What a lot of these we’ve got now!
Is it a coincidence that the one I consider closest to my style, and with whom I most identify, is the most celebrated Professor Mary Beard? Do others feel the same? She wants to discover and explain even those details of historical life we tend to keep quiet about, despite our interest in them. Our minds tend to cycle round certain ideas, only some of which are usually for public consumption, but Mary investigates and explains all parts of our thought cycles even those “underwater”, in such a down-to-earth way.
Here she’s happy to explain something while still brandishing the headless broomstick she’d been pointing with:
Prof. Mary Beard, in her programme on Caligula.
We’re reminded of the term used to describe our hands’ exploration of an object, called “manual parsing”, which she seems to be imagining doing here, just as she’s conventionally parsed a million Latin sentences. (…If we have that many!)
And here she lures us down a dark Roman alley – the one where Caligula was assassinated, I expect :
Surely part of her appeal must be because we keep our “Mary Beard” mental concept quite close to our “Margaret Rutherford” concept.
When I worked at Esso I heard first hand how they liked to recruit classics scholars (i.e. Latin, Greek etc.), in the case of salesmen at least, because they sold a lot of oil. A surprising number of people who became formidable in other areas, (for me, Stuart Sutherland, the famous psychologist, comes to mind), had done classics; it does seem to prepare people well, perhaps by presenting all the kinds of things that can happen in life, the various things people did when they happened, and what the consquences were. I wonder what the ancient equivalents of a dirty Twitter storm might have been? Whatever they were, Mary will know, and will be able to handle it! Good old Mary .
A recent notable arrival on the scene is Professor Catharine Edwards, from Birkbeck (where my mother was as it happens). The way she unwound the tales of three classic Roman imperial women famous for their machinating, or perhaps we might say the machinations they felt driven to, removed any doubt we might have had that a special sort of woman could cast spells on their victims, even when they knew it was happening :-S . Having thought hard about the appeal of certain TV personalities and why I watch them, like for example, Jeremy Clarkson, I’ve set up a three-part scale to account for it. The first part is “Like?”. The second is “Approve of?”, and the third is simply “Watch?”. With Clarkson, the judgement is simple: Like – N; Approve of – N; Watch – Y. With Danny Baker, it used to be: Like – N; Approve of – Y; Watch – Y (though after seeing his short series on LPs, I changed Like to Y).
The “Catharine Edwards Effect” that leaves you like a rabbit in the headlights and sends you happily to your doom, results in: Like – Not Sure; Approve of – Not Sure; Watch – Yes, possibly from behind the settee, or strapped to the mast, as appropriate. There might well be an “Anything else you’d like to mention?” category, to which the answer might be “rather not say” . Those three programmes could have been watched with the sound off, and you wouldn’t miss much because of the recurring theme of endless vaguely similar but hard to remember family relationships, and repeated exilings, poisonings and stabbings… and yet she’d still convey that essence of ruthless allure and power :-S .
What would Mary think of all this? Well, she’s already told us she couldn’t resist charming the odd married tutor herself in her early university days. It might be pointed out that this isn’t always as hard as it might be, even when you’re not trying to, or even when you don’t even want to, and even if the married tutor is the same sex as you. In her case though, I got the impression she actually “succeeded”.
I’ve selected a screen-grab below, where Catharine is invited onto Mary’s Caligula program, showing a very straightforward image.
Again, from Mary’s Caligula programme
There are however many frames where Prof Edwards’ dramatic spirit jumps right out of the screen at you… but I’ve decided not to be cheap, nor to risk frightening my readers, so I’ll just offer the one below, and also this one of the two professors professoring together.
I wouldn’t have expected Mary to be the bigger of the two, but it seems like it here.
And here’s another tale of three women: those at the heart of The Wars of the Roses, in BBC Two’s “The Real White Queen and Her Rivals”.
