Reviews round-up

The critics' verdicts on Claude Lanzmann, Andrew Motion and A N Wilson.

The Patagonian Hare: A Memoir by Claude Lanzmann

In the Telegraph, Nicholas Shakespeare delights in stories from the French director's life. Though Lanzmann is famous for Shoah, his 1985 documentary about the Holocaust, and lived life on the edge fighting for the French resistance, Shakespeare believes that the book has light as well as shade: "his memoir is also - surprisingly and triumphantly - a childlike celebration of life as Lanzmann sees it epitomised by the singularity of another hare that bounds out of the darkness". Though some dates don't seem to add up in this "dense" memoir, Shakespeare approaches such inconsistencies with ease, claiming they do not detract from the remarkable undertaking Lanzmann has attempted at the age of 86.

In this week's New Statesman, George Walden is similarly awed by Lanzmann's execution in condensing such a remarkable life into one (albeit large) volume. Calling it "a breathless book", he writes: "the zest for adventure is compelling, the writing - beautifully translated by Frank Wynne - fluent and inventive...the character and topographical sketches dazzling, the action sequences enthralling". But Walden is less forgiving of Lanzmann's embellishments, and does not hesitate to suggest that "A politician must justify his actions in the light of history; a writer and cineaste, it appears, is permitted his modish enthusiasms".

Silver: Return to Treasure Island by Andrew Motion

There's high praise for Andrew Motion's attempt to pick up where Robert Louis Stevenson left off in the beloved Treasure Island. In the Independent on Sunday, Suzi Feay claims the book convincingly recreates the style and scale of the 19th Century novel. "Motion is never afraid to slow the action in order to create some glowing effect of atmosphere or setting". In terms of its relationship to the Stevenson's classic, Feay believes it is a sensitively rendered homage: "The narrative's darker meditations and developments may stray into the territory of Joseph Conrad, but in a real sense, RLS is on this voyage too ... I think he'd approve of this rich and thrilling narrative which so ingeniously complements his own".

Writing in the Sunday Express, Martin Newell perceives that "Motion, probably for the first time in years, is having fun with this". The style, he says, is "airy, almost carefree, rapidly drawing the reader in", and has an "elegance" befitting the poet in Motion. Newell is also convinced by the attempt to recreate the world of Treasure Island, going so far as to say, "it is sometimes hard to perceive the join between their books".

Hitler: A Short Biography by A N Wilson

A N Wilson's take on Hitler and Nazism has, to say the least, received a mixed response. In the Observer, Nick Cohen describes this "short, sharp" work as "a liberation" when compared to the innumerable hefty biographies of Hitler, and praises the attempt to refresh a subject that has been exhausted by others: "Wilson refuses to play the 'parlour game' of counterfactual history and ask what if Britain and France had found the strength to stop the Nazis in 1936. The historian should only study what happened, he says". Cohen also writes that Wilson "is superb at putting himself in the shoes of others and sketching the mood of a time with a few strokes of the pen". But his adulation ends abruptly at Wilson's closing sentiments, which he believes let the entire book down since they are merely "witterings that are so asinine Thought for the Day could broadcast them".

Historian Richard J Evans dismisses not only the ending as misinformed, but the entire biography. In an acerbic attack in the New Statesman which spares no aspect of the book, he writes : "What might do as background research for a novel won't do as preparation for a serious work of history. Nor does he seem to have thought very hard or taken much care over what little reading he has done". Evans proceeds to list just a few of these failings, turning Wilson's claims inside out. Furthermore, he notes that "There are many contradictions in the book's arguments", and Wilson often uses "material that is marginal or irrelevant". Incredulity is the dominant note: "It's hard to think why a publishing house that once had a respected history list agreed to produce this travesty of a biography".

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Jonn Elledge and the Young Hagrid Audition

I auditioned for Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, for the part of “Young Hagrid”. Except I didn’t.

I’ve been dining out for years now on the fact I auditioned for Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, for the part of “Young Hagrid”. It’s one of those funny stories I tell people when a bit drunk, under the no doubt entirely wrong impression that it makes me sound like I’ve lived an interesting life.

Except, when I came to write this thing, I realised that it’s not actually true. I didn’t actually audition for the part of Young Hagrid at all.

Technically, I auditioned to be Voldemort.

Let’s start from the beginning. In November 2001 I was in my last year at Cambridge, where I split my time roughly equally between pissing about on a stage, writing thundering student paper columns about the true meaning of 9/11 as only a 21-year-old can, and having panic attacks that the first two things would cause me to screw up my degree and ruin my life forever. I was, I suppose, harmless enough; but looking back on that time, I am quite glad that nobody had yet invented social media.

I was also – this is relevant – quite substantially overweight. I’m not a slim man now, but I was much heavier then, so much so that I spent much of my later adolescence convinced that my mum’s bathroom scales were broken because my weight was, quite literally, off the scale. I was a big lad.

Anyway. One day my friend Michael, with whom I’d co-written quite a bad Edinburgh fringe show eighteen months earlier, came running up to me grasping a copy of Varsity. “Have you seen this?” he panted; in my memory, at least, he’s so excited by what he’s found that he’s literally run to find me. “You have to do it. It’d be brilliant.”

