The government scraps the UK Film Council

But amid the gloom, is there some good news for British film?

The Culture Secretary, Jeremy Hunt, has announced that the UK Film Council is to be abolished. It is the highest profile name in a list of 55 public bodies that the Department for Culture, Media and Sport wants to cut, merge or "streamline". (The Museums, Libraries and Archives Council will also be abolished.)

The Film Council issues grants and lottery money to develop new films and claims to have supported over 900 films since it was set up in 2000. But the body, which formed a key element of New Labour's cultural project, has not been without its detractors. Notably, the writer Colin MacCabe has accused the council of pursuing the "fantasy" of a Hollywood-style industry at the expense of real innovation. In a piece for Prospect in January, MacCabe wrote:

In preparing this article, I have talked to many producers and have been startled by the level of venom I have encountered. For the UKFC's aggressive commercial strategy, completely at odds with comparable European bodies, has gone hand in hand with the frequent contractual request that they have final cut on a film, overriding both the producer and director. Moreover, as a senior executive of one the most established production companies told me, "it uses the tactics of a Hollywood studio and its monopoly position to bully producers out of decent equity positions.

And others, including the New Statesman's film critic Ryan Gilbey, have decried a lack of risk-taking in British film over the past decade. Last year, in a survey of film under New Labour, Gilbey wrote:

Labour's supportive approach to arts funding has translated at ground level into a happy-clappy positivity: it is chiefly those projects that reproduce the contours of proven hits, or push British life as an inspiring brand rather than a complex reality, that tend to get made and promoted. If you adored Notting Hill, if you can't live without Bend It Like Beckham, you will love this, and this, and this . . .

Hunt suggests that the government will now work directly with the British Film Institute, the body that oversaw film funding prior to 2000. Could this be an opportunity to reform the way films are made in this country? Any optimism might be tempered by the wider context: the Film Council is being abolished as part of a wider attack on public spending. Hunt insists that "government and lottery support for the film industry will continue" -- but how much support, and in what form, remains to be seen.

Daniel Trilling is the Editor of New Humanist magazine. He was formerly an Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood