Mock Duck

Back to the Serious stuff - more reviewing.

In an effort to retrieve my slipping reputation (!) - here's some more serious reviewing stuff.

I have blogged before about Mockduck regular Lisa Glass's powerful debut, Prince Rupert's Teardrop, which already had rave review from DoveGreyReader. Well, the good news is that it is being received rather well, with reviews from Lizzie Siddal and Good Housekeeping ("thought-provoking" and "sublimely-written") and The Guardian which described it as "tough and stomach-turning" with "razor-sharp characterisation". The latest is a recent review from the Writewords website by Anne Brooke.

So far, however, I have not posted one of my own. It is interesting in light of Sarah Stovell's book, Mothernight. Both these books are about mothers, involve deaths - possibly murder. But where I see one as all elegance, the other is strangulated and beautiful-ugly. Rather than the old opposition of head and heart; for me Mothernight is head and Prince Rupert's Teardrop is guts. And where Mothernight was a book I loved and couldn't put down; Prince Rupert's Teardrop was a book I sometimes threw aside in anger and didn't want to pick up again. And yet I did keep picking it up again and I am glad I did as it turned out to be the most extraordinary headfuck of a novel. Pleasant experience, no. But extraordinary and thought-provoking, yes.

So, bearing all this in mind, here - for what it's worth - is my review. I should add quickly that I disagree with Anne Brooke about the already-infamous Chapter Four (a chapter that deals, head-on, with genocide). Anne argues that it is a separate piece that was not necessary to the whole. In contrast, I believe it essential - underpinning all the themes of the book: the catalyst for the readers questions about nature of evil, the nature of fear and imagination and where they reside in human beings. For me, this is not a book about simple otherness, but about multiple truths. At the heart of the book is a psychopath. Chapter Four shows us the atrocities committed by "ordinary people" in genocide: bringing that evil right to our doorstep. What violence underpins us and society? What is at the heart of humanity? Chapter Four transforms this book into an essay on evil and the nature of fear: the nightmares of reality and imagination, rather than just a straightforward slasher novel.  But, enough of that. I'll let you read the review, and the book for that matter, and make your own minds up.

(Anyone wanting to find out more there is an interesting interview about some of the issues in the book on the Vulpes Libris website.)

Prince Rupert's Teardrop

The central character of Prince Rupert's Teardrop is Mary - a 58 year old woman who has recently lost her job and is teased by her neighbours for her eccentric behaviour and unconventional appearance. When her mother - the ninety four year old Meghranoush disappears one day, Mary is unsure whether she has run away after an argument, got lost or been taken.

A serial killer roams the streets of Plymouth, with a prediction for the frail, the vulnerable and the very old. Mary becomes convinced that this psychopath has taken her mother, but she can't tell the authorities because of her own mental history. Who would believe her? Mary undertakes to find this man alone.

What is special about this book is the strong central characterisation. Who cannot relate to Mary as she hides in her neighbours' bushes and dives - semi-naked - into the putrid waters of the boating lake, convinced that she is uncovering clues as to her mother's whereabouts? Despite her mental state, she is resourceful, determined, thoughtful - and takes us to places a more conventional main character could not.

Be warned, however, this book is not for the faint-hearted. A chapter about Meghranoush's past in the Armenian genocide is powerful, raw, horrific. Initially I worried that this obsession with horror was almost exploitative. But this book has a habit of defining things, of expressing things that you know have a distinct, if ugly, truth to them and I began to gain respect for what it is trying to do. It is not afraid to look into the heart of the horror, pull out the entrails and say "look, look at this" until you are forced to acknowledge some of the truth about human beings, our dark capabilities and the nature of fear itself.

It is beautifully written, with a love of and use of language that sets it apart. The language is not just pretty - it is lush, descriptive, coiling around the story with a life of its own - but also providing clues that we can pick up on.

This book is many things: a confrontation with human beings and the violence they are capable of, a dark exploration of the phantoms in our minds, and - what I found most powerful - an exploration of the nature of fear and imagination itself.

As Mary pushes further into the nightmare, we become uncertain as to what is real and what is imagined: the monsters of reality versus the monsters of our minds. In the end, fear itself becomes a monster. Is the psychopath real or Mary's hallucination? Does he exist or is he the product of our collective nightmares?

Lisa Glass handles this delicate balance beautifully - suggesting and giving clues whilst always inviting more questions.

By the time you reach the powerful denouement, you realise this is no ordinary thriller, no ordinary character study, but a work that touches - perhaps uncomfortably - on many troubled truths and questions: beautifully articulated, harrowing, disturbing.

