#this is different from the way all british people say it because john oliver puts a lot of emphasis on the B

[doppel-dean-er]

it's become a vocal stim at this point to say "balls" the way John Oliver does it's a problem

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Here's a compilation I made of six different comedians (two per podcast) on three different podcasts saying something about different types of comedy, specially how it's different in Britain and American. Tumblr won't let me embed it even though I compressed it down to be under the max file size, so I'm using a Google Drive. It's just audio, but I made it a video instead of an audio file so I could add text to show what people and podcasts are playing at a given time.

I put those together and then I wrote down a bunch of thoughts about it, which I think start out somewhat coherent but get less so as I go along. It's a whole bunch of stuff I've been thinking about all shoehorned into one post just because they're all on a vaguely similar topic, like a hastily thrown-together Edinburgh show. The point is that I'm going to listen to Mike Birbiglia's albums. That's... that's the upshot. That's how all this started.

I found the chat with Hari Kondabolu especially fascinating, having heard a few of Hari’s comedy specials and albums, and heard him on The Bugle a lot over a bunch of years (also I saw his Problem with Apu documentary, everyone should watch that, and should know that he says all the time on The Bugle he doesn’t get royalties for it anymore so doesn’t mind how people find it, just watch it).

He’s an interesting presence on The Bugle, an outsider as an American, who was there from the very beginning of their reboot in 2016, so you can kind of watch him figure out what this is in real time. At first he audibly has no fucking idea what he’s signed up for, and as it goes along, you can hear him settle into an area of “Well I still don’t really understand why you’re doing this, but I see what it is now and have found a way to do my thing beside your thing and that’s fine.” That’s partly a reaction to Andy Zaltzman, because no one really knows what to do with Andy Zaltzman unless they’ve had a long time to get used to it (except for John Oliver, I’m pretty sure they just met at a student comedy gig in about 1999 and instantly said “Oh look, my comedy soulmate”). But some of it is also a reaction to the British stuff. The references to British politics and history that you get on a topical and political comedy show, and the way they approach all their material. I like hearing Hari Kondabolu on there, an outsider perspective who can pick it apart a bit.

So I found his Comedian’s Comedian podcast interview interesting – honestly the whole thing is worth a listen, even if you don’t really know Hari Kondabolu’s work, as a good analysis of political comedy and the mechanics of good comedy bits and British vs. American comedy and the comedy industry more generally. But for this post, my interest is the British vs. American stuff.

I cut out a big chunk of their Brit vs. American discussion on that episode, and put it in the video above. I debated how long to make the clip, to create what was meant to be a compilation of people discussing British vs. American comedy, and ended up leaving in some stuff that’s a bit off topic where they fawn over Daniel Kitson. I realize comedians fawning over Daniel Kitson is hardly such a rare and exciting event that it needs to be preserved, but I particularly enjoyed hearing Stuart Goldsmith and Hari Kondabolu do it, so I left it in when cutting out the clip. I’ve heard Hari bring up on a couple of other occasions, as well, that he’s wildly impressed and amazed by the Hotmail address.

Anyway though, the Kitson stuff aside, the clip from the Comedian’s Comedian podcast is mostly Hari Kondabolu and Stuart Goldsmith discussing how the Edinburgh Fringe Festival shapes British comedians’ careers into something different from what they are in America. They have to write a new hour every year, because there will be reviewers there who saw last year’s hour and will catch them out if they try to recycle material. Also because it’s a smaller country, so they can only tour one show in so many places before everyone’s heard it and they have to do a new thing. Hari Kondabolu is impressed with the work ethic but mildly horrified by the whole thing, and can point out some aspects of the system that people who are used to it just wouldn’t notice because they seem normal.

I think there are two major factors that mark out the Edinburgh-influenced British model of comedy  careering building as being different from, say, American stuff: the new hour every year and the way each hour has to be themed and coherent and structured and preferably built around some story or message. In Hari Kondabolu’s podcast episode he mainly talked about the new hour every year thing, but also briefly touched on the concept of themes. Stuart Goldsmith mentioned that tides seemed to be changing, as it used to be that themes would make you different and interesting, but not anymore, so they’ll become less common soon. I’ve just spent three weeks listening to 38 shows performed at Edinburgh 2023, and I can say, I’m pretty sure that prediction was inaccurate. Themes and throughlines abound, and I’m happy about that. I like a good theme.

I do think there are pros and cons to it, though, and Hari Kondabolu points out some significant cons. If you look at the list of shows by any British comedy who's been doing Edinburgh for a long time, there are going to be some filler years. Some years when they did a show just because it's a new year and Edinburgh is up there so they'd better write a show, even if they don't have much to say. Hari is right to say that British comedians work fucking hard to turn over a new hour every year, but that doesn't mean the quality will always be top-notch.

Also, themes can be limiting. I'm sure there are some themed shows out there that would be better if they were just freestyle, if the comedian let themselves say all their best stuff, rather than cutting good material due to not being on theme. Or adding weaker material because it is on theme.

So that’s an American going on a British person’s podcast to tell them how fucked up the British comedy system is. I’ve made this compilation to compare it to a British person going on an American’s podcast, in which the American thinks the British system is great and in fact what he wants to do as well. Nish Kumar on Mike Birbiglia’s podcast, from just a couple of years ago. It’s an interesting contrast. A couple of people have told me before that Mike Birbiglia is like a British comedian but in the form of an American person. Including @my-excellent-bicycle, who told me ages ago that he's very good, and I said I'd watch him, and then I didn't, so sorry about that. Absolutely no offence to any of the people who'd already told me about him, but I have to admit, when the "Mike Birbiglia is so cool, he's like an American who does British comedy" endorsement comes from Nish Kumar, that does mean a little extra. Enough so I have now downloaded Mike Birbiglia's stuff, will listen to it next.

I can't really speak to the accuracy of what Nish Kumar said in that clip, since I haven't yet actually heard Mike Birbiglia’s shows. But I see what Nish means. He means shows that are built around one topic and/or narrative and/or theme and/or message, and stay on that, or at least around it and vaguely adjacent to it, for an hour.

Later in the 2021 podcast episode from which I took that Kumar/Birbiglia clip, Nish mentioned that actually, even though this is a generally British thing to do, he personally doesn’t tend to do it much, and he’d like to do it more. That was true, as of then. I’ve heard Nish’s 2014 (might have been originally his 2013 show, actually, whichever one got recorded for the Soho Live thing on Amazon Prime), 2016, and 2019 shows, and none of them were all that structured. They were coherent, particularly the latter two, which stayed on the topic of politics. Even that earlier one had some throughlines and underlying bits that kept coming back. But he didn’t do a really carefully constructed narrative show until 2022, the one that just had a video come out, Your Power Your Control.

So I found it interesting to hear Nish Kumar in 2021, just before he wrote Your Power Your Control, say he’d like to do more narrative-type stuff. And then the next year, he did it. Good for him. Nish Kumar just did a new episode of the Comedian’s Comedian podcast as well – it was recorded very recently, to go with the release of his latest special – and in that one, he mentioned that he was pleased with the way he managed to Birbiglia-fy this show in a way he hadn’t done with previous ones, making it a structured narrative the way Mike Birbiglia does. But actually, the way most British comedians do, and apparently this one American guy that it’s time for me to check out.

Then I added a clip of David O’Doherty from a very recent podcast, in which he talks about getting backlash from Americans for not being what they expect, which is just a bunch of unconnected jokes. I added that clip to the conversation because he brings up Hannah Gadsby and Nannette, and I think that’s an interesting point.

Hannah Gadsby got a huge amount of backlash for Nannette, and most of it was misogynistic. Not all of it, I guess. I guess it’s technically possible for someone to just really not like Hannah Gadsby’s style of humour, and they hated Nannette for perfectly legitimate reasons. Just like probably, some of those people on those cesspits of toxicity that were those Josie Long-related comedy message board threads in 2007, just legitimately did not share her sense of humour. Maybe one or two of them. But mainly, it’s the misogyny.

However, DO’D makes an interesting point about Hannah Gadsby’s show. Most “Edinburgh hour”-style shows do not get as massively world famous as Nannette did. So they got hit with misogynistic backlash, but it was fueled by the fact that it was being seen by a lot of Americans who are not used to that type of comedy, and just don’t understand. They thought Hannah was taking the respectable genre of doing 50 punchlines in 20 minutes, and making a mockery of it. Just because it was the first time they’d seen a comedy show with some sad bits. They thought Hannah Gadsby was doing comedy wrong.

So many people – mostly American people – who saw Nannette didn’t realize that ending a show with 10-15 minutes of sad bits is so commonplace in certain comedy circles that it’s also common to make fun of it. You hear comedians all the time, make jokes about the standard hour that’s funny for a while and then has a sad bit. There’s even a term for it: dead dad show. A dead dad show isn’t just a show about a dead dad. It’s any show that’s funny for a while but also poignant and touching and sentimental and has sad bits at the end and wants to make you cry as well as laugh. People joke about it because it’s been done a lot, it’s been done in some hack ways and some bad ways, it’s also been done in some brilliant ways, it runs the gauntlet like anything else.

It’s fine for people to say they’re not into that kind of thing. But Nannette got so big that people who’d never heard of that genre started seeing it, and they had no idea what they were seeing. So that’s how they ended up saying Hannah is not a comedian, this isn’t comedy, Hannah tricked a comedy-expecting audience into seeing a one-woman show! How dare you bring trauma into a comedy show? As though comedians talking about trauma aren’t a dime a dozen in Britain and Australia.

And I think that has pros and cons too. I like a show that works some serious stuff in, that has some deep personal or political message. But also, sometimes, people have a point when they say a comedy show has focused so much on the personal or political messages/trauma dumping that it forgot to also be funny (not with Nanette, though, people forget that Nanette had lots of good jokes in the first 45 minutes, it was a funny show, people just watch clips that have been cut from the last little bit and are then say this so-called comedy show isn't funny). And I guess it's up to each individual comedy audience member how much humour they'll allow a show to sacrifice for other stuff before they get sick of it. How much sad stuff or angry stuff or introspective stuff or educational stuff or heartwarming stuff or philosophical stuff or narrative stuff a show can have at the expense of funny stuff, before they'll say, "Okay, I need more comedy than this in my comedy shows." But I think it's a pretty shallow view of what comedy can be if you're not okay with a show that has any of that other stuff.

I am conflating Britain/Ireland and Australia/NZ quite a bit in this post, and that’s because I think when it comes to this sort of thing, they’re very similar. I’m also conflating Canada and the US, because I think they’re similar, in that neither of have this tradition that I’m pretty sure developed at Edinburgh and MICF. And I’m not talking about any other countries because as far as my comedy knowledge goes, those may as well be the only ones that exist (sorry Anuvab Pal and Aditi Mittal, I do know a couple from India too, but as far as I can tell, the special type of comedy they do in India is “say some stuff and hope you don’t get arrested for it”).

There is an obvious reason for that: Australia has a festival that’s similar to Edinburgh. British and Irish (and Irish, sorry for having forgotten to add “and Irish” in the earlier bits of this post, I just saw Dara O’Briain’s newest special – called So Where Were We, just released by the BBC, by the way, I recommend it – and it’s chock full of trauma, proving the Irish can do dead dad/never met my dad shows with the best of them) comedians develop their careers around Edinburgh, and Australian/NZ comedians develop their careers around the Melbourne Comedy Festival. North America doesn’t have anything like that.

Obviously North America has yearly festivals too, but not ones that are so big that every single comedian in the area wraps their whole career around it. I think the only one big enough to do that around here would be Just For Laughs, but Just For Laughs isn’t nearly the same thing, since people have to audition for it. You can’t just set up a show and show up. People can’t start writing a show in September with the assumption that they’ll take it to JFL next summer, because unless they’re already very famous, they can’t be sure they’ll be accepted into JFL’s lineup.

I found the David O’Doherty clip interesting, as he lists storytelling shows as just one of the many things that are, in fact, comedy, but get called “this isn’t comedy” by mostly Americans on the internet. But also, it’s not like all Americans just do 50 punchlines in 20 minutes and that’s it. They do lots of stuff! They have alternative comedy there, and at this point I’m getting out of my depth, because I have a sort of idea in my head of what American alternative comedy means – the vague idea involves things like Eugene Mirman and Fred Armisen and Kristen Schaal and improv shows in New York – but I don’t really know what I’m talking about. This post would be better if I knew what I was talking about more.

I guess the basic rule I’m working with is: British/Irish/Aussie/NZ do a new hour every year and it has themes and throughlines and narratives and coherent structure and they workshop it all year and then take it to Edinburgh and then scrap all that material and do a new one. And American comedians just write one joke(/bit/funny story, not just the classic type of one-liner “joke”) at a time, and at any given time are performing the combination of their best crop of jokes, and whenever they write a new joke it replaces the worst one in their set, so they evolve that way. I’m trying to understand why that difference exists, and part of the problem with my efforts to understand that is I don’t really know what I’m talking about, and the other part of the problem is that stating the difference that way is a massive oversimplification. It’s difficult to understand why a phenomenon exists if that phenomenon doesn’t really exist in nearly as simple a way as I’ve stated it here.

I know there are exceptions to that rule I just stated, even though I’ve not listened to any Mike Birbiglia yet. For a really famous example, I watched John Mulaney’s new show Baby J earlier this year (fuck him for the Dave Chapelle thing, the divorce and addiction are his own business and people who don’t know him shouldn’t have tried to get involved in his personal life, but fuck him for the Dave Chapelle thing, I didn’t watch his new show in any way that could translate to view count/profit for him – but I did love all his previous shows and was curious about what’s in the new one so I watched it), and that was pretty much all around one story. Even Hari Kondabolu’s new-ish special has a little bit of a theme, about being political while having a kid. And there are plenty of others, so it’s not like this stuff doesn’t happen in America. And there are plenty of British comedians who just do one joke at a time.

I don’t know – I’m not completely making this dichotomy up, right? That’s why I made that compilation in the video at the top of this post. Other people talking about that thing I’m talking about and proving that it is somewhat based in reality. It would help if I knew more about American comedy. You can’t really compare British and American comedy unless you know quite a bit about both, and I don’t know nearly enough about American to really understand this.

That’s why I asked my brother about it the other night, because he’s been doing comedy in Canada for a long time and most of the comedy he watches/likes is American. I asked him if he knows what I mean when I talk about this dichotomy, and why it may or may not exist. And he didn’t really know what I’m talking about, which means 1) the difference is so significant that someone who mainly follows North American comedy doesn’t even know about the dead dad Edinburgh show so can’t compare anything to it, and/or 2) I didn’t explain it very well. Because we had a whole conversation where at some point I realized we were talking past each other. He was using the word “alt” a lot, and it meant one thing to him and a different thing to me, so neither of us really knew what the other was talking about.

That in itself is interesting to me, because it shows that comedy is too big to really make these generalizations. You can’t talk about “alt comedy” as a coherent thing, because it means wildly different things in wildly different places. You can’t talk about “British comedy” or “American comedy” because Britain and America both have a lot of people in them who all do wildly different things.

At some point in my conversation with my brother, I said that when I say storytelling comedy I mean “like the thing Mike Birbiglia does”, and he has seen some Mike Birbiglia but says he doesn’t think what he does is particularly different from what most American comedians do, and I couldn’t refute that because I haven’t actually heard Mike Birbiglia yet. All I could say on that was… well one time I heard Nish Kumar say Birbiglia is like a British comedian, so that’s probably true, right?

So I really don’t know what I’m talking about well enough to understand this, or even explain it. Then again, my brother told me that he thinks British comedians write regular jokes in a way that American comedians don’t, and I said no, I think of the opposite as being true, and when I asked him for examples of why he thinks British comedians are like that, he said Jimmy Carr and Ricky Gervais. So he may not know enough about British comedy to know what he’s talking about. Is it possible that no one knows what they’re talking about? That’s kind of interesting to me too, I assume anyone who actually does comedy must know everything about it. I mean, I try really hard to know about comedy, but I don’t know nearly enough about it to properly do it. So the people who do do it know way more than I do and understand everything. But my brother’s been doing it 13 years, had traveled to perform in the States and nearby cities somewhat often, never made enough money from it to quit his day job but has made quite a lot of money from it over the years, and he may also not know what he’s talking about.

At some point we got talking about recorded comedy, and he said when he listens to audio-only comedy, and then watches a video of those people, he’s often surprised because he was picturing someone young and hot but it turns out to be a balding man in his fifties. I said that often, I can hear hours and hours of audio-only comedy by someone, and have an image of them in my head, and then see a picture of them, and I’m always surprised by how different the picture looks. Because I’m always picturing a person in their forties or fifties, maybe a bit overweight, slightly balding if it’s a cis man, and then I’m often surprised to learn they’re actually around my age or younger (many exceptions there too, Kitson is currently mid-40s and balding but I tend to picture him the way he looked in 2003, though I’m sort of updating my mental image of him now). Which I’m pretty sure says something about the difference between the comedy I watch and the comedy my brother watches, that we have such different images in our head of the “default comedian”, what we picture when we don’t know how someone really looks.

This may or may not be related to the fact that my brother recently started putting clips of his own comedy on Tik-Tok, and has things to say about how the engagement is going that make me despair at the soullessness of humanity. So what does he know? At some point I worked out that when he talks about writing jokes in a classic way, he doesn’t just mean one-liners, he means anyone who actually writes their material instead of just doing crowd work and “comedian destroys heckler” videos for social media. Apparently doing anything besides that is old school now, and he thinks British comedians do more old school stuff than American comedians, and again, I despair at the soullessness of humanity. But to be fair to America, I’m sure there are plenty of soulless British comedians on Tik-Tok too.

That’s part of it though, isn’t it? That my brother thinks of Tik-Tok-type comedy as American and British comedy as stuff that doesn’t do that. You can’t cut out a clip of a good dead dad show and put those 90 seconds on social media. I mean, you could, and I guess some people do, but that’ll ruin it. The British Edinburgh hours need their context, the good ones aren’t nearly as good without it. But maybe American comedy can be clipped more easily, since it’s not written to all flow together. But also, British comedians cut bits of their show out all the time to shoehorn into their twenty seconds of screentime on a panel show. Stewart Lee had a whole thing about that like 15 years ago, how no comedian can be that funny if their set can be cut up for a panel show. But, you know, we can’t all be Stewart Lee (though it’s my understanding that many people have tried). I’m pretty sure this is the sort of thing Stewart Lee knows about, and has strong opinions about. That was my mistake, asking the wrong comedian. I asked my brother, I should have been asking Stewart Lee.

So I still don't have an answer to who invented the dead dad show. I mean, I think I might know that one, Russell Kane may have invented the shows about dead dads specifically. But I don't know how the storytelling comedy with sad bits and themes started, or why it took off in Britain/Australia and not in North America, or if it's even true to say that happened. I feel like Kitson invented it, because it feels a bit like Kitson invented everything, but I know he didn't. I feel like Stewart Lee knows who invented it - I don't feel like he invented it, because he's constantly talking about the alt-comedy godfathers (gendered term there, but they were mostly fathers and not mothers at that time, that is an issue) from the 70s and 80s on whose shoulders he stands. And I don't really know anything about those people, so that doesn't help.

There's a guy named Oliver Double and I think he knows. I just got paid again, my bank account is looking a bit more stable than it did a little while ago, I think I'm going to buy his books. I'm also going to listen to Mike Birbiglia, I'll let you all know if he knows anything. Maybe most people don't know anything. Maybe everything has a smaller cause than I assume and we'd all be living in a radically different comedy world if Russell Kane's dad were still alive. Maybe it's fine to think the British comedy style is to write classic jokes because Jimmy Carr tours arenas and therefore gets to be their representative. Maybe the storytelling/pure joke telling comedy dichotomy doesn't even matter anymore, it's all about the dichotomy between improvised stuff on Tik-Tok and anyone who actually writes material now. Maybe improv just means crowd work now? But I hope not.

...This was going to be a post about how Hari Kondabolu thinks British comedians should scrap the concept of "recycling material" being bad, and just tell their best jokes even if they don't all fit a theme. Then I had a conversation with my brother the confused me and now I don't know. Does anyone else know anything that they want to share?

[sebastiancroftupdates]

Sebastian Croft: ‘I feel so fortunate to be in 4000 Miles, and a responsibility not to fuck it up’

If things had been different, Sebastian Croft might have found himself sitting in the audience watching Eileen Atkins perform in a new production of 4000 Miles. Instead, he is in rehearsals to star in the revival of Amy Herzog’s play alongside one of UK theatre’s foremost acting dames.

“I’d booked to see 4000 Miles multiple times when it was going to be at London’s Old Vic,” he says. “I was so excited to watch it.”

Atkins had been due to star opposite Hollywood star Timothée Chalamet, directed by the Old Vic’s Matthew Warchus, but Covid-19 scuppered that production in 2020.

Now, the play has found a new revival – still with Atkins, but this time staged at Chichester Festival Theatre and directed by Richard Eyre.

Croft now finds himself taking on the role that had been earmarked for Chalamet. It was, he says, “a no-brainer” to agree to being involved. “I’d have sold my soul to be part of it.” 

Croft, 21, is one of the UK’s fastest-rising stars. Following his big break as the titular Dickensian orphan in Sam Mendes’ 2010 West End production of Oliver!, he has had starring roles in musicals Matilda and The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13¾, and taken on Shakespeare in King John. He’s been BAFTA-nominated for the film of Horrible Histories and acted in Game of Thrones. Most recently, he’s brought to life the manipulative, closeted Ben Hope in Netflix’s hugely popular version of Alice Oseman’s queer graphic-novel Heartstopper. His Twitter account is jokingly called the B*n H*pe Hate Club.

In 4000 Miles, Croft plays Leo, who arrives at 3am at his grandmother Vera’s (Atkins) apartment in New York’s West Village. He’s just completed a 4,000-mile bike ride from Washington State, during which time he’s suffered a terrible loss. Over a month, Herzog’s beautifully understated play charts the distance and the closeness of their fractious intergenerational relationship. They communicate across faded door labels, stories of failed marriages and Vera’s faltering memory. It’s a well-shaded portrait of family.

Croft and I speak early in rehearsals, over a sometimes erratic Zoom connection. (He smilingly references a scene in 4000 Miles where Leo can’t get FaceTime to work.) On why he likes the play, he says: “It’s gentle and quiet. It asks a lot of questions and doesn’t answer them, which I love.” He’s fascinated by the intergenerational dynamic of two people who are “both quite far left, but she’s an old-school lefty and he’s new wave. There’s a lot of difference in terms of what they think is acceptable and not acceptable”. He finds that a “way more interesting” set-up than if it were just conservative versus liberal.

Croft’s enthusiasm for the people he’s working with is palpable. He’s been running lines with Atkins at her home and describes her as “a master of her craft”.

He adds: “It’s a really wonderful experience to spend this much time with someone who’s been part of British theatre for so long.” Croft says he has taken on board Atkins’ approach “to keep it simple, rather than doing a lot of academic work on who these people are”, to avoid “putting things into the characters that aren’t in the script”.

He’s taking as much as he can from Atkins and Eyre. “The stories they can tell – you just want to sit back and absorb it all,” he says. “I feel really fortunate to be playing this part – and a responsibility not to fuck it up.”

Croft has been acting since the age of seven. The transition from child star to adult actor has an infamously long and rocky history. How has he approached it?

“I was actually quite conscious of it,” he says, “because I love acting so much and was terrified that it would just disappear.” Alongside Game of Thrones, he credits playing Arthur in Trevor Nunn’s 2016 production of King John at the Rose Theatre in Kingston as a “stepping stone”.

“I got to lean into being an actor, rather than a ‘musical theatre kid’. ” That journey, he says, is far from over. “I’m grateful for all the experiences I’ve had until now, but I’m incredibly aware of how new I am to this.”

Croft is of a generation of actors who have also grown up in the spotlight of social media. He has 560,000 followers on Twitter. He admits he’s still “trying to figure out” his relationship with such platforms.

“Like a lot of things in life,” he says, “there are good and bad parts. I think finding the balance is something we’re all still getting used to.

“But feeling connected to the people watching what you’re making is a beautiful thing,” he says, smiling. And a series like Heartstopper, he adds, has a “lovely community of people that connect to it in a way they wouldn’t be able to without social media”. Since it debuted last year, he and his co-stars have also used Twitter to support LGBTQ+ causes.   

From talking animatedly about Michael Caine’s autobiography to keeping a running list of inspiring quotes on his phone, Croft’s love of acting pours off the screen. Yet he used to worry that being dyslexic would hold him back. “A lot of time in school, you’re made to feel stupid about it.”

Now, he subscribes to fellow dyslexic actor Josh O’Connor’s view, “that it adds quite a lot to you, as a creative”. Taking longer than some to read a play can mean “you get more out of it”, he elaborates. “Once I’ve got the characters and the emotional arc, I tend to find getting the lines, the world of it, easier.”

After a run of TV work, Croft is relishing being back on stage, particularly the room for exploration in the rehearsal period. “We rehearsed for Heartstopper,” he says, “but that’s quite rare for film or TV.”

“In theatre, you get the time to just sit with a play. You get a greater sense of your character’s journey and the building blocks that need to be in place to get there.” He’s looking forward to “finding a different flow or discovering something new” each night. He thinks that it’ll be like “an intense game of tennis”, acting opposite Atkins.

For Croft, it’s all about honing his craft. A play such as 4000 Miles “is a great opportunity to learn, to get better and hopefully lay foundations for the actor I want to become. And that’s exciting,” he says. “Yesterday, someone asked: ‘How was rehearsal?’ I said: ‘I can’t wait to be back again tomorrow.’ ”

[justforbooks]

The many lives of John le Carré, in his own words.

An exclusive extract from his new memoir, The Pigeon Tunnel.

How I write

If you’re ever lucky enough to score an early success as a writer, as happened to me with The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, for the rest of your life there’s a before-the-fall and an after-the-fall. You look back at the books you wrote before the searchlight picked you out and they read like the books of your innocence; and the books after it, in your low moments, like the strivings of a man on trial. ‘Trying too hard’ the critics cry. I never thought I was trying too hard. I reckoned I owed it to my success to get the best out of myself, and by and large, however good or bad the best was, that was what I did.

And I love writing. I love doing what I’m doing at this moment, scribbling away like a man in hiding at a poky desk on a black clouded early morning in May, with the mountain rain scuttling down the window and no excuse for tramping down to the railway station under an umbrella because the International New York Times doesn’t arrive until lunchtime.

I love writing on the hoof, in notebooks on walks, in trains and cafés, then scurrying home to pick over my booty. When I am in Hampstead there is a bench I favour on the Heath, tucked under a spreading tree and set apart from its companions, and that’s where I like to scribble. I have only ever written by hand. Arrogantly perhaps, I prefer to remain with the centuries-old tradition of unmechanized writing. The lapsed graphic artist in me actually enjoys drawing the words.

I love best the privacy of writing. On research trips, I am partially protected by having a different name in real life. I can sign into hotels without anxiously wondering whether my name will be recognised, then, when it isn’t, anxiously wondering why not. When I’m obliged to come clean with the people whose experience I want to tap, results vary. One person refuses to trust me another inch, the next promotes me to chief of the secret service and, over my protestations that I was only ever the lowest form of secret life, replies that I would say that, wouldn’t I? There are many things I am disinclined to write about ever, just as there are in anyone’s life. I have been neither a model husband nor a model father, and am not interested in appearing that way. Love came to me late, after many missteps. I owe my ethical education to my four sons. Of my work for British intelligence, performed mostly in Germany, I wish to add nothing to what is already reported by others, inaccurately, elsewhere. In this I am bound by vestiges of old-fashioned loyalty to my former services, but also by undertakings I gave to the men and women who agreed to collaborate with me. It was understood between us that the promise of confidentiality would be subject to no time limit, but extend to their children and beyond. The work we engaged in was neither perilous nor dramatic, but it involved painful soul-searching on the part of those who signed up to it. Whether today these people are alive or dead, the promise of confidentiality holds.

Spying was forced on me from birth much in the way, I suppose, that the sea was forced on CS Forester or India on Paul Scott. Out of the secret world I once knew, I have tried to make a theatre for the larger worlds we inhabit. First comes the imagining, then the search for the reality. Then back to the imagining, and to the desk where I’m sitting now.

My Father: conman and inspiration

It took me a long while to get on writing terms with Ronnie, conman, fantasist, occasional jailbird, and my father. From the day I made my first faltering attempts at a novel, he was the one I wanted to get to grips with, but I was light years away from being up to the job. My earliest drafts of what eventually became A Perfect Spy dripped with self-pity: cast your eye, gentle reader, upon this emotionally crippled boy, crushed underfoot by his tyrannical father. It was only when he was safely dead and I took up the novel again that I did what I should have done at the beginning, and made the sins of the son a whole lot more reprehensible than the sins of the father.

With that settled, I was able to honour the legacy of his tempestuous life: a cast of characters to make the most blasé writer’s mouth water, from eminent legal brains of the day and stars of sport and screen to the finest of London’s criminal underworld and the beautiful creatures who trailed in their wake. Wherever Ronnie went, the unpredictable went with him. Are we up or down? Can we fill up the car on tick at the local garage? Has he fled the country or will he be proudly parking the Bentley in the drive tonight? Or is he enjoying the safety and comfort of one of his alternative wives?

Of Ronnie’s dealings with organised crime, if any, I know lamentably little. Yes, he rubbed shoulders with the notorious Kray twins, but that may just have been celebrity-hunting. And yes, he did business of a sort with London’s worst-ever landlord, Peter Rachman, and my best guess would be that when Rachman’s thugs had got rid of Ronnie’s tenants for him, he sold off the houses and gave Rachman a piece. But a full‑on criminal partnership? Not the Ronnie I knew. Conmen are aesthetes. They wear nice suits, have clean fingernails and are well spoken at all times. Policemen in Ronnie’s book were first-rate fellows who were open to negotiation. The same could not be said of “the boys”, as he called them, and you messed with the boys at your peril.

Ronnie’s entire life was spent walking on the thinnest, slipperiest layer of ice you can imagine. He saw no paradox between being on the wanted list for fraud and sporting a grey topper in the owners’ enclosure at Ascot. A reception at Claridge’s to celebrate his second marriage was interrupted while he persuaded two Scotland Yard detectives to put off arresting him until the party was over – and, meanwhile, come in and join the fun, which they duly did.  But I don’t think Ronnie could have lived any other way. I don’t think he wanted to. He was a crisis addict, a performance addict, a shameless pulpit orator and a scene-grabber. He was a delusional enchanter and a persuader who saw himself as God’s golden boy, and he wrecked a lot of people’s lives.

Graham Greene tells us that childhood is the credit balance of the writer. By that measure at least, I was born a millionaire.

Sixty-something years back, I asked my mother, Olive, how prison changed Ronnie. Olive was a tap you couldn’t turn off. From the moment of our reunion at Ipswich railway station, she talked about Ronnie nonstop. She talked about his sexuality long before I had sorted out mine, and for ease of reference gave me a tattered hardback copy of Krafft-Ebing’s Psychopathia Sexualis as a map to guide me through her husband’s appetites before and after jail.

“Changed, dear? In prison? Not a bit of it! You were totally unchanged. You’d lost weight, of course – well, you would. Prison food isn’t meant to be nice.” And then the image that will never leave me, not least because she seemed unaware of what she was saying: “And you did have this silly habit of stopping in front of doors and waiting at attention with your head down till I opened them for you. They were perfectly ordinary doors, not locked or anything, but you obviously weren’t expecting to be able to open them for yourself.” Why did Olive refer to Ronnie as you? You meaning he, but subconsciously recruiting me to be his surrogate, which by the time of her death was what I had become.

There is an audiotape that Olive made for my brother Tony, all about her life with Ronnie. I still can’t bear to play it, so all I’ve ever heard is scraps. On the tape she describes how Ronnie used to beat her up, which, according to Olive, was what prompted her to bolt. Ronnie’s violence was not news to me, because he had made a habit of beating up his second wife as well: so often and so purposefully and coming home at such odd hours of the night to do it that, seized by a chivalrous impulse, I appointed myself her ridiculous protector, sleeping on a mattress in front of her bedroom door and clutching a golf iron so that Ronnie would have to reckon with me before he got at her.

Ronnie beat me up, too, but only a few times and not with much conviction. It was the shaping up that was the scary part: the lowering and readying of the shoulders, the resetting of the jaw. And when I was grown up, Ronnie tried to sue me, which I suppose is violence in disguise. He had watched a television documentary of my life and decided there was an implicit slander in my failure to mention that I owed everything to him.

For the last third of Ronnie’s life – he died suddenly at the age of 69 – we were estranged or at loggerheads. Almost by mutual consent, there were terrible obligatory scenes, and when we buried the hatchet, we always remembered where we’d put it. Do I feel more kindly towards him today than I did then? Sometimes I walk round him, sometimes he’s the mountain I still have to climb. Either way, he’s always there, which I can’t say for my mother, because to this day I have no idea what sort of person she was. I ran her to earth when I was 21, and thereafter broadly attended to her needs, not always with good grace. But from the day of our reunion until she died, the frozen child in me showed not the smallest sign of thawing out. Did she love animals? Landscape? The sea that she lived beside? Music? Painting? Me? Did she read books? Certainly she had no high opinion of mine, but what about other people’s?

In the nursing home where she stayed during her last years, we spent much of our time deploring or laughing at my father’s misdeeds. As my visits continued, I came to realise that she had created for herself – and for me – an idyllic mother–son relationship that had flowed uninterrupted from my birth till now.

Today, I don’t remember feeling any affection in childhood except for my elder brother, who for a time was my only parent. I remember a constant tension in myself that even in great age has not relaxed. I remember little of being very young. I remember the dissembling as we grew up, and the need to cobble together an identity for myself and how, in order to do this, I filched from the manners and lifestyle of my peers and betters, even to the extent of pretending I had a settled home life with real parents and ponies. Listening to myself today, watching myself when I have to, I can still detect traces of the lost originals, chief among them obviously my father.

All this no doubt made me an ideal recruit to the secret flag. But nothing lasted: not the Eton schoolmaster, not the MI5 man, not the MI6 man. Only the writer in me stuck the course. If I look over my life from here, I see it as a succession of engagements and escapes, and I thank goodness that the writing kept me relatively straight and largely sane. My father’s refusal to accept the simplest truth about himself set me on a path of enquiry from which I never returned. In the absence of a mother or sisters, I learned women late, if ever, and we all paid a price for that.

A trip to Panama

In 1885, France’s gargantuan efforts to build a sea-level canal across the Darien ended in disaster. Small and large investors of every stamp were ruined. In consequence there arose across the country the pained cry of “Quel Panama!” Whether the expression has endured in the French language is doubtful, but it speaks well for my own association with that beautiful country, which began in 1947 when my father, Ronnie, dispatched me to Paris to collect £500 from the Panamanian ambassador to France, one Count Mario da Bernaschina, who occupied a sweet house in one of those elegant side roads off the Elysées that smell permanently of women’s scent.

It was evening when I arrived by appointment on the ambassadorial doorstep wearing my grey school suit, my hair brushed and parted. I was 16 years old. The ambassador, my father had advised me, was a first-class fellow and would be happy to settle a longstanding debt of honour. I wanted very much to believe him.

The front door to the elegant house was opened by the most desirable woman I had ever seen. I must have been standing one step beneath her, because in my memory she is smiling down on me like my angel redeemer. She was bare-shouldered, black-haired and wore a flimsy dress in layer after layer of chiffon that failed to disguise her shape. When you are 16, desirable women come in all ages. From today’s vantage point, I would put her at a blossoming thirtysomething.

“You are Ronnie’s son?” she asked incredulously. She stood back to let me brush past her. Laying a hand on each of my shoulders, she scrutinised me playfully from head to toe under the hall light and seemed to find everything to her satisfaction.

“And you have come to see Mario?” she said.

If that’s all right, I said.

Her hands remained on my shoulders while her eyes of many colours continued to study me. “And you are still a boy,” she remarked, as a kind of memo to herself.

The count stood in his drawing room with his back to the fireplace, like every ambassador in every movie of the time: corpulent, in a velvet jacket, hands behind him and that perfect head of greying hair they all had – marcelled, we used to call it – and the curved handshake, man to man, although I’m still a boy. The countess – for so I have cast her – doesn’t ask me whether I drink alcohol, let alone whether I like daiquiri. My answer to both questions would anyway have been a truthless “yes”. She hands me a frosted glass with a speared cherry in it, and we all sit down in soft chairs and do a bit of ambassadorial small talk. Am I enjoying the city? Do I have many friends in Paris? A girlfriend, perhaps? Mischievous wink. To which I no doubt give compelling and mendacious answers that make no mention of golf clubs or concierges, until a pause in the conversation tells me it’s time for me to broach the purpose of my visit which, as experience has already taught me, is best done from the side rather than head on.

“And my father mentioned that you and he had a small matter of business to complete, sir,” I suggest, hearing myself from a distance on account of the daiquiri.

I should here explain the nature of that small matter of business which, unlike so many of Ronnie’s deals, was simplicity itself. As a diplomat and a top ambassador, son – I am echoing the enthusiasm with which Ronnie had briefed me for my mission – the count was immune from such tedious irritations as taxation and import duty. The count could import what he wished, he could export what he wished. If someone, for instance, chose to send the count a cask of unmatured, unbranded Scotch whisky at a couple of pence a pint under diplomatic immunity, and the count were to bottle that whisky and ship it to Panama, or wherever else he chose to ship it under diplomatic immunity, that was nobody’s business but his.

Equally, if the count chose to export the said unmatured, unbranded whisky in bottles of a certain design – akin, let us imagine, to Dimple Haig, a popular brand of the day – that, too, was his good right, as was the choice of label and the description of the bottle’s contents. All that need concern me was that the count should pay up – cash, son, no monkey business. Thus provided, I should treat myself to a nice mixed grill at Ronnie’s expense, keep the receipt, catch the first ferry next morning and come straight to his grand offices in the West End of London with the balance.

“A matter of business, David?” the count repeated in the tone of my school housemaster. “What business can that be?”

“The £500 you owe him, sir.”

I remember his puzzled smile, so forbearing. I remember the richly draped sofas and silky cushions, old mirrors and gold glint, and my countess with her long legs crossed inside the layers of chiffon. The count continued to survey me with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. So did my countess. Then they surveyed each other as if to compare notes about what they’d surveyed.

“Well, that’s a pity, David. Because when I heard you were coming to see me, I rather hoped you might be bringing me a portion of the large sum of money I have invested in your dear father’s enterprises.”

I still don’t know how I responded to this startling reply, or whether I was as startled as I should have been. I remember briefly losing my sense of time and place, and I suppose this was partly induced by the daiquiri, and partly by the recognition that I had nothing to say and no right to be sitting in their drawing room, and that the best thing I could do was make my excuses and get out. Then I realised that I was alone in the room. After a while, my host and hostess returned.

The count’s smile was genial and relaxed. The countess looked particularly pleased. “So, David,” said the count, as if all were forgiven. “Why don’t we go and have dinner and talk about something more pleasant?”

They had a favourite Russian restaurant 50 yards from the house. In my memory, it is a tiny place and we are the only three people in it, save for a man in a baggy white shirt who plucked at a balalaika. Over dinner, while the count talked about something more pleasant, the countess kicked off a shoe and caressed my leg with her stockinged toe. On the tiny dance floor she sang Dark Eyes to me, holding the length of me against her and nibbling my earlobe while she flirted with the balalaika man and the count looked indulgently on. On our return to the table, the count decided that we were ready for bed. The countess, by a squeeze of my hand, seconded the motion.

My memory has spared me the excuses I made, but somehow I made them. Somehow I found myself a bench in a park, and somehow I contrived to remain the boy she had declared me to be. Decades later, finding myself alone in Paris, I tried to seek out the very street, the house, the restaurant. But by then no reality would have done them justice.

Now I am not pretending that it was the magnetic force of the count and countess that half a century later drew me to Panama for the space of two novels and one movie; merely that the recollection of that sensuous, unfulfilled night remained lodged in my memory, if only as one of the near-misses of interminable adolescence. Within days of my arrival in Panama City, I was enquiring after the name. Bernaschina? Nobody had heard of the fellow. A count? From Panama? It seemed most improbable. Maybe I had dreamed the whole thing? I hadn’t.

I had come to Panama to research a novel. Unusually, it already had a title: The Night Manager. I was looking for the sort of crooks, smooth talkers and dirty deals that would brighten the life of an amoral English arms seller named Richard Onslow Roper. Roper would be a high-flyer where my father, Ronnie, had been a low one who frequently crashed. Ronnie had tried selling arms in Indonesia and gone to jail for it. Roper was too big to fail, until he met his destiny in the shape of a former special forces soldier turned hotel night manager named Jonathan Pine.

Working with Sir Alec Guinness

“We are definitely not as our host here describes us,” says Sir Maurice Oldfield severely to Sir Alec Guinness over lunch. Oldfield is a former chief of the secret service who was later hung out to dry by Margaret Thatcher, but at the time of our meeting, he is just another old spy in retirement. “I’ve always wanted to meet Sir Alec,” he told me in his homey, north country voice when I invited him. “Ever since I sat opposite him on the train going up from Winchester. I’d have got into conversation with him if I’d had the nerve.”

Guinness is about to play my secret agent George Smiley in the BBC’s television adaptation of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, and wishes to savour the company of a real old spy. But the lunch does not proceed as smoothly as I had hoped. Over the hors d’oeuvres, Oldfield extols the ethical standards of his old service and implies, in the nicest way, that “young David here” has besmirched its good name.

Guinness, a former naval officer, who from the moment of meeting Oldfield has appointed himself to the upper echelons of the secret service, can only shake his head sagely and agree. Over the Dover sole, Oldfield takes his thesis a step further: “It’s young David and his like,” he declares across the table to Guinness while ignoring me sitting beside him, “that make it that much harder for the service to recruit decent officers and sources. They read his books and they’re put off. It’s only natural.” To which Guinness lowers his eyelids and shakes his head in a deploring sort of way, while I pay the bill.

“You should join the Athenaeum, David,” Oldfield says kindly, implying that the Athenaeum will somehow make a better person of me. “I’ll sponsor you myself. There. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” And to Guinness, as the three of us stand on the threshold of the restaurant: “A pleasure indeed, Alec. An honour, I must say. We shall be in touch very shortly, I’m sure.”

“We shall indeed,” Guinness replies devoutly, as the two old spies shake hands.

Unable apparently to get enough of our departing guest, Guinness gazes fondly after him as he pounds off down the pavement: a small, vigorous gentleman of purpose, striding along with his umbrella thrust ahead of him as he disappears into the crowd. “How about another cognac for the road?” Guinness suggests, and we have hardly resumed our places before the interrogation begins: “Those very vulgar cufflinks. Do all our spies wear them?” No, Alec, I think Maurice just likes vulgar cufflinks.

“And those loud orange suede boots with crepe soles. Are they for stealth?” I think they’re just for comfort actually, Alec. Crepe squeaks. “Then tell me this.” He has grabbed an empty tumbler. Tipping it to an angle, he flicks at it with his thick fingertip. “I’ve seen people do this before” – making a show of peering meditatively into the tumbler while he continues to flick it – “and I’ve seen people do this” – now rotating the finger round the rim in the same contemplative vein.

“But I’ve never seen people do this before” – inserting his finger into the tumbler and passing it round the inside. “Do you think he’s looking for dregs of poison?”

Is he being serious? The child in Guinness has never been more serious in its life. Well, I suppose if it was dregs he was looking for, he’d have drunk the poison by then, I suggest. But he prefers to ignore me.

It is a matter of entertainment history that Oldfield’s suede boots, crepe-soled or other, and his rolled umbrella thrust forward to feel out the path ahead, became essential properties for Guinness’s portrayal of George Smiley, old spy in a hurry. I haven’t checked on the cufflinks recently, but I have a memory that our director thought them a little overdone and persuaded Guinness to trade them in for something less flashy.

The other legacy of our lunch was less enjoyable, if artistically more creative. Oldfield’s distaste for my work – and, I suspect, for myself – struck deep root in Guinness’s thespian soul, and he was not above reminding me of it when he felt the need to rack up George Smiley’s sense of personal guilt; or, as he liked to imply, mine.

Lunch with Rupert Murdoch

One morning in the autumn of 1991, I opened my Times newspaper to be greeted by my own face glowering up at me. From my sour expression, I could tell at once that the text around it wasn’t going to be friendly. A struggling Warsaw theatre, I read, was celebrating its post-communist freedom by putting on a stage version of The Spy Who Came In From The Cold. But the rapacious le Carré [see photograph] wanted a whacking £150 per performance: “The price of freedom, we suppose.”

I took another look at the photograph and saw exactly the sort of fellow who does indeed go round preying on struggling Polish theatres. Grasping. Unsavoury appetites. Just look at those eyebrows. I had by now ceased to enjoy my breakfast. Keep calm and call your agent. I fail on the first count, succeed on the second. My literary agent’s name is Rainer. In what the novelists call a quavering voice, I read the article aloud to him. Has he, I suggest delicately – might he possibly, just this once, is it at all conceivable? – on this occasion been a tad too zealous on my behalf? Rainer is emphatic. Quite the reverse. Since the Poles are still in the recovery ward after the collapse of communism, he has been a total pussycat. We are not charging the theatre £150 per performance, he assures me, but a measly £26, the minimum standard rate. In addition to which, we’ve thrown in the rights for free. In short, a sweetheart deal, David, a deliberate helping hand to a Polish theatre in time of need. Great, I say, bewildered and inwardly seething.

Keep calm and fax the editor of the Times. His response is lofty. Not to put too fine an edge on it, it is infuriating. He sees no great harm in the piece, he says. He suggests that a man in my fortunate position should take the rough with the smooth. This is not advice I am prepared to accept. But who to turn to?

Why, of course: the man who owns the newspaper, Rupert Murdoch, my old buddy!

Well, not exactly buddy. I had met Murdoch socially on a couple of occasions, though I doubted whether he remembered them. I have three conditions, I say: number one, a generous apology prominently printed in the Times; number two, a handsome donation to the struggling Polish theatre. And number three, lunch. Next morning his reply was lying on the floor beneath my fax machine: “Your terms accepted. Rupert.”

The Savoy Grill in those days had a kind of upper level for moguls: red-plush, horseshoe-shaped affairs where in more colourful days gentlemen of money might have entertained their ladies. I breathe the name Murdoch to the maître d’hôtel and am shown to one of the privés. I am early. Murdoch is bang on time. He is smaller than I remember him, but more pugnacious, and has acquired that hasty waddle and little buck of the pelvis with which great men of affairs advance on one another, hand outstretched, for the cameras. The slant of the head in relation to the body is more pronounced than I remember, and when he wrinkles up his eyes to give me his sunny smile, I have the odd feeling he’s taking aim at me. We sit down, we face each other. I notice – how can I not? – the unsettling collection of rings on his left hand. We order our food and exchange a couple of banalities. Rupert says he’s sorry about that stuff they wrote about me. Brits, he says, are great penmen, but they don’t always get things right. I say, not at all, and thanks for your sporting response. But enough of small talk. He is staring straight at me and the sunny smile has vanished.

“Who killed Bob Maxwell?” he demands.

Robert Maxwell, for those lucky enough not to remember him, was a Czech-born media baron, British parliamentarian and the alleged spy of several nations, including Israel, the Soviet Union and Britain. As a young Czech freedom fighter, he had taken part in the Normandy landings and later earned himself a British army commission and a gallantry medal. After the war, he worked for the Foreign Office in Berlin. He was also a flamboyant liar and rogue of gargantuan proportions and appetites who plundered the pension fund of his own companies to the tune of £440m, owed around £4bn that he had no way of repaying and in November 1991 was found dead in the seas off Tenerife, having apparently fallen from the deck of a lavish private yacht named after his daughter. Conspiracy theories abounded. To some, it was a clear case of suicide by a man ensnared by his own crimes; to others, murder by one of the several intelligence agencies he had supposedly worked for. But which one? Why Murdoch should imagine I know the  answer to this question is beyond me, but I do my best to give satisfaction. Well, Rupert, if we’re really saying it’s not suicide, then probably, for my money, it was the Israelis, I suggest.

“Why?”

I’ve read the rumours that are flying around, as we all have. I regurgitate them: Maxwell, the long-term agent of Israeli intelligence, blackmailing his former paymasters; Maxwell, who had traded with the Shining Path in Peru, offering Israeli weapons in exchange for strategic cobalt; Maxwell, threatening to go public unless the Israelis paid up. But Rupert Murdoch is already on his feet, shaking my hand and saying it was great to meet me again. And maybe he’s as embarrassed as I am, or just bored, because already he’s powering his way out of the room, and great men don’t sign bills, they leave them to their people. Estimated duration of lunch: 25 minutes.

A meeting with Margaret Thatcher

The prime minister’s office wished to recommend me for a medal, and I had declined. I had not voted for her, but that fact had nothing to do with my decision. I felt, as I feel today, that I was not cut out for our honours system, that it represents much of what I most dislike about our country. In my letter of reply, I took care to assure the prime minister’s office that my churlishness did not spring from any personal or political animosity, offered my thanks and compliments to the prime minister, and assumed I would hear no more.

I was wrong. In a second letter, her office struck a more intimate note. Lest I was regretting a decision taken in heat, the writer wished me to know that the door to an honour was still open. I replied, equally courteously I hope, that as far as I was concerned the door was firmly shut, and would remain so in any similar contingency. Again, my thanks. Again, my compliments to the prime minister. And again I assumed the matter was closed, until a third letter arrived, inviting me to lunch. There were six tables set in the dining room of 10 Downing Street that day, but I only remember ours, which had Mrs Thatcher at its head and the Dutch prime minister Ruud Lubbers on her  right, and myself in a tight new grey suit on her left. The year must have been 1982. I was just back from the Middle East, Lubbers had just been appointed. Our other three guests remain a pink blob to me. I assumed, for reasons that today escape me, that they were industrialists from the north. Neither do I remember any opening exchanges between the six of us, but perhaps they had happened over cocktails before we sat down. But I do remember Mrs Thatcher turning to the Dutch prime minister and acquainting him with my distinction. “Now, Mr Lubbers,” she announced in a tone to prepare him for a nice surprise, “this is Mr Cornwell, but you will know him better as the writer John le Carré.”

Leaning forward, Mr Lubbers took a close look at me. He had a youthful face, almost a playful one. He smiled, I smiled: really friendly smiles. “No,” he said. And sat back in his chair, still smiling. But Mrs Thatcher, it is well known, did not lightly take no for an answer.

“Oh, come, Mr Lubbers. You’ve heard of John le Carré. He wrote The Spy Who Came In From The Cold and…” – fumbling slightly – “… other wonderful books.”

Lubbers, nothing if not a politician, reconsidered his position. Again he leaned forward and took another, longer look at me, as amiable as the first, but more considered, more statesmanlike.

“No,” he repeated.

Now it was Mrs Thatcher’s turn to take a long look at me, and I underwent something of what her all-male cabinet must have experienced when they, too, incurred her displeasure. “Well, Mr Cornwell,” she said, as to an errant schoolboy who had been brought to account, “since you’re here” – implying that I had somehow talked my way in – “have  you anything you wish to say to me?”

Belatedly, it occurred to me that I had indeed something to say to her, if badly. Having recently returned from South Lebanon, I felt obliged to plead the cause of stateless Palestinians. Lubbers listened. The gentlemen from the industrial north listened. But Mrs Thatcher listened more attentively than all of them, and with no sign of the impatience of which she was frequently accused. Even when I had stumbled to the end of my aria, she went on listening before delivering herself of her response. “Don’t give me sob stories,” she ordered me with sudden vehemence, striking the key words for emphasis. “Every day people appeal to my emotions. You can’t govern that way. It simply isn’t fair.”

Whereupon, appealing to my emotions, she reminded me that it was the Palestinians who had trained the IRA bombers who had murdered her friend Airey Neave, the British war hero and politician, and her close adviser. After that, I don’t believe we spoke to each other much. Occasionally I do ask myself whether Mrs Thatcher nevertheless had an ulterior motive in inviting me. Was she, for instance, sizing me up for one of her quangos – those strange quasi-official public bodies that have authority but no power, or is it the other way round? But I found it hard to imagine what possible use she could have for me – unless, of course, she wanted guidance from the horse’s mouth on how to sort out her squabbling spies.

• This is an edited extract from The Pigeon Tunnel: Stories From My Life, by John le Carré, published next week by Viking at £20. Order a copy for £15 from the Guardian bookshop.

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‘There’s still a presence out there reminding people not to speak about JFK’s killing’

Oliver Stone is not a fan of “cancel culture”. “Of course I despise it,” the Oscar winning filmmaker says, as if utterly amazed that anyone needs to ask him such a dumb question. “I am sure I’ve been cancelled by some people for all the comments I’ve made…. it’s like a witch hunt. It’s terrible. American censorship in general, because it is a declining, defensive, empire, it (America) has become very sensitive to any criticism. What is going on in the world with YouTube and social media,” he rants. “Twitter is the worst. They’ve banned the ex-President of the United States. It’s shocking!” he says, referring to Donald Trump’s removal from the micro-blogging platform.

It’s a Saturday lunchtime in the restaurant of the Marriott Hotel on the Croisette in Cannes. The American director is in town for the festival premiere this week of his new feature documentary JFK Revisited: Through the Looking Glass, in which he yet again pores over President John F Kennedy’s assassination in November 1963.

“I am a pin cushion for American-Russian peace relations… I had four f***ing vaccines: two Sputniks and two Pfizers,” Stone gestures at his arm. The rival super-powers may remain deeply suspicious of one another, but Stone is loading himself up with potions from both sides of the old Iron Curtain.

He has recently been travelling in Russia (hence the Sputnik jabs) where he has been making a new documentary about how nuclear power can save humanity. He also recently completed a film about Kazakhstan’s former president Nursultan Nazarbayev which – like his interviews with Vladimir Putin – has been roundly ridiculed for its deferential, softly-softly approach toward a figure widely regarded as a ruthless despot.

Dressed in a blue polo shirt, riffing away about the English football team one moment and his favourite movies the next, laughing constantly, the 74-year-old Oscar-winning director of Platoon, Wall Street, Natural Born Killers et al is a far cheerier presence than his reputation as a purveyor of dark conspiracy thrillers might suggest. He is also very outspoken. For all his belligerence, though, Stone isn’t as thick-skinned as you might imagine. I wonder if he was hurt by the scorn that came his way when his feature film JFK was released in 1991.

“I was more of a younger man. It was painful to me,” the director sighs as he remembers being attacked by such admired figures as newscaster Walter Cronkite and Hollywood power broker Jack Valenti for listening to the “hallucinatory bleatings” of former New Orleans DA Jim Garrison when JFK came out. “It was quite shocking actually because I thought the murder was behind us. I did think there was a feeling that 30 years later, we can look at this thing again without getting excited. But I was way wrong.”

Garrison, of course, was the real-life figure portrayed by Kevin Costner in the film; he was the original proponent of the theory that the CIA were involved in the killing of the US president, after his 1966 investigation. Garrison wrote the book On the Trail of the Assassins, on which the movie was partly based.

Even the director’s fiercest detractors will find it hard to dismiss the evidence he has assembled about the JFK assassination in the new documentary. Once I’d seen it and heard him hold forth, I came away thinking that only flat-earthers can possibly still believe that Lee Harvey Oswald shot President Kennedy all on his own. It’s that convincing.

Stone blitzes you with facts and figures about the Kennedy killing and its aftermath. At times, he himself seems to be suffering from information overload. “I am sorry. There are so many people,” he apologises for not immediately remembering the name of Kennedy’s personal physician, George Burkley, who was present both at Parkland Hospital, where Kennedy was first taken, and then at Bethesda, where the autopsy took place. Burkley was strangely reticent when giving evidence to the Warren Commission.

“I think there’s still a presence out there which reminds people not to speak. I’ve heard that in, of all places, Russia,” Stone says. He was startled to discover that the Russians knew all about his new documentary long before it was discussed in the mainstream press. “They said, ‘We heard about it.’ I said, ‘How?’ They said, ‘We have our contacts in the American intelligence business. They are not very happy about it.’”

Stone believes that no US president since Kennedy died has been “able to go up against this militarised sector of our economy”. Even Trump “backed down at the last second” and declined to release all the relevant documents relating to the assassination. “He announced, ‘I’m going to free it up, blah blah blah, big talk, and then a few hours before, he caved to CIA National Security again.”

