Beer is a global product, ranking as the third most popular drink behind water and tea. In 2018, the industry was worth nearly $700 billion, expected to rise to over $950 billion by 2025. Not only is beer the most widely consumed alcoholic drink in the world, but it is undoubtedly one of the oldest, with the Ancient Egyptians widely credited as the first to perfect the fine art of production. And recently, archaeologists working at the sacred site of Abydos have discovered what could just be the world’s oldest large-scale brewery, dating back around 5,000 years.
Since the early 20th century, archaeologists had evidence to suggest a link between beer production and Egyptian funerary practices, leading to the tantalising idea of the existence of a large-scale brewery at Abydos. Alas, they were never able to pinpoint its location, until now. As announced by Mostafa Waziri of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, a team of American and Egyptian archaeologists have unearthed a huge factory, comprised of 8 large units. Each of these units measures around 20 metres (65ft) long and 2.5 metres (8ft) wide. Contained within are 40 pottery basins in two rows – these vessels would heat the combination of grains and water to produce the all important beer, specifically a staggering 5,000 gallons (22,400 litres) at a time.
This new discovery has been attributed to the the Early Dynastic Period (c. 3150 – 2613 BCE) and the reign of King Narmer, the Pharaoh credited with unification of Upper and Lower Egypt. Many Egyptologists now ascribe the true identity of the mythical Menes, celebrated as a legendary figure who unified Egypt, as King Narmer. It’s from this period we have one of the most important artefacts of Egyptian history, the Narmer Palette. Archaeologically, this single object represents the birth of the Egyptian kingdom.
The Narmer Palette (c. 3100 – 3000BCE) shows King Narmer wearing the crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt, as ruler of a united Egypt
Throughout the predynastic era, Abydos emerged as one of three centres of power, alongside Naqada and Hierakonpolis. Abydos overcame its rivals and would hold dominion in Upper Egypt, with the necropolis at Umm el-Qa’ab becoming the royal burial ground of the early Egyptian state, including Narmer, his Protodynastic predecessor Ka, and his successor Aha. Abydos grew into one the most sacred sites of Egypt and the cult centre of the god Osiris. The tomb of the early dynastic ruler Djer was later revered as the tomb of Osiris himself.
It was during the Early Dynastic era when rulers consolidated power and laid the foundations for what would become the glory of Old Kingdom Egypt. Part of this infrastructure of course included the centralisation of religion and the establishment of cities for the dead. But in addition, the early Pharaohs needed an effective economy based on supply, production, and trade. In essence, Egypt ruled through economic and religious power. And this is where the beer comes in.
A model of the baking and beer production from the tomb of Wadjet-hotep (c. 2150 – 2050 BCE). Image Credit: Prisma/ UIG via Getty Image
According to Egyptian mythology, beer was one the many gifts given to humanity by the gods. Interestingly enough it’s Osiris who is said to have not only given the gift of agriculture, but instructed them in the brewing of beer. While beer had previously been made in Mesopotamia, the Egyptians receive credit for the ‘first beer’ due to its similarity to our modern day drink. The brewing of beer was originally undertaken by women as a domestic exercise; it was only when presided over by men when production became state controlled. Unlike the beer of today, it was drunk mainly as a rich source of nutrients rather than an intoxicant.
Early Egyptian beer would taste more like a fruit drink than the beer we are accustomed to. Both hops and carbonation were unknown entities; beer was made by mixing water with bread and placing this into heated jars to ferment. The dark red appearance and slight fruity flavour came from the addition of dates and honey to the mixture. As the Egyptian kingdom developed so did the ingredients, recipe, and brewing process. But it’s fair to say the story of beer is fundamentally linked to the story of Egypt itself.
Eight large units were found in total at the Abydos site. Image Credit: Egyptian Ministry of Antiquities/AFP/Getty Images
To unearth a brewery of this size at Abydos, dating to the early days of a united Egypt reveals the astonishing complexity of state formation. Thus, what once were domestic activities had to be enlarged to near-industrial levels to fulfil the demanding requirements (economic, logistical, and spiritual) of the new state administration. The first pharaohs needed to centralise the crucial networks of production, distribution, and trade, while establishing the intricate framework of urban and funerary spaces. This infrastructure created the political, ideological and religious image that defined their new culture.
Beer crossed the boundaries of the living and the dead; a vital commodity for both the growing population of Egypt and the gods they worshipped. In many ways this is more than just a brewery, this is the beginnings of one of the greatest societies of them all – this brewery is the foundation upon which ‘Ancient Egypt’ was born.
