Brilliant: Salman Rushdie on The Wizard of Oz

“There’s no place home; there’s no place like home.” It’s an iconic line – and sentiment – from The Wizard of Oz, and certainly from the classic 1939 film version. But what does it actually mean?

Back in 1992, the British Film Institute launched the first four in an ongoing series of slender volumes about specific films – BFI Film Classics. That initial quartet were Double Indemnity, Went the Day Well, Stagecoach … and The Wizard of Oz.

 

The last of those was penned by Salman Rushdie, with an updated edition published in 2012.

 

Since starting a deep(er) dive into film than at any stage previously in my life, I have been getting some of these and reading them. Well … in the first case, trying to read. That was Michael Atkinson’s monograph on Blue Velvet, which I gave up on, not least because – in my opinion – it’s appallingly badly written.

 

The next one was by Dirk Bogarde biographer extraordinaire John Coldstream, on that star’s career-changing and social-challenging film Victim, which was eminently readable and informative.

 

And so to Rushdie’s contribution. Rolling in at 69 pages – without a few more including the full film credits, which all the books have – it is very, very good indeed and packed with philosophical insights in two sections. First, in an essay about the film and second, in a short story, which is effectively a very clever, and funny futuristic fantasy tale/satire about an auction for the ruby slippers. Both are centred on the concept of home.

 

If there is “no place like home”, what does that actually mean?

 

The essay starts with fascinating autobiographical insights, including some making links between the film and the cinema of India, where Rushdie grew up, and how it influenced him from early in his life.

 

He is detailed. He notes, for instance, a mention in the later stages of the film by the Wicked Witch of the West of “an insect” that she has sent on to take on our heroes. But there’s nothing else about that in the film.

 

As he points out, it relates to a cut musical number, The Jitter Bug. Bad editing! Though you can find grainy footage of said cut number here.

 

Now here I am going to go off piste a tad. I know that song.

 

I had loved The Wizard of Oz since being taken to the cinema to see a re-release of it as a child.

In the mid 1970s, at Fairfield High School for Girls, I played the Munchkin mayor in a school production.

 

Then, in late 1981, a couple of years after my family had moved to Lancaster, I was encouraged by Noel McKee, my wonderful music teacher at Lancaster Girls’ Grammar School, to audition for the annual Lancaster Footlights’ Christmas show – that year, to be The Wizard of Oz. So, with blesséd parental permission (it was the first time for a non-school production), I went along, prepared to audition for Gloria (she doesn’t appear in the film, but gets to sing Evening Star in the stage version – perfect for a mezzo like me).

 

I was 18, going on 19.

 

But something unexpected happened. While at packed auditions, I was asked if I’d read in the Wicked Witch of the West’s lines in an exchange with the Good Witch of the North, for auditions for the latter part. With no pressure on me – I wasn’t auditioning, after all – I thoroughly enjoyed doing full panto cackles and ‘witchy’ voice.

I landed the role (pictured left, centre) – without even trying for it! The Christmas production was always staged for a week, with the Saturday having a matinee as well as an evening production (often punctuated by dinner at Pizza Margherita on nearby Moor Lane). It was an utter joy.

 

I remember descending the steps from the stage to the stalls, in full costume and green face paint, with children backing up into their seats as I did so.

 

Weeks later, I was in Lancaster’s department store with my mother, when a young lad came up to and said, in awe: “You’re the witch!”. I played along, hissing back at him: “Tell nobody!” His mother, just behind, was at first embarrassed and then tickled pink. The power of theatre. The power of The Wizard of Oz.

 

So that’s my personal connection. Now, back to Rushdie’s own monograph.

 

He gets pissed off at the sentimentalised ending: why would Dorothy need to flee home only to be told, at the end, that the lesson is that she should never have wanted to. Is that really the only concept of home – that is limited to where you initially come from?

 

Contextually, bear in mind that, for Rushdie himself, this was written after the fatwa against the author for writing the Satanic Verses (published in 1988) was announced in early 1989 – effectively driving him away from ‘home’.

 

A number of things occurred to me.

 

First, Rushdie shows, in many ways, that The Wizard of Oz is a rebellion against simplistic ideas of ‘home’. Dorothy flees home to protect what is most important to her – Toto. It occurs to me, what happens to Toto when she returns? Is Miss Gulch still there to demand his death? If so, what are her values?

