It is December 27th. Most households across the UK exchanged gifts just two days ago. Each household has spent an absurd amount of money, making sure every family member is satisfied on the obligatory gift-giving day. As usual, the nation has continued to queue and crowd high streets, except this year, the sales started early, very early. For retail assistants, there was also the exciting prospect that it was nearly all over for another year.
This afternoon I returned to work at a major bookselling chain, my first shift after Christmas. The Guardian/ICM poll published today showed that 86% of Britons are planning to make cutbacks in 2009. But clearly the people of Milton Keynes hadn’t been told there was a credit crunch. The shopping centre was heaving. I thought a second Christmas had been planned without my knowing. I cursed my way to work, dodging wayward prams, huge shopping bags and trolleys. I thought, Christmas was two days ago, and these people want to buy more things?
After many inane sale related questions and customers speaking to me as if I am an automated robot, I thought I’d had a bad day. That was until I spoke to my boyfriend, who was back to work at Zavvi for the first time since the announcement of their administration on Christmas Eve. From the moment they opened their doors the staff faced abuse all day. Zavvi are now (legally) unable to accept gift cards as payment, but anyone who purchased a gift card after 27th November are eligible for a refund if they send it to the head office; an address of which is provided both in store or online. It is very unfortunate for those who have money on a gift card, and this seems to be the biggest source of most people’s frustration. But many cases have surpassed frustration and led to anger and threatening behaviour. The city-centre security now appear to have a permanent fixture at Zavvi. Within five minutes of the shop opening, one lady wished the manager ‘a horrible life’ because of the gift-card fiasco, and another man complained that the clearance sale ‘was the same as last week’ and had queued up all morning for nothing. One family had to be escorted out after their complaint esculated, with the Mother claiming she had had to work ‘3 days for that £30.’
The abuse of these customers is utterly farcical. Staff have had to resort to using the ‘at least you still have a job’ line, or something to that effect. But it is true. A whole workforce (including Woolworths) are out of a job, and some people only care that the sale isn’t cheap enough. It is a wonder how Zavvi have managed to convince their staff to continue working at all. Of course, it is not as easy for some to just up and leave when there are still bills to be paid and children to feed. But after two days of hell, it would surprise me if the young part-timers bothered to come in at all. In response to today’s vile actions of the General Public, it would be a wonderful thing to see all Zavvi employees strike, or not open their doors. As someone who knows exactly the sort of mindless un-civil scenarios retail assistants must put up with on a day to day basis, it is about time staff stood up for themselves. Retail assistants working in Zavvi are in the best position to execute a strike. Not only because they are set to lose their jobs (a buyer is unlikely considering the toxicity of EUK) but because they have truly had to cope with the worst treatment.
The media have relished in lumping everyone in the same boat when it comes to this recession. ‘We’re all in this together’ is a favourite motto. But for those shopping today, so desperate to get their hands on the cheapest bargain, they are very far from experiencing anything like those behind the tills. Yes, these are tough times for some, but not all. Not for those with enough money to desire even more goods after Christmas is over. In times like this, you would think that customers would sympathise and rally behind the workers, blaming the fat cats or top rung management for the failure of the company. But instead it is the lowly working man who must bear the brunt of the backlash. Retail assistants deal with impossible customers with professionalism that even the calmest of people would have trouble mustering. It is too late for Zavvi staff, but in the rest of the retail sector, employees should be paid a salary that matches the professionalism they exhibit. In the most simple terms, it is unfair and offensive to be offered their rate of pay when the work they do is far more draining, both physically and mentally. Whoever thought that working in a shop would become a calling, one that few could withstand.
The crowds in the shopping centre today showed a side to our society that have truly transformed into materialist monsters, who are not out for blood but for the best bargain. For some, it wouldn’t be good enough if shops were giving stock away for free. They would still want more. The unfortunate thing about my article is that when I refer to customers, I could be talking about you, or anybody else reading this. People are so quick to point fingers at the wrong-doers, but some of the finger-pointers must hold themselves accountable. Retail workers are not robots, nor are they inferior human beings, they are just like you and me. If it is too far to suggest that the workers of Zavvi strike, sending a clear message to customers and retail workers alike, then I hope we can all become a little more tolerant. After-all, it could be your job next.
(First Draft)
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Woody Allen's Annie Hall
Redefining the Romantic Comedy
Geoff King in Film Comedy notes, ‘the dream of ideal romantic love is recognized explicitly for what it is: a myth, the product of fantasy; specifically that produced in the Hollywood of a past age and consumed, as an emotional indulgence, primarily by women.’ [1] Although specifying the Hollywood of a past age, this is still applicable to the romantic comedies of today, which in some instances have gone even further in exploring the myth of romance such as the cosmic plot of 2001’s Serendipity, or the fantastical story line of 2006’s The Lake House. The genre has accrued the nick-name ‘chick-flick’ which has damaged its reputation amongst a male audience, who tend to be more interested in the gross-out or satiric comedy, void of any romantic love. Annie Hall (1977) defies the woman’s romance in order to make what could be considered the man’s romantic comedy.
Woody Allen may be just as famous for the scandal of his personal life, (the marriages, the accusations,) as he is for his auteurist films. His general style is that of a comedic reimagining of the psychoanalytical musings which mob his personal life, along with a love of crime, sex and New York. Annie Hall turned towards the dramatic as well as comedic, which won him the best picture Oscar. Not only in Annie Hall, but other Allen films, there is a questioning, and demand to know, ‘what is love?’ Geoff King sums up the general consensus of romantic comedy as something static and categorical. ‘It is a device, primarily, rather than something explored or greatly developed in its own terms…’ [2] Woody Allen brings change to this with Annie Hall, challenging what we find romantic, and what we find comical.
The song ‘It Had to Be You,’ sung by Diane Keaton’s Annie, is used as a nostalgic reminder of the ballad-esque love seen in traditional romantic comedies. As Diane Jacobs realises, there are not many similarities between old and new. ‘The couples problem would have been confronted and elaborated upon in crisis after crisis in the films first hour and then have vanished or been made to seem trivial in light of the couples shared affection, experience, and a far more troubling prospect of separation.’ [3] We can imagine the fate of Alvy and Annie if Woody Allen had not been their creator. There would be a realisation that despite their differences, love will prevail and the happy couple will grow old together, or at least we will be led to imagine. This Hollywood ending is perhaps something Allen fantasizes about, placating the fictional ‘Annie and Alvy’ (in Alvy’s first play) in a happy ending. Annie Hall is wholly more pessimistic. Amongst other things which are yet to be considered, Allen brings an unrelenting cynicism to the romantic-comedy. It seeps into Alvy’s relationship with Annie, just one of the refreshingly disconcerting characteristics of a ‘romantic’ protagonist. This is also embodied in his distaste for the L.A life, and a nostalgic fondness for New York. In fact, New York plays the third wheel in the relationship, becoming a bone of contention at prickly times between the couple. Adopting the defensive love of the city Allen has, ‘L.A becomes the antithesis of New York.’ [4] Everything is opposite there, the plasticity of friendships and transparency of their interests. Alvy has a more romantic and needful attachment to the city, than he has with women in past and current relationships.
