Bitter Lake

It has always been a sign of his trustworthiness, to me, that Adam Curtis tends to begin his documentaries by saying, “This is the story of…”

The great danger of the documentary is that as children we are taught that there are movies – which are about dinosaurs, transforming robots, noble historical figures and BDSM loving billionaires – and there are documentaries which are “true”. As adults we rarely think about this distinction and how unclear it might be in reality. Curtis forces us to confront it.

In his most recent documentary, released on the BBC iPlayer at the end of January, Curtis tells the story of Afghanistan. The film is 136 minutes long, and largely consists of long sections of untouched “rushes” – the raw material of the news. These stretches of footage, without explanation or elaboration, are the heart of the documentary. The narrative that is wrapped around them, which tells how a meeting between Roosevelt and the Saudi King nearly a century ago set in motion a series of actions, reactions, counteractions and distractions that results in contemporary Afghanistan.

In short, this is the narrative. America needed oil. Saudi Arabia had it. They struck a deal. America got oil. Saudi Arabia got money, arms and an agreement that the West would leave their religious culture alone. The King used this money to grow unimaginably wealthy and to modernize his nation. The religious conservatives didn’t like this so he posed the Communists as a threat that Islam had to defeat. In effect, he exported Saudi Arabian Islam to the rest of the Arab world, and in so doing secured the Saudi throne.

But once released, that set of ideas we call Wahhabism refused to behave like a docile belief system. It gained traction among people long exhausted by Western Imperialism. One of the places it took a footing was Afghanistan, which was a subject of Allied nation-building as part of an effort to keep out the Soviet threat. When the Soviets invaded, the Allies, especially America, took to arming the Islamic militants who had been discipled by expat Saudi teachers to fight the Russian tanks.

Two great men of history make a deal on a boat to buy and sell oil and 30 years later in the middle of Asia, a grand battle of ideologies is unleashed.

We know how the story goes from there. There is a digression about how the oil crisis created the global financial hegemony that today ravages Ireland and Greece, Cyprus and Portugal. But the main story is the story of the Afghans. The great mujahideen, armed and trained by America, who received such praise at the end of Rambo III turned into the Taliban. Saddam invaded Kuwait. Bush invaded Iraq. The Saudis realised that their arms were not enough to keep them safe. Osama realised that his enemy was not just moderate Islam but the far country of America. Planes crashed into buildings. Blair and Bush II invaded Afghanistan. Then Iraq. Then tortured people, bombed villages, raped, pillaged and tore to pieces the very narrative they had been telling their people about war against terror and a battle against an axis of evil and the inevitable march of democracy and technology and liberation.

Rambo III, glorifying Jihadists

If you are still reading, then you should go watch this film.

But if you are just scanning now to see if I have any jokes about Zooey Deschanel in here, let me tell you why you, also, should go watch this film. It’s the rushes. The long tracts of unedited, untampered, untouched footage that Curtis pastes together. In one shocking scene we see an assassination attempt on the Afghan president that sees bystanders killed. In the West, we didn’t hear about this. The footage is live and clear and direct – the kind of thing that news networks drool over. We have the world at our fingertips, but only the parts of the world that the people who pay the cameramen choose to show you.

In another distressing scene, we have a long camera gaze at a small girl. She is missing her right hand. Her right eye also. She wears a dress. She is still in the hospital. Her arms and head are bandaged. There are casts on her shins. She is sitting in a chair, her father kneeling beside her. His eyes are wide with desperation. Her eyes are slow, from shock or drugs or weariness. The cameraman talks to the father. He tries to give her a red flower. He wants to see this child healed and made whole. She will not be.

The next scene is an Allied soldier, hunkered in a trench. A wild bird comes and rests on his hand. The bird lets him stroke her. Then the bird flies away, only to land on his helmet. Terence Malick couldn’t make the point better. The real world goes on, even as the lords of war unfurl their armaments.

Soon after, British soldiers are seen on a cliff above Helmand, partying by firelight to honour Elizabeth Windsor’s birthday. A soldier explains to camera how important it is that they mark this festive occasion, especially when they are so far from home. When asked why they chose such a visible point above the city, with fire, he laughs and admits he has no idea. The soldiers aren’t the problem. They are clueless.

