In Memory of Leonard Rossiter (1926-1984)

 Leonard Rossiter as Rigsby in Rising Damp (1974-78)

and as Inspector Truscott in Loot (1984)

 

I. 

 

As a Rising Damp aficianado, I was pleased to find family, friends, and fellow actors - including Don Warrington and Gabrielle Rose - sharing memories of Leonard Rossiter in today's Guardian.

 

As Catherine Shoard writes: 

 

"Four decades after Rossiter's death, his singular style - manic energy, machine-gun delivery, splenetic intelligence - continues to carry remarkable currency." [1]

 

And continues to make laugh. 

II. 

  

Rossiter died from a heart condition (hypertrophic cardiomyopathy), aged 57, whilst waiting to go onstage at the Lyric Theatre, London, where he was playing Inspector Truscott in a production of Joe Orton's dark farce Loot (1965), directed by Jonathan Lynne.

 

As Orton was a scandalous playwright much admired by Malcolm - and I was a fan of Rossiter's - I naturally felt obliged to attend a performance of Loot - which I did on Tuesday 2 October, 1984, just three days before Rossiter's death. 

 

I recorded in my diary at the time: 

 

LOOT: very good; very funny; very well-acted. Leonard Rossiter's performance was particularly enjoyable. I can see why Malcolm loves Orton: virulently anti-authority and all forms of moral hypocrisy; like an angrier (more contemporary) version of Oscar Wilde.

 

And on Monday 8 October I noted (somewhat prosaically, I have to admit): 

 

Distressing news: Leonard Rossiter died backstage a few days ago. A hugely talented comic actor, he'll be much missed.     

Thanks to TV and YouTube, however, we can still enjoy his work - although I smiled to see that Rossiter - who could be a deadly serious and impatient individual, who hated wasting time - had once described the former as merely: 'An advanced technical method of stopping people from making their own entertainment.'

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Catherine Shoard, '"It was hard not to stare at him all the time": inside the remarkable rise and shocking loss of Leonard Rossiter', The Guardian (5 October 2024): click here. 

 

 

Readers who enjoyed this post might like to see an earlier post (dated 15 October 2022) discussing the character of Rupert Rigsby, as played by Leonard Rossiter: click here. 

On Subcultural Barbarism

Photo of Soo Catwoman by Ray Stevenson (1976)

The slogan is a paraphrase of a sentence written by Walter Benjamin [1] 

 

"Why do we fear and hate a possible reversion to barbarism? 

Because it would make people unhappier than they are? 

Oh no! The barbarians of every age were happier: let us not deceive ourselves!" - Nietzsche [2]

 

 

I. 

 

What constitutes a subculture?

 

I suppose, sociologically speaking, a subculture might be defined as a group of people who identify in terms of their shared tastes, values, interests, and practices whilst, at the same time, differentiating themselves to a greater or lesser degree from the dominant culture and its norms [3].

 

In other words, individuals form or join subcultures because they wish to develop an alternative lifestyle, but not necessarily one that calls for revolution or involves dropping out of society altogether. Such individuals may like to deviate from the straight and narrow, but they acknowledge the existence of a path and in as much as they offer resistance to cultural hegemony it's mostly of a symbolic nature.

 

 

II. 

 

In 1985, the French sociologist Michel Maffesoli transformed much of the thinking on subcultures by introducing the idea of neotribalism; a term that gained widespread currency after the publication of his book Le Temps des tribus three years later [4].

 

According to Maffesoli, the conventional approaches to understanding solidarity and society are no longer tenable. He contends that as modern mass culture and its institutions disintegrates, social existence is increasingly conducted through fragmented tribal groupings, informally organised around ideas, sounds, looks, and patterns of consumption.

 

He refers to punk rockers as an example of such a postmodern tribe and, interestingly, suggests that through generating chaos within wider culture they help revitalise the latter in a Dionysian manner [5]. 

 

Maffesoli, of course, is not without his critics and his work is often branded as controversial. However, I think we might relate his thinking on culture, modernity, and tribalism to Nietzsche's philosophy; in particular Nietzsche's longing for new barbarians who might prevent the ossification of culture ...    

 

III. 

 

Anyone who knows anything about Nietzsche knows that he loves Kultur - understood by him as the supreme way of stylising chaos in such a manner that man's highest form of agency (individual sovereignty) is made possible. 

 

In other words, culture is not that which simply allows us to be and does more than merely preserve old identities. Rather, it allows us to become singular, like stars, via a dynamic process of self-overcoming. 

 

Unfortunately, the powers which drive civilisation outweigh the forces of culture to such an extent that history appears to Nietzsche as the process via which the former take possession of the latter or divert them in its favour. 

 

Thus, there's not merely an abysmal antagonism between culture and civilisation [6]; the latter, in Nietzsche's view, co-opts and exploits the more spiritual qualities possessed by a people which have developed organically from within the conditions of their existence. 

 

This becoming-reactive of culture is, as Deleuze reminds us, the source of Nietzsche's greatest disappointment; things begin Greek and end up German as human vitality and creativity becomes overcoded by the coordinating power of the modern state. 

