This Sporting Life (1963 film)

This Sporting Life is a 1963 British film, directed by Lindsay Anderson, and based on the novel by David Storey. It stars Richard Harris as Frank Machin, a coal miner turned rugby league player. The movie follows Machin's professional trials and tribulations, and his romantic entanglements.

This film has assumed an almost mythic reputation within these shores, but it is different from how I remember it from my previous viewings. There is less rugby league action than one might imagine. One thing which is certain is that the piece would not have worked nearly as well had it been made in colour. 

If I discerned a message from watching the film, it was one of self-expression and honesty.  It was released in 1963, at a time when Britain was emerging from an introspective and deferential period, and bright young things from all kinds of social backgrounds were coming to the fore and making themselves heard.

I know that from the distance of the 21st century, some of the working class based "kitchen sink" drama of the early 1960s can even seem like self-parody, and occasionally comes off as patronizing. However, I think that This Sporting Life is plausible and credible in the main, partly because of the acting performances, and also because it lacks excessive self-consciousness. 

The movie strikes a chord with me, in a nebulous way. I was probably never really "working class" myself, in the truest sense, although my surroundings and contemporaries were.  There is an authenticity and candour here which is quite revelatory. People struggling to contain their feelings, but sometimes "letting go". That was something which I seldom saw in my youth. The grittiness and rawness seem real to me.

The social commentary here is quite subtle and "organic", somewhere in there for the viewer to pick out and ponder upon, and the "kitchen sink" elements focus primarily on the relationship between Machin and his landlady, played by Rachel Roberts.  As the film progressed, I thought that the portrayal of the human condition was increasingly bleak. Not a "feel good" film, from that point of view. 

The characters are struggling to communicate with each other, to open up, partly because of traditional British reserve and reticence. Frank Machin seems more expressive than most, but lacks subtlety and finesse in his dealings with others. Everyone else seems to conform, and this leaves Machin looking and feeling like an outsider, often uncomfortable in this milieu. An "angry young man"?.  Perhaps...

In contrast to the dark, dimly lit scenes in the house, the rugby portions of the movie are (comparatively) bright, less subdued and insidious, perhaps symbolizing the game as a form of escape for Machin from his other demons, frustrations and concerns. The picture is done in a "flashback" format, and this is employed to good effect, imbuing the work with additional dynamism and pace, and encouraging the viewer to muse upon meanings. 

Some of the scenes, especially those accompanied by the mildly avant-garde and creepy music, remind me somewhat of European art cinema, "audio-visually" at least.

The Machin character remains impassive and stony-faced when confronted with sycophancy and shallow fawning by social climbers. His responses, expressions and attitudes are possibly more ambiguous than those of your typical "angry young man". This also applies I think to his interactions with his "superiors", such as the rugby league club's owners. Whilst complex, he lacks savvy or sensitivity.  The brooding but enigmatic countenance is brilliantly conveyed by Harris. It is good to see some "animal" emotion in there, rather than endless oblique philosophizing.

This Sporting Life embodies a collision of  traditional values and the modern, business-like approach to life, as befits a film made during a transitional period in social history. Also, philosophies of life which are not epoch-sensitive are to the fore. Those who had decided "if you can't beam 'em, join 'em" stood out to me. One or two scenes depict Machin as detached, gazing upon the superficiality and pretense around him.

This feeling of detachment and alienation I could relate to.  The world is not a perfect place, and one can be too proud, and refuse to meet people halfway, ultimately to one's detriment. 

Another facet of Machin's personality rang true with me as well. That of not knowing how to behave, and what to say, at a crucial time. Misjudging situations and other people's feelings.  There is a fine line between honesty and leaving things alone which are better left unsaid. Being too eager to impress. Being out of practice, as it were, and this rustiness leading to a crudeness and insensitivity, and much later regret.

I feel that this film also serves as a pretty good study of the human psyche and the male condition especially. People being unable to communicate effectively, being on different wavelengths. This is one of the unpleasant, and unpalatable, realities of adult existence. At the root of it all, maybe, lie insecurity and loneliness. 

