably be his last game for Harlequins this season.

As for Tait, he was laid out for several minutes. Fortunately, he recovered enough to stagger off the pitch. As he came towards the tunnel, I saw him glare at Barry and mutter imprecations at him. Alas, Tait has such a young face that if being savaged by Geoffrey Howe was like being attacked by a dead sheep, then being cursed by Tait is as threatening an experience as being attacked by a crippled lamb.

The Barry incident undeniably took the colour off Harlequins win. As for Newcastle, it can only be of great concern that despite being one man up for 21 minutes, they not only failed to take advantage, but had points scored against them. Harlequins played the best rugby at this time - perceiving that the best form of defence was attack. Attack and attack again they did and the Falcons never recovered.

So, following Leicester Tiger's loss to Wasps, Quins now move up to third place. That position should be cemented in two week's time when they go north to play Leeds Carnegie.

Alexander Obolensky

BBC On Line's On This Day feature reports that on this day in 1871, England played Scotland in the first rugby international. Scotland won. This reminds me of something I read the other day - England's greatest margin win over the All-Blacks was 13 - 0 in 1936. Two of the tries were scored by one Alexander Obolensky, a Russian Prince!

Wikipedia has a short article on him here.

The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency

I might not have done so otherwise, but Anthony Minghella's death last week ensured that I would watch his last work yesterday evening The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. In actual fact, I have also been watching his last film Breaking and Entering but more on that when I finish it.

The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency is based on the popular novels by Alexander McCall Smith. The title is fairly descriptive but does not say the half of what the books or T.V. adaptation are about. The lady detective in question is Precious Ramotswe and is No. 1 because, as it happens, she is the only lady detective in her home town of Gaborone in Botswana.

Having read the book over the weekend and watched the programme last night, I have to say that it was a real joy to read a happy story set in Africa. As good as Blood Diamond, Wah-Wah and The Constant Gardener were - and they were all very good - it has to be admitted that in one way or another, they were also very sad.

Further to the above, I should also add that it was also good to find a detective book/programme which isn't about murder most foul. In fact, The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency isn't too much about crime, either. It is rather a whimsical and affectionate look at life in Botswana. There are crimes and misdemeanours, but in neither book nor programme they do not get in the way of the characterisation of the principal players.

Mma Ramotswe was played excellently by Jill Scott, who Arathorn tells me is not an actress at all but a soul singer. She is 'traditionally built' and has a good eye for detail. A new character in the programme was the camp barber B. K., played by Desmond Dube. What was the need for him? I think Richard Curtis and Anthony Minghella must have wanted to downplay the loneliness of Mma Ramotswe's life in the book (which leads her to finally accept Mr J. L. B Matekoni's marriage proposal at the end of the book?) and highlight her community.

Commendations must also go to Anika Noni Rose who plays the highly wrought, but also highly efficient Mma Makutsi (97% success rate in her typing exam). Lucian Msamati as the shy J. L. B Matekoni also deserves a mention. As mentioned above, his (second) marriage proposal to Mma Ramotswe is accepted at the end of the book. Unfortunately, he was turned down last night. As The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency is going to be turned into a series next year, I suspect we will find this issue an ongoing matter.

Prior to reading the book, I had no idea where in Africa Botswana was let alone what kind of country it was. However, if there is any semblance of reality in the novel, it appears to be a peaceful one. But in a case involving witchcraft, McCall Smith does bring out its darker side, albeit in a gentle manner. That is replicated in the programme.

In terms of criticisms, I did feel that the programme was a little disjointed. Was it really wise to try and pack the whole of the book into a one and three quarter hour programme? Inevitably, whole story lines were missed out and those that made it through were distilled, not always successfully. Thus, some scenes were not explained very well, and if I had not already read the book I would have been left wondering 'what was that all about, then?'

Fortunately, I had read the book and I would certainly recommend it to you. And, should you come across the T.V. adaptation, that too. Learn about how Precious Ramotswe uncovers a fake daddy, kisses a man named Kremlin and makes a teacher cry (a wonderful scene in both book and film). You will not regret it!

Another Triumph Over The West

Bristol 15 Harlequins 28

A care for my wallet keeps me away from the away games these days. Easter may also have had an influence. As with a couple of weeks ago, I didn't listen to today's Quins match, either; however, that - I am ashamed to say - is more because I actually forgot it was on until the half time text score came through to my mobile phone. Blame Manchester United (and their excellent win over Liverpool).

BBC On-Line reports that Adrian Jarvis was sin binned. How can a fly half be sin binned? Perhaps for his own safety if the prop was bullying him. Anyway, it did not affect Harlequins and once Jarvis was back, we raced away to a win.

Harlequins are now in fourth place and in actual danger of qualifying for the end of season play-offs. Amazing. On on Quins!

Easter Day

At the Vigil Mass last night, the parish priest asked me if I would do one of the readings at this morning's Mass. That's fine, I said, I enjoy reading; it is a great privilege too.

Being a parish, of course, things do not always go smoothly.

When I arrived this morning, he (the parish priest) asked me to read the Second Reading (St. Paul's Letter to the Colloshians / Collos-ee-ans). So far, so good. He advised that a lady named Heather would do the first reading. I don't know her, but I said that was fine - I knew when to go up to the Sanctuary and I was sure she did too.

Well, maybe she did, but as matters turned out, she still went up somewhat earlier than I expected - while the parish priest was still reading the Opening Prayer. Thus, as I opened my eyes expecting to see someone move out of the pew as everyone else sat down, I saw her already at the ambo! So, what to do?