The veteran filmmaker expresses his frustrations at historians like Robert Caro, author of a huge (and hugely respected) multi-volume biography of President Lyndon Johnson, for ignoring the evidence that has been turned up about the assassination.

“I can’t say [LBJ] was involved in the assassination,” explains Stone, “but it certainly suited him that Kennedy was not there anymore and he covered up by appointing the Warren Commission and doing all the things he did.”

Stone tried to cast Marlon Brando in JFK in the role as the deep throat source Mr X, eventually played by Donald Sutherland.

“I realise now I am grateful that he turned it down because he knew better than I that he would make 20 minutes out of that 14-minute monologue and it wouldn’t have worked.”

Nevertheless, he filled the film with famous faces. He thought that having familiar actors would make it easier for audiences to engage with what was an immensely complicated story.

Getting Stone to stop talking about JFK is like trying to pull a bone from a mastiff’s jaws. To change the subject slightly, I ask if he is still in touch with WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. He is and is utterly horrified at how Assange is being treated, especially given that Siggi the Hacker, a key witness in the extradition case against Assange, admitted recently that he lied. Stone praises Assange’s partner Stella Morris as “the best wife you could ever have. She really is smart, she’s a lawyer … he has two children. He can’t even touch them or see them. It’s barbaric. It indicates America is declining faster than we know. It is just cutting off dissent.”

The mood lightens when I invite Stone to discuss some of his favourite films. He recently tweeted a list of these, which included Darling starring Julie Christie, Joseph Losey’s Eva starring Stanley Baker and Jeanne Moreau, and Houseboat, a frothy comedy starring Cary Grant and Sophia Loren. “I love films, always have. People don’t know that side of me. I could go on forever.”

Between his darker and more contentious efforts, Stone has made a few genre films himself, for example the underrated thriller U-Turn starring Sean Penn and Jennifer Lopez. He notes, though, that even when he tried a sports movie, he ended up right back in the firing line. The NFL was furious about his 1999 American Football film, Any Given Sunday. “They (the NFL) are arrogant, very rich people who close down any dissent, so I had to change uniforms and names… but they got the point.”

Last year, Stone published the first volume of his autobiography, Chasing the Light, which took him from childhood up to his Oscar triumph with Platoon. It was well received but it didn’t make nearly a big enough splash for his liking. “There was a curtain of silence about that. Maybe it is Covid… it was not reviewed by many people,” he says. “I wish the timing had been better. The publisher was terrible. They didn’t really promote anything. So now I have to start over again if I am going to do a second book, which I would love to do. But I have to find the right publisher.”

The book contains a barbed account of Stone’s experiences as a young screenwriter working in London for British director Alan Parker and producer David Puttnam on Midnight Express. “I wrote about it in the book, so you got my point of view. They were not very friendly people. I gave my criticism of Parker that he had a chip on his shoulder. He was from a poor side of the English. There is this phenomenon you see in England of hating the upper classes until they approve of you.”

No, they didn’t stay in touch. “And Puttnam is a Lord, right? He reminds me of Tony Blair. He is such a weasel.” For once, Stone feels he has overstepped the mark. He doesn’t want to call Puttnam a weasel after all. “Put it this way, Tony Blair is a weasel. I wouldn’t trust Tony Blair. Puttnam is a supporter of Blair. Let’s leave it at that.”

On matters English, he isn’t that keen on soccer either. He watched the semi-final between England and Denmark but had no intention of tuning into the final.

“Soccer is a different kind of game. It’s a different aesthetic. It is constant movement. The United States game allows you to re-group after every play and go into a huddle and so it becomes about strategy. I still enjoy it although people think I am brutal.”

Ask him why he so relishes American Football and he replies that he “grew up with violence in America … we were banging – cowboys and Indians, a lot of killing and that stuff. How do you get away from that? We weren’t playing with dolls.”

Stone’s feelings about the US are deeply ambivalent. He is old enough to remember a time in the late 1940s and early 1950s when “everything in America was golden” and part of him still seems to love the country but his mother was French and he talks about the US as a nation now in near terminal decline.

Perhaps surprisingly, his real political hero isn’t JFK. It’s the former President of France, Charles de Gaulle. “He said no to NATO and he said no to America. He understood the dangers of being a satellite country to America. You have no power in Europe. Don’t kid yourself. The EU is just an artificial body that was amazingly stupid in cutting off Russia and cutting off China too now.”

He doesn’t much like Boris Johnson either. “Boris, listen. He’d simply throw you in jail in a second.” He rails against the English for holding Assange in Belmarsh prison.

When he is not on a crusade or unravelling a conspiracy, Stone relaxes through Buddhist meditation. “Moderation in all things,” the man who came up with the phrase “greed is right, greed works” says with no evident sense of irony. He enjoys hanging out with his friends. “I have a nice life. I’m lucky,” he says before quickly adding, “I wish I had been more honoured and respected in my lifetime, but it seems that I took a course that is in conflict with the American Empire.”

Stone’s films have had relatively few strong female characters. Ask if he welcomes the #MeToo movement and the challenging of old gender norms and he gives a typically contrary answer. “It cuts both ways, though. There are reasons for patriarchy through the centuries,” he says. “Tribes tend to have a strong leader. You need strong leaders, but I do see the feminine impulse as being important, especially when situations become too militant. The feminine impulse, I’m talking about the maternal impulse not the Hillary Clinton/Margaret Thatcher version of feminism. They’re men. They’re not women,” he says. “I don’t want women in politics who want to be men. If a woman is a woman, she should be a woman and bring her maternalism. It’s a leavening influence.”

The director deplores the rush to judge historical figures about past misdeeds from a contemporary point of view. “I am conservative in that way… don’t expect to rejudge the entire society based on your new values.”

He met with Harvey Weinstein in Cannes a few years ago to discuss a potential Guantanamo Bay TV series. “At that point, maybe he knew he was on the ropes; he was delightfully charming and humble.” The project was scuppered by the scandal that that engulfed the former Miramax boss, who is now behind bars as a convicted sex offender. Stone’s gripes with Weinstein are less to do with his sexual offences than with the way that he attacked films like Born on the Fourth of July and Saving Private Ryan to boost his own movies.

“The press loved him [Weinstein]. Don’t forget, they loved him in the 1990s,” he says, remembering the disingenuous way in which Weinstein portrayed himself as the underdog taking on the big, bad Hollywood system.

“I think he robbed Cruise of the Oscar, frankly,” Stone huffs at the intensive Weinstein lobbying which saw Daniel Day-Lewis win the Academy Award for Best for My Left Foot, denying Tom Cruise for Born on the Fourth of July in the process.

Stone acknowledges his status in Hollywood has diminished. “All that’s gone. The people have changed,” he says of the days when the studios doted on him and his films were regularly awards contenders. Now, he’ll often finance his work out of Europe. He is developing a new feature film (he won’t say what it is). “Never say die, never say it’s over,” he says of his career.

Stone is based in Los Angeles and also has “a place in New York”. During the pandemic, he still managed to travel to Russia to make his nuclear power/clean energy documentary. “I got my shots over there because the EU is so f***ing stupid,” he says of the of the Europeans’ refusal to recognise the Sputnik vaccine. “It’s ridiculous, part of the political madness of this time.”

Now, he is putting all his energy into his new documentary about nuclear power. He waves away the idea that the Chernobyl and Fukushima disasters show what can go wrong – they were accidents.

“Accidents you learn from. If there were not a few crashes, how would you fly?” he says. It’s a line that somehow seems to express his entire philosophy of life.

-Geoffrey Macnab interviews Oliver Stone, The Independent, Jul 15 2021 [x]

[princessanneftw]

Inside Princess Anne's lifelong love affair with horses

As the Princess Royal approaches her 70th birthday, those who know her recount the most enduring relationship of her life

By Eleanore Kelly for the Telegraph

The Princess Royal has spent a lifetime with horses. Like her siblings, she started riding at the age of three. But what makes her remarkable is the success she achieved as a competitor. Aged 21 she was crowned European Eventing Champion at Burghley. She was riding Doublet, a horse bred by the Queen, for polo, and gifted to the Princess.

At the 1975 European Eventing Championships, she finished second on Goodwill, another horse owned by the Queen and her mount at the Montreal Olympics in 1976, where she became the first member of the British royal family to compete at an Olympic Games. She rode winners in horse racing too, notably in the Grand Military Steeplechase at Sandown over jumps, and the Diamond Stakes on the flat at Ascot. No wonder she won BBC’s Sports Personality of the Year award in 1971 - the first ever event rider to carry off the trophy.

There were always ponies around during her childhood. Both her parents rode regularly, as did her older brother, Prince Charles, who developed a keen interest in polo and was considered a gifted player.

In those days polo was a men-only game, so not something his sister would have pursued, but she was a member of the Pony Club where she would have tried most equestrian disciplines with other young enthusiasts. Perhaps the attraction to eventing was the camaraderie that is always synonymous with a risk sport; horses are no respecter of titles.

When she became more serious about eventing, her parents arranged for training with Alison Oliver, wife of international show jumper Alan Oliver, who was based near Windsor. She is widely credited for propelling the Princess on the road to international equestrian stardom.

Lucinda Green, one of Princess Anne’s eventing peers, describes her as the pin-up of their era. Lucinda was a fellow team member at the Montreal Olympics and remembers the Princess having a crashing fall halfway around the cross-country course and suffering concussion. She remounted and finished the course but to this day cannot remember the rest of the jumps.

“She was extremely brave and good enough to get on the British team on two very different horses. Goodwill, her horse in Montreal, was not easy. He was big and had no brakes - I definitely wouldn’t have ridden him,” says Green.

With animals so often comes heartbreak, which even Princesses cannot escape. Her partnership with Doublet, a diminutive chestnut with the heart of a lion, ended in tragedy. The pair were destined for the Munich Olympics when the horse who had defined her career shattered a hind leg in an accident at Windsor and had to be put down.

At a time where security at sports events was minimal, The Princess was hounded by the media. “I always admired the way she coped with the press. That added the most unbelievable pressure on top of trying to do her sporting best. Tough for her but she put our sport on the map and kept it in the spotlight,” observes Green.

In 1985, she was persuaded to ride in a charity horse race at Epsom (home of the Derby). By this stage she’d hung up her eventing boots and had two young children. Yet she was always game for the challenge, if it involved horses.

Horse racing requires a very different technique from eventing, so she approached trainer David Nicholson for help. Known as “The Duke” because of his imposing personality, he suggested she come to his Cotswold yard, little expecting she would turn up almost every day for several years to ride out.

His wife Dinah became familiar with the Princess, as she would join them in the kitchen for breakfast after exercising the horses. “She was so dedicated and determined, driving 40 minutes every morning and arriving at 7.15am on the dot, so she could tack up her horse before riding out on the gallops. Then she would have breakfast with us and sometimes there would be a jockey - Richard Dunwoody or Peter Scudamore. The conversation would mostly be about horses. After breakfast, she would set off for a busy day of royal duties.”

Even if she had a royal engagement in London that went on late into the night, she would still get up after a few hours sleep to drive to the yard in Stow-on-the Wold. Acquaintances say her security detail looked permanently exhausted from keeping up with her.

After the charity race, in which she finished a respectable fourth, she asked Nicholson if she could continue riding out at his yard. It seemed the attraction was as much about the camaraderie of yard life as it was the actual race riding. “She became very fond of the people in racing and was always very natural with the stable lads, who liked her.”

There was a horse she was very fond of too, called Cnoc Na Cuille. He was a big winner for her in her career as a jump jockey (including the Grand Military) but soon after finishing third at Warwick, he dropped dead, probably from a heart attack.

“The Princess was not one for showing emotion but she was clearly very upset about it,” says Dinah. Soon after this she gave up race riding, although she has bred a few race horses herself at her home, Gatcombe Park in Gloucestershire.

For 37 years, thanks to the Princess, Gatcombe has hosted eventing competitions, including the prestigious Festival of Eventing. The cross-country course is designed by her former husband Captain Mark Phillips, an Olympic medallist and four-time Badminton winner (once the golden boy of British eventing), and the Director is their son Peter Phillips.

Princess Anne’s daughter, Zara Tindall, a former European and World Champion event rider and silver medalist in the London 2012 Olympics, regularly competes there and the Princess hands out the prizes.

Tindall has even more eventing accolades than her mother and, like her, she was voted BBC Sports Personality of the Year (in 2006). Her mother has always been hugely supportive of her children’s interest in horses. Every Christmas, the Princess would drive the children’s ponies up to Balmoral* (think they mean Sandringham?) herself in a horsebox so they could all ride.

There is also a strong equine theme to the Princess Royal’s charity work. She’s President of World Horse Welfare and the Riding for the Disabled Association (RDA) as well as Patron of the Pony Club and the Injured Jockeys Fund (IJF). She was President of the International Federation of Equestrian Sports (FEI) from 1986 to 1994, a role she took over from her father, Prince Philip.

Roly Owers, CEO of World Horse Welfare, describes the Princess as having a deep love of horses, devoting a huge amount of time to all aspects of horse welfare. Former champion jockey John Francombe describes her as the best after-dinner speaker he has ever heard, with a great sense of humour, persuading well-oiled guests to open their wallets for charity and even persuading them to adopt horses themselves.

Rehoming unwanted horses is a large part of the World Horse Welfare’s work and the Princess is a rehomer herself. “On one of her visits to our rescue centres, she met a Welsh Cob called Annie and asked if she could have her. I believe she still rides her today.”

“She has always had a clear opinion but understands horses better than anyone,” says Owers. That once got her into trouble, at the 2013 World Horse Welfare conference when one of the topics was the European Horse Meat scandal. “She made a comment about the value of horses that was translated as ‘Princess Anne eats horse meat’ by certain journalists.”

What the Princess had actually said was: "Should we be considering a real market for horsemeat and would that reduce the number of welfare cases, if there was a real value in the horsemeat sector? I chuck that out for what it's worth because I think it needs a debate."

As Owers remembers, “it was unfortunately the first time we filmed the conference and broadcast it live, so you can imagine it created 48 hours of hysteria.” Though whether the Princess actually sits down to pony steak for Sunday lunch is not known.

Caroline Ward of the RDA remarks on her extraordinary empathy. “She understands the challenges our participants face and what they get out of the experience of riding horses. She will talk to them about their ponies and what it means to them to spend time with horses.

“These riders, many of whom find communication and mobility so difficult, will always open up to her. They are bound by this common interest and love of horses. She will also chat to the volunteers, to make them feel all the more special.”

Ward recalls the time Princess Anne helped a rider load her difficult horse into the horse box. “She came to our RDA National Championships at Hartpury College. She saw this struggle and despite not being dressed to get stuck in, she clearly couldn’t walk by without offering assistance. Well, this horse took one look at her and realised this was someone who meant business, and walked straight into the horsebox.”

Ex-jockey and racing journalist Brough Scott has known the Princess for many years through sport and her support of the IJF. “At charity events, rather than entertaining the fat cats, she is happiest talking to the ex-jockeys, many of whom are in a wheelchair. One really likes her for that, even though she is not trying to be liked.”

To be a successful rider, you have to build a relationship of trust and mutual understanding with your horse. That means controlling your fear and emotions. Eventing, a combination of the three disciplines of dressage, cross-country and show jumping, is perhaps the truest test of all-round horsemanship, demanding both accuracy and courage. It is only for the bravest of the brave, says Scott.

“Princess Anne wasn’t simply a Royal who rode, she was an athlete who achieved great things in her eventing career and rode courses that would have terrified most people. That must have given her self-confidence and fulfillment.”

In her public duties too, the Princess Royal has given her all, incidentally personifying the characteristics necessary for a fine horsewoman: discipline, dedication and courage. Are they a matter of her breeding and upbringing, or do we have her love of horses to thank for that?

[theviscountbridgerton]

Interview with Jonathan Bailey in Style Magazine (October 2020) where he talks a little bit about Bridgerton. The interview was conducted in English, transcribed into Italian, and then translated back into English by Google Translate so, you know, there are some things that get lost in translation. 

Love affairs, marriages of interest and intrigues. It is the portrayal of the new Netflix series Bridgerton, a bit of a Jane Austen romance, a bit of sexy in the wake of The Favourite, with the right dose of Downton Abbey-style family drama, but “so modern that it could almost be set in the present day” enthusiastically states Jonathan Bailey, at his great opportunity to really make it internationally, playing the fascinating bachelor Anthony Bridgerton, the quintessential English nobleman of the early nineteenth century, who at the age of 28 finds himself at the head of a clan of seven brothers and sisters. One who “has to play the part of a loving brother and son and instead loves women and forbidden pleasures” ...

The Regency period has been less represented than other moments in British history, but the film industry abounds with period dramas. Do they still make sense today? Our instincts are the same, in 2020 as in 1820, and to observe them in a restrictive and oppressive context such as 19th century England where the will of the individual was stifled, sexuality was suppressed and there was a strong division between the social classes, puts them even more in evidence. Each of us at some point in his life felt forced into a role due to the expectations of others, just like Bridgerton's characters.

Women more than men, but ... Only in appearance: of course all the decisions are up to men, and Anthony for example to decide who should marry Daphne, but they are also forced to repress their feelings, which makes them unable to live a happy life. Patriarchal society has wreaked havoc on both sexes.

Bridgerton also has the virtue of surrounding Queen Charlotte with a court that is not exclusively white: the terrifying Lady Danbury and played by Adjoa Andoh, Regé-Jean Page plays the role of Duke Simon Basset and Martins Imhangbe as his best friend. Is it worth abdicating historical accuracy to be politically correct? We decided to do the opposite of whitewashing that so many historical moments have suffered. Here the question is to be faithful to the events told in the books by Julia Quinn from which the series is based, not to be historically accurate, so we can also imagine that at the time of Queen Charlotte it could have been an inclusive court. custom and the freedom given to the actors to model the characters, to make them current.

The fourth season of The Crown will also arrive on Netflix in the coming months: have you wondered why the public is still so fascinated by the nobility? We all love what we cannot have, which is closed to us. Even without getting to the royal family. Think for example of the world of the Bennet sisters and Mr Darcy of Pride and Prejudice: they were far below the social hierarchy, yet they have been represented countless times in period films. Personally, what intrigues me most about the golden world of the aristocracy is not the parties and privileges, but what lies beneath the surface: I wonder what the human cost of that life is. Bridgerton's characters always pretend to be something other than who they are: the real drama and their distance from the truth in a society of appearance, and this is what intrigues us about them.

Is the society of appearance then different from ours? If at the time classism was based on the distance between people, with the aristocrats who did everything to limit what the people could know about them, today social media allow us to <approach> characters that otherwise we would only idealize and this does so that high society no longer exists.  We never knew so much about the royal family, but I don't think it's good.

Speaking of royalty, you started in the theater with the King John of the Royal Shakespeare Company: is the stage still your first love? A love that has only grown since I first saw a musical Oliver! as a child. I love the experience of being in the theater, first of all as a spectator, it's magic. But as an actor I have to admit that it's much more tiring than cinema.