Phillippa Gregory. from the website for The Real White Queen and her Rivals
This time, Phillippa Gregory isn’t so nuch telling us what it was like to be there facing the machinatrices, but imagines what it must have been like to have been them. (Impressively worrying, usually, but at least they had power a lot of the time
.) This introduces what I’d like to present as a classic challenge for today’s media:
How to explain the Wars of the Roses! Scientists are always telling themselves they/we have to get out there and take it to the people. But can there be a better standard educative challenge than this subject? Understanding some stories is simple because they are simple. Then there are stories that are too complex to understand the first time through: The Hundred Year’s War is like that.
However, listen a couple of times to, say, Janina Ramirez’ account of it, and you can, like me, remember a few corners of the jigsaw, ready to fill in the rest in time: Starts around The Black Death, and I think involves the Black Prince early on; then, embarrassingly but inspiringly, it largely consists of landing in various places in France and embarking on one great swathe of destruction after another all over the French Countryside. (I’m beginning to understand why the French don’t mean to indicate a feeling of hospitability and delight by the phrase “The English are disembarking”.) Agincourt and Henry V, and before that Crecy, come into it; the French didn’t seem to learn anything from Crecy, but towards the end of the war they learned to jump on the archers before they were ready (not a good episode of the archers that time, one imagines). Towards the end you get Joan of Arc, and afterwards some of the characters go on to be involved in The Wars of the Roses.
But the Wars of the Roses fight much more stubbornly to retain their incomprehensibility:
First: complex family relations. Second: everyone milling about all over the place, here, there and everywhere. Third: they keep stopping and starting, and each round isn’t automatically easy to tell from the others. And finally, they keep rearranging the sides. (Surely Shakespeare’s “Wind-changing Warwick now shall change no more!” shows how he, too, got exasperated with this!) Oh – actually there’s a further “finally”: the names Henry, Edward and Richard are too conceptually similar: the same number of syllables, and all classic names of kings (inevitably!). And the first names of Elizabeth (Woodville), Anne (Neville) and Margaret (Beaufort) are all recent members of the royal family as well as being (mostly) famous actual queens.
We need structure. We need maps, time charts, and family trees to be displayed on screen all the time, and the updates should be linked between the charts, showing who was doing what, where, and when. The graphics would need to be dovetailed in, of course, with the narration. Well that at least happens already, but the rest will never be done for TV because it would look to the viewer too much like work, like a lesson. Besides which, it would require too much screen area, and probably stop-and-start control by the viewer. Maybe though, just maybe, there could be some mnemonic… some three-line ditty… some allegory that could provide a basic outline.
Anyway, all media studies courses should require the student to present a 1-hour on-screen account of the Wars of the Roses, in a way that left 70% of people (randomly tempted off the street with ice-cream) with a basic understanding of the main phases, the main people, the main actions, and the main places. I think Mr. Gove would find that satisfyingly crunchy!
Helen Castor (see next episode) also included the Wars of the Roses, in her series “She-Wolves: England’s Early Queens”. But her particular angle was the feminist issue, not just in those times, but with an intended echo into the sociology of today. At the end of the series she refers to the vitirolic attacks aimed at women, apparently merely for doing a task possible for them, and normal for men… or even for merely not being men. And when she says “vitrioloic”, we can see she really means it and talks from personal experience, probably repeated personal experiences. Even though she’s got a book out which I guess is nice and doing nicely, and she’s got a TV series that’s great to watch, and a professorship or whatever somewhere, and of course she operates out of an impressively elegant figure, we still can’t help feeling sorry for her.
She must have had unfair behaviour directed against her, just as her would-be queens had; it’s a form of groupism and it’s a natural tendency. Some varieties go out of fashion but in whichever versions people can get away with, they’re always trying it on. Helen does not look like an avid campaigner in office politics, or any kind of street-fighter, or whatever would make people think twice before having a go. It’s always gone on all through history and it continues unchecked… or does it? No! See