Romantic comedies which have gone before often rely on comedic cues, such as prat-falls and solution gags, which are obvious to the spectator. Woody Allen’s comedy is cerebral, using expectation, stereotype, and politics to induce laughter. His spectator is not necessarily different or more clever, but evolved. Frank Krutnik identifies ‘the nervous romance.’ [5] The nervous neurotic may have already been experienced in Cary Grant’s David, in Bringing Up Baby, but not on the narcissistic scale of what would appear to be Woody Allen’s alter-ego. Romantic comedy is usually conceived as a female genre, but Annie Hall is represents a predominantly male attitude towards romantic frustrations. His nervousness combines with the Jewish stereotype, to create ‘The paranoia of Alvy Singer…who insists on hearing the phrase ‘did you eat?’ as the slur ‘Jew eat?.’ [6] Alvy’s self-conscious image of himself as an Orthodox Jew haunts him, as do his obsessions with sex and death. Annie complains, ‘You never want to try anything new,’ but immediately he reminds her of when he suggested a threesome. If it isn’t the prospect of a sexual encounter or mediation on death, Alvy is stunted in his adventurism. He comes across as lecherous in his relationships, and often the sex (or lack of it) is the cause of the breakdown. Interestingly, Frank Krutnik concludes these obsessions as ‘his anhedonic inability to reconcile the claims of body and mind.’ [7] His preoccupation with death is littered throughout the film, from psychoanalysis to Death in Venice, as if unable, as Krutnik points out, to embrace life and valorise his current relationship. For Alvy, death is an excuse, a morbid fascination which comes in the way of romance.
Alvy Singer is commonly assumed to be the alter-ego of Woody Allen himself. There is an extremely personal and voyeuristic appeal in watching Annie Hall. Diane Jacob reflects this by saying ‘we are more interested in
Alvy and Annie because they may be Woody Allen and Diane Keaton. And we may like Mr Allen and Ms. Keaton better, because they may be the loveable Alvy and Annie.’ [8] This open access to their lives adds a depth and significance to the normally escapist romantic-comedy. The humanity and complexities of Alvy are those we may assign to the real-life person of Woody Allen. His comedy is mostly found in the dialogue, and in Annie Hall there is barely time to catch a breath. Even upon repeat viewing, the spectator may hear another sharp line. It sometimes seems like Alvy does not have time to listen to Annie, even at their most intimate moments, too concerned with what he himself has to say. The emancipation of the female character is also something which sets Annie Hall apart from the traditional conventions of romantic-comedy. There is a repressive quality in Alvy; one which sees him ignorant of Annie’s natural photography talent, and encouraging of adult education. However, upon succeeding in her classes, Alvy becomes jealous and deprecating of her ‘schooling’. His eye-rolling attitude towards her education, moving to L.A, and selfish opinions of her therapy, all point towards a loss of masculinity, and empowering of the new female romantic figure. Diane Keaton even takes it to the heights of the ‘Annie Hall Look.’ [9] Annie Hall sides with the notion of ‘the battle of the sexes,’ a struggle between traditional male dominated heterosexual relations and the liberation of the woman to choose her own path, and partner. The most telling scene which reconfigures the romantic-comedy is alongside the New York river, where Alvy cannot bring himself to say the word love. ‘…the inadequacy of connotations surrounding the overused word ‘love,’ consists of a kind of parodic estranging of the word, distorting it into a series of exotic aural shapes. “Love…Lov…Luhv.”’ [10] This moment stresses the disassociation of the romantic-comedy with the fixation of the word love. Romantic-comedies generally set out on a holy grail in search of genuine love. For Alvy, ‘love’ is not good enough for him, and as he twists his words under the guise of comedy, it is never plainer to see. Annie may be the crucial relationship for Alvy, but it starts and ends in the same way we have seen before with him. Annie Hall is just as much about Annie and Alvy, as it is about every other woman and Alvy.
When Alvy and Annie’s relationship breaks down, we slip into a familiar romantic-comedy emotion, which is the feeling of sadness at the thought of our couple separating. There are a few reasons for this. Firstly, Alvy and a new girlfriend are in his kitchen, re-enacting a second version of Alvy and Annie’s lobster debacle. The smoking woman is not amused, or as spontaneous as Annie. Annie’s good cheer is notably absent. As Alvy leaves L.A after unsuccessfully trying to bring Annie back to New York with him, there is not even a goodbye muttered between them. He proceeds to crash his car into other parked cars, recalling the happier times of his childhood, when he spent his days crashing bumper cars at the fairground, with his Father. Alvy has regressed, and we know things will never be as simple as the bumper car days. Finally, as we hear another rendition of ‘It Had to Be You,’ the montage of Alvy and Annie’s laughter and love helps the spectator forget the moments of frustration and anxiety gone before.
Just as the Screwball, and Comedian comedies redefined romantic-comedic terms, so too should Allen’s Nervous comedy. It is undoubtedly the most truthful of the romantic-comedy, illustrating that life is not perfect, so neither should the representation of it. Annie Hall is an anti-classical romance, unflinchingly humorous in its personal portrayal of love. Somehow, though, the coupling of Alvy and Annie leaves us with a warm glow, which even the most formulaic of romantic comedies has been known to leave. Alvy tells a final joke, comparing the need of the eggs (in the joke) to the need for relationships, despite their irrationality and absurdity. Although it is hardly a happy ending, it leaves optimism, that in retrospect, the Annie Hall experience is one which is always desired.
FOOTNOTES
[1] King, Geoff, p.59, 2002[2] King, Geoff, p.50, 2002[3] Cowie, Peter, p.44, 1996[4] Cowie, Peter, p.21, 1996[5] Krutnik, Frank, p.57, 2002[6] Krutnik, Frank, p.153, 2002[7] Krutnik, Frank, p.20, 1998[8] Jacobs, Diane, p.51, 1996[9] Lurie, Alison, p. 173, 1989[10] Babbington, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams, p.163, 1989
BIBLIOGRAPHY
King, Geoff, Film Comedy, Wallflower Press, 2002
Cowie, Peter, Annie Hall, BFI, 1996
Jacobs, Diane, in Cowie, Peter, Annie Hall, BFI, 1996
Krutnik, Frank, ‘Love Lies’ in Evans, Peter William and Deleyo, Celestino, Terms of Endearment, Edinburgh University Press, 1998
Lurie, Alison, in Babbingon, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams Affairs To Remember, Manchester University Press, 1989
Babbington, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams, Affairs to Remember, Manchester University Press, 1989
Geoff King in Film Comedy notes, ‘the dream of ideal romantic love is recognized explicitly for what it is: a myth, the product of fantasy; specifically that produced in the Hollywood of a past age and consumed, as an emotional indulgence, primarily by women.’ [1] Although specifying the Hollywood of a past age, this is still applicable to the romantic comedies of today, which in some instances have gone even further in exploring the myth of romance such as the cosmic plot of 2001’s Serendipity, or the fantastical story line of 2006’s The Lake House. The genre has accrued the nick-name ‘chick-flick’ which has damaged its reputation amongst a male audience, who tend to be more interested in the gross-out or satiric comedy, void of any romantic love. Annie Hall (1977) defies the woman’s romance in order to make what could be considered the man’s romantic comedy.
Woody Allen may be just as famous for the scandal of his personal life, (the marriages, the accusations,) as he is for his auteurist films. His general style is that of a comedic reimagining of the psychoanalytical musings which mob his personal life, along with a love of crime, sex and New York. Annie Hall turned towards the dramatic as well as comedic, which won him the best picture Oscar. Not only in Annie Hall, but other Allen films, there is a questioning, and demand to know, ‘what is love?’ Geoff King sums up the general consensus of romantic comedy as something static and categorical. ‘It is a device, primarily, rather than something explored or greatly developed in its own terms…’ [2] Woody Allen brings change to this with Annie Hall, challenging what we find romantic, and what we find comical.
The song ‘It Had to Be You,’ sung by Diane Keaton’s Annie, is used as a nostalgic reminder of the ballad-esque love seen in traditional romantic comedies. As Diane Jacobs realises, there are not many similarities between old and new. ‘The couples problem would have been confronted and elaborated upon in crisis after crisis in the films first hour and then have vanished or been made to seem trivial in light of the couples shared affection, experience, and a far more troubling prospect of separation.’ [3] We can imagine the fate of Alvy and Annie if Woody Allen had not been their creator. There would be a realisation that despite their differences, love will prevail and the happy couple will grow old together, or at least we will be led to imagine. This Hollywood ending is perhaps something Allen fantasizes about, placating the fictional ‘Annie and Alvy’ (in Alvy’s first play) in a happy ending. Annie Hall is wholly more pessimistic. Amongst other things which are yet to be considered, Allen brings an unrelenting cynicism to the romantic-comedy. It seeps into Alvy’s relationship with Annie, just one of the refreshingly disconcerting characteristics of a ‘romantic’ protagonist. This is also embodied in his distaste for the L.A life, and a nostalgic fondness for New York. In fact, New York plays the third wheel in the relationship, becoming a bone of contention at prickly times between the couple. Adopting the defensive love of the city Allen has, ‘L.A becomes the antithesis of New York.’ [4] Everything is opposite there, the plasticity of friendships and transparency of their interests. Alvy has a more romantic and needful attachment to the city, than he has with women in past and current relationships.
Romantic comedies which have gone before often rely on comedic cues, such as prat-falls and solution gags, which are obvious to the spectator. Woody Allen’s comedy is cerebral, using expectation, stereotype, and politics to induce laughter. His spectator is not necessarily different or more clever, but evolved. Frank Krutnik identifies ‘the nervous romance.’ [5] The nervous neurotic may have already been experienced in Cary Grant’s David, in Bringing Up Baby, but not on the narcissistic scale of what would appear to be Woody Allen’s alter-ego. Romantic comedy is usually conceived as a female genre, but Annie Hall is represents a predominantly male attitude towards romantic frustrations. His nervousness combines with the Jewish stereotype, to create ‘The paranoia of Alvy Singer…who insists on hearing the phrase ‘did you eat?’ as the slur ‘Jew eat?.’ [6] Alvy’s self-conscious image of himself as an Orthodox Jew haunts him, as do his obsessions with sex and death. Annie complains, ‘You never want to try anything new,’ but immediately he reminds her of when he suggested a threesome. If it isn’t the prospect of a sexual encounter or mediation on death, Alvy is stunted in his adventurism. He comes across as lecherous in his relationships, and often the sex (or lack of it) is the cause of the breakdown. Interestingly, Frank Krutnik concludes these obsessions as ‘his anhedonic inability to reconcile the claims of body and mind.’ [7] His preoccupation with death is littered throughout the film, from psychoanalysis to Death in Venice, as if unable, as Krutnik points out, to embrace life and valorise his current relationship. For Alvy, death is an excuse, a morbid fascination which comes in the way of romance.
Alvy Singer is commonly assumed to be the alter-ego of Woody Allen himself. There is an extremely personal and voyeuristic appeal in watching Annie Hall. Diane Jacob reflects this by saying ‘we are more interested in
Alvy and Annie because they may be Woody Allen and Diane Keaton. And we may like Mr Allen and Ms. Keaton better, because they may be the loveable Alvy and Annie.’ [8] This open access to their lives adds a depth and significance to the normally escapist romantic-comedy. The humanity and complexities of Alvy are those we may assign to the real-life person of Woody Allen. His comedy is mostly found in the dialogue, and in Annie Hall there is barely time to catch a breath. Even upon repeat viewing, the spectator may hear another sharp line. It sometimes seems like Alvy does not have time to listen to Annie, even at their most intimate moments, too concerned with what he himself has to say. The emancipation of the female character is also something which sets Annie Hall apart from the traditional conventions of romantic-comedy. There is a repressive quality in Alvy; one which sees him ignorant of Annie’s natural photography talent, and encouraging of adult education. However, upon succeeding in her classes, Alvy becomes jealous and deprecating of her ‘schooling’. His eye-rolling attitude towards her education, moving to L.A, and selfish opinions of her therapy, all point towards a loss of masculinity, and empowering of the new female romantic figure. Diane Keaton even takes it to the heights of the ‘Annie Hall Look.’ [9] Annie Hall sides with the notion of ‘the battle of the sexes,’ a struggle between traditional male dominated heterosexual relations and the liberation of the woman to choose her own path, and partner. The most telling scene which reconfigures the romantic-comedy is alongside the New York river, where Alvy cannot bring himself to say the word love. ‘…the inadequacy of connotations surrounding the overused word ‘love,’ consists of a kind of parodic estranging of the word, distorting it into a series of exotic aural shapes. “Love…Lov…Luhv.”’ [10] This moment stresses the disassociation of the romantic-comedy with the fixation of the word love. Romantic-comedies generally set out on a holy grail in search of genuine love. For Alvy, ‘love’ is not good enough for him, and as he twists his words under the guise of comedy, it is never plainer to see. Annie may be the crucial relationship for Alvy, but it starts and ends in the same way we have seen before with him. Annie Hall is just as much about Annie and Alvy, as it is about every other woman and Alvy.
When Alvy and Annie’s relationship breaks down, we slip into a familiar romantic-comedy emotion, which is the feeling of sadness at the thought of our couple separating. There are a few reasons for this. Firstly, Alvy and a new girlfriend are in his kitchen, re-enacting a second version of Alvy and Annie’s lobster debacle. The smoking woman is not amused, or as spontaneous as Annie. Annie’s good cheer is notably absent. As Alvy leaves L.A after unsuccessfully trying to bring Annie back to New York with him, there is not even a goodbye muttered between them. He proceeds to crash his car into other parked cars, recalling the happier times of his childhood, when he spent his days crashing bumper cars at the fairground, with his Father. Alvy has regressed, and we know things will never be as simple as the bumper car days. Finally, as we hear another rendition of ‘It Had to Be You,’ the montage of Alvy and Annie’s laughter and love helps the spectator forget the moments of frustration and anxiety gone before.
Just as the Screwball, and Comedian comedies redefined romantic-comedic terms, so too should Allen’s Nervous comedy. It is undoubtedly the most truthful of the romantic-comedy, illustrating that life is not perfect, so neither should the representation of it. Annie Hall is an anti-classical romance, unflinchingly humorous in its personal portrayal of love. Somehow, though, the coupling of Alvy and Annie leaves us with a warm glow, which even the most formulaic of romantic comedies has been known to leave. Alvy tells a final joke, comparing the need of the eggs (in the joke) to the need for relationships, despite their irrationality and absurdity. Although it is hardly a happy ending, it leaves optimism, that in retrospect, the Annie Hall experience is one which is always desired.
