Inside Out 2 is another joy

A bit of a film-watchy day to mark the end of the year, and the opportunity to catch up on Inside Out 2. I’d only seen the first film in August, but it resonated, so I was always going to watch the sequel.

Riley is now 13 and guess what – puberty! So new emotions – led by anxiety and including embarrassment – step in to try to take over her new teenage life.

 

Really sweet, but also full of things that even I, as a 62-year-old can recognise. Th cringe was huge.

 

Is Joy right … or is Anxiety right?

 

A great screenplay from Pete Doctor, Meg LeFauve and Josh Cooley, with Doctor also at the director’s helm, this is a really good sequel (there may be a third film), which illustrates the mental and emotional difficulties facing young people.

Beautifully realised and with a great voice cast, it’s well worth watching.

Born to run – or possibly not?

Unlike Joe Biden, I don’t have a running mate. But then, I haven’t run since around – oh, 1986 – and nobody has been waiting around for me to join in.

I liked running – but then I liked sport, even if I had limited opportunities to engage in it. For my first five years at secondary school, we’d only run around a field, since we were near the middle of Manchester. With my second secondary school – in semi-rural Lancaster – I’d missed cross-country PE (though I loved volleyball and particularly badminton). In terms of running, I was inspired by the 1984 Olympic Games.

It almost goes without saying that I was stopped from playing football, which I wanted to do so much that, in my pre-teen years, I prayed to God to make me be a boy so that I could play the game.

I have always been competitive. I can’t resist it. I want to win. I remember playing non-competitive pool in a lesbian bar in Amsterdam in the 1990s and finding myself wondering how you even begin to do that! I mean … how do you endeavour to not pot the ball?

That didn’t win me any friends.

So inspired by top athletes, I bought shoes (Reeboks) and ran circuits around central Lancaster, where my family lived at the time. There were comments from passing drivers. ‘Don’t give yourself a black eye!’ was the wittiest that I remember. Because some people are fecking idiots and I had always had big boobs, irrespective of weight and BMI.

But I carried on running.

I registered for a race – can’t remember how long, but it was the sort of race that saw you sent An Official Race Number to attach to your shorts.

God, I was so proud when I got that, propping it on a shelf to be in view. I wasn’t quite at the distance for the race, but I was on the way and it was an incentive to pump up my training.

And then, in a sporting competition between the Lancaster Footlights (for whom I was the captain that night), the Duke’s Playhouse and the local leisure centre, I tore the lateral ligaments in my left knee: a full-blown ‘Gazza’.

I completed the night’s competition – in agony – and the next day, dragged myself to A&E, where my leg was encased in cotton wool and lots of plaster, and I was given crutches.

I got over it enough to be thrown to the floor by Salieri in the Footlights’ award-winning production of Amadeus that spring (I was playing Mozart’s missus), but I had issues with the knee for years (particularly in damp winters) and, when I moved to London to find work in 1988, discovered that running on uneven London pavements was not fun.

And there my running career ended.

Until now.

For reasons about which I have no clue, at the beginning of this year – before COVID-19 – I started to feel an itch.

Could I run again? For some reason that I don’t particularly understand, I wanted to.

The lockdown intervened and I didn’t do so until 6 August, a day or so after I’d signed up to a charity fundraiser.

Step Up September will raise funds for There for You, a charity from public service trade union UNISON, which helps members in need. In recent months, that’s been affected hugely by the new Coronavirus. Members who clean hospitals, care for the elderly and the vulnerable, and carry out myriad other essential tasks have found themselves struggling too – and There for You is helping.

My running can hopefully help those who have been helping us all.

Because of the pandemic, Step Up September doesn’t carry specific targets. But as an overweight woman of almost 58, who hasn’t run in decades, then if I can manage, by the end of September, to run more than five minutes, it’ll be an achievement built on bloody-minded grit and really quite serious, regular training.

My first session was on 6 August and saw me using interval training: I could only run for 30 seconds at a time. Two weeks later, I am hitting two minutes regularly, with a maximum time of two minutes and 24 seconds.

Look – I know it’s not exactly Olympic standard, but it requires genuine effort (believe me!), and my own GP is delighted.

And if you can manage to make a donation to a really good cause, then I thank you in advance.

Please help me fund-raise here – it you can, it will be fantastic.

Zellweger shows us the isolation – and guts – of Judy

It’s not news that Judy Garland led a troubled life – or that her problems began as a child – but one of the things that Rupert Gould’s new film, Judy, does so well is to shine a light on those problems from a contemporary perspective of understanding about mental health and abuse.

It’s 1968 and Garland – pretty much unemployable and uninsurable in the US – is broke, homeless and about to lose custody of her two children by third husband Sid Luft.

Her only chance seems to lie in leaving them with their father in the US and taking up an offer of a season at the Talk of the Town in London.

But thousands of miles away, her problems remain.

In a series of flashbacks, we see gaslighting MGM boss Louis B Mayer during the filming of The Wizard of Oz, feeding her insecurities about her looks, while at the same time, she was being chronically overworked, forced to diet drastically and then given pills to quell her appetite/keep her awake/help her wake up – and sleeping tablets to allow her to sleep.

