Women's Hockey World Cup

In 2016 The Girl and I returned to our hotel after a day at Hay-on-Wye. We put on the television - because a day spent talking to me is a trial for anyone; she deserved a break. On the box was the Women’s Olympic Hockey Final between Great Britain and the Netherlands. It was an enthralling, pulsating encounter, the lead going back and forth, before concluding 3-3. What did the draw mean? A dreaded penalty shoot-out that's what. Given many of the players were English, this did not bode well. The penalty is the Englishman’s kryptonite. When it comes to war – Agincourt, Balaclava, Somme – we are bold. When it comes to standing up for rights – Peterloo, Jarrow, Suffrage – we are brave. Put a penalty in front of us though and we’re soon waving the white flags of surrender.

If anything a hockey penalty shootout is tenser than football: it’s prolonged to eight seconds for a start. In football it’s all down to one kick. In hockey a player dribbles the ball and has multiple opportunities to score, so long as they do it within the allotted time. You can go from elation at seeing your keeper save, to despair when the striker puts in the rebound. This hockey shoot-out was made more torturous by the imperious form of both keepers. Fortunately though, the Netherlands had gone to penalties in the previous round, given GB’s keeper Maddie Hinch a distinct advantage: she had the chance to read the form guide of her opponents, something they were unable to do. On that day Hinch was on bullish form. Channeling Tolkein’s Gandalf the Grey and a high security American prison, she allowed nothing to pass. And so it came to pass that GB won the shootout 2-0. History was made. Gold medals granted. Britain were champions of the world.

No one was getting past The Hinch. Pic. courtesy of Rex Features

I’ve always had a casual interest in hockey. I remember Jane Sixsmith of burnished red hair, Britain’s carrot and stick, competing over four Olympics. I also recall a men’s player Calum Giles, who used to be brought on solely for penalty corners. I bloody loved how a substitute found glory in being great at one thing. (A rule change now means that players can’t be brought on at penalty corners. How great is this? Calum Giles may never have won Olympic gold, but because of his actions he re-wrote the rulebook. Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronald may have multiple records, but until they change the very rules of their game they can’t be considered pioneers. Ha!)

Jane Sixsmith

After watching GB win gold, The Girl and I vowed to watch a hockey match live. Fortunately we found out last year that the World Cup was coming to London; therefore, acting quickly, we put our names in the ballot. Our names were drawn out and were thrilled to get two matches: an England game (GB only play Olympic hockey) and a tie between Argentina and Germany, the 3rd and 6th ranked teams. Being a football fan, I’m used to just getting one game for my money; here we were getting two – a whole evening’s entertainment.

On Wednesday we took Olympic Javelin train from Kings Cross to Stratford. It was fast, air-conditioned and spacious. (This rule of 3 is only ever used when describing foreign rail travel, rarely Britain's.) Therefore, not only did I enjoy the journey; but for the seven minutes I felt like I was on-board abroad. Maybe that should be the Javelin train’s marketing slogan: Kings Cross to Stratford via abroad. You’ll feel like you’re on holiday.

A slow moving obstacle (left) and a fast moving train (right)

When we got to Stratford we headed up to the Fans Park about a ten minute walk from the main athletic stadium. (West Ham fans it will always be an athletic stadium. You can put your claret and blue on it all you like, but that thing is Danny Boyle’s – he’s just letting you squat in it.) In the park, we had a go on in the games tent. One activity put us in the position of being officials, reviewing three hockey incidents and having to decide what action to take. This game was useful for us because as fair-weather hockey fans we needed reminding of the rules. Essentially, I learnt the rules are as follows: stick must meet ball, ball must not meet foot and goals can only be scored inside the D.

We then had an hour to kill so I suggested we smother time by drowning it in booze and gagging it with olives. (We went to the bar and had a picnic). At this point, we were ready to make our way into the stadium. Wherever you sit in the Lea Valley Stadium you get a good view. Our seats were behind the goal with a fence protecting us from stray shots. Soon the announcer had us whipped up and warmed up ready to greet the teams onto the pitch. The game was entertaining from beginning to end, with the best play evident in the first half. There, Germany ruthlessly exploited the Argentine defence, getting a lot of joy down the right flank. However, Argentina appeared to adopt rope-a-dope tactics where they would invite an onslaught, then counter Germany on the break. In terms of possession Germany bossed the game, but Argentina took their chances well, resulting in a tense finale. The score ended 3-2 to the Germans: justice for their progressive, penetrative play.