When I lived in Scotland, I acted as an altar server; the M.C. told me that if I made a mistake, I should just act like the Church has been doing it like that for the last 2000 years and nobody would notice. By-and-large, this turned out to be quite true.

So, when the choir got to the second of the three stanzas of the Responsorial Psalm, I strode purposefully up to the Sanctuary and joined Heather. There was just enough time for us to exchange a quick word, in case she was wondering what on earth I was doing!

The reading went fine. But, as I returned to my seat, afterwards, I found that it appeared to have gone missing! How does that happen? Well, let's say you are sitting at the end of a pew, get up for a few moments and someone sits down in your place - that's how it goes missing. Thankfully, by luck or providence, I stopped to look for my not-so-missing seat right next to it. If I had gone a pew or two further on my poor coat would have been lonely for the rest of the Mass.

As for the Mass itself, we had professional singers singing music by Haydn and Mozart. They were very good indeed. The accompaniment, however, was a piano, which gave the singing the feel of a recital. There were four or five singers - perhaps the organ would have been too loud for them?

No eucharistic ministers burned themselves this morning. I noticed that the candles now had protectors round them. While eucharistic ministering, I also saw two baskets full of Cadbury's Easter eggs in the Sanctuary. Hallo, I thought, it looks like we will get something nice when we leave the church today. Alas, no. They were for children to collect at the end of Mass. Oh, to be young again!

Easter Vigil Mass

At the Vigil Mass last night, we had Bishop Bernard Longley carry out the baptisms and confirmations. He has a perfect fireside voice, although I would describe it as a cross between John Major's and Fr. Michael Seed's. I suppose everyone knows who the former is. The latter, for those who do not know, is a priest at Westminster Cathedral who has a quite high pitched voice.

The Vigil Mass is always a joy to attend. It is good to see those who are entering the Church; to pray for them. And there is nothing more beautiful than looking around the church as the candles are passed from one to another and lit up. With that said, as I look out into the garden while writing this, it is snowing quite heavily - also a beautiful sight!

Since I was received into the Church 12 years ago, I have headed into the sanctuary to be a eucharistic minister having cut my finger at the start of Mass and to do the reading with a cough. Last night, as I headed up to join the other eucharistic ministers one of the velcro strips on my shoes decided it did not want to be sticky any more. Quick action in the way of pressing it down with my other shoe was required for the sake of sartorial dignity. Mind you, if I had had that in mind, I might have chosen not to attend Mass in my venerable-but-now-starting-to-fall-to-pieces-with-its-hole-in-the-middle-of-the-back jacket. However, as I did not know I would be asked to perform this duty till I was in church, what was I to do?

Speaking of incidentals, the sanctuary was well lit with candles last night. And, as it is not the biggest one in the world when there are eight eucharistic ministers mingling in a corner, one e.m. had to be warned by Fr. Nicholas that if she stayed where she was, she was in danger of her coat catching fire!

After the Mass, back home and a glass of wine to celebrate Easter. This morning, to Mass at 11am where the music will be by Hayden and Mozart. And I will be reading. With no cough, thank goodness.

Happy Easter all!

Good Friday

I arrived in good time for the Good Friday Liturgy, and just as well too. As I mentioned yesterday - the church was packed! It was great to see, if a little warm. How easy it was to close my eyes... fortunately, however, I managed to rouse myself upon the entrance of the priests and servers (albeit only because I heard everyone else stand up suddenly).

The Good Friday Liturgy is a very stripped down version of the Mass. Not the Mass itself. I don't know the precise theological reason why we do not celebrate Mass on Good Friday, though I have no doubt that there is one. Anyway, the Liturgy is centred around the veneration of the Cross and Holy Communion (using hosts consecrated on Maundy Thursday). In a church with over 500 people in it, this is liable to take some time, so we had those perennial hymnal favourites - The Old Rugged Cross and the Taize chant Jesus, Remember Me, When You Come Into Your Kingdom to keep us going.

And keep us going they did. Although they did not stop my mind from wondering - or wandering - again. I noticed that during the 10 Ancient Prayers the Church was referred to as it. But this is Holy Mother Church - the Bride of Christ - we are talking about. She is just that. A she. And should be referred to as such. Does the it come a dodgy modern translation?

Anyhow, a few weeks back, Fr. Nicholas suggested in a homily that listening to Bach's Passion According to St Matthew was one way in which we could meditate upon it during Lent. So, having uploaded it to my ipod, that is what I have been doing during my walks these last few days. Tonight, however, I look forward to the Resurrection. Alleluia, He is Risen!. And isn't SHE grateful!

Tenebrae

Just back from the London Oratory following this morning's Tenebrae service. The Fathers of the Oratory may not be professional singers, but they celebrate (is that the right word?) Tenebrae very well. I particularly like when they sing the Hebrew word before the psalm: Aleph is my favourite, but there is also Iod and Ghimel. In the latest edition of the Oratory magazine is the text of a talk one of the Oratory Fathers gave at a synagogue.

The first reading of Tenebrae is from St. Augustine's homily on the psalms, in which he does not mince his words regarding who was responsible for the crucifixion. Pontius Pilate in part, but you 'wicked Jews', don't think you can be blamed any less. Quite the reverse, in fact. Hopefully St. Augustine anticipated modern Church thinking and regarded the wicked Jews as being specifically those present in Jerusalem.

