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Christmas 2014

19/12/2014

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As we approach the final few weeks of 2014 and another year appears to have mysteriously flown by, I find myself (quite customary at this time), in a reflective mood. I suppose this was inevitable, especially as I’ve just been listening to a recording of Dylan Thomas reading his marvellous A Child’s Christmas in Wales, recorded at Steinway Hall, New York in 1952 (You’ll find it on You Tube). If you don’t know this work, then take my word for it, it is pure joy! 

As Christmas in the UK has become increasingly secular and commercialised, I wonder whether it is a happier occasion now than it was in former times? It certainly seems to have become increasingly more stressful; I don’t recall hearing about people being trampled by over-zealous shoppers, or of fist-fights breaking out over goods in our shops. My family’s Christmas when I was a boy was divided mainly between chapel and home. The children’s Christmas party in the Chapel vestry was a definite highlight. Father Christmas inevitably made an appearance and passed out presents to each of us; some of the bigger boys suspected it was a deacon dressed-up; I for one never believed this, though come to think of it, for a man who spent three hundred and sixty four days a year in isolation at the North Pole he did have a remarkably strong Valleys accent! However, the seeds of commercialisation had already been sown even back then, and although the pile of presents I was given might seem modest compared to the personalised Aladdin’s cave the average British child seems to be presented with these days, compared to my parents’ generation who got little more than a tangerine and a few brazil nuts, we were generously provided for. 

It has always been a Johnson family tradition that a certain percentage of stocking fillers (always wrapped in newspaper when I was little) are booby prizes. My Dad (I learnt later on to recognise his packing style and handwriting) meticulously wrapped up for us, under numerous tightly packed layers: a broken pen, in fact anything broken might appear, carrots, potatoes, often a solitary brazil nut, and I generally received one or other of the small brass candlesticks off the mantlepiece (being a matching pair, brother Ian got its pal!). Dad’s written messages always urged us on, “Almost there!” “You’re going to love this!” “Something really good!” “This is just what you’ve always wanted!”. In a way the boobies, and their attention to detail, spoke as much to me about the love in my family home as did the ‘good stuff’. Yes, the Matchbox, James Bond Aston Martin DB7, complete with tiny man and ejector seat was a jaw-dropper, but I would have been awfully disappointed if my parents hadn’t taken the time to wrap up a few really misleading ‘duds’ that year. Judith and I continued the tradition with our own son. 

I think what I want to say is that Christmas isn’t solely about receiving, it’s about sharing too; a time for each of us to be gathered into ‘the fold’. It’s a time for inclusion and for expressing love; a time that makes me grateful for my family and friends; and causes me to remember too that I belong to a far wider human family. Henry James said: “Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind.”


Have a lovely Christmas everybody!


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The Crucible by Arthur Miller

10/12/2014

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I first read Arthur Miller’s play The Crucible when I was in my late teens, and it has remained one of my favourite plays ever since, even though I had yet to actually witness a production of it. Actors tend to view the passing of the years in a different way to other folk: once we pass age-milestones upon life’s track we have to (sometimes reluctantly) accept that certain roles have passed us by -  Hamlet of course, Lopakhin (The Cherry Orchard), Khlestakov (The Government Inspector), to name but three. I don’t really act anymore, so don’t feel this problem too acutely, although watching The Crucible for the first time last week, revived in me a small but poignant sense of regret - the part of John Proctor had always been very high on my ‘to play before I’m forty’ list. Alas, not to be. 

The play is set in Salem, Massachusetts during its infamous witch hunt and trials of 1692/3. The Crucible received its first performance in 1953 and is a partly fictionalised account of the mass hysteria that ran amok and took control of the Puritan communities in the Massachusetts Bay Colonies when fear and superstition overtook common sense and villagers accused their neighbours, sometimes through sheer malice perhaps, of witchcraft. Miller uses the play as an allegory for the spectre of McCarthyism and its dreaded blacklisting of suspected communists. Miller himself would later be called upon to testify before the House of Representatives’ Committee on Un-American Activities, where he was convicted of ‘contempt of Congress’ for refusing to identify others who had been at meetings he’d attended. 