A cracking stadium.

During the period between games we went to get refreshments. (I say we went to get refreshments: The Girl popped to the loo whilst I queued to get her a drink.) I thought I could sort out her cider and still have time to get myself a 99 from the ice cream van. Cider sorted, I made my way over to Mr Whippy for a vanilla swirl. Unfortunately, the queue snaked from Stratford, East London, to Will's Stratford-upon-Avon. Alas, poor Yorick I went without.

England vs. USA was a crunch game for both teams. Ireland, rank outsiders, had shocked America in the first game, beating them 3-1. Whereas England got off to a stuttering start drawing 1-1 with India. In this World Championship only the top team in a group goes through automatically, therefore a win for both was vital. England’s 1-1 hangover with India seemed to be a four day one as they made a nervous start: America enjoyed the best of the quarter. In the second, England’s confidence grew: they dared to dribble; they passed with vim and vigour; they pressured America into conceding corners. The breakthrough was to come later when Alex Danson went on a rampaging run, slaloming through an American obstacle course, before unleashing a ferocious drive towards goal. Myself and The Girl were off our seats before it hit the net. The subsequent roar of 10,000 supporters was deafening. Soon the cry of ‘Hockey’s coming home’ came up. The girls were time-machining us back to 2016. 

But then out of nowhere America scored a blinder. 

A crash, bang, wallop that even Hinch could not keep out. This really knocked the wind out of England’s sails and despite plenty of huff and puff the US would not capsize. 

After two games, England find themselves second in the group. Since Ireland won, the best they can hope for is a second place finish, which would ensure a match against a third place team from another group. The second and third quarter demonstrated they have the talent to do it, but the first and fourth also suggests there is work to do.

I absolutely loved going to my first hockey match. I would recommend it to any sports fan. The pace is relentless, everything is timed: celebrations can only last 40 seconds; penalty corners too have a 40 second time limit. Although this may seem draconian, it ensures the ball is in play pretty much the whole time. As a huge fan of football, I loved watching a sport that wasn’t stifled by players kicking the ball away and taking an infinity over set-plays. The only complaint I can make about the Hockey World Cup is I never got that ice cream. 

What could have been.

Now that really would have been the flake on top of a very good day.

England play Ireland in their final group game Sunday 29th July, BT Sport 1 at 7pm.

Tickets can still be bought here: https://hockeyworldcup.seetickets.com/tour/2018-fih-women-s-hockey-world-cup/?pre=fihhockey

Mark Kermode's Secrets of Cinema

Hello to Jason Isaacs.

The rom-com is a derided genre. Opponents dismiss it as candy floss, insubstantial confection made of hot air and sugar. It’s fairy tales for adults that need to grow up. Films for women in unhappy marriages, divorced from reality. A night out for the girls; an obligation for the boys. They are not something to be taken seriously; let alone the subject for a one hour programme.

Mark Kermode is the film reviewer on the nation’s favourite podcast The Kermode & Mayo Film Review. Primarily, Kermode’s expertise lies in horror – his thesis was on it – but his job as critic requires his analysis extend beyond the genre. Yes, he regularly reminds listeners (and Mayo) that The Exorcist is the greatest film ever made, however he’s at home praising Mary Poppins too. Kermode is a great film critic because he’s a fan first and reviewer second. Because of this he doesn’t accept pre-conceived wisdom, trusting hard-won instinct instead. Where other critics would dismiss the Twilight series as nonsense, Kermode celebrates it. Whilst snobs would cover their ears to Mama Mia, he lauds it as great entertainment. I thoroughly enjoy his reviews because they appeal to head and heart. He can be fantastically eloquent when expounding upon cinematography and mise-en-scene, but authentic too when simply saying how a film's affected him. So it really is something of a boon to have him cast his eye over the secrets of cinema.

Friday at 2pm on Radio 5.