 

So ... what can be done to prevent this or to release the forces of culture once more? How do we free life wherever it is encased within a fixed form? In The Birth of Tragedy (1872), Nietzsche famously calls for a cultural revolution, only to quickly realise that this ain't gonna happen. 

 

And so Nietzsche changes tack and instead of pinning his hopes on an alliance between artists and philosophers to save the day, he invokes a breed of new barbarians who, via subcultural activity, cast off the horny covering of civilisation so that new growth becomes possible and who, when confronted with the ways in which the dominant social order breaks down, "make no attempt at recodification" [7]. 

 

Of course, the question that arises is where will these new barbarians come from. This was a question that troubled D. H. Lawrence as well as Nietzsche, for both recogised that despite the modern world being very full of people there were no longer "any great reservoirs of energetic barbaric life" [8] existing outside the gate.

 

And so, we will need our barbarians to come from within - although not from the depths, so much as from the heights. For Nietzsche's new barbarians are not merely iconoclasts driven by a will to destruction, rather, they're cynics and experimenters; "a species of conquering and ruling natures in search of material to mold" [9] who embody a "union of spiritual superiority with well-being and excess of strength" [10]. 

 

The question of culture and subcultural barbarism is badly conceived if considered only in terms of 'Anarchy in the UK' (and I say that as a sex pistol): what's required is what Adam Ant would term a wild nobility.

 

 

IV.

 

To believe in the ruins, doesn't mean that one wishes to stay forever among the ruins; a permanently established barbarism would simply be another oppressive system of philistine stupidity. Eventually, we have to start to build up new little habitats; cultivating new forms and new ideas upon discord and difference (i.e., stylising chaos).

One of the key roles of the Subcultures Interest Group [11] is to both document and inspire such activity by rediscovering something of the creative energy or potential that lies dormant in the past and projecting such into the future so that we might live yesterday tomorrow (as Malcolm would say) [12].

 

That's not easy: and it's not simply a question of revivalism; it's neither possible nor desirable to go back to an earlier time and mode of existence (despite what the writers of Life on Mars might encourage us to believe) [13]. 

 

It involves, rather, a few brave souls working with knowing mystery for "the resurrection of a new body, a new spirit, a new culture" [14] and accepting back into their lives "all that has hitherto been forbidden, despised, accursed" [15] ... (i.e., becoming-barbarian).    

 

 

Notes

 

[1] This famous sentence from Benjamin's 'Thesis on the Philosophy of History' (1940) actually reads: "There is no document of culture which is not at the same time a document of barbarism." 

      This essay, composed of twenty numbered paragraphs, was first translated into English by Harry Zohn and included in the collection of essays by Benjamin entitled Illuminations, ed. Hanah Arendt (Harcourt, Brace & World, 1968). 

      Alternatively, it can be found under the title 'On the Concept of History' in Vol. 4 of Benjamin's Selected Writings, ed. Howard Eiland and Michael W. Jennings (Harvard University Press, 2003), pp. 389-400. See paragraph VII on p. 392. 

 

[2] Nietzsche, Daybreak, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Cambridge University Press, 1982), V. 429, p. 184.

 

[3] Those whose opposition to or rejection of the mainstream is actually their defining characteristic are probably best described as countercultural militants rather than simply members of a subculture.

 

[4] Le Temps des tribus: le déclin de l'individualisme dans les sociétés de masse was translated into English by Don Smith as The Time of the Tribes: The Decline of Individualism in Mass Society, (SAGE Publications Ltd., 1995). 

[5] In other words, as a polemologist, Maffesoli is attracted to the idea of foundational violence and the vital need for conflict within society. See his 1982 work L’ombre de Dionysos: contribution à une sociologie de l'orgie, trans. into English by Cindy Linse and Mary Kristina Palmquist as The Shadow of Dionysus: A Contribution to the Sociology of the Orgy (State University of New York Press, 1993). 

      Readers might find a post published in February of this year on Sid Vicious of interest, as it explores the Dionysian aspects of the young Sex Pistols' tragic death: click here.  

 

[6] Nietzsche maintained a common opposition within German letters between Kultur and Zivilization, defining the latter in terms of scientific and material progress, whilst insisting the former was invested with a more spiritual quality (Geist). See, for example, note 121 in The Will to Power, trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale (Vintage Books, 1968), p. 75.

 

[7] Gilles Deleuze, 'Nomad Thought', in The New Nietzsche, ed. David B. Allison (The MIT Press, 1992), p. 143. 

 

[8] D. H. Lawrence, Fantasia of the Unconscious, ed. Bruce Steele (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 189.

 

[9] Nietzsche, The Will to Power ... IV 900, p. 479. 

 

[10] Ibid., IV 899, p. 478. 

      Nietzsche makes several remarks on barbarians and barbarism in his published work, not just in his Nachlass. See, for example, Beyond Good and Evil where he identifies barbarians as culture-founders; "their superiority lay, not in their physical strength, but primarily in their psychical - they were more complete human beings" (9. 257). Translation by R. J. Hollingdale (Penguin Books, 1990), p. 192. 

[11] The Subcultures Interest Group (SIG) is a diverse and informal collective of academics and artists operating out of the University of the Arts London. Established in 2019, they regularly publish a paper - SIG News - which aims to open a window on to the work being undertaken by members of the Group. Click here for further information. For a review of  SIG News 3 on Torpedo the Ark (28 July 2024), click here for part one of the post and/or here for part two  

 

[12] See the post published on Torpedo the Ark dated 10 June 2024: click here.

