It has occurred to me that I haven't blogged much recently about modern Formula 1. Time to put that right, as we digest this morning's Korean Grand Prix.
In the end it was quite a comfortable win for Sebastian Vettel, even if this was not really reflected in the distance by which he triumphed. Following the early stages, Lewis Hamilton and others could never quite sustain a meaningful and concerted challenge.
The race tightened up as a competitive spectacle from around half-distance onwards, with the main entertainment being provided by Hamilton and Mark Webber. Much has been said and written about the Englishman's current mindset, but his racing instincts were still very much in evidence during his wheel to wheel dicing with the Red Bull driver. Throughout the race, one got the impression that he was trying very hard.
In the context of the Hamilton/Webber tussle, the BBC's David Coulthard made reference to the legendary Villeneuve/Arnoux battle at the French Grand Prix in 1979. A slight exaggeration, I thought, although it was nice to have events at Dijon mentioned!
At several points in the race, Fernando Alonso's driving seemed to be a touch ragged and untidy, perhaps indicating frustration or impatience. This was also alluded to in the BBC TV commentary, with the inference that he is not altogether happy with Ferrari's progress.
Alonso was also heard to say "I give up" to his engineer late in the race. The Spaniard has subsequently clarified the remark, insisting that motivation is not a problem, and I prefer to reserve judgement on these matters. It is interesting to note, however, that questions marks are being raised about the state of mind of two of F1's most talented drivers, Hamilton and Alonso. An interesting sub-plot in the remaining races?
A few people have remarked how phlegmatic Michael Schumacher seemed to be in the aftermath of his collision with Vitaly Petrov, for which the Russian was clearly at fault. In Michael's heyday, he would certainly have been more vocal, but today I could not even detect any cryptic expression of anger in his remarks. Maybe he is mellowing with age?
Staying with matters Mercedes, Nico Rosberg had one of his strongest races for a while, before fading slightly. It is difficult to gauge Rosberg's current standing because of the reservations being expressed about Schumacher. I hope that he does not begin to go stale. F1 history is full of cases of talented drivers reaching a plateau, and being overtaken in the pecking order by newer, fresher candidates.
Talking of "comingmen", Jaime Alguersuari drove a combative and composed race for STR. It is possible that one or more of the top seats could become vacant in the next 18 months or so, and his name is sure to be mentioned if he continues his upward curve.
Even though the two world titles have been decided, there is still plenty to mull over!
Sunday, 16 October 2011
Thursday, 13 October 2011
The Day Of The Jackal (film)
Quite often, movie adaptations of novels turn out to be a disappointment, particularly if one has already read, and become fond of, the book. I find that the celluloid recreation usually fails to summon up the same mental images which seep from the pages into the mind.
Happily, The Day of The Jackal, the 1973 film, does full justice to Frederick Forsyth's novel, and is a worthy and gripping piece of work in its own right. It is somewhat surprising to read that it was not a massive success at the box office.
The storyline centres on a plot to assassinate President de Gaulle of France, and the hiring of a contract killer to accomplish this task. The then largely unknown Edward Fox played the part of the would-be assassin, the Jackal.
From the outset, the "Jackal" character fascinates. A dapper and cultured English gentleman, but also a clinical, ruthless and cold-blooded killer. The charm and patter are constantly employed as a means to an end, and emotion is really seen as an impediment....
The bulk of the film is reserved for a portrayal of the parallel campaigns of the Jackal and the French police, the prospective assassin making his preparations, and the authorities striving to foil the plot. Cleverly, we are constantly switched between the two, and are able to contrast the methodical and measured approach of the Jackal with the desperation and improvisation of the security services, who are always a step or two behind.
Probably the most absorbing sequences in the movie are those during which the Jackal procures weapons and false documentation, emphasising the elaborate precautions essential for operations of such gravity. Other crime stories tend to gloss over such things, but in this case the attention to detail adds appreciably to the sense of authenticity. The "water melon" scene is particularly chilling...
The film lasts nearly two and a half hours, but this amount of time is necessary to cram in the bewildering amount of detail, and also for the tension to build remorselessly. The Jackal exhibits his single-minded nature, by eliminating several people who either threatened to compromise his plans, or whose presence represented a hindrance. In the end, of course, he is narrowly thwarted.
