An Open Letter (ish?) to Bridget Christie

I’ve been wondering how to frame my reaction to Bridget Christie’s show A Bic for Her. Bridget mentions in the show if you want to send her an email, you can, but of course then I’d have to ask people for her email and they’d probably say no, so I’m writing this instead, an open letter if you will.

If you’re reading Bridget, many congrats on the Comedy Award nod, lovely to see two nice ladies joining the funny funny funny funny funny funny funny ten men on the list of twelve people.

Bridget’s show is one of the most incredible stand up shows I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen loads of comedians: David O’Doherty, Daniel Kitson, Hannah Gadsby, Susan Calman, David Kay, Tom Bell, Greg Proops, Ellis James, Claudia O’Doherty and Tim Key that make me really really laugh, and lots of others that have raised a chuckle. But last Monday morning, sneaking out of work to queue up and watch Bridget alone, (alone as in I went by myself not alone alone as the queue was really big,) I wasn’t aware what was going to happen. This isn’t a review and this bit is just context. I suppose the idea  is that I’ve seen comedians and laughed at them, and I laughed non-stop through Bridget’s show so it was even more affecting that it was both so funny and bashed away at my conscious like a woman at the door of a men’s-only golf club.

The show was very special for me as I spend a lot of time being nervous, sweaty and explanatorily-annoying about being a feminist.
I’m not in a political movement, I am, I’m not, I am.
I’m not threatened by the patriarchy as I rise above it and don’t let it affect my life. It does, it doesn’t, it does, it doesn’t; or actually maybe it just does as we should all be vocal about it to help those that are unable to be.
I think Caitlin Moran is bang on the money, she’s not, she is, she’s not, she is.
GAH Women’s Hour stop missing the point and asking women in places of power what they’ve had to give up to gain access to the heady heights of sucess, you did, you didn’t, you did you didn’t.

You catch my drift. (If you haven’t caught my drift please give up now OR read on knowing it’s probably not going to get much clearer.)

The brilliant impassioned thing about Bridget Christie’s show, which by the end had brought me close to tears (and although it’s a rousing call, I don’t think her aim is heightened emotions), was that every one of her exhaustions I’ve countered and tried to either ignore or explain away. Ignore or explain away as it’s exhausting to fight all. the. time. One gets so fucking tired of fighting. Saying no, no, no, I don’t feel that’s correct, it’s not fair for you to make that judgement; it’s not right for you to presume anything about me because I’m a woman.

Bridget’s commentary is both so subtle and so clear, her performance so funny and so poignant. The repositioning of Beyonce, she is not a feminist icon, she is role-model. So gut-wrenchingly simple I have no idea how I’ve not managed to put that into words before. How John Inverdale is such a wanker I’m not even going to waste my time wishing him dead…. How much time I have wasted.

Bridget works wonders with the blatant comedy in all the most ridiculous gender prescriptive parts of our society. A pen for girls, yes, because the Bronte’s struggled so hard to write WITH MEN’S PENS. The fact that women were invented ages ago any maybe by now WE SHOULD BE USED TO THEM. The fact that small children can see sexually explicit images of women lathered across newspapers in any old shop EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK. And I’d like to add my own onto this, dear men, when you come into my office, the office to which I have left the door open so you can happily come through for a natter no matter your question, creed or countenance, DO NOT PAW ME OR STROKE MY ARM, I AM NOT A CAT.

This is maybe the point at which I should just say go see Bridget’s take on all this, as every scrap of subtly has been etched out by my womanly hormones that made me use caps lock frequently. Or perhaps there’s a simpler explanation, maybe it’s just because I'm not using a keyboard specially designed for women.

My Bling List - Edinburgh International Film Festival 2013

Several years ago, on this blog, I wrote a sulky response to failures at the EIFF.

From an audience member’s point of view, the festival wasn’t about us anymore, and aware as I am how important it is to spoil promoters and industry types, it is important that audiences get a fair deal. Priced out of the festival, I didn’t see a single film in 2011.

2013 seems to be the year OF the audience. Several different price bands for repeat visits is all that’s required to get many people buying tickets for more films than they can realistically schedule into 10 days. With more of a do and less of a moan, here are my selections so far for this year’s Edinburgh International Film Festival.

The Battle of the Sexes.

Fri 21, Sun 23 June.

A documentary about Billie Jean King taking on former men’s tennis champion and self-proclaimed male chauvinist pig Bobby Riggs (who ironically I’ve never heard of) after he claimed at the age of 55 he could beat any woman. I don’t know whether I’ll be angry, or enthused, but I’m happy with either. Apparently there’s a great soundtrack… 1973? Expect Suzi Quatro, Bowie and err, Slade…

Blackbird

Tue 25, Thu 27 June.

Without fail the EIFF guide always seduces me with its promo images. And Blackbird was the first image to sell a film to me, 3 pages in. Kinda pathetic. A UK film, Blackbird isn’t the first film to bemoan the loss of talent in villages and the lure of the big city. But as folk music is both wrecking-ball bashing (Mumford and Blah) and beautifully seeping back (village open mic nights) into the common consciousness, I couldn’t resist the idea of it seeping into the film festival as it should be, played by people that have lived and learnt. Let's be aware of the legacy of older generations – and how if we don’t share their stories now, they won’t be around forever, a strong sentiment for celluloid.