 

[13] Life on Mars is a British TV series, first broadcast on BBC One (2006-07), devised and written by Matthew Graham, Tony Jordan and Ashley Pharoah, and starring John Simm as Detective Inspector Sam Tyler, who, following a car accident, wakes up to find himself in 1973. See the post published on 2 October 2024 in which I discuss this seductive (but ultimately fatal) fantasy: click here.   

 

[14] Henry Miller, The World of Lawrence: A Passionate Appreciation, ed. Evelyn J. Hinz and John J. Teunissen (John Calder (Publishers) Ltd., 1985), p. 217.  

 

[15] Nietzsche, Ecce Homo, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Penguin Books, 1988), p. 96.

 

 

With continued gratitude to Keith Ansell-Pearson whose work on Nietzsche helped shaped my own thinking 30 years ago.

 

 

Better Dead Than Woke: Reflections on Sam Tyler's Suicide in 'Life on Mars'

 

The central cast of Life on Mars (BBC One, 2006-07)

 

 

I. 

 

Whether by accident or subconscious design, I have long avoided watching the British TV show Life on Mars (2006-07), starring John Simm as Detective Inspector Sam Tyler, who, following a car accident, wakes up to find himself in 1973 and obliged to adapt his politically-correct model of policing to the times, working under the command of DCI Gene Hunt (played by Philip Glenister).  

But, since it's now being broadcast nightly on That's TV3 (Freeview channel 75, 9pm, Monday to Friday) - and since I was intrigued by Mark Fisher's k-punk posts on the first and last episodes of the series, which can be found in Ghosts of My Life [1] - I figured, what the hey, I'll give it a go ...

 

 

II. 

Initially, I didn't much like Life on Mars - I found the character of Sam Tyler and all the supernatural elements irritating. Not only did I not know what the fuck was going on - what was real and what wasn't - I didn't much care. And if I simply wanted to enjoy a seventies cop show, I could catch The Sweeney on almost any day of the week over on ITV4 without all the poncy postmodern elements [2].  

 

However, I gradually learned to love it: particularly for what Fisher calls its reactionary character and, indeed, for its amusingly nihilistic message that I'm very much tempted to endorse; i.e., that it's preferable being dead in 1973 than alive in the drearily woke (and somehow far less real) present. 

 

As I wrote in an earlier post:

 

Those who now sneer with politico-moral correctness and a sense of their own cultural superiority at the music, the fashions, the TV, and pretty much every other aspect of life in the 1970s need to be told (or in some cases reminded) that it was more than alright - it was better. For despite all the boredom, blackouts and bullshit of the time, people were happier and I'm pleased to have been born (and to have remained at heart) a 20th century boy. [3]    

 

If by jumping off a roof top like DC Tyler one could guarantee arriving in seventies heaven based upon one's own experiences of the period, then, again, I'd be very much tempted to do so ...

 

It's not that I lack confidence in the future (or the possibility of such) - although I don't share the progressive optimism of those who insist that the sun will necessarily come out tomorrow - it's more a case of accepting the fact that the future belongs to those young enough to still have dreams, whereas to those of us who are now on the cusp of old age and who value the beauty of memories and madeleines belongs the lost past [4].   

 

And death. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Mark Fisher, Ghosts of My Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology and Lost Futures (Zero Books, 2014). The article I refer to, pp. 76-79, is entitled 'The Past Is an Alien Planet: The First and last Episides of Life on Mars' and is based on two posts published on his k-punk blog (the first dated 10 Jan 2006 and the second 13 April 2007).

 

[2] Fisher argues that Life on Mars was basically a cop show; "because it is clear that the SF elements [...] were little more than pretexts; the show was a meta-cop show rather than meta-SF". See Ghosts of My Life ... p. 78.

 

[3] See 'Notes on a Glam-Punk Childhood' (24 July 2018): click here. 

 

[4] I'm (rather obliquely) referencing the French filmmaker and critic Chris Marker, who describes madeleines as any object or moment that serves as a trigger for the strange mechanisms that can suddenly transport you to the past. 

      Obviously, Marker adopts the idea from Marcel Proust's novel À la recherche du temps perdu (1913-27). Readers who are interested to know more might wish to get hold of Marker's multimedia memoir Immemory (a CD-ROM released in 1997). 

 

 

Musical bonus: David Bowie, 'Life on Mars?', 1973 single release from the album Hunky Dory (RCA Records, 1971): click here for the 2015 remaster on YouTube. 

 

 

Émile Gilliéron: the Man Who Sold the Ancient World

Left: The Mask of Agamemnon (c. 1906)

Right: Émile Gilliéron (1850-1924)

 

 

I. 

 

If you are ever fortunate enough to visit The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, you'll be able to see Émile Gilliéron's electroformed reproduction [1] of the Mask of Agamemnon made around 1906. 

 

It's just one of many galvano-plastic copies of Mycenaean antiquities made by Gilliéron and purchased by the Met's eminent curator Gisela M. A. Richter, who described the Swiss master's work as being of such fine quality and such historical accuracy as to give a vivid idea of how the originals would have looked.  

 

But did Gilliéron not merely reimagine antiquity, but also partly invent it? And might he best be remembered as the man who sold the myth of the ancient world? 

 

 

II.

 

Born in Switzerland in 1850, Gilliéron was universally admired for his reconstructions of Mycenaean and Minoan artefacts from the Bronze Age. 

 

But admiration alone doesn't pay the bills and so he eventually decided to cash in on his talents, establishing a successful business in 1894, in collaboration with a German metalworking firm, producing and selling replicas of archaeological finds to museums and collectors in Europe and the United States. 

 

His son, also named Émile, entered the business in 1909 and the pair have been credited as a crucial influence on the modern perception of Greek antiquity; their work enabling artists, academics, and members of the public to appreciate the genius of the ancient world. 

 

But it needs to be stressed that many of their restorations were based on mere fragments of damaged material and that they often had to make rather bold imaginative decisions, exercising a hefty degree of artistic license. 

 

This was amusingly recognised by the English writer Evelyn Waugh who, following a visit to the Archaeological Museum in Herakleion in 1929 to view some examples of Minoan artwork, declared it "impossible to disregard the suspicion that their painters have tempered their zeal for accurate reconstruction with a somewhat inappropriate prediliction for the covers of Vogue" [2]. 

 

Take the fresco known as the Ladies in Blue, for example ...  

 

III.

 

Fragments of this fresco, depicting young women with distinctly modern looking hairstyles but thought to date to c. 1450 BCE, were discovered at the Palace of Knossos, on the island of Crete, by Sir Arthur John Evans at the start of the 20th century. The work was restored by Gilliéron to such an extent that it is now recognised by archaeologists as almost entirely his composition.

 

Referring to the Gilliérons' habit of combining fragments later evaluated to have come from discrete images, a modern study has concluded that father and son "created a decorative programme which, as it currently stands, never existed" [3].

 

Further, Gilliéron was suspected of involvement in the illegal export of forged antiquities from Greece and accused by his critics of deliberately manufacturing fake objects (not merely reproducing and touching up old pieces). 

 

In sum: far be it from me to suggest that ancient history is more or less bunk - or that culture is always closely associated with crime - but we do need to keep in mind that authenticity is itself a form of artifice (just another irritating pose, as Lord Henry Wotton might say).    

 

Reproduction of the "Ladies in Blue" fresco 

by Émile Gilliéron (1927)

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] Electroformed reproduction was a technique developed in the nineteenth century that allowed for the manufacturing of many different kinds of historic metalworks and the disseminating of knowledge about the ancient world in a time before Google images and mass tourism. Despite the method and materials used to make electrotypes not being the same as those of the original artwork, most people -including art historians and museum curators - were happy to accept them as authentic replicas. 

      For more details, see the article by Dorothy H. Abramitis, 'The Mask of Agamemnon: An Example of Electroformed Reproduction of Artworks Made by E. Gilliéron in the Early Twentieth Century' (1 June, 2011): click here.

 

[2] Evelyn Waugh, quoted in an entry on The Met website discussing the 'Reproduction of the "Ladies in Blue" fresco', believed to date to c. 1525-1450 BCE, excavated before 1914, and restored by Gillieron père on the basis of other fragments of frescos from Knossos: click here. 

[3] See Yannis Galanakis, Efi Tsitsa, and Ute Günkel-Maschek, 'The Power of Images: Re-Examining the Wall Paintings from the Throne Room at Knossos', Annual of the British School at Athens (Cambridge University Press 2017) Vol. 112, pp. 47–98. The line quoted is on p. 50. The online version of this essay can be accessed by clicking here. 

Of Gold and Iron Masks

Poster design featuring:

 

 1: Mask of Agamemnon  (c. 1550-1500 BC) [1]  

2 The Man in the Iron Mask (1939) [2] 

3: L'homme au masque d'or (2024) [3]

 

 

I. 

 

The death masks of Mycenae are a unique collection of gold funerary masks found on male bodies within a Bronze Age burial site located within the ancient Greek city. They were discovered by German businessman and amateur archaeologist Heinrich Schliemann during an excavation in 1876.   

 

The masks consist of a flat (foil-like) layer of gold that has been hammered into shape and depict faces with distinct features (including stick out ears) chiseled into the metal. 

 

The masks are believed to be fairly faithful representations of the deceased, although there's obviously a degree of artistic license (and idealisation); those who could afford to have such masks made would obviously want to look their best in the circumstances.

 

The most famous of these masks is known as the Mask of Agamemnon, after Schliemann claimed to have discovered the actual burial site of the legendary king of the Acheans from Homer's Iliad. Let's just say that from the very start there were doubts raised as to its authenticity ... [4]    

 

 

II. 

 

Whilst the Mask of Agamemnon certainly played a part in my thinking when I created the image shown as figure 3 above, I was actually more inspired by the story of an unidentified prisoner of the French state during the reign of  Louis Quatorze; a prisoner referred to (in English) as The Man in the Iron Mask ...

