Tag Archives: television

A Feverish Weekend

I spent most of the weekend shivering, shaking, coughing, and sleeping – and in a lot of pain. I missed a family member’s birthday party because I simply wasn’t able to get myself out the front door. I wrote about 800 words on Saturday morning which I’ve been too afraid to review yet, lest I find they’re a bunch of delirium-induced ramblings; and, horror of horrors, I was so unwell that I could barely even read. I probably read about twenty pages, maximum, over the past three days. That’s unheard of.

Yes. Exactly. Image: sign0ff.wordpress.com

Yes. Exactly.
Image: sign0ff.wordpress.com

This morning, I am still coughing, but I can function, just about. We’ll see whether I’m able to get back to my NaNoWriMo project presently, or if my brain will decide to mushify itself at the first sight of it.

By the way: I have such a talent for getting sick at the weekend. It’s almost a superpower.

One of the things I did do this weekend, however, was watch the first episode of a new miniseries which aired on Irish television last night. It was called ‘Generation War,’ and it’s the story of five German friends who are separated by World War II. They make a pact that they will see each other again – ‘Weihnacht im Berlin!’ they say, or ‘Christmas in Berlin’ – little knowing that their chances of being able to keep their promise are slim.

Big deal, you might be thinking. But wait – there’s more…

This TV series was made in Germany, by German people, using German actors. It is billed as the first attempt in German television to deal with the war, to face up to the country’s painful past, and to tell their side of a deeply complex, multifaceted and harrowing story. It’s not an attempt to make excuses (or, at least, that’s not how it appeared to me, as I watched it – the horrors of war, and the extreme cruelty of the SS as well as the casual, everyday antisemitism are very much in evidence); it’s an attempt to reveal the wound the war caused on the German psyche, and to stare into it unflinchingly.

The original German title of the show translates as ‘Our Mothers, Our Fathers’, which I think is much better and far more emotionally affecting than ‘Generation War’; it’s a really clear statement that the people making this show realise that the war is not actually all that long ago, and that it affected their loved ones, their parents and grandparents. It has also affected them, not only because it’s part of their country’s history but because it’s written into their DNA, handed down to them by their forebears, the ones who actually lived through the horror of war, who had to watch every word they said and whose every relationship was scrutinised and whose dreams for their lives were unbearably altered.

One of the characters in this group of five friends is a Jewish man named Viktor, and another is a young, typically ‘German’ man named Friedhelm who is, very reluctantly, a soldier. Viktor is a linchpin of the group, no questions asked, and is in a loving relationship with Greta, a woman who has dreams of being a singer as famous as Marlene Dietrich. Greta appears not to care that her relationship with Viktor puts her life at risk – they are young, and such things do not happen to them. Friedhelm reads books in the trenches and never volunteers for anything – he has the name of ‘coward’ among his fellow soldiers, but it’s painfully clear that every second spent in battle is a torment to him. He serves alongside his brave and principled brother, Wilhelm, who tries to protect him when he can, but who is – in his heart of hearts – ashamed at his brother’s supposed cowardice. Wilhelm and Friedhelm are just ordinary soldiers, trying to fight a brutal war which begins, as time goes on, to feel more and more senseless. At one point in the episode, Friedhelm and another soldier are having a discussion about why the German army is marching on Moscow. ‘We are protecting our fatherland,’ says the other soldier. ‘And what do you think they’re doing?’ asks Friedhelm, meaning the Russians. ‘The very same thing.’

The last character out of the five – and, to me, the most interesting – is Charlotte, or Charly, who trains as a nurse and has huge dreams of helping her fellow man and serving her country, and who is a gentle, sensitive and loving girl. Her first attempt to help at a battlefield hospital is a disaster, because she sees the agony and the sheer bloody horror of the injuries the soldiers are being brought in with; all her idealistic notions go out the window, but she keeps working regardless. A particularly striking scene has her choosing a helper out of some local Ukrainian volunteers. She addresses them in German, looking for a woman with some medical knowledge who speaks German and, crucially, who is not a Jew. She picks one woman out of the group, and then dismisses the others with a scornful wave of the hand, as if they are beneath her. It seemed so at odds with her essential kindness that it spoke to me about the effects of wartime propaganda, the fear of ‘breaking the law’, and how the evil of this war could trickle into even the softest of hearts. Later in the episode she makes a decision which is so cruel that it left me blinking back tears, and – even though she’s later shown being remorseful for this decision – it really drove home the idea that German people during the war were just that – people, struggling with this new world that they were creating around them.

A photograph taken by the five on their last night together, which each of them has a copy of. From L-R, clockwise: Viktor, Wilhelm, Charly, Friedhelm, Greta. Image: guardian.com

A photograph taken by the five on their last night together, which each of them has a copy of. From L-R, clockwise: Viktor, Wilhelm, Charly, Friedhelm, Greta.
Image: guardian.com

In saying all this, I am not trying to be an apologist for the war. I watched this show because I wanted a different perspective, and a window on the war which didn’t just take it for granted that the German people were all, to an individual, evil. I found it an extremely affecting piece of television, and I’ll be watching the rest of the series with interest.

But now, I’m off to make myself a hot cup of tea, and face the ravening beast that is my NaNoWriMo project… adieu!

