BOOKS
VAN GOGH: THE FLOWERS, by Judith Bumpus. With art books, there is a reliable working rule: enjoy the pictures, don't bother with the text. Judith Bumpus (good name) has got round this here by quoting extensively from the Great One's letters. Van Gogh was a prolific and highly articulate letter writer, especially to his brother Theo, in which he often speaks of his love of nature and his struggle to do justice to it in his his paintings. But ultimately his pictures speak more eloquently than words ever could.
LIFE'S NEW HURDLES, by Colin Jackson. I read this at a single sitting; scarcely an achievement since it is barely more than 10.000 words in length. He writes of his superlative athletic record, shy only of the greatest award of all: an Olympic gold medal. And on this subject he is disarmingly honest, admitting that his obsession to achieve a world record as well as the gold led him to injure a stomach muscle in the heats, which handicapped him in the final. Colin then describes his career beyond athletics, with his work as a commentator for TV and his doomed attempt to win "Strictly" (well, he was Welsh, black and gay so he never really stood an earthly)
AUGUSTUS JOHN, by Michael Holroyd. Where Claire Tomalin was stymied by the paucity of letters that survived Jane Austen's death, Michael Holroyd had the benefits of literally thousands of missives that John fired off to his numerous friends and family members throughout his long life. And an extraordinary picture emerges of a man touched by the Gods but who somehow never achieved the dizzy heights his early promise might have suggested. But a handful of pictures, especially some portraits of his loved ones and the portrayals of gypsy life (which he so loved and attempted to emulate in his own life), stand as some of the greatest examples of British art in the 20th century. And what a life it was! The man for whom the term "Bohemian" might have been invented, he bucked convention to such a degree that even today, never mind 100 years ago, he would be thought of as an icon of counter-culture. And indeed, it is the "heroic nature of his personality" as Lord David Cecil described it, which will remembered as being just as important to posterity as the paintings themselves. A terrific book, and one of the best biographies I've ever read.
FILMS
SITTING BULL (1954) D-Sydney Salcow. Oh dear. This alleged story of the great Indian leader is in the event simply a backdrop for a romance played out between a general's daughter and a compassionate junior officer. Lamentable.
MIAMI BLUES (1990) D-George Armitage. A youthful Alec Baldwin plays a psychopathic thief who finds Jennifer Jason-Leigh, a charming tart-with-a-heart who (nearly) reforms him. Watchable.
COOL WORLD (1992) D- Ralph Bakshi. A cartoonist creates an artificial world, then finds there's a way into this world for real people... Following the success of "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" they threw a lot of money at Ralph Bakshi to make this blend of animation and live action which is played less for laughs than thrills and glamour. Bakshi established his reputation through the subversive "Fritz the Cat" and an animated version of Lord of the Rings, but here he seems to have lost his way somewhere along the line, and the result lacks heart and conviction. Kim Basinger, however, remains gorgeous whether in life or in her cartoon incarnation.
WINTER'S BONE (2010) D-Debra Granic. When arrested, a father puts up the family home as bond, but then disappears. Realising her family are about to be evicted, his 14 year old daughter sets out to track him down... Absolutely superb piece of film making with an astonishing performance from the star, newcomer Jennifer Lawrence. Perhaps the best new film I've seen this year.
BOB LE FLAMBEUR (1956) D-J.P. Melville. An old lag with a gambling habit realises he can shorten the odds by robbing the casino. Splendid and highly atmospheric example of the French "New Wave", from the guy who, along with Jean-Luc Goddard, they invented the term for.
THE COURT JESTER (1955) D- Melvin Frank and Norman Panama. Danny Kaye showcases his enormous and varied talents in this nonsensical, but hilarious take on medieval England. My favourite Danny Kaye story? Jonathan Miller apparently idolised Kaye in his youth, but when they eventually met in New York during a run of "Beyond the Fringe", Miller found himself struck dumb in the presence of his hero. And I bet that didn't happen too often to Jonathan...
TIN STAR (1957) D- Anthony Mann. A green-horn sheriff (Anthony Perkins) is shown the ropes by a more experienced hand (Henry Fonda). Anthony Mann specialised in tough, realistic and supremely exciting westerns, and this is no exception. Superior stuff.