The scene that lingers with me is not one of the many shockingly violent pieces of footage. Instead it is an Afghan man, sitting cross-legged and docile as an American soldier, wearing his uniform engineered at unimaginable cost, swabs the inside of his mouth to collect DNA. The Afghan man is 20 years older than the solider, who is little more than a boy. Democracy and technology and liberation do not look like this. The Allies see everyone as an enemy, and so they make everyone into an enemy.

If you cannot understand the attraction of ISIS, you haven’t been paying attention.

Your Correspondent, Living in a glasshouse

‘Review’ of Captive to Christ, Open to the World by Brian Brock

Reviewing a book by a friend is a difficult thing, because you are already pre-disposed to like it. Reviewing a book by your PhD supervisor is practically impossible, because even if you don’t like it, you have to pretend you do (for a few years at least). So don’t think of this as a review. Think of it as an introduction to a book I think you should read. Because I really do like it.

Brock - Captive to Christ, Open to the World

In the introduction to Captive to Christ, Open to the World, Kenneth Oakes, the editor, shares one of the questions that Brian introduced him to: Who, exactly, owns the moon? Oakes beginning with the question about who owns the moon is totally appropriate. Conversations with Brian can be dangerous things. He reminded me with glee this week how one time last year, in a class full of undergraduates, a conversation with him ended up with me espousing an especially insane position whereby I advocated the murder of all the deer in Dublin. I never had any problem with deer, but I had serious problems with how I thought of animals. Brian’s conversations revealed that.

So the great strength of this book is that it is a collection of 8 conversations that we get to listen in on. The first two are conversations with Dutch theologians. The final 6 are conversations with Jacqueline Broen, who is now one of Brian’s doctoral students but back then was doing a masters in environmental theology. Like a conversation with Brian, this book is entertaining and illuminating and connections are made that you never realised were there.

The first chapter is a sort of introduction to the Brockian theological project, rotating around questions about his first book Singing the Ethos of God. I very much appreciated these sentences as a sort of summation of the key problem to be addressed by Christian ethics:

the way the theological academy teaches us to conceive our relationship to Scripture makes it difficult, if not impossible, to find our way from Scripture to the ethical questions of our real, lived lives, and conversely, we are taught that the people who are quite obviously doing this (like the Bible-believers I grew up with) were not doing so in an academically respectable manner.

So our job as theologians is to retrieve what we have lost. Earlier Christians could read Scripture and do theology hand in hand, they did their ethics as a form of theological commentary.

In the second chapter the conversation moves on to the topic of Brian’s second book Christian Ethics in a Technological Age. That is a sprawling giant of a text, full of meandering, illuminating conversations with philosophical and theological heavyweights. But in the new book, you get a sort of heavily compressed, verbal account of what is going on in that book. Technology is the repetition of the gesture by which Adam and Eve fashion coverings out of fig-leaves. It is our response to feeling the world is chaotic. Modern technology is a “fig-leaf reflex.” That is some deep theology pressed into a phrase.

This second chapter sees Brian speak about his relationship to Stanley Hauerwas, the technological wonders that mean that his son has survived leukaemia and the sharp end of our technological age. That sharp end is revealed when we consider how it is increasingly difficult to even conceive of the question that Christian ethics is about, namely: “How do we receive God’s sustenance?” My office-mate Taido joked yesterday that all the food in our local Tesco comes in plastic pods. In a world so habitually specialized, it is an imaginative effort to pray “Give us this day, our daily bread” and for those words to have meaning.

Chapters 3 through 8 are more general in nature, often discussing issues local to Aberdeen or St. Andrew’s and mostly hovering near an environmental agenda. But the range of issues touched upon is sort of staggering. What does it mean to do theology in a secular society (“in a public context you don’t have to make theological arguments all the time”), how church should relate to the world (“God does have something to give to us … the world needs the church to know who that God is.”), the utter dependence on cheap energy that gives our life shape, and how the false freedom of the market is revealed by a trip to Burger King are just some of the branches explored.