A strong, powerful, beautiful, ugly book: this is a work that dares to look things uncompromisingly in the face, yet can be interpreted in a variety of ways. You may love it, you may hate it, but, whatever, it should shake you up.

The Counterfeiters (2007)

I seem to have found myself watching war films recently. Having just seen Clint Eastwood's "Flags of Our Fathers", I am keen to watch its companion piece "Letters from Iwo Jimo" and write about them together. The theme of "Flags of Our Fathers" is heroes: what it means to a nation, what it means to individuals, whether the idea even exists at all.

The nature of heroism is just one of the questions explored by the film I want to talk about now, another war-film, but of a rather different variety.

"The Counterfeiters" is a remarkable film based on the true story of how the Nazis used a team of Jewish forgers in the concentration camps to forge the pound and the dollar with the intention of flooding their enemies markets.

The central character is Sally (Salomon) Sorowitsch - a skilled counterfeiter and a Russian Jew. Taken to the camps, he is recognised by an old police adversary - and sent to Sachsenhausen camp, where he is put in charge of a workshop and a small team of printers, type-setters and graphic artists.

Here, Sally and his team are at one step removed from the horrors of the camp. They are relatively comfortable - clean sheets, proper food, no back-breaking labour. If they shut their ears to the disturbing sounds of the brutality outside their enclosed area, they can almost pretend they might survive. They also have a small amount of power: because they are needed - particularly Solly. They can - to a small level - negotiate to save their lives...At least in the short term.

In this respect they provide a perfect viewpoint for us, the audience - also aware of the horrors that encircle the film - but worriedly averting our gaze. When it does encroach, the horrors outside are shocking, but strike our heads rather than our stomachs. We are able to think about it rather than being too overwhelmed by sickness or horror. And making us think is what this film is trying to do.

At the centre of the film is a moral dilemma. The team of Jewish forgers have the power to delay the Nazi plans by self-sabotage. But if they do so they risk losing not only their own lives but those of the rest of the team. The members of the team, of course, cannot agree about what to do.

Moral codes and orders are contrasted and debated. There are people with wives and children who "just kept their head down" and believe they should continue to do the same. There are those who have lost everything and just want to die. Right at the centre of the film is the relationship between Burger - a political activist and idealist who is willing to sacrifice his friends and himself for higher morality - and Sally - the survivor with no higher principle, but with a crook's code of "never squeal on your mates".

Burger is the more obvious hero. His view is the right and moral one. Sally is the selfish survivor - shown to us at the beginning and end of the movie, dislocated from community, with no attachment to anything: a sad picture. And yet...and yet...

And yet it doesn't seem to me that the film is this simple. The fact that Sally is put at the centre of the film rather than Burger makes this film much more suggestive and interesting.

For, despite Burger's heroism, it is Sally who shows the small kindnesses towards others: the small-scale humanity. It is he who takes care of a young boy who comes from his village in Russia, it is he who saves the lives of his colleagues with numerous lies, cheats and negotiations with the Nazis. It is he who cares enough about the headstrong Burger to save his life - even though it is Burger who is heroically jeopardising all of theirs. These human-level kindnesses become all the more significant when paralleled with the unnecessary humiliations and human-level cruelties metered out by one of the Nazi officers.

Sally's relationship with the smoothly jovial SS officer in charge, Herzog, is also explored. A man who, like Sally, has no personal affinity to any political cause but is just trying to advance himself. "He's a crook," Solly says. "I know how to deal with him." But Herzog advances himself through the system and does not share Sally's loyalty to friends.

This is a wonderful film - evoking the period beautifully, outlining the dilemma with sophistication and with enough ambiguity to keep you pondering on nuances for days afterward, and with an incredible actor in the central role of Sally.

At the end of the day, Burger is the hero and the film does not depart from this: he is proved to be right. And yet, Burger is always slightly removed from us. His attitude is one that sacrifices the personal to the higher cause, an attitude that - coupled with the wrong ideology - could create something altogether different. Sally is no hero. He is an ordinary man who distrusts any system and uses it for his own ends. And yet, you could argue, if everybody shared his small-scale kindness and basic humanity there would be no need for heroes in the first place.

Film Review

Warning: This post may contain some ranting unsuitable to those of a non-Feminist constitution.