A great sequence near the end may encapsulate much of the film's narrative. We see Machin on a hill, looking down on the town, which could be seen as a microcosm of the world.  We then cut to a grim, brutal rugby tussle. Summing up his, and our existence, perhaps?  Then again, the rugby-life parallels are perhaps a little too convenient and easy.

Rachel Roberts' performance I find to be a real "grower".  Early on, it can seem a little bland and hesitant, but one has to see how things develop to appreciate that this was intentional. A strong, seamless effort.

This movie has a naturalness and a believability which makes it compelling.  This is real life. People here are not pointedly or blatantly wallowing in their predicament, or chafing at any kind of social chains. It is surprisingly fresh and resonant. Some of the topics and concerns explored are universal.  If anything, the film goes on too long.  It is not exactly light or "escapist" viewing, but it is satisfying and engaging.

Sebastian Coe - Coming Back - David Miller

Recently I have been going through a concerted phase of reading about the Olympic Games, and middle-distance running in particular.  This led me to delve deep into my "archives" to re-read the book "Sebastian Coe - Coming Back", by David Miller, published in 1984.

This is not a biography as such, but it documents that phase in Coe's career from the end of the 1981 season through to the aftermath of the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics. It examines the runner's recovery from two years of illness and injury to retain his Olympic 1500 metres title.

What makes this work doubly interesting is that it covers a period when the sport of track and field athletics itself was going through a time of transition, when commercialism was being allowed to rise to the surface, and when inevitable growing pains were being encountered. Indeed, there are several instances here where those commercial pressures seemed somewhat at odds with the long-term interests of certain British athletes.

Coe was dogged by misfortune and setbacks in 1982 and 1983, and his often turbulent relations with the British press are examined here, as he is written off, and parts of Fleet Street revert to their traditional practice of knocking sports stars when they are down. A hardening of Coe's attitude reached its culmination in his famous gestures to the press box after crossing the finishing line in the 1500 metres final in Los Angeles.

This focus on his dealings with the media is just a part of a wider look at the Coe psyche and temperament. He displayed a resilience and a resourcefulness which many were unaware he possessed, in overcoming adversity to regain past glories. By the time of the '84 Olympics, one becomes aware of a serenity, almost, mixed with a confident resolve to succeed.

Another interesting aspect of this book is its close look at the training methods employed by Coe and his father/coach Peter, and how these were modified to suit the special circumstances of 1984. It becomes apparent how consummately he had peaked for his second Olympics, although I am left wondering how much the problems of 1983 might have actually played a role, by dictating the time when the athlete could begin serious running again.

Reading a book published in 1984 allows one to be "wise after the event.".  The author, for example, assumes in his calculations about the post-1984 athletics landscape that the Soviet Union and East Germany would still exist by the centenary Olympics of 1996. Also, Coe's proposed move up to the 5000 metres event, much discussed within these pages, never really materialized.  Also, he did eventually capture that cherished major title over 800 metres (at the 1986 European Championships in Stuttgart).

An enjoyable and interesting read, this one.

The Lost Generation - David Tremayne

As part of my current campaign of re-reading books, I went back to David Tremayne's "The Lost Generation", his 2006 study of the lives of three British racing drivers (Roger Williamson, Tony Brise and Tom Pryce) who died tragically young during the 1970s.

This book has rightly been the subject of considerable acclaim, and it is even one which can be recommended to the non-motorsport fan, such is the poignancy of its stories and the richness of the author's writing, knowledge and understanding.  The beauty of the photographic content also makes it visually appealing. Both the text and the pictures help to evoke the era, as well as the human qualities of the subjects.

It is tempting to say that those were "simpler times", but it is perhaps more accurate to say that they were more heterogeneous, and less regimented. Corporate conformity was but a cloud on a largely unseen horizon.

This book relates a story of hopes dashed, potential unfulfilled and hearts broken. At the same time it beautifully articulates the attributes and characters of the three young men, as well as many of their associates and contemporaries. As much as it is a portrait of Roger, Tony and Tom, it is also a compelling snapshot of an epoch.

For me, one of the strengths of "The Lost Generation" is the care taken by Tremayne to obtain input and contributions from a wide variety of sources, ensuring many perspectives and angles. The structure of the book, which could have been a tricky task to accomplish, helps to make the story flow quite seamlessly.

The chapters dealing with the drivers' rise through the racing ranks remind us of the highly competitive, but informal, environment which prevailed in those days. The depth of the research also means that misconceptions can be corrected. In this reading, for example, Tony Brise's progress through the junior formulae is less meteoric and easy than can sometimes seem the case. There is some interesting speculation as to how his occasional struggles may have shaped his outlook.

Don't expect a dry, exhaustive chronological or statistical account of the races. The focus is really on how they progressed, and on an examination of their personality traits and abilities.  Negatives are not glossed over, and things are balanced but respectful. Heavy use of contemporary press reports and interviews augments the authenticity and scope appreciably.  All of this contributes to a sense that things are being chronicled in a rounded and representative manner.

An impressive dimension of the book is the care taken to analyse the evolution of driving styles, this being especially pointed in the case of Tom Pryce, who was sometimes forced to temper his exuberant approach when faced with cold motor racing logic.  Also, we are given an insight into what changes, if any, were discernible in the three men as they climbed the ladder.

The chapters which address the deaths of the three drivers are moving, powerful but sensitively done. Equally, the author does not shy away from highlighting thorny issues.

Some of the passages, particularly those which look at the personal and family lives of the subjects, are heartbreaking.  There is some persuasive analysis about "what might have been", and how the three compared with others who survived and prospered in the sport.

"The Lost Generation" is an absorbing, honest and superbly realized work.

The War of Wars - Robert Harvey - book review

I have recently begun to revisit some of the books which I first read about four or five years ago. I thought that I would start with "The War of Wars", by Robert Harvey, a one-volume chronicle of the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars. It is subtitled "The Epic Struggle Between Britain and France 1789-1815".

The author details the main episodes which characterized the French Revolution. He documents some of the lunacy and cruelty which took place, as well as the ideals, and the undoubtedly good and progressive consequences of the upheaval. Like many people, I find myself  torn between admiration of the general ideological thrust of the Revolution. and revulsion at the often hysterical, absurd and brutal methods.

Of course, much of the story revolves around the person of Napoleon Bonaparte. Yes, he cherished some lofty ideals, but he was also distinctly opportunistic and cynical. Circumstances such as those which prevailed in the late nineteenth century generally allow people such as he to flourish. Those who are adept at manipulating, but also inspiring, the masses.

The book covers the early stages of the Revolutionary Wars. It is sometimes forgotten just how intense those campaigns were. The British involvement is highlighted, as is the often less than united front presented by the "Allies".

One of the most notable aspects of "The War Of Wars" is Harvey's views of Napoleon. They contrast somewhat with those of some observers, who tend to place Bonaparte on a pedestal, and portray him as some kind of demi-god.

Harvey puts many of Napoleon's successes into perspective, not slavishly ascribing every victory to his consummate brilliance, but pointing out where the contribution of others was decisive or instrumental, and those occasions where he succeeded more by accident than design. There is an interesting account of his rise to prominence, and how it was partly triggered by luck and circumstances.

Sensibly, in view of the scope of the events being tackled, the book is divided into "bite-size" sections, each covering a short phase of the conflicts. The naval campaigns are covered in some depth, not always a feature of works about the Napoleonic epoch. There is a "mini-biography" of Horatio Nelson, and his rise to seniority. He does not necessarily come across as a particularly appealing character. The passages about the sea battles also bring to light the struggles of the day concerning meritocracy and the often flawed mechanisms of promotion and command.

