More of the same, please

Abingdon is getting a WH Smith and feelings are mixed, mostly inclining towards the “no, thanks” end of the argument. I’m torn myself. The part of me conditioned by childhood says that having a Smiths in town is a Good Thing because … well, because it is. Anyway, a Smiths would be a sign of confidence in the town’s reviving economy which we could well do with. There’s still the gaping abscess where Woolies once stood.

A more realistic part of me observes that everything you’re likely to want from a Smiths,* you can already get anyway – we have a very good stationers, we have two very book shops and, right opposite where it’s going to be, a very good newsagents. They are all privately owned, run by people who know exactly what they are doing and who can help out with your stationery / literary / newsagently needs, and I would hate to see any of them lose business to a national chain.

[*Exception: music. Since the fall of Modern Music and Woolies we have no decent music sellers: Woolies also took with it the DVD market.]

So, by and large I too incline towards the no, thanks brigade. We could maybe do with limited colonisation by some of the national chains. A Woolies replacement would be something else, or a decent clothes shop. Maybe an M&S where Woolies once stood. But we really don’t need a WH Smiths, unless it’s a Smiths that tones down on the books and papers and stationery and really pushes the digital media items.

We could well do with more like this, however.

On a sunny September morning he was sitting in the middle of the precinct and delighting passers by with gentle Spanish-style guitar pieces. That’s the kind of thing that makes it worth going into the precinct and, while you’re there, spending money in the shops. And I dropped a quid in his guitar case.

C’est Inglourious mais ce n’est pas la guerre

I like to think I’m the kind of person who would Get Inglourious Basterds. I can see what Quentin Tarantino was doing and so I’m not going to make myself look silly by protesting “but World War 2 wasn’t like that.” No. It’s a Spaghetti Western revenge-drama told in the framework of a WW2 movie. I get that. And it’s great fun, beautifully made, perfectly acted, impeccably dialogued. The bad guy in particular deserves an Oscar, if not for Best Supporting then for Best Nazi in a Serious Screenplay (Ever). In fact – another Spaghetti Western touch – he reminded me of Henry Fonda in Once Upon A Time in the West, even with a touch of facial similarity, and I wondered if it was deliberate.

But.

There are two ways revenge dramas should go. One is all-out tragedy – everyone dies horribly. The other is a happy ending, with the revenger triumphant and the revengee nicely dead, but always the revenger remains on the moral high ground. Even if we’re talking a difference of a matter of inches, he’s better than those around him.

In IB it’s an uncomfortable truth that the good guys are slightly worse than many of the bad guys. I can say this because it’s a driving point of the movie, so (unlike saying “World War 2 wasn’t like that”) it’s meaningful within the film’s own frame of reference. It may be that no fate is too bad for some Nazis, but then we get the perfectly decent Wehrmacht soldier wearing his Iron Cross – “for bravery,” he says, with quiet dignity – bludgeoned horribly to death by the Basterds for not giving away the position of his lines. Hmm.

And then there’s the ending … Right, we’re truly into fantasy territory here and it’s here that the film just rollercoasters along. But. Without giving anything away, let’s just say it’s a given within the movie that it would be better for Hitler, Goering, Goebbels and Bormann to have met their ends earlier and in a different way than they actually did. True, the cast don’t know they are characters within a movie: they have no idea that it was the total, humiliating Gotterdammerung of 1945 that smashed Nazism so decisively. To a group of US soldiers behind enemy lines in 1944 it might have seemed a perfectly reasonable proposition and so they act upon it. But I wasn’t convinced. That, plus the non-tragedy of the brutal revengers, means that for the first time I come away from a Tarantino movie thinking, “hmm, could have ended better.”