The Sun Always Shines on TV

I’ve written a lot of blog posts at this stage – over 200, incredibly – and I’ve neglected to discuss, until today, something rather important – television. It’s one of the most significant cultural influences in the world, I think – certainly, it is for me. The shows you watch, and those you spent your youth watching, can have a hand in shaping the way you think about stories, about life, other people, about everything. Of course, my small-screen favourites didn’t influence me as much as the books I loved, but I’ve wittered on about books quite enough around here, as I’m sure you’ll all agree.* So, I thought perhaps I’d talk about some of my favourite TV shows, old and new.

But first – I have to throw this in here:

*sigh* Morten Harket, how I used to love thee... Image: beatsandrhymesfc.com

*sigh* Morten Harket, how I used to love thee…
Image: beatsandrhymesfc.com

I am, of course, a child of the eighties. I wasn’t born during that decade, but most of my memories are from that time. So, my favourite shows from my early days include such gems as Grizzly Adams, The Littlest Hobo, The Waltons, Little House on the Prairie, Highway to Heaven, Knight Rider, Alf, Harry and the HendersonsThe Cosby ShowMagnum P.I., Jake and the Fat Man, The Wonder Years, The A-Team, and of course McGyver. I don’t think these shows really had anything in common besides they were all American, with rockin’ theme tunes; some of them also featured cheesily happy families, which was something I appreciated in a TV show. I loved ‘Grizzly Adams’ so much that it, quite possibly, gave me the passion I still have today for men who wear beards – though I’m not as keen on keeping bears as pets, these days – and I wanted to go and live with the Ingalls family so badly as a little girl. Actually, watching the TV adaptation of ‘Little House on the Prairie’ led me to read the books of Laura Ingalls Wilder, probably the first and only time in my life that I watched a story before I read it. It also gave me an inexplicable love of flat, open expanses of farmland and endless blue skies, and I still have an unsatisfied urge to vist Kansas and walk through a cornfield, all because of that TV show.

A good TV show, a good story, does just what these shows did for me – they get into your head, shape how you see the world, and remain with you through your life. Having said that, I haven’t watched these shows for over twenty years, so I’m not sure how they’ve held up, but I’m glad, in many ways, that my memories of them are unsullied by adulthood. They remain unspoilt, golden and perfect in my mind. I think what they mean to me now, besides nostalgia and warmth, is excitement and adventure and newness – they opened my mind to everything the world could hold when I watched them as a child, as well as showing me that a story could be sustained from week to week, leaving me breathless with anticipation, and looking forward to the next episode almost before the current one had finished.

In the nineties, despite the plethora of brilliant TV shows to be had, one show stood head and shoulders above all the others for me. I regret still that it only lasted for one season. It was My So-Called Life, a programme that told the stories of kids who were (at least on the small screen) the same age as I was at the time, and it was accurate and true to my life and experience despite the fact that it was, again, set in America. And, I’m sure I’ve felt anticipation since ‘My So-Called Life’ was on TV; I’m sure I’ve had things I looked forward to so much that I found it hard to wait for them to roll around. However, the levels of impatience I used to go through as I waited for Friday night to come again so that I could watch the exploits of Angela, Rayanne and their friends were in a league of their own. You were nobody in my school if you didn’t come in on Monday morning full of gossip about what had happened in MSCL and if you weren’t completely up to speed with the very latest on who was dating whom, how dreamy Jordan Catalano was, and whether he would ever make an honest woman of Angela.

I remember like it was yesterday how betrayed and heartbroken I felt when I learned the series had been cancelled, and when I had a chance to buy the DVD boxset of the show a few years ago, I jumped at it. I’ve watched the episodes again over the last few years, and they’re still as good, and as gripping, as they were when I was young. I think the thing ‘My So-Called Life’ has in spades is authenticity – as much as a TV show can be said to be authentic – and a sense of believability which makes it hard for me to admit that Angela’s parents weren’t really Angela’s parents, and that she didn’t really live in a beautiful house in an American suburb beside Brian Krakow, the class nerd who loved her; the show absorbed me, totally. It had everything a good YA story needed – a nerdy boy, a cool but awkward girl who totally, always stuck to her principles (that’s what I loved most about Angela), a messed-up best friend, a closeted gay character, an unbelievably handsome love interest, music references, pop-culture references – the whole gamut. It’s brilliant, and shaped me more than I can say. It let me know that it was cool to be yourself and not to do what everyone else in your life was doing (ironically enough, since watching this show was the most conformist thing I could’ve done, at the time); it let me know that there were all sorts of different people in the world, and all of them deserved to be treated fairly and with respect. It let me know that just because someone looked good on the outside, that didn’t mean they were okay inside, and that what really mattered, at the end of the day, was friendship and loyalty and love.

The kids from My So-Called Life Image: en.wikipedia.org

The kids from My So-Called Life
Image: en.wikipedia.org

I’m almost over the fact that the show was cancelled after season one. Almost.

I think there’s some great TV these days, too, even though I’m not sure I love today’s shows as dearly as ones I watched in years gone by. I follow several series (again, I’m showing my age; the youngsters these days are all about YouTube and other things I don’t really understand, which I think is a shame), and there are modern shows, like ‘The Wire’, which are masterpieces of storytelling and fire my imagination like only the very best stories can. There is, to be fair, a lot of dross on the television, too, but occasionally a gem will emerge, a visual story which will last through the years. A good show is a good show for life.

Care to share your favourite TV memories?

 

*Not really. One can never witter on too much about books, right?