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I flew into Heathrow in late August for an overseas holiday. First stop was the Silverstone Classic, Britain’s biggest historic motor racing event. Over the Bank Holiday weekend (26 – 28 August 2022) it featured three days of on-track action for classic racing cars from the 1960’s, 70’s, and 80’s (with a race for pre-war cars as a bonus). As you can see, the weather was gorgeous — and so were the cars.
(Click on any image for a full size view, than arrow or click left and right through the gallery.)
After the Classic I met up with a buddy in London. He’s interested in Roman archeology and I’m keen on long walks, so we’d decided to combine our interests by walking Hadrian’s Wall Path together. This 135km long trail follows the course of the eponymous wall — which, in Roman times, protected the settled lands of England from the savage Scots to the north.
We started by taking a train to Carlisle, near the western, or Cumbrian, trailhead. Next morning we caught the (very) early morning bus to the actual start of the trail on the coast at Bowness on Solway. From there it was a 23 km walk back along the Solway Flats, and through some very pretty villages, to Carlisle. Along the way we visited St Michael’s Church where King Edward I (the “Hammer of the Scots”) lay in state after perishing of dysentery on the Solway sands in 1307. A statue at nearby Burgh (“Broff”) by Sands commemorates his reign.
The second day featured some nice walking through pretty farm country, but still no visible remnant of the wall. After the Romans left Britain, generations of local farmers used it as a source of dressed stone for their own fences and houses. By the time some 19th century landowners decided there was history here worth saving, only some decapitated stretches in the centre highlands remained.
From Brampton we left the environs of Carlisle and started climbing into hill country — only stopping for tea and scones at the Birdoswold Roman fort and museum. The first stretches of wall appeared today, along with occasional foundation stones of the mile forts that the Romans built every Roman mile (1,481 metres) along the wall. We left the trail at Greenhead, taking a taxi to Haltwhistle, where we were booked for the night at the marvellous Old Schoolhouse B&B (Ian, the very friendly host, met us at the door with the question, “would you like a beer?”).
Ian today continued to demonstrate how well The Old Schoolhouse looks after walkers by driving us back to the path at the Roman Army Museum near Greenhead. This small museum (and dig site) was well worth a short visit before we started walking up a series of remote, wind-swept crags that define the central stretch of the path. These are an extension of the Pennines, the mountain spine separating Great Britain into right and left halves, and the best bits of the wall are here, along with the most spectacular views. Even on the crags, though, so much stone has been looted that the wall seldom reaches more than a metre or so high. We ended the day at the “Bowes Hotel”, a few rooms above the pub in the tiny village of Bardon Mill. That evening I visited the bar to find the village’s annual Leek Auction in full flow.
A rest day today as we visited the excellent Roman museum and dig sit at Vindolanda, only covering a few kilometres in the afternoon when we relocated from Bardon Mill to the pub hotel at Twice Brewed.
From Twice Brewed it was a short walk back up on the crags for more spectacular views following the wall. We stopped for lunch at Housesteads, where there’s a small museum and you can see the foundations of a large Roman fort. By afternoon we were dropping back down to lower, flatter farm county. An hour out from Chollerford, and the George Hotel, we got the first real rain of the whole walk and arrived thoroughly wet. This was a good chance to appreciate the difference between European style pub-to-pub walking as opposed to North American style backpacking with a tent!
I anticipated a dull day today as we were back in farm country, with the path frequently paralleling a nearby motorway. Instead, it was a nice day of easy walking, with good views and the cars usually out of sight. But what defined the day was the stopping, not the walking. First up was Errington Coffee House, right on the path, in time for an early lunch of scones and raspberry jam. In the afternoon, we paused for a beer at the Robin Hood pub, a popular pick up point, and also right on the path. In consequence we were a little late reaching our night’s stay at the Heddon Lodge B&B.
An early start and a misty, wet morning made for an atmospheric walk down to the banks of the Tyne River. But the nice river walk soon gave way to the scruffy outer suburbs of Newcastle and a rather anti-climactic end to the walk. Still, it was a great experience to spend eight days in The North, perhaps the prettiest and (almost certainly) the friendliest region of all England. (Note: You may have noticed my daily mileages add up to more than the official 135km length of the path; these were recorded by my Apple Watch and include the extra distance incurred for detours, site-wanders, trekking to accommodation off the trail, and getting lost.)
From Newcastle, Gene and I took a train back to Heathrow, flying to Düsseldorf the next day to meet friends for a week in southern Germany. Together we visited medieval villages and historic sites and enjoyed Oktoberfest (including lots of the South German staples of beer, bread, potatoes, and sausage!). Didn’t take many photos, but Nördlingen (battlefield and city), the Bavarian Army museum, and the incredible arms and armour collection at Castle Vespe-Coburg were high points. We even managed a side trip to check out the pilsener in Pilsen, Czechia for a couple of days.
From Düsseldorf it was back to London, where I had two free days before flying home. The highlight was visiting HMS Belfast, a WWII era light cruiser now moored next to Tower Bridge in the Thames as a floating museum. The analogue systems used to drive this pre-computer, 600 foot long, 11,500 ton ship through the sea at 32 knots, hit targets fifteen miles away with its dozen six-inch guns, and support a crew of 800 souls were incredible — in both their complexity and their sturdy, mechanical beauty.
Directed by Denis Villeneuve, Starring Timothée Chalamet, Zendaya, Oscar Isaac…
I first read Frank Herbert’s Dune as a teenager and that’s the right age to meet this hallucinogenic, intergalactic trip of a novel. It’s one of those books that almost literally transports you to another world, and I got lost there a couple of times (the sequels, not so much). So, I was one of the crowd eagerly awaiting this new adaptation by Canadian director Denis Villeneuve. His previous work (Arrival and Blade Runner 2049) showed a dedication to serious (even ponderous) science fiction and he seemed the sort of star director who could finally bring such an epic and original story to the screen (earlier attempts can most charitably be described as “eccentric”).
Two and a half hours later, I think I’ve outgrown Dune. Or, at least, I’m no longer interested in this particular sort of ponderous, pseudo-philosophical, humourless, mythic tale about a legendary “chosen one”. Which means I may not be qualified to write this review (please keep reading, though!).
The novel’s utterly unique and deeply imagined world building accounts for a lot of the impact it had upon publication in 1965. It’s set in a far future where mankind has colonized the stars. A vast inter-galactic empire is divided between a number of noble houses, all owing fealty to the emperor, but all rivals for territory, wealth, and influence. Behind the scenes lurk the Bene Gesserit, a female order of nuns, spies, and theologians, manipulating events from the shadows in pursuit of their own mysterious and mystical goals. Warfare has become as archaic as the empire’s politics; personal shields (which stop fast moving bullets) have made projectile weapons obsolete. Since these, however, can be penetrated by a slow moving blade, combat has reverted to sword fighting, and skill with a blade is a prime attribute of soldiers and nobles. Finally, space travel depends on a substance called “spice”, which enables members of the Navigator’s Guild to see through space and time — essential for interstellar navigation. The only source of spice is the desert planet, Arrakis, making it the most valuable possession in the empire. But Arrakis is an incredibly hostile place, its extreme ecology made even more dangerous by giant, desert-dwelling sand worms and the native Fremen tribes.
– WARNING! Mild spoilers follow for a fifty-five year old novel. –
Herbert uses this setting for a classic hero’s journey. The novel opens with the emperor gifting Arrakis to House Atreides in place of the brutal Harkonnens, who have terrorized the planet for decades. The head of the house, Duke Leto, suspects this is merely a ploy to pit the two noble families against each other, weakening both as possible rivals to imperial authority. And so it proves; the Atreides are barely established on Arrakis before they’re betrayed. Aided by a spy in the Atreides household, the Harkonnens invade, reclaiming the planet and killing Duke Leto. Only the young heir, Paul Atreides, and his mother (a Bene Gesserit witch) escape into the hostile desert. There Paul must prove himself and gain the trust of the hostile and fiercely independent Fremen if they’re to survive.
The new movie is being released in two parts, so that’s where Dune (2021) ends. Part Two will cover the the rest of the novel: Paul’s adventures with the Fremen and his rise as the prophesied saviour who unites them and liberates Arrakis. It’s an epic tale, full of archetypal characters, mystic prophesies, and an elemental clash between good and evil.
For me, though, the heart of the novel is Paul Atreides’ personal journey from pampered heir to desert warrior. This is told in wonderfully specific detail: his complicated relationship with his mother (both caregiver and agent of the Bene Gesserit), the conflict between his personal desires and the call of duty, and the contrast between his wealthy upbringing and the harsh austerity of the desert. Paul begins as a callow youth, facing challenges he isn’t ready for; he makes mistakes, suffers setbacks and has to learn fast if he’s to survive. He’s older and wiser at the end, but has paid a fearful personal price to get there.
Paul is an appealing protagonist and his struggles to matures from child to adult are universal experiences anyone can identify with. As with any heroic tale, this inner journey both parallels greater events in the outer world, imbuing them with an emotional consequence. Our sympathy for Paul as an individual draws us into his story, hut his experience also resonates as a symbol of universal human experiences. He is both Paul, the uncertain heir, and an archetype of fundamental struggles that have always defined us: between brutal narcissism and self-control, between authoritarianism and individualism, exploitation of nature and living naturally, free will and destiny…
Villeneuve, however, seems only interested in this story only on the legendary, archetypal level; his Dune gives short shrift to almost everything personal. Notice how much of the talk about the film concerns its visual spectacle. Appropriately as an enormous amount of craft and effort have gone into making Dune 2021 look epic: the landscapes of both the Atreides home world of Caladan and Arrakis are gorgeously portrayed and seem like distinctive, real places. Grand vistas abound, not just sweeping pans of the landscapes, but vast military parades, mighty imperial delegations, giant spaceships in formation… Plus, lots of shots of our protagonists staring into the far distance, every moment accompanied by the Hans Zimmer score welling up in a mighty reminder that the fate of the universe is at stake.