Arrested and incarcerated in 1669, the Man in the Iron Mask spent 34 years locked up until his death in the Bastille in 1703. Known by several pseudonyms, his true identity remains a mystery, even though it has been extensively researched and argued over by historians ever since. According to one theory, he may have been the son of Oliver Cromwell. Voltaire believed him to be Louis's illegitimate brother [5].

 

Whoever he was, his ordeal has been the subject of many fictional works, including novels, poems, plays, and films. 

 

Perhaps the best-known of these works is by Alexandre Dumas, although readers whose preference is for American cinema rather than French literature might better recall the 1939 movie directed by James Whale (or indeed the 1998 movie directed by Randall Wallace and starring Leonardo DiCaprio). Both films are what would be termed very loose adaptations of the third part of Le Vicomte de Bragelonne (1847-50) [6].   

 

 

III.

 

Hopefully, in my Man in a Golden Mask collage I have managed to capture something both of the Mycenaean death mask in all its aureate splendour and the close-fitting iron mask as imagined by Dumas in all its horror. 

 

By leaving the eyes open and the mouth exposed, I attempted to show how one who suffers great torment at the hands of others dreams of vengeance and this can often be seen shining in their eyes and smiling on their lips ...           

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The Mask of Agamemnon is currently held by the National Archaeological Museum of Athens, Greece: click here.   

 

[2] A still from the 1939 film The Man in the Iron Mask (dir. James Whale). 

 

[3] Papier collé by Stephen Alexander (2024). 

 

[4] Towards the end of his life, Schliemann accepted doubts as to the mask's true owner. Modern archaeological research suggests that the mask is genuine, but pre-dates the period of the Trojan War by 300–400 years. Other researchers say it may even belong to a much earlier period, c. 2500 BC. 

 

[5] It is thanks to Voltaire that the legend developed that the anonymous prisoner was made to permanently wear an iron mask; as a matter of fact, his face was hidden behind a mask of black velvet and official documents reveal that he was made to wear it only when travelling between prisons after 1687, or when attending prayers within the Bastille in the final years of his incarceration.

 

[6] Le Vicomte de Bragelonne ou Dix ans plus tard is an enormous 2,800 page novel by Alexandre Dumas which was first published in serial form between 1847 and 1850. In most English translations, the 268 chapters are usually divided into three volumes: The Vicomte de Bragelonne (chapters 1-93), Louise de la Vallière (chapters 94-180), and The Man in the Iron Mask (chapters 181-269). 

      Long fascinated by the tale of l'homme au masque de fer, Dumas portrays the prisoner as Louis XIV's identical twin. 

 

Starving for Perfection: On the Thinspirational Figure of Karen Carpenter

 Young America at its very best ...

 Karen Carpenter (1950-1983)

 

"Wants to look like a star / but she takes it too far ..." [a]

 

I. 

 

Having recently attended a seminar organised by the Subcultures Interest Group (SIG) at the London College of Communication, where discussion focused on Paul Tornbohm's book on the Carpenters (Sonic Bond Publishing, 2023), I find myself intrigued by the tragic figure of Karen Carpenter. 

 

Not so much her distinctive vocal skills or ability as a drummer, but her will to self-perfection and self-annihilation physically manifested in the form of anorexia; an eating disorder typically found in young women and which, according to Baudrillard, might also be seen as a form of social repulsion; i.e., a means of rejecting a gluttonous and disgusting world of consumption via the ecstasy of emptiness [b]. 

 

George McKay, a professor in media studies at the University of East Anglia, has written on Carpenter, her condition, and its representation in a fascinating 2018 essay which more broadly explores the relation between the anorexic body and popular music, and it's his essay around which I shall centre (a brief) discussion here [c]. 

 

 

II.

 

Drawing on and seeking to develop the work of other commentators concerned with celebrity anorexia, McKay expresses a "critical interest in ways in which the practices and expectations of the music industry set a conformist template of corporeality, particularly for its female stars" [2]. 

 

There's undoubtedly some truth in this idea, though it's not a template that all female artists within the music industry have felt obliged to conform to; one thinks of Big Mama Thornton and Cass Elliot, for example, and I'm pretty sure that even those who set such a template don't expect performers to starve themselves to death; they usually look to protect their investment, even if, in some cases, an untimely death can lead to an increase in record sales [d].  

Whilst it's a little unfair to think of Carpenter as the face of anorexia - she was, after all, one of the great pop voices of the twentieth-century, much admired by her peers and influential on numerous later artists - it was nevertheless her death in 1983 from complications associated with a condition which she began to exhibit symptoms of in 1975 [e], that first brought anorexia into the public arena. 

 

Before then, it was little known outside of showbiz and medical circles and it's for her anorexia that many people remember Karen Carpenter today; particularly those - like me - who are more concerned with matters critical and clinical than (middle of the road) musical.       

 

As McKay notes, anorexia nervosa fascinates because whilst it may be viewed as "a mental health issue leading to or presenting in a diminished corporeality" [4], it can also be regarded as a phenomenon "originating at least in part in the socio-cultural" [4].

 

Its complexity (and ambiguity) doesn't stop there either: as Helen Malson and Jane Ussher have observed, the anorexic body may be "'discursively construed in a multiplicity of often conflicting ways'" [f]. For example, it may "signify both self-production (of idealised body or identity) and self-destruction (symbolically and physically)" [4]. 

