I’ve been 29 for 10 days now. Thankfully, the biggest difference I feel is in my knee, but that’s from unwise marathon training regimes rather than the relentless march of time (I’m taking a few weeks’ rest, and should still be ready for the Berlin Marathon at the end of September. If you want to donate to my National Literacy Trust fundraising page, you can do so here. If you have any advice for knee pain, or tips on hot eateries/bars/things to do in Berlin, feel free to post in the comments).
28 was a great year. I’ve spent another year in my dream job and (I think) become better at it. I spent more and more time with friends old and new, including building something of a network in my city/area rather than (only) maintaining long distance connections - that said, travelling across the country to share someone’s life for a weekend is an unparalleled treat. There was an Austrian holiday I think about every day - to be precise, I think about Käsekrainer every day. I discovered an all-time favourite secondhand bookshop, survived jury service, survived A Little Life at the Harold Pinter Theatre, saw 19 live operas (including my first country house operas), and saw Daniel Fish’s production of Oklahoma! on the West End four separate times (I grow older, but I do not grow any wiser in terms of fixations on certain pieces of art. It’s closing on September 2nd, so get your tickets now!).
If anything, 29 will be a continued crystallisation into habits and tastes developed and refined over the past decade. It is not stagnation, it’s targeted growth. Every gift and card I received was embarrassingly on brand and all the more cherished for it. Reinvention feels less and less necessary, and that’s a blessing.
It’s corny but true: age is just a number and life has no hero’s journey. Each new year is a collection of opportunities, experiences, and memories with no story structure. It’s why I do not believe a single good mainstream biopic exists* in the history of cinema.
Some biopics are creatively designed and filmed. Some are extraordinarily well-acted. Many are both, making for a solid two-or-so hours in the cinema or on the sofa. But almost all are rote, trying to squeeze someone’s life into a Joseph Campbell-esque idea of a good story. Lives don’t work this way. Considering this, and considering the fact that Walk Hard exists, why are we still trying?
By far the most interesting and engaging part of Oppenheimer is “Fusion”, the black and white portion following Lewis Strauss’ attempted cabinet appointment - and not because it’s so gratifying to see Robert Downey Jr. truly act again. It has the pacing of a procedural and stakes set around one man’s political game, not war crimes or scientific advancements. We only see Strauss on the Senate floor and in one flashback which he believes holds the key to his downfall. While J. Robert Oppenheimer’s own narrative in “Fission” continually comes back to his own deposition, Nolan cannot wholly avoid the box-checking activity of compressing a life from its student days to old age in a way that can be continually referenced within the investigation room. Not even Cillian Murphy’s tremendous physical and psychological performance hides this routine.
The best biopics are ones that do not try to fit an entire life into the beats of a Campbellian narrative, focusing instead on a single significant event. Perhaps it is because this narrower focus can resemble the narrative structure recognised and celebrated in Western fiction. Perhaps it’s a limit of my own storytelling imagination. But the focus, detail, and consequential judicious pruning of limited time frames and/or locations, as well as removing the temptation to connect a subject’s earliest days to his every decision, (usually) makes for far more satisfying drama and characterisation. Oppenheimer interlocks 2.5 narratives but fundamentally does nothing new with the genre.
*one good mainstream conventional biopic exists, and that’s Elvis (2022, dir. Baz Luhrmann). It is pure paint-by-numbers but so exuberant, stylish, and bonkers that the formulaic narrative constraints become necessary to prevent it going into hyperspace.
The other big summer watches
Barbie and The Bear series 2 almost lost me at separate points during their respective narratives - Barbie at its beginning and end, The Bear series 2 in its middle. On the whole, both works cohered into something that (I think) hangs together and tells a good story.
I have no deep or detailed thoughts to share on Barbie. It’s so fun! The production design and physical comedy are spot on! Parts are deeply heartfelt! The message does not entirely cohere, and bits are cynical as hell, but when the third cocktail hits as Ryan Gosling starts singing “I’m Just Ken,” it’s the greatest film ever made. It has, however, spurred the most film chat - genuinely analytic, thoughtful stuff - on my family WhatsApp chat, and that’s warmed my heart immensely. Also, “Closer to Fine” was a classic family road trip song. Did I actually grow up in Barbie Land?
The first series of The Bear reminded me in so many ways of You’re the Worst, another FX/Hulu show (one that, alas, did not get a release on Disney Plus in the UK), a show set in an under-filmed American metropolis about people who, through many lenses, are horrible, but at its heart is a story of connection through bone-deep sadness. Characters grow and change, but slowly, painfully, and never linearly. I love You’re the Worst fiercely and it holds up, and holds true to its ethos and characters, even after 3-4 rewatches (I’ve lost count).
The second series of The Bear felt a degree too removed from the grief of series 1. It was almost too hopeful. For a second, I was worried it would give into the Ted Lasso-esque focus on all-American self-actualisation with its separate training adventures fuelled by the restaurant’s sudden uptick in fortune at the end of series 1. What saved it, for me, was the excellent performances and a finale that undercut the (earned) redemption and growth with sweet, sweet schadenfreude. All the best restaurant training in the world means nothing against one delayed/forgotten/brushed off phone call.
Also, why would you get rid of a beloved institution serving humble, delicious beef sandwiches and - instead of expanding by adding Marcus’ gorgeous donuts - make a fine dining establishment aiming for a Michelin star? That’s not a neighbourly move. But this is what makes me different from Carmen Berzatto.
What (else) I’m watching:
Speaking of bears, I’ve picked up The Sopranos (at the beginning of series 5) after about a year’s hiatus. It’s good to be back, especially now that Steve Buscemi has made an appearance and AJ grows older and no wiser.
I saw a screener of Passages (coming soon to the Edinburgh International Film Festival and not long after to cinemas and MUBI) and it fucks. Rogowski has never been more charming or despicable, and matched with Whishaw and Exarchopoulos, the vibes and sexual chemistry are off the charts.
The Virgin Suicides feels like a film I should have seen a long time ago. I’m so happy something so deeply strange, sad, and unapologetic exists in the world. There are so many ways to misread the book and film, which Coppola seems aware of but uninterested in.
The Parent Trap is another film I should have seen a long time ago if only to understand the references. No one told me Lindsay Lohan did accent work in her film debut!
What I’m reading:
Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield: beautiful, beautiful elegiac prose. The ocean is far scarier than anything outside this atmosphere.
Red Dragon and The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris: this might be the greatest jump in quality between two sequential books.
My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Otessa Moshfegh: the girls are nasty!!!
Penance by Eliza Clark: this is no Boy Parts; this is denser, thornier, and makes me want to jump back to previous passages as I take in every new bit of information. At about 140 pages in, it reminds me of two other excellent books, but if this conversation holds to the end it will be its own piece.
I’ve not yet started We That Are Young by Preti Taneja, but it’s next on the list after a friend asked me if I wanted to read a chunky novel that retells King Lear in modern India. Of course the answer is yes.
What I recommend (I haven’t done this in a while, so some of these pieces are quite old):
I’m so keen on seeing the Wallace Collection’s Portrait of Dogs exhibit, especially after reading this piece by Hailey Bachrach
A disclaimer: I haven’t read this piece yet! I’m still reading Penance and don’t want spoilers, but I’m saving it to read as soon as I’m done. Katie Goh is a critic and thinker I trust greatly and she’ll have great things to say on fiction and true crime.