Further cuts to UK film bodies amidst growing protest

The BFI continues to pursue its cuts program.

Twenty five leading film academics, including Professor Pam Cook who runs the anti-cuts bfiwatch blog, have written to the British Film Institute (BFI) to protest against the proposed move of the BFI library from its current site just off Tottenham Court Road, one of the latest moves in the series of potential cuts measures to be enforced at the BFI, as a result of a 15% budget cut over the next four years. The BFI has suggested moving the collection in part to its Southbank building and in part to the National Archive Facility in Berkhamstead, Hertfordshire.

The letter offers vehement opposition to the move:

It's as if the British Library were to move to Hertfordshire. The BFI National Library has underpinned the growth of UK film and moving image scholarship, which has in turn supported the UK's thriving cultural and creative industries. We are not aware of any consultation with library users, who, incidentally, pay an annual fee for the service, still less with donors to the collection - some of whom made gifts because the BFI offered central London access.

It also became clear today that Screen Yorkshire, the body which was responsible for much of the location scouting for the Bafta nominated film The King's Speech could potentially lose up to 15 out of its current 19 employees, because of the abolition of the regional development agency for Yorkshire, Yorkshire Forward, which had previously provided the film funding body with finance from a £10.2 million contract for the promotion of film in the area.

The cuts program has already taken effect in some areas of the BFI with the closure of the gallery at BFI Southbank, the announcement of a " editorial and production review" in March for the BFI's magazine Sight and Sound, a proposed pay freeze for all staff until April 2012 and some 37 reduncies at the organisation acknoweldged to be almost certain.

When announcing the cuts in December last year, the director of the BFI Amanda Nevill, said:

It is imperative the BFI builds on its successes and remains commercially astute in this tough new environment. We have an incredible opportunity in the months and years ahead to create something very special for film in the UK and these proposals are both bold and necessary.

The recent abolition of the UK Film Council has also led to the BFI being compelled to take on the former body's funding and distribution responsibilities.

When Culture Minister Ed Vaizey gave a speech outlining his department's vision for the future of the UK film industry last November, he talked about a "more open" and "more engaged" BFI and concluded that his proposals offered "an exciting new vision for the British film industry". From the detail of the cuts that are beginning to emerge, it seems that in fact these changes risk creating a more parochial, target-driven and less creative British film industry.

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Beware of tea: the cuppa has started wars and ruined lives

. . . and it once led F Scott Fitzgerald to humiliate himself.

A drink sustains me – one that steams companionably as I write. It is hot, amber and fragranced differently from any wine; nor does it have wine’s capacity to soften and blur. I’ve never understood how the great drunks of literature, Ernest Hemingway, F Scott Fitzgerald and their like, ever put anything on the page more worthwhile than a self-involved howl, though even Hemingway apparently finished the day’s writing before beginning the day’s drinking.

Tea is more kindly, or so I’d always thought. Those aromatic leaves, black or green, rolled and dried and oxidised, have some of wine’s artistry but none of its danger. Even their exoticism has waned, from a Chinese rarity (“froth of the liquid jade”), for which 17th-century English traders were made to pay in solid silver, to a product that can be found dirt cheap on supermarket shelves.

There are even home-grown teas now. The Tregothnan estate in Cornwall has supplemented its ornamental rhododendrons and camellias with their relative camellia sinensis, the tea plant, while Dalreoch in the Scottish Highlands grows a white (that is, lightly oxidised) tea, which is smoked using wood from the surrounding birch plantations. Tellingly, this local version is priced as steeply as the imported rarity once was.

I enjoy a simple, solitary mug, but I also appreciate communal tea-drinking – the delicate tea warmed with water at 85°C (a little higher for sturdier black blends), the teapot and china, the pourer volunteering to be “mother”, as if this were a liquid that could nurture. But in reality, tea is not so gentle.

Those long-ago English traders disliked haemorrhaging silver, so they started exporting opium to China from India and paying with that. This was a fabulous success, unless you happened to be Chinese. In 1839, a commissioner attempted to clamp down on the illegal and harmful trade, and the result was the Opium Wars, which the Chinese lost. “Gunboat diplomacy” – a phrase that surely constitutes froth of a different kind – won England a great deal of silver, a 150-year lease on Hong Kong and an open tea market. China received a potful of humiliation that may eventually have helped spark the Communist Revolution. As many of us have recently realised, there is nothing like economic mortification to galvanise a nation to kick its leaders.

Later, the tea bush was planted in India, Ceylon and elsewhere, and the fragrant but bitter brew for the upper classes became a ubiquitous fuel. But not an entirely sweet one: just as the opium trade ensured our tea’s arrival in the pot, the slave trade sweetened it in the cup. Even today, conditions for tea workers in places such as Assam in north-east India are often appalling.

Scott Fitzgerald also had tea trouble. When invited round by Edith Wharton, he frothed the liquid jade so assiduously with booze beforehand and risqué conversation during (a story about an American tourist couple staying unawares in a Paris bordello) that he was nearly as badly humiliated as those 19th-century Chinese. Wharton, unshocked, merely wondered aloud what the couple had done in the bordello and afterwards pronounced the entire occasion “awful”.

Some would blame his alcoholic preliminaries, but I’m not so sure. Tea has started wars and ruined lives; we should be wary of its consolations. On that sober note, I reach for the corkscrew and allow the subject to drive me softly, beguilingly, to drink.

Nina Caplan is the 2014 Fortnum & Mason Drink Writer of the Year and 2014 Louis Roederer International Wine Columnist of the Year for her columns on drink in the New Statesman. She tweets as @NinaCaplan.

This article first appeared in the 27 April 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Cool Britannia 20 Years On

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