This production of The Crucible, directed by Yaël Farber, aired at The Old Vic over the summer and we were fortunate enough to view it in a Digital Theatre broadcast at our local Odeon Cinema. This really was a marvellous production, absolutely riveting, despite a first half lasting for two hours (it was only my bladder had attention span problems, honest!). Reviewers have used adjectives like visceral and scorching to describe Ms Farber’s production and it’s not difficult to appreciate why these descriptions are quite apt. From the very opening scene we witness a community consumed by fear of the supernatural, ready to abandon good judgement and common sense. It is a powerhouse production that repeatedly drives home a heavy punch; its blistering effect upon the senses of this observer and his companions, sent us staggering homeward emotionally wrung-out and quite stunned. We felt affected by the force of the drama for some days afterwards. I understand it is nominated for a number of awards, which I can only anticipate it has a great chance of winning. I tend not to list names (very appropriately considering the play!), but if you’re fortunate enough to catch a recording of this great production I’m certain you’ll agree with me that the acting all round is excellent. And without wishing to diminish in any way the performances of the male cast, my wife and I both felt that the quality of acting from the female cast was really quite exceptional. 

It strikes me as a very good time indeed to revive this play, to reacquaint ourselves with its warnings; especially seeing as we have recently entered a new era where liberally-minded democratic governments like our own have seen fit, in light of the perceived threat from our enemies, to withdraw some of our legal rights. I recently heard a balanced commentator on BBC Radio point out that newly-assumed surveillance and arrest measures, ostensibly taken to defend us from the extremists who would wish to harm us, might equally, if we should ever be unfortunate enough to discover ourselves under the control of a less than benign authority, make ordinary life in our country very uncomfortable. Miller’s play calls us to seek truth and justice, to require an impartial legal system and to demand nothing less than the due processes of the law; after all, in the end it’s all that stands between us as free individuals and the rule of despots. 

Definitely see this production if at all possible.


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The Dog of the South

3/12/2014

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I’m sorry to say I’d previously never heard of or encountered this book, or any of the other literary offerings of Charles Portis, until it was given me as a birthday present earlier this year by my son. Tom knew I’d really enjoyed the author’s Western story True Grit (someone has yet to make a movie truly faithful to the book!); he thought the reviews on the back cover of The Dog of the South were promising and it looked like a book that might appeal to me. So, first off, a big thank you to Tom for directing such a great read into the grateful clutches of his old man. 

I can only describe The Dog of the South as a comic masterpiece, and Portis is without any shadow of a doubt in my mind a greatly underrated American novelist. I’ve heard him compared to Cormac McCarthy, and I can see the line of thought taken here: the characters both writers create often inhabit a similar kind of universe, down at heel and desperate; both authors’ prose has a poetic elegance about it. However, (it seems to me) the difference is that Portis really likes his characters, he’s like a watchful father who wants to see his children do well, whereas McCarthy, great writer though he unquestionably is, can be a bit like the God of the Old Testament when it comes to his literary offspring; you know - vengeance, punishment, destruction. 

I laughed out loud (unusual for me) so many times as I lay in bed reading this book. As with all the funniest writing, the people of the story are never in on the joke and remain completely dumbfounded throughout. Everyone in this story is a little bit lost and down on their luck, but you somehow find yourself rooting for all of them, hoping they’ll somehow just find a way to get through. Portis delights the reader by offering us a deadpan narration through the slightly Quixotic, good-natured voice of the book’s central character Ray Midge. Ray, a bit goofy by his own observation, is on something of a heroic quest to right a wrong - well, rather a lot of wrongs, perpetrated against him by the unconscionable, yet pretty hapless, Guy Dupree. I’m not really giving very much away here - this is the novel’s opening sentence: My wife Norma had run off with Guy Dupree and I was waiting around for the credit card billings to come in so I could see where they had gone. 

Portis, an author who has only written about five novels in as many decades, could hardly be considered prolific. However, I’ve chosen to view this positively - this means I still have three Portis novels yet to read, and both True Grit and The Dog of the South are most certainly worthy of return visits someday! So - hurrah! 

Hope you get a chance to read this book and that you enjoy it as thoroughly as I did!


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    Available in paperback and ebook:
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    Available in paperback and ebook:
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