Another uncomfortable truth to emerge is that Britain associated with, and endorsed, some rather unsavoury and disreputable people in those times; deeply reactionary monarchs, for example. Was it still early days in British politics, a few decades before genuine democracy and social reform became durable and entrenched?  Napoleon was no angel, but London attached itself a little too assiduously to people who resented and resisted social progress.

In addition, this book serves to re-balance some common perceptions about the extent of Britain's involvement in the conflicts against France. It is often popularly assumed that Britain did little apart from writing cheques to subsidize its continental allies, and dominating the seas in order to protect its far-flung imperial possessions and its trade. However, the truth is that Britain was constantly active in some shape or form, even if many of the projects either ended in failure or were aborted.

Regarding the events of 1799, the version here seems to imply that Napoleon was in the right place at the right time, cultivated the right friendships, and possessed fewer scruples than the others who might have taken power. He was prepared to employ brute force and intimidation, as well as possessing the necessary brand of ruthlessness and ambition.

We are given some balanced and colourful assessments of the key figures, such as Pitt, Wellington and countless lesser participants in the drama. Harvey does not hesitate to illustrate and point out people's failings as well as their assets and virtues.

Some interesting tangents are dealt with, including the activities in Latin America and the Caribbean, as well as Napoleon's repeated efforts to stir up trouble for the British in India and elsewhere. Also, the Peninsular Wars in Spain and Portugal, and their impact on the broader picture, are given their rightful prominence.

The telling here also tends to jar with the notion that Napoleon was an all-conquering genius, and that his decline or stagnation only commenced with the invasion of Russia. Harvey correctly observes that the other European powers learned valuable lessons from their earlier chastening defeats at the hands of France. They reformed their military command structures and revised their tactical doctrines. As early as 1807, in the descriptions of the battles, one can sense that the "coalition" forces are proving to be sterner and more flexible opposition.

In his conclusions, the author espouses some views which people might find contentious, but he argues persuasively and cogently, for example in his assessment of Napoleon's merits as a military commander, diplomat and politician. He also makes some probing observations about how the Revolution and Napoleon affected France and the wider continent of Europe, and also how Napoleon's need to sustain his power base and position, coupled with his arrogance, ensured that further conflict, rather than peace, would be seen.

Needless to say, because of its scope, this book cannot hope to cover the various individual topics and theatres of war in the same comprehensive detail which would be seen in more specialized volumes, but it is a worthy and lively effort at explaining this momentous and turbulent period, the course and outcome of which continue to divide opinion and prompt vigorous debate to this day.

In Search Of The Lost Chord - The Moody Blues - album review

It is fair to say that some of the albums from the psychedelic era have not aged well. However, one of the musical artefacts from that time which warrants attention is the the 1968 record "In Search Of The Lost Chord" by The Moody Blues. In some ways, it is the quintessential psychedelic album, and one is left marveling at how far these guys had traveled from their early days as a cuddly "British Invasion" combo.

The main reason why it stands out from many of its contemporaries is the way in which it encompasses both the whimsical "childlike" flavour of British psychedelia and the more "philosophical" school of the genre which existed on the West Coast of America. In addition, there is some truly beautiful, haunting and affecting music on the record...

Yes, this album does sound "dated", in its production values and to some degree the subject matter, but these are no bad things to my ears. It is an absorbing listening experience, a feast for the senses. After the opening vignette "Departure" comes "Ride My See-Saw", arguably the most famous song on the record.  With a driving and energetic core, and its grandiose and dramatic production, this number ideally and compactly sets up the fare which follows.

"Dr. Livingstone, I Presume" is a kind of hybrid song, incorporating two persuasions of psychedelic rock, with its cute verses and more "profound" choruses, both of which essentially explore the same themes. Ray Thomas' lead vocal is most endearing and likeable.As the title of the LP implies, much of the material concerns broad issues of spiritual and personal exploration and development.

