Spectator Life

Netflix’s reimagining of the Arsene Lupin franchise has been quite the success, with an estimated 70 million households streaming the series last month. But with some months to go until the next batch of episodes, Francophiles will need something to tide them over. Here are our suggestions: Le Bureau https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTkMm5DtZEU " France’s rather brooding answer to Spooks follows an elite unit within the country’s intelligence services charged with managing complex undercover missions in unfriendly territories.

'Fart for freedom, fart for liberty – and fart proudly', was how Benjamin Franklin put it shortly after founding the United States. It’s an injunction the cows of the developed world appear to have taken seriously: a strategy for liberation, executed brilliantly you have to say, that seems finally to have brought them to the brink of emancipation. Last week, billionaire and long-time committed burger eater Bill Gates became the latest champion of the cows’ cause (namely: please stop eating us). He said the time had come for inhabitants of all wealthy nations to cease enjoying beef and instead to make do with a synthetic substitute. According to him, it’s the only way to prevent civilisation ending in a cow-fart fireball apocalypse. Or something like that.

Britain has always prided itself on the rich diversity of its comedy output, from trouser splitting farce to cerebral satire but our genius for tickling the world's funny bone has reached a crisis point - something has gone terribly awry. A new report on the BBC's TV output from regulator Ofcom has classed comedy as an 'at risk' genre.  Over the last decade, the amount of original comedy on BBC channels has dropped by more than 40 per cent. This is partly to do with the cost and risk factors involved in making such a subjective art form but the problem runs deeper than mere economics. Comedy has hit a brick wall, and I don’t mean in a comedic way.  Producers, writers and performers appear to be all out of ideas especially when it comes to creating daring satire.

When my early efforts at homeschooling faltered amidst bitter recriminations and shouts of 'You are literally the worst teacher in the world!' (from a six year-old), my husband stepped up. Rubbing his hands, he declared, 'This is going to be just like Dead Poets Society'. Yet cries of 'O Captain! My Captain!' were not forthcoming. Within five minutes came the sound of doors slamming and roars of 'Will you SIT DOWN and SHUT UP!' We aren’t meant to teach our own children and attempting anything alongside that other business of trying to earn a living is farcical. But however badly you’re faring, one look at this lot should reassure that you’re doing just fine.

Every weekend Spectator Life brings you doses of topical trivia – facts, figures and anecdotes inspired by the current week’s dates in history. 20 February Gordon Brown (born 1951). Brown is blind in his left eye. Jack Straw is deaf in his right ear. When Brown was Prime Minister, Straw (the Lord Chancellor) sat to his left in Cabinet, meaning their awareness of each other was severely limited. Many said this was appropriate, given their strained relationship. Image: Getty 21 February Drew Barrymore (born 1975). When the actress (then six) was filming E.T., she found it impossible to look the puppet in both eyes at once, as they were so far apart. So director Steven Spielberg told her to concentrate on just one eye.

With lockdown looking set to continue for weeks on end, more of us have become resigned to more time indoors - reluctantly or otherwise. Thankfully Netflix, as ever, is ready for the occasion, with a slew of new releases scheduled over the next two months. Here's our guide to what's coming up: Sky Rojo, 19 March https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eD0i_1BWhYM " As tens of millions of addicts await the final instalment of his smash hit Money Heist (expected to land on Netflix later this year), Spaniard Alex Pina bridges the gap with the inaugural series of his latest show - a mile-a-minute glitzy thriller about three escaped prostitutes taking on pimps, patriarchy and everything in between.

Imagine, if you will, that there existed a television interview with Henry VIII. Sprawled in one of his Royal palaces with the interviewer nervously perched amongst the discarded chicken bones and giant dogs, what would he say? Would he be repentant about the beheadings, the adultery, the abject violence? Would he make us believe that his quest for an heir lay rooted in a deep and fervent respect for his bloodline? Definitely not. For the Tudors were monarchy proper; mysterious and shadowy, sheathed in transcendence. Monarchy before the mystery was replaced by the dull sheen of celebrity and its Instagram accounts, television interviews, zoom appearances and podcasts.

