Insanity

Religon causes conflict all over the world, it ignites fury, passion and blind antipathy wherever it goes. One place where it's depressing touch should not be felt is nature based television shows, let alone those hosted by the genial, seemingly kindly and eminently knowledgeable David Attenborough.

He has, as he reveals here, been receiving hate mail from creationist, neo-conservative Christian groups. Now it may be my limited understanding of the intricacies of Christian theology but "hate mail" in it self seems to refute at least some of Jesus' teachings. Not only that but the insane reasoning behind messages hoping this every-grandad figure would "burn in hell" are sickening. Apparently in his nature shows Attenborough was not giving God enough credit for creation. It may come as a shock to some people but not everyone beleives in God. Some people instead choose to beleive in the indisputable fact that is evolution propogated by that idiot Charles Darwin. The idea that it may be easier to beleive in the whole seven days thing rather than empirical fact is strange in itself but to wish death on an old man is incomprehensible. Whether the seven days story is a parable or a fable or whatever (although it was preached as absolute fact before the Church realised that everyone in existence were not ignorant underlings) there doesn't seem to be many other credible theories for how we came to be here so the temerity to lambast someone for beleiving in one that seems pretty credible is ridiculous.

The idea of this hate mail also broaches some other issues. This isn't just the issue of atheism, it is the issue of freedom of beliefs. Regardless of the two conflicting idealogues criticising someone for what they beleive in is simply wrong. Attenborough doesn't make programmes to dispute the existence of God or tell people they are wrong he makes them to tell interested viewers about FACT not some crack pot theory he found on Wikipedia. If the situation had been reversed and an evolutionist had sent a Christian, Muslim, Jew or Hindu hate mail becuase of their inability to provide the point of view that there isnt a God on a religous broadcast I can't help feeling there would be a little bit more news coverage.

*I am aware this sounds a bit Daily Mail. But then it is an mental story and the Daily Mail is mental so I thought it best to adopt their venomous tone. At least Im not talking about good ol' Lady Di or immigration policy.

Awards, Beginnings and Hope

In the movie industry the start of the new year heralds the advent of "Awards Season". The studios release their carefully planned contenders and suddenly there are posters everywhere emblazoned with The Canne Film festival's palm symbol and festooned with 5 star ratings, but not grotesquely large stars that indicate some nuts and bolts/popcorn fare but discreet stars taken from reviews by the Guardian or Sight and Sound.

It is a good time to have an Unlimited Card. In the summer months they can go largely unused apart from the one credible, non animation film that comes out month as Hollywood plays to the hoardes of children baked and bored by long summer breaks. But at times like these a trip to the cinema can be justified every night and I feel safe in the knowledge that what I'm going to watch will be both enjoyable and well made.

I have had the good fortune of seeing a fair amount of this year's major contenders that have been released thus far. All of them are striking, beautiful and brilliantly acted and all have completley different subject matter. Mickey Rourke is incredible in the bleak, poignant and darkly comic The Wrestler and is a favourite for both an Oscar and a BAFTA. Sean Penn is equally as indistinguishable from his character in Milk the story of a San Franciscan gay activist in the the 1970's. Perhaps the film that has garnered the most attention, perhaps due to it's almost unanimous critical and commercial sucess is British director Danny Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire. Like it's contender's it is superbly acted but it mixes a socially concious, intelligent script with brilliant melodrama whilst being hilariously funny in a way that I have never experienced before in a film.

Still to come are The Curious Case of Benjamin Button featuring a Brad Pitt in the prime of his career and will be hoping to make up for missing out on being nominated last year when he was criminally overlooked for his astounding turn in The Assasination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford.

Whatever the outcomes this year has been the year for bringing Hollywood into every day life. Barack Obama's inaugaration was the most dramatic piece of theatre, symbolism and the fruition of a long un-realised dream. Like a piece of drama there was no easy route to the happy climax (although it was actually Chief Justice Roberts who fluffed his lines not the big O) but the day was one tinged with high emotions even for a white British teenager 4000 miles away. It was a sweet sight to see the democratic pair sworn in and as they were I imagined the horror I would have felt seeing Sarah Palin doing the same. Despite the rising tide of optimism President Obama dampened over-expectation with inevitable eloquence and the usual rhetorical flair. The millions there in startling scenes along the Mall were a testament to the hope and inspiration he has instilled in people. Politcally and morally he had to acknowledge things were going to be tough but whatever the tough decisions that need making, the economic turbulence that should arise or the difficult defensive strategies that need to be carried out the best man for the job is Barack Hussein Obama.

"Chaos is a friend of Mine..."