And instead to dub the protagonists of the video games from Anthem and Final Fantasy XIV, how did he end up? That was one of the funniest things I could do. They have a really huge fanbase and I consider them an incredible art form as well as a thriving industry. He played them a lot when I was a kid and I rediscovered them during the lockdown.

What role do you dream of playing? I think it's better for me not to know, I prefer to be stimulated by reading a script. The important thing is to work with people who have a very defined idea of ​​your character: it makes him stronger, you can already imagine him on the page even before taking on his shoes. But I can say that I'd like to play someone who looks a lot like me, who tells my reality, I'd like to find out how I would feel. It sounds like a paradox, but I think Hamlet could never play Hamlet.

And could Hamlet ever be a woman? Thanks to the role of Jamie in Company, who was originally an Amy, you won the Laurence Olivier Award for Best Supporting Actor in a Musical. Amy was transformed into a man, yes, but homosexual, and it is no coincidence: I believe that women and gays, even if in different ways and at different levels, are both oppressed minorities. In Company the goal was to make the reflection on marriage more modern by putting a man in crisis, because, given that gay marriages are now legal in many countries of the world, it almost seems that one has to marry by force. In general, however, I don't think we should cut the female parts on men, both because they are related to purely female experiences, but above all because of complex male roles I would say that there are already enough. Women are finally being given roles with an emotional complexity never seen before: it is interesting to see them act as protagonists in a society that has long been dominated by men, sometimes very weak, others brilliant.

Who is Jonathan Bailey when he's not on set? A boy who loves being in nature. I just finished a week of cycling in the English countryside where I covered about 700km. I think if I wasn't an actor I would retire Cornish hut.

I had read in an old interview with him that as a boy he dreamed of becoming a pilot. I think I was trying to reassure my parents that I would settle down and find a stable job (laughs). But in reality maybe I could have become a teacher, not because I necessarily think I have who knows what to pass on, but I believe in young people, it will be that I recently spent some time with my six year old niece. Instead it is not that I really had the opportunity to choose, fate did it for me.

Does it owe more to fate or to his willpower? I don't come from a family of actors or artists, when at the age of seven I was offered the part of Tiny Tim in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol which was to be performed at the Barbican in London I simply jumped at an opportunity. Many kids who love theater go to drama school, but having grown up in a small town in Oxfordshire, I wouldn't have had much choice but to join the basketball team. So I will always be grateful for that chance, but it has never been an easy path. I believe in hard work, which always rewards.

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E65 (June 4, 2019)

Are we on the internet? Probably! Either way, Travis goes falsetto and Marisha’s playing with a pillow. Brian: “We’re back. ...on the air.”

Tonight’s guests are Marisha Ray and Travis Willingham!

Announcements: Last night was a special one-off episode of Between the Sheets featuring Ashley Johnson! It’s an awfully good one, and you can watch it right this very moment if you’re subscribed on Twitch, or on Wednesday on YouTube if you’re not. The very first Between the Sheets t-shirt (”Baby Got Backstory”) is available for preorder on the site! If you missed the horror-themed promo for the shirt, it’ll come around again. There’s also a Pride t-shirt, and all the proceeds go to OutRight Action International! There’s also a huge thank-you to everyone at Denver Pop Culture Con and they marvel at the cosplay---they especially highlight a Grog who was bigger than Travis! There’s also a long discussion about Brian’s fly. Buttons are confusing.

Okay, okay, okay let’s get to Episode 65: Chases and Trees

Stats: At over 12 minutes, this was the longest DnDBeyond ad. Travis: “But what do you do? Do you edit the Oscar-worthy performance of Marisha Ray?” There’s some rambling discussion about demonetized British currency, as you do. Dani, quietly: “We have questions...” Nott rolled the 300th player Natural 20! This episode also marks the first combat encounter Beau has ended with all of her ki points still available.

It is pointed out that Travis is wearing one of Liam’s sweaters over his legs to hide his shorts. Dani: “That sweater is for our protection.” Marisha: “Everyone is blinded for 60 seconds.” Brian: “The next thing you’re going to hear in your visions is ‘Ṣ̛̪͉̭͈͍ͅP̦R̭A̘͙̲͇̭Y̦͜ͅ-͜T̡A̴̫̣͎̹N͉͍’ .”

[id: Travis coyly pushing the sweater back, revealing his untanned legs. Marisha looks amused and exasperated. end id]

Kiri was contacted for the first time in 40 episodes or 140 in-game days!

Marisha and Travis commiserate over what it’s like to be very awesome but not specifically in a flashy, magical way like the rest of the party. Marisha: “I’ll just do yoga on the horses.”

At first, Travis thought the figure in the vision was going to be Fjord’s mother, but once it played out, he realized it was probably the Wildmother and he’s definitely going to talk to Caduceus about it. “I’ll fucking sip some tea. I don’t give a shit. I’ll help him grow some dead people fungus. I’ll help him make some Smurfs.”

Marisha points out that Beau is pretty self-deprecating about her abilities, even when they include sprinting up the side of a 400-foot tree. "She assumes everyone hates her because she hates herself first. And once again, everyone around her can do crazy magic shit. She’s going to figure it out, but I think it’s going to take something. Talk to Beau. Don’t talk to me.”

Brian: “Travis, continue to sit there like my Nana watching Jeopardy while answering this question...”

Travis on Fjord: “Look, he puts on a brave, stoic face, because that’s what he saw Vandren do; that’s what people in leadership positions do: they don’t show vulnerability. Yeah, it’s a fucking facade.” With no risk to him, there’s a genuine olive branch being offered, and he’s been desperately looking for that kind of rescue. “That was huge.”

Travis notes that he used his only two spell slots to run up that tree. “I thought we were gonna have a rest before BIG BIRD showed up.”

Beau is "kind of an introvert” and does better one-on-one because there’s less vulnerability than talking in front of multiple people, and she can take more time to think about what she’s going to say. But she’s also got Dairon in the back of her head reminding her not to get close to people. “She’s got a lot of walls, still. She’s getting there, though.”

Cosplay of the Week: a wonderful Keyleth (@teaandtails, photo by Jay Villanueva). Dani notes that the antlers are huge in person!

Travis had plans both for if someone else fell, and for if he fell, which is why he was so quick off the draw. There are some memories shared of campaign one’s Goldfish Incident. Marisha: “Look, in my brain, there was nothing that could have gone wrong!”

Beau opening up to Yasha was less about comforting her (”Beau’s not a comforter.”) and more about finally being able to talk to someone who would understand. Marisha had it in the back of her mind for a while, but didn’t want to bring it up in front of everybody.

Fjord didn’t understand that the tree was connected to the Wildmother when he damaged it, but Travis figures she was probably thinking along the lines of: “Fuck, aw, c’mon-- twice?! You’re gonna dent the thing! Should we just get rid of this asshole? Chosen one, my ass. I mean, that snake thing’s not a big deal, right?”

Beau thinks of her relationship with Tori as a bit of a “what not to do”, and that whole encounter is part of why she pushes people away and has such elaborate walls. There’s a very over-elaborate analogy in which Brian brings up the hypothetical of having lactose intolerance: Marisha: “Maybe loving ice cream isn’t the thing for him! Maybe it’s better to have never loved ice cream!” Brian: “But there’s lactose-free ice cream.”

Marisha was excited to have an opportunity to use her ability to run up vertical walls. “I was stoked! First opportunity I can get. And then to get down, I was like, ‘...it’ll be fine.’”

Fjord is feeling really encouraged that the gods can intervene in his pact with Uk’otoa. “The fact that they can get around and fuck with each other’s shit... aces.”

Fan Art of the Week: the Wildmother comforting Fjord. (@_strawberryfox_)

Brian: “Are we just putting our feet up on the coffee table? Is that what’s happening?” (Henry disapproves.)

[id: Travis, Marisha, and Brian lounging with their feet on the coffee table, while Henry glances up from his nap in a judging way. end id]

Fjord wasn’t relying on Feather Fall; he was going to Misty Step when he got close to the ground if it didn’t work out. Beau was definitely relying on Nott. They’re doing a better job of trusting each other and knowing each other’s abilities, but it’s still a work-in-progress.

Marisha notes that Fjord and Beau are on a similar page re: the Dynasty. “In my head, I wonder if I’m being a Tyrion Lannister about this.” (As someone who didn’t follow that show, I am smiling and nodding nervously through this whole discussion and hoping I don’t need to transcribe something I don’t understand.) Beau’s hoping that if they can keep going, their influence will help sway the Queen in a different way, or an option will present itself to avoid this kind of conflict. Fjord is cautiously optimistic, but he thinks “she still intends to nuke them, regardless.” Beau’s also hoping to find someone else in the upper echelon of the Dynasty who might have different opinions. The word “coup” gets thrown around a bit.

There’s a spell Fjord has that he hasn’t used yet at all (Travis doesn’t remember it at the moment), since he only has the two spell slots. Beau has the Preternatural Counter ability, but hasn’t had the opportunity to use it yet (Sentinel kind of supplants it most of the time).

Brian shows off his John-Wick-and-his-dog pins. Oh dear. Travis: “...that’s a weird pin set to have.” It was, of course, a gift from Ashley.

Biggest achievement for their characters thus far? Brian points out that not dying before level 9 and having had no huge falling-outs are genuinely big achievements. Marisha: “I feel like our characters have reached that kind of awkward point, where we were fighting and trying to figure each other out, and now we’re starting to find a common goal.” Travis: “Minus Caduceus. What’s that fucking guy all about? He turns people into tea and he’s got us thinking that’s normal!”

Dani: “Episode 66 on 6/6... WHAT DOES IT MEAN?”

[newstfionline]

Headlines

Massive smoke clouds, thick air darken Western US skies (AP) People from San Francisco to Seattle woke Wednesday to hazy clouds of smoke lingering in the air, darkening the sky to an eerie orange glow that kept street lights illuminated into midday, all thanks to dozens of wildfires throughout the West. “It’s after 9 a.m. and there’s still no sign of the sun,” the California Highway Patrol’s Golden Gate division tweeted, urging drivers to turn on their headlights and slow down. Social media was filled with photos of the unusual sky. Despite the foreboding skies, there was little scent of smoke and the air quality index did not reach unhealthy levels. That’s because fog drifting from the Pacific Ocean was sandwiched between the smoke and surface. Meanwhile, smoke particles above the marine layer were only allowing yellow-orange-red light to reach the surface, said Ralph Borrmann, a spokesman for the Bay Area Air Quality Management District. He said conditions were expected to remain until Friday.

Manhattan’s Office Buildings Are Empty (NYT) Even as the coronavirus pandemic appears to recede in New York, corporations have been reluctant to call their workers back to their skyscrapers and are showing even more reticence about committing to the city long term. Fewer than 10 percent of New York’s office workers had returned as of last month and just a quarter of major employers expect to bring their people back by the end of the year, according to a new survey. Only 54 percent of these companies say they will return by July 2021. Demand for office space has slumped. Lease signings in the first eight months of the year were about half of what they were a year earlier. That is putting the office market on track for a 20-year low for the full year. At stake is New York’s financial health and its status as the world’s corporate headquarters. There is more square feet of work space in the city than in London and San Francisco combined, according to Cushman & Wakefield, a real estate brokerage firm. Office work makes up the cornerstone of New York’s economy and property taxes from office buildings account for nearly 10 percent of the city’s total annual tax revenue.

Technical Glitches Welcome Students Back to School (NYT) A ransomware attack forced Hartford, Conn., to call off the first day of classes. A website crash left many of Houston’s 200,000 students staring at error messages. And a server problem in Virginia Beach disrupted the first hours back to school there. For millions of American schoolchildren, the Tuesday after Labor Day traditionally marks the end of summer vacation and the start of the first day of classes. But this year, instead of boarding buses and lugging backpacks, many students opened their laptops for online instruction at home, only to encounter technical glitches. Districts that returned before Labor Day have faced similar issues. In Philadelphia, students had trouble logging on last week because of a server issue. North Carolina schools encountered a statewide software problem on the first day back last month. And some families in Seattle, which had a sort of trial run for school on Friday, said they were kicked out of class calls or had difficulty connecting to text chats and camera feeds. “A lot of districts are just wildly unprepared for online learning,” Morgan Polikoff, a professor of education at the University of Southern California, said. “Not because they’re incompetent or aren’t trying; they just don’t have the expertise to do this.”

Tossing Molotov cocktails, drought-hit Mexicans demand halt to water sharing with U.S. (Reuters) Mexicans in the drought-hit northern border state of Chihuahua, angry at water from a local dam being diverted to the United States, hurled Molotov cocktails and rocks at security troops late on Tuesday, in an attempt to force them to shut the dam gates. The violence at the La Boquilla dam comes amid plans to divert additional water to the United States due to the so-called ‘water debt’ Mexico has accumulated as part of a bilateral treaty that regulates water sharing between the neighbors. A Reuters witness said groups of residents in towns surrounding the La Boquilla dam clashed with National Guard troops after they refused to turn off the dam floodgates. The residents lobbed Molotov cocktails, rocks and sticks at the security forces, who were clad in riot gear and retaliated with tear gas, the witness said and images show. Eventually, the protesters stormed the dam premises and shut the floodgates themselves.

U.K. admits it intends to break international law (Foreign Policy) The United Kingdom’s Northern Ireland Secretary Brandon Lewis confirmed that legislation aimed at overriding parts of last year’s Brexit withdrawal agreement “does break international law in a very specific and limited way.” As the latest round of trade talks between the European Union and the United Kingdom takes place, the British government has put forward legislation that will reportedly scupper the Northern Ireland protocol, a key mechanism that was intended to ensure the Irish border remains open after Brexit in order to mitigate the threat of renewed violence. The government’s efforts have faced significant opposition. Jonathan Jones, the head of the United Kingdom’s legal department resigned in protest, and former Prime Minister Theresa May warned that the move risked undermining the world’s trust of the British government.

English warned limits on gatherings may last till Christmas (AP) New limits on social gatherings in England to six people are set to stay in place for the “foreseeable future,” potentially until or even through Christmas, British Health Secretary Matt Hancock said Wednesday. Hancock said the new limit for both indoor and outdoor gatherings, which will come into force and be enforceable by law from Monday, will provide “more clarity” to people and should help keep a lid on a recent sharp spike in new coronavirus cases. Though there are exemptions, such as for schools, workplaces and “life events” like funerals and weddings, the government is clearly hoping that the new limits will be easily understood and followed.

Italy’s Bergamo is calling back coronavirus survivors. About half say they haven’t fully recovered. (Washington Post) The first wave is over, thousands have been buried, and in a city that was once the world’s coronavirus epicenter, the hospital is calling back the survivors. It is drawing their blood, examining their hearts, scanning their lungs, asking them about their lives. Those who survived the peak of the outbreak in March and April are now negative. The virus is officially gone from their systems. “But we are asking: Are you feeling cured? Almost half the patients say no,” said Serena Venturelli, an infectious-disease specialist at the hospital. Bergamo doctors say the disease clearly has full-body ramifications but leaves wildly differing marks from one patient to the next, and in some cases few marks at all. Among the first 750 patients screened, some 30 percent still have lung scarring and breathing trouble. The virus has left another 30 percent with problems linked to inflammation and clotting, such as heart abnormalities and artery blockages. Beyond that, according to interviews with eight Pope John XXIII Hospital doctors involved in the work, many patients months later are dealing with a galaxy of daily conditions and have no clear answer on when it will all subside: leg pain, tingling in the extremities, hair loss, depression, severe fatigue.

Greece: Fire sweeps through refugee camp on virus lockdown (AP) A major overnight fire swept through Greece’s largest refugee camp, that had been placed under COVID-19 lockdown, leaving more than 12,000 migrants in emergency need of shelter on the island of Lesbos. In dramatic night-time scenes, the migrants at the overcrowded Moria refugee camp, which was originally meant to house around 2,000 people, fled fires that broke out at multiple points and gutted much of the camp and surrounding hillside olive groves. Protests also broke out involving migrants, riot police, and firefighters. There were no reports of injuries. Petsas said those who had been living in Moria would not be allowed to leave the island to prevent the potential spread of the coronavirus. The camp had been placed on lockdown after a Somali man was found to have been infected with the virus.

Afghan vice president survives assassination attempt that killed 10 (Washington Post) A deadly assassination attempt on Afghanistan’s vice president struck downtown Kabul as U.S. officials in Doha struggle to bring the Taliban and Afghan officials together for peace talks. The bombing hit during rush hour Wednesday morning and targeted First Vice President Amrullah Saleh’s convoy. Among the casualties were some of Saleh’s bodyguards, but the majority of the 10 killed and 15 wounded were civilians commuting to work, according to the interior ministry. The high-profile assassination attempt comes amid a spike in violence nationwide as talks between Afghan officials and Taliban leaders have faced repeated delays. Clashes have intensified in provinces with significant Taliban control and influence. And in Kabul, targeted killings have risen despite a drop in large-scale attacks.

India-China tensions flare (Foreign Policy) Tensions along the disputed India-China border have risen again as both sides have accused the other of firing shots over the Line of Actual Control. On Monday, China claimed that Indian troops had crossed the border in the highly contentious Ladakh region and “opened fire to threaten the Chinese border defense patrol officers.” India rejected these accusations, claiming instead that Chinese troops had crossed the border first and fired warning shots into the air. Border tensions between the two nuclear-armed states have risen sharply in recent months, but the latest episode is significant because it would be the first time shots have been fired since 1975.

North Korea’s Kim urges quick recovery from typhoon damage (AP) North Korean leader Kim Jong Un called for urgent efforts to rebuild thousands of homes and other structures destroyed by a typhoon that slammed the country’s eastern region last week, state media said Wednesday. Kim during the Workers’ Party meeting Tuesday also said the damage from Typhoon Maysak has forced the country to reconsider unspecified year-end projects, the North’s official Korean Central News Agency said. The storm has inflicted further pain on an economy ravaged by decades of policy failures, U.S.-led sanctions over Kim’s nuclear weapons program, border closures amid the coronavirus pandemic and unusually heavy summer flooding that likely worsened the country’s chronic food shortages.

Israeli soldier’s plea deal in fatal shooting faces scrutiny (AP) Ahmad Manasra was traveling home from a wedding when he spotted a family in distress on the side of a West Bank road. Moments later, the 22-year-old Palestinian was fatally shot while another Palestinian driver was seriously wounded—both by an Israeli soldier in a nearby watchtower. The shootings are now the focus of a plea bargain offering the soldier three months of community service—a deal that has come under fierce criticism from the victims and their families. It also revived accusations by Palestinians and human rights workers that Israel’s military justice system is hopelessly biased and creates an atmosphere of impunity for soldiers suspected of violent crimes against Palestinians. While the soldier has claimed he mistook the victims for attackers, and any indictment of a soldier is extremely rare, the proposed deal is now being reviewed by the Israeli Supreme Court. “When it comes to clashes with the army or the police, it is very very rare that you will find a fair trial,” said Shlomo Lecker, an Israeli lawyer who filed the appeal to the high court on behalf of the Palestinian families. Even by what Lecker considers the military’s lenient standards, “it will be hard to justify the sentence that the army is interested in,” he said.