Even with two and one half hours of run time to cover half the novel, all these long shots of landscapes and moody staring don’t leave much room for conversation or character motivation. What dialogue there is tends to be exposition-heavy, filling us in on the empire’s complicated politics and the situation on Arrakis. For dramatic effect these alternate with pseudo-profound proclamations from the book (“fear is the mind killer”). On the few occasions the characters actually talk to one another as people, the writing is excruciatingly clunky. When, for example, Paul expresses doubt about his future as heir of House Atreides during an intimate personal conversation, his father adopts a noble expression and declares: “If your answer is ‘no’ you’ll still be the only thing I’ve ever needed you to be — my son.”
Even the visuals, for all their grandeur, lack any sense of how people actually live in this universe. Both Caladan and Arrakis seem largely uninhabited (the only time we see civilians is when a delegation of locals welcomes the Atreides upon their arrival at Arrakis space port). Interiors are decorated to suggest the different cultures but, even in the bedrooms, we never see any personal possessions that might provide clues about their occupants. And there’s nary a bathroom in sight (not that you could imagine these noble warriors pooping).
Finally, far too much of the action is prophesied or foretold, rendering character action and motivation largely meaningless. Duke Leto repeatedly foretells the Harkonnen’s betrayal and yet, when it does happen, he can only sacrifice himself as another character’s instrument of vengeance. Meanwhile Paul’s identity as the Muad’Dib, the Fremen’s prophesied saviour, is hammered home by almost every one he meets. He is, in fact, doubly chosen since the Bene Gesserit also believe he might be their destined vessel who will fulfill their mystic goals (a task for which his mother has been secretly training him).
A less portentous movie would maintain some ambiguity about whether these prophecies are real or just superstitious beliefs. But here Zimmer’s score is always welling up to assure us that Paul’s destiny is A Very Big Deal Indeed. Much is also made of incidents that foreshadow his identity as the chosen one (he even knows, without any training at all, exactly how to wear a Fremen Still Suit in the proper desert style). The whiff of fascism implicit in a “chosen one” rising to lead his people by virtue of destiny and birthright is an issue the movie doesn’t address…
Given that Dune 2021 treats its characters more as archetypes than distinct individuals, the casting choices are interesting. The wispy Timothée Chalamet seems an odd choice to play a warrior prince, but he’s twenty-five now and able to bring an adult’s gravity to the role. Combine this with his slight, boyish looks and it does suggest an adolescent on the cusp of adulthood. His exaggerated features also make for arresting visuals that play well on posters and in the trailers: all giant eyes, angular cheekbones, and floppy hair. Given how much the film relies on static shots of its characters staring into the distance, that’s not unimportant. In interviews Chalamet can be lively and charming, but in the movie he’s not called on to show much range; his Paul is all seriousness and huskily whispered dialogue; he might smile once in the whole film. In place of a personality his character has a list of virtues: he’s concerned for others, loyal to his friends, and serious about his studies.
Although the Fremen woman, Chani, is a major character in the novel, the film ends just as Paul joins up with the desert nomads. Zendaya (like Chani she she goes by one name) thus doesn’t have much opportunity to play an actual personality; she mostly appears as a vision in Paul’s dreams and spice induced hallucinations. All that can be said, then, is that her striking features and naturally solemn expression also look great in static shots and posters. And her rake-thin build means she won’t physically overwhelm her wispy co-star in Part Two, when they should have more scenes together.
The rest of the cast are reliable veterans who embody their roles perfectly (essential, given their limited screen time and dialogue). Oscar Isaac is suitably dignified as Paul’s beardy dad and Jason Momoa is rakish and energetic as the swashbuckling Duncan Idaho, the movie’s one colourful character. It’s Josh Brolin’s stern Gurney Halleck, though, who gets the movie’s only joke (“I am smiling” — replayed endlessly in the trailers as there’s so little other humour). Dave Bautista and Stellan Skarsgård are magnificently twisted as the evil Harkonnens (without falling into the campiness that marred the 1984 film). Only Rebecca Ferguson, who’s been excellent in other action-heavy roles, feels miscast here: too young and trembly for the Bene Gesserit witch that is Paul’s mother.
Villeneuve’s oeuvre shows a penchant for big, slow moving spectacles. Despite their epic style, though, his previous Sci Fi films were centred on personal stories and human concerns. Arrival’s science fiction elements (aliens with no linear concept of time) were used to explore the nature of grief and recovery. And Blade Runner 2049 used its futuristic setting, in which replicants (and synthetic girlfriends) exist, to question what it means to be human.
Dune (2021) reaches for similarly grand themes: the contrast between the high technology and feudal politics of its space empire, the conflict between duty and personal desire, and the Harronen’s brutal effort to conquer and exploit Arrakis against the alternative of living in harmony with the desert, as the Firemen do. But I’m not sure it has much that’s anything interesting to say on any of these topics.
And worse, without a stronger or more distinctive personal journey to carry the legend of Muad’Dib, the movie feels narratively inert. It’s half a metaphor; a signifier without the signified. Dune (2021) may not be as convoluted and hard to follow as Arrival, nor quite so excruciatingly slow paced as Blade Runner 2049 but (flawed as they were) those films had a real emotional impact. Villeneuve has obviously poured similar levels of craft, dedication, and even love into Dune, but the result is more portentous than profound; a lot of sound and fury signifying little.
WOBBLY THUMB
Note: A problem I had with Dune, that kept getting bigger as the movie went along, is that as a story loses its credibility your attention starts to wander to questions the author would rather you didn’t ask:
The Man Behind the Legend
Directed by Hans-Bruno Kammertöns; starring Michael Schumacher, et al…
After a fifty-year drought we’ve reached a golden age of motor racing film and television. There have been major features that weren’t awful — Rush (2013) and Ford v Ferrari (2019) — and a documentary that wasn’t dull — Senna (2010). Netflix’s riveting fly-on-the-wall racing reality show, Formula 1: Drive to Survive, is currently filming its fourth season. And Netflix also just released its own documentary on a racing legend: Schumacher.
Michael Schumacher was a prodigy from the start, racing internationally (and winning) in Karts from the age of twelve, before moving on to sports cars and lower formulae cars. In 1991 he landed in the rarified world of Formula 1 like a bombshell. At his first race, on the daunting Spa Francorchamps circuit, he put his underfunded Jordan 7th on the grid — faster than his more experienced teammate, and far closer to the front than that car had any right to be. A great rivalry was predicted between the new ace and Ayrton Senna, who had dominated the sport since the mid ’80’s. Alas, it was not to be. Senna was killed at Imola in early 1994, just as Schumacher and his Benetton team were becoming serious title rivals. Schumacher went on to win the championship that year, and it was the start of a remarkable decade in which he reigned almost alone at the top of the sport.
Full disclosure: back in the day I usually cheered for Senna and Schumacher’s rivals. Despite being blessed with more than enough talent to succeed honourably, both these legends brought a win at all costs mentality to the track that too often showed itself in overly aggressive, even dirty, driving. They coarsened the sport and set a bad example for younger drivers such that F1 is still struggling to re-establish standards for clean, hard racing that prevent the blocking and bullying “back off or we’ll crash” manoeuvres normalized by Senna and Schumacher.
The Senna documentary framed his uncompromising will to win as a shining example of the human drive for excellence. And I can understand why the Brazilian was revered by legions of fans despite his on-track ruthlessness. Handsome, mystical, and touched with an unearthly talent, he oozed charisma. But the jut-jawed, dour, and Germanic Michael Schumacher, whose inner life remained largely hidden? I could never understand why so many adored him. Surely their rabid enthusiasm was a kind of crude power worship, a fawning abasement at the altar of fame and success, regardless of how it was achieved?
It’s interesting, then, that this first full-length recounting of Schumacher’s life focusses more on the man behind the motor racing legend than his on-track career. Family support for the project gave German filmmaker Hans-Bruno Kammertöns access to previously unseen home movie footage and opened the door to extensive, remarkably candid interviews with most of Schumacher’s family, friends, and teammates. The result is a remarkably intimate portrait of the private Schumacher — a man previously unseen except by his inner circle.
The film’s opening section briefly recounts his childhood before the surprises start with the young Schumacher’s kart racing adventures with his dad. He’s a fresh-faced, working-class boy exuberantly enjoying his racing — a broad, infectious smile never far from his face. When he reaches F1, the early successes are followed by his signature move: an exuberant leap for joy high above the winner’s podium. The private footage of Schumacher partying and singing karaoke with his mechanics and rival drivers after a race, looking with open adoration at his wife, Corinne, or playing with his young children, show that even after becoming a star he enthusiastically embraced life as a family man. Close associates always claimed that the real Schumacher was a fun-loving, affectionate homebody, quite different from his closed off and ruthless persona. Here, for the first time, the rest of us can see what they were talking about.
Was it a certain introverted shyness, or the pressures of stardom that caused Schumacher to keep his inner life so hidden? Regardless, this look at Michael Schumacher’s private world is the best aspect of the documentary and will be a revelation, even to his fans. For me, I’d forgotten what a breath of fresh air Schumacher was when he first reached F1. Those were the years of the bitter Senna-Prost rivalry when races would end, not with the happy winner jumping off the podium, but with the two antagonists glaring daggers at each other.
Unsurprisingly, this family endorsed project is not nearly so candid when it comes to the other side of Schumacher’s character: the ruthless, win at all costs competitor we saw on track. Schumacher’s willingness, while still F1’s new boy, to break his contract with Jordan after a single race, and join the better funded Benetton team, isn’t mentioned. Nor do we hear about the infamous 2006 Monaco GP, when Schumacher deliberately spun during qualifying to block the track and thus protect his provisional pole position.
Other incidents, too famous or significant to leave out, are covered, but as sympathetically as possible. The treatment of 1994’s title deciding race is typical: Schumacher ran off the road while in the lead and, rather than parking against the barriers, steered his wrecked but moving car back on track in front of rival Damon Hill. Schumacher associates explain away the ensuing crash as a racing incident, his only fault, in their telling, being competitive instincts so strong he always kept going, even in hopeless situations. Not quoted are other, less sympathetic observers, who saw the move as a deliberate attempt to take out a rival. (Successfully in this case; with both cars out of the race, Schumacher kept his lead in the points and won his first F1 championship.)