Each week Kermode and his writing partner, the journalist Kim Newman, will be pulling back the curtain on how cinema’s great magic trick works. This week’s episode was on the rom-com; subsequent ones will include ‘heist’ and ‘horror.’ I’ve been a fan of the rom-com for awhile now. My favourite movies fall into the category: Manhattan, Sideways, The Apartment, When Harry Met Sally and Groundhog Day. I mean how a genre that boasts works by Allen, Ephron and Wilder can be dismissed defies logic. And since meeting my wife-to-be, I’ve enjoyed more commercial ones- personal favourites being Richard Curtis’. Yes, these films exist in a Neverland of contrivances, but they’re warm, witty and fun. At the cinema I’ll watch anything Kermode has recommended: horror, arthouse, foreign, drama, thriller – at home though I mainly put on a rom-com: good ones have the best dialogue of any genre; whilst being light-footed, not full of multiple plots that a working day can't unravel.

Over the hour Kermode talked us through how the genre has evolved over time. No longer are these movies purely boy meets girl. They can now be girl meets boy, girl meets girl, and – in the case of Shape of Water – girl meets fish. As social attitudes change and cinema as social commentator has evolved (what does the creature in Shape of Water tell us about our treatment of outsiders?), then so too have the romantic leads. 

He then exposes how the stories work, beginning with what the industry defines ‘The Meet Cute.’ For there to be Rom, the two have to meet- if possible in a Com way. Richard Curtis movies are particularly fairy tale in this approach: think about the famous actress entering Notting Hill’s quiet book store, or Colin Firth falling for a foreign housekeeper in Love Actually – these are ‘cute meets’ because they have an element of make-believe to them, making universal love appear surprising and unexpected. In Kermode's dissection we learn how Nora Ephron subverted ‘the meet cute,’ having Harry meet Sally without any fanfare at all. Normally, ‘the meet cute’ is a signal to the viewer that the game is afoot. However, Ephron begins her movie with Harry (Billy Crystal) kissing another woman right in front of Sally (Meg Ryan). Neither appears to care about the other. There is no instant telepathy or antipathy – the two share a car and say goodbye when they reach their destination. In fact ‘the meet cute’ in When Harry Met Sally doesn't come until later in a book store. Simply the film doesn't follow the usual steps of rom-coms. The ingredients are there, but the order isn't. As well as being a filmmaker, Ephron was a foodie: like all good cooks, she knows a little experimentation goes a long way.

Most fans of rom-coms will be aware that there’s always an obstacle the two characters must overcome. What they might not be aware of is how earlier works inspire their favourite films. A great feature of Secrets of Cinema is where Kermode juxtaposes two films in split screen, enabling you to see the similarities between the two. Miranda, a 1948 picture, is put alongside Ron Howards’ Splash- the joins are evident; what is remarkable though is how Kermode connects Paul Thomas Anderson’s Punch Drunk Love with Superman ­– despite loving the former, I never once thought it alluded to Clark Kent. And that’s the thing Kermode elucidates: how texts are interconnected; how genres crisscross and intertwine; how rom-coms elements benefit films that are dark and mysterious - like The Fly - giving them humanity amidst the cruelty.

Punch Drunk Love: Why does Barry always wear blue? Why does Lena always wear red?

Inspired by the programme, I decided to watch some rom-coms that I’d bought from charity shops ages ago and not got round to watching. The first Chico and Rita was recommended on Kermode’s podcast a while ago. I should start by saying it’s an animated movie aimed at adults – I’d never watched one of those. It’s set in Cuba during the 40’s and 50’s –a place I’d never seen in life or art. The film touched me greatly. It really is a swooning wonder, a smorgasbord for the senses, allowing you to inhale the music of the age, digest the politics of the period. The 'meet cute' of the characters follows convention, with Chico’s eyes meeting Rita’s across a busy music venue. Both are musicians: for Chico the piano is the thing; for Rita it’s the voice. Soon the pair go from being bedroom partners to musical ones; but when Rita is thrust into the spotlight (obstacle) problems arise. Considering Kermode’s episode, I saw how the rom-com has become more nuanced. In earlier movies, the obstacle was often physical: another man or woman often got in the way. Now, it’s more existential: one of the leads has a crisis of confidence that throws the romance off course. Also, I saw within the film allusions to Casablanca: in a nightmare scene Chico is re-cast as Sam, forced to play the same tune over and over again; later, the camera lingers on an airplane – this time though the airport scene is bitter as opposed to sweet- and later there’s an unexpected reunion, only less ambiguous than its influence.