The real intoxication of the site comes not from the beer that once was produced there, but the lure of archaeology itself. This brewery stakes its claim as the oldest in the world, but in truth such a statement is almost an insurmountable impossibility. Discovering the past is a dynamic journey of forever fluctuating parameters. Instead, therefore, of claiming this to be the oldest large scale brewery in the world, it would be more accurate to say this could be the oldest brewery that we know of. Reconstructing the past can never be an exact science, and working to unravel this mystery is the unfathomable joy of archaeology.
Who would have thought a film about archaeology could produce such an extraordinary rollercoaster of emotions? The Dig tells the true story of Sutton Hoo, interwoven with the heartbreaking personal stories of those responsible for its discovery. Having devoted my university education to archaeology in the public realm, The Dig symbolises more to me than just another enjoyable way to spend an evening. And for a world in the cruel grip of a pandemic, this film bestows a vital lifeline to the heritage industry.
When asked to name well known heritage sites within the UK, it comes as no surprise when people offer up the site that illuminated the Dark Ages – the Anglo-Saxon burials at Sutton Hoo.
First excavated in 1938, Sutton Hoo contained an undisturbed ship burial along with an abundance of Anglo-Saxon artefacts dating back to the 6th century. The discovery of the site was paramount in establishing an understanding of the early Anglo-Saxon period. It is believed the famous burial belonged to King Rædwald, known to history as one of the first Christian kings of East Anglia and one of the earliest to hold the title of bretwalda (rulers who had dominion over many English kingdoms).
Archaeology is by definition the story of people, and the narrative cannot be complete without the stories of those who discovered the past; there would be no Sutton Hoo without Edith Pretty and Basil Brown. Edith Pretty was a recently widowed landowner who hired a self-taught excavator by the name of Basil Brown to investigate burial mounds on her property. This story was immortalised in the 2007 novel The Dig by John Preston, described as “a brilliantly realised account of the most famous archaeological dig in Britain in modern times“. In 2021, a film adaptation was released starring Carey Mulligan and Ralph Fiennes.
The Sutton Hoo helmet, currently on display at the British Museum. Image taken from The National Trust
There’s no denying archaeology lacks a certain glamour, and yet The Dig expertly weaves academic intricacy into a captivating emotional elegance. First and foremost, from the systematic removal of different layers, the importance of health and safety, to the difficulty of removing important artefacts from the ground, the film meticulously details the excavation process. Surprisingly enough, The Dig accurately portrays the theoretical approach of archaeology during the 1930s; the culture-historical model focused on building a narrative through objects. It wouldn’t be until the 1960s when more scientific analysis would be introduced.
On the topic of excavation, The Dig shines a light on the single most important aspect of archaeology – community. Archaeology is people, and humanity thrived through community. And no excavation can be credited to a single person. Despite the poisonous politics, evident in the film through the fight for Basil Brown’s official recognition in reporting the find, archaeology is built relationships. The power of community illuminates the true power of archaeology.
Outside the dig itself, the film highlights some of the wider issues of archaeology, including that of human remains and the ethics of their excavation. Edith Pretty talks of “digging down to meet the dead“, affirming the close relationship between life and death, especially poignant given the impending start of World War Two. Basil Brown’s accident too offers a chilling reminder of the shared space for the living and dead afforded by the study of archaeology.
The original excavation of the Sutton Hoo ship burial, showing the real Basil Brown at work. Image taken from Current Archaeology
Even archaeology cannot escape the potency of politics. When the British Museum gets involved in the Sutton Hoo excavation, elitism rears its head as Brown’s work and abilities are completely disregarded, for no reason other than status. Even the local Ipswich Museum implores Brown to abandon the Sutton Hoo project in favour of a Roman villa. This traditional favouritism towards Roman remains is as powerful today as it was then; the ‘civilisation’ of the Romans over the ‘savagery’ of the Dark Ages has always been the favoured national narrative of British governments.
With national interest comes the lifeline of the heritage industry – funding. Basil Brown’s character however represents the true spirit of archaeology; a lifelong pursuit of passion, with no real ambitions other than an intrigue to understand the past. There is something so unapologetically grounded, charming, and heart-warmingly simple about Basil Brown’s approach to his work:
I do it because I’m good at it
Basil Brown, The Dig
And yet, to describe The Dig as merely a film about an excavation would be doing a considerable disservice to what is simply a multifaceted masterpiece of emotion. Set in the stunning East Anglian landscape, and despite the threat of war looming in every scene, the simplicity of country life inspires a feeling of childlike freedom and discovery. Even as the credits roll, the scene is nothing more than two people shovelling dirt. Any layers of drama and exaggeration are swept away, replaced by something pure, something refreshing, something real.
The lack of embellishment in the production creates a simple, smooth yet sincere backdrop to the central narrative, reflected exquisitely in the transition between scenes. As the previous scene melts away, character speech lingers, generating something of a spiritual echo, offering these words for deeper consideration. For like the archaeology itself, there is always something more beneah the surface.