This book isn’t quite “Brian Brock for Dummies”. As I say, it is like over-hearing a conversation over coffee between him and other academics. As such, Nietzsche and Kant are referenced in answers. But so too are Donald Trump’s scandalous Aberdeenshire mis-adventures in environmental devastation for the sake of golf. It will tax the average Christian reader, but it will be richly rewarding. You’ll get a sense of how theology is done in Aberdeen: in worship, in dialogue with the world, in humility. You’ll better understand why my thesis or subsequent work won’t “solve” the problem of being wealthy westerners. And the reason why it won’t offer solutions isn’t just that I am nowhere near smart enough to do it. Rather, you’ll begin to see that to expect a “solution” falls short of what it means to be Christian. The theological ethicist’s job is “to allow theology to generate a different set of questions.” You’ll begin to see how the quest for Biblical principles that is so rampant in Christian discourse can be a way to evade God. After all, once we have the principles, we can discard the Bible and the living, active God. You’ll come to better understand what Brock means when he says that the core responsibility of the theologian is:

to teach students how to think and speak with one another as Christians.

Theology is no mere study. It is service to our neighbour as an act of worship. The goal is not to discover some ineffable truth and make it merely effable! It is truthful speech in love. It is action. It is service. It is worship.

Captive to Christ, Open to the World is, as such, a strange, different, curious little gem of a book.

Your Correspondent, His parents missed Woodstock, and he’s been making up for it since.

Book Review: The Empire of Necessity by Greg Grandin

Greg Grandin, who wrote Fordlandia, a book I devoured earlier in the summer, published a book this year called The Empire of Necessity. It is one of those marvelous books that comes along every now and again that deals with disparate threads of argument in parallel but refuses to compress it all into a neat cross-stitchable message at the end.

It is a book about slave-trading. Specifically, the shipment of slaves. Specifically, the shipment of slaves around the age of Revolutions at the turn of the 19th Century. Specifically one particular slave ship (The Tryal) that revolted.

That’s a lot of threads, all handled impeccably.

But it is also a book about Herman Melville and seal-hunting and the writing of a less renowned Melville novel called Benito Cereno, which re-told the story soon afterwards.

These divergent trajectories are held together and Grandin ranges between these points effortlessly. It is a stunning achievement really. The description of the shift in Presbyterian preaching in New England in the late 1700s towards moral confidence (in term spurred on by Unitarianism) at the beginning comes around at the end to help understand how the economics of slavery operated. The description of the geography of seal hunting grounds resonates as the overland passage of slaves from Argentina to Chile, through the Andes is unpacked.

The captain of the ship that stumbled over the Tryal was initially unaware of the slave revolt. The story how that came to be is utterly central to the entire book so I will leave it untouched. Suffice to say, Amasa Delano didn’t have the happiest life in all of Christendom. When he returned to America after years at sea, the entire society had begun its shift into modern capitalism:

Debt had taken a more central role in the growing nation’s economy, and Delano was trapped in its grip, dragged through court and, it seems, thrown into debtors’ prison.

The Englightenment hopes of the democratic revolutions in France and America are still taught in Irish primary schools as a humane achievement. In many ways they are. But Grandin’s book is breathtaking in how it reveals the ways in which the possibility of democracy rested on the economic boost of slavery and how the political rhetoric of Republics was revealed as deficient (if not a sham) by the utter refusal to grant full humanity to slaves. Liberty was secured by slaves. Melville pinned this hypocrisy down in an epigraph he used for one of his books:

Seeking to conquer a larger liberty, man but extends the empire of necessity.

We need more of books like this – by which I mean not just sumptuously creative history but books about this darkness at the heart of our present self-understanding. The West is built on slavery. The quays of Dublin were built with interest paid on loans by Liverpool slave-ship owners. The research and design that makes the Intel factory in Leixlip so astounding is conducted in Arizona and California, on land that was robbed from civilizations that were destroyed. There is no Eden for us, only Fall.

Until we tell that story right, we can’t get to grips with capitalism or globalisation or Christian mission. We can’t understand where we are if we never knew where we came from.

Your Correspondent, Got accepted to college after he sent a refusal letter to them without ever applying

Everywhere is Anywhere is Anything is Everything

My supervisor recently lent me a formidable coffee table book just published about Douglas Coupland’s art. As a suburban boy, there is something positively Coupland-esque about the fact that I have never managed to see any of his work up close and in person. The world goes on elsewhere, in Berlin and New York and Santiago and Dalian, but in Maynooth I could track it all through a browser window – which is something for which we should be grateful. The title reminds us after all, that everything is now anywhere.

