Reviews Round-Up

The critics’ verdicts on Lois Banner, Tom Williams and Nell Freudenberger.

 

Marilyn: The Passion and the Paradox by Lois Banner

With last Saturday marking the 50th anniversary of Marilyn Monroe’s death many papers chose to feature a review of the latest Marilyn biography by Lois Banner. The text joins another, estimated, 700 books published on Monroe, numbers that would normally suggest a market long since over-saturated. Yet the icon's variable persona, married with her irresistible aurora of sex, intrigue and powerful associates, still invites a limitless and febrile litany of personality hermeneutics. Since her death, authors have tried to paint Marilyn as everything from a dumb blonde, to an intellectual, to a monster, and her death as anything and everything from an accident, to murder, to suicide. Perhaps Banner, a professor of history and gender studies at the University of Southern California, can be excused in her attempt to re-empower Marilyn’s legacy by identifying Monroe as a proto-feminist through Marilyn: The Passion and the Paradox.

Zoe Slutzy, writing in the New York Times, identifies the essential problem of Monroe’s confused character. “Marilyn is steeped in paradoxes so profound that, even under the microscope, they stir and shift without ever settling into a singular picture. Such is the premise of Lois Banner’s new biography, 'Marilyn: The Passion and the Paradox,' which behaves a little like its subject.” She praises the result, writing that, “by the end, Monroe feels at once like an earthly being — an almost-friend — and an enigma, still slightly out of focus and just beyond reach. That seems right.” Yet it’s not lost on her that feminist writer, Gloria Steinem, has already covered familiar ground and similarly came “to see, in the star’s own sadness, in her winking innocence and complex sexuality, a woman straddling the puritanism of postwar America and its dissolution in the ’60s.”

Joan Smith, whose review was published in the Independent, was also reminded of Steinem’s biography, but remains unconvinced that Monroe's tumultuous and haunted life, “has a positive message for women”. Whilst she admits that Banner's account “dispels some myths”, she argues that “the sheer quantity of detail is daunting, and her prose is sometimes excruciating.”

Susie Boyt’s write up in the Financial Times agrees with this verdict, calling the factual content both a “wealth” and “overwhelming”. She also questions whether Banner is suited to write a text for public consumption, criticising Banner’s prose as both over-reliant on academic discourse and at times patronising to the reader's intelligence. However, she concludes that the project is somewhat vindicated by “Banner’s admiration of, and belief in, her subject", which, "really animate the text".

A Mysterious Something in the Light: Raymond Chandler, a Life by Tom Williams

Banner’s biography wasn’t the only book that last week’s critics claimed shared qualities with its subject. There is a double echo in Williams’ biography of Raymond Chandler, with some reviewers arguing that Chandler perceived qualities of his most famous character, Philip Marlowe, in himself and others criticising Williams' text as sharing some of the unfortunate flaws of Chandler’s own writing.

Jake Kerridge writes in the Telegraph that “one of the most fascinating aspects of Tom Williams’s new biography is that it shows how frequently throughout his life Chandler cast himself as the Marlowe-esque hero-knight.” Indeed, this reflection was so vital to Chandler that he was known to lie about his past. Williams uncovers “evidence that contradicts assertions swallowed by previous biographers,” to Kerridge’s praise. “For example, although he certainly fought bravely in the trenches in France during the First World War, Williams has found documentary evidence disproving his claim that he was concussed in a German shell attack that left all his friends dead.” Despite this discovery, Kerridge concludes that Williams has “unearthed little new material.” He further damns the prose “as pedestrian,” but leavens the criticism by acknowledging that William “knows the value of letting Chandler speak for himself".

Though Chandler fantasised of similarities between his protagonist and himself, Craig Brown in the Daily Mail is struck by the fact that “authors are seldom like their creations, but few are quite so different as Raymond Chandler.” Like Kerridge, he sees the book as somewhat lacking in elegance, though he does recommend it as “a good starting point for those who can’t resist a peek past the glittering stage-set of an author’s work to the tawdry mess that so often lies beyond". He perceives the said "mess" of Chandler’s life to also be present in his corpus, arguing that Chandler’s “plots are all over the place … More often than not, he would end up buried in a hopeless tangle of conflicting plot-lines, with the murderer still not caught for the simple reason that the author had no idea which one he was".

