Ken Loach turns down an award

The director shows solidarity with film festival workers.

Some decisions hit hard, tearing down the wall of polite hypocrisy behind which the film community often hide. Ken Loach’s decision to turn down an award from the Turin Film Festival in solidarity with outsourced festival workers made for encouraging news. It appears that his political convictions are not confined to celluloid; lights can sometimes be lit off the set. When economic recession hits hard, political opportunism becomes a palatable option, but not for Ken Loach it seems. In the press statement issued to the Turin Film Festival, the director of Bread and Roses said that to "accept the Award and make a few critical comments would be weak and hypocritical. We cannot say one thing on screen and betray that in our actions”.

The dispute, which had been brewing for a while, came to public attention on the eve of the festival when representatives of a grassroots union started picketing the main festival venue. Slogans such as “shame on you!” and “these are the people who make culture”, sarcastically referring to the festival organisers, "welcomed" Turin's centre-left mayor, Piero Fassino. The leaflets union organisers and activists handed out read, “I love you Ken”, and explained the dispute that brought them on the streets and led Loach to decline his award. According to the union, workers’ rights have been progressively eroded by outsourcing and temporary contracts that prevent the amelioration of working conditions. The Museum of Cinema in Turin, which is in charge of the film festival, has outsourced cleaning and security services for the past 12 years to a company called Coop Rear. “A wage cut was followed by allegations of intimidation and harassment. A number of people have been dismissed, Loach’s statement read. “The fact that it is happening throughout Europe does not make it acceptable." The director had been contacted directly by union representatives prior to his arrival in Turin for the 30th edition of the festival. Romolo Marcella, regional secretary of the USB (Confederation of Grassroots Unions), said that they got in touch with Loach back in August with documents detailing their claims. Without being urged to do so by the union, Loach made his decision not to pick up the award official early last week.

The festival organisers claimed that Loach was ill-informed and that they cannot be held responsible, neither directly nor indirectly, for the behaviour and employment practices of a third party (in this case, Coop Rear). Alberto Barbera, the president of the Museum of Cinema as well as the Venice Film Festival's new artistic director, added that the festival is renowned for its commitment to the fair and just treatment of workers. According to Italian press reports, Coop Rear, whose president is also a local town councillor, has decided to take legal action against the Loach. The festival organisers have retaliated by withdrawing Loach’s latest film, The Angels Share, which was due to be screened at the festival later this week. That the whole affaire took place in Turin is significant since the northern industrial city has witnessed in the past massive industrial action and widespread militancy. The festival itself, widely regarded as a left-wing event, has in the past had sections of its programme dedicated to labour-related issues. One of its prizes, the Cipputi award, which Loach was given in 1998, takes its name from a blue-collar character created by the celebrated Italian cartoonist, Altan.

Turin has invested heavily in culture as its industrial infrastructure withered. Home to the main FIAT car manufacturing plant and formerly home to a large working-class population, Turin is also Italy’s main literary centre. TFF artistic director, the filmmaker Gianni Amelio, after having put Loach's decision to renounce the award down to his temperament, stated his respect for the director's choice while at the same time deeming it inappropriate. As the Italian cultural establishment walks the tightrope of diplomacy, Loach has decided to stand shoulder to shoulder with those who can barely afford to buy a festival ticket.

Director Ken Loach (Photograph: Getty Images)
JACQUES DEMARTHON/AFP/Getty Images
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Why aren’t there more scientists in the National Portrait Gallery?

If the National Portrait Gallery celebrates the best of British achievements, there’s a vast area that is being overlooked.

The National Portrait Gallery (NPG) in London is my favourite place to visit in the city, even though I’m a mere scientist, or uncultured philistine as the gallery’s curators might consider me. Much of my research involves “omics”. We have “genomics” and “transcriptomics" to describe the science of sequencing genomes. “Proteomics” characterises our proteins and “metabolomics” measures refers to the small chemical “metabolites” from which we’re composed. The “ome” suffix has come to represent the supposed depiction of systems in their totality. We once studied genes, but now we can sequence whole genomes. The totality of scientific literature is the “bibliome”. The NPG purports to hang portraits of everyone who is anyone; a sort of “National Portraitome”.