All proceeded well until the very end (literally) where, with the final prayer having been said, the priests and acolytes (??) in the Sanctuary seemed to strike the floor with their missals, creating a dreadful racket. I have been to the Oratory for Tenebrae before but don't remember anything like that happening. Well, I was already awake, but it sure woke me up some more!

Now to the parish for the Solemn Liturgy of the Passion.

Anger, Joy and Vestments Inbetween

Just as there is nothing more boring than Catholic Traditionalists banging on yet again about how misplaced full stops in liturgical texts really do render them invalid and Richard Dawkins full stop, there is nothing more fun than coming across an outraged liberal.

And lo and behold, as we enter the season of joy, what does the Catholic Herald supply us with this week? You guessed it. In an interesting article on the Holy Father's baroque vestments, the article quotes a letter that was printed in the Tablet by Outraged of Tunbridge Wells.

"The sartorial choices of Benedict XVI fill me with indescribable anger... What message is all this ostentation giving to the poor and deprived in the rest of the world? What need have the cardinals, or the pope, for ermine-trimmed capes, red velvet shoes, chasubles commissioned in the style of the 17th-century pope, priceless lace albs and surplices, ornate gold rings, jewelled mitres (or even mitres at all)? 'I am the Way,' said Christ; what would he think of all this richesse?"

Indescribable anger

A friend and I were talking about this use of language the other day. Was the writer really so angry that they could not describe it? The media are great for this kind of overaction. 'Outraged' and 'furious' are popular ways to describe anyone who is believed to be even remotely angry. All I can say about this writer is that while they may be unable to describe their emotions, they do a very good job of explaining why they feel the way that they do. Given, however, that the angrier one becomes, the more one will - generally speaking - be unable to think rationally, this does make me suspect that the writer might just be overstating their anger - just a little.

Ostentation

I like the implied argument that if you dress richly you are de facto lording it over those who cannot afford the same clothes as you. That a priest may wear the vestments that he does for symbolic reasons appears not to have occured to this writer. Nor the possibility that the poor may appreciate that - or even that they may have contributed to the purchase of the items concerned because, as well as being a symbol of the faith, it is a sign of their faith.

WWJS

I am willing to beat that if a priest wears the grandest vestments in a spirit of humility and with the intention of witnessing to and glorifying God then Jesus is going to be well pleased with that. What I think he would not be interested in is an attitude of 'well, there are lots of poor people out there, so let our vestments reflect that despite their praise and teaching value'. That is Liberal pharasaism.

Maundy Thursday

To the parish church last night for the Maundy Thursday Mass. A good turn out, though there were still seats available. That will change this afternoon, though. Every year, the Good Friday Liturgy packs them to the rafters. A couple of things about the Mass last night jumped out at me, one spiritual, one less so.

The less so was the resemblance of our Father Albert - who, although he lives at the parish presbytery, is actually the Nigerian Chaplain, I believe for England and Wales - to Ugo Monye, Harlequins winger extraordinaire. I shall have to ask Fr. Albert if he has ever thought about playing God's game.

Ugo Monye during a quiet moment in play

Fr. Albert beating off the heretic with his aggressive 'preaching'

The resemblance came to me last night, just as Fr. Albert began reading the Gospel. When he preaches, Fr. Albert usually begins with a little song. I did wonder if Fr. Nicholas might take up the challenge, but alas no.

The spiritual thing that jumped out at me was Fr. Nicholas' description of the Mass as a kind of 'sacred theatre'. I like that description. Of course, in the Middle Ages, the idea of the church (building) as a sacred theatre was very apt as I believe the mystery plays came out of them.

Bath's Ambitions Winded

Harlequins 22 Bath 16

Last Sunday, Bath came to the Stoop lying in second place in the Premiership, but having beaten league leaders Gloucester a couple of weeks previously, the West Country team held no fear for Harlequins.

With that said, Bath opened the game strongly. With the wind on their back, it was a nervous time for Quins fans. The wind played an important role in how the game developed. For example, when Jarvis attempted to kick up field, on more than one occasion, his ball flew forward, then, hitting the wind, seemed to go straight up at a ninety degree angle before falling back again!

Bath's early pressure resulted in a penalty for the visitors, which they scored. But Harlequins soon struck back with a successful penalty kick of their own. The first half ended 6 - 6 following two more penalty kicks. Before it did so, however, both sets of fans were entertained by a good old fashioned fight involving any number of players, including, to no one's surprise, Bath bruiser Danny Grewcock. Amazingly, however, where Grewcock is involved, it wasn't him who was sinbinned, but Quins hooker, Tani Fuga.

Fuga's ten minutes meant that at the next scrum, Quins had to throw on Gary Botha to replace him. Forced to make way was the young winger, Charlie Amesbury, who had an excellent game. In the second half, he even made a chase and jump catch of the kind that always makes my heart jump into my mouth.

When Fuga was sin binned, Harlequins were 3 - 6 down, so it is a testament to the strength and determination of the team that not only did it stop Bath from taking advantage of its one man advantage, but went on to add to its own tally.

The second half belonged to Harlequins. With the wind now on the team's side, Quins scored a try and watched as Bath tried in vain to kick against the wind. Very satisfying. Of course, Bath also scored a try right at the death, but with the score standing at 22 - 9 before then the team's indiscipline had already lost it the match.

All-in-all, a great performance by Harlequins. Funny as it may seem, I was particularly pleased by the lack of celebration at the end by the home side players. Two weeks ago, after we had beaten Gloucester, the players celebrated like they had won the Premiership title. That was fine, but it foregrounded very clearly the different sub-leagues in which Gloucester and Harlequins operate. The lack of over exuberant celebrations following the Bath game points equally clearly to the progress that Quins are making towards joining the same 'sub-league' as the West Country sides, at the top of the Premiership.