Ralph Fiennes and Carey Mulligan are stunning in their portrayal of Basil Brown and Edith Pretty. Image taken from The Dig
Its the poignancy of the personal stories that give The Dig such strength. The character of Edith Pretty is seen questioning her own mortality as the chambers of the dead are revealed while her own health begins to fail. As her son tries to comfort his mum, Basil Brown’s words reminds him of the inevitability of our existence, all while encouraging him to make the most of the time we have:
We all fail every day, no matter how hard we try
Basil Brown, The Dig
This culminates in a heartbreaking scene where the young Robert takes his mum to the ship burial and tells her the story of a spaceman who finally reaches the stars. In one scene, the past and the present fuse together as the ship that held the bones of an ancient king will make one final journey so Edith Pretty can reach the heavens. And with that, we begin to understand the immortality of humanity. The relationship between past and present, and life and death, shines with utter clarity in a single, perfect moment. In this moment, previous complexity fades away to reveal nothing but raw emotion – such an inescapable feeling renders even the strongest of souls to tears.
From the first human handprint on a cave wall, we’re part of something continuous. So we don’t really die
Basil Brown, The Dig
The National Trust hopes The Dig will reignite an interest in Sutton Hoo (above) and other heritage sites across the UK. Image taken from the National Trust
True strength doesn’t always come from within, some films find success in their wider impact – The Dig has already justified its own existence through the positive reverberations on the heritage industry. It comes as no surprise the COVID-19 pandemic has decimated the archaeology and heritage sector, losing not just vital funding but public interest. Thus, the timing of The Dig’s release couldn’t be more ideal as Britain looks towards opening its doors once again. It has reignited a public fascination with the past; the exciting mystery of discovery will always shine bright in the human consciousness.
Since the film’s release, the British Museum has reported traffic to their Anglo-Saxon web pages has tripled, including a video of the famous helmet receiving 650,000 views since mid-January. On social media, #SuttonHoo was trending the week of release, while the film became the most watched film on Netflix in the UK.
I knew the film would be popular among fellow archaeologists and people interested in period dramas and that sort of thing, but it seems to have transcended those usual audiences and really touched a nerve with people
Sue Brunning – Curator of the Early Medieval collection at the British Museum and advisor on The Dig
The power of archaeology in popular culture is no more apparent than the Indiana Jones films, inspiring generations of children to pursue archaeology. The Dig has that same pull to inspire an interest in the past. Similar to the British Museum, the National Trust site at Sutton Hoo has seen a surge in online interest, now hoping this intrigue turns into visitor numbers once restrictions are lifted.
The British heritage industry survives on public interest. Increased exposure to a single site can create a rousing ripple effect, encouraging engagement with archaeological sites across the country, overseen by such guardians as English Heritage and the National Trust. As we emerge from the grip of COVID-19, cultural heritage represents an escape, a freedom, and a feeling of discovery we’ve been unable to appreciate for a long time.
From the sublime performances by Ralph Fiennes and Carey Mulligan, the inspirational presentation of the archaeological process, to the beautifully sentimental emotional narrative, The Dig is nothing short of a cinematic masterpiece. The film showcases archaeology as not only a passionate pursuit of the past, but a social narrative of those instrumental in its discovery; archaeology is the complete human story. And in a time of crisis for the industry, The Dig has harnessed the power of popular culture and thrust British heritage back into our collective consciousness in truly exceptional fashion. Put simply, it reminds us of the importance of archaeology – our past now exists in our present to inspire us towards our future.
Between the 8th and 11th centuries, from early raids to toppling powerful kingdoms, the Viking Age played a fundamental role in reshaping early European society. And yet they remain a mystery, existing to many as horned warriors in dragon ships and characters in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Released back in 2013, Vikings set out to address these damaging stereotypes, introducing audiences to the captivating worlds, stories, and legends of the Vikings. With the release of the sixth and final season in late 2020, it’s time to close the book on not only one of the most entertaining, exciting and engaging shows, but one of the most important ever produced.
Vikings tells the story of Ragnar Lothbrok, a legendary leader of the 9th century. Ragnar leads raids into England, embroiling himself in the fortunes of Northumbrian, Mercian and Wessex kingdoms. The series also tells the story of Ragnar’s older brother, Rollo, who would go on to become the first Duke of Normandy. While the series documents the well-known aspects of Viking life, such as raiding, settling and struggles for power, it also shines a spotlight on the complexity of Scandinavian society and the intricacies of their religious beliefs. The interplay between Christianity and paganism forms a fascinating undercurrent to the main narrative, highlighting both the differences and intriguing similarities that frame the relationships between the people, societies and cultures in the show.