A very pleasing 1960s-meets-1970s aesthetic permeates The Day of The Jackal, in particular the fashions and the tasteful motor vehicles on view! A cosmopolitan feel also prevails, with the action moving between London, France and Italy. There are some fine performances in the more minor roles, including a young Derek Jacobi, adding to the depth of quality.
This is probably one of the better movies of its type. My advice would be to read the novel first, and then watch the film!
Happily, The Day of The Jackal, the 1973 film, does full justice to Frederick Forsyth's novel, and is a worthy and gripping piece of work in its own right. It is somewhat surprising to read that it was not a massive success at the box office.
The storyline centres on a plot to assassinate President de Gaulle of France, and the hiring of a contract killer to accomplish this task. The then largely unknown Edward Fox played the part of the would-be assassin, the Jackal.
From the outset, the "Jackal" character fascinates. A dapper and cultured English gentleman, but also a clinical, ruthless and cold-blooded killer. The charm and patter are constantly employed as a means to an end, and emotion is really seen as an impediment....
The bulk of the film is reserved for a portrayal of the parallel campaigns of the Jackal and the French police, the prospective assassin making his preparations, and the authorities striving to foil the plot. Cleverly, we are constantly switched between the two, and are able to contrast the methodical and measured approach of the Jackal with the desperation and improvisation of the security services, who are always a step or two behind.
Probably the most absorbing sequences in the movie are those during which the Jackal procures weapons and false documentation, emphasising the elaborate precautions essential for operations of such gravity. Other crime stories tend to gloss over such things, but in this case the attention to detail adds appreciably to the sense of authenticity. The "water melon" scene is particularly chilling...
The film lasts nearly two and a half hours, but this amount of time is necessary to cram in the bewildering amount of detail, and also for the tension to build remorselessly. The Jackal exhibits his single-minded nature, by eliminating several people who either threatened to compromise his plans, or whose presence represented a hindrance. In the end, of course, he is narrowly thwarted.
A very pleasing 1960s-meets-1970s aesthetic permeates The Day of The Jackal, in particular the fashions and the tasteful motor vehicles on view! A cosmopolitan feel also prevails, with the action moving between London, France and Italy. There are some fine performances in the more minor roles, including a young Derek Jacobi, adding to the depth of quality.
This is probably one of the better movies of its type. My advice would be to read the novel first, and then watch the film!
Wednesday, 12 October 2011
Senna - DVD review
For various reasons, and much to my chagrin, I did not get around to seeing Senna at the time of its release in the cinemas. However this documentary film has now been released on DVD, and these are my thoughts.
I approached the viewing with mild trepidation, having heard and read the praise lavished on the movie since it came out, and worried whether the reality would live up to the hype. Also, I had seen several other Senna-related documentaries over the years, and wondered if this one would just re-hash and repackage the material from previous efforts.
My concerns, I am happy to report, were largely misplaced. I found Senna to be a beautifully produced film, meticulously researched and well-balanced.
I would not describe it as a definitive documentary about Senna's racing career. Little effort is made to examine the technical aspects of racing, and some portions of Ayrton's exploits are afforded scant coverage. Rather, it is primarily a human story, possibly aimed at the layman or casual fan rather than the racing "anorak". Having said that, there is plenty here for any Formula 1 enthusiast to relish.
Particularly impressive is the amount of rare archive material which has been uncovered for this film. It was not just a case of showing the same old familiar footage. Some of the material from the Brazilian media was particularly revealing.
Thankfully, the producers resisted the temptation to employ "talking heads", in the form of journalists and racing people, to tell much of the story. Any such analysis, supplied by a select few observers, was in audio form only, accompanied by pictures, and was used largely to add context to the narrative. These contributions, together with the striking footage, and the words of Senna himself, served to drive things forward admirably.
Instead of being a dry, chronological account of Senna's achievements in the sport, the film concentrates on several of the pivotal periods and races in his time in F1. From Monaco in 1988, which many regard as a watershed, because of his otherworldly qualifying performance and unforced error whilst leading the race, to the Japanese Grand Prix of the same year, when he clinched his first title, and other episodes.
Naturally, a sizeable proportion of the movie is taken up by the tumultuous years of the Senna/Prost rivalry, from the relatively cordial, but still tense, days of 1988, to the outright animosity of 1989/90. Although Senna's side of the story is told, the film is quite even-handed and non-partisan.
Perhaps the passing of time has enabled some observers to be more dispassionate and candid about the events of that era, and this seems to emerge in the film. The sourcing of commentaries from various countries (UK, Brazil, USA etc) also helps to instill a sense of balance.
