A Nostalgic Scottish Christmas: “Comfort and Joy”

Bill Forsyth’s Comfort and Joy has the quiet dignity of an old Christmas jumper, albeit one with a distinctly odd pattern.

By Robert Cairns

Roger Ebert famously called cinema a great empathy machine, but movies are also nostalgia machines, especially when we feel like things are going wrong in the world. Look how well everyone dressed back then, we might say while watching North By Northwest; look how safe it was to walk the streets at night, we might observe with envy while watching Brief Encounter. This awakens in us a reactionary tendency which can be very illuminating, provided we reject that label as a cudgel and reclaim it as a tool to try and measure the distance between then and now.

The temptation to play games of compare and contrast is often heightened around Christmas. We compare our lives not only to the lives of others but also to the life we led the year before. Our cinematic favourites of the festive season are wistful portals and nostalgic blankets. Whether your Christmas movie of choice is Die HardBrazil, or It’s A Wonderful Life, there is something innocent about the ritual Christmas viewing, even if it involves John McClane running over broken glass, Sam Lowry being tormented by bureaucracy, or George Bailey contemplating suicide.

Bill Forsyth’s Comfort and Joy is another film deserving a seat at the Christmas table. It has the quiet dignity of an old Christmas jumper, albeit one with a distinctly odd pattern. As a Christmas odyssey of an everyman who, in mid-1980s Glasgow, gets caught in the middle of a preposterous turf war between two rival ice cream merchants, viewers will be surprised in equal measure by its farcical plot and its genuine lack of cynicism. It is a pleasure to laugh at our hero, Alan “Dicky” Bird, as he navigates his way out of his melancholy and becomes a version of himself he needs to be. The so-called normal life of today seems deeply unfunny by comparison.

It could be argued, in the vein of the famous “It’s Shite Being Scottish” monologue in Trainspotting, that the Scotland of the 1980s was not a place to get overly nostalgic about. In particular, Glasgow’s reputation as a rough, ship-building city is obviously not unwarranted. The real-world “Glasgow Ice Cream Wars” involved gangs using ice cream vans as cover for organised criminal activity. Bill Forsyth was not naive to these rough edges of his city. His debut, That Sinking Feeling, is charming but has a more kitchen-sink approach to Glasgow, so much so that American critic Vincent Canby described it as a film “in which just about everyone has a skin problem.”

With this in mind, the gentle, fable-like quality of Comfort and Joy deliberately eschews some of the harder realities of its time and setting, making it somewhat reactionary even back in 1984. Glasgow, warts and all, has been put under the magnifying glass by other filmmakers (the recovering-alcoholic drama of Ken Loach’s My Name is Joe, the doldrums escape fantasy of Lynne Ramsay’s Ratcatcher). Every time I watch Comfort and Joy, I realise it deserves a place in the pantheon of cracked-up, mock-Homeric Odysseys, alongside the likes of After Hours or The Big Lebowski. It must be very enticing for a director to make an artistically ponderous slice of miserabilist social realism, and it says a lot that Comfort and Joy is a feel-good film instead.

In the years since Comfort and Joy’s 1984 release, we have seen changes in Scotland, the UK, and Europe that make the film seem much older than it actually is. In 2013, the decapitation in broad London daylight of British soldier Lee Rigby was a formative event for me. I recall how my father, born and raised in Fife and never shy to throw a playful barb at the English, pivoted to a more general sense of British solidarity. “That should be the end of that”, he remarked in reference to the obvious literal and symbolic incursion. Sadly, that was not the end of that.

Instead, Scotland received its own dose of all the unfortunate byproducts of forced diversity in Europe: Sharia councilsgrooming gangs, a Glasgow where almost a third of the children don’t speak English as their first language, and a former first minister who has volleyed openly hostile, anti-white rhetoric towards native Scots. Curiously, the first minister in question, Mr. Humza Yousaf, was born into the Glaswegian world of Comfort and Joy in 1985, one year after the film’s release. Who could have foreseen what was coming down the pike?

In the wrong kind of mood, a film like Comfort and Joy can feel confusing and depressing when weighed up against these shifting realities. At a time when the holiday season in Europe routinely requires barriers to stop vehicular terror attacks at Christmas markets, Bill Forsyth’s story of opportunity and ice cream can feel rather quaint. There’s an irony, too, when we consider the fact that the film believes in the possibility of some sort of meaningful reconciliation with foreigners. An important part of our protagonist’s character arc, after all, is asserting himself with an entrepreneurial tact and ingenuity amongst the Italian and Chinese communities of his neighborhood.

