REVIEW: Bright Star

As the most stereotypical of English Literature students I am a massive Romantic poets fan. I have considered putting 'I love Lord Byron' as my Facebook status. I genuinely think Blake might be god.

Having said this Keats has always come pretty far down my list of faves (there is a list). Not as low as sell out Wordsworth, but I generally have found him a little too serious, not enough sparkle, and sometimes just baffling. Beautiful, but baffling. Bright Star however, changed my mind.

Its not the Fanny Brawn/Keats love story I was taught it seminar, where it was largely overshadowed by his potential prostitute dabblings, Byron's incest/Shelley's swinging, and the fact that there is no direct mention of the affair in his work. But it doesn't matter what really happened.

True or not, hearing Keats' poems read to Fanny, and read by her, gives them a relatable to context and meaning that illuminates their beauty beyond abstract musing on poetry and death. And fantasy it may partly be, but its a beautiful fantasy. Why do we need all the facts, a rounded picture, proof? This film is all about Fanny Brawn - how see saw it, how she saw him, how she saw them.

This is not least because of Abbie Cornish's acting, (as much as it pains me to admit out of loyalty to Reese Witherspoon). It is the best performance by a female actress I have seen in a long time. Incredibly subtle and considered. But so real. I have never seen anyone cry so realistically on stage or in a film. Not just superficial tears running down MAC finished cheeks onto heaving breasts tumbling out of a period inappropriate low cut dress; choking, hyperventilating, stubborn, resisted sobbing.

The whole film feels real. Not Hollywood realism. And, as above, not necessarily factual realism. There are some shots that would defiantly have been re shot under a more mainstream director, because there's a brilliantly recognisable awkwardness (Fanny's sister and Brown providing some of the most poignant) and one particularly aching moment ( I wont ruin it) where you're just yelling in your head: 'for gods sake say something!' But there's only silence. Because no one knows what to say then. No one ever says anything in those situations.


The film is pretty sparse on continual dialogue. There are lingering shots that add to the feeling of honesty but enough scene movement to make you feel the fleeting nature of both the love story and Keats' life.

Knowing the ending of a film before you begin is never a good way to go, although it does add to the sense of passing time and your involvement in the relationship. But the film is so beautiful and so wonderfully crafted with shots and music (typical Jane Campion stunning light, nature shots and music - all played within the film at some point as well as over laid) it doesn't really matter.

See it. If you hate Keats, if you were confused by The Piano, if you have no idea who the actors are. If you know the ending. It's worth it. And Keats gets a little more pay back for the lack of appreciation in his lifetime. And a little more street cred for looking like Ben Whishaw.

Student prostitutes on the up...if you raise fees.

As a student the potential fees increases hang pretty heavily in the forefront of my mind. Not necessarily because it will affect me directly, but because, despite assumptions, as someone currently in the situation under discussion I do care.

Combine this with the recent unveiling of the identity of Belle du Jour and I was stuck by an interesting possibility.

If you raise fees are you going to end up with more student strippers and prostitutes?

Don't laugh, its already on the up. Belle herself became a call girl to cover PHD debt. A google search for the potentially rather compromising combination of 'student' and 'pole dancing' not only reveals a lot of classes taking place at universities around the country, but includes a report from several years ago in The Times about Cambridge students not only learning but getting paid to do this. I was actually looking for an article I remember from not long ago about students from a London university taking up work in a strip club, but my searches have proved unsuccessful thus far.

I don't wish to discuss whether this is moral, or right, that's another story. But it certainly isn't on the election manifesto of any of the three major political parties to legalise prostitution, and I'm not sure they're that comfortable discussing the future's bright young things dancing topless in bars either. It's heated enough collars as it is trying to contemplate that anyone with higher education would go into prostitution. By raising fees might the Government end up with more money in the education pot, but a whole different kettle of problematic naked fish to deal with?

The plight of students from low income houses has been raised, but if my prediction comes true then what about male students? The now rather more obvious search for 'PHD' and 'prostitute' pulls up an interview in New Scientist with Brooke Magnanti aka Belle du Jour, and one male commentor remarks that he would have considered prostitution for a financial stress free doctorate if he was a woman. Women it seems have a lucrative way of supporting themselves; boys faced working behind rather than on a bar might have less luck.

The same search also gets a quote from Catherine Stephens, and activist for the International Union of Sex Workers: “At a brothel I worked in, I think I was the only one not doing a PhD.” Convinced yet?

I don't think I'd be swayed, but then its not, as is so often pointed out, (including already in this article), me who is actually facing the debt increase. When push come to shove maybe that is what more female students would rather.

Couldn't see the wood for the 'n'

I had thought that in the whirl of my dissertation I had missed the wave to write about this - but then Le Monde changed my mind.

http://www.lemonde.fr/europe/article/2009/11/15/guerre-ouverte-entre-gordon-brown-et-le-sun_1267431_3214.html#ens_id=1245893

The issue under discussion is Gordon Brown's 'offensive' letter to the mother of a soldier who died in Afghanistan; the coverage of which has been frankly appalling and revealed the poor excuse for journalism that The Sun continues to tout.

I saw the letter in The Times last week. Brown arguably didn't spell anything wrong. The 'n' of 'Janes' could be an 'm', but it's not really clear either way. Also the minute nature of the spelling error, even if it is so, is what makes it laughable. I frequently think peoples names have 's' on the end when they don't, or put 'e' is Davis when that's not right. It's not really a big deal.

The issue over whether he spelt 'Jamie' wrong is a non point. His pen clearly slipped and he wrote over it. Oh no.

I consistently have people spelling my name wrong. On my driving licence it is spelt 'Argtropulo'. That's not even pronounceable. And it also means my driving licence is an invalid form of identification for things like CRB checks. I did not however write into a tabloid.

My landlord think my name is 'Argdyropulo'. This is also not pronounceable. But in the wider context of world events merely slightly irritating, although I have wondered if it doesn't possibly void my contract if that is the name they have me signed under.

When I ring the bank no one says my surname. They ask if they can call me by my first name, or simply call me 'Miss Palmer'. Highly offensive obviously as the hyphen between the two denotes that they are both my surname. Obviously.

Clearly the matter under question is more sensitive, and perhaps with a more complicated name more excusable (although I think, perhaps biasedly that it makes it worse - if you know you're not going to be able to spell something why not check? 'Janes' could easily with an accent or speed be miss heard as 'James'. 'Argtropulo' cannot be said, as pointed out before, therefore this is not an excuse.)

But I think what was ignored by The Sun and Mrs. Janes, and pointed out by Le Monde, is that Gordon Brown is a busy man. A busy man with very poor eyesight. Yet he took the time to hand-write a letter to a mother with whose situation he can sympathise with having lost his own daughter.

I also found the timing of the outburst rather inappropriate. The week of Armistice Day, when we are supposed to be thinking about everyone who has died in war - those never found, the civilians caught in the cross firing, those who suffered terribly - what this woman wanted being thought about about her son was not his bravery or that his death was a tragic loss, but that Gordon Brown didn't spell his surname right.

I'm not denying that the loss of her son is awful, and as with every death in war prompts questions about the campaign. But I've had to look past my dislike of his mother who seems determined to grab 5 minutes of tabloid fame using her son's death, whilst criticising a man who actually has nothing to be ashamed about, to remind myself of this.

Le Monde reports that PoliticsHome did a survey and found that 65% of people asked disagreed with the actions of The Sun. That means 65% of people feel the same as me about Brown, Mrs. Janes and The Sun in this incident. Well Done. Good Move.

Gordon, if you would like to write me a letter, at anytime, feel free to spell my name wrong.