How Hollywood failed | The Spectator

Celebrating American independence… in Cuba

The US ambassador’s residence in Havana has a beautiful garden that steps down past a blue fountain to a hole in the hedge containing an eagle with spread wings. It’s a lovely place for a party. The trouble is, given the current state of relations between Cuba and the US, cocktails have become a continuation of politics by other means. The embassy invites people who disagree with Cuba’s communist government, and Cuba’s interior ministry stops them from coming. The eagle is pertinent. It once stood atop the monument to the USS Maine, a warship that blew up in Havana harbor in 1898, killing 266 sailors. It seems to have been a terrible accident, but the then-assistant navy secretary, Teddy Roosevelt, blamed Cuba’s then-colonial master, Spain.

Chilton Williamson, Jr.

What the success of the DSA tells us

The success of the Democratic Socialists of America in the June primaries has prompted much speculation about what it means, not only for the Democratic establishment (the so-called “moderates” who are nowadays hardly that) but for US politics as a whole. The fact is that American politics as a process and a structure – the campaigns, the media coverage, the candidates’ basic strategies, the lies, the subterfuges – has barely changed. What has changed is the mentality of the winning candidates, which cannot be properly described as “political” at all in the word’s recognizable sense; it is simply a white-hot brain core of elemental rage. Rage at what, exactly, it is difficult to say, given its wildly unfocused and incoherent nature. Billionaires? MAGA?

Bill Kauffman

Picnicking in the park on July 4

Our July 4 was low on bombast and high on fraternity this year. There were no stealth-bomber flyovers, no tanks treading ominously down Main Street or any other minatory displays of military hardware straight out of a Soviet-era Moscow May Day. Even Lee Greenwood left us alone. I’m told Washington was another story. For the first time since Covid, “Picnic in the Park” was back in Batavia. This much-loved festival of food, music, and smiling, “hey, how ya doin’?” encounters fills the bosky park across the street from the New York State School for the Blind. (One of Batavia’s many ironies is that the best view in town is from the blind school.) For years, my wife, daughter and I manned the Landmark Society’s strawberry shortcake stand at Picnic in the Park.

Lloyd Evans

How has Tower Hamlets really spent my council tax?

How does Tower Hamlets spend my council tax? I’ve been shoveling cash at them for 19 years so I strolled along to the new town hall to find out where the money goes. The new town hall cost a packet, clearly. Carved out of the Royal London Hospital, the spacious lobby looks cool, stylish and reassuringly anonymous, like a private bank in Zurich. Glass doors swish apart and I enter the debating chamber where the councillors sit at a curved monodesk opposite the public gallery. Everything is slick and hypermodern. The pristine floor glows beneath the recessed lights. I had expected an ordinary meeting but I seem to have stumbled on an important debate.

Catriona Olding

Trapped with the plane passengers from Hell

Under late June’s ferocious heat dome, during what turned out to be an almost eight-hour drive to join Martin Vander Weyer and his guests for three nights in the Dordogne, my car was telling me it wouldn’t start due to a recurring AdBlue emissions fault. And my old phone was pegging out. At home I hadn’t had hot water – or cold – for five days because the boiler was broken. There was also a leak. I had to turn the water on and off at the mains when I needed it. Life was turning out to be more troglodyte than I bargained for. Although the water, when it ran, was chilly, my brain was overheating even before the temperature hit 111 degrees in the Dordogne. Like in the UK, I don’t have enough income or savings to cover all my bills.