Anthony Minghella (1954 - 2008)

The news of Anthony Minghella's death came as a great surprise and shock this afternoon. He was only 54. According to the BBC report, Minghella had been in hospital, recovering from an operation to remove a growth on his neck, when he suffered some kind of haemorrage, which killed him.

Of course, having never met Minghella, I cannot mourn him in the same way that his friends or family do, so I suppose my sadness comes at the loss to the world of such a richly creative spirit. For me, this means the three films of his that I have seen: Cold Mountain and The Talented Mr Ripley but most of all The English Patient.
If you have read Michael Ondaatje's novel The English Patient, whether or not you liked it (I didn't), you will know that it is unfilmable. The narrative is all over the place. Minghella not only made sense of it but created a piece of visually stunning and emotionally intense piece of art. Twelve years after seeing it for the first time, I still debate with myself the rights and wrongs of Hana's allowing Almásy to kill himself at the end of the film.

Making a film that is epic without being pretentious and intense without being overwrought is indeed a gift. But what really makes Minghella a great writer is his attention to character. And especially his refusal to make them simple. Take Almásy and Katharine Clifton, for example. The latter is not an immediately likable person. The former certainly isn't. Yet only a stone hearted person could not feel sorry for them as they suffer the wounds of their adulterous affair. Minghella goes a step further, however; rather than make Almásy and Katharine sympathetic, he let's them be themselves, and therefore, more real. It is a brave and mature move, which demands an equally mature response from the audience, so used to being told what to think about film characters, if they even have any real character in the first place.

So, I will miss Anthony Minghella very much because of his writing gift. His skill as a director, of course, will not be very far behind. And, I suppose that the best way to remember him is through that aspect of him that I can relate to best - his writing - by remembering the lessons that I have learnt from a master whenever I write.

Anthony Minghella - Requiescat in pace.

The Westminster Swing

The Times is reporting that the Conservative Party has a 16% lead over the Labour Party in the latest Poll. This may be a rogue - another just released gives the Tories 'only' a 9% lead, but it gives me an opportunity to mention an excellent piece of political anorakism on the Daily Telegraph web site which gives one an opportunity to see the political map of Britain and how it might change depending upon % swing of the vote.

So, for example, according to the Telegraph, a 9% swing to the Conservatives at the next election would give David Cameron a 74 seat majority. A massive 16% swing would result in decimation for the Labour Party, giving the Tories a 280 seat majority.

By the bye, the BBC On-Line history notes says that today is the 28th anniversary of the resignation of Harold Wilson. Reading up on this at Wikipedia, I discovered that it is traditional for them to issue a Resignation Honours List when they leave office. But I don't remember Tony Blair doing so. Wikipedia again confirms this, citing the Cash-for-Honours scandal (so called) as a possible reason.

Believe It Or Not

Fr. Dwight Longenecker has been compared to St. John Sarkander. Nonsense. Clearly he is the long lost brother of famed wrestler, Bill Goldberg...

Fr Dwight Longenecker

Bill Goldberg

Spear tackling the schismatics in season and out!

The Inquisitive Cow on Fartbook, Political Doublespeak and Nucleosynthesis

dúnadan: Hallo on the eve of Holy Week from a field in sunny but chilly Dorset. With me is my (senior) partner in the on-going hunt for new knowledge, Gerrie, the inquisitive cow! Good morning, Gerrie!

inq. cow: Mooo! Good morning, dúnadan.

dúnadan: Now, the first issue we must deal with this week is those heartless people at Facebook who have disabled your account. Very mean of them!

inq. cow: Anti-cow prejudice is clearly strong in Palo Alto, California these days!

dúnadan: From now on, it will be known to me as Fartbook.

inq. cow: Hmm! Let us hold onto our dignity in adversity, dúnadan.

dúnadan: Nah. I prefer to be insulting. I think I shall edit its Wikipedia page, thus: "Fartbook is a social flatulence website. The fart-access website allows users to join one or more wind passing networks..."

inq. cow: I think I have heard enough!

dúnadan: > sigh! < Alright, so enough of Fartbook. What has been making you inquisitive this week?
inq. cow: Well, I have been taking lessons in how to write memoranda that say the exact opposite of what they mean.

dúnadan: How is that possible?

inq. cow: Well, let's say you are a politicians. Oooh, John Davidson the PPS of Andrew Bonar-Law, for instance.

dúnadan: Who are they?!

inq. cow: Oh, dúnadan, your history is awful! Andrew Bonar-Law was the Prime Minister of Britain between 1922 and 1923. In 1923 he fell fatally ill. His Parliamentary Private Secretary, John Davidson, wrote a memorandum to the king in which he outlined who the candidates to replace Bonar-Law were.

dúnadan: Right. So far, so good.

inq. cow: And in that memo, a copy of which Jenny Wren has secured for me from the current Prime Minister---

dúnadan: She did?

inq. cow: He owed her a favour. Anyway, in the memo, Viscount Davidson, as he later became, said of Lord Curzon, the favourite to succeed Bonar-Law, but who he emphatically did not want to succeed him, "Lord Curzon has, during a long life, held high office almost continuously... his grasp of the international situation is great."

dúnadan: I don't understand. He could hardly have written more positively of Lord Curzon.

inq. cow: Mooh!! A naive attitude, dúnadan! Davidson said that Lord Curzon had had a long life. He was really saying that the peer was too old to be Prime Minister. He said that Lord Curzon had 'held high office almost continuously'. He was really saying that Curzon was exhausted. Finally, his comment on Lord Curzon's grasp of international politics was really a statement on his ignorance of British affairs!

dúnadan: Blimey. That is clever stuff. Let's hope the King read between the lines.

inq. cow: Oh, he did. Stanley Baldwin became Prime Minister.

dúnadan: Poor Lord Curzon. Still, he has a cinema named after him.

inq. cow: Dúnadan, you can be facetious sometimes!

dúnadan: Indeed! Let's move on.

inq. cow: Right. Bertie Pig and I have been building a super powered kiln.

dúnadan: for what purpose?

inq. cow: Well, Bertie has been telling everyone in the Wood that we are trying to raise temperatures hot enough to achieve nucleosynthesis, but given that that would mean making the temperature inside the kiln a minimum temperature of five million degrees, that is not really a realistic target!

dúnadan: I think you are probably right! So, what is nucleosynthesis?

inq. cow: It is what happens in stars! Stars - like the Sun for example - create energy by fusing the atoms of lighter elements, such as hydrogen, into heavy ones, helium. This is what the Sun is currently doing.

dúnadan: What happens when helium is created?

inq. cow: The process does not simply stop. How could it? Nothing in creation ever remains static! What happens is that the helium atoms fuse together to form carbon.

dúnadan: And the carbon atoms fuse together?

inq. cow: Yes! To form oxygen.

dúnadan: Where does it all end? Or does it just carry on forever?
inq. cow: There isn't an infinite number of elements so the answer to that is 'no', although the process lasts for a very, very long time. Our Sun is currently thought to be almost five billion years old. It is expected to live for another four billion years. And then, at the end of the carbon - oxygen phase, it will collapse under the weight of its own gravity. Imagine! The Sun will then become a red giant star, expanding and consuming the planets nearby, including earth!

dúnadan: Take that Fartbook! I assume, however, that you were teaching Bertie about all this rather than hoping to bring about the earth's destruction.

inq. cow: Indeed. I was teaching Bertie about alternative methods of energy creation, one of which is - or hopefully one day will be - nucleosynthesis. Meoooooh!.

dúnadan: That could replace our diminishing supplies of oil and coal.

inq. cow: Quite right!
dúnadan: Well, Gerrie, it has been very good speaking to you again. Good luck with Bertie. And we shall talk again soon.

inq. cow: So we shall! Mooh!

Index of interviews with the inquisitive cow

Gerrie is no longer on Fartbook so don't waste your time there!

Quit Ye Like Men

Last July, the Venerable Bede lent me a copy of a book titled Public Men: Masculinity and Politics in Modern Britain (Ed. Mathew McCormack) for which he contributed an essay. I am afraid to say (all the more so because Bede will read this) that I have only just got round to reading it.

'Quit Ye Like Men': Platform Manliness and Electioneering, 1895 - 1939 is a short discussion on how electioneering changed between the end of the career of William Gladstone and - effectively - that of Neville Chamberlain. As it turns out, despite technological advances, such as the motor car and loudspeakers, things did not change as much as you might think.

During the general election campaign of 1895, Gladstone took part in six meetings on one day, often speaking to crowds in their hundreds or thousands. During the whole of the general election campaign of 1935, Stanley Baldwin took part in four meetings and one radio broadcast.

Baldwin's relative inactivity was unique. The invention of the motor car did not, of course, mean that campaigning candidates for Parliament no longer needed to attend meetings. Rather, that they now had the ability to attend more than ever across their constituency. And, this is what they did.

A corollary of the candidate's increased ability to visit more parts of his constituency was the need for him to be physically strong. Bede quotes Noel Pemberton-Billing, who, after winning East Hertfordshire in 1916, spent the four days leading up to the opening of Parliament in his sickbed.

Bede fleshes out his narrative with some great anecdotes. Amongst my favourites, there is Labour's John Burns MP who proved his manliness several times over, not only by being a great speaker, but by once entering a burning building to save its occupants; Tory R. S. Sebag-Montefiore who was nicknamed 'Little David' for being willing to enter the lion's den of political enemies to engage them in debate and Arthur Stack, Labour candidate in East Hull who was photographed in a dole queue a week before the election. Talk about keeping it real!

At the optician the other day, I was asked to read some small text from a distance. I did so, and told the optician that I approved of its 'patrician language' - words like 'mankind' and 'he' for men and women were in the text. I was being silly, though I do abhore inclusive language. Even I balked though when I read Bede's reference to a newspaper, which, in 1895 stated that the act of voting 'make[s] a man respect himself, and... proves [his] superiority to the other sex'. Still good stuff though!

In 1895, women on the stump seemed to have been a rarity, if they existed at all. That changed during the period covered by Bede's essay. For example, during this period, Margaret Bondfield rose to the top of the Labour Party and became the first female Cabinet minister. But did this mean that electioneering became less manly? Not at all. Just like business women today get on by dressing up as men, female candidates for Parliament got on by imitating male electioneering tactics: lots of meetings and, no doubt, a loud voice. No wonder George Bernard Shaw said of her, that in the Labour Party, she was the 'best man among them'.

As might be expected, the quality of political oratory varied widely. Some had the gift, others didn't. Bede makes the point, however, that according to Joseph Meisel, Gladstonian oratory ended with the First World War. Therein lies a very sad fact: that the great orators of the future lay dead on the fields of Flanders and the Somme.

When I took Public Men with me to work the other day, a colleague looked at it and remarked how interesting it looked. I confess that I told him that it was really 2,000 years too late in terms of my historical interests, but I will also confess that I found Bede's essay a very interesting insight into one aspect of the political process in the early twentieth century. There is but one thing that I would have changed, however; between 1906 - 1910 Hilaire Belloc was Liberal MP for Salford South. I would have loved to have read a reference to him! Back in December, I wrote a little about Belloc the M.P. You can read it here. In the meantime, a vote of thanks to Bede. I have just started reading his book about the Conservative Party (by Alan Clark) and hope to write about in due course.

Fat Christ

The Kings Head theatre pub is located on Upper Street in Islington, right opposite St. Mary's Church of England church. In its artistic vision, the Kings Head says that is strives '[t]o produce innovative theatre, sometimes controversial, always entertaining. To maintain exceptionally high production values and to allow both sides of a debate to be heard onstage.' This is undoubtedly a grand statement of intent. Unfortunately, it is quite at variance with the play currently being performed at the Kings Head.

Fat Christ is a comedy drama about Jack Taylor (played by the actor of the same name) who is deep in debt following a failed movie venture. To cut costs, he and his wife move to a house in the middle of nowhere. Jack takes up window cleaning to make ends meet. But, his fortunes take a turn for the better when, at an art exhibition he fools an art dealer into giving him £10,000 to paint a modern interpretation of the crucifixion. There is only one small problem: Jack cannot paint. Realising this, he arrives at the idea of staging his own mock crucifixion.

Innovative Theatre

Fat Christ is not innovative. It is an asinine play that could have been written by Sixth Formers or drunk university students. Jack Taylor is at the heart of the play, but if I tell you that his character is only lightly sketched, you will understand that the three other characters appear only as impressions on a page. There is a lot of dialogue in this production, but much of it is wasted on verbiage that fails to say anything significant about the characters or move the story along. A schoolboy error, as they say; quite appropriate to the intellectual level of the play.

Sometimes Controversial

A play called Fat Christ is inevitably going to be controversial. But this one shouldn't be. The title mocks not the real Christ but Jack Taylor. Taylor imagines himself to be an artistic somebody. But his talent is slight and his attempts to make use of such talent as he has invariably end in self humiliation. Of course, a play called Fat Jack would not have garnered half as much publicity as, I imagine, Fat Christ did, on the back of its name.

The bed fellow of controversy is offensiveness. Fat Christ is offensive in parts, both to Christians and theatre lovers. Regarding the latter, there is a joke about the real crucifixion. Regarding the latter, apart from the shallow characterisation, there is the fact that the plot is both limp and cheap. For example, the play ends suddenly following Jack's failed mock self-crucifixion. His best friend Dick walks in and sees him stuck to the cross (a result of back pain). He helps Jack down, only for Jack to start falling forwards. Dick ends up over the side of the couch with Jack behind him. The joke, therefore, is in the fact that it looks like they are engaging in gay sex. So who should come in, but their wives. Hilarious.

But this conceit is not even original in terms of the play. Earlier on, a similar accident causes Jack to fall on top of Dick's wife, Susan, played by Abi Titmuss, so that when Dick walks in a moment later, he believes that they are having sex. The play wisely moves quickly on after that episode, but ends almost straight after the homosexual variation. Twenty four hours later, I am still struggling to understand why. The story was leading up to the art exhibition for which Jack was paid his £10,000. That was where it should have ended. Perhaps the playwright, Gavin Davis, was being post modern; you know, defying the audiance's expectations of how the play should have ended. But it is simply not good writing to change tack half way through (or, in the case of Fat Christ, at the end of) a play. For a story to work, it has to be self consistent. If it is determined to challenge the audiance in terms of its structure, it has to do so from the start. Fat Christ doesn't. It is utterly conventional in that regard.

Always entertaining

I can't deny that watching Fat Christ was a bad experience. There were some very funny moments in it. Jack Taylor portrayed his alter ego as a buffoon, but an endearing one. Tim Downie's impressions were very good indeed, as was his evocation of Jack's rather slimy not altogether trustable friend. Abi Titmuss as Susan Frobisher and Jennifer Matter as Jack's wife Lily played their parts in a very game fashion. Their characters were very reactive though: feeding off what the men were doing rather than creating any of the story themselves. A waste. Abi Titmuss is well known as a lad's mag pin up. Fat Christ did not offer her nearly enough to show what talent as an actress she might have, but she played her part solidly. Given how well the four actors played their parts, it is a great shame that the play did not offer them more to do or show.

High Production Values.

I think I will leave off saying too much here for fear of saying too much. Characterisation poor. Plot weak. Cynical Marketing Strategy. Fat Christ has nothing of consequence to say about anything.

Both sides of the debate heard
Absolute nonsense. Jack Taylor started the play as a fool, and that is how he ended it. Lily Taylor started out as the long suffering partner and that is how she ended it. Dick Frobisher started out as vulgar and that is how he ended. There was no debate at all, even on a humorous level, about what it means to be an artist, religion, loneliness, marriage, the value of sex, love etc. Fat Christ sacrifices all of these for the cheap gag and laugh. The lack of a voice and insistance upon the coarse laugh is the most offensive thing about the production.

It might be surmised from the above that I did not really enjoy Fat Christ. In a way, of course, I certainly didn't. However, I am glad I saw it and can now criticise it from a position of strength. If there is one thing worse than the script of Fat Christ it is those who criticise without bothering to see, whether it be a play, film or television programme.

Go Spurs Go!!!