"Seen any good films recently?" I said, puffing my way up Arthur's Seat with a female friend.
"Have you heard of the new one with Gerard Depardieu called..."
"Argh!"
"What?"
"Oh god. That film!"
"Well it was a bit long maybe."
"I mean is it or is it not the bloody 21st century for Christ's sake?"
"Eh?"
"I mean I knew it was a bad idea - old washed up middle-aged bloke. Young beautiful woman. What was i thinking?"
"He was wonderful though."
"Yes, yes." (Impatient.) "He was wonderful. So what?"
"Hmmm?"
"The whole point reason I went was the brochure promised: this film is not the usual May to December relationship because of the strength of the way the two characters were drawn...Bollocks."
"He was great though. A tour de force."
"He had all the lines. She hardly got to say anything. Just sat about looking out of windows in that way they always do. Being all Enigmatic. As if. As fucking if. Whose view is that? She hardly said anything for the whole film.  How many women do you know who use so few words - I mean - Come on! Who was she? Where was her character? I learnt nothing about her."
"She was a symbol."
"Oh, gimme strength."
"Of youth. Beauty."
"Nice to see them pushing the boat out there. Not like EVERY fucking woman in films and TV is a symbol of Youth and Beauty, is it? I mean, I don't know about you, but I'm just SO TIRED of watching those old ugly female filmstars all over the place. I mean, they're just everywhere - oh god not another old ugly actress! They breed I tell you."
"No need to be sarcastic. Anyway, it wasn't about her. It was about him."

Pause. Attempt to hold back scream of frustration. Attempt to breath deeply. Attempt not to choke.

"That's the bloody point! Hell's bells! That's what I'm saying. Isn't that a total disgrace in the 21st century? In a film of such length that they can't make it a bit - just a little teeny weeny bit - a little sop for the girls bit - a little crumbs from the table bit - about her? So what if she's a symbol? So what if she is young and beautiful? I don't care. I don't care. But give her a character for pity's sake. Give her some bloody lines. Let her do more than just be a muse. Please."
(Decisively)."Well I liked it."
"Is that all you're going to say?"
"Each to their own."

We stumped on.

Mothernight

I've been meaning to write about Mothernight for a while now. I know it is early. And it isn't even out yet. But hell. I am already a fan. And I want to be first to write about it.

OK, first off - what am I on about? Mothernight is Sarah Stovell's first novel. It is published by Snowbooks and will be out next year (but already available to order on Amazon). And it's already made publishing history when Sarah's agent and Snowbooks signed the first ever book contract in Second Life.

Right. So. What is it I like so much about this book?

It's not remotely comedic. In fact, you'd be hard-pressed to find a single jokey moment. It is beautifully written - this is incontestable - and there are admirable sentences aplenty to be sighed over if you are into that kind of thing. But I'm not so very into beautiful sentences - at least not enough for beautiful sentences ALONE to be enough to excite me about a book.

So, what is so special? Our emotions are played with, but you begin to feel that is not the point. You want to know what happened, but that is not the point either. It has an impending and accelerating sense of darkness and drama, but that - although compelling - is not the point either.

The point, for me, is rather cooler, rather more humane, rather more practical - For me, what is special about this book is the cool intelligent way it leads the reader to think about an argument; an argument about how to behave in the aftermath of a tragic event.

Schoolgirls Olivia is in love with her room-mate - the beautiful, cool, remote Leila. But Leila has something in her past that keeps her apart from her father and her stepmother, Katherine. They are invited for the summer to Leila's "home". Olivia discovers that Katherine blames her lover for something that happened when Leila was a child. As the summer draws to it's conclusion, Olivia slowly unravels the truth of what happened all those years before.

Mothernight asks a question almost in the manner of a Greek tragedy. This may sound overblown, but in these tragedies what is going to happen is inevitable and usually pretty clear to the audience - if you are left in any doubt there's usually a helpful prophet or blind person to tell us. The plot is not the point, it is the argument itself, the moral argument that is the drama.

How can you compensate for crimes you committed with full reason in ignorance? (Oedipus) How can you fulfil the duty as an individual to one's family and as a patriotic citizen of the state? (Antigone). Sometimes there is not a complete answer or an answer that satisfies us all. Why does Oediupus take out his eyes? Why does Antigone have to die? They are both good people, yes? Yes, yes, they are. And yet there is no other choice. They have to be punished - being good people doesn't really come into it.

This is very different to the tragic heros and heroines we are used to. From Shakespeare, mainly. Shakespeare is the tragedy of wasted potential: the good person being corrupted - whether by circumstances or character flaw - of someone who could have been truly great throwing it aside.

Greek tragedy has people who have achieved that potential, who are noble, who stay admirable, who are forced by the incompatibility of choices: of duties, of moralities, of competing viewpoints - to make a decision that ends in tragedy. We are not used to this sort of idea anymore. We are fed a constant diet of films and television where goodies are goodies who prevail and baddies are clearly baddies and get punished.

