Field Notes

Remarks at the open microphone, Westminster Security Studies Group Coronation Dinner, 5 May 2023. Numbers indicate location of material removed for delivery, 
but restored as endnotes.

[1]  In many countries in the world, there is a nation-as-person metaphor that appears in the discourse of national holidays such as independence days. It goes like this:

The country was undeveloped, immature, a sort of caterpillar raised and nurtured by a parent, a colonizer nation who released it when it had learned enough from the parent to stand on its own two feet as an adult among nations. (You can see whose point of view this narrative represents.)

A day is chosen to commemorate the separation, standing at once for the nation’s birthday and its day of emancipation. This is a narrative that grew up in the 19th and 20th centuries, the age of imperialism and emergence from imperialism.

In Britain there is no such narrative of the nation achieving independence and establishing the present regime. What moment could we possibly choose to represent separation from a past regime and/or establishment of the present regime? Would it be when the last Roman checked out of Britain? Or how about the Restoration? But the idea of the Restoration was that there was never a break–Charles II was king all along. Perhaps the union with Scotland represents the origin of the current national arrangement, but that’s now a bit awkward with independence referenda going round. Britain seems to be stuck in an eternal maturity–a late maturity, even post-maturity.

Britain does have a mapping of life cycle x nation, but it takes a different form. The nationally significant life cycle that has been naturalized is the life cycle of the monarch and his family. We observe their rites of passage; indeed, we are invited guests. We compare ourselves to the members who are closest in age to us. [2]

Relatability to the Royal Family gives us a key to the nation and its history. This too is a nineteenth-century relic; the Royal Family started to become a public serial (*by which I meant soap opera) with Queen Victoria.

Incidentally, although the life cycle metaphor works differently in Britain to other countries, national days and Royal Family events are marked in much the same ways: with flags and parades and fire and food and drink and concerts. [3] [4]

So what can we relate to about the Coronation? It is not a rite of passage that the rest of us go through. You might even say that’s the point: to mark off the monarch from all commoners and pretenders as God’s chosen monarch.

However: the day after the Queen’s funeral I started a new job. My starting date was pushed back because of the funeral, in fact. A few weeks ago, I passed my six-month probation.

Charles too has survived half a year in his new job. He is lucky that he did not have a six-month appraisal, not did he have to prepare a portfolio or engage in any contests of strength or skill.* He is the inevitable monarch. Nevertheless, congratulations, sir, on passing your six-month probation!

—

[1] Removed: section asserting that the most important transfer of power this week is the local elections.

[2] Removed: observation that the Royal Family has recently given many siblings cause to reflect again on accidents of birth order.

[3] Removed: TED talk based on my thesis about how media evaluate public celebrations of nationalism on dimensions of impressiveness, appropriateness, and enthusiasm.

[4] Removed: section about how there are two views of nationalistic practice in sociology: the functionalist view, which proposes that institutions like royal families and practices like parades have some functions in binding the community together–‘civic religion’ is one term used–and a more Marxist view that says these institutions and practices are just forced on us through the threat of violence, because the ruling elites *can* make themselves the center of attention. And certainly the British monarchy was established and periodically re-established through violence.

* To be fair, neither do we in my workplace, but I wanted to keep at least one point about inequality.

One reason the 1980 film Fame is going to live forever is that it beautifully captures 1970s New York: the energy, the aggressiveness, the expressiveness, the untamed voices, the graffiti, even the vacant-lot squalor that followed FORD TO CITY: DROP DEAD. (After the federal government refused to bail the city out of its financial hole, the bankers stepped in. One of their conditions was the ending of free tuition at City College of New York–something I learned this week from social media’s deluge of micro history lessons.)

Fame is the work of a working-class British director, Alan Parker (previously: kiddie gangster flick Bugsy Malone, drug-running thriller Midnight Express), playwright Christopher Gore, whose career was cut short by the AIDS epidemic, and composer Michael Gore (no relation to Christopher, but a sibling to Lesley).