It’s harder to justify Imola, 1997, when Schumacher again hit a title rival, in this case deliberately driving into Jacques Villeneuve rather than let him pass. Schumacher only crashed himself out, though, and Villeneuve went on to take the 1997 championship (still Canada’s only F1 title). The documentary again uses friendly witnesses to put the collision in the best possible light — but even these can reveal more than you expect. Ross Brawn was engineering Schumacher that day and recalls that he returned to the pits fuming with rage and utterly convinced that Villeneuve was the one in the wrong! Brawn knew Schumacher well and testifies that this belief was quite sincere. Only after much arguing, and repeated views of the replay (which is unambiguous), did Schumacher finally acknowledge reality and admit he was in the wrong. (An offence so egregious the governing body stripped him of his 1997 points.)
Equally revealing is the interview in which a friend recalls asking Schumacher whether he had ever been wrong in his whole life. Apparently, Schumacher thought about it for a moment, and then quite seriously answered, “no”!
What combination of early success, public acclaim, competitive pressure, and the affirmation of rabid fans can make a seemingly normal person so utterly blind to their own behaviour? Schumacher is far from the only sporting legend to behave like this. Top level sports have become so competitive it really does seem that successful athletes need to maintain a level of self-belief almost indistinguishable from self-delusion (even insanity). This is a topic well worth exploring, but the film is content to leave it with the rationale that, in his own mind at least, Schumacher never believed he was acting badly (a conviction so strong even multiple penalties never dented it).
Having thus whitewashed Schumacher’s culpability for the 1994 and 1997 incidents, the documentary chooses to make a big fuss about David Coulthard’s behaviour at the rain-soaked 1998 Spa Francorchamps race. In the opening laps Coulthard knew his damaged car was about to be passed by the much faster Schumacher and eased off at the entry to Pouhon corner to let him by. Not expecting this, and blinded by the rain, Schumacher ploughed into the back of Coulthard in a vicious, high-speed accident. His reality distortion field kicked in and Schumacher returned to the pits in a raging fury. Tearing off his helmet he went looking for Coulthard, shrieking that the McLaren driver had tried to kill him. Although Coulthard later admitted he shouldn’t have lifted while on the racing line, this was an honest racing incident where both drivers misjudged what the other was doing. That’s quite different from the many times Schumacher deliberately blocked, drove into, or intimidated other drivers on track. But, since this is one racing incident where the balance of blame is on the other driver, the film strenuously re-litigates it in a brazen attempt to establish a false equivalency to Schumacher’s more sinister moves. Coulthard’s crash even features in the teaser trailer. This goes beyond whitewashing; it’s is outright disinformation.
At the end of 1995, after two winning world championships with Benetton, Schumacher abruptly moved to the legendary but underperforming Ferrari team. This is framed as a desire to find “fresh challenges” (with no mention of the wedge of cash that accompanied them). And there certainly were challenges aplenty at Ferrari; it was the beginning of four wilderness years during which his driving abilities and strength of character were tested as never before.
The Schumacher the film wants us to focus on is the inspiring leader who dragged Ferrari out of the doldrums and turned them into a championship winning team again. This section makes up the bulk of its run time.
Ferrari had spent years in the doldrums when Schumacher arrived, brought low by its own poisonous politics and outdated technical standards. While the team rebuilt itself around him, it took all of his prodigious talent — driving the wheels off sub-standard cars — and all his determination as a leader to hold the team together through years of toil, disappointment, and near misses. This period is shown through magnificent race footage and (again) extensive private film of the behind-the-scenes action. We see Michael endlessly testing with the team, staying late into the night with his mechanics as they repair yet another broken car. Here is Schumacher at his best; a driving prodigy with a fierce will to win, it would have been understandable had his struggles with Ferrari’s uncompetitive cars turned him into a prima donna. Instead, he became the opposite; a loyal team player whose total commitment kept him working harder and staying later than anyone else. An inspiring leader, Schumacher genuinely deserves credit for Ferrari’s eventual return to the winner’s circle.
But not all the credit, and this is where the documentary again leaves out so much it amounts to disinformation. Luca di Montezemolo, head of Ferrari, had recruited an ace Team Manager in Jean Todt even before Schumacher arrived. With his star driver on board, Todt was able to lure Technical Director Ross Brawn and Chief Designer Rory Byne over from Benetton. Together, this may have been the greatest collection of talent ever assembled in a single team. Equally remarkable, di Montezemolo successfully shielded Todt and his crew from Ferrari’s corporate politics, defending them when success didn’t come immediately, and providing the time and funding they needed to build proper foundations for success.
More than any other sport, motor racing is a combination of athlete and equipment; both driver and car must be excellent to win. With Todt providing the organizational skills and racing strategy, and Brawn and Byrne delivering a series of every more competitive cars, they eventually delivered the equipment Schumacher needed. Yet Schumacher, the film, doesn’t mention their contribution at all, even though di Montezemolo, Todt, and Brawn feature heavily in its interviews.
A real shame because they were equal partners in an amazing accomplishment. When the championships came, they came in flood: five in a row from 2000 to 2004. Such dominance for so long by a single driver was unprecedented; Schumacher smashed almost every record: most championships, most wins, most fastest laps… Not that you would know from watching this film. After focussing so much on the character-building years, it pushes the Ferrari championships into its brief final chapter; all we get are impressions of Schumacher crossing various finishing lines and jumping off podiums, accompanied by a few period sound bites randomly commenting on how great he was. His life since is treated equally hastily.
And this is where Schumacher’s storytelling method goes from merely annoying to infuriating. If you want to be one of the cool kids in the documentary world these days, you have to “show not tell” to a ridiculous degree. Any use of an omniscient narrator or bridging commentary to actually tell your audience what’s going on would brand you a fuddy-duddy. So, throughout its run, Schumacher relies almost exclusively on period commentary and clips from its contemporary interviews to stitch the story together. When there’s enough time and material, this works reasonably well. But, when so much ground has to be covered so quickly, as in its closing chapter, we’re left with elliptical references to events about which we’re told frustratingly little.
Thus, the highlights of Schumacher’s later life are alluded to without any attempt to answer the questions they raise:
Schumacher’s horrific 2013 skiing accident is treated with similar indirectness. He has not been seen in public since and little is known beyond the fact he suffered a brain injury. The family has refused to discuss his medical condition and the only thing Corrine will say is: “Michael is here. Different but here. He still shows me how strong he is every day.” For now, that remains the final word.
Ultimately, the good parts of Schumacher are good enough that this film can’t be ignored or written off as a mere hack job. The period racing footage is fantastic, the behind-the-scenes coverage is revelatory, and an amazing assortment of Schumacher’s family, friends, and close associates have agreed to speak on the record, some for the first time. However, the omissions and whitewashing of other aspects of Schumacher’s character are such that the documentary should come with a warning label. And the elliptical method of storytelling means that, if you want more than impressionistic vignettes of his life and career, you’ll need to watch with Wikipedia open beside you.
For me, it’s disappointing that the film never quite grapples with the immense contradiction between the private Schumacher and the racing legend. But, if the man himself remains a mystery, I finally understand why his fans adored him so.
WOBBLY THUMB
An Excruciatingly Correct Aide-Memoire
Whee! It’s election time in Canada again. Last Sunday Justin Trudeau put the rumours to rest by requesting and receiving dissolution of the 43rd parliament. We head to the polls for the second time in two years on 20 September. Aside from the — you know — politics of it all, anyone who cares about Canadian history, or our system of constitutional government, knows it’s going to be a rough five weeks.
Blame the lack of civics education in this country, the fact that the press corps includes as many lazy and incompetent drudges as any other profession, or the way Canadians binge US news (absorbing the language of a very different system), but a lot of people who should know better are going to spend this election saying dumb things. These will range from errors that are merely annoying (getting terminology wrong) to such egregious misrepresentations of how things work as to amount to disinformation. And the “real journalists”, if history is any guide, will not be much better than the most uninformed chatterer on Twitter or Facebook.
This is terrible for our civic life but, rather than bitch and moan about it, I’m posting the following excruciatingly correct style guide to Canadian elections. Now, you too can be the annoying know-it-all in your friend group — erm — I mean now you too can be part of the solution!
To begin, dissolving parliament to trigger an election is a crown prerogative, not something a Prime Minister can do alone. In other words, it’s one of the Sovereign’s reserve powers, exercised in Canada by the Governor General as the Crown’s representative. Thus, Prime Ministers do not “call” elections; they can only request that the Governor General dissolve parliament.
This may seem a distinction without a difference. Under the principle of responsible government the Governor General only acts upon the advice of a First Minister who holds the confidence of parliament (otherwise we could hardly call ourselves a democracy). But we’re not just splitting hairs; in exceptional circumstances the reserve powers of the Crown serve as an important check on abuses of power by partisan politicians.
A recent example is the British Columbia election of 2017. The outcome was just ambiguous enough (the governing Liberals won more seats than the NDP, but one less than the combined opposition) that Premier Christy Clark felt able to request the immediate dissolution of the provincial legislature. In effect, she wanted a do-over for the election she’d just lost. Quite properly the Lieutenant Governor refused this unconstitutional request. The loss of her majority meant Clarke no longer held confidence in the legislature, there had been a recent election to determine the wishes of the electorate (six months is the accepted norm here), and an alternate government was available in the form of an NDP/Green coalition. Her desperate gamble having failed, Clark resigned (as a First Minister whose advice had been refused by the Crown, she could hardly do otherwise) and the NDP/Green coalition went on to form a government. In the oft-used metaphor, the Crown had acted as a “constitutional fire-extinguisher”.
Every healthy democracy makes a distinction between the authority and legitimacy of the nation state, which is permanent and unchanging, and the actual exercise of state power through an elected government, which is temporary and subject to electoral defeat. This is the distinction between Head of State (for us, the monarch) and the Head of Government (the Prime Minister).
To personify the state (effectively to provide an agent for its actions in the real world) republics elect presidents as their heads of state. In constitutional monarchies, such as ours, the Sovereign personifies the state. Either way, the separation between the source of state power, and those who exercise it, prevents either entity from wielding an unrestricted and potentially tyrannical authority. Sloppily attributing Crown powers to the Prime Minister, merely because it is he or she who normally exercises them, dangerously misrepresents this.
Note: arguably, a constitutional monarchy provides an almost ideal solution for the division of state power. The democratically elected legislature is supreme in governance (that’s what the “constitutional” part guarantees) while having a hereditary sovereign as head of state keeps the office non-partisan and apolitical. The United States takes almost the exact opposite approach with an elected president who is not merely a figurehead (as in many republics) but who combines the offices of head of state and head of government in a single figure.