“This” turned out to be a casting call for actors for the new Harry Potter movie. This wasn’t unusual: Cambridge produces many actors, so production companies would occasionally hold open auditions in the hope of spotting fresh talent. I don’t remember how many minor parts they were trying to cast, or anything else about what it said. I was too busy turning bright red.

Because I could see the shameful words “Young Hagrid”. And I knew that what Michael meant was not, “God, Jonn, you’re a great actor, it’s time the whole world got to bask in your light”. What he meant was, “You’re a dead ringer for Robbie Coltrane”.

I was, remember, 21 years old. This is not what any 21-year-old wants to hear. Not least since I’d always suspected that the main things that made people think I looked like Robbie Coltrane were:

  1. the aforementioned weight issue, and
  2. the long dark trench coat I insisted on wearing in all seasons, under the mistaken impression that it disguised (a).

Most people look back at pictures of their 21-year-old self and marvel at how thin and beautiful they are. I look back and and I wonder why I wasted my youth cosplaying as Cracker.

The only photo of 2001 vintage Jonn I could find on the internet is actually a photo of a photo. For some reason, I really loved that tie. Image: Fiona Gee.

I didn’t want to lean into the Coltrane thing; since childhood I’d had this weird primal terror that dressing up as something meant accepting it as part of your identity, and at fancy dress parties (this is not a joke) I could often be found hiding under tables screaming. And I didn’t want to be Hagrid, young or otherwise. So I told Michael, quite plainly, that I wasn’t going to audition.

But as the days went by, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. This was an audition for a proper, actual movie. I’d always had this idea I must have some kind of talent*, and that Cambridge was where I would find out what it was**. What if this was my big break?*** What if I was being silly?****

So when it turned out that Michael had literally started a petition to get me to change my mind, I acceded to the inevitable. Who was I to resist the public demand for moi?

And so, I graciously alerted the people doing the casting to the fact of my existence. A few days later I got an email back inviting me to go see them in a room at Trinity College, and a few pages of script to read for them.

The first odd thing was that the script did not, in fact, mention Hagrid. The film, I would later learn, does include a flashback to Hagrid’s school days at Hogwarts. By then, though, the filmmakers had decided they didn’t need a young actor to play Young Hagrid: instead that sequence features a rugby player in a darkened corner, with a voiceover courtesy of Coltrane. The section of the script I was holding instead featured a conversation between Harry Potter and a character called Tom Riddle.

I asked my flat mate Beccy, who unlike me had actually read the books, who this person might be. She shuffled, awkwardly. “I think he might be Voldemort...?”

Further complicating things, the stage directions described Riddle as something along the lines of, “16 years old, stick thin and classically handsome, in a boyish way”. As fervently as I may have denied any resemblance between myself and Robbie Coltrane, I was nonetheless clear that I was a good match for precisely none of those adjectives.

I’m not sure what I was expecting when I went to the audition. I don’t suppose I expected Chris Columbus to be there, let alone Robbie Coltrane ready to embrace me like a long-lost son.  But I was expecting more than a cupboard containing a video camera of the sort you could buy at Dixons and a blonde woman not much older than me. She introduced herself as “Buffy” which, given that this was 2001, I am not entirely convinced was her real name.

“My friends always tell me I look like Robbie Coltrane,” I told her, pretending I was remotely enthusiastic about this fact. 

“Oh yeah,” said Buffy. “But he’s really... big isn’t he? I mean he’s a huge guy. You’re more sort of...”

Or to put it another way, if they had still been looking for a young Hagrid, they would have wanted someone tall. I’m 6’, but I’m not tall. I was just fat.

If they had been looking for a Young Hagrid. Which, as it turned out, they weren’t.

The section I read for was included in the final film, so with a bit of Googling I found the script online. It was this bit:

TOM RIDDLE Yes. I’m afraid so. But then, she’s been in so much pain, poor Ginny. She’s been writing to me for months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes. Ginny poured her soul out to me. I grew stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful enough to start feeding Ginny a few secrets, to start pouring a bit of my soul back into her...

Riddle, growing less vaporous by the second, grins cruelly.

TOM RIDDLE Yes, Harry, it was Ginny Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets.

I mean, you can see the problem, can’t you? I don’t remember this many years on what interpretation I put on my performance. I suspect I went beyond camp and into full on panto villain, and I dread to think what I may have done to communicate the impression of “growing less vaporous”.

But what I do feel confident about is that I was absolutely bloody awful. Five minutes after arriving, I was out, and I never heard from Buffy again.

So – I didn’t become a star. You probably guessed that part already.

In all honesty, I didn’t really realise what a big deal Harry Potter was. I’d seen the first film, and thought it was all right, but I was yet to read the books; three of them hadn’t even been written yet.

I had some vague idea there was an opportunity here. But the idea I was missing a shot at being part of an institution, something that people would be rereading and re-watching and analysing for decades to come – something that, a couple of years later, at roughly the point when Dumbledore shows Harry the Prophecy, and a tear rolls down his cheek, would come to mean quite a lot to me, personally – none of that ever crossed my mind. I’d had an opportunity. It hadn’t worked out. Happened all the time.

I do sometimes like to think, though, about the parallel universe in which that audition was the start of a long and glittering career – and where the bloke who played Tom Riddle in this universe is scratching a living writing silly blogs about trains.

*I don’t.

**I didn’t.

***It wasn’t.

****I was.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.

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