 

That's why such a body is often discussed from a political and philosophical perpective; not least of all by feminist authors.

 

 

III.

 

Surprisingly, McKay found fewer than expected mentions or images of Carpenter within the online pro-ana community, where one might have thought she'd have been given special status. He suspects this is because "lyrically there is no obvious mention of eating disorders in the Carpenters' repertoire, not even in song titles" [18]. 

 

Alternatively, it could be because "the music's smoothness is not heard as containing identifiable sonic signifiers of suffering, pain or anger" [18]. In other words, even those who might otherwise acknowledge Karen Carpenter as one of their own find the Carpenters mind numbingly dull.  

Having said that, I think Karen's story is one that should resonate strongly with those who think of anorexia in quasi-religious terms as a spiritual-ascetic practice; those who speak of birds and angels and of the idea that one might take flight if only disciplined enough to achieve purity and perfection in a corrupt and fallen world weighed down by the spirit of gravity [g].

The fact that she died at such a relatively young age - though far too old to join the 27 Club [h] - must surely make Miss Carpenter a martyr-saint in the eyes of those who regard anorexia as a miraculous rather than a nervous condition [i]. 

 

 

Notes

 

[a] Lines from the song 'Never Good Enough' (2006), by Canadian singer-songwriter Rachel Ferguson; a favourite tune with many in the pro-ana community (or subculture): click here. 

 

[b] Long time readers - or those who investigated some of the older posts on TTA - will know that I have previously written with reference to anorexia (at times from a vaguely pro-ana perspective) on several occasions: click here, for example, or here. 

 

[c] George McKay, 'Skinny blues: Karen Carpenter, anorexia nervosa and popular music', Popular Music, Volume 37, Issue 1, (Cambridge University Press, 2018), pp. 1-21. Page references to this essay will be given directly in the post. Click here to access the essay in the UEA digital repository.

 

[d] McKay notes that by exerting constant pressure to look a certain way and perform in a certain manner, the music industry does bear some responsibility for when its young female stars implode. However, it's worth noting that professional dancers and fashion models have much greater pressure exerted on them to be ultra-thin than pop performers; see David M. Garner and Paul E. Garfinkel, 'Socio-cultural factors in the development of anorexia nervosa', in Psychological Medicine, Vol. 10, Issue 4, (1980), pp. 647-656. Cited by McKay.

 

[e] Carpenter had begun dieting at an early age and weighed around 120 pounds in 1973, when the Carpenters were at the peak of their success. By the autumn of 1975, however, she was below the weight that is popularly branded as that of a weakling - i.e., under 98 pounds - and fans were shocked at her gaunt appearance. Carpenter refused to publicly acknowledge that she was suffering with an eating disorder, however, and dismissed concerns about her health and wellbeing. Some might suggest this indicates anosognosia, but McKay argues (2018, 2):

      "Her lack of public utterance on her anorexia, right up to her death, is understandable, given her lonely and vulnerable position as the global star first and most associated with it. However, it is also problematic, not least since it leaves key male figures [including her brother Richard ...] to shape and control her narrative [...]" 

 

[f] See Helen M. Malson and Jane M. Ussher, 'Beyond this mortal coil: femininity, death and discursive constructions of the anorexic body', in Mortality: Promoting the Interdisciplinary Study of Death and Dying, Vol. 2, Issue 1, (1997), pp. 43- 61. Quoted by McKay.     

 

[g] McKay writes (2018, 12): "Karen seemed to be striving for what she thought of as versions of perfection in voice and in body ..." and he reminds us of the following lyric: 'I know I ask perfection of a quite imperfect world' in the song 'I Need to Be in Love', released as a single from the album A Kind of Hush (A&M Records, 1976). 

 

[h] The 27 Club is made up of popular musicians and other artists who died at the age of 27 and includes, for example, Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse. Karen Carpenter was 32 when she died on 4 February, 1983. 

 

[i] One day, I'll write a post on the holy concept of anorexia mirabilis; an eating disorder common amongst medieval nuns and religiously devoted young women keen to imitate the suffering (and experience the passion) of Christ.  

 

Musical bonus: The Carpenters, '(They Long to Be) Close to You', single release from the studio album Close to You (A&M Records, 1970): click here for the official video on YouTube courtesy of Warner Music Videos. 

 

In Memory of Maggie Smith (1934 - 2024)

Maggie Smith in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie 

(dir. Ronald Neame, 1969)

 

 

I've never seen any of the Harry Potter films (and don't want to); nor have I ever watched the period drama Downtown Abbey on TV. 

But I have watched - on numerous occasions - The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1969), starring Maggie Smith in the title role as a teacher at an Edinburgh girls' school (Marcia Blaine); a role for which she won the Oscar for best actress at the Academy Awards in 1970. 

It's certainly one of my favourite films [1] - written by the American screenwriter Jay Presson Allen, based on her own stage play adaptation of Muriel Spark's 1961 novel - and I absolutely adore Smith as the dangerous and stylish Miss Brodie (so much so, that one can almost - almost - overlook the latter's political idealism). 

 

The fact that Smith was an Essex girl - but with Scottish-Geordie roots - only increases my affection for her and allows me to imagine a faint level of kinship. And whilst I hate the idea of someone being described as a national treasure, Britain does feel just a wee bit poorer for her passing [2]. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] For a list of my favourite films compiled and published in August 2014, click here.  