In his 2003 DVD commentary, Parker says he wanted to make a musical because he liked doing things he hadn’t done before. He certainly brings a fresh, almost documentary eye to the project, if not as documentary as he wanted. Fiorello H. La Guardia High School of Performing Arts, “the real Fame school,” refused to let him film there because they thought he was going to make another downer like Midnight Express. Working in the former buildings of other schools, he instead made the best publicity movie that has ever been made for a high school.

The script of Fame is a chronological sequence of episodes, disjointed like memories, performed by an ensemble cast of high school pupils, college students, and pros, as well as some older actors and at least one actual teacher. The rotation between music students, drama students, and dance students keeps things lively. Irene Cara’s character, Coco, is all three, and if there is a star bursting out of the ensemble she’s the one. Coco sings the title song and the two next best songs, and shows a cynical, steely drive in counterpoint to everyone else’s adolescent confusion. You could say Coco’s/Cara’s biggest obstacles were thrust upon her by the director: an unbecoming fringe haircut, and a cruelly voyeuristic seminude scene near the end. Without her, the film would be a B-movie–and in return it exploits her, in the guise of making a point about exploitation.

The 133-minute story starts with a half-hour montage of auditions before the class even gets to homeroom and accelerates as graduation approaches. Christopher Gore’s proficient scriptwriting is repeatedly thrown off balance by Michael Gore’s songs just when it’s about to get interesting. In the second half, two drama students make a field trip to the Rocky Horror Picture Show in the Village, featuring Sal Piro’s floor show. This was a phenomenon Parker found interesting and he made it relevant to one student finding herself as a performer, but it wasn’t part of the school. After a few scenes where the students realize it won’t be easy breaking into professional performance, the story finishes abruptly with one last song at the diploma ceremony. There’s no easter egg epilogue telling us Where Are They Now and drawing a line under moral lessons.

The film hangs together enough to make some sort of universal campus-drama sense, but some aspects can be more widely recognized as disappointing 40 years on. All and only the minority ethnic characters are poor. We don’t get to see enough story and performance from the Black students, who are used as diversity wallpaper or as jokes. Mrs. Sherwood/Anne Meara’s outbursts at Leroy/Gene Anthony Ray are terrible teaching; why isn’t she taking him aside and getting him some tutoring? A scene where the boys spy on the girls’ changing room could have come from a National Lampoon production. And Coco–why would a director humiliate such a strong character? JUSTICE FOR COCO.

The arc of Lisa the dancer also looks different from here. Lisa’s flunking out of the dance programme isn’t, as I used to think, a parable about the harshness and cruelty of show business. After 10 years of adult ballet, I can see she is a lazy dancer. She isn’t even trying to keep her place. The contrast between her lassitude and her stated devotion to dance is not explored: Does she like watching and thinking about dance more than doing it? Was she was the best in her class where she came from and now she cannot stand being almost-good, so would rather fail outright? Has she has invested so much time in dance she cannot imagine what she would replace it with? A viewer could learn something from any of these lines if they were followed even halfway through.

Parker makes it clear in his commentary that he was not fond of the actors–indeed, New York spikiness can be tiring–and had not stayed in touch with any except Hilary/Antonia Franceschi, the posh dancer. The dislike may have been mutual. A “class reunion” for the DVD extras recording was attended by neither Irene Cara nor Paul McCrane, who was memorable as empathetic acting student Montgomery and also sang some good songs for the project (check out “Dogs in the Yard” on the soundtrack album). McCrane later became known for his performance as angry surgeon Robert Romano on ER.

I visited La Guardia High School in 1992, when I was reporting on music programs for kids in New York City. Teachers there told me they were having difficulty recruiting musicians from public schools, because instruments just weren’t taught anymore. They couldn’t field a full orchestra. By the DVD release in 2003, the situation had turned around, at least officially: the accompanying documentary boasts testimonies (though perhaps not from instrumental music teachers) that the school was overwhelmed with worthy applicants and choosing the right ones was a lottery level process. In the end, the star who got the most mileage from Fame was the City. Isn’t it always the way?