Next comes "House Of Four Doors". Musically complex, and featuring some great "door" sound effects.  The nice flourishes on mellotron, harpsichord and flute add vital texture, and the chorus vocals are beautiful if decidedly "sixties". This track, and its shorter "reprise" could be said to constitute the heart of "In Search Of The Lost Chord".

"Legend Of A Mind", a paean to Timothy Leary, is also an important building block in making this album so good, and also serves as a reminder of the importance and input of Ray Thomas to the project. He wrote this song, sang the lead vocals, and performed the haunting flute solo.

Another of the album's best known compositions, "Voices In The Sky", although a good tune, feels a touch lightweight in the context of some of the other items. "The Best Way To Travel" sounds more like other British psychedelia which was around in 1967/68.

The piece de resistance of the album in my opinion is the beguiling "Visions Of Paradise". Melodically seductive, and drenched in the luxuriant flute of Ray Thomas, it is a simple but effective song which for me epitomizes the appeal of the record as a whole. The sitar is a pleasant touch too. A song to lose oneself in....

"The Actor" has some similar virtues and qualities to the song which precedes it, if in less "esoteric" clothing. Some expressive and evocative singing by Justin Hayward, and containing the same order of instrumental finesse which pervades much of the album.

After another brief interlude, "The Word", we find the closing number "Om". An Indian-influenced piece, and dare I say it, much more appealing and convincing than similar things released by certain other British groups of the period. The vocal harmonies are sumptuous, and the "exotic" instruments are employed here again with considerable aplomb.

"In Search Of The Lost Chord" is an enjoyable and absorbing album to listen to. Even people who are not particular fans of The Moody Blues or the psychedelic/progressive music of the era should find it enjoyable, because it is a beautiful and coherent artistic statement, possessing real impact and charm.

Chariots Of Fire

A movie which I feel is somewhat forgotten nowadays is Chariots Of Fire, which recounts the exploits of two British athletes, Harold Abrahams and Eric Liddell, at the 1924 Olympic Games in Paris. To be honest, I had largely forgotten it myself until recently, when I dug out my DVD, and gave it another watch.

 

 

The stamp of quality is established in the early scene in which some of the athletes are seen running on a beach. It remains as beautiful and powerful a set of images now as it was over three decades ago, conveying the effort but also the nobility and purity of sport before the advent of professionalism and cynicism. 

 

It is significant, not to say poignant, that this film was released in the early 1980s, just as athletics, and Olympic sport in general, was at the dawn of its transformation to a more commercial, less innocent state. In stressing these "Corinthian" values however, it must also be emphasised that Chariots Of Fire explores these issues cleverly, and in a subtle manner. This is best exemplified by the scene where Abrahams is summoned to dinner with a couple of the "elders" of Cambridge University. He is taken to task for employing a "professional" coach, and for adopting a too single-minded and uncompromising approach. Abrahams' superb rejoinder was to tell his critics that he still adhered to admirable principles of honour and fairness, whilst also striving for absolute excellence. So, even in the 1920s, the dynamic of "traditional" and "modern" was not so clear-cut. It seems to me that the ethos expounded by Harold Abrahams is timeless and pretty hard to fault...

In general, I think that the sub-texts are dealt with in a subtle and adroit way. Eric Liddell's religious inclinations, and their impact on his running, are to a large degree couched in terms of universal human aspirations and concerns. Similarly, the conception of Abrahams as something of an outsider, in part because of his Jewish background, is addressed frankly but deftly, illustrating the social climate and prejudices of those times, and also how the sprinter channelled his frustrations and resentment into proving himself on the track. Some of the most revealing, if less ostentatious, scenes in the picture are the ones where the two athletes attempt to explain their motivations and mind-set to friends and relatives...

The acting is of a high order, but none of those in the major roles stands out to the extent of stealing the show;they are generally of equal ability. This may be one of the hidden secrets of the movie's appeal, allowing the script and the "situation" to stand largely by themselves. To my mind, Ben Cross has never received sufficient credit for his measured performance as Harold Abrahams. It must be added that the presence of Ian Holm and John Gielgud provides some gravitas and depth.