Some of the most illuminating passages of the film are the clips from drivers' briefings, and Senna's interactions with his fellow drivers and officialdom. The tension evident in those meetings is palpable, particularly in Japan in 1990. Senna's increasing concern about safety matters is also clear, from 1990 onwards.
I would not go so far as to say that this is a "warts and all" documentary, but neither is it a deferential whitewash. For example, the infamous interview with Jackie Stewart is given an airing, as are the criticisms by the likes of Alain Prost.
The sections dealing with racing are interspersed with home and family footage, and some effort is made to assess Senna's social impact in his home country. I think the film-makers pitched this side of things just about right.
In addressing the traumatic events of Imola in 1994, the film does not try to be wise after the event, and allows the pictures and words to tell the sad story. The aftermath of Imola is dealt with beautifully;moving but not maudlin.
As mentioned before, the film does not attempt to be an exhaustive chronicle, but I was surprised that scant mention was made of Senna's relationship with Gerhard Berger, and that Ayrton's exploits in the junior formulae, and especially his Formula 3 rivalry with Martin Brundle, were largely ignored. Admittedly, these are minor complaints, in view of the time constraints.
One very nice touch was seen at the end of the film, when the story came full circle, and we returned to Senna's karting days, before politics, money and pressure held sway.
For me, Senna was definitely worth the wait. An endearing and compelling portrait of a complex man and his remarkable, if tragically short, life.
I approached the viewing with mild trepidation, having heard and read the praise lavished on the movie since it came out, and worried whether the reality would live up to the hype. Also, I had seen several other Senna-related documentaries over the years, and wondered if this one would just re-hash and repackage the material from previous efforts.
My concerns, I am happy to report, were largely misplaced. I found Senna to be a beautifully produced film, meticulously researched and well-balanced.
I would not describe it as a definitive documentary about Senna's racing career. Little effort is made to examine the technical aspects of racing, and some portions of Ayrton's exploits are afforded scant coverage. Rather, it is primarily a human story, possibly aimed at the layman or casual fan rather than the racing "anorak". Having said that, there is plenty here for any Formula 1 enthusiast to relish.
Particularly impressive is the amount of rare archive material which has been uncovered for this film. It was not just a case of showing the same old familiar footage. Some of the material from the Brazilian media was particularly revealing.
Thankfully, the producers resisted the temptation to employ "talking heads", in the form of journalists and racing people, to tell much of the story. Any such analysis, supplied by a select few observers, was in audio form only, accompanied by pictures, and was used largely to add context to the narrative. These contributions, together with the striking footage, and the words of Senna himself, served to drive things forward admirably.
Instead of being a dry, chronological account of Senna's achievements in the sport, the film concentrates on several of the pivotal periods and races in his time in F1. From Monaco in 1988, which many regard as a watershed, because of his otherworldly qualifying performance and unforced error whilst leading the race, to the Japanese Grand Prix of the same year, when he clinched his first title, and other episodes.
Naturally, a sizeable proportion of the movie is taken up by the tumultuous years of the Senna/Prost rivalry, from the relatively cordial, but still tense, days of 1988, to the outright animosity of 1989/90. Although Senna's side of the story is told, the film is quite even-handed and non-partisan.
Perhaps the passing of time has enabled some observers to be more dispassionate and candid about the events of that era, and this seems to emerge in the film. The sourcing of commentaries from various countries (UK, Brazil, USA etc) also helps to instill a sense of balance.
Some of the most illuminating passages of the film are the clips from drivers' briefings, and Senna's interactions with his fellow drivers and officialdom. The tension evident in those meetings is palpable, particularly in Japan in 1990. Senna's increasing concern about safety matters is also clear, from 1990 onwards.
I would not go so far as to say that this is a "warts and all" documentary, but neither is it a deferential whitewash. For example, the infamous interview with Jackie Stewart is given an airing, as are the criticisms by the likes of Alain Prost.
The sections dealing with racing are interspersed with home and family footage, and some effort is made to assess Senna's social impact in his home country. I think the film-makers pitched this side of things just about right.
In addressing the traumatic events of Imola in 1994, the film does not try to be wise after the event, and allows the pictures and words to tell the sad story. The aftermath of Imola is dealt with beautifully;moving but not maudlin.