While it’s only barely noted here, her mother’s part in all this was not a positive one. It’s also a pertinent reminder that, while the studio system produced many great movies, it was also an abusive system of labour.

Tom Edge’s script in an intelligent one: it allows us to see and understand that, while Garland most certainly was “impossible,” the seeds of that had been sown long before she had any control over her own life.

While this is central to the film, it avoids making Garland a simplistic victim. She is vulnerable and emotionally frail, without doubts, but she also has guts. And, while she detests the “business,” once on a stage and with a loving audience, she comes alive. Most of all, this Judy is complex.

It’s possibly a good 10 minutes overlong. One could make the case that none of her relationships with other character is fully developed. Yet one of the things that the film achieves is to make clear the conflict between Garland’s desperate loneliness, her equally desperate desire for love and friendship – and her constant ability to push away those who care and want to help. This is isolation.

Jessie Buckley is excellent as Rosalyn, the woman charged with looking after her in London; Rufus Sewell turns in a neat, nuanced performance as Luft, Michael Gambon appears as impresario Bernard Delfont, Richard Cordery is suitably slimy as Mayer, Royce Pierreson is excellent as bandleader Burt and there is a delightful performance from Andy Nyman as a gay fan.

But ultimately, the film rests on Renée Zellweger – and expect to see her deservedly in the awards nominations lists next year.

This is no impersonation, but what she conjures is a really deep sense of the internal struggle in Garland: this is a woman caught between performance (even if dealing with hotel staff or a doctor), the pain of not having her children with her, her own self-doubt, her need for friendship and support, and her inability to maintain any meaningful relationship.

In the stage performances, Zellweger is more than equal to the task.

Garland was an extraordinarily gifted performer. This year is the 50th anniversary of her death – as well as being the 80th anniversary of the iconic Wizard of Oz.

Judy makes one wonder if, given the abusive conditions under which it was made and Garland’s career created, it is acceptable to watch the latter. Yet her films remain her legacy and continue to give joy. It is a positive from a negative.

At the end of the film, she asks the audience: “You won’t forget me, will you? Promise you won’t.”

No. We won’t. And the films are precisely what will ensure that her iconic status continues.

Charity challenges and mental health

It was 6:55am on Monday 1 July – day one of the 2019 Diabetes UK One Million Step Challenge.

With a few minutes left before the bus for the first half of my journey to work was due, I stepped into Haggerston Park and walked to the next stop via the avenue of young oaks that had been planted 18 months earlier.

The sun was already beaming down and my shadow stretched out ahead as I headed west.

Stepping off the bus in Islington, I continued my journey to the office on foot, along the Regent’s Canal, via Granary Square, King’s Cross and more.

Day two: I began my journey the same way. It was sunny again and there was longer before the bus was due, so I contemplated walking straight through the park, then on down a couple of streets and estates to catch it later on its route. Picturesque for part of the way, but not for the rest.

At the oaks, I stopped: why was I going to do it this way?

The first thing I knew of the step challenge was seeing a poster on a train as The Other Half and I headed to the RSPB’s reserve at Rye Mead in April.

Caledonian street art

But I only made the decision to sign up for it last Friday, registering the following day. Too late for my intro pack to arrive from the charity – though that doesn’t stop me getting underway. It runs from 1 July to 30 September, effectively meaning you need to take 10,869 steps a day for 92 days.

Inasmuch as I’ve planned anything about it, the aim is to go well over that daily total for the first couple of weeks at least.

My first instinct was to treat it as utilitarian: the easiest way to rack up steps is to walk at least half of my journey into work. That can take me along a canal towpath, so far from onerous – apart from the cyclists who treat it as their personal superhighway.

But then it struck me that, if I stop doing that – if I cease to see it merely as a matter of getting from A to B, a question simply of transit – what else can it hold?

As some who has struggled over the past couple of years with mental health issues (both parents dying; having to deal with cancer myself) I was realising that the challenge itself held value. But what beyond the health benefits of walking more each day?

On day two, I decided that, instead of zooming through the park and back onto the road, I’d make a circuit of part of the park, then exit and catch the bus right outside. It was blissfully quiet – apart from a trio of ring-necked parakeets who flew over, a beautiful flash of green against the blue. They’re migrating further and further into our neck of the woods; this was the first time I’d seen them below Acton Lock.

Pied wagtail, Francis Crick Institute

Leaving the bus in Islington, I continued on foot – ignoring the canal and trying some side streets for a change, giving me the opportunity to slip into Joseph Grimaldi Park for the first time.

Cross Caledonian Road and it’s busier as you head to King’s Cross, but after that you can slip through St Pancras station and then across to the Francis Crick Institute, thus avoiding Euston Road (always a plus).

By the institute – a not entirely-successful example of modern architecture in my view – a small bird was hopping around. New to the birding malarky, I didn’t recognise it, but took mental notes and a quick snap. Online research later revealed it to be a pied wagtail.

Treating this challenge as more than just adding a few daily steps could prove to be more enjoyable than I imagined.

Stay tuned – and, if you can, please donate via step.diabetes.org.uk/pages/amanda-73.

Thank you all, in advance.

Tabloids prove – yet again – that they won't learn

Here’s a thing: what will be the tipping point that means that the UK press faces regulation – however much it doesn’t want it?

The mainstream media has, thus far, managed to squirm out of any form of independent regulation, following the Leveson Inquiry.

And that bit about “independent” is important: no matter what some papers claimed, there was no plan for what the press publish to be subject to the machinations of politicians.

To remind ourselves: Leveson followed revelations about widespread phone-hacking – which, it is increasingly clear, did not just happen at the Rupert Murdoch-owned News of the World, although there was an industrial amount of hacking there. The Mirror group is now in the spotlight too.

In an interesting little side note, it seems that four members of staff on the Mail on Sunday were told by the police in 2006 that their phones had been hacked by the NotW, but bosses at the Mail group decided to keep it secret – and they didn’t bother to mention it in evidence to Leveson either.

Mail on Sunday editor at the time, Peter Wright, has been a member of the Press Complaints Commission (PCC) since 2008, taking over the position previously held by Mail editor in chief, Paul Dacre, from 1999-2008.

During that time, the PCC issued two reports on hacking, in essence backing up the version of events from News International that it hadn’t happened often and that it was all just the work of a “rogue reporter”.

Which is all rather odd.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, though, Wright and Dacre have subsequently succumbed to amnesia over the entire business of the hacking of their members of staff’s phones.

Mind you, amnesia, ignorance or straightforward incompetence seem to be the defence de rigueur of senior newspaper folk when it comes to such matters.

After all, her admitted total lack of knowledge of anything that went on in Rebekah Brooks’s newsrooms was accepted as a defence by the court in the recent hacking trial, while News International godfather, Murdoch himself, has been known to be remarkably vague when being questioned over the affair.

It says something for the confidence many of these people have in their power over government that the revelations have not noticeably improved the behavior of the tabloid media in particular.

Not that it’s the tabloids alone: Murdoch’s Times – which used to be the paper of record – has plummeted so far since he bought it that it’s current idea of political ‘debate’ is to call the leader of the opposition “weird”.

Such an approach, by nobody’s definition, can be remotely positive for the public discourse.

But for the sake of this article, let’s stick with the tabloids.

It’s not so long ago that several papers revealed themselves entirely happy to splash pictures on their front pages of the moment that Mick Jagger was told that his partner had taken her own life.

Public interest, anyone?

In the last few days, the odious Richard Littlejohn,whose bilious ignorance was just the most well-known example of the ‘mostering’of Lucy Meadows, who also took her own life, has again used his column in the Daily Mail to illustrate his ignorance of and attitude toward trans issues, with comments about Kellie Maloney – formerly known as boxing promoter Frank – looking as though she is in “drag”.

But a glance at this morning’s tabloids reveals a general approach that blithely ignores basic humanity, together with any idea of journalistic ethics (yes, they do exist).

The subject is the death of Hollywood star Robin Williams, who died by suicide.

The front pages alone seem to be competing to see who can publish the most details.

In the rush for sales, editors have chosen to deliberately ignore the guidelines on reporting suicide issued by the Samaritans.

These call, among other things, for great care to be exercised on details about how a person ended their life, precisely because readers who are themselves in a vulnerable situation can be influenced to copy a sensationally-reported suicide.

But sensation boost sales and sales matter more than human beings when it comes to the tabloids.

Point six of the National Union of Journalists’ Code of Conduct says that a journalist “does nothing to intrude into anybody’s private life, grief or distress unless justified by overriding consideration of the public interest”.

That’s the biggie, isn’t it: what is ‘the public interest’?

What was in the public interest that justified seeing Jagger’s reaction to the death of a loved one?

What was in the public interest that justifies the additional pain being inflicted on Williams’s family, and the potential danger to other vulnerable people caused by the nature of the reporting?

Here’s a clue: there is none.

The apologists can whine all they like that the public interest is what the public is interested in, but this is nonsense.

Let’s look at an example of ‘the public interest’.

Some years ago, during John Major’s time as Prime Minister, with a government set on promoting ‘family values’, a junior minister called Tim Yeo stood up at the Conservative Party annual conference and made a speech lambasting single mothers as the biggest problem of the day.

A couple of months later, it was revealed (in the News of the World) that he had been having an affair himself, and was the father of a child to a single woman. He resigned.

Here was a member of a government that was promoting one thing to the public, and condemning those who didn’t behave as it wanted, who included members who were themselves behaving in the same way.

That is why it was in the public interest to publish a story revealing that Yeo had been having an affair – not because of the affair itself, but because of the double standards by a member of the government.

And yes, the people that buy tabloids – particularly when they buy promises of lurid, sensationalist copy inside – are complicit in this pimping of other people’s private lives.

And as long as there is no regulation of the industry, it is a situation that seems likely to continue.

So, as I asked at the top of this: what will be the tipping point? What will it take before tabloids are forced to clean up their act?

After all, the hacking of a murdered schoolgirl’s phone quite clearly wasn’t enough.

MediaGuidelines for Reporting Suicides from the Samaritans [PDF]

The National Union of Journalists’ Code of Conduct