MILLER'S CROSSING (1990) P-D-The Coen brothers. Gabriel Byrne floats between rival gangs in a Chicago-like town, gets punched a lot, but avoids being shot, a fate that awaits almost everyone else in the cast, and emerges victorious. The IMDB reviewer though this their best film, even better than "Fargo", but that's wrong. The latter was one of the great films of the 90s, and while this is good, it doesn't have the class of its far more illustrious successor.
THOR (2011) D-Kenneth Branagh. Thor falls out with his daddy, Odin, who punishes him by projecting him, minus his super-powers, into the 21st century. Branagh must have pitched brilliantly to get Hollywood to pour millions into this project, and the result is certainly entertaining, though the film seems uncertain whether to play itself for laughs or thrills and spectacle. The result is a bit of a mish-mash. Kinda fun though...
Friday, 30 September 2011
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
did you see? dept
The weather has been beautiful today. It is perhaps a little early to call it an "Indian summer" (I think you need at least a week of much-better-than-average weather for that), but it is predicted to get even warmer towards the end of the week so we can only hope. It will at least compensate a little for the very disappointing June, July and most of August Britain and indeed much of northern Europe has had to endure this year.
I deployed the good conditions to tidy up my father-in-law's back yard. In a physically draining process that lasted more than 2 hours, I filled 12 black sacks with builder's rubble and other general crap, as well as an Audi's bootfull of cuttings from the shrubs that line the area and were threatening to bar access to the space completely. I promised my wife that, even if I hadn't done the job well enough to satisfy your average obsessional neurotic, she would at least be able to see a difference. She'd bloody well better...
COMMENT
Last night there were 2 exceptionally fine pieces of TV journalism. The first, on Channel 4, entitled "The Wonderful World Of Tony Blair", showed how the Quartet's "Special Envoy to the Middle East" has been occupying his time. Oh, he's been very discreet, working behind the scenes to advance the peace process is what he'd tell you; so discreet indeed thao he's made no observable difference to the lives of ordinary Palestinian people. But he has managed to broker a couple of deals which have been highly lucrarive to the American "superbank" JP Morgan, who (and obviously there is NO connection) just happen to pay Mr Blair £2 million a year as a consultant. Hmm.
Then over on BBC 1, "Panorama" showed a horrifying little film about Syria's "Spring", though by now it is heading rapidly towards being a winter of discontent (sorry). The details have confirmed all our worst fears, as we saw a large group of mostly young men advance on the troops from the ultra-loyalist 4th division, armed, not with weapons but with camera-phones.
"These are our guns!" they chanted.
"The truth!"
The soldiers opened up with their fully automatic weapons in a quite incredible fusilade. In moments, forty of the young men lay dead. Their deaths were not wholly in vain however: the images they captured with their phones have now gone around the World, showing up Assad's murderous regime for what it is.
I deployed the good conditions to tidy up my father-in-law's back yard. In a physically draining process that lasted more than 2 hours, I filled 12 black sacks with builder's rubble and other general crap, as well as an Audi's bootfull of cuttings from the shrubs that line the area and were threatening to bar access to the space completely. I promised my wife that, even if I hadn't done the job well enough to satisfy your average obsessional neurotic, she would at least be able to see a difference. She'd bloody well better...
COMMENT
Last night there were 2 exceptionally fine pieces of TV journalism. The first, on Channel 4, entitled "The Wonderful World Of Tony Blair", showed how the Quartet's "Special Envoy to the Middle East" has been occupying his time. Oh, he's been very discreet, working behind the scenes to advance the peace process is what he'd tell you; so discreet indeed thao he's made no observable difference to the lives of ordinary Palestinian people. But he has managed to broker a couple of deals which have been highly lucrarive to the American "superbank" JP Morgan, who (and obviously there is NO connection) just happen to pay Mr Blair £2 million a year as a consultant. Hmm.