I knew of some of Coupland’s artwork before, like his Digital Orca installation and his security blanket covered with the world’s most trusted corporate brands, but so much of it was new to me:

Coupland art

In Coupland’s introductory essay he tells us that growing up in North Vancouver – a logging centre turned into the suburb of a dynamic, utoptian city – taught him that enlightenment invariably comes at the expense of nature. Coupland’s work, in his art and in his writing at its best is testimony to this. The world where everywhere is anywhere and where anything is everything is a plastic world; creation has been superseded in our minds and replaced in our space with invention.

With essays from some of my favourite artists like Chuck Klostermann and William Gibson and Michael Stipe, this was a treat of a book to peruse. But it is Coupland’s art that rightfully lingers. For the Biennial of the Americas, held in Denver, Colorado in 2013, Coupland erected this sign on a vacant lot in the city.

Detroit everywhere

A week later the city of Detroit declared bankruptcy. Today, it’s drinking water supply is undergirded by help from the United Nations. Everywhere is anywhere is tinkering on the edge of oblivion.

I am intellectually inclined towards the aphorism. Surely this is why Hauerwas is my theological mentor and Vonnegut is the saint I would pray to, if I prayed to saints. It is why the parables exert such a mighty influence over my mind. It is even why Lincoln Harvey is my favourite Christian on twitter. In 2012 in Berlin, Coupland exhibited his “Slogans for the early 21st Century”, stark zen koans, daubed in black capitals on bright backgrounds.

Slogans by Coupland

ACCELERATION IS ACCELERATING
EVERYONE ON EARTH IS FEELING THE SAME WAY THAT YOU DO
IN THE FUTURE WE’LL ALL BE SHOPPING FROM JAIL
I MISS MY PRE-INTERNET BRAIN
KNOWING EVERYTHING TURNS OUT TO BE SLIGHTLY BORING
WE’VE NEVER BEEN SMARTER | WE’VE NEVER FELT STUPIDER
REAL TIME OFTEN FEELS LIKE NEITHER
THE FUTURE LOVES YOU BUT IT DOESN’T NEED YOU
THERE’S NO SHOPPING ON STAR TREK
WE PITY PEOPLE IN 1970S AND 1980S MOVIES AND TV BECAUSE OF HOW LITTLE TECHNOLOGY THEY HAD
BEING MIDDLE CLASS WAS FUN
WHERE DOES PERSONALITY END AND BRAIN DAMAGE BEGIN?
A FULLY LINKED WORLD NO LONGER NEEDS A MIDDLE CLASS
REMEMBER NOTHING YOU DON’T HAVE TO
ARE WE TOO FREE?
I DON’T KNOW
ONE DAY YOU WILL SPEAK WITH YOURSELF
MULTITASKING IS A MYTH | WE ARE SERIAL THINKERS
FEELING UNIQUE IS NO INDICATION OF BEING UNIQUE
ZOOM
OH MY GOD
HUMANITY HASN’T BEEN AS MENTALLY HOMOGENIZED SINCE THE LAST ICE AGE
TOO LONG TO READ
DELETE ENTIRE HISTORY?
FEAR OF MISSING OUT
YOU ARE THE LAST GENERATION THAT WILL DIE

The piece of art that struck me most forcefully is his collection of “hornet’s nests”.

Hornet's nest

Writing a book is an audacious thing to do. To capture a story you made up in ink pressed on to paper is to make a statement that lingers long after you may have repudiated the tale you told. These delicate nests, that mimic the homes created by fierce, angry and painful tormenting insects, are constructed by tearing out pages of his own books, chewing them up in his mouth and then gently drying and peeling them into these hives.

But the works that will probably resound into the future are the works that Michael Stipe writes about. One, called The Poet, looks like just another piece of dotted art, the kind of thing that you see in every final year exhibit in every art college. But this is 2014. Even with art that doesn’t instantly resonate with us, we feel a need to take out our iPhones and Galaxies and Nexuses and snap a photo to stick on Facebook later. When you take a photo of The Poet, the cellular phone machine you carry in your pocket interprets it for you.

You see the Falling Man from September 11th.

You carry the ability to see and hear and learn everything you would ever want to see and hear and learn in your pocket and your handbag but you use it to read puns sent out by an Anglican priest in London. Or at least I do. The total availability of data forces us to choose where we will register what the data represents. As Stipe puts it, Coupland “offers us the choice to either see or not see these deeply internalized images.”