Chico and Rita.

Another movie I spun was The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. I bought this because I know it was an influence on Damien Chazelle’s La La Land – which I thoroughly enjoyed. The 1964 film is something of a surprise because the whole thing is sung. Having never been to the opera, initially I was thrown. Normally musicals oscillate between dialogue and song, which allows for the numbers to register more emphatically. In Umbrellas the music is more about mood than declaration; less about standing out, more about drawing in. Over time a doublethink is achieved: you recognise it as part of the fairy tale element of rom-com, yet by having it maintained throughout, director Jacques Demy makes it seem ordinary too. A good-rom com then should simultaneously feel typical and atypical: typical enough to register the emotions, the feeling of ‘I’ve felt that’; atypical so the characters seem larger than life, people to aspire to. For a picture to work it has to square the circle of holding a mirror up to reality whilst offering an escape from it.

As for what Umbrellas is inspired by, I would hazard a guess that Demy had seen Singin’ In The Rain. In that film the umbrellas were a prop, something to twirl and unfurl; however, in Umbrellas the parapluies are a symbol: the film features an umbrella store where our heroine works, as long as it’s there our lovers are safe, insulated from life's rain; however when it's sold later, their love crumbles, the elements prove too strong; the Gods have won.

Never having made a film himself, Kermode is no magician. He's never turned his wavy hands to the magic of filmmaking. Yet he deserves a place in its magic circle because he’s done more to promote the craft than 'successful' directors. In championing celluloid's genuine rabbit-pullers; in promoting starter kit amateurs; in challenging cinema's false mediums, he more than deserves his place at the table. In revealing illusionists secrets, he’s elevated them, making us grasp how truly extraordinary they are. An extra seat, alongside Friedkin, should be granted. Failing that, Michael Bay can give up his - and Kermode can sit there.

The Secrets of Cinema is on BBC 4, Tuesday at 9pm

Much Ado About Nothing

Earlier this year Emma Rice, the artistic director of The Globe, was forced to leave her post after falling out with the theatre’s board. Concern with her vision was evident from the start: her take on Shakespeare was something the theatre hadn’t seen before- there was inauthentic sound and lighting as well as modern costume and staging. In the hallowed home of Shakespeare, traditionalists felt Rice had ransacked the ancestral property, stripping it of its character, putting up gaudy wallpaper in its place. The heritage site of England’s finest was aflame; the director charged with arson – she had to go.

I saw one of her approved productions last year: Romeo and Juliet. And although I didn’t like every element of The Day Of The Dead vision, I admired it. These plays are over 400 years old – do people really want to see another loyal Elizabethan version? I think some critics see it as egocentric when directors modernise or transpose Shakespeare, conceiving it as ‘change for change’s sake.’ They would argue that you can’t improve on perfection so why tamper with something that has worked for centuries. For me, this is the antithesis of art, of society. Something great can be made greater. It’s not arrogant to think a Shakespeare production can be improved; rather it’s cowardly and conservative to believe that it can’t. As long as the words and characters are there, it’s Shakespeare; the conduit can be changed, the message is still the same. Teachers will always tell students that Shakespeare is relevant to them: the postcode war in Romeo and Juliet, the fake news of Othello, the about-turn of teenage love in Midsummer...: so what’s the problem if it looks and sounds relevant to? A more relatable context can turn a Shakespeare denier into a believer. Just because elitist commentators ‘get it’ straightaway doesn’t mean everyone does. Paradoxically for an Elizabethan writer, Shakespeare feels modern; so I have no problem with him looking it too.

Emma Rice. Pic. courtesy of Daniel Hambury.