Chaos may be a friend to Bob Dylan but it certainly isnt to English cricket. Thinking back to the sublime Ashes victory in 2005 I envisage a united team, led by people who had planned meticulously and then executed their well laid schemes with unparalleled acumen and nous. England was jubilant, reacting in that vague, dazed manner that we always do when our teams actually do well, don't bottle out and are managed with a level of competence. In unison we were startled that a team with Britain based insignia on their chest had the temerity to win and to beleive they could win. There was abundant romance and verve in the way England played both collectively and individually. The shackles of Australia's dominance were cut loose with Samson-esque abandon by players at the height of their game; Freddy Flintoff batted and bowled like a legendary figure from the days of yore, defying medical science in the manner he hit the most sixes in an Ashes innings with a disclocated shoulder and by consuming the largest amount of alchohol in human history after the event. Kevin Pietersen justified the gaudy streak running through his hair by smashing world class bowlers all over pitches the length and breadth of his adopted nation. Not only that but when it really counted he was there, hitting his first test century to secure England a draw at the Oval and with it the Ashes in an innings that included a baseball style thump down the ground that became an apt metaphor for his swaggering talent and Englands confidence as a whole.

Four years on and the contrast is difficult to measure. England are a team in disarray destroyed from within by the sheer inability of captain and coach to form some kind of workng relationship. Peter Moores had large Zimbabwean shoes to fill as head of the England set up and it seems as though it was a task that was too much for him. When it became clear that the relationship, or rather lack of it, between coach and captain was a significant problem (a story broken by Pietersen's own newspaper column) the seismic shock caused by the revelation probably couldnt be anticipated. At the time most commentators were in agreement that there was only one way out; Peter Moores had to go, an assessment seemingly shared by Pietersen in his "It's me or him" style ultimatum. When it was announced that Moores had been sacked the inevitable seemed to have happened but when a few hours later Pietersen made his shock resignation in order to jump before he was pushed the implications of such a public dispute became clear. The diagnosis is unanimous: the problem should have been kept in house. In the upper echelons of international sport nothing is more damaging than a public rift and Pietersen's decision to move his problems with his coach into the open smacks of conceit and a wilful desire to force the hands of those whose responsibilty it was to solve such a crisis. If it is the case that Pietersen would of been removed regardless of his resignation then credit perhaps needs to be attributed to the ECB for exterting control over their captains growing tendancy to beleive he was bigger than the team. Gifted and integral as Pietersen is a climate whereby the most talented players decide on their coaches based on personal opinions is a dangerous sporting precedent to set and one which was only avoided by getting rid of Pietersen.

That should have been enough. The agents of chaos seem to have had their wicked way with the turmoil inflicted on English cricket and in an Ashes year no less. But today it emerged that Freddie Flintoff did not support the decision to sack Moores perhaps suggesting that Pietersens actions do not sit well with the England camp as a whole. A new layer of morbid interest will now varnished onto an already macabre story and the English cricket team could be involved in an MTV documentary designed to outline the most cringeworthy personal car crashes. Perhaps suggesting that the England team resemble Kerry Katona is unfair but the situation is pretty dire. Heaped on all their problems is a now seeming rupture at the very heart of everything that made them briliant: Pietersen and Flintoff a powerful symbol of the raw talent with which this generation of English cricketers had been endowed. Whether it was Pietersen's arrogance, Moores' stubborness or a silent group of Machiavellian Australians England enter an Ashes year questioning where it all went wrong

"Yes We Can..."

It is fair to say that George Bush has a lot to answer for. Two terrible wars, an unfair approach to taxation and Dick Cheney are just three prime examples but there seem to be larger problems for which he is responsible. The seemingly major one is the derision and distrust heaped on America by the majority of the British public who seem to think Americans are all fat, incapable of comprehending irony and stupid due to the malapropisms of their soon to be erstwhile president.*

Although BO's (he's got everything apart from initials that are good as a moniker) victory has, according to every newspaper everywhere, "restored people's faith in America" it shouldn't need such a monumental occurence to make people see through the fug of Christian Right politics that have pervaded under Bush into the heart of what America is and means. As excellently pointed out here America is a place of unparalled dynamism, diversity and endeavour, somewhere that despite it's inherent problems is probably the best thing that us bumbling humans have cobbled together. Thats not to say it's simply the "shining city on the hill" Reagan called it but that fact that it's citizens have such faith in it's basic virtue and it's capacity to change, and act on these ideals with often unrivalled entrepreneurial spirit and gusto, means that it is an entity which should be recognised as flawed but ulitmatley great and undeserving of the scorn that Dubya has made synonymous with America as a whole.

Maybe with the advent of a Barack Attack (another nickname I'm sure the almost-president would appreciate) America can become the pinnacle of freedom, hope and promise that it always had been. Either that or every bank will collapse, savings will dwindle and Tyler Durden's anarchic prophecies will come to fruition. Either way, and as always in the U.S of A's case, it's bound to be interesting.

*My personal favorite is: "I couldn't imagine somebody like Osama bin Laden understanding the joy of Hanukkah." Or possibly Bush saying; "Do you have blacks, too?" to the President of Brazil. Genius.

"All in the Game..."

Wow. I have just finished Season 1 of The Wire. Wow. It is immense. I have never seen characters so well drawn, a narrative so sprawling and intricate yet so accessable. A lot was made of it's gritty realism when it first aired on HBO and rightly so; violence isn't shirked but not used gratuitously and it's hard to distinguish the criminals from the police, but the joy of The Wire isn't in the realism. The joy of The Wire is in the manner which it creates such an engrossing all-encompassing world. As a viewer you are there on the sticky streets of Baltimore with the addicts, police brutality and the syringes putting holes in your shoes. It doesn't judge, it doesnt preach and law and order is examined in an eloquent and balanced way. The dialogue is authentic and beautifully put together, despite the amount of times "mother hubbard!"'s ugly sister is used per episode. In short it is genius.

All of these things should make me happy. But they don't. The Wire's brilliance gives me enjoyment but it also makes me realise that we live in a country where it can only draw 37,000 viewers an episode. This intelligent, thought provoking drama that has moments of comedy, profundity and that is most importantly rivetingly entertaining does not get one hundreth of the audience bestowed on masterpieces such as the 6 month long commercial that is the X Factor. Admitedley there is a place for light entertainment but every now and then can't we give some credit to pieces of art (because that is what The Wire is) that challenge us and the world we live in. Why not create a culture where programmes like The Wire populate the prime time schedules instead of the insipid, myopic bollocks that monopolises TV channels for months at a time. It's a nice idea but as Omar so aptly articulates in The Wire it's: "All in the game yo, all in the game."

*To those not familiar with Baltimore speak "All in the Game" insinuates that something is an unavoidable part of life. Omar often uses this saying when pressing a weapon to the head of an adversary. Or when he's fuckin a mutha fuckin bitch up for their stash as I would say.

Wanted: Henning Berg

This weeks excellent, as all ways, Fighting Talk on five live included a blunt question. Is the FA cup still alive? Although this might not seem like a monumentous enquiry even 10 years ago it would have probably been unthinkable. Go back 20 years and it would be comparable to suggesting that Mother Theresa was overrated. The cup final was was(as my dad often reminds me)the only televised game of the year. It was the focal point of every clubs season. No body was rested, no grounds were half empty and John Parkin would have been considered relatively svelte.

It's clear now those days are gone. Although the media still greet the competition with the same level of extravagant hyperbole, as excellently pointed out here, the "greatest cup competition in the world no longer commands the same prestige. There is one fundamental reason for this swift decline, one guilty body of arrogant pricks who set the precedent for the derision of such a venerable institution. Manchester United. In 2000 gum chewing heart atack waiting to happen Alex Ferguson decided that the inagural (and thus meaningless) FIFA World Club Championship was a more alluring prospect than the oldest cup competition in world football. Unfortunatley history proved him right. After exiting at the group stages United had five days recovery next to the pool, came home refreshed and cleared up in the league.Wankers.

Its saddening to think that such a cynical decsion could forever damage such a cornerstone of British footballing culture. Looking down the list of luminaries that made the fatal trip to Brazil you see the name Henning Berg, personally involved in the murder of a 136 year old kindly gentleman with big ears who occasionally helped out some of the less fortunate members of the community against their stronger, more monied oppressors. Who the fuck is Henning Berg to be able to do that?

"You come to me on my Daughters wedding day"

The dormant hours between the glut of presents and the arrival of family on Christmas day have to be filled with something. I had some alluring options this year after receiving an unfeasibly large range of books, films and Primark bought night-wear. Although simply sitting in a pair of stripy lounge pants for 4 hours was tempting I opted to close the blinds in an unfestive manner and utilise something from my wealth of entertainment options. Despite being given Barck Obama's inspirational, and by all accounts life affirming, "The Audacity of Hope" I instantly put my faith in the first installment from my Godfather boxset (remastered in 5:1 surround so as to make the splatter of blood even more realistic)

This may seem like a strange choice; The Godfather is renowned for dealing with themes of betrayal, legitimacy and death. But at it's core its a story of greed and familial realationships something that is perhaps more applicable to the Christmas season than at first glance. Saying The Godfather could never be said to warm the heart at a time when faith in humanity is high as we watch the respectable Michael Corleone descend from war hero to unflinching killer.

Despite these portents of horror, when The Godfather finished to the strains of it's immortal theme and the symbolism of Michael sitting in Don Vito's chair I felt strangley good. I can only attribute this off kilter happiness to one thing: Marlon Brando. It isn't exactly risque to state that his performance as the eponymous Godfather is one of the greatest in the history of cinema but it isnt until you watch the film, see this elemental force in a dinner jacket and hear his mumbling philosophy flow from cotton filled jowls that you realise what a feat the aging actor acheived. He is Don Vito, at no point does his performance stray into impersonation and the role is one of such nuance that even in the knowledge that he is a guiltless killer his end amongst vegetables, with his Grandson, is still one of extreme pathos.

Despite the gore, despite the darkness and despite the ending, Don Vito and Brando shine through not as an example of what it is about humanity that is good but as a testament to the capabilities of humanity. And what could be more christmassy than that, eh?