Mothernight is closer to the Greek idea (though I'm sure Sarah will not thank me for such a grandiose comparison!) The question is asked: How does one get past tragedy? The surrounding issues are explored with humanity and thoughtfulness - in a cool argument. It plays with our emotions, but - more than that - it plays with our reason. What is the point of punishment? Of guilt? Both are shown as strong emotions  - as dominant and irrational as the love felt by Olivia for Leila. But unavoidable.

All this may give the impression it is not an emotional book - which is misleading. But, again, I think emotionalism is not the point . Although we feel for the characters, there is always a sense of removed objectivity - a good thing with a subject that could so easily have slipped into easy emotionalism which would have revealed little to us but our own responses.

Mothernight asks a question. But it also accepts what many tragedies do not: that the tragic event itself is not a tidy conclusion, but the catalyst for a whole new set of questions. I loved it.

Loadsa Reviews

Been seeing stuff in the Fringe and feel a glut of reviews coming on. Plus seen some films. Want to talk about them all. I'll try and keep it brief.

SHOWS

Stewart Lee
After finally becoming really "cool" last year for a show designed to tell the most offensive joke he could in response to his treatment after "Jerry Springer The Opera", this year's show is calmer, quieter, more reflective. It is worked around the theme of his having been voted "41st best stand-up ever" by The General Public through the auspices of Channel Four (despite Lee's apparent lack of respect for the tastes of either). Proud as I was to be there last year witnessing the "cool" "trendy" "offensive" show, I preferred this one and Lee's clawing back of his position of thoughtful outsider rather than teen icon. I like stand-up to have something - however small - to say, rather than the usual testosterone-fuelled, have a go at the audience, disconnected, kebab-joke stand-up that seems to be the staple fare of the form. Lee is always saying something. However laid back. Or not. And I like that.

Jo Caulfield
She has a great cynical presence and yes she is funny but I couldn't help being a bit disappointed with this. The theme - things to say Fuck Off to - does seem to be similar to many in the Fringe this year, and the targets - parents, Jordan, poor customer service - don't seem to be completely original or take us far enough. She is a very likable comedian, however, although I hear this show has been doing the rounds a while. Perhaps just time for something fresher?

India Alba
Two classical Indian musicians, two Scottish folk musicians - together concocting a strange mixture of the two traditions. Some of it is odd  - the insistent straight rhythms of the Scottish tunes sometimes in weird tension with the more meandering Indian themes that seem, at times, to want to break out and do something more interesting. Some of it is superb - particularly a tune based on a raga with some extraordinary extemporising halfway through and a fierce competition between a borders pipe (slightly less domineering than a bagpipe) and a tabla drum. All of it is interesting.

FILMS

Hot Fuzz
Well, I was not at all keen to see this as I had the idea that a) I had to have seen lots of 1970/80s cop movies and b) I had to be a boy. Not so. I didn't know any of the particular films they were referencing, nor - last time I checked - was I male. I still laughed my socks off. This is a generous film. A great parody of any macho action sequence you can think of - at the same time mocking the Heartbeat-type sensibilities of small-town England. It was superbly done, with plenty of visual gags too. But also clever - the way it simultaneously took the piss out the conventions of the genre and shamelessly used those same conventions to create an exciting action scene (with laughs) moving buddy scene (with those all-important slight homerotic overtones)(and laughs) and upbeat ending (with laughs.)
All-in-all, loved it!

Notes on a Scandal
Well, at the risk of looking like I have no critical bone in my body (not true, I assure you) I enjoyed this immensely too.
Judy Dench is a revelation in this - she should play baddies more often. Barbara is far the most interesting, and, surprisingly, sympathetic character in this. Cate Blanchette is great as the muse but disappoints slightly as a credible character in her own right - although I gather that this might come from the original book (which I am now determined to read) rather than this performance. I found it hard to believe that this woman - who had faced a number of hardships and difficulties in her life - remained so flighty, impractical and, ultimately, unexplained. The boy, although good, is not quite convincing enough that you could imagine his overwhelming her senses and tumbling her into an affair with him.
But it is Dench who is the focus of this film. She simultaneously delivers the nastiness, the pettiness, the controllingness and the sadness of her character, all beautifully reflected by the directing: shots of her sitting in her bed, a single bar of line falling across her; her moving about her dingy kitchen with her cat;  her sitting on the stairs listening in to conversations...And, despite all her nastiness and snideness and complete lack of generosity, she is unexpectedly moving. This is, in the end, what takes this film to another level.