Philistia

I’m enjoying The Tudors at the moment, about the life of Henry VIII of England. It’s striking in how aesthetically, it’s gorgeous, lavish, ornate, elegant – and yet in its subject matter, it’s utterly unsympathetic. The king comes across as a brutal, overbearing hothead; a tyrant unable to see others as real people, merely as tools, obstacles and objects of desire. He reminds me of the rugby thugs who went to fancy schools, who seem to make up a significant proportion of the right-wing political elite in this country. It’s a little surprising to see on the screen a personality so familiar, yet which is never depicted, or at least never depicted in such an unfavourable light without actually being the villain.

I’m going to miss having my brother around to talk TV. Like some get passionate about literature, for me TV dramas have always been very important. For my brother too. He’s been staying with our parents for the last two months, and the two of us have got into plenty of long discussions over family dinners about the themes and politics of various series and films. My parents haven’t said anything, but I think my mother was annoyed that the talking took priority over the eating, while my father seemed to be simply disgusted by our interest in fiction.

My grandmother is disgusted by fiction too. She can’t understand it as anything more than mind candy. But perhaps that mode of consumption describes her reading habits too – all reading, no thinking. I think I’ll just have to dismiss my father’s and grandmother’s attitudes as those of philistines. 

My brother’s gone back to Melbourne now.  I guess I can’t blame him for that.  He finds Sydney dry; culturally and socially barren.  So do I.  He just has better options and possibly more courage than I.