The presence in Forsyth’s story of small Italian and Chinese groups is proportionally incomparable to the growing feeling of the present day, recently admitted even by Labour PM Keir Starmer, of the UK being “an island of strangers.” Comfort and Joy still had a romanticism about being part of a bigger world because the wider world was further away. The radio playing in the background of many scenes gives us updates about the Panda Diplomacy of the 1980s and the political strife in Burundi. This situates the Ice Cream Turf War, absurdly, in a global context. Although played for laughs, the gesture of Panda Diplomacy and the tensions in Burundi come to represent a more profound choice our character needs to make about his own inner torpor. He needs only to solve his own problems, not the entire world’s.

There is a lesson here for the viewer to both temper and take seriously their reactionary spirit. Forsyth’s Comfort and Joy, as the poster tagline says, is “a serious comedy.” We should take it seriously and allow it to uplift us, lest we get too lost in comparing and contrasting. In keeping with our Scottish theme, let’s reflect on the past and the future by remembering the words of Robert Burns’ “To a Mouse”, which the children of Scotland, whatever language they may speak, are hopefully still learning at school:

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
I guess ‘an fear!

Bill Forsyth’s Comfort and Joy has the quiet dignity of an old Christmas jumper, albeit one with a distinctly odd pattern.
Robert S. Cairns is a film critic and ‘recovering academic’ with research interests in philosophy, theology, and conservatism in the movies.

Source: A Nostalgic Scottish Christmas: Comfort and Joy 42 Christmases Later

10 Christmas classics you may have missed

The most wonderful time of the year brings with it some of the most wonderful movies. No doubt you’ve already seen A Christmas StoryIt’s a Wonderful LifeElfThe Shop Around the Corner, A Christmas Carol (the Alastair Sim version, of course), and other perennial favorites, but why stop there? Here are some under-appreciated gems to freshen up your seasonal watchlist.

The Apartment (1960)

Trailer for The Apartment (Uploaded to YouTube by Amazon MGM Studios)

Billy Wilder’s Best Picture winner stars Jack Lemmon as a lonely bachelor and insurance-office drone who lets company executives use his apartment for a trysting place in hopes of a promotion. One of the trysts involves his own unrequited crush (Shirley MacLaine), attached to his boss (Fred MacMurray). Office politics, adultery, sexual harassment, and attempted suicide don’t suggest holiday cheer, but by the time New Year’s Eve rolls around, Wilder supplies a hard-earned happy ending. Available on Tubi.

Bell, Book and Candle (1958)

Clip from Bell, Book and Candle (Uploaded to YouTube by Turner Classic Movies)

All modern-day witch Kim Novak wants for Christmas is otherwise engaged upstairs neighbor James Stewart. With help from her feline familiar, Pyewacket, she casts a spell that puts a supernatural twist on the classic rom-com. Fun fact: My wife loved this movie so much growing up that she named her cat Pyewacket. Available on Tubi.

Comfort and Joy (1984)

Glasgow radio DJ Dickie Bird (Bill Paterson) gets an unexpected new lease on life after a devastating holiday breakup when he’s drawn into an escalating feud between two rival ice cream companies. Bill Forsyth’s follow-up to his beloved Local Hero has that film’s off-center charm and an understated heartwarming Christmas message. By all rights, it should be a holiday classic, but it’s tough to find — it’s unavailable to stream and out of print on home video, though DVD and Blu-ray copies can still be purchased through Amazon.

The Lemon Drop Kid (1951)

“Silver Bells” from The Lemon Drop Kid (Uploaded to YouTube by Casgo)

“Silver Bells,” one of the most beloved Christmas songs, was introduced in one of Bob Hope’s best non-Road comedies about a race track tout who has just 23 days until Christmas to come up with the $10,000 he owes a decidedly uncharitable mobster. That “Silver Bells” was not even nominated for Best Original Song is one of the Academy’s most grievous snubs. Watching block after block of New Yorkers singing along with Bob Hope and Marilyn Maxwell is what Christmas is all about. Available on Amazon Prime Video.

The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942)

Trailer for The Man Who Came to Dinner (Uploaded to YouTube by Warner Bros. Rewind)

Unwanted holiday guests are the worst — especially for the Ohio family forced to accommodate world-renowned radio personality Sheridan Whiteside after he injures himself on their property. Wheelchair-bound, the imperious Whiteside takes wicked delight in meddling in the family’s affairs and running roughshod over everyone else, including his beleaguered nurse, who finally vows, “Anything I can do to exterminate the human race will fill me with the greatest of pleasure.” Monty Woolley recreates his signature stage role in this classic Kaufman and Hart comedy. Available on Tubi.

