For your stray attention this weekend

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Hello,

As if to underline my point about the folly of making resolutions, I’ve started the new year laid up with a diverticulitis infection - yes, I know, yuk and also ouch. Let’s take our mind off things. 

I don’t know about you, but when I’m ill, I tend to watch more than I read. I’ve been sinking into some really nice comfort viewing like Stanley Tucci: Searching for Italy and The Trip with Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon (why yes, I am in the mood for escapism and possibly a luxe European holiday; thank you for noticing). 

But I also watched the movie Frank, based on Jon Ronson’s iconic article about this time as the keyboard player in the Frank Sidebottom Band. If you’re unfamiliar with Frank Sidebottom, he was a true English eccentric who was literally never seen without his giant papier maché head. In the film adaptation Sidebottom is American, and his music is not the kitsch covers of the original Sidebottom oeuvre, but instead some experimental psych electronica… all of which might have ruined it for me, but I LOVED it. It’s a film about creativity, the nature of genius, the value of outsidership; and, touchingly, it shows how radiant and magnetic an odd, uncompromising and decidedly difficult person can be. 

On a smaller scale, I commend to you this delicate, touching short by Merete Mueller, called Blue Room. It captures the experiences of US prisoners who took part in a very special initiative that allowed them watch nature videos at moments of high-stress or in downtime. The effect is deeply humanising, and utterly beautiful. Put aside 11 minutes of your day to immerse in this.

Everything the Bryan Washington writes is brilliant, but I adored this New Yorker piece, My Year In Queer Spaces, in which he offers wry snapshots of his time in gay bars, and saunas, and Pride events, while homophobia enjoyed a resurgence in rightwing America. It’s dispiriting and heartbreaking, but also surprisingly optimistic: something about that sense of continuity, of a way of life continuing despite the hatred. 

I wonder what Rosemary Tonks would have made of it - especially in her later years. I was enthralled by Audrey Wollen’s piece about the stellar author - and superlative satirist of the sexual revolution - who tried to wipe all evidence of her writing career from existence after converting to fundamentalist Christianity. How do we frame her now? A troubled talent who burned out? It seems too simple.  

And finally, a little redemption. I love Annalisa Barbieri’s weekly agony column in the Guardian - it’s insightful, sensible and genuinely helpful. Her recent account of how she came to love cats after a lifetime of fearing them, is actually an exploration of how trauma functions, and how it can be healed. Also: ADORABLE cat. 

Wishing you a Sunday full of head-scritches and whisker tickles. 

Take care, 

Katherine

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