Watching Cloverfield Again

Cloverfield is an object-lesson in how to revitalise an established genre. It's a monster movie, but the genre is presented from a different point of view, as if we are looking in from the outside. It is also the movie which reveals how 9/11 taught Hollywood how to do disaster. According to Slavoj Zizek, in his instant response to the catastrophe, 'The Desert of the Real', one of the striking things about the media coverage of 9/11 is how it showed that we had been 'prepared for' the event by movies depicting the destruction of US cities such as Escape From New York and Independence Day. But Cloverfield shows that there is a parallel knock-on effect. Want to know how people react in the face of a crisis? Replicate the real footage of people running in panic around the streets of New York. Need to detail the moment when it's suddenly clear nothing will ever be the same again? Replicate the home video inadvertently capturing the moment tragedy strikes. Equipping the cultural imagination (see also 2006's Right At Your Door) with the ability to depict disaster with supreme accuracy is one of the clear consequences of 9/11.

Blitz Street

What an unsettling experience watching Channel 4's Blitz Street is. The programme has built 'a row of terraced houses specially built on a remote military base and subjected it to a frightening range of large-scale bombs and incendiaries similar to those dropped by the Luftwaffe' (Channel 4). Experts then proceed to analyse the damage done by each bomb - the SC50, the SC500 etc. This insight into the devastation wrought by the weaponry is accompanied by 'emotional eye witness testimonies, giving a fantastic insight into day-to-day life on the home front and the immense psychological damage caused by the bombardment'. But the effect on the human beings who had to live through this shattering of masonry, glass and wood remains implicit. As is clear from the excited expert analysis of the effects of the bombs, the programme-makers have invested all their energy into the reconstruction and destruction of the buildings. The result is a rather autistic attempt to comprehend the horrors of war - despite all the noise and violence, we are left with a 'clean' analysis, untroubled by mess, but missing the point. The unspoken element, of course, is the human body. What would bring together emotional testimony and destroyed buildings is a similarly forensic dissection of the smashing of human flesh and bones. Now that would be emotional.

Mr Benn's Secret Life

Coming back to Mr Benn after several decades was a surprise. I'd always thought of it as a programme about the magic of escapism. Each episode reveals the enrichment of one man's daily existence following his indulgence in his fantasy life. Watching it again, however, I couldn't help fixating on Mr Benn's normal life as depicted in each episode. This is a man who dresses up in a suit and bowler hat yet never goes to work, lives in a bustling street but has no friends, owns a three-bedroom terrace house but shares it with no one. The only person he speaks to in his real life is a shopkeeper. What a desolate figure! Rather than a childhood world of unlimited potential, Mr Benn is an emblem of the alienation of modern existence. His real secret-life lurks not in the fancy-dress shop but beneath that sober suit and tie. What has happened in his past? Has he lost his job, divorced, never been able to start a relationship? What will become of him? What will happen when he becomes increasingly addicted to his fantasy-life and starts carrying it into Festive Road, walking around dressed as a knight, explorer, astronaut, etc., frightening the children? The real tragedy here is that none of his neighbours would notice.