The show spans the height of the Viking Age, beginning with the famous Lindisfarne raid, ending with the decisive battles against King Alfred of Wessex
Simply by the virtue of its own existence, Vikings plays an important role in addressing traditional stereotypes of the Vikings in popular culture. In recent years, archaeologist and broadcaster Neil Oliver has taken great strides in exposing the beautiful complexities of the Scandinavian past in a range of unique documentaries and publications, produced in his own inimitable style. But for those with a hankering for binge-worthy visual storytelling, Vikings sows the seeds of education through pure entertainment.
If you were to ask the question, ‘Is Vikings historically accurate?’, the answer would at first seem simple – no it isn’t. While the series may not be an accurate retelling of the Viking past, there is both a solid historical and cultural grounding to the overarching narrative. The show takes inspiration from one of the great Icelandic sagas – the Legend of Ragnar Lothbrok. Written around 350 years after his supposed death, these sagas chronicle his rise to power and famous raids on both England and France during the 9th century. He would meet his end in Northumbria by King Aella, who is said to have thrown him into a pit of venomous snakes. His death triggered the arrival of the Great Heathen Army in England, led by his sons in search of revenge – Ivar the Boneless, Bjorn Ironside, Halfdan, Ubba, Hvitserk and Sigurd Snake-Eye.
Despite some correlation with other sources, such as the Gesta Danorum by Saxo Grammaticus, some Frankish sources of the 9th century, and the existence of his ‘sons’ in the historical record, it is genuinely agreed Ragnar Lothbrok is fictional. The story shares strong similarities with Norse mythology and Thor’s battle against the Midgard World Serpent during Ragnarok. Despite his eventual victory, Thor would soon die as a result of, you guessed it, the snake’s venom. Sounds familiar, right? Despite presenting myth as reality, Vikings is in fact documenting a wider history, mainly the importance of story telling in the Norse world view. While not necessarily supported by the archaeology, the series is arguably the dramatisation of what many could have believed, debated and discussed when these stories were first published.
In framing Ragnar’s story, Vikings also tells of Normandy’s foundation by Rollo. There is no historical record of Rollo as the older brother to Ragnar, however the persistence of the Viking raids leading to a gift of land to Rollo is based in fact. Normandy (or land of the Northmen) was created as a peace treaty and security buffer for the Frankish empire. Even the brief mentions of Charlemagne fits the show in the correct historical context. As they say, it’s all in the details.
The Viking raids on Paris are brought to life in astounding style in the show
Similarly, the representation of Anglo-Saxon England, from the waning power of the Mercian throne to the strength of Wessex under King Ecbert, does fit with the historical sources. There is even talk of Ecbert’s ambitions to be bretwalda – one of the original terms given to those who had control of the entirety of England. While his serpent antics are disputed, it was King Aella of Northumbria who first faced the Viking incursions into the British isles. Similarly, while King Alfred is the very same Alfred the Great of English history, he never was an illegitimate son as Vikings would suggest.
Finally, it’s the intricate cultural details that provide the intense sense of realism to the show. The character of Athelstan perfectly illustrates the conflict, physical and cultural, between Christian England and Norse polytheism. Athelstan becomes a hybrid of the two, illustrating what would happen to England by the 11th century. Vikings also highlights the fascinating power structures that governed political success. There could be no success for Ragnar without the power associated with being an earl or king, whether he wanted it or not. Across the ocean, the power plays by Ecbert to obtain power through marriage, underhand treaties and payment to ensure security were a vital part of English society. In fact, the English strategy to managing Viking raids would become the Danegeld – the land tax levied to pay off raiders.
Despite assuming the typical eccentric character, there is a huge depth to Floki, portrayed by Gustaf Skarsgard
Outside of history, it’s hard to deny the frenetic attraction of Vikings as a simple, raw form of entertainment. The production alone is worthy of the highest commendation; a sense of pure realism from the breathtaking cinematography through to the intensely graphic nature of the action (violent, emotional or otherwise). The lack of any major digital effect adds a layer of relatability for the viewer. Combine into the recipe some truly electrifying performances by the cast and what you’re left with is nothing short of a binge-worthy masterpiece. Take for example the character of Floki; Gustaf Skarsgard presents a misunderstood, conflicted, eccentric yet critically powerful character. And of course, there is no forgetting the spine-chilling performance of Ragnar himself by Travis Fimmel – another example of an actor who can command so much with nothing more than a glance.
On a deeper level, Vikings pinpoints some important issues relevant outside the context of the show itself. Central to this is the rationalisation of religion within society, epitomised in the spiritual struggle of Athelstan. The conflict between the Christian and Norse religion is explained through cultural contexts, impossible to reconcile due to their fundamental differences. However, both sides are linked in their importance on prophesy and destiny inspiring direct action. Even with the power of religion playing such a vital role, Vikings presents spiritual belief as logical, reasoned and wholly realistic in its manifestation on people’s lives.