FOOTNOTES
[1] King, Geoff, p.59, 2002[2] King, Geoff, p.50, 2002[3] Cowie, Peter, p.44, 1996[4] Cowie, Peter, p.21, 1996[5] Krutnik, Frank, p.57, 2002[6] Krutnik, Frank, p.153, 2002[7] Krutnik, Frank, p.20, 1998[8] Jacobs, Diane, p.51, 1996[9] Lurie, Alison, p. 173, 1989[10] Babbington, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams, p.163, 1989
BIBLIOGRAPHY
King, Geoff, Film Comedy, Wallflower Press, 2002
Cowie, Peter, Annie Hall, BFI, 1996
Jacobs, Diane, in Cowie, Peter, Annie Hall, BFI, 1996
Krutnik, Frank, ‘Love Lies’ in Evans, Peter William and Deleyo, Celestino, Terms of Endearment, Edinburgh University Press, 1998
Lurie, Alison, in Babbingon, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams Affairs To Remember, Manchester University Press, 1989
Babbington, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams, Affairs to Remember, Manchester University Press, 1989
Monday, October 27, 2008
Iraq through the eyes of Hollywood
The mainstream film industry has experienced a post-2005 fixation with the ‘war on terror,’ but despite countless efforts from popular stars and directors, they are yet to come up with a satisfactory answer to the Iraq question. Disinterest from audiences has landed a blow to the pockets of studios and their extortionately overblown budgets, as almost all attempts at portraying the crisis in the Middle East have fallen short of financial expectations. Unwittingly, the releases have taken on traits more suited to the Independent film industry. Controversial themes, complicated plots, and marginal profits (if any) are all characteristics better associated with Hollywood’s counterpart, but can be broadly applied to these Zeitgeist films. Many factors are to blame for this costly misjudgement of the mainstream market, which I will come to discuss, but it is clear that the blatant profiteering from an issue as tentative as the ‘war on terror’ has alienated mainstream audiences. As a point of comparison I shall first look at Syriana, followed by more recent releases Lions for Lambs, Redacted, Stop-Loss, and In the Valley of Elah. With the latest excremental flop The Lucky Ones, we must ask, now more than ever, why has Hollywood insisted on flogging this dead horse for so long?
The global appeal of 2005’s Syriana, which chronicles oil relations between America and the Middle East, lent itself to a broad international market. It not only set a cornerstone for quality politically minded pieces, but also the hefty financing such films could later come to expect.
Stephen Gaghan had only one other directing credit to his name, however with the weight of executive producer Steven Soderbergh and actor George Clooney behind the project, they presented a convincing case for funding. The huge budget of Syriana pits itself against its true audience. The film essentially appeals to cinephiles, who are more concerned with the metaphorical message of the film than with the cost or necessity of special effects. To put the money matters of Syriana into perspective, we can look at the book to film adaptation of The Bourne Identity (2002) one of the decades most successful action films. The Bourne Identity had a budget of $60 million, and went on to double its profit at the box office leaving scope for another Hollywood cash cow, the sequel. Syriana received a budget of $50 million and only attracted a taking of $800,000 more (domestically) than that figure. Independent films normally have a modest budget to prepare for their just above moderate takings. The insignificant profit margin of Syriana is prototypical of this, but it is magnified to the proportions of Clooney and Soderbergh. Judging by the injection of money into the feature, not to mention the well-respected stars attached to it, the film did not make a big enough dent in profit for it to be considered a success in fiscal terms. We can alternatively view its critical and overseas success as a saving grace, and consider this further proof that Syriana truly belonged to a different realm and strategy of film output. Normally in mainstream features, stars are sought as a box-office attraction, and risky projects are shelved or at least made softer. Syriana both defies and conforms to this, with its big name guarantors, but the rough edges of world politics are not sanded down; they are made blatant and unflinching. Aside from the fact Matt Damon’s character survives to return to the family home, which could be seen as a typical Hollywood ending, Syriana is symptomatic of this collision between contemporary Mainstream and Independent film. One of the most outstanding scenes which pulls together the international strings of Syriana takes place in the hotel elevator. The well-intentioned American economist (Damon) and American intelligence (Clooney) are too busy looking at the situation in the Middle East (the Prince) to know or care about Africa being neglected (African man left outside elevator). This double motif of characters occurs throughout the film, creating a generally anti-mainstream feel and a work of high-brow, rather than high-concept. But Syriana suffered at the hands of its symbiotic relationship. Its marketability was skewed. Its overblown budget was unnecessary, as was its release by Warner Bros Pictures (whose other 2005 releases included Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, one of the highest grossing films of all time) rather than it’s more suitable counterpart, Warner Independent Pictures. It is only in hindsight, having suffered highly ineffectual mediations on the Iraq war, that we realise the extraordinary depth and merit of Syriana’s analysis. This coveted acclaim for Syriana outweighed its financial disappointment, acclaim which resounded within the industry. The backlash of imitation features began in haste. But the new influx did not wish to mimic Syriana’s sophisticated tapestry. They were more concerned with re-hashing popular existing genres in the hope of capturing the audience’s dollar, than creating thought provoking films of any kind of permanence.
Mishandled promotion is a key factor in many of the unsuccessful box office ventures. Stop-Loss is in essence a teen drama, Rendition follows the usual plot twists of a thriller, and the newly released The Lucky Ones is one of the most ridiculous road movies acquitted to film. The Iraq war is simply a catalyst to attract money for otherwise stale formulas. The promotional poster for Stop-Loss looks like a replica of the poster for 1999’s sports teen drama Varsity Blues, and in fact the plot for Stop-Loss plays out like a Varsity Blues remake for the enlisted generation. The issue of being sent back to Iraq (‘stop-lossed’) takes second place to the predictable trials and tribulations of a teen from the mid-west. The movie grapples with the decision to entertain or inform, and any attempt at didacticism are lost after the umpteenth fist fight. Defenders of Stop-Loss argue that it encourages people pay attention to the difficulties soldiers and veterans face upon their return to American life. This is a valid intention, but the glossy Hollywood treatment does not go far enough to conciliate those directly affected by the war, not to mention the already lambasted ulterior motive of profit-hunting. The Lucky Ones, much like other features, does not offer a credible account of the Iraq war, but more than this, the chance events in the films are so inconceivable it turns a serious matter into a laughing one. The trio of veterans attend a party held by an affiliate of the Baptist church they attend. Tim Robbins’ character, who is so depressed about the state of his marriage that the others make constant reference to his impending suicide, meets a drunk middle aged woman who states she is ‘sort of married.’ One dance later and they’ve escaped to the bedroom where the woman’s husband walks in on them, and instructs him to ‘do her hard, soldier.’ Somehow he has managed to overcome his suicidal thoughts, the recent breakdown of his marriage (two days earlier) and jump into bed with the first woman who shows interest. The sequence of events that take place on the road feel so staged it removes the audience from their realm of escapism, to marvel at the absurdity of what they are witnessing. The film fails on many legitimacy issues. But the most offensive element of The Lucky Ones is the irreverent attitude towards American soldiers, pitching them all as dim-witted, out of luck outcasts of American life.