Chariots Of Fire is very English, but there is an unspoken feeling of the contradictions and tensions which had begun to pervade Englishness (and Britishness), in particular the increasing independence of thought of youth, and its reluctance to unquestioningly embrace the values and attitudes which had hitherto predominated - this was not long after World War One, remember. In some ways, it is surprising that this angle is not pushed more openly, although it is discernible just beneath the surface.

Much has been made of the odd liberty which was taken with historical fact, but let's face it, which "biopic" or similar project does not bend the real story to some extent?  It is refreshing to watch a film whose strength is in the writing, the acting and the story, and which does not rely on special effects or pushy moralizing. The memorable music of Vangelis complements the images perfectly, being both dignified and timeless.

To the 21st century audience, the action sequences may seen dated, but it can be argued I think that this film invented many of the clichés which have since become so commonplace! The slow-motion stuff does encapsulate vividly the strain, agony and drama of Olympic competition. Also, those types of shots are used sparingly.

Chariots Of Fire is that comparatively rare phenomenon, a "feel-good" movie which has an underlying thread of quality, and which also has some profound things to say....

 

 

 

 

 

History Lessons

One news item which caught my eye yesterday concerned plans to broaden the scope of the History A-level examination courses, here in the UK. It is being proposed that a greater diversity of topics will be included in the new course, being put forward by one of the exam boards, including an increased emphasis on pre-colonial events in Africa and Asia.

From my own perspective, this can only be a good thing, although I would go further and suggest that some of these additional topics should be included in the syllabus at an earlier stage of secondary education. I studied history in my early years at high school, but found the diet of medieval and Early Modern British history very stodgy and bland. This lack of sparkle and variety prompted me to discard history from the list of subjects which I engaged in at the "business end" of my time in school. Perhaps if I had been taught about Genghis Khan or the Ottoman Empire when I was thirteen or fourteen years old I might have been sufficiently enthused to maintain my interest in history as an academic pursuit.

In a wider sense, anything which encourages young people to broaden their horizons, to become more conscious and inquisitive about other cultures, and become less insular and "Anglocentric" should be welcomed.

Royal Armouries Museum, Leeds

Following my recent visit to the National Football Museum (described here), I thought it worthwhile to provide my thoughts on another, very different, museum, in the north of England. This is the Royal Armouries in Leeds, which I have visited many times.

 

Housed in an impressive building in the canal area on the edge of the city centre, the Royal Armouries is described as the UK's national museum of arms and armour. It contains a huge variety of artefacts and exhibits, emanating from all corners of the globe, and almost all periods of human civilization. Multi-media and interactive elements co-exist with passive items. On my most visit, I spent time watching a video about the Battle of Marston Moor!

 

The emphasis is on arms and armour, but this does not mean that we are dealing with an exclusively "military" museum. There are sections covering hunting, self-defence, heraldry, tournaments and so forth. Perhaps the most striking articles on display are the suits of armour, from many parts of Europe, and the elaborate and ornate uniforms and weapons contained in the "Oriental" area, especially the Japanese ones.

 

In terms of presentation, I think that the tone is set just about right. There is obviously no attempt to glorify war or weapons, but instead a concerted effort to educate the visitor in the development of these implements, and an undercurrent of hope that mankind has progressed, and will continue to do so. Any "message" is not ostentatiously pressed, and I never get the impression that I am being preached to.

 

From a personal point of view, I almost feel that the post-World War Two exhibits are a little incongruous or out-of-place, when set against the rare and fascinating things from the earlier epochs. The heart of the museum for me is represented by the period from the early Modern period to the early twentieth century. The items from those times somehow have the capacity to both enthral and also to induce more sober and uneasy sentiments.

 

During the week, the museum is often visited by school parties, but one never feels that it is overly crowded, or that one's opportunity to appreciate its treasures is impaired.  If time is taken, this will be a rewarding and enjoyable day out.