The reason why I talk about this is because I’ve just seen a wonderful production of Much Ado About Nothing by the OVO theatre group. Performed in St Albans’ Roman amphitheatre, the setting is incongruously fresh. Instead of being set in the 16^th century port of Messina, it’s staged in the American Midwest. The men returning from battle aren’t soldiers but members of the Navy, stationed on the USS Gull, a minesweeper used in the Second World War and Korean War. One of the men returning is Benedick, who sees himself as something of a sexual libertine. If he was to draw a self-portrait, the cock would be elongated and the body more ripped than true. Soon he’s entering into ‘a skirmish of wit’ with Beatrice. In terms of heroines, Beatrice is one of Shakespeare’s best. Given the play was first performed in the 16^th century, she is more than a match for Benedick; in fact, she is his intellectual superior. In response to his constant barbs, she responds with insults of her own, challenging his weight, ego and misogyny. The repartee between the two performers, Faith Turner and Peter Bryans, is sublime with each recognising the need for quick-fire timing. Deep down though the two characters are in love; their words mask their emotions. The two have the gift of the gab; however are emotionally mute. Neither has the courage to confess their feelings, aware that the other could ridicule them for it. These characters pride themselves on their intellectualism, as a result they can’t debase themselves by playing commoner and confessing love. A teacher colleague of mine made a wise remark on playing Beatrice: he was saying that when the insults have ended and Beatrice says in an aside, ‘You always end on a jade’s trick,’ that’s where you tell the quality of an actor. This line reveals Beatrice’s true character: that she’s hurt by Benedick’s words; that she’s vulnerable. Some actors don’t have the ability to transition quickly from comedy to tragedy, but Turner does, making OVO’s Beatrice appropriately big and small.

In rehearsal.

Given the play features returning American Navy men, it’s probably wise that I tell you how it fits into directors Adam Nichols and Janet Pond’s vision. The men have come into port and like all good sailors want some kicks. They set up residence in Leonata’s (a change from the original's Leonato) diner, a place where you can unwind with a beer and the jukebox. In the evening a girl group are in residence, The Sonnettes (a play on 60’s girl group, The Ronettes). OVO are known for including live music and this inclusion is a testimony to the craft that goes into their productions. The band, situated to the side of the stage, are sublime, banging out the tunes of Chuck Berry, The Supremes and Shangri-Las. Sometimes the music is just there to establish the atmosphere of a forthcoming scene; other times it’s there to reflect on the action. When Benedick and Beatrice eventually realise their love, a singer sings a beautiful rendition of Etta James’  ‘At Last.’ When Dogberry, a member of the watch, arrests Borachio for subterfuge, we’re in to Elvis’ ‘Jailhouse Rock.’ Whether the music is literalising the action or colouring a scene, the choices always feel right. The whole sound direction of the performance is to be applauded. We know the tunes, but we’re not distracted by them. It’s not clap-a-long jukebox musical, but a soundtrack to a wonderful play.

The 50's staging. Picture courtesy of Jonnie Nash.

The production, on the whole, is loyal to Shakespeare’s words - although some are pruned and chopped. A few are altered altogether. (The board of The Globe would have kittens.) I really didn’t mind some bits being changed and in fact enjoyed the inventiveness. In one earlier scene where Benedick says what he would rather do than talk to Beatrice, his words are given a period setting. Instead of proposing, ‘I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the furthest inch of Asia,’ he instead says he will ‘pluck the cigar from Castro.’ Since we’re in a 50’s/60’s setting, it would be jarring to hear arcane references; therefore, the writers stay loyal to their period. Having taught the play to secondary students for a few years, I, along with the students, enjoyed picking up on the changes; it also served as a reminder that all good art is collaborative; in this case between the living (OVO) and the dead (Shakespeare).

Having been to The National and The Globe, I was a little apprehensive about seeing a production by a group I’d never heard of. I was wrong and ignorant to worry. It genuinely is the best time I’ve ever had at a Shakespeare play. The attention to detail was truly staggering for people that have day jobs. It really is awe-inspiring when you think about the commitments people have with work and family that they can find the time, not just to put on a Shakespeare play, but to be in dialogue with it. OVO really consider how they can corporealise the Bards' ghost for an audience that either haven’t seen a Shakespeare play or have seen so many that it’s hard to be impressed. OVO’s Much Ado is proof positive that you can put Shakespeare in a swing dress without him looking ridiculous. After all, centuries turn, styles change, but his lyrical voice remains constant. As long as creatives don’t lose sight of the language, they should feel free to dress him how they like.

Much Ado About Nothing is on at Roman Theatre of Verulamium until 21st July.