The Hollywood-Iraq sensation is indicative of modern day protesting. No longer do we see people taking to the streets or up in arms about the war. People are too dictated to by their jobs, their lifestyle or the media to believe that they can instil change in something they disapprove of. Instead, and without much effort, we can wear a fashion t-shirt with the slogan ‘drop beats not bombs,’ download a charity single, place a ‘support our troops’ sticker in our car, or spend two hours in the cinema watching a synthetic representation of what is really happening in the outside world. All of this distances us enough from the real life emotion, whilst simultaneously cleansing ourselves of any guilt we may have about the ‘war on terror’. We feel by doing any one of these things, we are doing enough. American companies are cashing in on this subconscious guilt, repackaging it in a way to make ourselves feel better, that somehow there is entertainment to be eeked out of this war. We are lucky enough to live in a time where enlisting for the army is not an obligation, but a choice. In a perverse manner, we enjoy the car-crash syndrome. We know we shouldn’t be watching for enjoyment, but we cannot look away. Another excuse for the films general failure is the primacy and recency effect the Iraq war has on audience’s acceptation of the films. It is too soon to render the conflict as entertainment. The complete lack of foresight into a war which drags on into an uncertain future means the films have nothing conclusive to say. Lions for Lambs, for all it’s welcome political debate, is just as unclear about how to deal with the situation in the Middle East as the government it sets out to berate. The stereotypical portrayals of a warmongering Republican and the powerless media do not capture anything new about this already deeply unpopular war. The chastising lectures throughout the film are a far cry from Redford’s previously hard-hitting political performances, such as the history defining All the Presidents Men. It is a film cursed by its own promotion; three huge Hollywood dignitaries tackling the most important issue of our time, on a $35 million budget. It set itself up to be the Platoon or Deer Hunter of the Iraq generation. Instead, Lions for Lambs was castigated for its dreary interpretation of the war, in which it seems anyone and everyone is to blame. Redacted does better to appease the gap between Hollywood and Independent. It mixes blood-splattering action with documentary style camera work. The camera captures the uncomfortably shocking rape of an innocent Iraqi woman, at the hands of the consistently faultless American army. It also uses New Media as a way of conveying the multi-faceted war; blogs of soldier’s wives, ranting You Tube entries, and the circulated terrorist videos. It takes the view that American soldiers are also culpable for the worsening situation in the Middle East, rather than blindly blaming the government. The knowledge that this is a true story makes for chilling viewing, and this at least makes the film more memorable than Rendition’s ordinary thriller plot, whose message is diluted under genre formalities. The problem with Redacted, is that it shows no favour or sympathy towards any of the characters. If the soldiers are supposedly the bad guys, it is not clear who the good guys are. Stereotyping is rife; from the working class American soldiers who are ignorant and racist, the Iraqi civilians who are helpless victims, to the terrorists who are depicted as plain barbaric. The film repeats a vicious cycle. We feel sympathy for the narrator and other soldiers who are killed by the terrorists. We despise the terrorists for what they have done. Soon after though, we feel sympathy for the lives of innocent Iraqi’s, who have been killed by the same American soldiers we just felt sorry for. We now despise the American soldiers. This rotation continues throughout, and consequently the viewer is left impartial to the violence and atrocities witnessed. Worse though, are films such as Home of the Brave which stars teen favourites Chad Michael Murray and 50 Cent. It executes a hollow exercise in the action/war/drama hybrid genre. It, and others like it, do nothing more than carry the broad and facile message that ‘war is bad.’
One film which has bucked the trend, in my eyes, is Paul Haggis’ In the Valley of Elah. The director of Crash casts aside the theatrics and high-drama of his peers, opting instead for a slow-burning and sobering account of a veteran’s murder when he returns home from Iraq. The portrait of an imperfect family; one son who has already been lost to the Iraq war, a disintegrated marriage, and Tommy Lee Jones’ tired patriotism, all contribute to the palpable sense of grief felt throughout the film. The murder of their second son is truly harrowing, made worse by Tommy Lee Jones’ constant fixed gaze and crumpled face. The empty American landscape frames the brutality of the crime, in which Mike Deerfield’s body is found chopped into pieces. As the film transpires, it was comrades of Deerfield who killed him after an argument in the car. The most shocking moment of the film takes place in the confession of the soldier who killed him. He explains they would have hidden the body parts better, ‘but we were too hungry.’ The post-traumatic and psychological problems facing American soldiers are captured here in this frank admittance. There is a general disregard for the importance of human life; the impact of war has rendered them cold and emotionless. Yes, the film is sombre and ‘depressing,’ but its subtle message of anti-war hits harder than the guilt inducing, action packed Hollywood features. Haggis realises there is no conclusive answer to the Iraq war, and ends his film with the uncertain image of an upside down American flag, which we learnt earlier in the film means ‘we’re in a whole lot of trouble so come save our asses ‘cause we ain’t got a prayer in hell of saving it ourselves.’ The upside down stars and stripes sends out a more powerful message than any high budget combat scenes ever could. The film underperformed, but with an outlet of just 9 theatres across America it is not surprising. In the UK, it opened on an astonishing 216 screens. If the US ever expects to find its seminal Iraq and Afghanistan film, then it must give diverse and bold features like In the Valley of Elah the chance to reach a wider audience.
For more consistently reliable films debating the Iraq issue, we must look at the promising documentaries and docu-dramas which are not as well promoted in the US. Films such as Battle for Haditha by acclaimed documentary filmmaker Nick Broomfield or Road to Guantanamo by Michael Winterbottom, are blunt reconstructions of key events which have taken place in the past seven years. Battle for Haditha recreates events which took place on 19 November 2005, where US soldiers unlawfully killed 24 Iraqi non-combatants in retribution for a soldier’s death earlier that day. Road to Guantanamo tells the nightmarish story of three British-Pakistani men, caught up in the events in Afghanistan in 2001 and wrongly detained in Guantanamo for three years. These films do not have a secret agenda, they are merely telling a true story. In the coming months we will witness another influx of Hollywood-Iraq films; Body of Lies by Ridley Scott, Hurt Locker by Katheryn Bigelow and in the near future, Green Zone by Paul Greengrass. These are all well respected directors, but judging by their respective plot outlines they read as if they are the same film. For future releases which look poised to impress we must again turn to the Independent and Documentary sector. In a Michael Moore-esque take, A Soldiers Peace by Marshall Thompson tracks the filmmaker and ex-soldier as he walks border to border of the USA’s reddest state, Utah. W. is political aficionado Oliver Stone’s latest offering. It has an impressive ensemble cast and a timely release; just as the titular man leaves office. Recent US DVD release Taxi to the Darkside by Alex Gibney has already received critical acclaim from international audiences, and the upcoming Standard Operating Procedure by documentary maverick Errol Morris should receive due attention.
Hollywood must stop being dictated to by over-zealous studios and their ill-informed projects. Sleek and expensive productions do not automatically amount to critically sound results. With the loss suffered from previous failed attempts, they may have learnt their lesson. The Independent film industry has already found success in its sector, but when will Hollywood pool together their disparate attempts at the Iraq question, to find an answer which impresses both conflicting entities? Hollywood should either shed its choosy Independent tactics completely, which have so far failed, or embrace the Independent industry whole heartedly to unveil its decisive Iraq piece. This can be done through lower budgeting, a quality script, and a director with a more individualistic vision. There is also a pool of politically conscious players who can attract a large audience, such as Julianne Moore, James Cromwell, Michael Sheen, and Josh Brolin, and of course the big four, Clooney, Pitt, Di Caprio, and Damon. These factors must all be fulfilled in order to create the quintessential Iraq film. Hollywood must avoid existing models of the modern war film; slick, expensive, star laden and empty of any political significance. There are still plenty of unanswered questions and unchartered territory, which seasoned documentary filmmakers such as Broomfield and Morris, or Hollywood affiliates such as Gaghan and Haggis, are more than equipped to tackle. The film industry must re-engage with the feelings of cinema goers. The war and all its consequent issues are being taken very seriously; Hollywood must honour this seriousness if they wish to create something historically memorable, and see their own popularity, not to mention their credibility, rise again.
The global appeal of 2005’s Syriana, which chronicles oil relations between America and the Middle East, lent itself to a broad international market. It not only set a cornerstone for quality politically minded pieces, but also the hefty financing such films could later come to expect.
