Not for the under-forties?

OLD(ISH) PEOPLE FILMS

There seems to be a current fad for major feature films with older - sixties, seventies, eighties - actors in the lead roles. Is this something I've just noticed because I'm not so far of being that age myself (and early retirement brings it closer in some ways)? Or is it genuinely the case that the cult of youth is less predominant than it was so recently? It may be that there is a generation of actors who became big stars back in the (rather than their) sixties and seventies who are still active, still box office draws, and remain impressive screen presences. Whilst their contemporaries amongst the general public have the disposable income and time to spend on visits to the cinema. Is this the revenge of the Baby Boomers? (Although several of these big names pre-date even that generation.)

We've been to see two of these oldie productions recently, with a third lined up in a few weeks time. The former both fall into the 'heart warming' and 'life affirming' categories, although neither completely overindulges in schmaltz. The third looks as if there may be a harder edged presence, but the ultimate redemption will remain much as it was for the others. All three flirt with death, it's imminence and inevitability, and the sheer bloody nuisance of a gradually failing body (and mind). I wonder what younger audiences make of them?

The first of the trio was The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (BEMH), whilst today's was Quartet. Both boast a superstar cast, one has an established, big box office director whilst the other is guided by a man recognised as one of the greatest actors of his time, an icon of the sixties cultural wave, making his directorial debut. All three are very, very British, despite Dustin Hoffman being the director of Quartet. The BEMH has been successful over in the USA, but it's too early to say if either of the others will make it big over there. Actors who may be huge names here in the UK are sometimes relatively unknown over there.

Loosely based on a novel called These Foolish Things, The BEMH is based around a group of ex-pat Brits (well, English) forced, ostensibly, by penury to live out their retirements in India. Whatever flaws it may have, the film is an improvement on the book which is not terribly well written and features different sub-plots. Whoever spotted it's potential as a blockbuster movie did well to dig beneath the surface and the revised storyline is an improvement - generally a rare achievement. In particular the tale of Graham, played by Tom Wilkinson, lifts the overall story above the banal. In the book Graham is a minor background character of little significance. The film gives him a more pivotal role when it is revealed he has returned to India in the hope of meeting up with the lover he knew briefly in his youth. That this is a gay relationship adds an extra level of edge and poignancy. The other standout performance comes from the great Judi Dench, as memorable here as in almost everything she appears in.

Underlying the plot of BEMH is the (predictable) message that life is there to be lived and it's never too late to start anew, undertake fresh experiences and find love. It's feelgood, but not in the sickly Hollywood sense. For older audiences it's good to be reminded that life is far from over, even if there are more than enough aches and pains to handle. Quartet aims at the same target, but is much funnier along the way (not that BEMH lacks for laughs). How could it be otherwise with Billy Connolly in the line-up? I've read that many of the biggest laughs resulted from his ad libs. There is also a great over-the-top performance from Michael Gambon and an equally understated role for Manuel. Sorry, Andrew Sachs. Despite some lovely stuff from Maggie Smith and Pauline Collins it is Tom Courtenay that dominates the screen and gives what must be one of his best ever performances.

There is animosity, romance, frailty and bombast. The young who do appear are respectful of their elders in the main, so maybe not so realistic (?), but these oldies are all once-upon-a-time musicians so at least they have solid achievements behind them which have earned them esteem. Like the Ronald Pickup character in BEMH, Billy C plays an ageing Lothario who flirts outrageously with much (much, much) younger women, both driven by a desire to show they still 'have it'. Younger audience members may see them more as models of threat and disgust rather than life affirming!

The last of the trio, Song For Marion, promises much. Two true screen greats, Terence Stamp and Vanessa Redgrave, head the cast and crits I've seen suggest that Stamp in particular redeems any flaws the plot and direction may bring. I'm also encouraged by the presence of Christopher Ecclestone as their son as he rarely backs a losing horse. Like the two films mentioned above there will be humour based on infirmity and the incongruity of seeing 'old' people doing things usually thought of being reserved for the young. (The trailer shows a choir of oldies singing about sex in a lyric that certainly didn't originate from Cole Porter.) At the end there will be that essential redemption, like Quartet it will be music-based, and Stamp will become the (reluctant) hero of the hour. Where it may differ sharply is in Redgrave contracting a terminal illness and the pain and suffering that brings not just to her, but to those around her. Perhaps more than the other two (which featured the old folks living in quite enclosed communities) this may offer a better model for inter-generational relationships.

Whatever the societal influences they may or may not engender, it is good to see established talents strutting their stuff at the highest level. They, as much as the characters they portray, are inspirational and aspirational. Long may this trend continue.