Intriguingly though, it is Ragnar Lothbrok who shows himself to be the most liberal and nondiscriminatory in accepting the Christian beliefs of Athelstan alongside his own, even showing intrigue and a willingness to learn. This leads to the final fascinating element of the show – the importance of perspective. Popular culture would often paint the Vikings as the ‘bad guys’ with Christian Europe as the ‘good guys’ throughout the 9th century, yet because the series focuses on the Vikings you find yourself rooting for them. After all, they are humans, complete with the same emotions, desires and conflicts, just like us. Compare this to the The Last Kingdom where the English kingdom is the bedrock of the action, thus transforming the Viking invaders into the villains. Perspective holds great power, and only through understanding what’s beneath the surface through the eyes of those within can a clearer picture emerge.
The eyes have it – Travis Fimmel brings the power, authority and spirit of Ragnar Lothbrok to life
Vikings is more than just another historical drama, it has become the cornerstone of understanding not only the Vikings, but the Scandinavian cultures that created them. Unlike a traditional documentary, it draws you in with the drama, relationships and actions of any good series. But what makes the show truly stand out is the incredibly rich historical context in which it’s placed. While Vikings does not paint an airtight picture of 9th century Europe, it beautifully combines some of the key themes, events and cultural complexities of the time into a perfect creative overview of the Viking Age. Audiences watch as traditional stereotypes melt away, replaced with something that does this beautifully multifaceted culture the justice it deserves. This tantalising glimpse into a now forgotten world contains a truly indescribable power – the power of intrigue.
What more is there to discover about the Viking Age? Perhaps it’s time we find out.
While life during a global pandemic has been challenging, it has presented certain opportunities, including the most precious commodity of all – time. I took the decision to expand my visual entertainment horizons, leaving the comfort of the English speaking territory far behind and venturing into something new. Having enjoyed some spectacular Korean films, I noticed one repeated recommendation, so I gave it a go. In my mind, and after only a single season, ‘Arthdal Chronicles’ has fast become one of the ultimate historical fantasy epics ever produced.
Watching Arthdal Chronicles is no simple undertaking. As a pure time commitment, the season is comprised of 18 episodes, each of around 80 minutes. To put that in perspective, the longest season of Game of Thrones was 567 minutes. Arthdal Chronicles comes in at an earth shattering 1440 minutes (approximately), a staggering 2.5 times longer than Game of Thrones. But Arthdal Chronicles is more than just a time commitment, it’s something that will challenge you on every level, from politics, religion and even our understanding of humanity itself.
Set in the fantasy land of Arth, at its heart the show deals with the relationship between humanity and the Neanthals. Considered less advanced but highly adapted to the natural world, the Neanthals are feared, leading to a brutal genocide which obliterates their population. There are, of course, obvious comparisons to be made between the story of Arth and the story of the Neanderthals. The story of Arthdal Chronicles sees an ever expanding human society, the Arthdal Union, fighting for survival and dominion over the land of Arth.
We are also introduced to the Igutu, a name given to those who are born of human and Neanthal parents. Much like the blue-blooded Neanthals, the Igutus are hunted by the people of Arthdal, identified by their distinctive purple blood. Across the season, the power politics of Arthdal takes centre stage, including the religious, technological and military tensions bubbling beneath the surface. While based in fantasy, similarities can be drawn between Arthdal Chronicles and the founding of the first Korean kingdom of Gojoseon during the Bronze Age by legendary leader Dangun.
Song Joong-ki plays both Eun-seom and Saya in a breathtaking performance
One of the standout elements that makes Arthdal Chronicles such a success is the scintillating performance of the cast. You are thrust into the land of Arth, emotionally connected with these characters with such intensity it almost takes you by surprise. Of course none of this would be possible without the outstanding production of the series – the seamless transition between spoken dialogue and inner monologue creates new dimensions to these characters, inviting a personal relatability and understanding often unseen in other series.
Song Joong-ki portrays one of the central characters, Eun-seom. Eun-seom is an Igutu who escapes death as a child, eventually raised by the people of the Wahan tribe. Across the 18 episodes, you watch a charming childlike innocence disappear as the hard realities of his situation force Eun-seom down a difficult path; there is a genuine realism to his astonishment, confusion and horror when the world he knew is ripped away. Song Joong-ki delivers an adventure not confined to the physical; its his emotional journey that transforms this fantasy series into something human, something real. But Song Joong-ki doesn’t stop there, he also plays Saya, another major character in the show.
Saya is the mysterious son of Ta-gon, leading a sheltered life dominated by reading. As a complete contradiction to the selfless kindness of Eun-seom, Saya is shrouded in a cold selfishness; his academic, almost emotionless approach to society removes the humanity from his character. Despite their differences however, Saya too discovers the real world for the first time like Eun-seom, proving the importance of personal perspective in understanding the world.