[2] Smith died peacefully in a Chelsea hospital earlier today, Friday 27 September. She was 89.

 

 

Click here to watch the original trailer for The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1969).  

 

 

Give Me Convenience and Give Me Death

The Sarco Pod : every home should have one ...

 

 

I. 

 

Some readers might recall a news story from late 2021 which reported that someone had invented a 3D-printable [1] suicide pod and planned to demonstrate its practical convenience in the picture-postcard setting of Switzerland, where assisted dying or self-determined suicide - like public nudity and prostitution - is perfectly legal [2].     

 

Well, three years later, and I can announce the suicide pod - which is activated from inside and also contains an emergency button just in case the suicidal subject has a last minute change of mind or perhaps feels a tad claustrophobic - has finally had a fully successful first outing ...

 

 

II. 

 

Called the Sarco [3], the futuristic-looking pod works by rapidly increasing nitrogen levels (and thereby reducing oxygen levels), so that the suicidal subject lying snugly inside loses consciousness and dies in under ten minutes (giving them just enough time to count a medium sized flock of sheep if they wish to do so).      

 

Unfortunately, following the event held in a forest in Merishausen - a sparsely populated area on the Swiss-German border - the police moved in and made several arrests on the grounds that the anonymous volunteer - believed to be an American woman in her 60s - had not merely been given assistance in an unregulated manner, but had been incited into taking her own life (one would imagine that's going to be hard to prove in a court of law).

 

Officers also confiscated the Sarco pod - and, amusingly, took the corpse into custody.

 

 

III.

 

Although a German scientist (natch) by the name of Florian Willet - a leading member of the Last Resort [4] - was present at the woman's death, it is unclear whether he was among those arrested. Afterwards, Willet told a Swiss tabloid that the woman had enjoyed einen friedlichen, schnellen und würdigen Tod - which sounds like a bourgeois marketing slogan if ever I heard one! [5]

 

Meanwhile, the Australian inventor of the Sarco, Philip Nitschke, who had watched the woman's death via video link, posted on X that she had passed away - just as she wanted - in a beautiful forest and described her death as idyllic (i.e., picture-perfect).  

 

Before entering the Sarco Pod, the woman made a statement to her lawyer - who just so happens to be a director of the Last Resort and married to the good doctor Nitschke - that she was of sound mind; but do people ever know quite how how sane or crazy they are?

 

She also had the full support of her family, who doubtless acted with good intentions (and besides, it's certainly easier to pop mom in a pod than to provide palliative care).

 

Notes

 

[1] The capsule's Australian inventor Philip Nitschke - known by his critics as Dr. Death - doesn't plan to manufacture and sell his machine in the conventional manner. Rather, he intends to make the blueprints freely available online so anyone can download the design and, if they have a 3D-printer, produce their very own model.

 

[2] According to a government website, Swiss law allows assisted suicide as long as the person takes his or her life with no 'external assistance' and those who help the person die do not do so for 'any self-serving motive'.  

 

[3] This is obviously short for sarcophagus, which, as Síomón Solomon reminds us, is a term with a fascinating etymology that leads towards a dark poetry concerned with flesh eating stone and biting humour (or sarcasm). 

      In an email, Solomon also notes how on the side of the Sarco Pod is a quote from Carl Sagan, the US astronomer - We are made of star stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself - obliging him to ask whether the manufacturer is "purporting to create some kind of death-vessel for cosmic self-consciousness".   

 

[4] The Last Resort are the Swiss branch of Exit International, a nonprofit organisation founded by Philip Nitschke that lobbies for the legalisation of assisted suicide. As far as I know, they have nothing to do with the notorious East End skinhead shop or the English punk band formed in 1980.

[5] Personally, as one who plans on leaping into an active volcano when the time comes to do so, I'm not particularly concerned with the bourgeois ideal of having a peaceful and dignified death. Having violently entered the world with tears, I'm prepared to violently exit screaming.     

Reflections on Stephen Alexander's 'Lascivious' (1985) - A Guest Post by Sally Guaragna

 

Fig. 1: Stephen Alexander: Lascivious

 Oil on canvas (c. 1985) 

 

 

Stephen Alexander's aureate canvas entitled Lascivious depicting a rather shy and youthful-looking faun sharing a coital embrace with a flame-haired and sexually more experienced nymph, is, sadly, lost to the world: destroyed by the artist's sister in an act of malice that displayed sororal spite, philistine contempt for culture, and a previously unsuspected streak of puritanism [1]. 

 

The painting, which, as the title indicates, is essentially a reimagining of one of Agostino Carracci's erotic prints (c. 1590-95) [2], also betrays the influence of Van Gogh with its dynamic starry night sky and use of warm, radiant golden-yellow [3] (Alexander was at the time an avid reader of the Dutch artist's letters and kept a postcard featuring Vincent's self-portrait with a bandaged ear by his bedside). 

 

We also discover something of D. H. Lawrence's painting style in Alexander's canvas; see for example Lawrence's Fauns and Nymphs (1927) which features a golden-brown satyr embracing a large-breasted sun-nymph; and see also Lawrence's 1928 painting entitled Close-Up (Kiss), which may have influenced Alexander's compositional decision to simply produce a headshot of his mythological lovers (as well as the picture's golden-yellow colouring). 