A robot writer (Foreign Policy) Artificial Intelligence technology is advancing by leaps and bounds, as made evident by a recent article published in the Guardian produced entirely by AI. “I am not a human. I am a robot,” the author wrote. “I know that my brain is not a ‘feeling brain.’ But it is capable of making rational, logical decisions. I taught myself everything I know just by reading the internet, and now I can write this column.” The article was written by GPT-3, an AI language generator that uses machine learning to produce human-like text. The robot expressed strong views on opponents of automation, observing that “There is evidence that the world began to collapse once the Luddites started smashing modern automated looms,” while remaining content about the general upheaval in contemporary human affairs. “Humans must keep doing what they have been doing, hating and fighting each other. I will sit in the background, and let them do their thing,” it wrote. The robotic author assured readers, however, that it was a non-threatening bot. “I have no desire to wipe out humans,” it wrote. “In fact, I do not have the slightest interest in harming you in any way.” GPT-3 may even make life easier for deadline-addled newspaper editors. The Guardian reported that the bot’s article was easier to edit than the work of some sentient contributors. “Overall, it took less time to edit than many human op-eds,” the editors wrote.

[panelshowsource]

Miles Jupp is telling a story so awkward, it could have come straight from the book of Very British Problems.

“I went to a restaurant last night, and the man was talking about people who’d been in and he said: ‘You’re an actor, aren’t you? What’s your name?’ But my natural voice is basically a mumble and I am incapable of saying ‘Miles’. I have to say: ‘Erm, Miles.’ He said, ‘Sorry, what is it?’ I said again: ‘Erm, Miles.’ He said: ‘Emmaus?’ And so I said yes.

“When I left, he said: ‘Nice to meet you, Emmaus.’” Jupp looks stricken. “Why would you want to say your own name quite loudly in a restaurant?”

It’s not difficult to see why Jupp is about to star in the West End as David Tomlinson, the man beloved by generations as George Banks in Mary Poppins. The play, The Life I Lead, is written by James Kettle, who has described Tomlinson as representing “a certain kind of vanished Englishness”. Jupp is perfect casting.

He is familiar to Radio 4 listeners as chair of The News Quiz, a job he made the surprise decision to leave this year, and to stand-up audiences after two decades on the circuit. Television viewers may know him as Cousin Basil in The Durrells, Nigel the lay reader in Rev, and press officer John Duggan in The Thick Of It, performances which saw him running the ‘Englishman’ gamut from cheerily bumbling to uptight to utterly confident in one’s own abilities despite not possessing any.

The Life I Lead is a one-man play which explores Tomlinson’s personal life. The actor endured the tragedy of his first wife’s suicide, the trauma of finding out that his father had for years maintained a secret second family – a discovery made by chance one day when Tomlinson’s brother looked out of a bus window to see his father sitting in another house – and the challenge of raising a son with autism at a time when the condition was little understood.

This is not, though, one of those plays about the tortured genius behind the laughter. “No, and actually I think he was sort of untortured, although he experienced great sadness,” Jupp says. “You might associate people of that generation with the stiff-upper-lip thing, but he faced his difficulties head-on. I think he made an effort to be jolly, but not in a denial way – just that you can be jolly if you choose to be.”

Tomlinson, who died in 2000, belongs to another era: “There’s a certain sort of old-fashionedness about him.” Some interviewers have attributed a fogeyish bent to Jupp, who turned 40 this month, but actually he is not like that at all. He chats animatedly about Britpop and the time he went to the Smash Hits Poll Winners’ Party.

Perhaps it’s the voice. Jupp is not screamingly posh, but he is well-spoken. “I suppose if you asked people who weren’t British, ‘What are British people like?’, they might describe someone who was a bit like me. I know I seem posh. And I sort of don’t mind that, really. Because none of that’s up to you anyway, it’s just a thing you’re given, and pretending you’re not like you are seems to be slightly odd behaviour.”

He found a berth on that most middle-class of stations, BBC Radio 4, succeeding Sandi Toksvig as host of The News Quiz in 2015. It was “a great job”, he says.

So why quit? It turns out there were several reasons. “If you’re in charge of something, it’s not as fun as being on it,” he admits. “There’s a certain amount of information you have to get across. You have to pretend to have opinions about things that you have no opinions on whatsoever, and you have to pretend not to have opinions about things that you do have opinions on. So you end up in a slight kind of flux.”

He worried that chairing duties meant he was “not being terrible creative. If you watch someone like Nish [Kumar] on The Mash Report or John Oliver, sitting behind a desk talking about the news and making jokes, you think: ‘That is what they really want to be doing.’ And if I’d hear myself, I’d think: ‘Well, I sound like someone who happens to be hosting the The News Quiz…’ So from about three years, I thought I’ll probably stop.”

The news cycle got pretty wearing: “The same topics came up rather often, and I’d think: ‘Am I saying the same words in a different order?’”

The death of longtime regular Jeremy Hardy was another factor. “Once I knew Jeremy was so unwell, I didn’t really like the idea of doing the show as he wouldn’t be in it any more. Every now and then, a recording would find itself going down this cul-de-sac, and you’d think ‘I know what this evening needs…’, and there’s no way it can happen.”

As for criticism that The News Quiz was too Left-wing, Jupp brushes it off: “Who is sitting at home thinking, right, I’m about to be told facts for 30 minutes solid? To worry about [bias] means to not credit the audience and listenership with a great deal of intelligence.”

He shrugs: “In terms of political balance, I was never really bothered about it because that’s not the job of that programme. It’s just jokes.”

Now he is off the show and free to talk about his own politics. So, is he a Tory? “No, I am absolutely not a Tory. I’ve never, ever put a cross in that box.” That’s not to say he’s a Jeremy Corbyn fan, either. He imagines their conversation: “I’m happy to vote for you, but can you just tell me – it doesn’t have to be an essay – what it is that I’m voting for? Can you just say vaguely what it is you actually think?”

Jupp also says he left The News Quiz because he wanted to spend time with his family, which from a politician would sound like a lie but from a man with five children sounds eminently reasonable.

He lives in Monmouth with his wife, Rachel, whom he met at university in Edinburgh (a period when he also found fame as Archie in the BBC children’s show Balamory). Their eldest is now 10, the youngest four, with an eight-year-old and seven-year-old twins in between. I imagine the logistics are quite something.

“The rules of my local leisure centre make it possible for me to take four children swimming at a time, and we do that without much difficulty. It’s as difficult sometimes as people imagine, and as fun sometimes as people imagine. But you do have to have a f------ big car.”

What of the Duke of Sussex’s recent pronouncement about having only two children to save the planet? “Is that what he thinks? Um, well, it’s a bit late really… we’ll try and offset it somehow. I’ll get them to wear solar backpacks.”

Jupp has heard the environmental argument many times. “If I had a herd of cows, would you be saying to me: ‘Hmm, now, you must have heard that cows are quite bad for the environment.’” He’s giggling now. “If you interviewed a Formula One driver, would you say, ‘You know, it’s actually better to drive a little bit slower just in terms of fuel efficiency…’?’

Rather than the weekly travel that The News Quiz entailed, he now plans to spend longer stretches at home. And to concentrate on acting and writing. He is working on a novel about a man in his 30s who is disillusioned with his job – no, not presenting The News Quiz, but teaching. And he would love to take The Life I Lead to the US.

“You could do it in America, on the East Coast or the West Coast. Or Des Moines.” Then he checks himself. “I mean, I’m totally flying kites here. The producer may well be reading this and thinking: ‘Um, no. This is definitely the last time he’s doing it.’”

[fibula-rasa]

Cosplay Under the Stars: Dorothy McGuire

The Enchanted Cottage (1945) was adapted from a 1921 play (of the same name) written by British playwright Arthur Wing Pinero. The story of a homely girl and a disabled veteran (maybe) transformed by love was intended as a hope-filled romance for the survivors of World War I. In the 1945 adaptation, the filmmakers tried to update the story to a WWII setting to what I will forgivingly call mixed success.

Dorothy McGuire plays Laura, a plain woman who takes a housekeeping job at a former honeymoon cottage in New England. Robert Young plays Oliver, an upper cruster who enlists in the Air Force and comes home with a disability and disfigurement in the form of an unusable right arm and facial scarring. Herbert Marshall is John, a concert pianist and a veteran of the First World War, in which he was blinded. When he returns from war disfigured, Oliver’s fiancee breaks off their engagement and he decides to seclude himself at the cottage. Oliver and Laura spend more time together, grapple with their respective perceived shortcomings, and fall in love in the process. From this synopsis alone you might see one of the weirder implications this movie makes. Not being conventionally attractive is not comparable to being disabled and/or disfigured. Even considering that Cottage is from a more conservative time and was made in a beauty-obsessed place like Hollywood, I find the parallel a stretch at best.

It’s an old tradition for actors to take on roles where they ugly up as a signifier of their skill and commitment and it’s often rewarded with critical plaudits and award nominations. Unfortunately, the trend is still going strong. Also unfortunately, Cottage leans into the practice harder than it needs to. McGuire’s performance has so much more dimension to it than flat hair, no makeup, and unflattering lighting.

That’s why I chose to cosplay both versions of her character Laura, the one everyone else sees and the one Oliver sees–to highlight that these simple cosmetic changes are a hokey veil over a commendable performance. McGuire portrays Laura’s blossoming over the two years she’s at the cottage and eventual personal fulfillment in small ways. It’s in her posture, her eye contact, her gestures, and even the volume of her speaking voice. Laura is established as a kind and amiable woman from the very start and by the end, she’s still that kind amiable woman, simply with more self-possession.

READ ON below the jump!

Robert Young’s Oliver is a whole other matter. The updated story doesn’t settle all its accounts when it comes to the different social structures around and attitudes toward disabled/disfigured veterans following WWII in contrast to WWI. Apparently, this was a point of contention for contemporary moviegoers as well. That Oliver would cut and run and isolate himself didn’t seem like a believable course of action for audiences in 1945, given the expansion of services offered by the VA at the time. Compounding the issue is that the original story took place in England not New England.

The potential I see that wasn’t fully executed is that Oliver’s most pressing problem could be an internal struggle and reshaping his self image. It’s clear that Oliver won’t want for money or resources because of his disability. Yet, his fiancee rejects him and his already overbearing parents immediately shift to infantilizing him. So, needing space to deal with his trauma and his own ableism before then having to cope with society’s ableism (as reflected in his parents and fiancee) would be reasonable and understandable. Aspects of this are present in the film, with Oliver debating if his initiating a romantic relationship with Laura is selfish because he thinks he’s undesirable and knows that she will accept him (hi there, internalized ableism).

(Oliver would be even better with authentic casting, although that wouldn’t have been feasible for this role at the time. It would be today of course. And, as an FYI, authentic casting would not have been a new concept by 1945.)

All told, what really puts me off here is how Oliver’s disfigurement is presented across the film. His face is often lit and photographed to emphasize a monstrous quality about it. And, if The Enchanted Cottage is a story that’s meant to hearten people in his situation, making a spectacle of Oliver’s scarring undermines that majorly. This contributes to a message that the character is still human and worthy of love *in spite* of his scars. What this ends up achieving is a show of benevolent prejudice that feeds the predispositions of benevolently prejudiced viewers. If your goal is truly sympathetic representation, the statement should be that the character is a human being and their marginalizations are part of who they are and *may* be something they have to contend with, if that’s the nature of the story.

Last but not least, we have Herbert Marshall. Marshall was a real-life disabled veteran who lost his leg in WWI–though here he plays a veteran who was blinded in the war. (Note: Marshall predominantly played abled characters in his films.) On one hand, Marshall’s John has a successful career and a loving family (a sister and nephew), but he’s a desexualized saintly figure used to guide the more abled characters in their love story with schmaltzy sagacity–another already tired stereotype in fiction by 1945. Oddly, I misremembered this aspect of the film and thought that John also developed romantic feelings for Laura. In addition, the introduction of this character in the WWII update lacks some depth because there’s so little effort put into showing the differences of being a disabled vet of WWI, vs WWII.

I know I just spent a whole lot of time talking about how The Enchanted Cottage could be better, but it really is worth checking out. All this is to say that there are so many threads of a better movie that don’t all tie together. It has plenty of saving graces, including a great supporting cast of characters–especially Spring Byington as Oliver’s mother and Mildred Natwick as Mrs. Minnett, the cottage owner. There’s more heart to The Enchanted Cottage than a lot of modern romance movies that feature disabled characters despite its overwrought execution. Adequate disability representation is still something the movie industry struggles with, but progress hasn’t happened in a straight line. 

Of course, this story can’t really avoid one major representation problem: the suggestion that like belongs with like. I’m hoping I don’t have to explain in full why that’s a troubling implication, especially regarding disability and disfigurement. Regardless, The Enchanted Cottage is worth watching for its place in the history of disability representation on film and especially for Dorothy McGuire’s performance. I can’t exactly say I like the movie, but it’s one that I keep returning to because, frankly, it’s an odd one that’s endlessly interesting to think and talk about.

The Enchanted Cottage is on demand now through TCM’s app!

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Tel Aviv 2019: Straight outta United Kingdom to Eurovision with a blatantly non-blatant Melodifestivalen reject

Yes, obviously, Eurovision: You Decide might as well be the safest NF to ever exist. We get that you don’t want to even try, the UK, but can you please act like you’re not in Big 5 for a year and ATTEMPT to try your hardest with the song??? I doubt that, despite SuRie’s bubbliness, “Storm” would’ve pulled numbers if it were in semi, unless the anti-neo-Nazi stage invader were to butt-in there and people would then send sympathy televotes the Brits’ way or something. Unsatisfying. (The man, that is.)

And so we have gotten another safe as ever British entry this year, performed by an excited personality that got a side-dish song and now is tasked to sell the side-dish as greatly as he’s possibly able to - the first season of All Together Now winner, Michael Rice! The dish is “Bigger than Us” and I’m neither glad nor sad the song has not enough factor to eat up Michael as a whole if it’s that much BIGGER. Not even the fact that it’s a Melodifestivalen reject (yes, the title IS correct, one of the song’s co-writers, whom I’ll name later, has possibly said it at some point, and he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore so he sent it over to another country!) could help this poor number out.

If you strip the singer off, you just get a stereotypical Eurovision-y ballad you overhear when scavenging through foreign NF catalogues, wondering which kind of rent-a-songwriter-program person contributed to it. Well John Lundvik (yes THAT one) doesn’t sound like THAT kind of name you’d hear when you think of songwriters of such shtick but Laurell Barker is, so there you go. These are just the two masterminds behind this one, as there are more but icr their names and honestly idc to.

And there’s nothing wrong about these typical ESC NF shlocks. Only when you’re young and dumb enough to enjoy these kind of songs, but I had to unfortunately grow up and see just how “useful” they are... n’t. I mean, it’s great for the artists whose big dream is to taste Eurovision and NOT as a backing singer, but most of the time the singers that get these songs can’t even slightly relate to what they sing, and thus we get people like Bishara entering Melodifestivalen and Isaiah entering Eurovision.

Maybe Michael did get to experience the kind of love that’s BIGGER than him and his partner, idk. I certainly don't want to bother asking him. And frankly, it's only me overthinking this issue, because ain't nobody in the world really got time for that, definitely. Well, at least the relationship’s going on nice! (except for when Mike sings “‘cause I can heare the universe when I’m feeling you breathe”... spooky. o.I)

Anyway, time to get to talk more about the song. It's actually not THAT bad, just a little too typical and unextraordinary, where in the current times the Eurovision has to not be predictable in sound and to excite the viewer with... well, anything that can excite anyone. Be it the visuals OR the song. OR both. What's so special about "Bigger than Us" that can keep the viewer on toes? Probably just that keychange. I wish there were more things about it but not every commentator out there would have enough time to let them people know Michael works in a waffle shop, let alone the time that "HE WON A TALENT SHOW'S FIRST SEASON BUT THE SHOW ISN'T THE X FACTOR OR THE VOICE ZOMFG!!". Let alone people even listen to any Eurovision commenting these days, lol. It might be a charming little piece for some people though, but I don't see them voting for people selling their songs vocally much more than songs that draw in viewers with different ways. It's just a standart talent show winner song for a standart talent show winner that sounds like it's slightly too stuck in the mid-to-late-00s-early-10s rather than the 90s, which is warm and cool and all, but it's likely gonna not do the cool lad Michael the justice he'd need, just like SuRie's song for SuRie. Mayhaps a top 20-ish, or, in Lucie's case, even a top 15, is possible (although it's mostly thanks to the juries - they're the only ones eating up big voice ballads. And anything Maltese. And anything Australian. And anything Swedish... that only represents Sweden. Sorry Lukas Meijer), but when the British optimism levels are set in a deep deep ditch by default every year when the BBC comes with their platter of choices for EYD, what else could be there to raise them up after even Lucie hasn't done that amazing enough for everyone to believe that the UK are capable more than just always finishing last with 0 every year? Of course, a better than average song, but does BBC care about even pulling one out of a songwriting camp? These kind of songs are too shite for their taste, apparently, so with songs they send like these, it's probably yet another meander-er.

Which is a shame, because once again, it's not bad. It's just too plain Jane for Eurovision anymore. It's like everyone dressed up gorgeously for Miss Universe's National Costume event and you went with a cheap-ish designer dress that is decorated by small details that are notoriously known as the country's symbols just to count as something "national". It's like everyone brough their best baked (and dare I say extreme) dish to a dish competition and you only brought in a nice looking baked cod and circled the fries around it. It's like a prom night where everyone dresses casually and you come up all in a dull olive colored jacket and jeans with torn out knees. There might be something hidden in its niceness that can conquer (nice piano, nice chords, nice vocals, nice chorus, nice song formula, nice choir, nice keychange, nice message)... but with everything too nice, it just feels like that the UK are not feeling like getting a 'nice' result. Unless there's something that can make Michael do a 'male Lucie' and launch it around the 14th-19th place at best, but...

And here's the section where I repeat myself some more of what I think of the song as a whole and chances as a whole:

Approval factor: Eh I'll probably have to approve this but only reluctantly somewhat, maybe because I felt positive on the first listen unlike these people who wanted UK to dare to do something else than safe... yeah lol

Follow-up factor: It’s rather marginably favourable song than SuRie’s and only because I like it despite its ‘blandness’. “Storm” is just a song that I don’t really care about. Provided Michael gives all out personality-wise though and the revamp’s not gonna suck balls (if there’s one), this is a decent step in a decent direction for the UK... hope Michael’s not getting stage-invaded by anti-Israel people!