Then over on BBC 1, "Panorama" showed a horrifying little film about Syria's "Spring", though by now it is heading rapidly towards being a winter of discontent (sorry). The details have confirmed all our worst fears, as we saw a large group of mostly young men advance on the troops from the ultra-loyalist 4th division, armed, not with weapons but with camera-phones.
"These are our guns!" they chanted.
"The truth!"
The soldiers opened up with their fully automatic weapons in a quite incredible fusilade. In moments, forty of the young men lay dead. Their deaths were not wholly in vain however: the images they captured with their phones have now gone around the World, showing up Assad's murderous regime for what it is.
Saturday, 24 September 2011
palestinian bid for freedom dead in the water
COMMENT
Yesterday, to fanfare and ridicule in equal measure, Mahmoud Abbas (peace be upon him)laid his doomed plan for statehood before the general assembly at the UN. Doomed, of course, because America's position, regardless of who happens to occupy the White House, is to support Israel, right or wrong. Learned observers of the scene have suggested that Palestine's bid is premature because "there is no peace yet". And whose fault is that exactly? Not the Israelis, apparently.
In his speech, Mr Netenyahu (and has there ever been a cleverer and more charismatic Israeli leader than this guy?) painted his country as seeking peace in the face of implacable opposition from the Arabs. "The solution has to be negotiated" he intoned, but the fact is that every time peace talks have been attempted, whether in the open or behind closed doors, as has been revealed by the Wikileaks documents, while the Palestinians were prepared to make enormous concessions, even to the point of tolerating the illegal settlements, the Israelis remained completely intransigent, not even promising to slow the rate of building on the West Bank.
Let me say this loud and clear: Netenyahu's speech was a disgraceful tissue of lies, designed (and probably successful in its aim) to marginalise a whole population and reject its legitimate demands to enjoy the same human rights as their Israeli occupiers.
Palestine's bid for statehood will fail, and indeed may not actually be the best solution anyway. Bob Fisk, as wise an old owl as has ever surveyed that immensely complex anthill which is the Middle East, has suggested that the only real and lasting solution lies in a single state of Greater Israel, where all sides live together enjoying equal rights, equal freedom of movement and self determination. For that to happen the Palestinians must accept the state of Israel's right to exist, which means somehow putting a stop to the radical, and wholly unrealistic demands of Hamas. Unfortunately, however, every new brutality enacted by the Israelis simply strengthens, rather than weakens, Hamas's hand...
Yesterday, to fanfare and ridicule in equal measure, Mahmoud Abbas (peace be upon him)laid his doomed plan for statehood before the general assembly at the UN. Doomed, of course, because America's position, regardless of who happens to occupy the White House, is to support Israel, right or wrong. Learned observers of the scene have suggested that Palestine's bid is premature because "there is no peace yet". And whose fault is that exactly? Not the Israelis, apparently.
In his speech, Mr Netenyahu (and has there ever been a cleverer and more charismatic Israeli leader than this guy?) painted his country as seeking peace in the face of implacable opposition from the Arabs. "The solution has to be negotiated" he intoned, but the fact is that every time peace talks have been attempted, whether in the open or behind closed doors, as has been revealed by the Wikileaks documents, while the Palestinians were prepared to make enormous concessions, even to the point of tolerating the illegal settlements, the Israelis remained completely intransigent, not even promising to slow the rate of building on the West Bank.
Let me say this loud and clear: Netenyahu's speech was a disgraceful tissue of lies, designed (and probably successful in its aim) to marginalise a whole population and reject its legitimate demands to enjoy the same human rights as their Israeli occupiers.
Palestine's bid for statehood will fail, and indeed may not actually be the best solution anyway. Bob Fisk, as wise an old owl as has ever surveyed that immensely complex anthill which is the Middle East, has suggested that the only real and lasting solution lies in a single state of Greater Israel, where all sides live together enjoying equal rights, equal freedom of movement and self determination. For that to happen the Palestinians must accept the state of Israel's right to exist, which means somehow putting a stop to the radical, and wholly unrealistic demands of Hamas. Unfortunately, however, every new brutality enacted by the Israelis simply strengthens, rather than weakens, Hamas's hand...