Stephen Gaghan had only one other directing credit to his name, however with the weight of executive producer Steven Soderbergh and actor George Clooney behind the project, they presented a convincing case for funding. The huge budget of Syriana pits itself against its true audience. The film essentially appeals to cinephiles, who are more concerned with the metaphorical message of the film than with the cost or necessity of special effects. To put the money matters of Syriana into perspective, we can look at the book to film adaptation of The Bourne Identity (2002) one of the decades most successful action films. The Bourne Identity had a budget of $60 million, and went on to double its profit at the box office leaving scope for another Hollywood cash cow, the sequel. Syriana received a budget of $50 million and only attracted a taking of $800,000 more (domestically) than that figure. Independent films normally have a modest budget to prepare for their just above moderate takings. The insignificant profit margin of Syriana is prototypical of this, but it is magnified to the proportions of Clooney and Soderbergh. Judging by the injection of money into the feature, not to mention the well-respected stars attached to it, the film did not make a big enough dent in profit for it to be considered a success in fiscal terms. We can alternatively view its critical and overseas success as a saving grace, and consider this further proof that Syriana truly belonged to a different realm and strategy of film output. Normally in mainstream features, stars are sought as a box-office attraction, and risky projects are shelved or at least made softer. Syriana both defies and conforms to this, with its big name guarantors, but the rough edges of world politics are not sanded down; they are made blatant and unflinching. Aside from the fact Matt Damon’s character survives to return to the family home, which could be seen as a typical Hollywood ending, Syriana is symptomatic of this collision between contemporary Mainstream and Independent film. One of the most outstanding scenes which pulls together the international strings of Syriana takes place in the hotel elevator. The well-intentioned American economist (Damon) and American intelligence (Clooney) are too busy looking at the situation in the Middle East (the Prince) to know or care about Africa being neglected (African man left outside elevator). This double motif of characters occurs throughout the film, creating a generally anti-mainstream feel and a work of high-brow, rather than high-concept. But Syriana suffered at the hands of its symbiotic relationship. Its marketability was skewed. Its overblown budget was unnecessary, as was its release by Warner Bros Pictures (whose other 2005 releases included Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, one of the highest grossing films of all time) rather than it’s more suitable counterpart, Warner Independent Pictures. It is only in hindsight, having suffered highly ineffectual mediations on the Iraq war, that we realise the extraordinary depth and merit of Syriana’s analysis. This coveted acclaim for Syriana outweighed its financial disappointment, acclaim which resounded within the industry. The backlash of imitation features began in haste. But the new influx did not wish to mimic Syriana’s sophisticated tapestry. They were more concerned with re-hashing popular existing genres in the hope of capturing the audience’s dollar, than creating thought provoking films of any kind of permanence.
Mishandled promotion is a key factor in many of the unsuccessful box office ventures. Stop-Loss is in essence a teen drama, Rendition follows the usual plot twists of a thriller, and the newly released The Lucky Ones is one of the most ridiculous road movies acquitted to film. The Iraq war is simply a catalyst to attract money for otherwise stale formulas. The promotional poster for Stop-Loss looks like a replica of the poster for 1999’s sports teen drama Varsity Blues, and in fact the plot for Stop-Loss plays out like a Varsity Blues remake for the enlisted generation. The issue of being sent back to Iraq (‘stop-lossed’) takes second place to the predictable trials and tribulations of a teen from the mid-west. The movie grapples with the decision to entertain or inform, and any attempt at didacticism are lost after the umpteenth fist fight. Defenders of Stop-Loss argue that it encourages people pay attention to the difficulties soldiers and veterans face upon their return to American life. This is a valid intention, but the glossy Hollywood treatment does not go far enough to conciliate those directly affected by the war, not to mention the already lambasted ulterior motive of profit-hunting. The Lucky Ones, much like other features, does not offer a credible account of the Iraq war, but more than this, the chance events in the films are so inconceivable it turns a serious matter into a laughing one. The trio of veterans attend a party held by an affiliate of the Baptist church they attend. Tim Robbins’ character, who is so depressed about the state of his marriage that the others make constant reference to his impending suicide, meets a drunk middle aged woman who states she is ‘sort of married.’ One dance later and they’ve escaped to the bedroom where the woman’s husband walks in on them, and instructs him to ‘do her hard, soldier.’ Somehow he has managed to overcome his suicidal thoughts, the recent breakdown of his marriage (two days earlier) and jump into bed with the first woman who shows interest. The sequence of events that take place on the road feel so staged it removes the audience from their realm of escapism, to marvel at the absurdity of what they are witnessing. The film fails on many legitimacy issues. But the most offensive element of The Lucky Ones is the irreverent attitude towards American soldiers, pitching them all as dim-witted, out of luck outcasts of American life.
The Hollywood-Iraq sensation is indicative of modern day protesting. No longer do we see people taking to the streets or up in arms about the war. People are too dictated to by their jobs, their lifestyle or the media to believe that they can instil change in something they disapprove of. Instead, and without much effort, we can wear a fashion t-shirt with the slogan ‘drop beats not bombs,’ download a charity single, place a ‘support our troops’ sticker in our car, or spend two hours in the cinema watching a synthetic representation of what is really happening in the outside world. All of this distances us enough from the real life emotion, whilst simultaneously cleansing ourselves of any guilt we may have about the ‘war on terror’. We feel by doing any one of these things, we are doing enough. American companies are cashing in on this subconscious guilt, repackaging it in a way to make ourselves feel better, that somehow there is entertainment to be eeked out of this war. We are lucky enough to live in a time where enlisting for the army is not an obligation, but a choice. In a perverse manner, we enjoy the car-crash syndrome. We know we shouldn’t be watching for enjoyment, but we cannot look away. Another excuse for the films general failure is the primacy and recency effect the Iraq war has on audience’s acceptation of the films. It is too soon to render the conflict as entertainment. The complete lack of foresight into a war which drags on into an uncertain future means the films have nothing conclusive to say. Lions for Lambs, for all it’s welcome political debate, is just as unclear about how to deal with the situation in the Middle East as the government it sets out to berate. The stereotypical portrayals of a warmongering Republican and the powerless media do not capture anything new about this already deeply unpopular war. The chastising lectures throughout the film are a far cry from Redford’s previously hard-hitting political performances, such as the history defining All the Presidents Men. It is a film cursed by its own promotion; three huge Hollywood dignitaries tackling the most important issue of our time, on a $35 million budget. It set itself up to be the Platoon or Deer Hunter of the Iraq generation. Instead, Lions for Lambs was castigated for its dreary interpretation of the war, in which it seems anyone and everyone is to blame. Redacted does better to appease the gap between Hollywood and Independent. It mixes blood-splattering action with documentary style camera work. The camera captures the uncomfortably shocking rape of an innocent Iraqi woman, at the hands of the consistently faultless American army. It also uses New Media as a way of conveying the multi-faceted war; blogs of soldier’s wives, ranting You Tube entries, and the circulated terrorist videos. It takes the view that American soldiers are also culpable for the worsening situation in the Middle East, rather than blindly blaming the government. The knowledge that this is a true story makes for chilling viewing, and this at least makes the film more memorable than Rendition’s ordinary thriller plot, whose message is diluted under genre formalities. The problem with Redacted, is that it shows no favour or sympathy towards any of the characters. If the soldiers are supposedly the bad guys, it is not clear who the good guys are. Stereotyping is rife; from the working class American soldiers who are ignorant and racist, the Iraqi civilians who are helpless victims, to the terrorists who are depicted as plain barbaric. The film repeats a vicious cycle. We feel sympathy for the narrator and other soldiers who are killed by the terrorists. We despise the terrorists for what they have done. Soon after though, we feel sympathy for the lives of innocent Iraqi’s, who have been killed by the same American soldiers we just felt sorry for. We now despise the American soldiers. This rotation continues throughout, and consequently the viewer is left impartial to the violence and atrocities witnessed. Worse though, are films such as Home of the Brave which stars teen favourites Chad Michael Murray and 50 Cent. It executes a hollow exercise in the action/war/drama hybrid genre. It, and others like it, do nothing more than carry the broad and facile message that ‘war is bad.’