Another Note: other crown prerogatives include appointing Prime Ministers (which is crucial to government formation — see below) and enacting laws (which is why bills become laws only when they receive royal assent).
In a cack-handed attempt at “objectivity”, the Canadian press has a bad habit of not referring to the Prime Minister as such after the election starts; he’s referred to as the party leader. This creates a false impression that we don’t have a government once the writs are issued. In fact, Prime Ministers do not resign when they request dissolution; throughout the election Justin Trudeau remains Prime Minister, and his ministry will continue to function as the government of Canada. The only thing he cannot do is pass new legislation, which would require parliament be sitting.
And yet, even accredited journalists have already asked Justin Trudeau who is in charge to deal with the tragedy in Afghanistan that began almost simultaneously with his election announcement. His answer was, of course, “I am” (the CBC — our “national” broadcaster is terrible about stuff like this). Unfortunately, even those who should know better, often don’t. Annamie Paul, leader of the Green Party, has called for parliament to be recalled under the Emergency Powers Act for an emergency debate in the House of Commons about Afghanistan.
Where to begin… A parliament that has been dissolved cannot be recalled — it no longer exists. The Emergency Powers act does not apply to emergencies outside of Canada. And an emergency debate is nothing more than an opportunity to make speeches, which Paul can do from the hustings. Whether Paul is actually this uninformed, or merely posturing, it’s unfortunate that ignorance of basic civics in this country can cause so much confusion and unnecessary handwringing about our ability to govern ourself during an election.
Admittedly there is a “caretaker convention” which holds that (for obvious reasons) governments should not undertake major new initiatives during an election. Opponents of the government often claim this prevents it from doing anything they don’t want it to do. But the caretaker convention is a convention rather than a law precisely so it can be interpreted flexibly enough for the government to deal with the unexpected.
Finally, if the Liberals win enough seats to continue governing, Trudeau will not be “re-elected”, or even re-appointed as Prime Minister. Since he never resigned, his current appointment as Prime Minister will merely continue into his third parliament (Canada’s 44th).
Speaking of writs, it’s often said that an election begins with the Governor General “dropping the writ”. In actuality, the Governor General merely dissolves parliament. The resulting election is conducted by Elections Canada, an independent federal agency headed by the Chief Electoral Officer of Canada. It is the Chief Electoral Officer who issues the writs (all 338 of them) to conduct elections in the 338 electoral districts (or “ridings”) that make up the House of Commons. Technically, then, we are about to have not one election, but 338.
Saying that we’re about to have 338 simultaneous elections is another one of those persnickety details that may seem unimportant in practical terms, but actually says something important. We cast our vote in local elections for Members of Parliament to represent our ridings. Even the electors in Justin Trudeau’s riding of Papineau will only be voting for their local MP on 20 September. What our elections do is determine the composition of the House of Commons (parliament’s elected lower house). We elect neither Prime Ministers nor governments.
Certainly, many Canadians will vote for an MP based on his or her party affiliation — because they want that party to “win”. But this distinction still matters to an understanding of how government formation works.
Governments are formed in the House of Commons after the writs are returned with the election results and the new distribution of seats is established. The essential consideration is that any government must be able to hold the confidence of the house. That is, it must be able to muster enough votes to pass bills (otherwise it couldn’t function). By convention, all supply (money) bills are confidence votes and losing one will bring down a government.
If an existing government returns with a majority, or even a plurality of seats, it retains confidence and thus stays in power. There is no need to form a new government (remember that the government never resigned or ceased to exist during the election). Otherwise, a new party (or coalition) that wins either a majority, or the greatest number of seats short of a majority, is the strongest candidate to form government. The Governor General appoints the leader of this party or coalition as Prime Minister. And the new Prime Minister can then forms a government by appointing a cabinet of ministers.
Side Note: As our governments consist of a cabinet within the legislature, that cabinet is sometimes referred to as “the executive” though this Americanism isn’t an exact fit and is also used to describe the Crown (or the Cabinet plus the civil service).
Another Side Note: Since we don’t elect them, a new Prime Minister is obviously not a “Prime Minister Elect” during the period between the announcement of their appointment and their swearing in. “Prime Minister Designate” is a better term.
Yet Another Side Note: A reminder that Justin Trudeau is already Prime Minister and has not resigned. If he “wins” the election (that is, wins enough seats to continue governing) he will not be re-elected Prime Minister nor will he be the “Prime Minister Designate”. He will merely continue his appointment into a new parliament.
“Term” implies a fixed period for an appointment or institution, and so its use is appropriate in the United States, where there are fixed election dates and governments serve for a fixed period to time. However, it doesn’t apply in our parliamentary system, where we neither elect governments, nor do they sit for a fixed period after formation.
As noted above, our governments are formed and maintained based on confidence. A lost confidence vote can bring a government down at any time, and a Prime Ministers who no longer finds parliament functional can request dissolution whenever they feel the need, the need for speed — er — no, the need for an election. Thus, governments in Canada do not serve for any sort of fixed term. A better word is “parliament”, as in: “a government that has won two elections has been in power for two parliaments” (Trudeau’s current count).
Side Note: another Americanism that serves as a useful test of civic literacy is “administration.” In the United States this is often used as a synonym for “government” (as in, “the Obama Administration”). It’s appropriate there because so many senior positions in the US civil service are political appointments. In Canada we have a permanent civil service that serves from government to government (even Deputy Ministers, the civil service department heads who act as the professional advisor to their Minister, often retain their appointments through a change of government). So, any commentator who refers to a Canadian government as an “administration” is helpfully revealing their ignorance. It’s better to just say “government” or, since our governments are made up of a cabinet of ministers, “ministry” (as in, “the Trudeau ministry”).
There has been a fair bit of chatter about whether the current election is even legal under Canada’s fixed term legislation. In 2007 Stephen Harper introduced Bill C-16, an amendment to the Canada Elections Act which set a fixed election date in October for federal elections and a set term of four years. This was sold as a democratic reform, at the time of its passage, as it would stop Prime Ministers gaming our system by requesting dissolution when it was advantageous for them.
Such legislation is currently quite popular: the UK and several Canadian provinces also have some form of fixed term legislation. I believe this is due to fixed terms being a simple and easy form of legislation to pass without amending the constitution. In actuality, the whole concept of fixed terms is alien to our parliamentary system.
The UK gave its Fixed-term Parliaments Act real teeth and the result was a constitutional crisis when Boris Johnson lost a possible confidence vote. This went to the courts to decide whether the confidence convention was triggered and, if so, whether his ministry should fall or continue to the end of its term. If the fixed term did have precedence over the confidence convention, it would call into question whether the reserve power of the Crown to dissolve parliament even still existed. The unintended consequences of the act were so disruptive and potentially profound that the House of Lords is currently conducting an inquiry into the whole mess (at which our own Philippe Lagassé testified).
Fortunately, Canada’s fixed term act was passed mainly for show and is so toothless that most legal experts think its only effect is to put a four year limit on the life of parliaments. (One less than the maximum of five years set by Section 50 of the constitution). Thus, when Trudeau found the current minority parliament difficult sledding, his right to request dissolution was unaffected.
As more than six months had passed since the previous election (see above), and he held confidence in the house, the Governor General was bound to grant this request. In a shameless political stunt, the leaders of the Conservative Party and the NDP (who had used their combined majority to obstruct the government while strategically not voting against confidence motions) promptly called upon Her Excellency Mary Simon to refuse dissolution. In doing so they were urging the representative of an unelected Sovereign to act unconstitutionally (a profoundly undemocratic act) and ignoring the basic fact that a Prime Minister whose advice is refused by the Crown is bound to resign — which would trigger the election they claimed to be trying to stop!
Thus, this early election is neither unconstitutional nor an abuse of Prime Ministerial power. If Justin Trudeau has taken unfair advantage to game the timing of the election, it is the job of voters, not the Crown, to punish him for it. Which is precisely what elections are for…
Sources
I hope you found the above useful and even interesting. As a layperson I’ve relied heavily on the knowledge of real constitutional experts. Here are links to the best and of these:
The Road to 1914
Margaret MacMillan
Penguin Books, © Margaret MacMillan 2013
The War That Ended Peace is a giant doorstop of a book: more than 700 pages (with notes) in the Penguin trade paperback. But then, it’s tackling a big, difficult question: how could Europe — so peaceful, prosperous, and powerful in 1914 — plunge itself into the horrors of The Great War? Margaret MacMillan’s previous work (History’s People, Nixon and Mao, Women of the Raj…) has focussed more on social and personal history than military or diplomatic. However, her sharp analytical skills and keen eye, both for individual human behaviour and its broader social context, equips her well for this particular task.
MacMillan begins with a broad survey of European society and politics in the years leading up to 1914. After the cauldron of the Napoleonic wars, the 19th Century had been a time of relative peace during which the larger European nations grew into the great powers of the globe. By 1914 they had the most productive and advanced industry, the most powerful armies, and the richest and best educated citizens. European colonies and dependencies sent their wealth to Britain and the continent from every corner of the planet. At sea, the Royal Navy’s pax Brittanica kept the peace and guaranteed trade wherever there was water enough to float its ships.
As the 20th Century began cracks were appearing in the brilliant facade, though. The rapid urbanization, industrialization, and scientific advancement of the 19th Century had also brought an almost overwhelming amount of social change. While those who had risen to the top (or been born there) celebrated European cultural, commercial, and military superiority, others endured an often unfair and unequal distribution of wealth and benefits. The middle classes chafed that their growing economic importance was not represented in the top ranks of military and government, where the traditional aristocracy still clung to its perquisites. The spread of education to the new urban working classes produced divergent social movements: a growing sense of national identity — even nationalism — among the traditional and patriotic, and support for pan-national pacifist and socialist causes among the more radical and idealistic.
Jealousies and resentments of historic wrongs festered between nations too. Russia and Austro-Hungary, vast backward multi-national empires both, were falling behind in the race to modernize, while suffering more than most from the centrifugal social forces that progress was unleashing. Although Germany had become the leading land power, her late development left her behind in the race for overseas colonies, feeding a seething envy of Britain’s naval power and overseas empire. France, in her turn, nursed a patient grudge against Germany for taking the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine in 1870.