This weakness in story-telling is one that Christopher Bray, of the Financial Times, believes to also be apparent in Williams’ writing, whilst several ugly turns of phrase provoke outright disgust. “'The plan he had outlined in 1939 had not unfolded as planned’ ... How many seconds with a thesaurus would it take to lose that ugly repetition?” Yet Bray’s final hammer blow to the coffin nail is a remark on the inconsistency in the portrait that Williams paints. “A slapdash plotter he might have been, but Chandler would never have dared dream up such a contradictory character."

The Newlyweds by Nell Freudenberger

Moving on from biographies, is Nell Freudenberger’s third novel, The Newlyweds, a fictional account inspired by a real Deshi "email bride" that Freudenberger met on a plane. It follows a fictional young Bangladedishian woman, Amina Mazid, from her home country to New York to marry a man she met online, George Stillman. For Amina the marriage offers new opportunities and for George a chance at a meaningful relationship, yet “both conceal more romantic yearnings, in Amina’s case for Nasir, son of her father’s oldest friend; George’s lie closer to home. They have, in a manner at once modern and old-fashioned, relinquished these attachments – for now,” writes Catherine Taylor in the Telegraph. “In the third section, Amina, her marriage suffering its first real crisis, returns to Bangladesh to accompany her parents to the US; immediately the novel deepens in insight and drama.” Taylor is largely admiring of the result. “Freudenberger’s depiction of Bangladesh, the interlocking of country and society, is uncanny." “While lacking the effortless prose style of Jhumpa Lahiri, or the political engagement of Tahmima Anam, the richness and restraint displayed here recall Vikram Seth’s epic of pragmatism, A Suitable Boy.”

Kunal Dutta, meanwhile, is interested in how the differences in their agenda for matrimony lead “George and Amina [to] inhabit different mental spaces, and the author reveals the shades of loneliness and isolation that can colour an outwardly perfect union.” Her review in the Independent is largely glowing. “The chapters zip along with purpose and the novel flits effortlessly between the false intimacy of suburban America and the closely knit gossipy communities of Dhaka where Amina returns in the second half.” Yet the distances covered in the novel are not just geographical and cultural, The Newlyweds is a love story woven around the heterotopias of our technocratic world. “What this book does so well is articulate the challenges of mixed marriages in the digital age.” Though Dutta cannot help but notice that “the homage to Starbucks, intended as a US reference point, reads more like a state-sponsored advertorial".

Dutta’s unease is perhaps a seed of Philip Hensher's, who is more overtly troubled by the sterotypically American perspective of the novel. “Too much relies on the questions of who loves whom, and who finds sexual fulfilment most easily", he writes in the Financial Times. He admits that it is “the work of a writer with strong interests in the non-western world,” but sees it as "limited in its analysis" due to its unconvincing preoccupation with American questions. “Since the publication of Edward Said’s Orientalism 34 years ago, western writers have become much more wary of treating Asian subjects…. feeling that there are too many ways in which the culture can be mistaken and traduced; knowing, too, that Asia has produced many great novelists of its own.” There is a note of melancholy in his words when he writes that “nearly a century after Forster in A Passage to India regretted that no friendship could exist between east and west – "No, not yet" – it seems as large a challenge as ever for a writer to conceive of a Bengali woman’s thoughts when they are not concerned with western preoccupations.”

Women pose beneath the 'Forever Marilyn' statue in Palm Springs. (Photo: Getty)

A year on from the Spending Review, the coalition's soothsayer has emerged to offer another gloomy economic prognosis. Asked by ITV News whether he could promise that there wouldn't be a double-dip recession, Vince Cable replied: "I can't do that.

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How Ken Loach's radical vision won him a second Palm d'Or

In Loach's films, authenticity is everything, and when his quest for realism pays off, there's nothing as raw in all of cinema.

On 22 May, at the age of 79, Ken Loach became the first British director to win the top prize twice at the Cannes Film Festival. His previous Palme d’Or, in 2006, was for The Wind That Shakes the Barley, which dramatised the British occupation of Ireland and the origins of the IRA. This time, he won for I, Daniel Blake, the story of an ailing carpenter wrongly declared fit for work by the callous UK benefits system. No wonder Ed Vaizey, the culture minister, could issue only the most grudging acknowledgement, alluding vaguely to “Brit success!” in a tweet that failed to mention either Loach or the film.