My Sister Hevs, who is a Spurs fan, is currently waiting for Baby 3 to show himself to the world. In the meantime, she has asked me to mention another significant football result from today. Over to the Beeb:

Tottenham Hotspur 4 West Ham Utd 0

Two first-half goals from Dimitar Berbatov helped ease Spurs to victory over 10-man West Ham. Both of Berbatov's goals came in the first 10 minutes and both were headers from Tom Huddlestone free-kicks. Things took a turn for the worse for the visitors when Luis Boa Morte was shown a second yellow card for a late challenge on Aaron Lennon. Substitute Gilberto drilled in the third before Darren Bent made it 4-0 with a header from Alan Hutton's cross.
Full Report Here

Of course, the reason I didn't mention this game is because beating West Ham Utd four nothing has become a bit of National past time of late and to do so would be, well, just a little cruel. Chelsea started the fun and games just over a week ago while Liverpool continued it on Wednesday and now Spurs have joined in. West Ham's next game is against Blackburn Rovers. Can they make it 16 in four games? And, more to the point, as Our Man of the Antonii is a West Ham fan, will I be able to make it through tomorrow without mocking him?!

On Wasps vs. Harlequins And Other Matters

Wasps 29 Harlequins 25

I neither attended this game or listened to it on the radio so this report will be somewhat limited. According to BBC On-Line, Wasps only won 'following a spirited late rally' by Harlequins. Defeats are always disappointing, but Wasps are rugby union royalty, so any time we can take points away from them is pretty good going. Earlier in the season, during the World Cup, Quins actually beat Wasps; today, however, it was a bonus point for finishing within seven points of the winners.

The reason I never listened to the game on the radio is because I find it far too tense to do so. Instead, this afternoon, I distracted myself by watching Middlesbrough play, and lose, to Cardiff in the F. A. Cup. It was a woeful performance by the Premiership side. Then, the last quarter of the France v. Italy 6 Nations match. Italy scored a great try from a rolling maul but the French were comfortably in charge apart from that.

On being distracted, at Mass this moment, I started wondering what the mediaeval Good Friday Liturgy was like and where I could read about it. Fr Nicholas says it was carried out according to the Sarum Rite (related to the place in the west country?) and was probably not too dissimilar to the Liturgy of today. Well, I am going to search the web to see if I can find out more, but if you do, please advise!

While I am at it, I was updating the British Catholic Blog list earlier. There are now over 100 British Catholic blogs in the U.K.! The list is not exaustive so if you have a blog that you would like to see included or know of one that ought to be, do let me know.

Finally, as I listen to Arsenal dropping two more points in their on going mission to send the Premier League title back to its rightful owner (i.e. Manchester United), I wrote some posts for the Recusant Cricket Club the other day. Please feel free to have a read and comment.

More on The Other Boleyn Girl

Thank you to Anonymous and Fr Nicholas for clarifying the execution technique used in the case of Anne Boleyn-! The latter reminds me that a certain blogging Catholic priest not only advised the Other Boleyn Girl film makers on the ins and outs of Tudor marriage ceremonies but appeared in the picture itself! If you go to see the film, however, don't blink in case you miss him! 'Fr Justin' wrote about his experience at Nova et Vetera here.

More on the Oxford Colloquium

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the Oxford Colloquium of blogggers. Athanasius of Massinformation was kind enough to reply to the issues raised. It is quite enlightning, so I encourage you to click here and have a read.

And, while I am at it, may I take this opportunity to thank any one who takes the time to comment on any of my posts. Even though I don't always respond, your comments are always welcome.

The Other Boleyn Girl

The Other Boleyn Girl opened in the U.K. last night. So, with an evening free, I betook myself to see it.

The film stars Natalie Portman (she of the white face make-up in the Star Wars prequels) as Anne Boleyn, set up by her scheming uncle, the Duke of Norfolk (David Morrissey), and weak willed father (Sir Thomas Boleyn played by Mark Rylance) to ensnare and marry King Henry VIII. But things do not go to plan. Henry injures himself during a hunt on the Boleyn estate and it is Anne's sister Mary, played by Scarlett Johansson, who wins his heart while she cares for him.

Their love is true and deep... or rather, not. Henry is desperate for a male heir and even though Mary provides him with one, she is his mistress, and so the boy is a bastard. Anne, desperate to win the king for herself, makes sure he realises that, and, while she is at it, how desirable she herself is. Henry is besotted. Mary and son are sent off to the country and Anne begins her dangerous liaison with the king.

It all ends badly, of course. Anne succeeds in getting Henry to break with Rome and divorce Catherine of Aragon and finally to marry her, but she cannot provide him with a legitimate male heir. After miscarrying, she attempts to seduce her own brother so as to become pregnant again before Henry finds out what has happened and divorces her in favour of his latest paramour - Jane Seymour. But the attempt is found out. Anne ends up on trial and on the block.

The Other Boleyn Girl starts off feeling like a romantic comedy. The one discordant note is Kristin Scott Thomas as the Lady Elizabeth Boleyn, the girls' mother who sees the story for what it is: a tawdry tale of how sex is used to achieve power and status. In fact, it is worse than that because, as one reviewer has pointed out, what the Duke of Norfolk and Sir Thomas Boleyn are doing is pimping Anne and Mary.