As mentioned before, the film does not attempt to be an exhaustive chronicle, but I was surprised that scant mention was made of Senna's relationship with Gerhard Berger, and that Ayrton's exploits in the junior formulae, and especially his Formula 3 rivalry with Martin Brundle, were largely ignored. Admittedly, these are minor complaints, in view of the time constraints.
One very nice touch was seen at the end of the film, when the story came full circle, and we returned to Senna's karting days, before politics, money and pressure held sway.
For me, Senna was definitely worth the wait. An endearing and compelling portrait of a complex man and his remarkable, if tragically short, life.
Sunday, 9 October 2011
Jacky Ickx
Often our sporting heroes are not necessarily the ones who are statistically the most accomplished, or those who have bequeathed the most substantial legacy for the historians to mull over.
Rather, it is common for us to revere or respect those who have endeared themselves to us in other ways, by virtue of their charisma, sportsmanship, natural talent or originality. Such is the case with one of my heroes, the Belgian racing driver Jacky Ickx.
A cultured and debonair figure, Ickx was something of a prodigy in motorsport, cutting his teeth on motorcycles and in saloons, before embarking on the path which would make him arguably the greatest sportscar driver of all time.
Soon enough, Ickx made his mark on single-seater racing, becoming the European Formula 2 champion in 1967, and impressing everyone with his first outings in Grand Prix racing.
From 1968 to 1972 Ickx was without doubt in the top three of Formula 1 drivers, twice finishing runner-up in the title race. His career in the premier rank began to ebb in 1973, with Ferrari in the toils, although he reaffirmed his essential class with a podium finish in a one-off drive for McLaren at the Nurburgring.
A move to Lotus for 1974 seemed to augur well on paper at least, but it was not a happy relationship, and before 1975 was out Jacky had departed from the team. His subsequent F1 career was a spasmodic affair, culminating in his swansong with Ligier in 1979. The ground-effect cars did not seem to suit his driving style.
Although Ickx's Formula 1 prospects faded as the 1970s progressed, he continued to be supremely competitive in sportscar racing, and he remained so until his retirement from racing in the mid-1980s. By that time he had recorded six wins in the 24 hours of Le Mans.
With wins also in Can-Am and at Bathurst, as well as in rally-raids, Ickx must be counted as one of the great all-rounders. His economical and elegant driving style appeared to be particularly well suited to the classic "driver's circuits", and he was especially impressive on the Nurburgring Nordschleife, in both single-seaters and prototypes.
His prowess on the classic circuits is also consistent with Ickx's image as a traditionalist, who was ambivalent about some of the driver safety campaigns, and bemoaned the demise or emasculation of many of the historic venues.
In image and outlook, Ickx was something of a throwback to earlier days.
Saturday, 8 October 2011
Space 1999
One of the television programmes which almost totally passed me by during my childhood was Space 1999, the sci-fi series produced by Gerry and Sylvia Anderson of Thunderbirds fame.
Recently I have been watching some of the episodes of Space 1999. The premise of the series is that the inhabitants of Moonbase Alpha are wandering the universe, after the Moon is unexpectedly diverted from its normal orbit around the Earth.
The similarities with Star Trek are undeniable, but Space 1999 is much darker in tone than I had previously realised, tackling weightier philosophical themes than many other programmes of its genre.
Considering that the series was made in the mid-1970s, the visuals and special effects are admirable. The futuristic design and layout of Moonbase Alpha are particularly clever and impressive.
Looking back, both the aesthetic and writing owe something to the Age of Aquarius. Having said that, there is very little in the way of levity, in what was ostensibly a show made for children and teenagers.
No doubt scientifically-minded people will pick holes in the accuracy and plausibility of some of the events in Space 1999. The creators and writers perhaps over-estimated how much space travel, and technology generally, would advance by the end of the 20th century!
Martin Landau delivers a powerful performance as Commander Koenig, whilst I would imagine that Barbara Bain captivated many young male viewers in her role as Dr. Russell!
I now consider myself a Space 1999 fan!
Recently I have been watching some of the episodes of Space 1999. The premise of the series is that the inhabitants of Moonbase Alpha are wandering the universe, after the Moon is unexpectedly diverted from its normal orbit around the Earth.
The similarities with Star Trek are undeniable, but Space 1999 is much darker in tone than I had previously realised, tackling weightier philosophical themes than many other programmes of its genre.
Considering that the series was made in the mid-1970s, the visuals and special effects are admirable. The futuristic design and layout of Moonbase Alpha are particularly clever and impressive.