The Poet

The most affecting essay in the collection is by Sophia Al Maria, “A Millennial Moment”. She is an artist based in Qatar who was born around the time I was born. Her essay charts how her life has changed along with the period Coupland’s work has been prominent. The descent into the madness of the never-ending war on terror is captured powerfully. She has an anecdote about recognising a voice behind her on an escalator in Doha and realising it was the boy from high school she had a crush on. Now he was a US Marine and as she is “swathed head-to-toe in the black polyester of my Qatari national dress: the abaya,” she is not recognised. Her old friend walks by without seeing her. We choose what we see. Al Maria becomes “Anonymous. Obscured. Out-of-focus.” Now she is “like some tacky shadow of death, a target in whatever pre-combat simulator he probably trained on, not a girl he went to high school with.”

Coupland grew up in that generation after the post war economic boom. He grew up in a military family in the midst of the Cold War and the threat of nuclear annihilation. He grew up in a time where people still felt utterly convinced that optimism was the right way to respond to the world. When I first read his early works I found a man preaching my Gospel – humans are advancing. As I aged, I have come to see I am right about that and very wrong too. Coupland’s art is about progress – but the progress that actually did happen. Tyler Johnson, the protagonist of Shampoo Planet, progresses from his parents failed hippie commune to yuppie certitude. The prefab dreams of North Vancouver gave rise to a world where we try to forget the falling man of Manhattan. The digital logic of clean, straight-edged LEGO may have cognitively conditioned us to imagine a future where things fit together, but we have broken them up.

We are creators who are creatures. We are creatures who unmake as fast as we create. That Coupland continues to unveil the vulnerability entailed in that means he is a friend you should make. He isn’t always a happy friend, and his books are sometimes very badly off course. But as Chuck Klostermann quotes it in his essay, “Bad taste is real taste.” Coupland, even when is off-course, is somehow headed in the right direction.

Coupland's slogan before his YouTube event

Your Correspondent, Shopping at face value

Who Owns Scotland?

In The Poor Had No Lawyers, Andy Wightman does four things:

    > He recounts the history of Scotland as a history of successive land grabs.
    > He explains how these land grabs express themselves today in the wildly unbalanced patterns of territory ownership in Scotland.
    > He offers some cogent and well thought through arguments about how land reform could happen.
    > He puts yet another nail in the coffin of the “Vote No” campaign.

My mother is not the kind of person who has a list of “personal heroes”. She is not easily swayed. But growing up it was evident that at least one of the great titans of Irish history had her allegiance and that was the one armed land agitator and trade-unionist, Michael Davitt. Davitt hailed, like my mother, from the western county of Mayo. But in the late 1800s his influence across the island of Ireland and even into Britain was massive. He secured tenants rights for the multitude of farmers that up till then had relied on the graces of their absentee landlords to get by. He initiated a land reform movement that would successfully deconstruct the vast estates, owned by the landed gentry of England, that covered the island. He tried to preach his message of worker solidarity and agitation in Britain.

But Scotland still needs a Davitt.

The first land grab came soon after the Norman invasion, back in the 1100s. The monarchy installed feudalism at the expense of the existing clan structure. The second land grab came soon after the Reformation. The state installed Presbyterianism at the expense of the existing church and monastic lands. The land grabs continued up until the turn of the 20th Century, as common land that was a rich resource across the country slowly got stripped away and appropriated by landed interests.

The common agitation that ought to be Irish and Scottish independence is revealed as far back as 1609, when the Royal Privy Council forced the clan chiefs to submit to English ways or lose their lands. Notice how the legislation sees “Irische” as the root of the problem. Schools would be established in every parish in the Highlands so that:

the youth be exercised and trayned up in civilitie, godlines, knawledge, and learning, that the vulgar Inglische toung be universallie platit, and the Irische language, which is one of the chief and principall causes of the continewance of barbarities and incivilitie amangis the inhabitantis of the Ilis and Heylandis, may be abolisheit and removeit.

Abolishing language because it is barbarous and uncivil is the height of urbanity and civility.

From Wrightman:

The pattern of landownership in the nineteenth century became more concentrated as the new Highland elite extended their holdings. By 1870, for example, Sir James Matheson, who had amassed a vast fortune from trade in China, owned 424,560 acres of land. The Marquis of Breadalbane owned 458,421 acres across Perthsire and Argyll. The Duke of Sutherland held all but a few glebes and lighthouses across the 1.2 million acres of Sutherland. And, by 1900, over half the land area of the Highlands was owned by just fifteen landowners.