These strains were growing in an environment that increasingly took peace for granted. As memories of the terrible wars of Napoleon dimmed (there had been wars since 1815, but limited ones or far from the heart of Europe) European states became readier to gamble on armed conflict to solve their diplomatic issues — in the words of von Clausewitz, to treat war as “the continuation of politics by other means”. This was especially true of the declining empires who feared their time in the sun was running out. The long peace, and increasing domestication of modern life, also produced a generation of young men who felt that they had not been tested as their grandfathers had — that they had not yet found a great cause in which to prove their own worth. A series of diplomatic crisis in the first years of the new century repeatedly tested the European powers, and repeatedly they averted war through good luck more than good judgement. Which may have led them to overestimate both their luck and their abilities.
Regardless, in 1914 their luck ran out. Unlike World War Two, which has a clear cause in Nazi aggression, World War One (it ceased being “The Great War” when there was a second) was the product of errors and miscalculations by all the great powers. MacMillan approaches these events through a series of character sketches. These intimate portraits of kings, prime ministers, and foreign ministers (and their Fin de siècle lifestyles — all mistresses, grand parties, and country manors) are fascinating in their own right, but also a superb introduction to each nation’s situation and ambitions as they themselves understood them at the time. Taken together, MacMillan’s dramatis personae embody the insecurities and ambitions that built road to war, and the failures of imagination that set Europe sleep-walking down it.
The first steps fell in June 1914, when slav nationalists assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo, a provincial capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The independent Balkan states on Austria-Hungary’s southern flank had long supported slav separatism including, it was soon discovered, harbouring the assassin. The Austrian Chief of Staff, Count Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf responded with an ultimatum to Serbia whose harsh terms he knew would be unacceptable. When Serbia refused, Austria-Hungary would have casus belli to crush its small but irksome neighbour once and for all.
As the Balkan states enjoyed the protection of their fellow slavs in the Russian Empire, this immediately provoked a European crisis. Alone, Austria-Hungary was the weakest of the great powers, but Hötzendorf was counting on his own allies. Austria-Hungary had joined a Triple Alliance with Germany and Italy in 1882. This was ostensibly a defensive treaty but Germany, aggressively pursuing a naval race with Britain, was ready to challenge the status quo. At one time Germany’s “Iron Chancellor”, Otto von Bismarck, would have tempered these ambitions with realpolitik, but the immature and headstrong Kaiser Wilhelm II had sacked him in 1890. In the decades since Wilhelm had turned to less thoughtful advisors: the ambitious von Tirpitz (Secretary of State for the Imperial Navy), the technically clever but morally weak von Moltke (Chief of the General Staff), and the manipulative Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg (Chancellor). With their help Kaiser Wilhelm turned Germany (still an absolute monarchy) into the most erratic member of the great power club, but it was Bethmann-Hollweg who concealed Britain’s offer to mediate the Serbian crisis and who assured Austria of Germany’s full support in any resulting conflict (the infamous “blank cheque”).
The emboldened Hötzendorf prepared to crush Serbia, undeterred by the contradictory signals sent by the powers who should have opposed such naked aggression. In Russia the weak and wavering Tzar Nicholas II feared war and opposed military action, but was only sporadically able to impose his authority on his bellicose Foreign Minister, Sergey Sazonov, who was more concerned with restoring Russia’s wavering influence in the Middle East. The ensuing muddle was bad enough for Hötzendorf to think he could wage a Serbian war without Russian interference.
France had formed a common cause with Russia against Germany in a series of treaties signed between 1891 and ’94. The alliance was based on common interests (France had extensive investments in the empire) and common fears of Germany’s growing power. However, in this crisis, France remained paralyzed between her fear of a general war on one hand, and her desire for the return of Alsace-Lorraine (taken by Germany in 1871) on the other. In consequence, it remained ambiguous whether France’s support for her ally would go so far as military intervention (especially if Russia could be portrayed as the aggressor).
Finally, Britain was dragged into the crisis through her historic guarantees of Belgian neutrality (the traditional German invasion route into France). However, as a naval power with a prejudice against continental entanglements, she too attempted to keep her options open. A conservative aristocrat, British Foreign Minister Edward Grey was reluctant to offer military guarantees on the continent (something Britain had avoided since 1815), while also briefing his government that abandoning Belgium entirely would be an unacceptable stain on British honour. The Germans interpreted this as meaning they could keep Britain out of any coming war by promising to restore French & Belgian territory after their victory. [1]
The diplomatic fumbling ended on 28 July 1914 when an undeterred Austria-Hungary launched its war on Serbia. Despite the onset of what could be described as a nervous breakdown, Sazanov responded with Russian mobilization. This set off a rush to war. The surplus wealth generated by industrialized economies had enabled the continental powers to train vast citizen armies, rotating fresh batches of youths into active service as the previous intake returned to civilian life. Mobilizing these reserves took time, but going to war without them meant fighting outnumbered. Thus, Russian mobilization was a loaded gun pointed at the Triple Alliance.
Three days later Germany declared war on Russia. As the conflagration spread, France’s dithering did not save her. The 19th Century had seen Europe covered by dense networks of railroads, the only quick and efficient way to move the new mass armies. But, railroads consist of fixed paths and trains must adhere to rigid timetables. Accordingly, von Moltke had produced an incredibly complex plan to use Germany’s superior network for a quick knock-out blow against France (the smaller of his two foes) before turning on Russia. Germany thus declared war on France only a few days after Russia. Worse, to widen and speed his deployment of forces, von Moltke intended to march the right flank of his armies through Belgium.
Even Kaiser Wilhelm trembled at a plan that brought France, Belgium, and Britain (should she honour her guarantees) into the war, when smarter diplomacy might have kept them neutral. But von Moltke was adamant that the railroad timetables were too complex, and the forces involved too large, to change plans at this late stage. So, caught in a trap of their own making, Germany’s leaders flung their armies westward.
[1] When Britain did respond to the German invasion by sending troops to Belgium, the Kaiser complained that they had intervened against all logic, an eery echo of Hitler’s complaint twenty-five years later that France and Britain, by honouring their obligations to Poland, were the ones responsible for starting a European war — against all logic!
Even as the shooting started, the belligerents hoped the war could be limited, like those of the previous century. Modern weaponry consumed munitions and materiel so rapaciously that many believed their economies would be exhausted after a single campaign, and that any war lasting beyond Christmas would wreck the complex system of international finance. (The Napoleonic Wars went on for so long because they were exactly that, a series of wars — most lasting only a single season.)
They should have known better. The US Civil War had staggered on for four long years, demonstrating the ability of modern bureaucratic states to mobilize industry and manpower on scales previously unimaginable. France’s popular resistance to Germany’s 1870 invasion also showed how the strengthening of national identities was creating a popular patriotism capable of vast sacrifices.
The great powers had played with fire, only to find they’d filled their house with inflammable materials:
What’s more, the increased firepower of modern weaponry created a defensive advantage that cut down offensive after offensive in a welter of mud and blood. New tactics to overcome this only emerged in the final year of the war. Meanwhile, the immense size of the new citizen armies enabled them to extend across whole fronts in continuous lines, eliminating open flanks and, with them, possibilities for strategic manoeuvre. As BH Liddell Hart observed: “strategy became the handmaiden of tactics, while tactics became a cripple”.
As the sacrifices of industrialized warfare mounted, they could only be justified by total victory. So the war became a fight to the death, only ending when the Triple Alliance collapsed under the weight of revolution, starvation, and military defeat. It was the hollowest of victories. Four years of total war left even the victors bankrupt and morally exhausted. The vicious peace terms they imposed, in the wake of so much suffering, set in motion a series of unforeseen events that would plunge Europe into a second, even more destructive, world war only twenty years later. In the meantime, buried in swathes amongst the ruined countryside from Flanders to Galicia, eight million young men lay dead.
“The past is never dead. It’s not even past”
William Faulkner
So, what were the causes of The Great War and the ensuing destruction of the old world order (in MacMillan’s words, the war that ended peace)? Clearly there were ample root circumstances, whether social (the growth of nationalism and its accompanying separatist movements), political (great power rivalries between rising and declining powers), or technological (developments in firepower and the growth of mass armies). Once war started, the alliance system dividing Europe into two armed camps almost ensured it would spread across the continent.
But, this tinder had been drying for decades. It needed a spark to ignite it and Austria-Hungary (with its enabler, Imperial Germany) was the aggressor of 1914 — even if it intended only a limited war. That makes Count von Hötzendorf and Bethmann-Hollweg the villains of the piece, with the assistance of Wilhelm II, von Tirpitz, von Moltke, Bethmann-Hollweg, and Sazonov. The French and British, though not blameless, were sinners more by omission than commission.
These decision-makers share an interesting distinction. MacMillan notes that all of them were blinded by a certain lack of imagination, an obliviousness to contrary possibilities so deep that it seems rooted in the culture of the time. Whether it was the long years of peace fostering a too sanguine attitude toward the dangers of war, or a feeling of being overwhelmed by the pace of social change and technological advancement, our actors too often threw up their hands and surrendered in the face of events (often in response to bad advice from their technocratic generals). “I had no choice”, wailed by supposedly powerful and mighty men, was the soundtrack of the Serbian crisis.
None of this absolves them of personal responsibility. Here MacMillan draws an interesting parallel with US President Kennedy’s handling of the Cuban Missile Crisis. He too received military advice to escalate the confrontation, but instead opened communications with Khrushchev and was able to negotiate a peaceful solution. In a rebuke to the architects of 1914, Kennedy showed that leaders can rise above events — that there is always a choice. Would we be so wise today? With so many eerie echoes of 1914 now sounding, this is no hypothetical question. We too are now facing the stress of significant social change after a long period of peace and prosperity. [2]
In 1914 change took the form of extending legal equality and democratic participation to all citizens; today it is driven by the recognition that these are not, in themselves, sufficient conditions for a genuinely equal society in which all have the opportunity to participate fully. Women, minority, and marginalized individuals, by advocating for true equality, have spread awareness of the social attitudes and invisible barriers in the way of anyone who doesn’t fit a traditional mould. As we recognize our shared humanity, and finally accept its implications in full, the results are being seen in changing hiring practices, employment regulations, recognition of diversity, and greater representation in all areas of life, particularly the arts.
Of course, any attempt to level the playing field is easily portrayed as a loss by those at the top. Consequently, a generation of populists has risen to exploit fear of change and champion white males as the real “victims” here (as though human society hasn’t been in a constant state of evolution since it began). In another echo of the past, numbers of young (mostly) men are again chafing at the mundanity of domestic life. Some are finding their cause in the alt-right and white-supremacy groups at the extremes of the counter-movement against change. Their numbers and penchant for violence now make these a significant domestic terror threat.
As in 1914 these social tensions contrast with a complacent inability to imagine how terrible the consequences can be of political pyromania. The UK voted for BREXIT after a “remain” campaign that never took the danger of losing seriously and a “leave” campaign that traded in lies and nostalgia for an England that never existed. This is usually framed as a trade story (and BREXIT is already damaging the UK economy) but we should remember that the EU was originally formed as a peace agreement — to bind the warring nations of Europe in commercial ties. Moreover, in its haste to leave, the UK casually disregarded the consequences for the Good Friday Agreement governing the Ireland – Ulster border (also a peace agreement). The US is currently emerging from four years of the Donald Trump presidency, during which Russian interference was ignored, international agreements torn up, and trade wars started with allies and rivals alike. Those allies were treated of use only as scapegoats — whenever they could be attacked and demeaned to score cheap points at home. The most frequent such target being NATO, a treaty specifically drafted in the wake of WWII to prevent a third such tragedy. Although Trump is now out of office, uncomfortable numbers of voters remain supporters of him and his bomb-throwing approach to the world (perhaps the most erratic foreign policy since Kaiser Wilhelm II).
Populism hasn’t gained as much traction in Canada (reflecting perhaps the lack of Rupert Murdoch owned broadcasters and newspapers here), but a similar unseriousness still cramps our ability to take real action on large problems. Environmental policies are only pursued when they cost next to nothing, while foreign policy is utterly neglected — despite the sea change wrought by the loss of US leadership and the rise of authoritarian states. Popular activism is as likely to take the form of demonstrating against basic public health measures (in the midst of a global pandemic) as it is advocating for more effective environmental policies, or a more engaged foreign policy.
For all its faults, the world of the 21st Century is more comfortable, more free, and more full of opportunities for more people than any other time in human history. This is the brilliant façade of our age. But, as in 1914, the cracks are beginning to widen: a disruptive Russia and a rising China pose an authoritarian challenge to the liberal democracies. The stresses of social change need a better response than right-wing populism, as do the implications of globalization and technological developments for labour rights and the distribution of wealth. Meanwhile, climate change is the existential danger of our age.
If we let peace and comfort dull our ability to imagine the consequences of failing to meet these challenges, then the tragedy 1914 shows how easily the existing order can be swept away. History never quite repeats itself, but the study of the past provides the critical tools needed to understand the present. The events of 1914 remain as relevant today as ever, and Margaret McMillan’s vivid account is a brilliant reminder that peace can never be taken for granted.
THUMB UP
Streaming Favourites of 2020
With months of travel restrictions and social distancing still to get through, we could all use some entertainment. So, here are a few favourites from 2020. I didn’t watch nearly enough TV (cough) to claim these are the “Best of the Year”; they’re just personal recommendations based on what I enjoyed. I’m limiting the list to streaming movies and television series, both to keep the length reasonable and because 2020 was pretty dire for theatrical movies.
Season 05 of Better Call Saul was the best thing I watched in 2020. Like its predecessor, Saul is set within the Breaking Bad universe and charts the decline and fall of a flawed man. But it has steadily established itself as an original creation and more than a mere spin-off. Whereas the outwardly respectable Walter White was doomed by his arrogance and resentment, Jimmy McGill is, in many ways, a more sympathetic and interesting (certainly more fun) character. A charming rogue, he’s being brought down as much by the low expectations of his “respectable” peers as his own shortcomings.
This being a Vince Gilligan production, the story is propelled by meticulous attention to detail, clever plotting that never resorts to shortcuts or phoney leaps of logic, great directing, and a great cast. Comedian Bob Odenkirk has been a revelation as Jimmy McGill (Saul) and any one of the compelling secondary characters could lead their own show: Mike, the ultimate professional; “Nacho”, the conflicted dealer; “Lalo”, the deadly cartel enforcer; and, of course, Jimmy’s girlfriend, Kim Wexler.
Brilliant, tough, and a by the book champion for justice, Kim has long been Jimmy’s conscience. But one of the threads running through this season has been a deeper dive into her character and the problematical reasons for her attraction to the wrong man. Agonizing over Kim’s fate has long been a hobby among reviewers, and that question is now even more fraught.
Season 05’s other main thread is Jimmy’s involvement with the drug underworld. He has finally become, as Jesse Pinkman described him, a “criminal lawyer”. That is, a lawyer who is a criminal. Saul is now racing toward its end (it has been renewed for a 6th and final season) and the tension keeps ratcheting higher, even as the show’s character work becomes more complicated and subtle. I’m bending my own rules here as Netflix receives Saul on a delay; its library currently only reaches Season 04, but 05 should drop on the service shortly before the sixth season premiers.
The corruption and decadence of between the wars Berlin is a great setting for a dark detective thriller and Seasons 01 and 02 of Babylon Berlin (released together in 2017) might have been the noiriest noir since Bogart put on a fedora. They were a complex stew of murder, Trotskyite plotting, revanchist Army officer scheming, political intrigue, and strange psychology, all set in a Weimar Germany starting to fall apart as the street fighting between communists Nazis intensifies.
After the twists, turns, side plots, and just plain weirdness of the first two seasons, 03 tells a more straightforward story. Transplanted detective, Gereon Rath, is now a permanent member of the Berlin Police and occasional sex worker Charlotte Ritter has joined him as a detective in training. Together (professionally and – perhaps – personally) they investigate the murderer of a Berlin film actress. Complex as the case turns out to be, the pacing does lag occasionally as Berlin attempts to stretch a single murder investigation over twelve episodes.
As, always, though, there are side plots aplenty of political intrigue and corrupt cover-ups to test our heroes, as well as a terrific cast of vividly drawn secondary characters, any one of whom might be the culprit. The period recreation of 1920’s Berlin remains incredibly rich with its close-up view of glamour, depravity, and grinding poverty all living side by side. You almost have to take a shower after watching. But I would happily see Babylon Berlin continue indefinitely, with Gereon and Charlotte investigating a new crime every year or so.
Dead to Me begins as a simple odd-couple comedy when sensitive if flaky Judy Hale (Linda Cardellini) befriends alpha realtor Jen Harding (Christina Applegate) at a grief support group. Soon, though, the revelation of a dark secret turns the show into a twisting thriller with a cliff-hanger at the end of almost every episode. As each revelation uncovers more of the tortured backgrounds and mixed motivations of both women, Dead to Me also becomes a painfully realistic examination of the crippling effects of grief and guilt. This mix of conflicting ingredients should never have worked but, somehow, Season 01 blended them into one of the very best shows on Netflix.
I was dubious whether such a high concept could work a second time out (the example set by the likes of Killing Eve or Barry is not encouraging) but I should have had more faith. Launched by the revelation of yet another big secret, and buoyed by the amazing performances of both Applegate and Cardellini, Season 02 continues to dive deeper into both women’s complex psychology and even more complicated friendship, while also beginning to show what it might take for them to achieve some kind of peace or forgiveness. The season ends with yet another big reveal, but the show has been renewed for a third and also final season. That seems exactly right to deal with the new secret and finish telling this terrific story.
If you didn’t know beforehand that The Queen’s Gambit is based on a novel, the very literary subject matter would give the game away. It’s the fictional biography of a neglected orphan girl who becomes a chess prodigy in the 1970’s. Along the way Gambit deals with themes of abandonment, addiction to prescription drugs, and the struggle for independence and to find your own identity as an adult.
After an initial round of almost unqualified praise, the series has received some criticism for casting the beautiful Anya Taylor-Joy as the book’s homely protagonist and for making her progress a little too triumphant. Certainly, the series has an element of wish fulfillment, but it’s also compellingly told and an utterly bingeable watch. So, while it may not be one of the all-time greats (like Saul) it’s still a very good series, and a compellingly told tale. Taylor-Joy may be too pretty to match the book’s depiction of the protagonist, but her performance is a large part of what makes Gambit work – both the subtlety with which she conveys Beth’s pain and drive and the intensity of her gaze as those enormous eyes stare across a chess board.
Since Parks and Recreation and The Good Place finished their runs, Brooklyn Nine-Nine has been my go-to sitcom. In 2020 its shortened 7th season wasn’t quite as consistent as the earlier outings but, when it’s hitting on all cylinders, it’s still the funniest and best workplace comedy on air. The beating heart of the show is, of course, its terrific ensemble of strange, funny, and yet sympathetic characters, led but not overwhelmed by Andy Samberg’s Jake Peralta. Over the years Brooklyn has developed a number of wacky traditions (such as the Halloween Heist) that shake up the formula and keep things fresh. In addition to delivering a terrific combination of heart and humour, it’s one of the cleverest and funniest sitcoms to come along in a long while. I just hope to be able to hang out with this crew for a few more seasons yet.
Compellingly directed, beautifully acted, and featuring incredible period recreations (including lots of “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” porn) The Crown continues to be one of the most watchable shows on TV. However, the closer it gets to the present, the more its liberties with history cause me to itch a little. With Season 04 centring on a fictionalized account of the Princess Diana / Margaret Thatcher years, that carbuncle reaches a particularly festered state.
The factual liberties are easy to spot, such as the portrayal of Elizabeth II as the driving force behind Commonwealth sanctions against apartheid South Africa. This completely writes out Canada’s key role in the campaign, especially Prime Minister Brian Mulroney’s personal leadership at various international gatherings, including the Vancouver and Kuala Lumpur Commonwealth Conferences. (Canada, the largest and most populous member of the Commonwealth Realm doesn’t exist in The Crown; it prefers the scenery of Australia for any ventures outside the UK). It is well known that the Queen takes her role as Head of the Commonwealth seriously and was privately concerned about the harm South African membership could do the organization. But showing her taking such a strong public stand drastically misrepresents the function of a constitutional monarch.
