A BRITT-ish view on British film - on British TV

British films are rare on British TV. Foreign films even more so - unless you count the ones from Hollywood Country. I find that very sad.

This might come as a surprise to readers of this blog who live in Sweden - a country whose television has a long tradition of showing British productions. We were brought up on Upstairs & Downstairs, the Onedin Line, Family At War, the Forsyth Saga and Morse....

The very concepts of 'having a cup of tea' or 'Sunday roast' in Swedes' minds probably stem from these TV series.

Many a great British comedy has been shipped across the North Sea and welcomed with open arms by a Swedish audience who know how to appreciate British humour. We even used to have our homegrown versions of Steptoe & Son and Good Old Days - courtesy Gothenburg TV! This, on the other hand, might surprise my British readers.

So, when moving to the UK, I did expect a somewhat greater choice of excellent dramas and films, actually made in Blighty. Having been a keen cineaste in my home town and a frequent Gothenburg Film festival visitor, my hopes were up there - pretty high. But God, was I disappointed. Part from a few excellent dramas now and then and the odd film - shown at silly o'clock in the night - not an awful lot, actually!

Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of brilliant productions around. Intelligent, inspirational and hard working film makers make excellent films. It is just that, they do not seem to get much airtime. Plus, if you don't belong to an independent film association or read about films - you will never know they exist. I am not an expert on the British film market, I can only guess it has to do with poor funding and lack of opportunities, of film producers wanting to make film which do not 'fit the pattern'.

I love a good film - preferably shown in a proper, old cinema. But I want to be surprised, not figuring out the plot already after the first few minutes. I want to be blown away by an incredible story which takes me to places I never have seen. Or go to places I do know well, but which are portrayed in a new light. The feeling of not being able to leave the armchair, because you just have to see what happens next... or because the footage is simply mind-blowing. I want a film that makes me laugh and cry, makes me angry, makes me fall in love. That's what I want. Is that asking too much?

I don't want to predict that the end is nigh by the time you start hearing the helicopters and see the blue lights. You know, just after the moment where the hero and heroine have finished their run in the obligatory tunnel, chased by a ball of fire. I don't want to be able to figure out that the blonde pony-tail woman, who started off in a beige cardigan and reading glasses, will end up running all slow-motioned... beside our hero - in a white, wet vest. This is not just predictable - it is utterly boring.

American main stream, Hollywood productions get the dosh, get the mentions on the Beeb and the big opening nights at Leicester Square. Shops are flooded with film paraphernalia until people vomit over it. This is not fair, but neither is it necessary! Some of the best films I have seen were made on a very tight budget. In fact, in some ways I think shoestring budgets might be a positive thing. Correct me if I am wrong!

When I go back to Sweden, I do find things very much the same of late. Everything is much more 'USA' orientated. As a former Modern language teacher, I notice many teenagers speak English with an American accent rather than British nowadays. Coincidence? Maybe.

Nevertheless, there are still quite a few British productions being shown in Sweden. Also slightly more foreign films than what are generally broadcast in the UK - and quite a few Swedish good quality productions, too. Wallander, to mention but one.

Foreign films in Sweden are always subtitled so you can get the benefit of actually hearing the original language. To me, that adds enormously to the whole film experience.

During one Gothenburg Film festival, I watched an Albanian film, in Albanian and Italian - with German (!) subtitles. Now - that was a bit too much even for me!

Anyway - here's me hoping for more British films in Britain. Less Hollywood.

Maybe I'm just being too picky!!?

Ragnar

The problem with writing about your friends is you might accidentally leave some of them out. After writing my latest blog post, I realised I had forgotten to mention a very important person. Here it goes:

I went to college at the age of 16. My new French teacher - Ragnar - was a very keen, modern and... different teacher. My dream destination of all times had been Paris. Well, this teacher organised a trip to Paris. So - in my books, this meant he was ace.

After a few, persuasive talks with my (single) mum - I was off to Paris. This trip literally changed my life - but I didn't know that then.

So many things in my life have been related to this trip - it meant so much to me. It gave me the taste of France. It made me want to go there again, study the language, read the literature, watch the films. Without having done this initial trip, I would not have met my now ex husband, the father of my lovely children. I even lived in Paris during a period of my life.

Some of us pupils returned to Paris for a second time, together with Ragnar. Once home again, we started to meet regularly at our teacher's place, to talk memories, watch our photos and eat French food. These "Paris evenings" were to become a recurring event in our lives. They continued long after we had left school. Later, we brought our children along, even had holidays together.

