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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Radio as shelter: Grenfell Tower was too frightening to look at

No song seemed to fit the mood on Hayes FM.

“Amidst all this horror, I hope to bring you some light relief. Here’s James Taylor.” Two days after the Grenfell Tower fire, a popular community station a little west of the incident was uncertain what note to strike.

The repeated ads for alarms detecting carbon-monoxide leaks (“this silent killer”) and tips on how to prevent house fires (“Don’t overwhelm your sockets and cause a spark”) sounded perhaps a little overassertive, but then the one for a day-long course focusing on resisting gender stereotyping (“Change the narrative”) felt somewhat out of place. And no song seemed to fit. James Taylor’s “Shower the People” turned out OK, but the Cranberries’ “The Icicle Melts” was unceremoniously faded out mid-flow.

This does often happen on Hayes FM, though. There are times when the playlist is patently restless, embodying that hopeless sensation when you can’t settle and are going through tracks like an unplugged bath – Kate Bush too cringey, T-Rex too camp – everything reminding you of some terrible holiday a couple of years ago. Instead, more ads. Watch your salt intake. Giving up smoking might be a good idea. Further fire safety. (“Attach too many appliances and it could cause an overload and that could cause a fire. Fire kills.”)

Then a weather report during which nobody could quite bring themselves to state the obvious: that the sky was glorious. A bell of blue glass. The morning of the fire – the building still ablaze – I had found three 15-year-old boys, pupils at a Latimer Road school that stayed closed that day because of the chaos, sitting in their uniforms on a bench on the mooring where I live, along the towpath from the tower.

They were listening to the perpetual soft jangle of talk radio as it reported on the situation. “Why the radio?” I asked them, the sight of young people not focused on visuals clearly unusual. “It’s too frightening to look at!” they reasoned.

Radio as shelter. As they listened, one of them turned over in his hand a fragment of the tower’s cladding that he must have picked up in the street on the way over – a sticky-charcoaled hack of sponge, which clung like an insect to his fingers whenever he tried to drop it. 

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 22 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The zombie PM

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