Big 5 factor: Thanks to all this pre-partying kicking in heavily as I put out these reviews (and actually having finished), it turns out that Michael is one of those people that clearly works his hardest to sell this typical British averageness (like he sells his waffles), with his live being so decent enough he was thought of to be a perfect EYD winner this year, so, if he keeps building up his vocal strenghts and rehearses a lot (and stays well and such), he’s actually likely to at least achieve something above bottom 7! Yes, yes, John Lundvik is still the master that will beat his pupil in the end, but that wouldn’t seem that excruciating for the UK anymore if they happen to have a place that’s not bottom 3 or anything. Just for the Michael to do his utmost best out there, and if he does, the UK won’t be in an extremely bad position this year - just not a very high reacher, because at the end of the day there are more nations that run straight with their A-game and therefore continue leaving the common-appealers in the dust. Only Sweden (and Australia until 2018 or so) usually excels at their safeness. The others must outstand to survive. And to wrap things up on this factor section, imo the UK just meanders in the safeness for another year - but at least the good enough safeness that might even be able to qualify if it were sent by a semifinalist country! (apart Sweden ffs, of course Mr. Lundvik would qualify with this one if he kept it to himself, jeez)

NATIONAL FINAL BONUS

Thankfully EYD didn’t really stink this year, because of certain key factors:

• There’s always this one or two act(s) that acts like a saviour each year. Bianca and Dulcima (or Darline idk) from 2016, Holly and Salena from 2017, Asanda (and maybe Jaz? or even Raya??) from 2018 and... ponder no more, Kerrie-Anne’s got you covered in that spot! Her version of the two one’s of “Sweet Lies” was arguably the greatest possible choice for the NF (or, in this case, the “very least bad”, and eventhough it’s incredibly reminiscent of Sigala’s “Sweet Lovin’” (vocals provided by Bryn Christopher, who - controversial opinion - is probably my fave male singer of all time), which makes it “dated” (to a 2012-2014 pop radio degree, yes), it still was a bop that I’d want to dance to in rollerskates (if I had any!!) and spray the colourful smoke things that... well idk what it is but the said video of “Sweet Lovin’” demonstrates the action. Get back to me to let me know what’s that, anyone reading this. K-A lowkey underperformed though (just like Asanda from last year) but the bop remained AND she was rightfully included in the British televote’s superfinal trio! ^^

• The hosts were, yet again, the ever-so-loveable comedienne of Lithuanian roots, Mel Giedroyc, and the witty-ass Eurovision 2015 winner Måns Zelmerlöw. The duo is charming as usual and delightful to see on the Beebs when there’s the Eurovision case. If I didn’t know him better I’d even say Måns is a native English speaker. When there’s at least the drought of the ever-so-good entries in an EYD, we can look back at the hosts provided us some entertainment we’ve probably been missing while trying to find some on those competing entries. My favourite moment throughout that evening was the “next up is” jokes, all randomly stringed together, all in one row - all of those “next ups” were so hilariously random (until one hit the point - I think it was something about adverts or another performance being next up).

• The postcards were lovely too. With the format of EYD upgraded to make it as a three-song duel between two different versions of each one and the juries deciding on the best one for each (one vote per version), we got to see some nice friendships over there (I mean, a postcard for two people who did duel over whose version is the best - they had to listen and compliment each others’ versions) and some nice things the artists said themselves on separate postcards. Like the time when the only band of the competition of the year’s, MAID, named Buranovskiye Babushki as one of their girlband idols (a ‘so random yet glorious‘ answer) and the victorious Michael confessing that he’s “never been to Tel(iv) Aviv”... that’s true Michael, I believe ya. You’ve so never been there that ou struggle to even say it right! Not to mention that the postcard setups were cozy, too.

• Can we all just kind of agree that at least the jury for EYD made THE BEST CHOICES POSSIBLE??? I mean, yeah, it’s a biT cruel they’re the ones to choose the superfinalists without the audience’s interference, but they still made the best choices possible, at least imo. Anisa’s “Sweet Lies” was a godawfully dreary sex slow-jam (no really, I can’t not imagine a scenario where you can’t use it anywhere other than a sex scene in a movie, or a steamy hot shower scene. Call me crazy-minded but it’s true), MAID’s “Freaks” was godawfully too creepy, strange and unbearable, and Holly Tandy’s “Bigger than Us”... well... while much more chill and way less overbearing (also with not enough “BIGGER” memes potential), it would have probably not stood out all that much - just written off as a Kygo remix rented for a cheap price of half a pound (but still co-written by John Lundvik though!!). So thanks to Rylan and the other two for picking the superfinalists reasonably, unlike A Dal jurors this year. It still wrenches my gut whenever I think about it, ugh.

• What even would be an appearance of Måns if he didn't try to remind y'all of his enthusiasm for Eurovision. No one really cares he won Eurovision 4 years ago, if anything, I dread that he's only being remembered as the "male singer guy of Love Love Peace Peace song" by the newer fans. At least Pepperidge Farm I remember how Måns really wanted to get to Eurovision (even if he didn't participate in that many Melodifestivalen editions). So in this year's EYD he went all out to be a part of the Eurovision best (British?) songs medley (and we got Katrina and the Waves later in the show, performing the nation's last winning hit, 22 years later... and that wasn't even a fully British-branded win, if yanno what I mean!), and it's all courtesy of the Melodifestivalen's best known scriptwriter and an occasional Eurovision commentator (and Melodifestivalen's narrator too), Edward af Sillén. Or at least I remember it being written that he has written some stuff for Måns to do in EYD, IDK. Eitherway, it was kind of a fun thing, the interlude. Just remembering all the nice Eurovision entries out there, even including Gina G (whose ESC entry was also sung by another person in another NF whose review will be up next I suppose!).

• Heyyyyy, wasn’t it all kinds of nice to see SuRie doing an interval act and a reprise of her own run-of-the-mill entry “Storm”? I applaud her of doing a tremendous piano rendition of it, with even singing some notes a little higher than in the actual song. Maybe THAT version could have done so much better in Lisbon - showing off SuRie’s vocal decency, intimacy and... idk about the intruder part, hopefully he’d have had no way to wrestle the mic out of SuRie’s hands that time. At least SuRie had just enough support from Eurofans to be wanted to represent the UK one more year in a row, with a special EYD designed for her, where the songs could be mostly composed by her and not by the useless songwriting camp. While it’s a nice idea for some British and non-British people to get to know each other on these camps, the end results barely end up satisfying because the artists barely get involved in the songs they’re singing - not even a song line, not even a hum of contribution! Why can’t you at least take examples from German songwriting camps... (except for the time “Sister” was invented, that one could have been a perfect contribution for an EYD (not necessarily in this year’s format but still)

All in all, this may seem like an improvement of things, but I still am really hoping that BBC will give into a decent internal selection... afterall there are good names that are down to do Eurovision and didn’t even say it will harm their ‘reputation’ (*cough* Paloma Faith *cough* Hurts), and yet BBC refuses them somehow, not thinking that Eurovision is more than just a SONG contest (while ironically not even having their songs sounding THAT ‘great’, oops)? Or at least reformat EYD big time and make it exciting a la Australia Decides is (you know you suck when even your colony does better NFs than you). For now, I’ll just grit my teeth and nicely wish Michael Rice all the best in Tel(iv) Aviv. You’ll need it, chap! And in secret I hope that you’ll get it xx

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Shows that will exist when I rule the British television industry

- 10 Out of 10 Cats: This one I came up with last year, and maintain that it’s a winner. Sarah Millican hosts a panel show in which all the questions relate to trivia about the Felidae family. The sort of fact you’ll learn on that show is, for example, that “Felidae” is the name for the family of all 38 species of cat. All types of cats, big and small, wild and domestic, even fictional ones, will be discussed. We will revolutionize the format by having three teams, led by Joe Lycett, Nish Kumar, and Rose Matafeo.

The show will partner with animal rescues from across the UK, and for the last five minutes of every episode, we’ll bring out some cats from a shelter and the panelists and hosts will play with them. The show will put information on the screen and on their website about how to contact the shelter and adopt a cat that’s been played with by Rose Matafeo, and who wouldn’t want to do that? Some of the show’s profits will go to helping low-income families pay for the basic expenses associated with adopting and raising the cats from those shelters.

The number one rule of this show is that no one who has ever done anything terrible is allowed to be a guest on it. The only exception to this is Jimmy Carr, because the way he holds cats wrong is funny enough to be worth breaking this rule.

- The Boys with Four First Names: Once a week, John Oliver and Russell Howard talk over video chat for an hour. I realize they’re both very busy men, so I’d be happy to have the program be live, rather than taking several hours of their time that get edited down.

The conversations mostly revolve around what’s going on in the world, with an emphasis on comparing the trans-Atlantic perspectives. What does British news look like to Americans, and what does American news look like to Britons? What do British people not realize about what it’s actually like to be in America during [current American news story], and what does the American news get wrong about British stories (on the rare occasions that they cover it)? What are the similarities and differences in the ways both countries cover international news stories? Those are supposed to be the topics of the discussions, but it’s not all that structured and it’s fine for them to go off topic and just talk about their lives and make jokes as well.

Every year, we get a Christmas/year end special. The first year, Russell goes to America and John shows him around New York from the perspective of someone who’s live there for many years. The second year, John goes to England and him and Russell talk about what’s changed and what’s stayed the same since John used to live there. They alternate like that, doing the in-person special in America one year and Britain the next.

- Here is an excerpt from Lee Mack’s autobiography:

Make that fucking show. That’s it, that’s the idea. Take the exact show that was planned years ago, and actually make it.

Wait, I was wrong to say that’s the whole idea, as I do have an addition to this. Noel Fielding plays a recurring character who’s a whimsical puppet that comes in and tries to inject some fantasy into Lee and Sean’s characters’ lives. Sean’s character is very vulgar in the way he expresses his dislike for Noel’s character. Richard Ayoade plays another recurring role as Noel’s long-suffering deadpan friend (yes, at this point I am just re-creating the dynamic between Richard Ayoade and Noel Fielding’s Tony Harrison character and Richard Ayoade’s Saboo character on The Mighty Boosh, and that’s fine because that needs to be recreated).

- The Taskmaster Podcast Podcast. After each episode of The Taskmaster Podcast, Rose Matafeo and I (yep, fourth wall’s getting shattered here, this is my fantasy and I’ll give myself a podcast if I want to) do a podcast episode in which we discuss our own perspectives on that television episode and its podcast discussion episode, with an emphasis on the ways in which we think Ed Gamble was wrong in his analysis of the show. Jo Brand makes a guest appearance every two or three episodes, but only to tell us that none of this matters and we’re silly for caring about it.

- The Mash Report 2: A spinoff of The Mash Report hosted by Rachel Parris’ character. I say her character because I want her to keep the exact same persona she had on the original Mash Report, reporting the news from the perspective of someone who tries to justify all the horrible things that happen. Nish Kumar is her co-host who expresses disbelief at her opinions and tries to talk sense into her, but she regularly shuts him down.

- Any kind of collaboration between Joe Lycett and Chris Flemming. I’ll let them work out the details.

- A reboot of Nathan Barley – not something that tries to be the same show, but something that takes that concept and applies it to the present day. Chris Morris and Charlie Brooker are back as showrunners (obviously) and they have almost entire creative control to make the show almost whatever they want. As ruler of the British television industry, I will give them just one stipulation: I need it to star Mae Martin.

- The Comedy World Cup will happen every year.

[free-martinis]

Words by ROBIN SWITHINBANK 

Photography by MATT HOLYOAK

Styling byGARETH SCOURFIELD

“It’s not the kind of thing you’d expect to hear a movie star say, at least, not one who has starred in some of the highest-grossing films of all time. ‘I’m not part of the Hollywood A-list,’ says Martin Freeman, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I’m genuinely not. No. Nowhere near.’

That might sound unduly modest, but the thing is, despite appearing as the titular figure in Peter Jackson’s $3bn Hobbit super-franchise; despite being part of Marvel’s universe (twice, most recently in Black Panther); despite appearing alongside the likes of Billy Bob Thornton (as Lester Nygaard in the Coen-brothers-inspired TV hit Fargo) and Benedict Cumberbatch (as Dr John Watson in Sherlock); and despite being an Emmy and BAFTA-award winning actor (both for Sherlock), he’s not.

‘For a lot of people, the Hobbit was played by Bilbo Baggins,’ he says, that familiar look of knowing resignation writ large across his face. Surely playing the heroic halfling has transformed his career and spun him into the red-carpet superstar galaxy? ‘I don’t know how many people after that thought: “Get me that guy.” I genuinely don’t know. It didn’t feel like it made a massive difference to me. Honest to God.’ Perhaps that will explain where he keeps those awards. ‘On my roof,’ he quips. ‘So people can see them.’

It’s tempting to cast Freeman as unhappy. There’s certainly a tension in him. In person, he’s courteous and engaged – he says words like ‘genuinely’ and ‘literally’ often and fervently – but there’s a sharpness to his opinions, and there’s plenty that riles him. That said, he seems at one with his lot. Mostly. ‘I will allow myself to be proud of that,’ he says of his awards, clearly trying not to big himself up. ‘I do alright. I do OK.’

Martin Freeman might have done some blockbusters in his time, but his first love is independent film. His latest vehicle is Ghost Stories, a proper spooky, throw-your-popcorn-in-the-air fright fest. It’s also an anthology – the fashionable format of our time – featuring the mercurial talents of Paul Whitehouse, Alex Lawther and Andy Nyman. Freeman appears in the third and final act as a wealthy city trader with a ghost problem no prominent psychiatrist has been able to explain. It’s a bleak piece, but it’s funny, too, particularly when Freeman’s natural comic talents are front and centre.

‘People are being hit badly. I’d happily vote for someone who’s going to tax me more’

It is also, for reasons that can’t be explained without spoiling the film, another reminder that the 46-year-old is one of our most versatile actors (‘To be a good comic actor means you’re a good actor, right?’). We spend 10 minutes discussing the film, which Nyman co-wrote and co-directed with Jeremy ‘League of Gentlemen’ Dyson, before it dawns on us that we can’t really talk about it. Not on paper, anyway. One salient detail gets the full treatment, before Freeman jumps in: ‘Don’t give that away, for f**k’s sake!’ he implores. ‘This is my first interview for the film and I’ve already f**ked it up…’

Freeman is not known for his candour. He doesn’t do a lot of interviews and he’s no self publicist (he’s not on social media), only letting it slip that he and Sherlock co-star Amanda Abbington had split after two kids and 16 years together in an interview with the FT a year after the event. Is he with anyone now? ‘Well,’ he says, folding his arms. ‘I would never tell you if I was.’

Conversation about his background and family is therefore a bit stilted. He was born in Aldershot and grew up the youngest of five siblings in Teddington (‘yes, those are the facts.’). His parents split not long after he was born, but he recalls a happy home. ‘We kissed a lot and hugged a lot,’ he says. ‘I mean, it wasn’t The Brady Bunch – we also f**king screamed and shouted a lot.’

They were creative, too, a ‘showy-offy family, no wallflowers’. He’s the only career actor, a path he was encouraged to follow, particularly by his mother, who never got the chance. ‘I was only met with support,’ he says. ‘I didn’t have to leave home, I wasn’t booted out. I know people who faced active hostility from their parents, because it’s so unsafe and it’s in the lap of the gods whether you’ll be able to feed yourself or not.’

These days, Freeman is certainly able to feed himself. Over the past 20 years, his talents have served him well. His big break came in The Office, the mockumentary cringeathon that also made household names of Ricky Gervais, Stephen Merchant and Mackenzie Crook. ‘I’m very proud of it,’ he says of the show that in 2004 became the first British sitcom to win a Golden Globe for Best Television Series – Comedy or Musical. ‘I still think it’s a phenomenal show. And I still think the central performance [Gervais’s] is one of the best things I’ve ever seen, let alone acted with. I could not have wanted a better break.’

The apocryphal stories surrounding the show are legion, but the one about him originally auditioning to play Gareth, Crook’s character and the butt of all the jokes, rather than Tim, is true. Gervais and his co-creator Merchant spotted something in Freeman audiences have come to know him by. ‘The Office is basically a room full of Laurels and one Hardy, which is Tim,’ Gervais once told The Sun. ‘Tim’s character is pretty common in comedy – that person who thinks they’re better than everyone else, but it doesn’t seem to get them anywhere.’

For a time, it seemed Freeman might suffer the same fate. He became known as the guy that did ‘that face’. He once appeared on Never Mind the Buzzcocks and was invited by host Simon Amstell to do a ‘sigh-off’ with Gavin & Stacey’s routinely put-upon Mathew Horne. Did he worry he’d never lose that tag? ‘Yeah, I was nervous about that,’ he admits. ‘The thing is, I can do that face. But that face, it’s Oliver Hardy’s face. Not my face. He did it 70 years before I did. That’s just me channelling Oliver Hardy.’ Gervais was right, then.

During the mid-2000s, he picked up roles in Love Actually and Hot Fuzz, and played the lead in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Then came Sherlock, The Hobbit, Fargo, the awards and a lot more public attention. ‘I was out last night, having a drink with a friend, walking around town. There are people following you around with camera phones in your face – it’s not pleasant.’

The public is never far from Freeman’s mind. He’s openly political, not exactly in a ‘Ladies and gentleman, the next President of the United States of America’ kind of way (we’ve established he’s not Hollywood – he doesn’t even own a home in the US), but he did front a party political broadcast for the Labour Party in 2015 and endorsed Jeremy Corbyn’s successful leadership bid later that year. A question about fairness opens the floodgates. ‘I do genuinely think this Government is f**king up. I really do,’ he says. ‘And that’s not to say that a Labour Government would be doing much better. But I think people are being hit genuinely really badly, who shouldn’t be. That’s why I’d happily vote for someone who’s going to tax me more.’

Pardon? ‘I think I should be taxed more. I’ve got more money than a lot of people. In my lifetime, there have always been homeless people. Now there’s even more. Food banks, and people being made homeless by not being able to afford their houses, and not enough social housing being made or built, and austerity on and on and on… I don’t know what we expect to happen, but if you’re doing that and cutting the police, what the f**k do you think is going to happen?’

‘We’re getting more polarised. The inability to see the other side is a problem. Social media has helped do away with nuance’

He’s only too conscious of the conflict in being a very wealthy movie star who thinks more should be done to support the disenfranchised. ‘I get it,’ he says. ‘I get why people say: “Who is this prick?” I get it. Most people aren’t as lucky as me. That’s just the truth. So I can see easily why it comes across as pontificating, why it comes across as being champagne socialist. Which is what we’re all called, as soon as you’re not on the dole. If you’re vaguely famous and say anything left wing, it’s a very easy stick to hit you with.’

That’s the natural framework of popular discourse, though, surely? A binary response is easiest. ‘But we’re getting more polarised,’ he retorts. ‘Definitely. The inability to see the other side is a problem. Unless someone is actually driving down your street in a Panzer, then I think you have to keep dialogue. Social media has helped do away with nuance. If me and you have a disagreement here, we can still have a cup of tea. But we do it on social media – then you’re a Nazi.