 

Rushdie points out that, in the series of books by Frank L Baum, Oz eventually becomes home – not just to Dorothy, but also to Aunt Em and Uncle Henry.

 

I did some checking: is this less a British/US understanding of ‘home’ and more a German one? ‘Heimat’ is one of those German words that holds within it layers of meaning. At its very simplest, it could be said to mean that home is ‘wherever you hang your hat’. Not ‘where you originate from geographically or in any other way’.

And then look at Baum’s name – and yes, he did have German heritage: ‘Baum’ is ‘tree’ in German.

 

To go further on the subject of home: given that ‘the friends of Dorothy’ is a euphemism for gay men, can we also, at this time, see that ‘home’ can refer to any community of which we choose/feel ourselves to be a part? Again, a sort of riff on heimat.

And finally, after re-watching the film, it struck me that the move from monochrome to colour is like a move from binary to non-binary. Indeed, the land of Oz is a vastly more diverse place than Kansas. Further, the Cowardly Lion is effeminate, though we learn that he is also not a coward.

Of the central four characters, Dorothy is the least camp, while many of the Munchkins are quite androgynous.

 

There are few books – let alone ones with so few pages – that can set readers thinking like this, but this is superb. And of course, it’s also superbly written.

 

Brighton Rock – brilliance all the way through

In Brighton at the beginning of March for a few days away – the first time I’ve been there when it didn’t involve work – I suddenly decided to revive my holiday habit of ‘themed’ reading.

A visit to Waterstones ensured that I left the shop in possession of a copy of Grahame Greene’s novel, Brighton Rock.

It was by far the greyest, dampest day of the visit, so I took myself off to the cinema to see Wicked Little Letters, sipping coffee for over an hour beforehand as I started the book. Later, the weather was so much better that, wrapped up, I could sit alongside the beach and read more, surrounded by much of the architecture that features in it – including hotels I’d stayed in previously.

It's an excellent read. After I’d finished, I wanted to see the Boulting brothers’ 1948 film, with a screenplay by Greene himself, alongside Terence Rattigan. Streaming makes this easier (and usually cheaper) than buying a disc these days – it’s currently to be found on Amazon Prime.

Set in 1935, it tells a story of rival gangs who clash over a protection racket involving local bookies. Kite, the leader of one, has already been found murdered after a newspaper investigation into the violence. When his fellow gangsters discover that Hale, the reporter responsible is in Brighton for work, their new, self-appointed leader, teenage thug Pinkie Brown, decides to seek revenge for his late mentor.

But before Hale can be despatched, he comes to the attention of Ida Arnold, a brassy, outgoing entertainer, who realises he’s terrified. Later, when an inquest declares that he died of natural causes, she sets out to investigate.

Initially drawing criticism for its portrayal of crime and violence – the Daily Mirror declared: “This film must not be shown” – its reputation has grown with time. In the BFI’s 1999 list of the 100 best British films, it was listed at 15. It’s not difficult to see why.

Some baulked at the changes to the book, but having read it so recently, it’s easy to compare, and the screenplay made it tighter for a 92-minute feature. If I complained about on-screen infidelity to a literary source, The Late Other Half used to note that films of books are “adaptations”, so of course they are not going to be exact.

This maintains all the spirit of the book, but dispenses with some of the novel’s more complex plotting, including simplifying the themes around Catholicism. The only controversial change, in my opinion – and one made without Greene’s permission – was to the ending, which was turned into a sentimental one. The filmmakers felt that the book’s ending would potentially alienate the censors – presumably aware that the representation of crime and violence in the film already had them treading on thin ice.

John Boulting’s direction is excellent (brother Roy produced). Harry Waxman’s cinematography is very good indeed. There’s a really classy noir feel about the film, and the scenes of the chase of Hale through the street early on were shot on hidden cameras, with Brighton’s residents and visitors going about their business, unaware.

And whoever thought of having someone moving among the racegoers and gangsters at the meet, wearing evangelical sandwich boards and placards, was a genius – a brilliant touch.

Combined with the writing, directing and production talent, the cast reads like a bit of a who’s who of British cinema of the mid-to late 20^th century.

While she doesn’t quite make that list, let’s start with Carol Marsh – a newcomer at the time – who turns in a lovely performance as Rose, the teenage waitress that Pinkie exploits in his attempts to evade justice.

Harcourt Williams as the very dodgy lawyer Prewitt is delightfully slippery and slimy, while Doctor Who No1 William Hartnell as Dallow, one of Pinkie’s gangsters, is very good indeed.

Richard Attenborough, who had already played Pinkie in a stage adaptation, is outstanding in the role. Totally believable as the teenaged, psychopathic killer with a deeply-ingrained set of religious beliefs. I love the detail that the film adds, of him frequently seen with a circle of string, doing frantically paced cat’s cradles. It’s a 1930s fidget toy.

The intensity of his performance – the iciness of it – is pitch perfect. In so many ways, it feels like a rehearsal for 10 Rillington Place.

And Hermione Baddeley (left) is every bit his equal in the deliberately contrasting role (perhaps her greatest?) as Ida. Her working-class warmth, her concern for Rose, her unflinching belief in an idea of ‘right and wrong’ (as opposed to a Catholic conception in the book particularly, of ‘good and evil’) are wonderfully served here.

All in all, a film that should be seen and a book that should be read. Never mind streaming – I’ve ordered it on disc, because it should be in my library.

 

Courage and love amid the brutality of apartheid

In 1976 in South Africa, riot police shot and killed black children and young people who were protesting against being taught many of their lessons in Afrikaans, viewed as the language of apartheid.

The government tried to claim the death toll was 23 students. It is usually now given as 176, but some estimates put it at up to 700.

One of those influenced by the massacre was Solomon Kalushi Mahlangu, who joined the ANC’s militant wing, Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK) shortly after.

After training, he and two comrades were sent back to South Africa with pamphlets and arms. But when the mission went wrong, all three tried to flee police.

Mondy Motloung shot two innocent civilians before he and Solomon were caught.

After it dawned on the authorities that torturing Mondy to the point of severe brain damage meant it couldn’t make him stand trial, they decided that Solomon would be the one to pay, under a doctrine of common purpose, though he had not shot anyone.

Mandla Dube, a US-trained cinematographer who has lectured at Wits University, has spent nine years bringing Kalushi to the big screen.

At a QnA after a BFI screening on 6 April – the date of the arrival of Jan Van Riebeeck in the Cape in 1652 and thus the date symbolically chosen for Solomon’s execution in 1979 – the director made it clear that they had not set out to make a film about apartheid: it is, instead, the story of one young man’s rite of passage; of what he does when he’s been backed into a corner.

But while one of those present whined that there was no politics in the film, this is utterly ridiculous: if apartheid (and politics) is not the theme of the film, then it is the context, and in that respect, the film is most certainly a political film.

How else could it be?

It depicts the state-sanctioned murder of children; brutality, torture and humiliation meted out by police; a corrupt judiciary and political regime that deliberately sets up to use the system to take symbolic revenge, irrespective of the facts of a case.

The same whinger also tried to complain that the film had not mentioned Angolan training camps where Cubans helped to train the volunteers. At this point, he was getting really funny looks, because, y’know, that white geezer in military uniform, with the beret, the Spanish accent and the great big cigar …

One can only assume that it was all too subtle for someone who was desperate that the protests outside the South African embassy in Trafalgar Square should somehow have been shoehorned into the story – presumably so that he himself could claim some of the glory for the defeat of apartheid.

Six hours of agitprop might have made him happier – but this will be seen by and will move and make think far more people.

If it does not directly ask questions of the viewer, it is good enough to leave you with questions. The most obvious here, is if you were in Solomon’s shoes, what would you do?

And with a regime that was quite happy to shoot children, how can one condemn an armed response – though the film is careful to stress that MK’s manifesto was absolutely clear about not targeting civilians and avoiding casualties. 

This is a very good film. It doesn’t gloss over problems, but its core is Kalushi’s personal journey to becoming a hero of the struggle against apartheid. And the character’s evolution is delicately drawn and beautifully acted by Thabo Ramesti – the first South African actor to actually play an icon of that struggle on screen.

He’s given excellent support from the rest of the cast, including Thabo Malema as the unstable Mondy, Welile Nzuza as Tommy London and Pearl Thusi as Solomon’s girlfriend, Brenda Riviera.

No matter the darkness of the subject matter – this is a powerful reminder of the nature of apartheid – ultimately, it is also an uplifting piece of cinema.

If you get the chance to see it on the big screen, then do. But it should be available on disc in the future, together with a documentary that Dube is working on.

@KalushiMovie – #GoSeeKalushi