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
man regains power of speech
Turns out I needn't have worried. Over the weekend I was still having trouble with my sibilants, but already, and seemingly without any specific effort on my part, my clear enunciation has returned. I'm such a terrible wuss sometimes!
On Monday an unusual experience at work. A 50 year old man with asthma came in with dyspnoea, and on being told that it was not a chest infection but pure asthma, which I proposed to treat with a course of oral steroids, he immediately went into a severe panic attack from which he seemed about to collapse right there in front of me. I took him firmly by the hand and intoned softly:
"It's OK, it's not a life threatening situation, you're going to be fine. Just try to control your breathing, slow it down."
But it got worse. "You seem to breathing even faster now. Come on now, slow that breathing down. You can do it."
And very slowly he calmed down. GPs quite often see panic attacks in the surgery, but the sufferers are usually teenage girls. To see it in a mature and intelligent man is definitely a rarity.
LUMBERING FAT BASTARD DEPT
Last month I treated my brother to a drive of my Mazda MX5 roadster. As he got in, he plumped his 17 stone frame down heavily onto the seat. The following day I noticed that the seat heater on the driver's side had failed. Obviously I was not about to use it; presumably some instinct led me to check it. I went for my annual service today, and got my man to look it over. It was busted, and would need a replacement that would have to be shipped over from Japan. The cost? £406. And the cause? Was it indeed related to the massive rump scenario? Oh, definitely, I was told. Can I bring myself to tell him about this? I doubt it, though this is not the sort of thing one can forget quickly...
On Monday an unusual experience at work. A 50 year old man with asthma came in with dyspnoea, and on being told that it was not a chest infection but pure asthma, which I proposed to treat with a course of oral steroids, he immediately went into a severe panic attack from which he seemed about to collapse right there in front of me. I took him firmly by the hand and intoned softly:
"It's OK, it's not a life threatening situation, you're going to be fine. Just try to control your breathing, slow it down."
But it got worse. "You seem to breathing even faster now. Come on now, slow that breathing down. You can do it."
And very slowly he calmed down. GPs quite often see panic attacks in the surgery, but the sufferers are usually teenage girls. To see it in a mature and intelligent man is definitely a rarity.
LUMBERING FAT BASTARD DEPT
Last month I treated my brother to a drive of my Mazda MX5 roadster. As he got in, he plumped his 17 stone frame down heavily onto the seat. The following day I noticed that the seat heater on the driver's side had failed. Obviously I was not about to use it; presumably some instinct led me to check it. I went for my annual service today, and got my man to look it over. It was busted, and would need a replacement that would have to be shipped over from Japan. The cost? £406. And the cause? Was it indeed related to the massive rump scenario? Oh, definitely, I was told. Can I bring myself to tell him about this? I doubt it, though this is not the sort of thing one can forget quickly...
Saturday, 17 September 2011
man gets new set of teeth; loses power of speech
Last week I spent nearly 2 1/2 hours in the dentist's chair undergoing the preparations for the 6 porcelain veneers that are to be affixed to my upper teeth. To facilitate the process, the enamel on each tooth had to be filed down to make room for the veneer, an exceedingly uncomfortable process despite the 4 cartridges of local he deployed. At that time temporary veneers were applied.
Yesterday, these were painfully chipped off, and the permanent veneers applied. Dentisti had said "This is the easy bit", but I would say it was only 10% less unpleasant than the initial session. I was certainly in the chair for a good 100 minutes.
The payback: my wife was dazzled by my brilliant new smile. The downside: at present, my mouth seems overfilled with teeth; it has got used to managing with less teeth for so long that this is the shock of the new and unfamiliar. Whatever the case, I am now completely unable to enunciate clearly, especially sibilants, which come out half way between a lisp and a slur, making me sound like some middle class drunk after a liquid lunch. I am rather fond of my voice, and I believe it is rather a nice one. Was, anyway.
Wifus assures me I will get the hang of my new mouth quickly, and that I should relax. But to emphasise the fact that there really is a problem, she added the caviat that I would be well advised to continue working on my voice every day.
OK then, if that's what it takes...