However, I am increasingly struck by the subjective view of who is on display. Some areas of British life get better coverage than others. Kings and queens are there; Prime ministers, authors, actors, artists and playwrights too. But where are the scientists? Those individuals who have underpinned so much of all we do in the modern world. Their lack of representation is disappointing, to say the least. A small room on the ground floor purports to represent contemporary science. An imposing portrait of Sir Paul Nurse, Nobel laureate and current president of the world’s most prestigious science academy (the Royal Society (RS)) dominates the room. Opposite him is a smaller picture of Nurse’s predecessor at the RS, astronomer Martin Rees. James Dyson (the vacuum cleaner chap), James Lovelock (an environmental scientist) and Susan Greenfield all have some scientific credentials. A couple of businessmen are included in the room (like scientists, these people aren’t artists, actors, playwrights or authors). There is also one of artist Mark Quinn’s grotesque blood-filled heads. Some scientists do study blood of course.

Where are our other recent Nobel winners? Where are the directors of the great research institutes, funding bodies, universities and beyond? Does the nation really revere its artists, playwrights and politicians so much more than its scientists? I couldn’t find a picture of Francis Crick, co-discoverer of the key role played by DNA in genetics. Blur, however, are there. “Parklife” is certainly a jaunty little song, but surely knowing about DNA has contributed at least as much to British life.

Returning to my “omics” analogy, the gallery itself is actually more like what’s called the “transcriptome”. Genes in DNA are transcribed into RNA copies when they are turned on, or “expressed”. Every cell in our body has the same DNA, but each differs because different genes are expressed in different cell types. Only a fraction of the NPG’s collection ends up “expressed” on its walls at any one time. The entire collection is, however, available online. This allows better insight into the relative value placed upon the arts and sciences. The good news is that Francis Crick has 10 portraits in the collection – considerably more than Blur. Better still, Sir Alexander Fleming, the Scottish discoverer of antibiotics has 20 likenesses, two more than Ian Fleming, creator of James Bond. I had suspected the latter might do better. After all, antibiotics have only saved hundreds of millions of lives, while Bond saved us all when he took out Dr No.

To get a broader view, I looked at British winners of a Nobel Prize since 1990, of which there have been 27. Three of these were for literature, another three each for economics and physics, a couple for peace, five for chemistry and 11 for physiology or medicine. The writers Doris Lessing, Harold Pinter and V S Naipaul respectively have 16, 19 and five portraits in the collection. A majority of the scientist winners have no portrait at all. In fact there are just 16 likenesses for the 24 non-literature winners, compared to 40 for the three writers. Albeit of dubious statistical power, this small survey suggests a brilliant writer is around 20 times more likely to be recognised in the NPG than a brilliant scientist. William Golding (1983) was the last British winner of a Nobel for literature prior to the 90s. His eight likenesses compare to just two for Cesar Milstein who won the prize for physiology or medicine a year later in 1984. Milstein invented a process to create monoclonal antibodies, which today serve as a significant proportion of all new medicines and generate over £50bn in revenue each year. Surely Milstein deserves more than a quarter of the recognition (in terms of portraits held in the gallery) bestowed upon Golding for his oeuvre, marvellous as it was.

C P Snow famously crystallised the dichotomy between science and the humanities in his 1959 Rede lecture on “The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution” (which was based on an article first published in the New Statesman in 1956). He attacked the British establishment for entrenching a cultural preference for the humanities above science, a schism he saw growing from the roots of Victorian scientific expansion. The gallery supports Snow’s view. Room 18, my favourite, “Art, Invention and Thought: the Romantics” covers that turbulent period covering the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Here we find the groundbreaking astronomer (and harpsichordist) William Herschel, the inventor of vaccination Dr Edward Jenner, the pioneering chemist Humphrey Davy and the physicist who came up with the first credible depiction of an atom, John Dalton. Opposite Jenner (who also composed poetry) is the portrait of another medically trained sitter, John Keats, who actually swapped medicine for poetry. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Burns, Blake, Clare, Shelley and Byron, all adorn the walls here. The great Mary Shelly has a space too. She wrote Frankenstein after listening to Davy’s famous lectures on electricity. The early nineteenth century saw the arts and science united in trying to explain the universe.

Room 27, the richest collection of scientists in the building, then brings us the Victorians. The scientists sit alone. Darwin takes pride of place, flanked by his “bull dog” Thomas Huxley. Other giants of Victorian science and invention are present, such as Charles Lyell, Richard Owen, Brunel, Stephenson, Lister and Glasgow’s Lord Kelvin. Inevitably the expansion of science and understanding of the world at this time drove a cultural divide. It’s less clear, however, why the British establishment grasped the humanities to the bosom of its cultural life, whilst shunning science. But as the gallery portrays today, it is a tradition that has stuck. However, surely the NPG however has an opportunity to influence change. All it needs to do is put some more scientists on its walls.