As the film progresses, it loses its gentleness and becomes more grave and foreboding. The luscious colours that so complimented the early, more carefree, part of the story now appear as visual echoes of a better time now past. But The Other Boleyn Girl never really settles down as one kind of film or another. It has pretensions of being a kind of epic but insists on the story remaining about Anne and Mary. Thus, key events that would make the epic - Henry's break with Rome, for example - are not just glossed over but all but excised except for a few words. As a result of which, I felt that scenes such as Anne's coronation as queen of England, while being evocative, did not really earn their place in the film.
Regarding the religious aspect of The Other Boleyn Girl, there is little one can say. There are a couple of weddings, some Latin and a few bishops in the background, but they are there for the look. The Other Boleyn Girl does not wholly do away with religion (in the same way, for example, that Troy cut out the gods) but its presence is not very meaningful.

Despite all, The Other Boleyn Girl is by no means a complete failure of a film. Anne and Mary are drawn well enough that we care for them, as are the Duke of Norfolk, and the girls' parents (Kristin Scott Thomas is particularly good, almost too good - or, rather, serious and 'high' - for this film). Anne's end is very well done and sad. Interestingly, she is beheaded with a sword while kneeling erect instead of with an axe while leaning on the block. I wondered if this what actually happened or dramatic licence, to allow Anne a more dignified ending (earlier on, we see another character being beheaded in the traditional fashion while surrounded by a baying crowd, so clearly the film intended to contrast the two executions). I can say little for Eric Bana as Henry VIII except that he sleep walks through the film. The script let him down, greatly.

An interesting film. Slight, not unlike Becoming Jane, and a little awkward with itself, but well shot and performed. Probably worth watching on video.

Widow Six Seven

I don't read many American political blogs. In fact, I have none on my blog roll, so the only time I see them is when one of the Britpoliticalblogs link to them. However, I understand that there is one named "The Drudge Report" that is quite popular. Enough of the facetiousness. I have only read The Drudge Report once or twice in the past, but I know that it is a very popular website indeed.

Unfortunately, the owner of the site, Matt Drudge, made himself very unpopular in some quarters this week when he revealed the secret of Prince Harry's deployment to Afghanistan.

In actual fact, Drudge was not the one who spilled the beans. An Australian website did so first. However, no one reads that whereas everyone (except me) reads The Drudge Report, and so he is taking both the blame and credit for his "scoop".

Watching the ensuing coverage of the story, and particularly hearing Prince Harry himself speak on The Andrew Marr Show on the BBC this morning, I can't help but be very disappointed for the young man. It seems that in the Army he has found his vocation and it must be galling to have been withdrawn from front line duty on account of press coverage.

In fact, I suspect that it is the press that Harry had in mind when, in one interview, he admitted that, "I don't want to sit around in Windsor. But I generally don't like England that much and, you know, it's nice to be away from all the press and the papers." I don't blame him. Harry is being called a hero in the newspapers today, but if he should trip over in some aspect of his personal or public life, they will attack him as quickly as the Taleban.

In the meantime, here is the image that clearly proves what a Top Bloke Harry Windsor is:

We Knew They Could Do It, Now They Have

Harlequins 30 Gloucester 25

Oh boy. If the win away to Saracens was not fantastic enough, Harlequins followed it up yesterday afternoon with an even better win at home to league leaders Gloucester that sent the players and fans into Ecstasy at the final whistle.

It was a hard fought win. Gloucester opened the scoring with a try that appeared to involve a deliberate act of obstruction by a Gloucester player as a colleague of his and a Quins man dashed down the field to chase the fleeing ball. Whether the obstruction was meant or accidental, however, Gloucester won the chase and scored.

But Harlequins came back immediately. Jarvis kicked off, Monye collected and was brought down feet from the Gloucester tryline. Ceri Jones collected the ball at the breakdown and pushed his way over the line. Ugly but beautiful for the Quins fans.

There was only a few minutes respite before Lesley Vainikolo charged down the wing on the far side of the pitch to set up Gloucester's next try. Vainikolo is such a powerful player that I always worried when he got the ball. What it must be like to tackle him, I cannot and would hate so say!

Two more tries followed in the first half, so that it ended 17 - 20 to the visitors. I don't remember them so well as I do the anger of some of the Harlequin fans around me at perceived Gloucester gamesmanship and the way that the team talked to the referee. In rugby, only the captain is allowed to talk to the referee, but during a break in play, numerous members of the Gloucester team took the opportunity to have a word with him. This incensed one or two people around me.

Early in the second half, Gloucester really threw away their chance to win this game with two penalty misses by fly half Willie Walker. Quins did score a penalty, levelling the game at 20 - 20, but only to see Gloucester storm ahead when their winger, James Simpson-Daniel, cut through the Quins defence to score a very impressive try. But Willie Walker missed the eminently scorable conversion. Harlequins kept the pressure up and were rewarded for their efforts with a penalty, which Jarvis scored.

It was now 23 - 25. With just a few minutes to go, George Robson went over the line for the last try of the afternoon. Unfortunately, Jarvis missed the conversion, which meant that Gloucester could equal the score with a penalty. Jarvis was soon after replaced by Chris Malone, coming on for his first game in some weeks after injury. In what seemed like a couple of moments, he had a chance to make the game if not safe then safer for Harlequins when they were awarded a penalty. He scored. Gloucester now needed a converted try to win. Notwithstanding an awful line out when Quins gave the ball back to Gloucester, the visitors did not come close, thanks to some impressive Quins defending. The final whistle went and the Stoop erupted. We had beaten Gloucester - league leaders and a team normally in a different class to our own. What made it even sweeter, of course, is that we should have beaten them at Kingsholm last November. This victory as no flash in the pan. If they carry on like this, Harlequins are in danger of becoming soon a team to be reckoned with.