Looking back, both the aesthetic and writing owe something to the Age of Aquarius. Having said that, there is very little in the way of levity, in what was ostensibly a show made for children and teenagers.
No doubt scientifically-minded people will pick holes in the accuracy and plausibility of some of the events in Space 1999. The creators and writers perhaps over-estimated how much space travel, and technology generally, would advance by the end of the 20th century!
Martin Landau delivers a powerful performance as Commander Koenig, whilst I would imagine that Barbara Bain captivated many young male viewers in her role as Dr. Russell!
I now consider myself a Space 1999 fan!
Thursday, 6 October 2011
1974 World Cup Final
I recently watched a full video of the 1974 World Cup final, which pitted West Germany against the Netherlands. This viewing prompted a number of thoughts and observations about football, both then and now.
The final offered several fascinating sub-plots. The teams were captained by the imperious Franz Beckenbauer and the mercurial Johan Cruyff, the two most prominent footballers on the planet, following Pele's retirement. The countries offered slightly differing styles of play, pitting Holland's pure "Total Football" philosophy against the more pragmatic and vigorous German approach. The Dutch had sailed impressively through the tournament, becoming the darlings of neutrals everywhere, while the Germans had stuttered, failing to arrive at a settled line-up until the verge of the final.
The periphery of the final had little in common with today's bland, corporate and stage-managed affairs. Quaint bands in traditional national dress played the music, and the advertisement hoardings were a veritable mish-mash of brands, many of them relatively humble companies. None of your multi-national "official partners" here, thankyou very much!
Although the preliminaries were much more amateurish and informal than those of today, there was also the sense that the final was "an event" in its own right, and not just a homogenized cog in a larger wheel. I also noticed that Ruud Krol was sporting a rather fetching beaded necklace, which would probably earn him a suspension nowadays! Photographers seemed to freely roam the environs of the playing surface with impunity. However did we cope before today's obsessive regimentation and over-regulation? And the referee and his linesmen were clad in mere black and white, perish the thought!
So what of the match itself? Well, my overall impression was that the game had less of the sustained pace of today. There was slightly more space for players to perform in, and this was heightened by the lower fitness and endurance levels. Football as a spectacle benefitted from these factors, as technical flair, athleticism and tactical flexibility never overlapped more agreeably than in the early to mid 1970s. This intoxicating mix made the 1974 World Cup my favourite of all time. The 1970 tournament may have been more outwardly dazzling, but much of its excitement derived from the comical defending of some teams, and the effects of the heat and altitude of Mexico. Four years later, the overall quality was greater, aided by the advent of "Total Football" and its imitators.
Some words also about the refereeing of Englishman Jack Taylor;authoritative but unfussy, and not hamstrung by edicts and directives from on high. Matters were left to the individual interpretation of the man in the middle, and common sense was generally the guiding principle.
After the very early Dutch penalty gave them a 1-0 lead, the match became an absorbing chess match, with the men in orange seeking in vain to out-psych and demoralise their opponents. During this phase, the solidity exemplified by Beckenbauer steadied the Germans, and they had an outlet in the form of Paul Breitner's occasional surges forward.
These days we perpetually decry the cheating and gamesmanship in the modern game, but the first half in Munich contains a couple of reminders that this is by no means a purely modern phenomenon. Firstly, there was a faintly ridiculous incident, when van Hanegem lightly pushed Gerd Muller behind the referee's back, and the stocky little striker went to ground as if he had been hit by a truck. Then, in the incident which led to West Germany's equalising penalty, Bernd Holzenbein went down very easily, with little obvious contact from any Dutch defenders. Such things were not as prevalent or endemic as in today's game, but they were there all the same....
After the Breitner penalty, West Germany sensed the fragility of the Dutch team, and stepped up the pressure. Their runs became more purposeful and incisive, with Hoeness and Grabowski making much of the running. The left foot of Wolfgang Overath also became more potent a force.
By contrast, the Netherlands seemed to lose focus and cohesion, and there was a lack of inspiration and leadership within their ranks, with few players prepared to step up and assume responsibility.
The second, and decisive, German goal, showed the true value of Gerd Muller. The forward, with his lack of versatility and technical limitations, may not have conformed to the strictures of Total Football, but his predatory instincts were indispensable.
During the final, Franz Beckenbauer did not perform the expansive sweeper role for which he had become renowned. Instead, he was quietly effective in a predominantly defensive capacity, making several timely interventions and exuding calm and authority.