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Her Brilliant Career: Honoring Katrin Cartlidge (1961-2002)

By Julian Upton | May, 2014

When Brookside started in November 1982, it instantly revolutionised the British TV soap opera. Cheaply videotaped with outside broadcast equipment in and around real, purposely built houses in a faceless modern suburb of Liverpool, it had the unglamorous hue of a local news report, an ugly and slightly jarring visual quality that it shared with contemporary TV dramas such as Boys from the Blackstuff and Auf Widersehen, Pet. And Brookside showed societal ugliness in a way no soap opera had done before. Bad language, unemployment, urban disillusionment, militant politics and domestic violence — all had controversially hijacked the storylines within weeks of its beginning. What made all this watchable, indeed endearing, was a constant thread of humour and the quality of the writing and acting.

The cast of Brookside‘s early years is a roll call of talented actors, many of whom went on to find genuine success in the UK, albeit on the small screen: Sue Johnston, Ricky Tomlinson, Amanda Burton, John McArdle, Alexandra Pigg. And unique amongst this initial line-up was Katrin Cartlidge.

Even in the company of other good actors, there was something more intense and unflinching about Katrin Cartlidge. Playing Lucy Collins, the troubled daughter of the neighbourhood’s petit bourgeois family, she constantly bristled with an insolent ennui and a mild subversiveness. Somewhat portentously, she drifted through storylines that dealt with promiscuity, disillusionment, and petty theft with the cool detachment of a character in an arthouse film. Thin-lipped, unsmiling, and angular-featured, Cartlidge as Lucy Collins was never conventionally pretty, but she was gracious, controlled, and deep, and underneath her cool contempt boiled a defiant sexuality. These were the very qualities that the actress was later to hone for uncompromising works of the cinema.

In retrospect, given the strength of her future choices and performances, Cartlidge seems to have stayed with Brookside rather longer than was necessary. By the time of her departure in 1988, the soap was already betraying elements of the outrageous farce it later became. Murders, sieges, kidnappings, confrontational lesbianism — all went on to afflict this supposedly unremarkable cul-de-sac. It was quite clear, as the eighties closed, that as far as Brookside‘s producers were concerned, bums on seats were much more important than social comment.

This regrettable transition may have spurred Cartlidge onto new things, but initially she seemed a little directionless. She had a small role in Eat the Rich (1987) and, on television, Funseekers (1988) but these seemed like odd choices for someone so intense and intelligent. It took a few more years before it was clear that Cartlidge — cool, perceptive, self-aware — had her eye on the bigger picture.

While the best of her Brookside contemporaries were launching themselves into lucrative contracts in higher-profile television dramas, Katrin held back, got more stage experience and did her research. When she next made a splash on the screen, in 1993, it was with a small but haunting performance in Mike Leigh’s Naked. Cartlidge’s intensity was ideally suited to the desolate brutality of Naked. As Sophie, the druggie flatmate, she brings the right level of emotional distance her part, a darkly moulded background eccentric typical of Leigh’s serio-comic work. But the aftermath of her sexual brutalisation is played with a primal force that is unflinching, and betrays a powerful investment in the character.

Naked achieved much domestic and international acclaim, and the exposure it afforded Katrin could have propelled her to leading roles in more mainstream British film and television, perhaps even to the U.S. But the actress instead took the path that came to define her. Eschewing the “easier projects,” she instead chose to work next with Macedonian director Milcho Manchesvki in Before the Rain (1994). In one of three stories that sets the emotionally draining metropolis of London against the increasing volatility of rural Macedonia, Cartlidge plays a complicated, seemingly unsympathetic character. Although not fully successful, Before the Rain provides an early confirmation of her willingness to risk alienating the casual viewer. This was certainly not the characteristic of a star in the making, but key to her development as an actress.

When, in 1996, she appeared as Emily Watson’s sister-in-law in Lars von Trier‘s Breaking the Waves, it seemed that Katrin’s talent for identifying provocative, edgy, progressive projects was becoming more sophisticated. Although, arguably, Lars von Trier later became something of a Dogme prankster, Breaking the Waves is an emotionally grating and visually striking piece of work, laced with jet-black comedy and playful subversion. And, dominated as the film is by outsiders, extremists, and fantasists, Cartlidge, as Watson’s protective, buttoned-up sister-in-law, brings a necessary, if dourly humourless, touchstone of practical realism. She later claimed that working with von Trier had transformed her way of thinking as an actor.

Cartlidge then reunited with Mike Leigh to co-carry his Career Girls (1997), but that film and her performance suffers from a directorial lapse in character development. This is a pity, because the contemporary scenes in Career Girls showed a new side to Cartlidge, one that was adept at one-liners and serio-comedy. Sadly, the flashback scenes — where the actress plays her character in her younger days, all nervous tics and immature bravado — are excessive and overindulgent, and fall wide of the mark. (Although the jury of the 1997 Evening Standard Awards clearly thought otherwise, and voted her Best Film Actress of the Year.)