In the Diana Spencer storyline factual errors – minor in themselves – also reveal questionable efforts to manipulate the story. She is shown as being left isolated and alone in a palace in the weeks before the marriage, for example, when there are actually photographs of her out and about with Charles during this time. However, the lie is used to reinforce a pattern of royal brutality toward Diana that the season is determined to prove.
Obviously, there are questions about Diana’s treatment by the royal family, but the extent to which there was a pattern of deliberate abuse is a complicated issue with no clear answer. The problem with The Crown isn’t so much that it bends facts to make a simpler, more dramatic story, but that it tends to bend them in a consistent direction to support a certain ideology. Most viewers would assume that anyone spending years of their life to tell the story of Elizabeth II would be sympathetic to her, which makes this bias all the more pernicious. In fact, the creator, Peter Morgan is a staunch republican (that is, someone who wants to replace the monarchy with an elected head of state).
Morgan has admitted to taking liberties with the facts more than once, always justifying this as necessary to suit the needs of the story, or to illuminate “deeper truths” about his subject. I suspect his deeper truths are often just his political bias misrepresenting itself. As with Mank (see below) the combination of authorial ideology and the simplifications required to turn history into a compelling drama often intertwine in cancerous ways.
Just as Morgan turns the royal family into monsters to punch up the Diana storyline, he exaggerates the Queen’s private disagreements with Margaret Thatcher to weave a tale of two strong women at odds – turning Thatcher into a cartoon villain in the process.
The core problem of The Crown is that, having chosen to present Elizabeth’s life as a saga, its lead character (a constitutional monarch) is actually just a spectator of many of its dramatic events. Attempting to turn her into the protagonist, and politically opposed to the monarchy anyway, Morgan consistently exaggerates the Queen’s involvement in politics while ignoring or misunderstanding the Crown’s actual constitutional role.
So, why have I included The Crown in this list and given it the longest review of all? Well, for all my quibbling, Morgan is a terrific storyteller. I may find his larger picture distorted and unconvincing, but individual scenes of The Crown just sing with sharply observed details and telling observations. From my limited experience I think he gets the zeitgeist of the British upper classes exactly right. This includes the studied casualness at home, the fetishization of the countryside, the use of manners as a weapon… So, it’s best to watch The Crown as pure fiction. Then the historical objections melt away, and it becomes a ripping yarn about the perils of privilege, the weight of duty, and the complicated obligations of family.
Schitt’s Creek has long seemed to me the most over-rated series on television. And, regarding the early seasons, I stand by that. The deliberate obscurity of the North Generica location (so it can play as a Canadian show at home and as set in the US for that market) robs the comedy of any specificity or bite. And, early on, there was entirely too much dependence on idiot humour (isn’t it funny how rich people can’t do anything?), which gets stale awfully quickly.
A lot of seemingly important story lines were also introduced only to be dropped before they went anywhere. The only thing that kept me watching through the first three seasons was Annie Murphy’s brilliant performance as the oblivious and entitled Alexis – a loopy bundle of eccentric physical and verbal tics combined with massively unearned self-confidence, all made bearable by the genuinely good heart just detectable underneath.
Somewhere around Season 04, though, the show began to get better as the Rose family started working at real jobs in the eponymous town and developing deeper relationships with its inhabitants. As David made a success of his store, Johnny helped manage the hotel, Alexis stopped dabbling and found her calling in PR, and Moira joined the town council, the Roses became more than bumbling idiots and the townsfolk more than rubes. As its characters turned into real people, rather than cartoons, the show got funnier and sharper, its humour more character-based, about people whose foibles we had got to know well.
The show also became more serialized, with deeper stories as plot developments were allowed to run from episode to episode. Now, with 06, the entire season is focussed on the preparations for and wedding of David and Patrick. This detailed, sympathetic portrayal of a loving gay relationship has helped Schitt’s Creek become a critical hit in the US. Even viewed as a television show, rather than a social document, it’s a pretty good send-off for characters I grew to like a lot more than expected. (Note: also available in Canada on CBC Gem.)
I am not at all a member of The Baby-Sitters Club demographic but some reviewers I follow recommended it, and the show proved a surprisingly good coming of age tale about a group of tween girls who – um – form a baby-sitter’s club. The wholesome look reflects the fact that it’s based on a reportedly beloved series of 1980s US children’s books (none of the Canadian women I asked knew of them…). However, it’s been deftly updated to include a more diverse cast and to deal with more contemporary issues – fortunately without turning into an “issues” show or a social justice lecture. For sure, the girls learn life lessons about stuff like taking responsibility and accepting people who are different, but these all emerge organically from believable, well-told stories.
The absolutely terrific young cast (plus Alicia Silverstone, now playing a mom – gawd, I feel old) really helps here; all the club members come alive as distinct and believable personalities. Baby-Sitters Club is good enough that, if you have a young daughter, recommending it will make you the cool parent for at least five minutes. Even if you’re not a tween girl, it still has something interesting to say about adolescence, that vital and terrifying time when you’re no longer a child, but not yet an adult – when you’re tackling new responsibilities and trying on identities in search of your own. (A stage of life that apparently arrives a couple years earlier for girls than it does for boys!)
Archer is an animated spy spoof featuring a James Bond lookalike who, while a terrific spy, is also one of the most dysfunctional and psychologically damaged human beings on the planet. He works for an almost equally chaotic spy agency, staffed by a bizarre mixture of psychopaths, overgrown children, mad scientists and – his mother. Made by people who obviously love the genre (details of weapons, aircraft, etc are way more authentic than they need to be) and featuring a terrific voice cast, the early seasons of Archer ranked among the funniest shows on TV.
Now, at Season 11 and, having run through its entire bag of tricks at least twice over, Archer still shows a commendable willingness to shake up its formula. The last three seasons were based on the fever dreams of Sterling Archer as he lay bedridden in a coma. That gave Archer the freedom to turn itself into a spoof of Miami Vice, an Indiana Jones rip-off, and a space adventure. Season 11 seems to revert to formula with a freshly conscious Sterling returning to the agency.
The shake-up this time, though, is more psychological depth. The secondary characters have re-invented themselves (mostly for the better) during Archer’s prolonged absence. Add the fact that our super-spy’s injuries have left him with a gimpy leg, and he’ll have a hard time reverting to his old behaviours. A lot of the fun this season comes from its fresh take on a very familiar cast as they navigate new inter-personal dynamics. The show may no longer reach the heights it once scaled but, even at an abbreviated eight episodes, this is pretty good Archer. Which makes it better than most TV.
The spread between Eurovision’s dire critical rating and hugely positive audience rating is one of the widest I’ve ever seen. Which is fair, given that objectively it isn’t a very good film; it’s another half-baked Will Ferrell vehicle, full of lazy plotting, saggy pacing, and slapdash writing. And yet, and yet… The subject is so loopy, the cast commit so completely to the madness, the songs are so catchy, the affection for its Icelandic underdogs so genuine – somehow the thing grows a real heart and earns that audience response. Like the bumblebee, it shouldn’t fly and does. Bonus delights include Canada’s sweetheart, Rachel McAdams, showing real comic chops as the loopy Sigrit, and the revelation that those supposedly sophisticated Yuropeans put on Eurovision every year, the tackiest, schlockiest, weirdest reality show of them all.
The days when the arrival of each new Netflix Original was A Very Big Deal are long (long) past but Mank was one of the service’s higher profile efforts in 2020. Directed by David Fincher and featuring an A-List cast (Gary Oldman, Amanda Seyfried…), Mank is a fictionalized retelling of the month a bedridden (he had been in a car crash) Herman Mankiewicz spent writing the screenplay for Citizen Kane (often considered the greatest movie of all time). With its self-consciously artistic style, Mank provides a lot for literature majors to think about. Citizen Kane was filmed in B&W and featured a circular story structure; Mank likewise is filmed in B&W and told in a circular fashion – between Mankiewicz’ isolated present, and his past as a celebrated writer in the decadent, roaring days of 1920’s Hollywood.
This is clever, and an exploration into the nature of creativity, or the relationship between art and reality, or… something. At a more prosaic level, however, there are issues with the storytelling. The flashbacks are split between fun recollections of studio movie making in Hollywood’s golden age and a rather less interesting story (if you’re not into California politics) of Louis Mayer’s corrupt intervention in a state election. Mank also portrays our hero as the sole author of the Citizen Kane script, casting Orson Wells’ efforts to claim the writing credit in a very negative light.
In fact, forensic examination of the various Citizen Kane drafts makes a convincing case that Mankiewicz did write most of the scenes, but set them within an overly long, conventional story. Wells trimmed his version considerably and rewrote the film into its famously circular structure. That both justifies Wells’ co-writing credit and makes the circular structure of this Mankiewicz biography look more like a gimmick than an actual insight into his process. As for that creative process, the real story of Citizen Kane shows it to be much more collaborative (even when it includes conflict) than the solitary writer in his garret, that this movie celebrates. Ah well, Mank is still fun to watch, mainly for the terrifically witty and literate dialogue, brilliantly delivered by Oldman in classic old movie style.
Apple first step, after deciding to develop its own streaming service, was to drop a trainload of money on an opening round of prestige releases. Featuring eye-watering budgets, big name creators, and A-List stars, almost all of these ended up being what could most charitably be described as near misses. Turns out, money can’t buy creativity. For All Mankind had a great premise but also huge pacing and story structure issues; The Morning Show had a compelling cast but often hit soap opera when it was aiming for prestige drama. And so on…
How ironic, then, that Apple TV +’s first breakout hit is the modest and low-key Ted Lasso. I actually resisted watching for a while as the premise didn’t seem promising: a naïve, relentlessly positive, small town American football coach (the eponymous Lasso) finds himself managing a Premier League British soccer team. And that lead character was originally developed by star Jason Sudeikis for a series of NBC Sports promotions. However, just as a Disney theme park ride could spawn the excellent (original) Pirates of the Caribbean, those NBC ads gave birth to one of the best shows of 2020.
The surprisingly complex first season reveals unexpected nuances in Lasso’s personality as well as real wisdom in his approach to coaching. In addition, a deep roster of secondary characters all get their own interesting season arcs, including a football bunny with unseen depths, an aging and angry team captain facing the end of his career, and a villainous but surprisingly sympathetic team owner with a hidden agenda.