 

Like Lawrence, Alexander seems primarily concerned with the invisible forces of desire that work upon the flesh and distort and deform bodies, caring little for anatomical fidelity. Deleuze terms such an art of sensation - an art that is neither representational nor symbolist.  

 

Lascivious is not, therefore, the work of an innocent Sunday painter; it's a philosophical gesture born of Alexander's libidinally material - essentially pagan - worldview. Very deliberately and with joy - though perhaps not with great subtlety or success - he promotes a Lawrentian concept of phallic tenderness in a manner that is not so much all'antica (despite the mythological theme) as très moderne.

 

Figs. 2-4

For details see note [4] below. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The digial image shown here is taken from a photo of the painting in the artist's possession.

 

[2] Agostino Carracci (1557-1602) was an Italian artist recognised internationally as one of the finest engravers of his time. 

      Between 1590-1595, he produced a financially rewarding series of fifteen erotic works known as the Lascivie, inspired by a notorious earlier set of prints known as I modi (c. 1524-27) engraved by Marcantonio, after drawings by Giulio Romano and illustrating various sexual acts and positions.

      Whilst enhancing his reputation amongst wealthy collectors of such works, Carracci's prints elicited censure from the Church which inveighed against works of an openly sexual nature even when they were given a mytho-classical veneer in an attempt to make them appear less salacious and the men who took pleasure in contemplating the images seem cultured rather than just pervy.

 

[3] Alexander discusses his love for the colour yellow (with reference to the works of Van Gogh) in a post on Torpedo the Ark entitled 'How Beautiful Yellow Is' (1 May 2024): click here.

 

[4] Fig. 2: Agostino Carracci, A Satyr and Nymph Embracing, print from an engraving (150 x 102 mm), British Museum, London. One of fifteen in the series Lascivie (c. 1590-95).

      Fig. 3: D. H. Lawrence, detail from Fauns and Nymphs (1927), oil on canvas (95 x 80 cm). 

      Fig. 4: D. H. Lawrence, Close-Up (Kiss) (1928), oil on canvas (45 x 37.5 cm). 

 

Art critic Sally Guaragna has written two other posts for Torpedo the Ark. Click here to read  Reflections on Stephen Alexander's 'When the Moon Hits Your Eye' (5 May 2023) and/or here to read Reflections on Stephen Alexander's 'I Want to Hold Your Hand' (6 August 2024). 

Bring Me the Head of Oscar Wilde

Visualisation of how Eduardo Paolozzi's Oscar Wilde 

sculpture will look when installed in Chelsea

The Paolozzi Foundation

 

 

A new sculpture of Oscar Wilde - or, more precisely, of the Irish playwright's head cast in black bronze, lying on its side and sliced into segments - has been condemned by his grandson, Merlin Holland, on the grounds that it fails to adequately convey Wilde's genius and is, from a purely aesthetic perspective, absolutely hideous (his words, not mine) [1].      

 

I have to say, Holland's criticism of the work, which is based on a maquette by the late Eduardo Paolozzi [2] - one of the most seminal British artists of the post-war era and a pioneer of Pop Art - seems rather ridiculous. And the fact that he should describe the work as unacceptable is troubling.

 

Holland may know more about his grandfather, whose life he has researched and written about extensively, than anybody else, but he has failed to appreciate that Paolozzi's cubo-surrealist sculpture is not meant to be a lifelike representation, nor is it attempting to capture Wilde's joie de vivre. 

 

Actually, the piece is very much in line with other sculptural works by Paolozzi; see for example his piece entitled The Head of Invention (1989), located at the entrance of the Design Museum in Kensington - click here - and if one were to criticise the Wilde sculpture it would be on the grounds that one has seen this kind of thing before.         

 

In sum: it lacks uniqueness, but it's not gloomy or hideous and it's certainly better than the hilariously bad memorial statue of Wilde by Danny Osborne located in Dubin's Merrion Square - click here - though not as challenging as Maggi Hambling's A Conversation with Oscar Wilde (1998), which can be found off the Strand in London, in which the playwright rises from the dead, cigarette in hand: click here.    

If Paolozzi's work tells us more about him than it does Wilde - and I admit it probably does - I can see this might be an issue for some, including Wilde's grandson. But that doesn't trouble me as an admirer of both men and, besides, our task ultimately is to learn to appreciate the piece as an object in its own right and not as something tied to a human subject.     

 

Notes

 

[1] I'm quoting from the article by Dalya Alberge entitled '"Absolutely hideous": new London sculpture of Oscar Wilde condemned by his grandson', in The Guardian (21 September 2024): click here. 

 

[2] In 1995, Paolozzi along with eleven other invited artists submitted a design for a statue of Oscar Wilde to a committee chaired by Sir Jeremy Isaacs. The committee, of which Merlin Holland was a member, eventually shortlisted six candidates, including Paolozzi, and requested they create maquettes (i.e., scale models). Ultimately, Paolozzi's design was rejected as too brutalist and the committee chose Maggi Hambling's more playful (if somewhat macabre) sculpture.