The Bling Ring

Sat 22, Sun 23 June.

There’s been a lot of press coverage of Sofia Coppola’s new film. So there’s little to add here. Two weekends ago, battered by hen dos, weddings and weekends away, I spent the whole Sunday catching up on films, including Coppola’s 2010 Somewhere, which is absolutely superb, subtle, self-aware and a real insight. Looking forward to the follow up.

Comrade Kim Goes Flying

Sat 22, Thu 27 June.

Triumph in adversity on trapeze? What’s not to love?

Another gorgeous image pulled me to this, coal miner Kim Yong-Mi and her dreams of joining the circus becoming reality. A reassuring premise for the PR who dreams of joining the circus.

The copy is like candyfloss. We’ll see if the film turns out to be full of air or real spun sugar.

The Great Hip Hop Hoax.

Wed 26, Thu 27, Fri 28 June.

Billy Boyd doing some kind of Hip Hop? In.

Keep Smiling. (Gaigimet)

Fri 28, Sat 29 June.

Georgia Mother of the Year 2010. I’ve never seen a Georgian film before, and this seems like a stirring premise. Could this highlight the twisted nature of our obsession with the mums in popular culture? The Dutchess HAS A BUMP. Stacey Soloman HAD A FAG. Kerry Katona WRONG RIGHT WRONG RIGHT. Katie Holmes LEFT HUSBAND TO PROTECT CHILD IN LILY POTTER TYPE STAND OFF.  Coleen Rooney WHY ALWAYS K? Everyone POST BABY BODIES. Everyone ON THE SCHOOL RUN. Everyone HAS TO HAVE IT ALL. Everyone KEEP SMILING.

The Sea.

Sun 23, Mon 24 June.

An adaptation of the Man Booker Prize-winning novel by John Banville. Always interesting to see novel adaptions without the $300mil price tag, and it wouldn’t be the EIFF without at least one Irish film under my belt. 

So that's the initial list of tickets bought on one of the excellent bulk ticket deals. 

I will attempt to wang on on here about some of the above - if you'd like to come with me to any of these films, tweet me and I'll email you the dates I'm going.

Stating the tweein' obvious

I don't want to discuss the 'self' as a brand, (is it all not exhausting enough?) but I want to ponder twitter, and the throw away snippets flung out onto the internet.  Tweets are honest accounts of thoughts, reactions and opinions - but as fine-tuned ponders or vents, they present a very reflective but never entirely true self. Either honesty, or spin, and with the opportunity to get it right first time.

If I was tweeting as a large organisation using front-facing third-person correspondence, 140 characters would be a considered reflection of that organisation's goals and 'character'. The handle is entirely accountable for the bigger picture, and tweeting in third person places the correspondence one away from the respondent. This 'comment' therefore requires sensible and considered content, which can absolutely be light-hearted and informal, but does need to reflect the organisation as a whole. So while shouty jokes about being unable to pick an exhibition to feature on a museum account (i.e 'as they're all ace') is fine, but a joke about 'oh my god are we serving horse to the queen' at a theatre hosting royalty isn't ever going to fly as the news agenda is going to swoop in, no matter how much silly nonsense it really is. 

When tweeting as myself some these filters just don't need to apply, it's not likely I've fed an economy burger to royalty is it? So if I tweet it, it's not running a risk of news or upset. I'm aware of the nature of tweets becoming news, or being libelous, so clearly my twitter account does neither - it goes without saying. In the same way that if I spoke to the who or whatever I'm responding to, I would be ready to discuss my personal reaction to the content. Fair's fair innit. And by nature I question, so my twitter account should too no?

I have been very surprised by the reaction, where after a tweet, offline, there has been an assumption I would not be willing to discuss my comments. Hiding behind a tweet? (My twitter handle is my full name.)  I've had brilliant and enlightening discussions with many people on twitter, I know the medium and I'm ready to explain myself if and when. For a million and one reasons being totally honest and uncensored on social media is a TERRIBLE idea. From unsolicited monologues about a new baby through to propaganda and bullying and much worse, we should all be trained to use social media responsibly. But responding to a situation one finds oneself in shouldn't be an issue. Least of all something you should fear will be received as a cowardly, sly response. One is entirely accountable, and I'm always ready to be, and ready to hear the other side to the story... otherwise, I wouldn't post. I'd call someone and have a natter.  

I always strive to be honest online, and although I do change my mind on comments before I press tweet and consider the response to every comment, but I've never expected tweeting to be something to hide behind for a 'real' character? It's a jungle out there when considering the amount of brand identities, the celebrity waves and strategic communications, but I'm talking about many accounts just using twitter as a (maybe a little better spoken, and more precise) extension of self. I'm also always going to be ready to defend my comments; why else would I say them? There's no need for anyone to worry that I'm a monkey sitting in a bin of banana skins heaving at the confusion and exaltation of having EATEN ALL THE BANANAS.  If you're pondering my waffling, don't. Either chuckle, or move on.