On the other hand, Johan Cruyff failed to fully impose himself on proceedings, and was kept well under control by Berti Vogts, and others. His verbal altercation with the referee after the half-time whistle summed up his frustrations.
Throughout the second period, the West German rearguard remained resolute in the face of ceaseless, and increasingly desperate, Dutch pressure. Helmut Schoen's men played as a genuine team, rather than a collection of talented individuals. Attacking and defending as a team, with the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. Several players shunned individual glory, and applied themselves to the team objective. Much selfless running was evident.
I have often theorised that Total Football was Holland's undoing in the final itself. When the chips were down, they seemed to lack the will to adopt a more rigid or belligerent approach.
The 1974 World Cup took place just before my childhood obsession with football was sparked. Although the style of football purveyed by the tournament's better teams was revolutionary and fresh, there was also a sense that the "golden era" of the game was coming to an end. Some of the players who starred in the final had already reached or passed their peak, and their replacements were not of the same standard. Possibly in part due to the Dutch failure to capture the ultimate prize, that happy balance between flair, tactical innovation and physicality was disturbed, to the game's overall detriment.
The final in Munich may not have been a wildly exciting spectacle per se, but as a document of what football was, and perhaps never will be again, it is compelling viewing.
Final score: West Germany 2 Netherlands 1
The final offered several fascinating sub-plots. The teams were captained by the imperious Franz Beckenbauer and the mercurial Johan Cruyff, the two most prominent footballers on the planet, following Pele's retirement. The countries offered slightly differing styles of play, pitting Holland's pure "Total Football" philosophy against the more pragmatic and vigorous German approach. The Dutch had sailed impressively through the tournament, becoming the darlings of neutrals everywhere, while the Germans had stuttered, failing to arrive at a settled line-up until the verge of the final.
The periphery of the final had little in common with today's bland, corporate and stage-managed affairs. Quaint bands in traditional national dress played the music, and the advertisement hoardings were a veritable mish-mash of brands, many of them relatively humble companies. None of your multi-national "official partners" here, thankyou very much!
Although the preliminaries were much more amateurish and informal than those of today, there was also the sense that the final was "an event" in its own right, and not just a homogenized cog in a larger wheel. I also noticed that Ruud Krol was sporting a rather fetching beaded necklace, which would probably earn him a suspension nowadays! Photographers seemed to freely roam the environs of the playing surface with impunity. However did we cope before today's obsessive regimentation and over-regulation? And the referee and his linesmen were clad in mere black and white, perish the thought!
So what of the match itself? Well, my overall impression was that the game had less of the sustained pace of today. There was slightly more space for players to perform in, and this was heightened by the lower fitness and endurance levels. Football as a spectacle benefitted from these factors, as technical flair, athleticism and tactical flexibility never overlapped more agreeably than in the early to mid 1970s. This intoxicating mix made the 1974 World Cup my favourite of all time. The 1970 tournament may have been more outwardly dazzling, but much of its excitement derived from the comical defending of some teams, and the effects of the heat and altitude of Mexico. Four years later, the overall quality was greater, aided by the advent of "Total Football" and its imitators.
Some words also about the refereeing of Englishman Jack Taylor;authoritative but unfussy, and not hamstrung by edicts and directives from on high. Matters were left to the individual interpretation of the man in the middle, and common sense was generally the guiding principle.
After the very early Dutch penalty gave them a 1-0 lead, the match became an absorbing chess match, with the men in orange seeking in vain to out-psych and demoralise their opponents. During this phase, the solidity exemplified by Beckenbauer steadied the Germans, and they had an outlet in the form of Paul Breitner's occasional surges forward.
These days we perpetually decry the cheating and gamesmanship in the modern game, but the first half in Munich contains a couple of reminders that this is by no means a purely modern phenomenon. Firstly, there was a faintly ridiculous incident, when van Hanegem lightly pushed Gerd Muller behind the referee's back, and the stocky little striker went to ground as if he had been hit by a truck. Then, in the incident which led to West Germany's equalising penalty, Bernd Holzenbein went down very easily, with little obvious contact from any Dutch defenders. Such things were not as prevalent or endemic as in today's game, but they were there all the same....
After the Breitner penalty, West Germany sensed the fragility of the Dutch team, and stepped up the pressure. Their runs became more purposeful and incisive, with Hoeness and Grabowski making much of the running. The left foot of Wolfgang Overath also became more potent a force.