One film which has bucked the trend, in my eyes, is Paul Haggis’ In the Valley of Elah. The director of Crash casts aside the theatrics and high-drama of his peers, opting instead for a slow-burning and sobering account of a veteran’s murder when he returns home from Iraq. The portrait of an imperfect family; one son who has already been lost to the Iraq war, a disintegrated marriage, and Tommy Lee Jones’ tired patriotism, all contribute to the palpable sense of grief felt throughout the film. The murder of their second son is truly harrowing, made worse by Tommy Lee Jones’ constant fixed gaze and crumpled face. The empty American landscape frames the brutality of the crime, in which Mike Deerfield’s body is found chopped into pieces. As the film transpires, it was comrades of Deerfield who killed him after an argument in the car. The most shocking moment of the film takes place in the confession of the soldier who killed him. He explains they would have hidden the body parts better, ‘but we were too hungry.’ The post-traumatic and psychological problems facing American soldiers are captured here in this frank admittance. There is a general disregard for the importance of human life; the impact of war has rendered them cold and emotionless. Yes, the film is sombre and ‘depressing,’ but its subtle message of anti-war hits harder than the guilt inducing, action packed Hollywood features. Haggis realises there is no conclusive answer to the Iraq war, and ends his film with the uncertain image of an upside down American flag, which we learnt earlier in the film means ‘we’re in a whole lot of trouble so come save our asses ‘cause we ain’t got a prayer in hell of saving it ourselves.’ The upside down stars and stripes sends out a more powerful message than any high budget combat scenes ever could. The film underperformed, but with an outlet of just 9 theatres across America it is not surprising. In the UK, it opened on an astonishing 216 screens. If the US ever expects to find its seminal Iraq and Afghanistan film, then it must give diverse and bold features like In the Valley of Elah the chance to reach a wider audience.
For more consistently reliable films debating the Iraq issue, we must look at the promising documentaries and docu-dramas which are not as well promoted in the US. Films such as Battle for Haditha by acclaimed documentary filmmaker Nick Broomfield or Road to Guantanamo by Michael Winterbottom, are blunt reconstructions of key events which have taken place in the past seven years. Battle for Haditha recreates events which took place on 19 November 2005, where US soldiers unlawfully killed 24 Iraqi non-combatants in retribution for a soldier’s death earlier that day. Road to Guantanamo tells the nightmarish story of three British-Pakistani men, caught up in the events in Afghanistan in 2001 and wrongly detained in Guantanamo for three years. These films do not have a secret agenda, they are merely telling a true story. In the coming months we will witness another influx of Hollywood-Iraq films; Body of Lies by Ridley Scott, Hurt Locker by Katheryn Bigelow and in the near future, Green Zone by Paul Greengrass. These are all well respected directors, but judging by their respective plot outlines they read as if they are the same film. For future releases which look poised to impress we must again turn to the Independent and Documentary sector. In a Michael Moore-esque take, A Soldiers Peace by Marshall Thompson tracks the filmmaker and ex-soldier as he walks border to border of the USA’s reddest state, Utah. W. is political aficionado Oliver Stone’s latest offering. It has an impressive ensemble cast and a timely release; just as the titular man leaves office. Recent US DVD release Taxi to the Darkside by Alex Gibney has already received critical acclaim from international audiences, and the upcoming Standard Operating Procedure by documentary maverick Errol Morris should receive due attention.
Hollywood must stop being dictated to by over-zealous studios and their ill-informed projects. Sleek and expensive productions do not automatically amount to critically sound results. With the loss suffered from previous failed attempts, they may have learnt their lesson. The Independent film industry has already found success in its sector, but when will Hollywood pool together their disparate attempts at the Iraq question, to find an answer which impresses both conflicting entities? Hollywood should either shed its choosy Independent tactics completely, which have so far failed, or embrace the Independent industry whole heartedly to unveil its decisive Iraq piece. This can be done through lower budgeting, a quality script, and a director with a more individualistic vision. There is also a pool of politically conscious players who can attract a large audience, such as Julianne Moore, James Cromwell, Michael Sheen, and Josh Brolin, and of course the big four, Clooney, Pitt, Di Caprio, and Damon. These factors must all be fulfilled in order to create the quintessential Iraq film. Hollywood must avoid existing models of the modern war film; slick, expensive, star laden and empty of any political significance. There are still plenty of unanswered questions and unchartered territory, which seasoned documentary filmmakers such as Broomfield and Morris, or Hollywood affiliates such as Gaghan and Haggis, are more than equipped to tackle. The film industry must re-engage with the feelings of cinema goers. The war and all its consequent issues are being taken very seriously; Hollywood must honour this seriousness if they wish to create something historically memorable, and see their own popularity, not to mention their credibility, rise again.
Friday, October 24, 2008
How the apple of the working mans eye became the Thatcher of my generation
For people like myself who were born in the 1980’s, when it comes to conjuring up Thatcher, there is little to be recalled from the minds eye. We remember her waving goodbye to number 10 through misty eyes, and only over time have we learnt the importance of the Iron Fisted Milk Snatcher, and the policies she defended right into the ground of her premiership. The events of her leadership effected our parent’s generation. We can only imagine the fury caused by the Poll Tax or the sinking of the Belgrade. But in 1997, upon the arrival of prodigious Tony Blair to the Labour party, we experienced the growth of a Prime Minister in unison with our own adolescent interest in politics. Opinions were often naïve and yet to germinate, but they were always impassioned and uncomplicated. Simplicity, it seems, was the best way to survive ten long years of New Labour. As if teenage years weren’t hard enough.
The Cool Britannia bandwagon rolled into town, and tired of eighteen years of Conservative government, everyone jumped aboard. As the darling of New Labour, Blair’s speeches inspired hope and optimism in British people. The unions and the working class man, who suffered dereliction under Thatcher, were gasping for a leftist move back towards a socialist administration. His insistence on a ‘new’ labour party, the development of the minimum wage policy, and his delicate handling of the death of Princess Diana turned him into the nations own, momentary, King of Hearts. However, this revelry was a short-lived honeymoon period. His apparent staunch opposition to the conservative regime was a vote-winning façade, and in actuality, Tony Blair’s legacy is one of consistent centre-right policy.
The most extraordinary act of Blair took place in the very early days of his Labour leadership, when he replaced Clause IV of the Labour constitution. The Clause IV text set out the socialist intentions of the Labour government, through common ownership and a fair distribution of wealth. A Clause which sounded pretty appealing at a time when government had been selling off anything public they could get their hands on. This break with ‘old’ labour was a controversial but revolutionary welcome to New Labour. The intricate details of what Clause IV professed were overlooked in favour of the appeal of change. The radical thought that Blair could change an eighty year old text was radical enough to usher it in. In hindsight this was a warning sign of Blair’s presidential leadership style of government. It gave Blair the authority to act as he saw fit, regardless, before he even stepped into number 10.
Immediate independence of the Bank of England took everyone by surprise, and although this was considered an economically smart choice, it reeked of Conservative sentiment. It even prodded Norman Lamont, Browns Conservative predecessor, to speak of his delight that the change was ‘right and should have been made by Conservative governments.’ The move would allegedly put an end to the boom and bust era, one of Labour’s all-time favourite sound-bites. Today though, as we slide further down the slippery slope to recession, people are tentatively looking to the roots of our economic crisis and questioning that very independence. Blair castigated city bankers after the stock market crash of 1987, branding them incompetent and morally dubious. But his objection was clearly not severe enough for him to tighten the reigns on loose lending during his time in parliament. If he had taken more stern action, Labour could have easily curbed the crisis we are now experiencing.
The rhetoric mantras of ‘Education, Education, Education’ and ‘Tough on crime, tough on the causes of crime,’ were once banners for a pledge of change, but are now distance memories of empty promises. Blair bemoaned a loss of sense of community. The ASBO phenomenon has done nothing to quell community concerns, and the media have latched onto the recent swathe of London knife crime. Statistics read however that Labour have executed a downturn in most areas of crime. We must ask then, why are the government still seeking liberty infringing ways to ‘protect’ us even further? Increased police presence on the ground is a showy attempt to demonstrate public order, which has resulted in more arrestible offences and a seismic DNA file. Only recently has their 42 day terror detention plan fallen through, but government plans for the ID card (which mirror the Conservatives Public Order White paper which Blair opposed) are moving forward blithely, despite strong public detraction. Social authoritarianism plagues the streets of England, and as the Poll Tax was for Conservatives, the ID card could be the hill to which Labour die on.