Of gay and barking amphibians

WHERE ARE THE FROGS?

OK, I admit to having a few drinks before setting my fingers to the keyboard, so maybe I haven't quite mastered all the facts, but aren't there times when the data just gets in the way of the truth? Bear with.

Two days ago the Westminster Parliament passed the second reading of what is colloquially referred to as the Gay Marriage Bill. Cue great celebration by all those in favour of equality and treating everybody as human beings. Cue hand wringing and prophesies of doom and the collapse of civilisation from the eternal bigots.

But what if the latter actually have got it right? Shouldn't something have happened? Or does that have to wait until the bill passes the Lords? Or becomes and Act next year? It was all very disappointing. If the rebel Tories and their sundry allies really are on the side of the angels shouldn't there have been a few decent omens. Lowering skies, thunderbolts, the odd tsunami on Windermere and a bit of ash coming off Snowdon? And frogs. I distinctly remember being promised a plague of frogs. But nary a hint of skyfalling amphibians yesterday or today. I was really looking forward to the frogs.

Nor has my marriage felt under threat. Although, now I think back, we did have a bit of a row about sweeping the floor (mostly my failure to ever do it). Was that a sign? Is that divine intervention showing it's hand in a mildly petulant fashion? I think I'm beginning to get a handle on how this thing works.

Which takes me back to the frogs. And Nadine Dorries. Suddenly it becomes clear. The gods won't send a plague of frogs - just someone who sounds as mad as a box of frogs. Seen like that, our Nadine is gift from the skies, a bell weather of discontent and forthcoming catastrophe. Didn't we all suspect there was much more to her than just an utterly barking self-publicist? No? Oh, maybe not.

I do hope I get to discuss this subject properly with someone who is clearly opposed to the legislation. Especially if they would like to introduce Adam and Eve into the conversation. There's no better way to convince me of your philosophical credentials than using as evidence a story featuring a talking snake and in which the crux of the storyline hinges on eating a bit of fruit. Or am I getting mixed up with Snow White? Maybe their next example will be Kermit and Miss Piggy. I'm guessing Fozzy will feature as the evil family-wrecker in this one.

Meanwhile I find that my own MP, John Pugh of Southport, voted against the bill. One of only four brave Lib Dems to do so. Maybe he just wanted to stand out - not an easy task for one of Clegg's laddies these days. His principle objection appears to be the supposed decoupling of 'marriage' from 'family'. Now I've lived in Southport for a couple of decades and wasn't aware that adoptions were regarded as culturally different from family. I really should read the local rag more frequently. I think I may have to write to Mr P just to get a clarification of his views. And check that I'm not living in the constituency of a nasty, narrow minded, little bigot. I'm sure I've just misunderstood somewhere along the line. Maybe he read my blog piece (http://baclitter.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/the-problem-of-marriage-gay-or-not.html) and agrees with me that the whole marriage thing needs to be rethought from scratch? Maybe he wants proper equality that provides civil partnerships for heterosexual couples? Or maybe there are frogs involved....

So no portents, omens, signs, auguries, harbingers or disasters. What an anticlimax. And if they've just been delayed for a day or so I'm going to miss them. I'm now up in Scotland for a couple of weeks and the legislation won't apply here (give Holyrood a bit of time....) so no gods can be taking offence. Yet. Well, you'd think not, but our own special brand of discrimination has been much in evidence. Yes, Cardinal O'Brien is a shining example of how Scotland can do bigot at least as well as anywhere else. I'm so proud.

Maybe he can arrange some frogs for me?

Ever heard of 750words.com?

WHERE CAN 750 WORDS TAKE YOU?

I can recall so many false starts over the past four decades. So I'm probably not a writer, not deep down in the way that's needed. If I look in drawers I can find scribbled notes and typed up half-ideas. Dead ends. There have been poems, there have been scribblings which might have seemed like they could lead into becoming a short story despite being less than a page of self conscious pap. The process in my mind was a convoluted as that last sentence and led to nowhere. Once I took the plunge and did a brief creative writing course, managed to finish a few short pieces and, at the end, received what I think was a compliment from the tutor. Well, he said I should be "starving in a garret somewhere" and I realise that could be taken two ways....

More recently (almost four years ago!) I went on an involved train journey to Skegness, stayed a couple of nights in a B&B, and used the details in a short story. I did so as a form of therapy, an attempt to win back some self confidence whilst dealing with some mental health issues. The feelings of creativity helped. But - guess what - that story never did get finished. I've always known what the ending looked like, but lost the belief that I could find the route to reach it.