The following year, however, Lodge Kerrigan’s Claire Dolan (1998) afforded Cartlidge the opportunity to give the ultimate “arthouse” performance. Detached, damaged, and degraded, she pushed herself to new extremes here, as the emotionally stunted prostitute paying for her sick mother’s care by whoring herself unsmilingly around New York.

Cartlidge may have been too old now for the Samantha Morton/Kate Winslet roles that might have started to come her way, but she was already carving her niche in world cinema. As the nineties closed, she was journeying around the world, picking and choosing to work with directors who, in her own words, “I feel will produce something original, revealing and provoking.” Significantly, she was also being called upon, increasingly, to sit on judging panels at international film festivals. She had, somewhat uniquely for an ex-soap supporting actor, ascended to a level of artistic fulfillment that is usually reserved for the lionesses of European cinema.

As the new millennium began, Cartlidge was in a position to fluctuate between small parts in more commercial pictures (Dark Annie Chapman in From Hell, 2001 ) and central roles in provocative international films. Her last major impact was as the mercenary TV correspondent in Danis Tanovic’s extremely black Bosnian war comedy No Man’s Land (2001), a film that went on to beat the popular favourite Amelie to the Best Foreign Film Oscar.

But Cartlidge’s career was then cut short by a tragedy that was as shocking and as unexpected as anything she had been involved with onscreen. In early September 2002, she began complaining of flu symptoms, which became so pronounced that her partner later took her to hospital, near her home in North London. There she was diagnosed with pneumonia, and very soon septicaemia (blood poisoning) set in. She fell into a critical condition and died on 7th September. She was forty-one.

A few years before, Cartlidge had said “I actually like getting older. I hated my twenties; I couldn’t wait to be thirty. I’m really looking forward to turning forty, if I get there.” Although it is with a tragic irony that we now read that, it also goes some way to explaining the slow-burning impact of her career and her growing power as an actress. There were many more films to come; some would have been broader in appeal, but all would doubtless have been interesting, if only for the very reason that Cartlidge had chosen to be in them. One thing was pretty certain, she was never likely to turn up in the latest Austin Powers movie, however well known she might have become.

It is highly likely that, in her forties, Katrin would have chosen roles that would have consolidated her importance in international cinema. She may have become comparable to the great Isabelle Huppert — she certainly had the same passion, commitment, and cinematic courageousness. Her loss has been keenly felt by a legion of serious film-makers and fans.

Selected Filmography

1985: Sacred Hearts (UK)
1987: Eat the Rich (UK)
1993: Naked (UK)
1994: Look Me in the Eye (UK)
1994: Before the Rain (Macedonia)
1996: Breaking the Waves (Denmark/Sweden/France/Netherlands/Norway}
1997: Career Girls (UK)
1997: Saint-Ex (UK)
1998: Claire Dolan (France/US)
1998: The Lost Son (GB/France)
1998: The Cherry Orchard (Greece/Cyprus/France)
1999: Topsy-Turvy (UK)
2000: The Weight of Water (France)
2001: No Man’s Land (Slovenia)
2001: From Hell (UK/US)
2002: Dogville

Source: Her Brilliant Career: Honoring Katrin Cartlidge (1961-2002) – Bright Lights Film Journal

Dry Bones

Hear the Word of the Lord and release the Epstein Files!
Hear the Word of the Lord and release the Epstein Files!

By Johnny Foreigner

Dry Bones, also called “Dem Bones,” is a spiritual. The melody was composed by songwriter, James Weldon Johnson and J. Rosamond Johnson. It is inspired by Ezekiel 37:1–14.

Lyrics for ‘Dry Bones’

Ezekiel cried, “Dem dry bones!”
Ezekiel cried, “Dem dry bones!”
Ezekiel cried, “Dem dry bones!”
“Oh, hear the word of the Lord.”

The foot bone connected to the leg bone,
The leg bone connected to the knee bone,
The knee bone connected to the thigh bone,
The thigh bone connected to the back bone,
The back bone connected to the neck bone,
The neck bone connected to the head bone,
Oh, hear the word of the Lord!

The song was recorded by many artists, most notably the Delta Rhythm Boys in 1952. The song was also famously covered by artists like Rosemary Clooney, Tennessee Ernie Ford, and The Kingsmen.

While not a “pop hit,” Alice in Chains also had a successful grunge song titled “Them Bones” from their 1992 album Dirt

The Hobbledehoy is most fond the version performed by Peter O’Toole in The Ruling Class. Peter Barnes’ black comedy tells the story of a paranoid schizophrenic British nobleman who thinks he is Jesus Christ. 

Hear the word of the Lord, and release the Epstein Files!