Culture Vulture: reviews round-up

The critics' verdict on Sue Gerhardt, Aminatta Forna and the Chris Morris biography, though not in t

Lucian Randall, Disgusting Bliss: The Brass Eye of Chris Morris

Sameer Rahim in the Telegraph finds that this biography of the man behind Brass Eye and Jam "cites many examples of Morris's personal kindness and generosity", while conceding that he is "not a crowd-pleaser", and his "uncompromising comic vision ... has often landed him in trouble". Elizabeth Day in the Observer notes that Chris Morris "trades on his anonymity", and "the first quarter of Disgusting Bliss is thus hampered by a lack of interesting information." She concludes: "impeccably researched and fluently written, Disgusting Bliss paints Morris as a frantic-minded perfectionist, a visionary unwilling to cede control of his projects. He emerges from this biography as someone maniacally convinced of the rightness of his vision, who steamrollers opposition and approaches controversy with relish." For Arifa Akbar in the Independent, the book is "illuminating, if all too admiring" and an "inspiring read for budding anarchists". Sophie Elmhirst in the New Statesman finds that "Randall offers a feast of anecdotes. It feels as if he has interviewed everyone Morris has ever worked with, a method that can read heavily at times", and restates the critical consensus: "Randall confirms the portrait of Morris as an uncompromising creator."

Susan Gerhardt, The Selfish Society

Phil Hogan in the Observer begins by this describing this book, inauspiciously, as "quite inspiring" and "the latest to join the clamour against consumerism revived in recent times". Gerhardt is "is more understanding than condemning" compared to other commentators on the subject, but "the diagnosis - that acquiring a lot of stuff doesn't make you happy - is the same". Lesley McDowell in the Independent on Sunday is impressed that "Sue Gerhardt's polemic is an unusual thing: it not only pinpoints what is wrong, but also suggests ways to put it right"; she also "knows that she is taking on long-cherished beliefs". McDowell sums up Gerhardt's approach thus: "If we don't change the way we bring up children, beginning from the moment that they are born, we will stay depressed and in debt", and concludes: "I believe her." David Evans in the Financial Times writes that "The idea that broken Britain might be mended with cuddles will attract cynicism, but Gerhardt has the neuroscience to back it up." He also notes that Gerhardt "quotes everyone from Engels to David Cameron along the way".

Aminatta Forna, The Memory of Love

For Tim Adams in the Observer, Aminatta Forna's second novel is "ambitious and deeply researched", in which "Freudian archetypes are everyday reality" within its setting in Sierra Leone circa 2001. Adams quibbles that "There is a neatness and a coincidence to this plotting that at times seems strained but serves Forna's wider point that everything is connected if you look hard enough", while praising Forna's depiction of "Sierra Leone's monstrous recent history": "As Forna's forensic reinhabiting of the aftermath of the conflict reveals, these wounds may have vivid physical realities, but it is always behind the eyes that they are felt most keenly." Lucy Atkins in the Sunday Times agrees about the plotting: "This is delicately and skilfully done, and although sometimes the coincidences seem distinctly unlikely, they somehow work." She concludes that "This is a slow novel that occasionally feels as if Forna could have pared things back a little. But then, the steady pace makes the awful revelations all the more disturbing." Jane Shilling in the Telegraph declares that "This is an ambitious project", but finds that in this novel "Forna weaves an intricate tapestry of betrayal, tragedy and loss". Although she agrees that Forna's plot "has something too much of artifice - almost mechanical - about it", she decides that "Forna understands that it is only by making patterns out of chaos that humans find the courage to continue living."

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Would the BBC's Nazi drama SS-GB have felt half so resonant a year ago?

This alternate history is freighted with meaning now we're facing the wurst-case scenario. 

Would SS-GB have felt half so resonant a year ago? Though the clever-after-the-fact Nostradamus types out there might disagree, I can’t believe that it would. When it comes to the Second World War, after all, the present has helpfully stepped in where memory is just beginning to leave off. The EU, in the process of fragmenting, is now more than ever powerless to act in the matter of rogue states, even among its own membership. In case you hadn’t noticed, Hungary, for instance, is already operating as a kind of proto-fascist state, led by Viktor Orbán, a man whom Jean-Claude Juncker, the president of the European Commission, jokingly likes to call “the dictator” – and where it goes, doubtless others will soon follow.

The series (Sundays, 9pm), adapted from Len Deighton’s novel, is set in 1941 in a Britain under Nazi occupation; Winston Churchill has been executed and the resistance is struggling to hold on to its last strongholds in the countryside. Sam Riley plays Douglas Archer, a detective at Scotland Yard, now under the control of the SS, and a character who appears in almost every scene. Riley has, for an actor, a somewhat unexpressive face, beautiful but unreadable. Here, however, his downturned mouth and impassive cheekbones are perfect: Archer, after all, operates (by which I mean, barely operates) in a world in which no one wants to give their true feelings away, whether to their landlady, their lover, or their boss, newly arrived from Himmler’s office and as Protestant as all hell (he hasn’t used the word “degenerate” yet, but he will, he will).

Archer is, of course, an ambiguous figure, neither (at present) a member of the resistance nor (we gather) a fully committed collaborator. He is – or so he tells himself – merely doing his job, biding his time until those braver or more foolhardy do something to restore the old order. Widowed, he has a small boy to bring up. Yet how long he can inhabit this dubious middle ground remains to be seen. Oskar Huth (Lars Eidinger), the new boss, is keen to finish off the resistance; the resistance, in turn, is determined to persuade Archer to join its cause.

It’s hard to find fault with the series; for the next month, I am going to look forward to Sunday nights mightily. I would, I suppose, have hoped for a slightly more charismatic actress than Kate Bosworth to play Barbara Barga, the American journalist who may or may not be involved with the British resistance. But everything else seems pretty perfect to me. London looks suitably dirty and its inhabitants’ meals suitably exiguous. Happiness is an extra egg for tea, smoking is practically a profession, and
the likes of Archer wear thick, white vests.

Swastikas adorn everything from the Palace of Westminster to Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace is half ruined, a memorial to what the Germans regard as Churchill’s folly, and the CGI is good enough for the sight of all these things to induce your heart to ache briefly. Nazi brutality is depicted here as almost quotidian – and doubtless it once was to some. Huth’s determination to have four new telephone lines installed in his office within the hour is at one end of this horrible ordinariness. At the other is the box in which Archer’s mutinous secretary Sylvia (Maeve Dermody) furiously stubs out her fag, full to the brim with yellow stars.

When I first heard about The Kettering Incident (Tuesdays, 12.20am; repeated Wednesdays, 10pm) I thought someone must have found out about that thing that happened one time I was driving north on the M1 with a more-than-usually terrible hangover. Turns out it’s a new Australian drama, which comes to us on Sky Atlantic. Anna (Elizabeth Debicki), a doctor working in London, pitches up back in Tasmania many years after her teenage friend Gillian disappeared into its Kettering forest, having seen a load of mysterious bright lights. Was Gillian abducted by aliens or was she, as some local people believe, murdered by Anna? To be honest, she could be working as a roadie for Kylie, for all I care. This ponderous, derivative show is what happens when a writer sacrifices character on the altar of plot. The more the plot thickens, the more jaw-achingly tedious it becomes.

Rachel Cooke trained as a reporter on The Sunday Times. She is now a writer at The Observer. In the 2006 British Press Awards, she was named Interviewer of the Year.

This article first appeared in the 24 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The world after Brexit