– Andy Wightman, The Poor Had No Lawyers, 46.

Things of course have vastly improved between then and now.

969 people own 60% of Scotland.

If a people do not own the land, the people are not free.

Counting inland water and land, Scotland consists of about 19.5 million acres. 1,550 people own over 10 million acres of that. Voting yes at least opens the possibility of land reform. Voting yes at least puts some distance between the governance of Scotland and the culture of English aristocracy, most perfectly captured in the ongoing expansion of Elizabeth Windsor’s private estate at Balmoral, which she inherited from her parents, who inherited it from their parents, who bought it under a dodgy deal in 1852 and then had a law passed in 1853 to make sure that they could keep it. It has been expanded at least five times since the end of World War II.

Balmoral Estate

The United Kingdom currently holds the world record for invasion of other sovereign states. Only 22 countries haven’t had the honour of Her Majesty’s forces arriving with weapons and the threat of murder. How did a little temperate island in the north Atlantic come to dominate the world for centuries? They had a training grown for colonizing in Ireland. This laboratory meant their research and development, when it came to imperialism, was way ahead of competitors. But Scotland suffered in the same way. It continues to suffer, with a disproportionate number of its young working class men serving and dying in Britain’s contemporary wars of profit.

The final land grab that Wightman records is the grab for Africa, India and southern Asia, which was accomplished with technique, manpower and politics that originated in Scotland.

An independent Scotland will have many obstacles to face. Engineering the cogs and wheels of government will be complex. Devising an alternative economic strategy to the exhausting approach modelled in Ireland might be too much to hope for. And the people who will run this new country are as craven as the next batch of politicians. Watching “You’ve Been Trumped” demonstrates that! But land matters. Land reform will most effectively happen under an independent Scotland.

Your Correspondent, He’s the reason today bananas are called “yellow fatty beans”

Two Days And One Night

Who knows what the original title of “Deux jours, une nuit” means, but this morning I watched Two Days and One Night and it was the best possible use of a Thursday before lunchtime that I can think of.

It tells the story of Sandra, who is recovering from depression, and one Friday evening gets a phone call from her friend at work explaining she is about to be laid off. The boss put a proposition to the staff. They can either get their annual bonuses, or Sandra can stay. All but two of the sixteen factory floor workers vote to lay Sandra off and to get their €1000.

What follows is very simple. After her friend Juliette convinces the boss to run a secret ballot after the weekend, the film consists of the Dardenne brothers’ camera following Sandra – played with astounding brilliance by Marion Cotillard – as she wrestles with herself to go and plead with her colleagues to vote for her and against their bonus.

Marion Cotillard as Sandra

There wasn’t a moment where I felt bored and at the end of it I realised it was as compelling and clear a picture of the plight of the worker as I can remember seeing in my time. The film isn’t an uplifting story about the triumph of the human spirit. It isn’t a sentimental escape from the material problems that vex our cities. It is a profoundly humanistic depiction of the forces that pull and stretch and toss the people who are just wrestling to put food on the dinner table and get their kids through school.

Our jokes about first world problems are certainly hackneyed, but they might be callous too.

There is a scene where Sandra goes to see her colleague Hichim. The electricity is gone in the apartment building. She walks the stairs, flight after flight, the picture of exhausted dejection, climbing to reach a peak where she does not know if she will be welcome, in the dark now and facing future darkness. It is a simple 30 seconds of camera-work, but it is a better description of the economic world most people in the EU live in than anything I’ve ever encountered from a politician. She climbs because if she doesn’t climb, she’ll lose her house; but even climbing, she might still lose her house. She climbs to secure the basic dignity of having a job and a role and a thing to do, but to do it, she must humiliate herself by throwing herself on the mercy of people as taxed and strained as she is.

Here are three very brief thoughts by which I hope to convince you to go watch this before it leaves the cinema or to load it up on Netflix or whatever it is that people who don’t use torrents use.

1) The boss is always above the fray. Literally, in the final scene, his pristine and spacious office is on the first floor. He never gets dirtied by the fight that is the lives of these workers.

2) The workers are distant from the place they work. Sandra has to take a bus all over the city. Her husband drives her up hills and out into the countryside, she visits suburbs and flats in slums. The task of making money to get by dislocates the workers from their physical environment.