 

 

 

Sink The Bismarck (movie)

War films were, not unnaturally, a staple of the output of the British movie industry in the 1950s and 1960s. Of these, one of the most affecting for me is Sink The Bismarck!, released in 1960, and starring Kenneth More. It tells the tale of the Royal Navy's campaign to sink the infamous German battleship. More plays the role of Captain Shepard, chief of operations at the Admiralty, who is tasked with co-ordinating the effort to find and eliminate the dangerous vessel.

 

 

British war pictures of this period tended to be distinctly "patriotic" in nature.  Sink The Bismarck! for me differs in largely suppressing these impulses, concentrating instead on the human aspects. It manages to encapsulate the terror of modern war, and Britain's still precarious position circa 1941.

Much of the movie is located in the subterranean operations room at the Admiralty, thus engendering a feeling of claustrophobia and tension. The sunlight of London is only seen at the beginning and the end of the picture. The menace instilled by, and embodied in, the Bismarck is palpable. This is also one of those films which just had to be made in black and white, as the monochrome accentuates the starkness of the scenario, and the austerity of wartime England.

There are some action sequences at sea, but these are largely subordinated to a portrayal of the dangers and cruelty of battle in the North Atlantic, and indeed war in general. Here this is generally undertaken succinctly and unostentatiously.

The film is held together by the fine performance of Kenneth More. The Shepard character is taciturn and disciplinarian, but also highly conscientious and capable. We see his more human side, when his son, a Navy pilot, briefly goes missing in action.

I feel that several topics are presented and highlighted by Sink The Bismarck!. Firstly, the apparent helplessness of individual human beings, whatever their level of experience, diligence and ability, in the face of a determined and well-equipped enemy, and in the face of superior technology. The tension between conventional scruples and the utter ruthlessness that is sadly sometimes required in desperate situations. The coolness and clarity of judgement required to deal with onerous responsibilities, and to make difficult, often fatal, decisions when resources are finite and stretched.

The depiction of the British naval command here is admirable, and largely eschews popular stereotypes. They were by and large able, stoical and humane people, often let down by the folly or neglect of their political masters, or by caprices outside their own control. Happily, this movie does
not resort to the tired and simplistic "lions led by donkeys" line....

One slightly jarring note is struck by the somewhat corny dialogue between the German fleet commander and his immediate subordinate, although it does not spoil the overall effect.

The ending is not sugar-coated or triumphalist, but low-key and quite matter-of-fact. In keeping with the underlying tone of the movie, in fact....

National Football Museum

During a recent trip to Manchester, I took the opportunity to visit the National Football Museum, situated in the centre of the city.

 

I did not honestly know what to expect, but overall I would give the experience a qualified thumbs up. I had no real idea what to expect, and I am traditionally wary of museums of this nature, as they tend to be predictable and/or perfunctory. In all honesty, my first few minutes in the museum were a touch underwhelming, as it all seemed a little low-key. It is only when one climbs the stairs to the upper levels that things really come alive.

 

The challenge for museums like this one is to strike a balance, and to cater for all ages and levels of interest, without becoming either superficial or excessively high-brow. In this respect, I think that the people in Manchester have pitched things just about correctly. There is interactive stuff aplenty to keeps the kids interested, but also enough to draw in the footballing "anorak".

 

I was impressed and surprised by the variety and quality of the memorabilia and other material on display, from trophies and old footballs to programmes and shirts, and even football-orientated artworks. Football at all levels, and in all its shades, is covered, and there is commendable emphasis on the grassroots. the lower leagues and the formative years of the professional game. There is much stress, consciously or otherwise, on how much the game has changed over the decades, but one is also reminded that essentially many things about football have hardly changed at all, particularly the passion of the spectators and the enduring tactical fascination.

As someone who has lately become rather jaded with the game, this visit re-ignited my interest in the vibrancy of football culture. If one moderates one's expectations, a visit to the National Football Museum is very worthwhile for anyone passing through Manchester, with a little time to spare.