‘We can’t go on like that. I will easily say I think Trump is a vile pig, but I don’t think every single person who votes Republican is a vile pig. That would be crazy. And I certainly don’t think that about everyone who votes Conservative. It’s not my team. It’s not my party. But do I know Conservatives? Do I like ’em? ’Course I do. Can I not stand some Labour people? Yeah, I can’t stand some of them. So, my hope would be, genuinely, that we start to put our phones down for a minute, and actually not get involved in these f**king wars, which are so safe to have, and so self-righteous… It costs you nothing to be an armchair activist.’

In Ghost Stories the themes of guilt, good and bad and choice run through the piece, holding it together. In one particularly chilling scene, Freeman’s character utters the deliciously portentous line, ‘I didn’t believe in evil until that night…’ He was brought up a Catholic, but isn’t ‘card-carrying’ now. Does he think the film is a modern parable, a wake-up call to burst our secular bubble?

‘Maybe,’ he says reluctantly. ‘I’m one of the only people who I know in my world who isn’t an atheist. I like the questions. That’s where the interesting stuff happens. I’m equally uneasy with hardcore unquestioning atheists as I am with born-again Christians with their hands in the air and their eyes closed. In the same way that yes, I’m of the Left, but there are people and things about the Left that make me very uncomfortable. The sort of unquestioning, demonising of anyone who doesn’t agree with you, kind of thing. I see that in atheists – if you don’t agree with me, you’re intrinsically a moron. And that isn’t helpful. The older I get, the more I realise you need dialogue.’

This, it seems, is the real Freeman. Vocal, ardent, yet nuanced. But he’s not claiming the soapbox. ‘Let’s face it, I wasn’t a very good omen in 2015,’ he says of his virtual doorstepping days. ‘I don’t want my voice to be a political voice. I’m not some political genius. There’s one thing I’m good at, and it’s acting. I have absolute faith in my ability to do that.’

Like it or not, he has a voice. Thank goodness, it’s not the hashtaggable, awards-season friendly voice of many of his fellow actors. He’s more balanced than that. More open to argument. That’s what we saw – and loved – in Tim. In Lester. In Bilbo. In Freeman, we see life’s ambiguousness, its ludicrousness, its ordinariness.

Freeman has to go. He’s got ‘kiddy things’ to do. He’s an active father when he’s not working, and frankly, I’m holding him up. In a flash, he’s gone.

[dmellieon]

Now you see him: Martin Freeman

Words byROBIN SWITHINBANKPhotography byMATT HOLYOAKStyling byGARETH SCOURFIELD

Martin Freeman has been in some huge movies. But despite the successes and his undeniable talent, he's still not one of the first names in Hollywood. Thing is, he's okay with that. Really, actually, genuinely okay

It’s not the kind of thing you’d expect to hear a movie star say, at least, not one who has starred in some of the highest-grossing films of all time. ‘I’m not part of the Hollywood A-list,’ says Martin Freeman, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I’m genuinely not. No. Nowhere near.’

That might sound unduly modest, but the thing is, despite appearing as the titular figure in Peter Jackson’s $3bn Hobbit super-franchise; despite being part of Marvel’s universe (twice, most recently in Black Panther); despite appearing alongside the likes of Billy Bob Thornton (as Lester Nygaard in the Coen-brothers-inspired TV hit Fargo) and Benedict Cumberbatch (as Dr John Watson in Sherlock); and despite being an Emmy and BAFTA-award winning actor (both for Sherlock), he’s not.

‘For a lot of people, the Hobbit was played by Bilbo Baggins,’ he says, that familiar look of knowing resignation writ large across his face. Surely playing the heroic halfling has transformed his career and spun him into the red-carpet superstar galaxy? ‘I don’t know how many people after that thought: “Get me that guy.” I genuinely don’t know. It didn’t feel like it made a massive difference to me. Honest to God.’ Perhaps that will explain where he keeps those awards. ‘On my roof,’ he quips. ‘So people can see them.’

It’s tempting to cast Freeman as unhappy. There’s certainly a tension in him. In person, he’s courteous and engaged – he says words like ‘genuinely’ and ‘literally’ often and fervently – but there’s a sharpness to his opinions, and there’s plenty that riles him. That said, he seems at one with his lot. Mostly. ‘I will allow myself to be proud of that,’ he says of his awards, clearly trying not to big himself up. ‘I do alright. I do OK.’

Martin Freeman might have done some blockbusters in his time, but his first love is independent film. His latest vehicle is Ghost Stories, a proper spooky, throw-your-popcorn-in-the-air fright fest. It’s also an anthology – the fashionable format of our time – featuring the mercurial talents of Paul Whitehouse, Alex Lawther and Andy Nyman. Freeman appears in the third and final act as a wealthy city trader with a ghost problem no prominent psychiatrist has been able to explain. It’s a bleak piece, but it’s funny, too, particularly when Freeman’s natural comic talents are front and centre.

‘People are being hit badly. I’d happily vote for someone who’s going to tax me more’

It is also, for reasons that can’t be explained without spoiling the film, another reminder that the 46-year-old is one of our most versatile actors (‘To be a good comic actor means you’re a good actor, right?’). We spend 10 minutes discussing the film, which Nyman co-wrote and co-directed with Jeremy ‘League of Gentlemen’ Dyson, before it dawns on us that we can’t really talk about it. Not on paper, anyway. One salient detail gets the full treatment, before Freeman jumps in: ‘Don’t give that away, for f**k’s sake!’ he implores. ‘This is my first interview for the film and I’ve already f**ked it up…’

Freeman is not known for his candour. He doesn’t do a lot of interviews and he’s no self publicist (he’s not on social media), only letting it slip that he and Sherlock co-star Amanda Abbington had split after two kids and 16 years together in an interview with the FT a year after the event. Is he with anyone now? ‘Well,’ he says, folding his arms. ‘I would never tell you if I was.’

Conversation about his background and family is therefore a bit stilted. He was born in Aldershot and grew up the youngest of five siblings in Teddington (‘yes, those are the facts.’). His parents split not long after he was born, but he recalls a happy home. ‘We kissed a lot and hugged a lot,’ he says. ‘I mean, it wasn’t The Brady Bunch – we also f**king screamed and shouted a lot.’

They were creative, too, a ‘showy-offy family, no wallflowers’. He’s the only career actor, a path he was encouraged to follow, particularly by his mother, who never got the chance. ‘I was only met with support,’ he says. ‘I didn’t have to leave home, I wasn’t booted out. I know people who faced active hostility from their parents, because it’s so unsafe and it’s in the lap of the gods whether you’ll be able to feed yourself or not.’

These days, Freeman is certainly able to feed himself. Over the past 20 years, his talents have served him well. His big break came in The Office, the mockumentary cringeathon that also made household names of Ricky Gervais, Stephen Merchant and Mackenzie Crook. ‘I’m very proud of it,’ he says of the show that in 2004 became the first British sitcom to win a Golden Globe for Best Television Series – Comedy or Musical. ‘I still think it’s a phenomenal show. And I still think the central performance [Gervais’s] is one of the best things I’ve ever seen, let alone acted with. I could not have wanted a better break.’

The apocryphal stories surrounding the show are legion, but the one about him originally auditioning to play Gareth, Crook’s character and the butt of all the jokes, rather than Tim, is true. Gervais and his co-creator Merchant spotted something in Freeman audiences have come to know him by. ‘The Office is basically a room full of Laurels and one Hardy, which is Tim,’ Gervais once told The Sun. ‘Tim’s character is pretty common in comedy – that person who thinks they’re better than everyone else, but it doesn’t seem to get them anywhere.’

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For a time, it seemed Freeman might suffer the same fate. He became known as the guy that did ‘that face’. He once appeared on Never Mind the Buzzcocksand was invited by host Simon Amstell to do a ‘sigh-off’ with Gavin & Stacey’s routinely put-upon Mathew Horne. Did he worry he’d never lose that tag? ‘Yeah, I was nervous about that,’ he admits. ‘The thing is, I can do that face. But that face, it’s Oliver Hardy’s face. Not my face. He did it 70 years before I did. That’s just me channelling Oliver Hardy.’ Gervais was right, then.

During the mid-2000s, he picked up roles in Love Actually and Hot Fuzz, and played the lead in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Then came Sherlock, The Hobbit, Fargo, the awards and a lot more public attention. ‘I was out last night, having a drink with a friend, walking around town. There are people following you around with camera phones in your face – it’s not pleasant.’

The public is never far from Freeman’s mind. He’s openly political, not exactly in a ‘Ladies and gentleman, the next President of the United States of America’ kind of way (we’ve established he’s not Hollywood – he doesn’t even own a home in the US), but he did front a party political broadcast for the Labour Party in 2015 and endorsed Jeremy Corbyn’s successful leadership bid later that year. A question about fairness opens the floodgates. ‘I do genuinely think this Government is f**king up. I really do,’ he says. ‘And that’s not to say that a Labour Government would be doing much better. But I think people are being hit genuinely really badly, who shouldn’t be. That’s why I’d happily vote for someone who’s going to tax me more.’

Pardon? ‘I think I should be taxed more. I’ve got more money than a lot of people. In my lifetime, there have always been homeless people. Now there’s even more. Food banks, and people being made homeless by not being able to afford their houses, and not enough social housing being made or built, and austerity on and on and on… I don’t know what we expect to happen, but if you’re doing that and cutting the police, what the f**k do you think is going to happen?’

‘We’re getting more polarised. The inability to see the other side is a problem. Social media has helped do away with nuance’

He’s only too conscious of the conflict in being a very wealthy movie star who thinks more should be done to support the disenfranchised. ‘I get it,’ he says. ‘I get why people say: “Who is this prick?” I get it. Most people aren’t as lucky as me. That’s just the truth. So I can see easily why it comes across as pontificating, why it comes across as being champagne socialist. Which is what we’re all called, as soon as you’re not on the dole. If you’re vaguely famous and say anything left wing, it’s a very easy stick to hit you with.’

That’s the natural framework of popular discourse, though, surely? A binary response is easiest. ‘But we’re getting more polarised,’ he retorts. ‘Definitely. The inability to see the other side is a problem. Unless someone is actually driving down your street in a Panzer, then I think you have to keep dialogue. Social media has helped do away with nuance. If me and you have a disagreement here, we can still have a cup of tea. But we do it on social media – then you’re a Nazi.

‘We can’t go on like that. I will easily say I think Trump is a vile pig, but I don’t think every single person who votes Republican is a vile pig. That would be crazy. And I certainly don’t think that about everyone who votes Conservative. It’s not my team. It’s not my party. But do I know Conservatives? Do I like ’em? ’Course I do. Can I not stand some Labour people? Yeah, I can’t stand some of them. So, my hope would be, genuinely, that we start to put our phones down for a minute, and actually not get involved in these f**king wars, which are so safe to have, and so self-righteous… It costs you nothing to be an armchair activist.’

In Ghost Stories the themes of guilt, good and bad and choice run through the piece, holding it together. In one particularly chilling scene, Freeman’s character utters the deliciously portentous line, ‘I didn’t believe in evil until that night…’ He was brought up a Catholic, but isn’t ‘card-carrying’ now. Does he think the film is a modern parable, a wake-up call to burst our secular bubble?

‘Maybe,’ he says reluctantly. ‘I’m one of the only people who I know in my world who isn’t an atheist. I like the questions. That’s where the interesting stuff happens. I’m equally uneasy with hardcore unquestioning atheists as I am with born-again Christians with their hands in the air and their eyes closed. In the same way that yes, I’m of the Left, but there are people and things about the Left that make me very uncomfortable. The sort of unquestioning, demonising of anyone who doesn’t agree with you, kind of thing. I see that in atheists – if you don’t agree with me, you’re intrinsically a moron. And that isn’t helpful. The older I get, the more I realise you need dialogue.’

This, it seems, is the real Freeman. Vocal, ardent, yet nuanced. But he’s not claiming the soapbox. ‘Let’s face it, I wasn’t a very good omen in 2015,’ he says of his virtual doorstepping days. ‘I don’t want my voice to be a political voice. I’m not some political genius. There’s one thing I’m good at, and it’s acting. I have absolute faith in my ability to do that.’

Like it or not, he has a voice. Thank goodness, it’s not the hashtaggable, awards-season friendly voice of many of his fellow actors. He’s more balanced than that. More open to argument. That’s what we saw – and loved – in Tim. In Lester. In Bilbo. In Freeman, we see life’s ambiguousness, its ludicrousness, its ordinariness.

Freeman has to go. He’s got ‘kiddy things’ to do. He’s an active father when he’s not working, and frankly, I’m holding him up. In a flash, he’s gone.

Ghost Stories is in cinemas on 6 April

Source:https://www.thejackalmagazine.com/martin-freeman-interview/

[auselysium]

Author’s Notes for The Other Road

So I used to love to read these things on LJ WAY back in the day.  My fave authors would write these lengthy essays about why they did certain things and explaining hidden meanings etc.

I definitely put a lot of thought into The Other Road, especially the music so I thought I’d break things down.  I do hope you’ll take a second to read my ramblings but massive spoilers ahoy!

REASONS FOR A SCREENPLAY

So why not just another fic?  Because I never had before.  Because I am a very visual writer - I see scenes and hear dialogue in my head.  It was actually a really natural way for me to write, in the end.

SETTING/TONE

My ultimate goal here was to make something that fit into Luca’s comments about being “different tonally”.  NYC is the polar opposite of Crema - gritty, loud, packed with people.  I set it in late winter/early spring, that weird transitional time when it is neither one nor the other (this represents their relationship too - they aren’t ready to commit but they aren’t ready to let go either).  Also, the weather would be so different from the lush greens of CMBYN.  Instead, we’d get concrete, naked trees, gray skies.  Summer is very much over.

Luca also mentioned wanting to deal with the AIDS crisis in the sequel.  I wasn’t about to give either E or O AIDS (and Luca better fucking not either), so there quickly appeared this idea of Elio taking care of a dying best friend instead.  The line from the book “I wish I had a friend I wasn’t destined to lose” almost ended up in a scene but it was still very much there as a theme for me.  All summer in Crema (in the book) Elio’s parents are trying to get him to make friends, spend more time with people - so I wanted to give him a best friend, someone who he had confided in, someone who loves him just as unconditionally as Oliver but differently.  Josh also allowed for a splash of humor.  Fancast: Josh Hutcherson, btw.

He basically replaced the missing Vimini for me, that same kind of preternatural understanding of love and relationships.

I set the “movie” in 1988 because that was the year AZT came out.  This was really the first time patients with HIV/AIDS had hope.  So Josh does too, I think.

MUSIC

Music is obviously a huge part of my life, a huge part of Elio’s life, and a huge part of CMBYN.  

The classical music, for the most part, is either New York based, 20th century minimalism (inspired by Luca’s use of John Adams in the original) Phillip Glass, Steve Reich etc or early 20th cent. French/French influenced (Prokofiev) music.  This pays homage to Elio/Timmy’s French side.  Poulenc, Ravel, Satie.   

Bernstein is not minimalist, but it doesn’t get much more New York than him.  I’ve also just recently played the On The Town and the Ravel Piano Concerto and new those had to be included.

While in the first movie, the piano is always alone, I made sure all the repertoire was piano in a chamber music or orchestral setting (Brahms sonata, Poulenc Sonata etc), representing Elio’s fleshed out life.  He’s not this isolated kid anymore - he has good friends, a career (more on that later.)

The only time I list a solo piano piece is for the morning shower scene - the Satie Gnossienne.  This is meant to represent Elio’s knowledge that Oliver will soon be leaving and he’ll be alone once more.

Obviously 80′s music was going to play a huge part in it this too, but no way Elio was going to be listening gross 80′s pop.  So I went very included Morrissey at the opening to give us that sort of brooding, British pop, but also very of-the-time sound.  Also, it was not such a subtle hint with the lyrics “Why do you come here?  When you know it makes it hard for me?”

The words for all the songs are pretty monumental, in fact.  I won’t go into detail here but check out the lyrics if you’re interested!

The one song I do want to talk about is the Sufjan Stevens song “The Predatory Wasp is out to Get Us!”  He’s there for obvious reasons, but I was listening to the album Illinoise on a long drive and this song just destroyed me with the exact perfect tone for the ending.

I didn’t want them to depart with the same bleakness they arrived with and this song with the flutes and accordion and rich over laying of melodies was perfect.  Once again, the words ended up being mind bending-ly perfect:   

We were in love, we were in love... I can wait I can wait

As soon as I heard it, there was this vision of Elio at the Met, just having said goodbye to Oliver but smiling.  Oliver driving down the road going back to his parallel life, but with hope.  Thanks, Sufjan.

PLOT POINTS OF INTEREST

Just a few final thoughts in no particular order.

Elio may gripe about his career but for some one just 1 year out of conservatory, he is killing the freelance scene in NYC.  I have friends who are twice his age who’d be happy for some of those gigs I gave him.  But I think that plays into his spoiled nature, having been the prized, privileged only child, so he can’t see that.  At the same time, I have a feeling Elio might be going back to Grad school or something soon to really make a go of a solo career.  (Sequel #2! lol)

There is no fucking way a security guard would let Elio and Oliver onto stage at Avery Fisher but whatever!  Willing suspension.  lol

I wanted to include flashbacks to scenes from James Ivory’s original screen play that ended up not making the cut.  

Can we just talk about how happy I am I got Cor Cordium in there?

The infamous dancing scene in CMBYN kills me because it’s the first time Elio desperately craves closeness to Oliver, but the closest he can get is on the dance floor.  So I NEEDED them to dance together.  I basically just envisioned every dance scene from QAF writing that part. :)

I wanted to pay homage to the book and the fact that in the book their relationship really starts when they start going running together every morning - this is why they go to the running track in Central Park.  Just a nod there.

The first scene with Oliver and Josh establishes that Oliver is basically still paying for his relationship with Elio because he still can’t move on.  Yes he’s married with kids, but it still haunts him and he realizes over the next day with Elio that it always will. This is a blessing and a curse.

I also wanted to give us explicit sex.  You’re welcome.  Hopefully Luca won’t cut it this time. :)

There was a while where I was going to explore the idea of Elio basically having become celebate - his friends calling him Il Popa (The pope).  At a way to avoid getting sick but also because he, at the end of the day, wanted something like his parents have, like what Oliver and his wife have, what they COULD have had.  Something meaningful and committed.  In the end, it just didn’t really seem important so I let it go.

Also: Billowy.  I’m proud.  lol

Very much like CMBYN, I wanted them to be happy together.  After the movie and the way Luca, Armie and Timmy portrayed them on screen, I think they are just ridiculous boys who love each other’s company - so yeah, they eat pizza, they go dancing, they take selfies with a Polaroid.  They’re still young and in love even after the passing of time.

I loved the idea of ending with the “Don’t say you didn’t know” because to me that is Oliver’s way of saying I love you.  Don’t say you didn’t know exactly how I felt - that you meant everything.  

FINAL THOUGHTS

I want to thank everyone who is SO incredibly kind to me about my writing and for interacting with me here on Tumblr.  This fandom has been a beautiful place and has helped me produce some of the writing I am most proud of.  

I promise to keep writing about Elio and Oliver as long as you promise to keep reading!  xo