3) The world that the worker is forced to live in is agonistic. It is a battle. Many of the colleagues phrase the ballot in terms of “losing their bonus”. They have been convinced this world is one of scarcity and therefore it becomes one of desperate scarcity. Worker tears away at worker, the son lashes out at the father, the world is so shaped by capitalism and globalisation that we sacrifice our colleagues for a little more comfort.

If I say that Two Days One Night is a 90 minute illustration of Marx’s theory of alienation you might yawn and decide that sounds too lofty, or too earnest, or too damn boring to squander an evening on. It is not. Sandra, in her depression, laments that she does not even exist. Marx told us that the alienated worker:

only feels himself freely active in his animal functions – eating, drinking, procreating, or at most in his dwelling and in dressing-up, etc.; and in his human functions he no longer feels himself to be anything but an animal. What is animal becomes human and what is human becomes animal.

Capitalism dehumanises us. This film is a portrait of that process that manages to be fully and totally human. It is splendid.

Your Correspondent, At the end Sandra reminded him of a bird singing

Some Thoughts On Movies I Recently Saw

I presume someone has already made a parody of Room 237 where a bunch of film critics talk over the footage offering far-fetched theories about why Rodney Ascher put this together in the first place?

Byzantium continues to prove that Saoirse Ronan is fecking deadly, even if it is one of those Neil Jordan movies that leaves you surprised he made it.

Here’s how dumb I am. I was dumb enough to be surprised at just how dumb Lucy was. I mean, I expected a dumbfest, considering the “humans only use 10% of their brain mumbo jumbo”, but the godlike powers that accrued to Scarlet’s character was quite spectacularly stupider than anything I could have dared to hope for. The best blockbuster of the summer was Edge of Tomorrow, but this was almost as satisfying in its gun-toting momentum.

If a movie about tornado hunters doesn’t feature lots of people shouting “Hold on! Just hold on!” then the damn scriptwriters don’t know what they are doing. No fear of that with Into The Storm, a film so formulaic that the scriptwriters know exactly what they are doing because they have hunted the films that have gone before and delivered exactly what the audience wants: a film with strong winds.

The Congress stars Robin Wright as Robin Wright, a beautiful actress with an ambivalent relationship to acting and a tendency to make ill advised career moves. Surprisingly, her performance is superb. You’d think playing yourself is easy, but Wright is amazing in how she occupies that role so fully that you forget that she is playing herself. Made by the guy behind Waltz With Bashir, this is a fascinating set up: movie studios are digitally sampling their actors and then forcing them into retirement. Films will be stitched together by computer artists in the future from the stock footage accumulated from just a few hours capturing the movie stars of today. In the first half of the film, things are brilliant and compelling and philosophically interesting. In the second half of the film, things get more animated. Literally. And the momentum of the plot, the clarity of ideas and the enjoyment of the viewer suffers. It goes on too long and gets confused within itself. Wife-unit and I can’t put the plot together in such a way that it isn’t incoherent, but it’s one of those films where maybe we just weren’t smart enough to piece it together. When films mistake themselves for brain teasers, something is amiss. The animation is technically marvelous, but the narrative doesn’t drive it forward, so it is just impressive drawing. A failed masterpiece or a glorious crapfest – we couldn’t decide which but it is definitely worth watching.

Finally, This is Martin Bonner is a unique, flash of a film. It is sort of the opposite to The Congress. It is short and thematically sparse and so simple you would be mistaken for thinking there was no plot. As this review in The Other Journal (one of the single, finest pieces of film writing I’ve ever read) helpfully puts it, it is a film about sight and investment. It centres on two people: an older man starting a job with a Christian charity that help re-integrate ex-offenders into society and a middle-aged man who is coming out of prison after a 12 year sentence. It is a deep, quiet, humble film. There is no elaboration in the cinematography or inter-trans-textuality in the script. It is a mundane story about real people, compellingly told. Of all the movies I’ve seen since Sunday, this is the best.

Also, the lead actor can play Karl Barth in the Avengers’ style comic book movie I am writing about the great theologians (Peter Capaldi as Calvin and Meryl Streep as Catherine of Siena), cos he’s the spit of him, as we’d say in Dublin.

Your Correspondent, He’s smart, he’s sensitive, he’s clearly not obsessed with his physical appearance…