The thing is, we still keep in touch, all of us. And - Ragnar is still in the very centre of our friendship, a nave around which our social life revolves. Now retired - but ever so active, he still welcomes us with open arms whenever we are back in our home town. He lives life to the full - and as he preaches. He is kind to nature, likes jogging, a very keen cyclist who does not own a car. Every Monday and Tuesday, he shows independent films to like-minded people and he has always been working hard for Amnesty.

We owe this man so much. He has been there for us, for every turning of our lives. Choice of career, for example - I became a French teacher myself. Weddings, child births, our children's birthdays and their various graduations. He has supported us through tough times, as well - not just the good times. Illnesses, divorces and also some funerals of our parents... whatever the occasion, Ragnar has been - and still is - there for us.

This man has been more than just an average friend to me and certainly more than an average teacher!

Friends Reunited

"Now then, where were we?" Some friends are forever. You don't meet that many of this kind, but the ones you do meet are worth their weight in gold. During last week, I have been thinking about the different types of friendship there are in this world. At least in my world - I might not speak for everybody.

As a little girl, I used to play with the boy across the street. We were the same age and had great fun together. He was rather lively and full of energy - and mischief. I was the reflective and calm one. His mum used to say he always came home in a different mood when he had been playing with me. So she encouraged our friendship. We would play corner shop (using leaves and stones as currency), have secret 'clubs', make jam from non-edible berries (!), run around the block, play hide and seek, build snow huts, cut the bark of branches with our little pen knives, play indians and cowboys - even "The White and Red Rose"...

And so came the Big Day. We were seven that year and - school started. Due to some new, bureaucratic Council rules at the time, it was decided that our street formed a border. As we lived on different sides, this meant I was going to one school and my best friend to another. This was clearly not on. We protested. My friend said he would refuse to go at all unless I could be in his class.

After some telephone calls, made by our dear mums, and some swapping around - we ended up in the same school and the same class. Order was restored.

Enter peer pressure... Even though my friend came to pick me up every single morning for school, we went separate ways once we reached the school gate. He walked over to the boys and I joined the girls. We were still friends, but not "in public". We couldn't have rumours going...

I still find that very sad. Our first experience of sexism, albeit on a very local and personal level.

Another friend was a girl from my class. During the age of 9-12 or so, we were constantly together. Looking back now, I think we were pretty creative in the way we made up new things to do, innovative - and somewhat crazy - plays to play. Once, we told each other to have a "password" every time we met. Just IN CASE we weren't whom we seemed to be. (I guess we had been watching too many spy films.) The password procedure was a quick, yet important introduction to our daily activities. We swore to each other we would continue this in adult life, as well - just in case.

In fact, I met this girl recently - after many, many years of silence. Our first words? Well - the password, of course! She remembered.

Another boy in the class was the cause of my first, real crush. We were ever so serious and he gave me a ring he had made in the wood- and metal work class. His words: "I know it's made of copper. But when I can afford it, I intend to buy you a silver one." Now - that's love...

Later in life, I met other people who have all been very close and always there - in good times as well as bad. Some share my adolescent past, it was all about growing pains, partying, music, politics, "Inter Railing" and - love.

Another dear old friend brought his wife over and came to see me recently, here in England. Great when that happens.

One particular friend shared my passion for Paris. When we weren't actually in Paris, we would be on the phone for ages, each with a map of Paris in front of us and just go for a "pretended walk" together, along the boulevards, Montmartre and the Seine... or meet for a coffee and a "sandwich au jambon", looking at old photos. She has become my ultimate best friend who knows my feelings about just about everything. We can laugh, even without laughing.

All these old friends are still present in my mind, and will be until the end.

Then, there are new friendships. I have never been a great fan of Facebook - although I am on it. But I must admit, Twitter has given me many new friends, many of whom I wouldn't want to be without. Some people think Twitter is about checking out celebs. It couldn't be further from the truth. I follow quite a few people - or 'tweeps', as us Twitterers prefer to say. The strange thing is, you get to know each other's habits, mood swings etc. to the extent that they feel almost equivalent to your old friends.

I find myself thinking: "Oh, he's up already, even if he went to bed so late last night." "She seems as if she needs some support today, something is not quite right." "He's in love." "She needs to get a life."

I have met some of my "tweeps" in real life, too. It is a strange feeling when you meet and you already know quite a lot about each other. You can cut the 'small talk' and just go straight to what it is you want to say.

I would not want to be without any of my friends. Old or new. Friendship is hard to define and - sometimes, it can be mistaken for something else.

I only know that with real friends, you can just take up the conversation where it stopped - even if that means going back 20 years or so in time. Real friends are forever - like bricks in the wall of life.