Claire Robinson, in (where else?) The Guardian, this week, announced that 'the phallic necktie is an outdated symbol of white male rule in New Zealand's parliament': 'The necktie echoes the shape of the codpiece… designed … to emphasise a European nobleman’s importance through his large phallic size. It is arrow shaped and directs the eye of an onlooker down towards a man’s groin.' Blimey. Newly elected Māori Party co-leader, Rawiri Waititi, meanwhile, refused to wear one in Parliament, referring to it as a 'colonial noose'.  Waititi carried the day. Ties are no longer obligatory law-maker apparel in the happy, Covid-free home of the Bungee Jump and Cloudy Bay. The kind of men who do like to assert alpha status no longer use ties.

Just a few minutes into watching the latest Netflix sensation Lupin — its biggest-ever French show — and I was giving some serious Gallic shrugs. It’s hugely popular: it has been no. 1 in the US and was the first French series to break into their top 10. Elsewhere, Lupin is vying for Bridgerton for the number one streaming spot. Inspired by Maurice Leblanc’s stories about the gentleman thief, Arsène Lupin, the show’s success has prompted fresh print runs of the books, first published in 1905. (Some had sold out on Amazon when I checked last week but have now been restocked.) But watching the show is a strangely dislocating and downright weird experience.

On the face of it, Wikipedia’s list of the key events of 1 February, 2013 seems impressively comprehensive, ranging from Hillary Clinton’s resignation as Secretary of State to a hurling player denying he’d won €10.6 million in the Irish lottery. What’s missing, though, is something that’s surely had a bigger impact on our daily — and nightly — lives than any of Wikipedia’s choices. On that day Netflix released its first original series, House of Cards, the same way it had released its earlier bought-in repeats: by making all the episodes available at once. Now that we know how successful both the show and the format proved, it’s easy to forget how risky this was, especially for a $100 million production.

Is it really such a bad thing that the Chelsea Flower Show has been postponed to the autumn because of Covid?  Yes, we'll be missing out on the blousy, frothiness of early summer gardens that we see every year - not so many umbellifers, alliums or delphiniums - and yes, the Floral Pavilion will be strange without the heady scent of roses from the David Austin and Peter Beales stands. But the show will benefit enormously from a shake-up that forces designers to stop using the plants listed above until it seems there is nothing else you could possibly grow in your garden.

So.. you want to avoid anything trite for Valentine’s Day. No heart shaped chocolates, no pink champagne…actually, no pink anything. No flowers unless they’ve been gathered from your actual garden, or someone else’s. So where does that leave the classy romantic? With books, that’s what.  Essentially, any choice that’s based on what you know someone actually likes is touching. So, if you want to please a detective story fancier, Dorothy L Sayer’s Busman’s Honeymoon, might hit the spot … bookmark the wedding night. There’s also a case for flattery…the poems of Catullus, say (and there are some racy ones), suggest you think the recipient is no dope. But make them work.

The first thing you notice about Bridgerton, Netflix’s big winter blockbuster set in Regency England, is how bad it is: an expensive assemblage of clichés that smacks of the American’s-eye view of Britain’s aristocratic past. The dialogue is execrable, the ladies’ pouts infuriating. But bad things can be good, especially when it comes to sexy period romps. Bridgerton is no different. The story follows the elder children of the Bridgerton family as they look for love in a utopian sprawl of courtly landscape and sociality.

I connect to Netflix for yet another evening of no-choice entertainment. Well, I suppose I could take a turn around the room, mulling over the local gossip before playing a few notes on a musical instrument. But wait, there is NO gossip under this relentless lockdown, and I don’t have a musical instrument. So, as someone who is proud of my prolific TV habit I scroll through the crime section, and can’t help but notice the saturation of serial killer themed documentaries and dramas on offer. Night Stalker, Serial Killer with Piers Morgan, Confessions of a Serial Killer, Inside the Criminal mind, Mrs Serial Killer, Psychopath, Mindhunter, Evil Genius, Killer Women.