Yesterday, these were painfully chipped off, and the permanent veneers applied. Dentisti had said "This is the easy bit", but I would say it was only 10% less unpleasant than the initial session. I was certainly in the chair for a good 100 minutes.
The payback: my wife was dazzled by my brilliant new smile. The downside: at present, my mouth seems overfilled with teeth; it has got used to managing with less teeth for so long that this is the shock of the new and unfamiliar. Whatever the case, I am now completely unable to enunciate clearly, especially sibilants, which come out half way between a lisp and a slur, making me sound like some middle class drunk after a liquid lunch. I am rather fond of my voice, and I believe it is rather a nice one. Was, anyway.
Wifus assures me I will get the hang of my new mouth quickly, and that I should relax. But to emphasise the fact that there really is a problem, she added the caviat that I would be well advised to continue working on my voice every day.
OK then, if that's what it takes...
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
many americans killed; some others
COMMENT
Last Sunday, the American nation came together in a way not seen since the death of President Kennedy. The occasion was the marking of 10 years since 9/11. In a day of solemn remembrance, the names of all 3000 innocent victims of that terrible day were read out, a process which took several hours. Yet if the names of all the equally innocent victims of the Iraq War were to be read out, to say nothing of the civilian dead in Afghanistan since that fateful day, it would take several weeks, for they number in the hundreds of thousands. But they came from poor countries, "loser countries" as Homer Simpson would describe them. And for that reason, and to save embarrassment, America has consistently refused to allow the exact figures to be released.
Where's the solemn day of remembrance for them? They remain unmourned outside their own families, ignored by a world preoccupied by the far more pressing issue of the financial crisis and anxious to move on.
Last Sunday, the American nation came together in a way not seen since the death of President Kennedy. The occasion was the marking of 10 years since 9/11. In a day of solemn remembrance, the names of all 3000 innocent victims of that terrible day were read out, a process which took several hours. Yet if the names of all the equally innocent victims of the Iraq War were to be read out, to say nothing of the civilian dead in Afghanistan since that fateful day, it would take several weeks, for they number in the hundreds of thousands. But they came from poor countries, "loser countries" as Homer Simpson would describe them. And for that reason, and to save embarrassment, America has consistently refused to allow the exact figures to be released.
Where's the solemn day of remembrance for them? They remain unmourned outside their own families, ignored by a world preoccupied by the far more pressing issue of the financial crisis and anxious to move on.
Saturday, 10 September 2011
keeping an eye on the prize
Earlier this week a form came through the post from my local hospital. Regarding my upcoming appointment at the eye clinic for them to treat my cataracts, it was asking me if I was still alive, and if so, did I still want my appointment? If yes, I should tick the box marked "yes" and return ASAP. The form carried a dire warning about failing to complete the form resulting in my being placed back at the bottom of the waiting list. As you might imagine, the form was completed and posted back within minutes of its arrival.
I was originally referred in May, and I was expecting a wait of around 28 weeks. However, when I could see that my eyes were continuing to deteriorate, and that I was in danger of failing the DVLA criteria for driving, namely reading a number plate at 20 metres, I felt I had to do something, and returned to the optician who had referred me in the first instance. He inspected the peepers once again and pronounced he could see the cataracts opacifying almost as he was watching and duly sent a further letter requesting expedition of my appointment. As an aside, he casually let drop the fact that he though I had a degree of "Fuch's Dystrophy" in the left (the more affected) eye. This is a defect of the corneal endothelium, the cells of which act as a kind of filter pump, keeping the pressure in the aqueous humour constant. If they fail, fluid builds up in the aqueous, disturbing the vision. And a cataract procedure can sometimes make it worse... Normally the chances of a cataract operation going wrong are around 1%. With Fuch's dystrophy, however, the risk increases to about 5%. Oh, great, I thought. I guess I can only hope that the odds of random chance acting my favour turns out to be a little better than my experience in the casino of 2 weeks ago. Please God, just this once, can you cut me a break here?
It would be nice to have them fixed (successfully, preferably) by the time we go to Milan in mid November for 3 days of culture and general diversion in Italy's most sophisticated city. Already my teeth are progressing nicely. On Thursday I had the crowns fitted to the implants on my right and left upper 2s. And with temporary veneers fitted to the upper teeth, I now have a prettier smile than I have been able to sport for over 30 years. Then all that will remain is for the 3 crowns to be fitted to the implants on my upper right jaw. These aren't for beauty, you understand: these will enable me to eat on the right side for the first time in 4 years. And that's going to be a great feeling...
I was originally referred in May, and I was expecting a wait of around 28 weeks. However, when I could see that my eyes were continuing to deteriorate, and that I was in danger of failing the DVLA criteria for driving, namely reading a number plate at 20 metres, I felt I had to do something, and returned to the optician who had referred me in the first instance. He inspected the peepers once again and pronounced he could see the cataracts opacifying almost as he was watching and duly sent a further letter requesting expedition of my appointment. As an aside, he casually let drop the fact that he though I had a degree of "Fuch's Dystrophy" in the left (the more affected) eye. This is a defect of the corneal endothelium, the cells of which act as a kind of filter pump, keeping the pressure in the aqueous humour constant. If they fail, fluid builds up in the aqueous, disturbing the vision. And a cataract procedure can sometimes make it worse... Normally the chances of a cataract operation going wrong are around 1%. With Fuch's dystrophy, however, the risk increases to about 5%. Oh, great, I thought. I guess I can only hope that the odds of random chance acting my favour turns out to be a little better than my experience in the casino of 2 weeks ago. Please God, just this once, can you cut me a break here?
It would be nice to have them fixed (successfully, preferably) by the time we go to Milan in mid November for 3 days of culture and general diversion in Italy's most sophisticated city. Already my teeth are progressing nicely. On Thursday I had the crowns fitted to the implants on my right and left upper 2s. And with temporary veneers fitted to the upper teeth, I now have a prettier smile than I have been able to sport for over 30 years. Then all that will remain is for the 3 crowns to be fitted to the implants on my upper right jaw. These aren't for beauty, you understand: these will enable me to eat on the right side for the first time in 4 years. And that's going to be a great feeling...
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
back to the war zone
After 3 long weeks we put our friend Issa back on the plane bound for Jordan, thence on to his home in Bethlehem. Normally a quite volatile character, sharing that personality trait in common with many of his Arab countrymen (warning: racist comment- Ed)he had to keep in check while staying with his gentile occidental friends, but we have had word that it broke down almost immediately he was away from us. On the plane, 2 yanks were speaking in loud, disparaging tones about Arab people in general (a bit chancy, as the plane was peopled almost solely by Arabs)when Issa took them on and eventually got the flight attendants to stop their mouths on pain of arrest at their arrival. Apparently he received a rousing cheer from his fellows as the rude Americans were put in their place. Good on you Issa mate!
It has been quite a 3 weeks. Lots of snooker, the first I have played since my boy died 5 years ago, lots of alcohol, most unusual, though not unprecedented, the foray to the casino, fun outings to the Welsh mountains and also to Tewkesbury Abbey, but most of all, and certainly most surprising, the tremendous hitting-off between him and my mum, who instantly took him to her heart; this feeling strongly reciprocated on his part. Perhaps it speaks to the great esteem mothers are held in by Arab people. All I know is it was a wonderful thing to witness. We shall miss him, and the trail of aftershave and anti-perspirant he left behind him everywhere he went. I look forward to seeing him and meeting his family (in my case for the first time) when we visit the Holy Land again next year
It has been quite a 3 weeks. Lots of snooker, the first I have played since my boy died 5 years ago, lots of alcohol, most unusual, though not unprecedented, the foray to the casino, fun outings to the Welsh mountains and also to Tewkesbury Abbey, but most of all, and certainly most surprising, the tremendous hitting-off between him and my mum, who instantly took him to her heart; this feeling strongly reciprocated on his part. Perhaps it speaks to the great esteem mothers are held in by Arab people. All I know is it was a wonderful thing to witness. We shall miss him, and the trail of aftershave and anti-perspirant he left behind him everywhere he went. I look forward to seeing him and meeting his family (in my case for the first time) when we visit the Holy Land again next year
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