The Iraq War was a political awakening for young people in England. Suddenly America was more than just a place to holiday; it was a place we apparently followed blindly at their beckoned call. The one day student strike on March 3rd 2003 stands out as the moment many young people took a stand against our government’s judgement. A lot has happened since the age of fifteen. Five years is a long time when you are a teenager. But much to the dismay of the thousands of other students on that day, the Iraq war has been a mainstay of our adolescent years. For all Labour’s unapologetic attitude to the Weapons of Mass Destruction embarrassment, the unwavering support for US foreign policy, and the many lives lost, we have instead adopted that shame ourselves. Tony Blair had no interest in hearing the objections of a nation, and instead favoured his own imperialist instincts.
As Tony Blair eeked out his premiership to the narcissistic ten year mark, a young generation have been left feeling abandoned. We find ourselves asking ‘what did Tony Blair do for us?’ He was a Prime Minister of contradiction. The tripling of tuition fees alienated many students, despite his call for a record number of University students. There are more graduates than there are graduate job vacancies. Unemployment is almost as high as Thatcher Conservatism. This is before addressing the nationwide problems of transport costs, the impossible property ladder, and the bureaucratic, nightmarish tax and welfare systems. The labour government has created a winner takes all society and Tony Blair’s post-premiership career confirms this notion. He has joined the investment bank JP Morgan, in a ‘senior advisory’ capacity. It sounds just like one of the many ‘created’ jobs available in the financial sector, which is still seeing Lloyds TSB chief Eric Daniels fighting for staff bonuses despite a £37 billion government bail out. He has also signed a lucrative deal with Yale University, which will see him deliver just 5 lectures a year for 3 years on faith and globalization. His prime ministership was one of controlling greed and laziness. Cherie Blair, in a book-promoting interview with the Guardian, called herself and her husband socialists. This is a hard word to swallow when the rich-poor divide in this country is bigger than ever. Blair has washed his hands of any participation in wrenching that gap even wider. The eighties children who could not comprehend the anger towards the Thatcher regime finally have their own doll to stick pins in. And as for Labour, suddenly it seems a very long journey back to erasing the ‘new’ from their name.
The Cool Britannia bandwagon rolled into town, and tired of eighteen years of Conservative government, everyone jumped aboard. As the darling of New Labour, Blair’s speeches inspired hope and optimism in British people. The unions and the working class man, who suffered dereliction under Thatcher, were gasping for a leftist move back towards a socialist administration. His insistence on a ‘new’ labour party, the development of the minimum wage policy, and his delicate handling of the death of Princess Diana turned him into the nations own, momentary, King of Hearts. However, this revelry was a short-lived honeymoon period. His apparent staunch opposition to the conservative regime was a vote-winning façade, and in actuality, Tony Blair’s legacy is one of consistent centre-right policy.
The most extraordinary act of Blair took place in the very early days of his Labour leadership, when he replaced Clause IV of the Labour constitution. The Clause IV text set out the socialist intentions of the Labour government, through common ownership and a fair distribution of wealth. A Clause which sounded pretty appealing at a time when government had been selling off anything public they could get their hands on. This break with ‘old’ labour was a controversial but revolutionary welcome to New Labour. The intricate details of what Clause IV professed were overlooked in favour of the appeal of change. The radical thought that Blair could change an eighty year old text was radical enough to usher it in. In hindsight this was a warning sign of Blair’s presidential leadership style of government. It gave Blair the authority to act as he saw fit, regardless, before he even stepped into number 10.
Immediate independence of the Bank of England took everyone by surprise, and although this was considered an economically smart choice, it reeked of Conservative sentiment. It even prodded Norman Lamont, Browns Conservative predecessor, to speak of his delight that the change was ‘right and should have been made by Conservative governments.’ The move would allegedly put an end to the boom and bust era, one of Labour’s all-time favourite sound-bites. Today though, as we slide further down the slippery slope to recession, people are tentatively looking to the roots of our economic crisis and questioning that very independence. Blair castigated city bankers after the stock market crash of 1987, branding them incompetent and morally dubious. But his objection was clearly not severe enough for him to tighten the reigns on loose lending during his time in parliament. If he had taken more stern action, Labour could have easily curbed the crisis we are now experiencing.
The rhetoric mantras of ‘Education, Education, Education’ and ‘Tough on crime, tough on the causes of crime,’ were once banners for a pledge of change, but are now distance memories of empty promises. Blair bemoaned a loss of sense of community. The ASBO phenomenon has done nothing to quell community concerns, and the media have latched onto the recent swathe of London knife crime. Statistics read however that Labour have executed a downturn in most areas of crime. We must ask then, why are the government still seeking liberty infringing ways to ‘protect’ us even further? Increased police presence on the ground is a showy attempt to demonstrate public order, which has resulted in more arrestible offences and a seismic DNA file. Only recently has their 42 day terror detention plan fallen through, but government plans for the ID card (which mirror the Conservatives Public Order White paper which Blair opposed) are moving forward blithely, despite strong public detraction. Social authoritarianism plagues the streets of England, and as the Poll Tax was for Conservatives, the ID card could be the hill to which Labour die on.
The Iraq War was a political awakening for young people in England. Suddenly America was more than just a place to holiday; it was a place we apparently followed blindly at their beckoned call. The one day student strike on March 3rd 2003 stands out as the moment many young people took a stand against our government’s judgement. A lot has happened since the age of fifteen. Five years is a long time when you are a teenager. But much to the dismay of the thousands of other students on that day, the Iraq war has been a mainstay of our adolescent years. For all Labour’s unapologetic attitude to the Weapons of Mass Destruction embarrassment, the unwavering support for US foreign policy, and the many lives lost, we have instead adopted that shame ourselves. Tony Blair had no interest in hearing the objections of a nation, and instead favoured his own imperialist instincts.
As Tony Blair eeked out his premiership to the narcissistic ten year mark, a young generation have been left feeling abandoned. We find ourselves asking ‘what did Tony Blair do for us?’ He was a Prime Minister of contradiction. The tripling of tuition fees alienated many students, despite his call for a record number of University students. There are more graduates than there are graduate job vacancies. Unemployment is almost as high as Thatcher Conservatism. This is before addressing the nationwide problems of transport costs, the impossible property ladder, and the bureaucratic, nightmarish tax and welfare systems. The labour government has created a winner takes all society and Tony Blair’s post-premiership career confirms this notion. He has joined the investment bank JP Morgan, in a ‘senior advisory’ capacity. It sounds just like one of the many ‘created’ jobs available in the financial sector, which is still seeing Lloyds TSB chief Eric Daniels fighting for staff bonuses despite a £37 billion government bail out. He has also signed a lucrative deal with Yale University, which will see him deliver just 5 lectures a year for 3 years on faith and globalization. His prime ministership was one of controlling greed and laziness. Cherie Blair, in a book-promoting interview with the Guardian, called herself and her husband socialists. This is a hard word to swallow when the rich-poor divide in this country is bigger than ever. Blair has washed his hands of any participation in wrenching that gap even wider. The eighties children who could not comprehend the anger towards the Thatcher regime finally have their own doll to stick pins in. And as for Labour, suddenly it seems a very long journey back to erasing the ‘new’ from their name.
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