By contrast, the Netherlands seemed to lose focus and cohesion, and there was a lack of inspiration and leadership within their ranks, with few players prepared to step up and assume responsibility.
The second, and decisive, German goal, showed the true value of Gerd Muller. The forward, with his lack of versatility and technical limitations, may not have conformed to the strictures of Total Football, but his predatory instincts were indispensable.
During the final, Franz Beckenbauer did not perform the expansive sweeper role for which he had become renowned. Instead, he was quietly effective in a predominantly defensive capacity, making several timely interventions and exuding calm and authority.
On the other hand, Johan Cruyff failed to fully impose himself on proceedings, and was kept well under control by Berti Vogts, and others. His verbal altercation with the referee after the half-time whistle summed up his frustrations.
Throughout the second period, the West German rearguard remained resolute in the face of ceaseless, and increasingly desperate, Dutch pressure. Helmut Schoen's men played as a genuine team, rather than a collection of talented individuals. Attacking and defending as a team, with the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. Several players shunned individual glory, and applied themselves to the team objective. Much selfless running was evident.
I have often theorised that Total Football was Holland's undoing in the final itself. When the chips were down, they seemed to lack the will to adopt a more rigid or belligerent approach.
The 1974 World Cup took place just before my childhood obsession with football was sparked. Although the style of football purveyed by the tournament's better teams was revolutionary and fresh, there was also a sense that the "golden era" of the game was coming to an end. Some of the players who starred in the final had already reached or passed their peak, and their replacements were not of the same standard. Possibly in part due to the Dutch failure to capture the ultimate prize, that happy balance between flair, tactical innovation and physicality was disturbed, to the game's overall detriment.
The final in Munich may not have been a wildly exciting spectacle per se, but as a document of what football was, and perhaps never will be again, it is compelling viewing.
Final score: West Germany 2 Netherlands 1
Sunday, 2 October 2011
David Croft 1922-2011
Many tributes have rightly been paid to the comedy writer David Croft, who died recently at the age of 89.
Some of the shows which Croft co-wrote formed part of the fabric of my upbringing during the 1970s, particularly Dad's Army, Are You Being Served? and It Ain't Half Hot Mum.
One of the most powerful and effecting pieces of his work was Branded, an episode from the third series of Dad's Army. During this episode, Private Godfrey discloses to his superiors that he wishes to leave the platoon, and that he was a conscientious objector during World War One.
The military background of Croft and co-writer Jimmy Perry is very evident in the attention to detail in the script. They managed to deal with this emotive theme very sensitively within the context of a comedy programme.
The writers contrast the gung-ho attitude of Captain Mainwaring and others with the principled and humane stand taken by Godfrey, but also seek to stress that this was all taking place in the white-heat of a major war. People were expected to make terrible and difficult choices at that time.
From a modern and purely objective perspective, Godfrey's integrity and honesty are more endearing than Mainwaring's bluster. When it is revealed that Godfrey won the Military Medal for his work as a medical orderly in The Great War, his compassion and humility are shown once again. We should not judge people by narrow criteria.
In short, Branded has the ability to cause one to laugh, cry and think deeply, all within its thirty minute duration. Quite an achievement....
Some of the shows which Croft co-wrote formed part of the fabric of my upbringing during the 1970s, particularly Dad's Army, Are You Being Served? and It Ain't Half Hot Mum.
One of the most powerful and effecting pieces of his work was Branded, an episode from the third series of Dad's Army. During this episode, Private Godfrey discloses to his superiors that he wishes to leave the platoon, and that he was a conscientious objector during World War One.
The military background of Croft and co-writer Jimmy Perry is very evident in the attention to detail in the script. They managed to deal with this emotive theme very sensitively within the context of a comedy programme.
The writers contrast the gung-ho attitude of Captain Mainwaring and others with the principled and humane stand taken by Godfrey, but also seek to stress that this was all taking place in the white-heat of a major war. People were expected to make terrible and difficult choices at that time.
From a modern and purely objective perspective, Godfrey's integrity and honesty are more endearing than Mainwaring's bluster. When it is revealed that Godfrey won the Military Medal for his work as a medical orderly in The Great War, his compassion and humility are shown once again. We should not judge people by narrow criteria.
In short, Branded has the ability to cause one to laugh, cry and think deeply, all within its thirty minute duration. Quite an achievement....
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