Where next for the British film industry?

The body that funded The King's Speech is being axed and the BFI library is under threat.

The culture minister Ed Vaizey's November 2010 announcement of the coalition government's plans for the future of the UK film industry heralded "the new BFI". Following the abolition of the UK Film Council (UKFC) in April 2011, the restructured British Film Institute, guardian of the nation's moving-image culture since 1933, would become the new strategic body overseeing the development of British cinema, in partnership with Film London and the Regional Screen Agencies in England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales. As Vaizey said, the BFI would change fundamentally as it became the lead body for British film.

The BFI responded with a proposal for "a new film era in the UK". This involves adapting to the current financial environment by prioritising core BFI activities, "those that audiences most value". In addition to incorporating staff from the axed UKFC, the BFI is faced with a 15 per cent budget cut that requires efficiency savings, including job cuts. Key features of the "new era" proposals are a large-scale digitisation programme, necessitating investment in new skills; the removal of the BFI library and reading room from the institute's Stephen Street premises to BFI Southbank; and the establishment of a bespoke study centre for academics and researchers in Berkhamsted. In tandem, there will be a drive to reduce overheads, boost new business and increase fundraising income.

As details of the plans emerged, alarm bells rang about the effects of the cost-cutting measures on the BFI national library, a world-class collection of print materials on the moving image and the gateway to UK film culture and history. The BFI library is used by a broad range of people, but historically higher education has been its primary market and this has underpinned the development of moving-image education in this country. Academics, researchers and students from across the globe rely on central London access to its materials and the support of its specialist staff. The relocation plans involve moving substantial amounts of the library collections to the Berkhamsted storage centre and the reorientation of the library reading room to the general public as part of the BFI's audience development programme. The opening up of the BFI to the wider public is admirable -- but in the context of the coalition government's draconian cuts to the higher education sector and the devastating impact on the arts and humanities, the plans for the BFI library appear to be a retrograde step, with fewer staff operating a curtailed service. This would represent a serious threat to film and television studies research and education world-wide.

A group of senior academics mounted a campaign to keep the library collections together and accessible, and set up a petition to gather public support. The comments from signatories testify to the high regard in which the library and its staff are held by a large international community of users, and the value placed on its accessibility. Despite BFI assurances that the library service will benefit from the relocation plans, many questions remain: about space and storage availability at the Southbank site; about the timescale and costs of the digitisation programme; and about the impact of staff cuts on the library service. It's clear that the library is not a priority and is unlikely to be improved by the proposals.

There is more at stake than convenience. It's shameful that one of the most prestigious and valuable library collections in the world, the repository of our national film culture, should be struggling for survival. A new era for British cinema without the infrastructure of ideas, research, critical analysis and knowledge held by the BFI national library, disseminated by education at every level, is unthinkable.

Pam Cook is a writer, blogger and academic. She is responsible for bfiwatch, an independent blog dedicated to tracking events that have an impact on the work of the British Film Institute

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Why does food taste better when we Instagram it?

Delay leads to increased pleasure when you set up a perfect shot of your dinner.

Been on holiday? Take any snaps? Of course you did – but if you’re anything like me, your friends and family didn’t make it into many of them. Frankly, I can only hope that Mr Whippy and I will still be mates in sixty years, because I’m going to have an awful lot of pictures of him to look back on.

Once a decidedly niche pursuit, photographing food is now almost as popular as eating it, and if you thought that the habit was annoying at home, it is even worse when it intrudes on the sacred peace of a holiday. Buy an ice cream and you’ll find yourself alone with a cone as your companion rushes across a four-lane highway to capture his or hers against the azure sea. Reach for a chip before the bowl has been immortalised on social media and get your hand smacked for your trouble.

It’s a trend that sucks the joy out of every meal – unless, that is, you’re the one behind the camera. A new study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology suggests that taking pictures of food enhances our pleasure in it. Diners at the food court of a farmers’ market in Philadelphia were asked either to photograph their meal or to eat “as you normally would”, then were questioned about how they found it. Those in the photography group reported that not only did they enjoy their meal more, but they were “significantly more immersed in the experience” of eating it.

This backs up evidence from previous studies, including one from this year in the Journal of Consumer Marketing, which found that participants who had been asked to photograph a red velvet cake – that bleeding behemoth of American overindulgence – later rated it as significantly tastier than those who had not.

Interestingly, taking a picture of a fruit salad had no effect on its perceived charms, but “when descriptive social norms regarding healthy eating [were] made salient”, photographing these healthier foods did lead to greater enjoyment. In other words, if you see lots of glossy, beautifully lit pictures of chia seed pudding on social media, you are more likely to believe that it’s edible, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
This may seem puzzling. After all, surely anything tastes better fresh from the kitchen rather than a protracted glamour shoot – runny yolks carefully split to capture that golden ooze, strips of bacon arranged just so atop plump hemispheres of avocado, pillowy burger buns posed to give a glimpse of meat beneath. It is hardly surprising that 95 million posts on Instagram, the photo-sharing site, proudly bear the hashtag #foodporn.

However, it is this delay that is apparently responsible for the increase in pleasure: the act of rearranging that parsley garnish, or moving the plate closer to the light, increases our anticipation of what we are about to eat, forcing us to consider how delicious it looks even as we forbid ourselves to take a bite until the perfect shot is in the bag. You could no doubt achieve the same heightened sense of satisfaction by saying grace before tucking in, but you would lose the gratification that comes from imagining other people ogling your grilled Ibizan sardines as they tuck in to an egg mayonnaise at their desk.

Bear in mind, though, that the food that is most successful on Instagram often has a freakish quality – lurid, rainbow-coloured bagel-croissant hybrids that look like something out of Frankenstein’s bakery are particularly popular at the moment – which may lead to some unwise menu choices in pursuit of online acclaim.

On the plus side, if a diet of giant burgers and salted-caramel lattes leaves you feeling queasy, take heart: if there is one thing that social media likes more than #avotoast, it is embarrassing oversharing. After a week of sickening ice-cream shots, a sickbed selfie is guaranteed to cheer up the rest of us. 

Felicity Cloake is the New Statesman’s food columnist. Her latest book is The A-Z of Eating: a Flavour Map for Adventurous Cooks.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser