Another commemorative stamp

"The woe's to come, the children yet unborn

shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn"  

- Shakespeare, Richard II

Commemorative Stamp

Pot59pouri

"Our lives are full of empty space" - Umberto Eco

The big bouncy woman is in vacanza and in her absence I am somewhat bereft. Any others - and I am neither confirming nor denying that there are others - are just not, in the words of T.S. Eliot, as "bavard, baveux, à la croupe arrondie".

But enough of that, and back to politics. I wanted to pass on a link to a blog post regarding the Labour Party leadership that I found interesting. There is some thoughtful debate going on regarding the issue, it's just that it doesn't get reported in the newspapers or on television.

Wargaming news is a tad slow; we appear to have got the rules wrong yet again in the Bohemian Blitzkrieg campaign so there is a short delay. But I have picked up a paintbrush for the first time a yonk. Admittedly it wasn't to paint any figures, but it was a start. The younger Miss Epictetus got it into her head to go to a pottery painting café and, in the absence of any interest whatsoever elsewhere, was forced to call on the aged parent. It was very relaxing, therapeutic almost, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself applying a Caribbean beach scene to a mug from which, when it's been fired and I get it back, I fully intend to drink coffee laced with rum. That should make the Great War project go with a swing.

It is, as one can't help but know, fifty years to the day since England won the world cup. I haven't watched, listened to or read any of the stuff being churned out to commemorate it, but in my head I have been transported back to watching a black and white tv in the living room of a house in Bethnal Green which was within the year knocked down as part of the slum clearance programme. The memories naturally relate mostly to those with whom I watched it and who are no longer with us; basically everyone except my younger sister. My grandfather - who now I think about it was almost certainly sitting there with a cup of tea laced with a dash of whisky; let no-one tell you nature isn't as strong as nurture - was also gone within the year. I still have a number of volumes of a history of the Great War that were the only books I ever saw in his house. 

I have always prided myself on never having been in the slightest bit patriotic. Someone - Julian Barnes perhaps - wrote that real patriotism was pointing out to one's country when it got things wrong. But reflecting on 1966 makes me wonder. I suspect that as a ten year old boy growing up in post-war Britain I was as patriotic as everyone else. Perhaps it was that day that did it. We'd won and that was it. Anything further would be mere repetition and so it didn't hold any further interest for me.

"If you live long enough, you'll see that every victory turns into a defeat" - Simone de Beauvoir

Le bonheur des méchants est un crime des dieux

"Cruel leaders are replaced only to have new leaders turn cruel." - Che Guevara

And so to the opera. Opera North have served up another fine slice of verismo in Giordano's Andrea Chenier. Inevitably the tone is black, though speaking personally I can't really see the downside of feckless, ci-devant aristos getting their heads chopped off. This style of late nineteenth century Italian opera is very much to my taste and, especially as well performed as it is here, easily overcomes the somewhat ridiculous plot. The truth referred to is of the emotional variety rather than the realistic.

So what is this plot? It involves two senior Jacobins who are ill-advisedly enamoured of Maddalena de Coigny, one of the very parasites that they have just overthrown. If simply being the daughter of a count wasn't enough to condemn her in the eyes of all right-thinking people (hint: it is) then her behaviour subsequent to the revolution certainly would be. Claiming to be penniless she encourages her maid to work as a prostitute to support them both, only to be revealed as having money and jewels stashed away all the time. These she uses to bribe her way to her final self-indulgent self-sacrifice. She obviously hadn't read his poems.

"Le moment d'être sage est voisin du tombeau." - André Chénier

Glienicke

And so to the cinema. In an attempt to provide some competition in the eagerly awaited Epictetus film of the year award - watch this space - I have been to see 'Bridge of Spies'. It is, as one would expect, a well crafted piece of work without ever really reaching any great heights. Mark Rylance is as excellent as Rudolf Abel (not his real name of course - he was a spy) as he was as Thomas Cromwell. In one sense it's hard to see what he is doing differently from before, but he is as convincing a Soviet spy as he was a Tudor statesman. Tom Hanks is also predictably reliable, albeit perhaps too old for the role.

I've no idea how historically accurate it all is, although perhaps one could guess from the fact that the end credits claim that the Soviets never publicly acknowledged Abel as being a spy while the stamp above is one of a series commemorating intelligence agents issued by the, er, Soviet Union. It's at least debatable whether he was any good as a spy or ever uncovered any secrets. As for the message that Spielberg is trying to get across, that's pure Hollywood. He seems to have very little time for the intelligence or moral compass of ordinary Americans - Hank's character aside - but magically when aggregated together the whole country they suddenly become the good guys. Indeed they are so good that they are entitled to behave badly whereas the bad behaviour of the Soviets simply proves that they are the bad guys to start with. I think that it's fair to say that other, possibly more nuanced, interpretations of the Cold War are available. Hanks channels James Stewart throughout and, interestingly, Spielberg chooses to stick to the moral from one of Stewart's best films: "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend". His protagonist's previous connections with the CIA are downplayed so that everything can be portrayed as the ordinary guy running rings round the intelligence services of two superpowers.

It all passes a couple of hours very pleasantly, but the film that they should really make about Abel's life is of his part in Operation Berezino.