Harry Potter and the Deadly Dullards
Harry Potter and the Deadly Dullards | Victoria Coren | Comment is free | The Observer
|
Quote:
|
We are going into a very important week for national discussion. Not because the News Corp scandal grows ever more complicated (for me, returning to the UK after a month away, it's like tuning into Twin Peaks at episode nine), nor because voices shriek that we must turn our attention to the collapsing eurozone, but because we will be arguing about Harry Potter for the last time.
Oh yes, this is the final battle. Unsheathe your swords, then scabbard them for ever. There will be no more books. There will be no more films. The release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part 2) is the last opportunity for fans to explain their joy in this magical treat, under assault from evil Slytherins who rage that this giant children's story is infantilising us all.
Whenever a new Harry Potter comes out, in film or novel form, I have to avoid my brother. "Talking broomsticks! Magic pumpkins! Professor Wheezledon Hat!" he snarls, looking angrily up from a slim volume of Goethe. "What are you, a moron?"
From this, I infer that his day has already been ruined by reminders of this cultural juggernaut. Up early to marinate a piece of ox liver while listening to the Today programme, he'll have heard box-office figures at the end of the news. Or perhaps, tweedling between the cricket scores and a complicated symphony on Radio 3, he accidentally rolled past a two-for-one ticket offer on the sort of station I listen to. I'm glad it's the end. I'm tired of arguing the toss on Harry Potter with those who won't accept that age and genre transcendence is a sign of inherent quality, rather than of a dumbed-down culture.
I was thinking about this while listening to Michael McIntyre on Desert Island Discs. He painted a poignant picture: himself and his wife at the comedy awards, Mrs McIntyre in a new dress she'd bought specially, their excitement ruined by nasty comments from fellow comedians.
It seemed terribly un-British, the idea of insulting someone who's actually in the room to hear it. Whatever happened to smiling, shaking hands, paying compliments, then bitching the moment someone's back is turned?
Of course, that's the whole point of comedians. There's no telling them you "can't" or "shouldn't" say something; the best stand-ups always suffer from a mild case of Tourette syndrome.
But why should people feel opprobrium for Michael McIntyre in the first place? He may not be to your taste, but that's no reason to hate him. Many in the press have chalked this down to "jealousy" from his peers; I don't think so. Rival stand-ups will always have strong and sometimes cruelly worded opinions about each other's material, but try reading the viewers' comments that come up if you type "I hate Michael McIntyre" into Facebook. (Michael McIntyre: do not do this.)
There is a certain sort of person who hates and mistrusts anything popular. Many more, without vitriol, will simply assume the mainstream can't be the best. Perhaps the tendency runs lightly through all of us: the instinct to champion a great film which nobody's heard of, while being disappointed by one that everyone else says is brilliant. Or the moment when a favourite band finally have a number one album and we think they've "sold out", genuinely believing their previous work was superior.
It isn't about jealousy, but it is a sort of misanthropy. Logically, having mass appeal is one indicator of quality. Unless you think the masses are idiots. If you are by nature a Basil Fawlty or a Blackadder, convinced you are surrounded by fools, then mass appeal becomes an immediate indicator of deficiency.
Look at all this glee over the death of the News of the World. Clearly, there were some dark practices at that newspaper. But does it feel, to you, as though the joy at its demise comes from the millions who loved the paper and have turned against it on moral grounds? No; it's a burst of schadenfreude from those who always looked down on it anyway. They didn't do that because it was "an evil tabloid", but because they thought it was populist pap. They think you can't be populist without being pap.
Last week's news included the titbit that a DVD of King Lear has become a surprise hit at Poundland, the new destination shop for recession-hit middle classes. Well done, Poundland! Excellent PR work! It might even be true. But if it is true… Give it six more months, a million more sales, and we'll start hearing that King Lear is a rubbish play from a second-rate crowd-pleaser; John Webster was always the man. (Personally, I'm looking forward to a blockbusting King Lear II: He's Back and He's Madder Than Ever.)
There is a certain kind of intelligent and well-meaning person who will happily attack the latest star, hit show or bestseller as mindless drivel, bums on seats at the expense of excellence – but who would never say: "Everyone's stupid, I have no respect for my fellow man, the masses are ignorant. I hope nobody votes at the next election; I myself am campaigning for a dictatorship."
What if it's the same thing? What if the refusal to admire popular appeal as an innate achievement is a negation of humanity? What if, every time you moan that reality TV is crap, you are basically saying that you love Zimbabwe?
Look at it another way. Post-internet and cable television, the splintering of cultural consumption is itself the mass activity. "Obscure and underground" is the zeitgeist; small online communities are the mainstream.
Thus, watching ITV on a Saturday night becomes the countercultural move. Maybe, out there, chatting about The X Factor over garden fences, are the last true subversives in Britain.
|
__________________
Standard disclaimer: the disgusting statements contained in this post are the views of the poster, and unless specified do not represent the views of the moderators or the site's owners.
|
Linear Mode