I've been retired for more than two years. During most of which time the only writing I've done was the daily diary I've kept up since 1975. Far from being creative this is that most prosaic of journals, a record of events. Meanwhile I discovered Twitter. I have always been politically minded, although not much of an activist (can you see a pattern emerging?), but the views I encountered in tweets combined with the free time I had in abundance to accelerate the voices that have always been in my head and started to formulate stronger, and occasionally original, ideas on social issues. With no real outlet.

If Twitter was in part responsible for the problem it was also good enough to provide the answer. A young woman I follow tweeted about a site she was using called http://750words.com/. I clicked on the link out of curiosity and read the blurb presented to me. It sounded as if it was exactly what I'd been looking for. Without knowing I had.

I am a lazy person. Procrastination is an art form. Throughout my professional life I lived by the mantra of the great Douglas Adams - "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." Motivating myself requires cunning and that edge of danger where you realise your pride is going to get hurt. I write this on a day when I started to eat breakfast just a little before 1pm....

And yet. After some obligatory hesitation I took my baby steps on 750words late in October 2012. I loved it. Enough for me to have a go at the November challenge - writing 750 words on the site every day throughout the month. Which I did, followed by December. And January. This post was initially drafted on the 750words site, my 104th consecutive day of writing on there. What has happened to me?

750words.com doesn't actually provide you with much. A blank screen every day. An active word count that shows how far you've progressed and what's been saved on-line. A series of rewards for achievement. The writer is awarded 'badges' for various accomplishments. You can see the sort of thing here - http://750words.com/badges. I am not a hugely competitive person, but just combative enough to want to keep improving on my record. Or maybe just puerile enough to get a little glow every time I get a new badge, but if it works....

The entries are private and can be about whatever enters your head. In the days leading up to my starting on the site I jotted down a few ideas for potential subject, if only to see if I had things to say. Now I never leave home without my little notebook and have a long list of suggestions to fall back on should I ever feel stuck for a topic. I wrote about why I was writing and where I hoped it might lead. I used the space to expand on those opinions in my head to see if they had any real worth or not. I've written about sport, books, cars, cooking and bloody awful Xmas music in shops. One day it was fairy tales, the next I was on to my favourite band. On 11th November I wrote about Remembrance Day and why I felt it had become corrupted. That actually felt like a worthwhile bit of writing and so, with a bit of editing, it became the first post on this blog. Suddenly I had that self confidence and my writing was let loose on the world (well, a very tiny proportion of the world). As yet my posts haven't been as regular as I'd hoped, but plans are in hand - see below. Putting myself out on the web has also inspired me to take on a couple of daft little projects. Two daily photo blogs which I enjoy hugely - http://1357pics.blogspot.co.uk/ and http://shoesoftoday.blogspot.co.uk/

750words provides a fascinating range of stats about your writing, one of which is average words per minute. On a day when I'm pouring out something which is already in my head my speed is usually around 25 wpm. If I've had to do a bit of research as I go along it'll drop to 15-20 wpm. One day I used 750words to write fiction - 7 wpm. Conclusion, this does not feel like the right space in which to develop stories, I need to look elsewhere.

So my run of consecutive days on 750words will end soon. It will be a hard break to make because the habit has become so ingrained. (The nearest I came to failing was on a night when I didn't have a chance to start typing until 23:20. My title was "The Tyranny of 750 words" and I wrote of the pressure to complete the target before the midnight deadline the site imposes. I made it with less than a minute to spare, and it's the only time my prose has descended into total incoherence. The last three sentences could have been typed by monkeys.) I want to give myself time to revisit 750 pieces which need editing to become decent blog posts. I want to return to that story I produced. My wife wants to know what happens next, and so do I. So I will allow myself days when I don't do anything on 750words. But I will still be writing.

Much as I hate the expression, I can say that my daily visits to 750words.com have been a transformational experience. The site has provided the motivation I needed to get myself writing and encouraged me to start thinking differently about myself and the world around me. In the introductory blurb the following statement (complete with horrible US spelling!) sums it up best - "750 words takes a bit of effort, and it never fails to get me typing things that I have wanted to articulate without realizing it. And that's the point." What at first seems a challenge soon becomes an addiction. I have no intention of abandoning the site and there will be days when it is exactly what I need - a private space to download thoughts or try out a style of writing, and it will remain a great place to batter out first drafts of blog posts.

If you read this post and have ever wondered if you have words within you which need expressing then 750words may be the place for you to start. It won't work for everyone, but you might just be like me and find in it the incentive you need to get you started.

PS The above runs to a lot more than 750 words - but that's what the site does to you.