Of course, there’s a lot of laughs to be had in Ted’s American wholesomeness going up against a bunch of cynical, potty-mouthed Brits. And Lasso also finds fun in Ted’s fish out of water experience of living in the show’s accurate and well detailed depiction of contemporary England. It’s a good example of the sly observational humour you can sneak in just by having a detailed and specific setting (looking at you, Schitt’s Creek!). The result is one of the most bingeable shows of 2020, made all the more delightful because it was so unexpected.
Wolfwalkers is an animated fairy-tale set in mediaeval Ireland. It follows Robyn Goodfellowe, the young daughter of an English hunter who has been hired to kill the local wolves. Determined to prove she can be a hunter too, Robyn follows her father into the woods and meets an Irish girl who seems to have a mysterious connection with the wolves. Adventures ensue, full of youthful high spirits, delightful performances, and a unique animation style – the whole made even better by the charming accents and lively dialogue. As a bonus, Sean Bean voices the hunter, so there’s that for anyone who has been missing him playing a dad since Game of Thrones.
A slight but intense WWII drama, Greyhound is made better by the presence of Tom Hanks. He plays the Captain of the destroyer USS Keeling (call sign Greyhound) as it protects an Atlantic supply convoy at the height of the U-boat menace. In the tradition of Saving Private Ryan and Band of Brothers, the action is authentically portrayed, close-up, and gripping. The focus is Hanks’ Captain fighting exhaustion and despair during several days of unremitting combat. And this is where he earns his pay, bringing a depth and humanity to the character despite an almost complete lack of character development or background.
Except for a brief (and almost pointless) flashback the entire movie focusses on the battle with the U-Boats. We learn a fair bit about WWII anti-submarine tactics but almost nothing about why such a relatively old Captain is commanding his first convey, how he has worked with or trained his crew, or how he has gained their loyalty and trust. This focus on the mechanics of battle, rather than the humans engaged in it is why I rate Greyhound as good, but slight.
Perhaps because it’s based on a British novel (The Good Shepherd by CS Forester), Greyhound does have the virtue of showing that other nations besides the US fought the Nazis. Keeling’s escort group is multi-national, with British and Polish destroyers and a Canadian corvette all figuring prominently in the action. (The latter is portrayed by an actual ship, HMCS Sackville, still on strength of the Royal Canadian Navy as a floating memorial.)
The filthy, coarse, fast-talking Letterkenny is back for a ninth season of small-town Ontario antics as the hicks take on the skids and the hockey players once again. The slimness of the story lines betrays the show’s origin as a web series, but over the seasons Letterkenny has treated its characters with so much sensitivity and respect that they’ve acquired some real depth, lending an unexpected weight to the slight plots. For Canadian viewers (even non-Ontarians), there are also delightful moments of recognition, as when the crew start challenging each other’s pronunciation of Québec (ranging from full-on Anglo to the correct French, “Kaybec!”). So many supposedly Canadian shows are really just foreign productions taking advantage of the tax laws that it’s kind of wonderful to see ourselves portrayed on screen for once. And the rapid-fire verbal jousting – my god; there’s nothing on TV to compare.
A modest little web series about modest (if quirky) Canadians with modest goals, Decoys follows four contestants as they prepare for the (fictional) Northern Alberta Carving Competition. Filmed in Mockumentary style (like The Office or Best in Show) Decoys starts out poking fun at its small-town heroes and their strange obsession with carving duck decoys. But, as you get to know them (and their long-suffering families) the show develops a real heart. Unlike Schitt’s Creek this is Canadian content that isn’t afraid to be specific about its setting, and much of the fun comes from its gentle spoofing of places and behavioural ticks we’ll all recognize. It is slow moving, and slow to develop – but, at six short episodes, it has the virtue that it won’t take much or your time. And it will provide a fix of eccentric small-town Canadian comedy for anyone who misses Corner Gas. Decoys is streaming on CBC Gem in Canada and can be viewed for free (with ads) even if you don’t have an account.
Steve Jobs once commented that putting Apple’s iTunes on Windows computers was like giving a glass of water to a man in the desert. Well, for Star Wars fans, it’s been a long dry trek since the original movies (forty years!). The Mandalorian doesn’t reach their heights – the story structure is too simple and repetitive for that – but it is the first live action production in four decades to actually feel like Star Wars. It gets the frontier setting and pulpy, western in space vibe exactly right and, thankfully, it’s not about saving the whole frigging galaxy for once. Instead, it’s a focussed, personal story about a mercenary who turns against his employers in order to rescue a child (Baby Yoda) they’re trying to exploit.
Season 02 continues to feature the great (for TV) production values of the first, with lots of callouts to familiar Star Wars gewgaws in the weapons, locations, spacecraft, etc. It also features some terrific cameos, which will have the fans cheering. Unfortunately, Mandalorian also continues to include a lot of padding; without time-consuming side quests and a plot that requires our hero take a McGuffin from point A to B only to get directions to Point C (repeat and rinse) the season would be even shorter than its already compact eight episodes. Ultimately, though, by getting the heart of Star Wars right, Mandalorian provides a fun ride and a drink of water in the desert for fans who’ve waited far too long. (Note: The Mandalorian might be your only reason to get Disney +, so I’ll note that at 16 x ½ hour episodes it’s easy to binge both seasons during the free trial period.)
For any Big Bang Theory fans needing a Penny Hofstadter fix, here is Kaley Cuoco as you’ve never seen her before. She plays the eponymous flight attendant, an alcoholic party girl who wakes up in Bangkok after a one-night stand with a passenger, only to find his throat cut and blood everywhere. Making every wrong move possible, she inexpertly tries to cover up her involvement and is soon on the run: from the cops, who suspect her of the murder, and the gangsters who actually did the crime and are looking for their money.
A lot of exotic travel ensues, along with a fun, lively, and somewhat silly thriller. To survive, Cuoco’s flight attendant will not only have to beat the professionals at their own game but face down her own personal demons. Give full credit to Kaley Cuoco that this mix of pulp and psychological drama works as well as it does. Alternatively, silly, terrified, and grimly determined, she’s the centre of almost every scene. One critic compared her performance to the type of blonde energy Goldie Hawn used to bring. Certainly, Cuoco displays a similar mix of ditziness, humour, dynamism, and hidden intelligence. You’d call it a star-making performance, if she wasn’t one already
The Birth of the Canadian Crown
If you pass a government building today you may be surprised to see the Royal Union Flag (popularly, the Union Jack) flying alongside the Maple Leaf. This marks an august occasion: 11 December 1931 is Statute of Westminster Day.
“What the hell is the the Statute of Westminster?” you may well ask. Confederation in 1867, and its Canada Day celebration, is the only history we really memorialize in this country. And yet, 1931 is almost as significant a year in the story of our national development.
When the British dominions (Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa…) were formed in the 19th and early 20th Centuries they were really self-governing provinces of the British Empire more than independent states in their own right. The British parliament in Westminster retained a veto power over any act of the dominion parliaments and centralized control over over all imperial foreign policy. These were considered essential measures to preserve the unity of the empire against its foreign rivals (and their knavish tricks!).
Such a limited form of nationhood wasn’t just acceptable to the dominions, but welcomed. As member states of the British Empire they played a significant role on the world stage; by themselves they would have been insignificant minor powers. A lot of interesting work has been done on the nature of Canadian patriotism in the 19th Century and its tendency to express itself in the form of imperial boosterism (rabidly for anglophones but even, to some extent, for francophones).
War changed all that. The dominions mobilized completely for World War One, remaking their societies and economies to meet its ever increasing demands. Both Canada and Australia eventually contributed complete corps-sized forces to the western front. These fought as distinct national formations and performed as well (often better) than any British corps. After so much sacrifice and effort, a subordinate national status was unacceptable. Letters and contemporary accounts from Canada’s overseas soldiers tell a remarkable story of how four years of blood and hard-won accomplishment created a distinct sense of national identity and pride within the Canadian Corps.
To its credit, Britain recognized the dominions’ contributions and lobbied for them to have their own seats at the Versailles peace conference, rather than be included within the British delegation. (The United States, now an ally and trading partner of Canada, argued vehemently against this at the time — on the basis that it was just a trick to get more British votes!).
The newfound maturity of the dominions remained a prime topic as the dominion and British heads of government met at the Imperial Conferences of 1926 and 1930. Their efforts were realized when the British parliament passed the Statute of Westminster In 1931. This formalized a new relationship within what was still called the British Empire. Essentially, it separated the crowns of the dominions from the Crown of the United Kingdom, creating separate heads of state for each, and putting each dominion parliament on an equal footing with Westminster.
Thus, it ended the British veto over the dominion parliaments, along with British control of a centralized foreign policy. Effectively, the dominions became full nation states (now more properly styled as realms). It is proper from this point to refer to the dominion sovereigns as the King or Queen of Canada (Australia, New Zealand, etc) as they were now distinct legal personages from the sovereign of the United Kingdom.
Enabling legislation followed in most of the dominion parliaments. Newfoundland bowed out because of its longstanding financial difficulties, and the Irish Free State barely paused on its road to full independence as a republic. But, with the exception of South Africa (booted out during apartheid), the rest of the dominions who attended those conferences are still joined by the shared monarchy they created in 1931.
Thus, the Statute (and its accompanying national legislation) remains relevant to this day. It is the foundation of the Commonwealth Realm – an inner group within the Commonwealth of Nations — that share Elizabeth II as sovereign and head of state. Membership has even grown in recent decades as some former British possessions have achieved self-government.
A final aside: it’s amazing to me that so much of the national development of this supposedly unmilitary nation has been spurred by war. Just as there is a direct line from Canada’s sacrifices and accomplishments in WWI to the Statute of Westminster, Canada’s enormous contribution to victory in WWII set the stage for the next step: the passage of the Citizenship Act, 1946. This established a distinct legal status for Canadian Citizenship, separate from that of British Subject. Since then, Canadians have been citizens of Canada and not — as before — merely British Subjects resident in Canada. The only development of similar importance since is the patriation of the constitution in 1982. It may be a sign of progress that this was managed without a preceding war…
Fun Facts: Now you can appreciate how ignorant it is to complain about Canada being “ruled by the Queen of England!” Such statements are wrong in three distinct ways: