My Newest Favourite Thing: Diagonal Lifts

When I was a child and I tried to envisage the future, my mind was full of social and technical achievements. I saw driverless cars; phones on which you could see the person as well as talk to them; and lifts that went in all directions rather than strictly up and down. I also dreamed of equal rights and pay for women in a world where women's sport was taken as seriously as the men's equivalent; where women had the right to drive cars and not be accused of witchcraft and beaten to death; where a woman had the right to decide what she did and did not want to do with her body and was valued for more than her ability to reproduce. Clearly that last one is a bit too far-fetched. 

But the new incline lifts on London's Elizabeth Line run proudly parallel to the escalators, rather than vertically. Apparently this is a cost-effective exercise with additional ecological benefits. The diagonal design is cheaper to build as it 'negates the need for the costly excavation of a lift shaft and will reduce power consumption by nearly 50 per cent'.

I'm sure that some nerdy lift electrician (now, where can I find me one of them?) could explain all the practicalities to me if I really cared, but I just think they look cool and can't wait for them to do loop the loops and fly off into space. That's totally possible, right? 

Original artwork for Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator

Incidentally, the new Elizabeth Line will slightly redress the gender imbalance of nomenclature. There are currently only three stations named after women: Seven Sisters; Victoria and Lancaster Gate - this latter being so-called in honour of Queen Victoria in her guise as the Duke of Lancaster, as the monarch is styled, regardless of gender.

Aware of this injustice, Londoners Reni Endo-Lodge and Emma Watson created a City of Women tube map for International Women's Day this year. The map is available to buy and there's also an interactive version on-line where you can look up more details about the women featured.

"The usual names of London's 272 Underground stations are switched out for pioneering female figures across every genre - the arts, sport, politics, activism... the list goes on. Among them are household names like Audrey Hepburn, Adele, Mary Seacole, Madhur Jaffrey, Michaela Coel, Boudica and the Ford sewing machinists, as featured in the film Made in Dagenham. Even Holloway - the erstwhile women's prison - gets a namecheck."

As for my childhood vision of the future? Well, I guess three out of four ain't bad.

My Week With Marilyn: Wiggle It

In this entertaining and engaging film, Colin Clark, an employee of Sir Laurence Olivier’s, documents the tense interaction between Olivier and Marilyn Monroe during production of The Prince and the Showgirl. It really does concern the events of one week (although they seem to be typical and exemplary of a much greater timespan), allowing director Simon Curtis to maintain a tight focus and avoid the rambling pitfalls of many a biopic.

Eddie Redmayne is charming and fresh as the besotted Colin Clark

Of course, Marilyn is the star of the show and Michelle Williams outstandingly captures her allure and vulnerability. She is crippled with insecurity about her true identity and her acting talent, surrounding herself with an entourage of admirers and sycophants, including Milton Green (Dominic Cooper in truly unctuous form) who supplies her with pills for everything, and drugs her up to manage her, and the chauffeur and chaperone, Barry (Jim Carter), who attempts to exert some measure of concerned control.

She particularly shines among the ‘common people’ – at Eton or the local pub, where she tells the landlord, “Nice place you’ve got here”. It is enough to warm his soul and he would dine out on such a chance remark for years. She knows it, but she can afford to be generous with her winsome smile.

"Shall I be Her?"

“Shall I be her?” Marilyn asks on a trip to Windsor Castle, where she is shown around by Sir Owen Morshead, Colin’s relation, acted with sensitive understanding by Derek Jacobi. She is struck by the fabulous dolls’ house and opens it up to look inside, murmuring, “Every girl should be told how pretty she is and how much her mother loves her.”

Marilyn grew up in other people’s homes with her own mother in an asylum. She doesn’t know who her father is and seeks approval from the establishment who are smitten with her sex appeal although they don’t much care for her personality. Her current husband, Arthur Miller (played with assured nonchalance by Dougray Scott) complains, “I can’t work; I can’t think; she’s devouring me” and he leaves her to return to America, which threatens to tip her into suicidal despair. Green explains, “You don’t leave Marilyn alone. She thinks everyone’s abandoned her”, and she questions through a drug-induced haze, “Why do the people I love always leave me?”

Dougray Scott as Arthur Miller and Michelle Williams as Marilyn Monroe

Marilyn worries that no one cares for who she really is; they are simply besotted by her persona. “All the people want is Marilyn Monroe and then they realise I’m not her.” Yet she plays to the myth, pouting and winking and talking in her ridiculous baby doll voice. Although she claims, “I’m not a goddess. I just want to be a regular girl,” she is keen to seduce Colin (Eddie Redmayne), taking her clothes off before him to swim in the Thames, and giggling under a blanket with him to try and escape her bodyguards.


"Did she break your heart? Just a little bit? Good, it needed breaking." - Emma Watson as Lucy considers her 'rival'

Everyone warns Colin that Marilyn is a heartbreaker and not to get involved – even the dowdy-by-comparison wardrobe mistress, Lucy (Emma Watson), who might have been his girlfriend before she was so dazzlingly eclipsed. Colin seems carefree and charming as he wins the affections and confidences of the delectable and delicate Marilyn, but the film is based on his diaries, so he would be made out to be a bit of a hero.

Kenneth does Larry

Sir Laurence Olivier (Kenneth Brannagh) fares less well. Anxious despite his gravitas, he can be hectoring and bullying to hide his own lack of self-confidence. Brannagh acts this perfectly, He seems intolerant to Marilyn fears, ranting, “We’re all scared. I’ve spent half of my life in abject terror. It’s what we actors do.” He tells Marilyn to “Rely on your natural talents”, suggesting she work her sex appeal and not trouble with acting.

Marilyn persists with acting coaching from the brilliantly bristling Paula Strasberg (Zoë Wanamaker) although Olivier fumes, “Trying to teach Marilyn to act is like trying to teach Urdu to a badger.” Larry doesn’t like method acting; it’s new and it frightens him. Marilyn is the future, which makes him feel threatened. When he removes his make-up before the mirror, he reveals the man beneath the actor, admitting that he wanted to feel young again by working with her, but “when I look at that magnificent face, all I see is my own inadequacy.”

Vivian Leigh (Julia Ormonde), Olivier’s wife and remarkable actress in her own right, is 40, which is too old to play on screen what she can on stage. She sweeps into rehearsals to dispense benedictions but also to check on her competition. Marilyn is 30. Hollywood demands young women, although hypocritically dominated by older men.

There is much warmth and generosity of spirit (and acting) in the film, but none more so than from the simply spectacular Dame Judi Dench. Who could possibly want a greater mentor than her or her character, Dame Sybil Thorndike? She makes excuses for the forgetful and stumbling Marilyn, always has a gentle word to ease her into the situation, and commiserates with Colin's infatuation pains. She also becomes embroiled in a stand-off between union members (over whose job it is to move a chair), which she calms by reminding us, “If the unions fall out, only the management benefits”. She is clearly on the side of us; the workers.

The ever-fabulous Dame Judi Dench as Dame Sybil Thorndike

My Week with Marilyn is a glorious film about a stunning woman, but it is also a film about films and acting, with many superb actors. The screen was eclipsing the stage and there is tension between the classical and more natural delivery, with a smattering of Shakespeare quotes throughout. A new generation of celluloid luminaries were emerging and the previous stars were losing their lustre. Acting is ephemeral and Olivier calmly accepts that “We are such stuff as dreams are made on.” And what wonderful dreams they are...

Harry's Quest

I miss Hogwarts. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part One) has moved on with director, David Yates', latest vision. The three friends (Harry, Ron and Hermione) now spend most of their time running around the hills, forests and lakes of Britain (shot with breathtaking beauty by cinematographer Eduardo Serra) with a purpose (to destroy the Horcruxes – containers of the disparate pieces of Voldemort’s soul) but not much of a clue.

The school for wizards added a structure and timetable which is largely missing from this rambling marathon. There are no cosy divination lessons or starring roles from the new professor of dark arts. Instead we are given rampant hormones and rampaging death. The opening sequences employ both, with a chilling sequence at the Death Eaters’ camp followed by a fatal broomstick chase and some extreme snogging.

We do get to visit the Ministry of Magic, taken over by the Death Eaters in their black leather coats and Hitler moustaches (okay, so the facial hair reference is false but the Third Reich implications are solid) and the streets of London. The wand shoot/spell-out in a West End café is particularly dramatic as the supernatural and super-normal worlds collide over cappuccinos (surely this should have been mugs of tea?).

For the most part, however, we are in a tent (albeit with tardis-like dimensions) with the trio and there’s not a lot to do: Hermione (Emma Watson) reads; Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) broods and Ron (Rupert Grint) escapes. They may be glamping, but canvas claustrophobia soon sets in, both for them and the viewers as they indulge in desultory dialogue and hunt the Horcruxes.

And this is where the problems emerge. From an exciting magical romp, the story turns into a pedestrian quest with serious JRR Tolkein/ CS Lewis/ Thomas Malory overtones – right down to the sword in the lake. Not even the majesty of Malham Cove can lift the tale from the slough of despond.

The supporting characters are fabulous but underwhelming with the possible exceptions of the new Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, played by Bill Nighy (the only actor on the planet who could take on Alan Rickman in a lip curling competition with any credibility) and Helen Bonham Carter who gets more disturbingly insane with each installment. As the first instalment of the seventh part of the story, this was inevitably going to suffer from over-exposition.

There are hints and flashbacks aplenty (with extra cameos for departed characters) but the story itself is stilted and reined in; waiting for the final episode to unleash the great battle between the force and the dark side. You’ll probably need to watch it again just before you watch the finale, but that’s probably something dedicated Gryffindorains do anyway.