The actor and Cannes jury member Donald Sutherland, on the other hand, called I, Daniel Blake “an absolutely terrific movie that resonates in your heart and soul”. It was an incongruous delight to see Loach posing before swarms of paparazzi. He usually disdains such frivolities; he might be red but he’s hardly red carpet. “As a film-maker, you’re forever involved in things that constantly inflate their own importance,” he once complained. Artifice, hyperbole and celebrity hold no appeal. Even film-making itself is full of irritating impediments. “If Loach could make a film without a camera, he would,” said Trevor Griffiths, who collaborated with him on Fatherland (1986).

Authenticity is everything. Unusually, Loach shoots in sequence, even if it requires moving back and forth at great cost between locations. In the days of celluloid, he would forfeit much of his fee to buy more film stock so that his beloved improvisations could roll on and on. When I visited the set of Carla’s Song near Loch Lomond in 1995, Loach gave the actor Robert Carlyle a good-natured ticking off for speaking to me between takes. “I’d rather he didn’t talk to anyone,” he said, “because then he’ll start thinking about things in terms of technique and who he really is, and it’ll all become conscious.”

When the quest for realism pays off, there is nothing as raw in all cinema. Think of the chilling attack on a family home by loan sharks in his 1993 drama Raining Stones, one of the films that began his most successful period, or the climax of Cathy Come Home, made for the BBC in 1966 and arguably his most groundbreaking film. As Cathy (Carol White) has her children taken off her by social workers and police, Loach films the entire traumatic episode in a wide shot with a hidden camera to preserve the reality. The movie led directly to the founding of Crisis.

Conversely, Loach at his worst can be one of the most simplistic sentimentalists out there. The characterisation of the salt-of-the-earth heroes in recent films such as Jimmy’s Hall and Route Irish, or the pantomime-villain Brits in The Wind That Shakes the Barley, shows what happens when action is overpowered by agenda.

Born in Nuneaton, Warwickshire, Loach read law at Oxford but became seduced by theatre directing and acting: he was in a revue for which Dudley Moore composed the music, and understudied in the West End in One Over the Eight. He joined the BBC in 1963, where he brought extra earthiness to Z-Cars before finding his ideal outlet in The Wednesday Play slot that went out after the news. “We were very anxious for our plays not to be considered dramas but as continuations of the news,” he said. He made ten TV films under that banner but it was with his second movie, Kes, in 1969, that he took flight, proving that the gritty and the lyrical need not be mutually exclusive.

His politics was fully formed by this point. Though he has rejected claims that he is Marxist or Trotskyist, he admits that the analysis to which he turned after his disillusionment with Harold Wilson in the mid-1960s was a Marxist one. “The idea of a class analysis was the one we identified with,” he said of himself and his collaborators the producer Tony Garnett and the writer Jim Allen. “What we realised was that social democrats and Labour politicians were simply acting on behalf of the ruling class, protecting the interests of capital.”

This stance was consolidated by a series of run-ins in the 1980s, when he saw his work banned and thwarted by political forces. The transmission of his four-part 1983 television documentary Questions of Leadership, which asked whether the trade union leadership was adequately representing its members’ interests, was delayed and blocked by Labour string-pulling. Which Side Are You On? – a documentary about the miners’ strike – was rejected because of footage showing police violence.

Since his full-time return to cinema in the early 1990s, acclaim has eclipsed controversy. Even if he had not won a Palme d’Or, his stamp is all over other directors who have won that award in the past 20 years. The Belgian social realists Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne (Rosetta, The Child) have never hidden their debt to him, while recent winners such as Jacques Audiard (Dheepan) and Cristian Mingiu (4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days) exhibit his mixture of directness, compassion and realism.

If there is anything that defines him, it is his fight, which has made it possible for him to remain one of cinema’s angriest and most effective voices. “In the long term, I guess I’m optimistic because people always fight back,” he said. “The reason to make films is just to let people express that, to share that kind of resilience because that’s what makes you smile. It’s what makes you get up in the morning.”

“I, Daniel Blake” is released later this year

Ryan Gilbey is the New Statesman's film critic. He is also the author of It Don't Worry Me (Faber), about 1970s US cinema, and a study of Groundhog Day in the "Modern Classics" series (BFI Publishing). He was named reviewer of the year in the 2007 Press Gazette awards.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad