The Bruce - Part 1

John Barbour's The Brus was written with the explicit intent of generating passion by appropriating a sensed heroic past for the book's contemporary audience. The opening 36 lines of Book I are little more than an attempt to convince the listener of the truthful nature of the poem, with the secondary value of acting as a memorial for the historical figures described. Compared to most medieval romances, which are often set a long, long time ago in some place far, far away, this was dealing with relatively recent subject matter and so was presumably rather unique. There are many place names included that must surely invite audience recognition, mixed in with classical names that confer heroic stature to the protagonists and furthermore invite the audience to compare the two groups directly.

By sticking to the broader themes of the romance texts, however, Barbour is obligated to surpress certain unflattering facts about Bruce in order to create a more stalwart character (if indeed he was aware of these facts as modern historians seem to be). These broader themes are certainly present, as showcased by James Douglas' exile to Paris and his subsequent return in pursuit of an ideal. Interestingly, Douglas' introduction (c. 383) paints him as a ready-known figure. Barbour sees Douglas as something of an intertextual icon, a link in the oral storytelling chain.

Regardless of the personal facts regarding Robert I that Barbour may have skimmed over (most crucially the blending of at least three generations of Bruce men into one Super Bruce), he uses Scotland as a background character, effectively the damsel in distress, and paints her as a united kingdom. This was very far from the truth even by the 1370s, with divisions stemming from the Balliols, the Earls of Moray, the Gaelic speakers, the Scots speakers, various classes and more.

Perhaps the most important theme of the entire book, or at least the most memorable, is that dealing with the importance of freedom. Yet is freedom universally a noble thing, or is it merely a thing for nobles? At times (c. 216-18) Barbour seems more upset with the noble gentry being denied certain customs, such as when Welsh knights were forced to do battle without their horses, or when opponents of Edward I were hanged rather than beheaded (deemed an appropriate execution for a nobleman). Again, the perils of mixing a modern dialect with an ancient tongue become evident.

16th Century State

Well, maybe. In sixteenth century Scotland there was a steady dissolution of the absolutist notions of the Divine Right of Monarchs towards a centralised state, or so some historians are seemingly fond of saying. As with feudalism, the term state can be rather misleading when used in a modern context. The word is thought to have originated with Aristotle, who used it in reference to a collection of freeborn citizens that were working for the common good of their polity. Considering how highly regarded studies of Aristotle and his peers were in medieval society, it is perhaps unsurprising that the term caught on.

One of the most important developments to happen in reference to this was literacy becoming more widespread. Jack Goody called the invention of written symbols to represent the oral alphabet a revolutionary event. In medieval Scotland it would certainly have helped trade, giving rise to a number of literate merchants. Before this (rather vague) age literacy was the hallmark of the clerical elite, who could be scribes for charters and other important documents that came to be used in legal matters.

James I was the first well-known literate monarch in Scotland, which would of course have led to many of his nobles emulating him. Whereas it would once have been customary to simply employ literate servants, now the nobles underwent education in order to do it themselves; education that usually followed the humanist scholars of Europe such as Aristotle. By 1496 it became mandatory for the eldest sons of all nobles to stay in school and learn fluent Latin before going on to university.

Eventually the printing presses reached Scotland. The burdens of relying on manuscripts were lifted and so opened a near limitless scope of potential. This may not always have been to the benefit of the nobles, since many broadsheet posters containing criticisms of certain gentryfolk have been found (inc. Mary I).

Under James V's rule there was a move away from clerical government as many knights came to the royal court, leaving their local polities, to hold offices that would once have been the exclusive domain of the clergy. This included most of the Justices of the Peace. Initially, and inevitably, literacy proved to be quite limited. A number of letters would be astonishingly brief, contain a great many errors, and perhaps be completely illegible. In part this may have been due to reading and writing being taught as two separate subjects.

Bureaucracy is the skeletal system of a ruler at war. England certainly depended on it a great deal whilst the Hundred Year War with France rumbled on. For one thing, it helped to keep tabs on the taxes that were being levied in order to pay for the war. The prolonged campaigns created a situation whereby taxation was effectively commonplace. For a king as extravagant as James VI, who was often found wanting for yet more expenses, this must have seemed like a rather peculiar affront. After all, Scotland was not at war. By 1581, this led to an attempt to impose regular taxation. This was a highly controversial matter, since usually taxes were only levied with a prior, specific explanation as to the need.

Match Point

Writer - Woody Allen
Director - Woody Allen
Stars - Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, Scarlett Johansson

A great deal of attention has been given to Woody Allen lately for spurning his life-long lover, New York, and deciding to film in London instead. Match Point is the first product of this tryst but it feels like little more than a drunken kiss under the mistletoe that went slightly too far rather than the passionate love affair Allen has supposedly embarked upon with the other side of the Atlantic.

Not only has he left his trademark New York, but Allen the writer has forsaken Woody the character. It is customary to see the neurotic fellow pop up in any given Allen film, transplanted from Annie Hall, even by proxy as was the case with Jason Biggs in Anything Else. Instead, the film is centred around Rhys-Meyers, who is effectively playing Mr Ripley's less talented brother. He comes from a working class Irish background and, after making a name for himself on the professional tennis circuit, has recently settled in London to coach at an exclusive club. His chief concerns appear to be financial and social status, yet he soon befriends Matthew Goode's executive character and is inducted into the Hewett clan. Before pausing to take breath he is employed by Goode's father, the always welcome Brian Cox, charming the mother, Penelope Wilton, and engaged to the sister, Emily Mortimer, despite clearly having feelings for Johansson; a struggling actress engaged to Goode.

So far so good, yet Rhys-Meyers proves to be rather incapable of carrying the emotional weight of the film. He can handle the business scenes very well, strutting around in a tailor-made suit to network with prospective clients, yet there are no layers to his performance. We are told many times that Johansson is his passion but we cannot see it in his eyes. His character experiences weddings, births and deaths in the film but greets them all in the same detached manner. This is something of a problem considering the choices his character makes as the love triangle tightens a noose round his neck, since his rather far-fetched actions do not feel convincing in the least. Only in a single scene towards the end, when he encounters a couple of detectives played by James Nesbitt and Ewan Bremner, does he begin to show a suitable range.

Perhaps even more damaging is that Allen's usual flair for dialogue has escaped him this time around. Only Nesbitt and Bremner seem capable of breathing life into the script with their brief scenes in order to present genuinely charming characters. Mostly the film just plods along through multiple scenes in fashionable eateries and upper-class culture traps, killing time in an increasingly vacuous way. It only seems to want to explore its themes by posing the questions a) isn't London pretty?, and b) isn't Scarlett Johansson pretty? The majority of the audience will answer affirmatively to at least one of those questions but probably without mustering much enthusiasm.

Allen seems to want to make some point about luck; the strength of the influence that it has on our lives and how insecure we feel because of it. This is best summed up in the opening shot, with a tennis ball hitting the top of the net and pausing in mid-air. Does it go forwards, so you win, or backwards, so you don't? Sadly, that is the most insightful the film gets since all explorations of luck are put on hold until a facsimilie of the same shot occurs in the third act to determine Rhys-Meyers' fate. It is probably rather difficult to base a script around luck since it often just feels like a cop-out to the audience, as it does here. It feels more like Allen simply tacked on that opening shot as a pre-emptive apology for what occurs later.

Later still, there will be another Allen movie set in London starring Johansson. Perhaps by then he will be comfortable enough to provide examples of the refreshment this trans-Atlantic fling is said to have given him.

Rating - 4