Another standout performance is the character Ta-gon, played by Jang Dong-gun, the people’s champion and son of the Union Leader. Through Dong-gun’s utterly sensational performance, Ta-gon is presented as god-like, oozing leadership, strength and personal ambition. Some of the best actors don’t need to vocalise to communicate, and this is exactly what makes Ta-gon so powerful; a single glance pierces into deep into your soul, a simple hand movement commands respect, and a stance so strong it strikes fear into all that look upon him.
Jang Dong-gun delivers a powerhouse performance as Ta-gon
What makes a series successful? On the surface, the ideal fantasy recipe includes action, suspense, escapism, emotion and inspirational realisations. But these shows also require more – they require a certain complexity. While our society is far removed from theirs, the best series expose the shocking similarities to our reality, forcing us to consider ourselves on a deeper level. This is the crowning glory of Arthdal Chronicles.
Arthdal Chronicles considers the concept of people and their role within the intricacies of state formation. It provides cultural distinctions between the organisation of a clan or tribe when compared to the intense mechanics and infrastructure of a political union and the eventual transformation into a single nation or kingdom. The fragile interplay between politics, religion and technological advance defines the difficulties of stability; the inherent authority and power wielded by religious leaders can be used to manipulate and dismantle political control. The Arthdal Union is powerful in its unity, while simultaneously pitting individuals against each other in their eternal quest for influence, authority and profit. It could indeed be argued that the inherent energy and tension of instability benefits the success and lasting stability of the union – it’s all about balance.
When introduced to the Wahan tribe, we see people living a life without luxury, power and prejudice. They are people that live with the land, but do not own the land. Similarities can be drawn to elements of socialism and the equality of power. However, once removed from their home and forced to live in Arthdal, they are slowly seduced by the attraction of capitalism. Some become twisted by their lust for power, while others use it to break the system from within. It goes to show the true corruptive and destructive nature of power; we risk losing our defining values in our demand for more profit, power, and control.
By addressing issues of oppression and status, Arthdal Chronicles brings into question our own morality and the often brutal effect of perspective. For the people of Arthdal, genocide and the taking of slaves is necessary for their continued expansion, success and survival. The bi-products of such decisions spawn the essence of racism, intolerance and prejudice. Horrifying comparisons can be made here to the events surrounding the Holocaust and the continuing antisemitism today.
Similarly, Arthdal Chronicles cleverly warns against the dangers of absolutes; to say things are either good or bad, right or wrong, black or white is to ignore the multiplicity of the human experience. The show boasts a fluid approach to morality, with different characters straddling the traditional boundaries of ‘hero’ and ‘villain’ as the plot develops. Simple definitions of good and bad depend heavily on our own point of view within our own time. The fluidity of our morality as a product of an ever-changing narrative is the foundation of our humanity.
The show tackles some difficult topics, such as racism and oppression
What more is there to say about Arthdal Chronicles? The series contains performances that transcend the realms of traditional television, supported by utterly beautiful cinematography. At a time when we need it most, Arthdal Chronicles represents the ultimate escape.
While many would find it easy to compare the show to Game of Thrones (in fact I did), they exist in two separate spaces linked only by their genre. Despite the focus on the mystic and the magic, there’s a sense of believable realism you simply don’t get in Westeros. There’s an argument to be made for Arthdal Chronicles attempting to bridge that unholy gap between religion and science through placing the spiritual narrative within the context of the real world. The diverse stories, overarching narrative, difficult questions of self-reflection and emotional rollercoaster ride have come together to produce one of the great historical fantasies. And the best part? The story is only just getting started.
Arthdal Chronicles has been renewed for a second season, but production has been indefinitely postponed due to the COVID-19 pandemic. However long it may take, I can promise you the second season will be well worth the wait.
If 2020 has given us anything, it’s been the opportunity to diversify our motion picture passions. Confined to the company of our own council, we have turned to worlds of pure imagination and escapism, trapped as they are inside our screens. In the midst of a global pandemic, the magic of the silver screen has simply saved our sanity. Something to catch my eye during a daily Netflix perusal was ‘Hard Kill’. When you combine Bruce Willis with the action film genre, you know you’re in for a treat. While watching ‘Hard Kill’, it’s certainly true I bore witness to a movie masterclass, I just wasn’t expecting a masterclass of mediocrity.
Hard Kill is an action-thriller directed by Matt Eskandari, in which a team of hired mercenaries battle to prevent a new groundbreaking technology from causing mass destruction. Bruce Willis plays Donovan, whose daughter, Eva, developed ‘Project 725’. She mistakenly approaches an extremist known as ‘The Pardoner’ who promises they can work together to save the world. When his true purpose of global genocide is revealed, ‘The Pardoner’ takes Eva hostage and attempts to get Donovan to disclose the activation code for ‘Project 725’. Donovan then hires a team of mercenaries to both retrieve the technology and rescue his daughter. These plot points culminate in a shootout in an abandoned warehouse.
John Tucker must kill bad guys in generic setting – yes that is Jesse Metcalfe
As plots go, it would be difficult to find less originality than Hard Kill. The film is an ode to the generic, a limerick to the lazy, and a poem to the predictable. It’s almost impressive how seemingly little effort was put into the writing process. From the hired mercenaries with the flimsy personal backstories, through the entertainingly vague revolutionary new technology, all the way to abandoned warehouse setting, every element of the story seems to have been lifted straight from the action film playbook. Hard Kill somehow manages to look like an attempt to recreate every single shooter of early 2000s video games, even down to the grey-brown colouring that fails to excite the imagination.
A film this disappointing wouldn’t be complete without decisions made only to confound the conscious mind. If the simple objective for both sides is to eliminate the other, why stop shooting when the two sides are in the same room? The protagonists come together to talk terms in a flimsy attempt to add some emotional suspense, when a single shot could end this torture for everyone. Speaking of which, it doesn’t help when everyone suffers from Storm Trooper syndrome – given those on both sides are meant to be the best shooters in the business, why suddenly lose all accuracy when it matters?
And then of course there’s ‘The Pardoner’. Akin to other characters like Marvel’s ‘The Punisher’, perhaps ‘The Pardoner’ was meant to create an air of testosterone-fuelled intimidation, when in actuality the character withers in comparison to his own name when we actually meet our techno-terrorist. Think more stroppy hipster than violently sophisticated mastermind – why anyone would willingly follow him baffles the mind. He’s no Hans Gruber, that’s for sure.
“Pardon me, would you mind awfully if I took over the world?”
This leads perfectly to the crux of the issue – the Bruce Willis factor. A little digging reveals that Hard Kill is not the first time Bruce Willis has worked with Matt Eskandari; in the space of only two years Eskandari has directed three films that star Bruce Willis. Survive The Night details how a family is held hostage by a group of criminals, while Trauma Centre is the story of a woman placed in the protection of a police lieutenant when two corrupt cops are after her. Adding in Hard Kill, does any of this sound familiar? Bruce Willis? Hostages? Kidnapped daughter? Character placed in police protection? These films are nothing more than a shameless attempt at recreating the Die Hard franchise, just without any perceivable talent. All we need is an airport takeover and a race around a city solving puzzles to complete this sacrilegious set of bargain bin nonsense.
This leaves one final question in this cauldron of confusion – why did Bruce Willis agree to this? Surely one film would be enough before hitting abort, right? It’s fair to say these films wouldn’t diminish Bruce Willis; greatness, but surely professional pride would prevent him from agreeing to this torrid triumvirate. Perhaps this is simply an easy pay cheque, which is no bad thing given how 2020 turned out.
The answer is, in fact, an irrelevance. All that matters is these films exist, and Bruce Willis has to live with that. Hard Kill manages to contain almost every element that constitutes an enjoyable action film, yet somehow fails to deliver something that could even be considered passable. The plot is rushed, the setting is tedious and the characters just ooze tired stereotypes. But all the bad acting, listless direction and under developed story pale in comparison to this film’s ultimate, unforgivable crime. Do you know what happens when you take on a Hard Kill? Your opponent will have to Die Hard.
History is the study of the past, covering the full spectrum of the human experience leading up to this very moment as you read these words. The discipline prides itself on piecing together the puzzle of our existence, asking the big questions along the way. But what if I told you that history suffers an extraordinary identity crisis? In our quest to study the past, are we simply decoding the complexities of the present? They say history is written by the winners, but that’s merely the beginning. This is history’s great hypocrisy.
Across this wreckage of rambunctious rambling laid forth before you, much of the information will not contain knowledge you do not already possess. After all, the teaching of history is ingrained into the foundations of our education system. From a young age, armed only with the tools of reconstruction, we are thrust into the mesmerising worlds of time gone by. As the years of guided research progress ever forward, our talents for analysis are refined, culminating in a potent skillset to question the very fabric of the established historical narrative. And yet, as we liberate ourselves from the restrictions of education, the complexities of critical thought that once dominated our approach to the past become twisted in the dense jungle of the everyday world. We are threatened by the seduction of the superficial, rejecting the research in favour of simple statements of fact. To understand the power of the past, first we must ask a seemingly simple question: what is history? Or, more importantly, whose history?
What History? Whose History? Why History?
Despite a widely held assumption of history as objective fact, our basic understanding of the past comes from nothing more than story telling. Would you describe the telling of stories as an objective, factual narrative? Or would you instead refer to it as subjective, existing as a both an expression of the event but also that of the person who witnessed it. Could you ever honestly say you’ve never subtly embellished your narrative to better suit your argument? That’s what I thought.
The intriguing transformation from subjective story to historical fact requires just one additional factor – the introduction of authority. Of the multitude of manifestations this authority can take, the commonality lies in their power of influence. The authority values, verifies and validates these stories, thus qualifying these stories as worthy of promotion into ‘history’. In an ideal world, this hypothetical authority would provide detached, objective and critical analysis to these stories, before proclaiming the ‘official’ version of events. Alas, such a place does not, nor will it ever exist. The declaration of history intertwines the stories of the past with the context of the contemporary. To control the historical narrative is to wield the power to influence those under your authority.
The only real truth is the full picture of the past will never be uncovered. Evidence we gather gives us nothing more than a brief glimpse into history, and to argue anything else would, simply, be wrong. Once again, this calls into question the very definition of history itself. Conflicting identities see history as an academic discipline, the events upon which the discipline is based and the cherrypicked version used as political manipulation. It may be biblically overused, yet ‘history is written by the victors’ is so scintillatingly simple and beautifully brilliant in its accuracy.
The classification of state history is determined by contemporary context; governments choose the national story to best suit their ideology. Even families choose a history for their audience, whether this be as a lesson for the children or the oneupmanship of the social gathering. In essence, our utilisation of history boils down to the basic manipulation of data in the construction of an argument. With all these factors at play, it’s vital to be critical when presented with a version of the past. If we trust authorities with delivering historical ‘fact’, we are missing the very spirit of historical study, while setting a menacing precedent; to accept without question is to raise beyond criticism into the potentially dangerous ‘sacred’ realm.
If a person or an institution are held sacred by too many people, then they are by definition beyond criticism. And when a person or an institution becomes beyond criticism, it seems they slip inevitably towards corruption
Tim Minchin
The Rightful King?
The Death of King Harold: Taken from the Bayeux Tapestry
It was Phil Collins who once so eloquently told us we always need to hear both sides of the story. History should never be a single sided statement; history deserves critical conversation. To simply accept the story from those who shout the loudest is to ignore the very essence of the historical narrative. Nothing is as cut-and-dried as right or wrong, good or bad, fact or fiction. It’s all a question of perspective.
Imagine, if you will, two people looking at a complex object. Now, if you asked those people to describe what they saw, would they say the same thing? What if they were viewing the same object from different sides of a room? As they describe what they see, a divergence appears in both the construction of the object as well as the immediate environment in which it exists. Put simply, our understanding of the world is determined by our own unique perspective. Thus, our perception of the past is defined by our own personal circumstances. If we want to understand events the past, first we must acknowledge the existence of multiple frames of reference, apparent in both the context of their time as well as our own.
Let’s take the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. William the Conqueror’s decision to invade was focused around his belief that he was the rightful heir to the English throne. When King Edward the Confessor died however, it was Harold Godwinson that became England’s leader. Some sources argue that Edward promised the throne to William, sending Harold to Normandy to confirm this. Others stated Edward had never offered the throne to William, given his decision to track down the last of his bloodline in the Hungarian born Edgar, son of Edward the Exile. But it was Harold Godwinson that was named successor, with a selection of sources claiming Edward declared this on his deathbed.
The written sources of the time come from both England and Normandy, both positing, as you can imagine, astonishingly contrasting accounts of these events. When assessing the Norman Conquest, it’s impossible to ignore possibly the most famous artefact of the time, the Bayeux Tapestry. The tapestry illustrates the events of the Norman Conquest story – but what story? Who commissioned it? Who made it? Are there hidden messages that lie beneath the surface? Most importantly, whose story are we seeing? Historians have discussed, debated, and disagreed over these questions, both refusing to yield.
When reading popular books on history, there is a subconscious assumption by the reader of objective knowledge within the content. In actuality, it’s impossible to present history without the integration of author’s opinion. This inevitable bias appears in the impressive range of publications concerning the Norman Conquest. Case studies surrounding the now legendary leaders inexorably deliver these figures in a biased spotlight; both Harold Godwinson and William the Conqueror were inspirational figures in their own right and are fully deserving of the credit they receive. But one’s credit can often become the other’s criticism. Even those whose research is devoted to revealing the entire story of the Conquest have taken sides. It takes just a single word to reveal great favouritism; by asserting for example that Harold “stole” the English crown suggests a pro-William view. While of course there is no harm in sharing your interpretation, it’s vital you don’t present this as indisputable fact. Words possess great power, and to abuse this power can lead to dangerous consequences. Never before has this been more apparent than in our contemporary political climate.
Fact or Fake News?
Donald Trump was barely out of the headlines during his Presidency of the United States
The manipulation and abuse of data is so ubiquitous within the political realm it has become normalised, expected, and most worryingly, accepted. Whether an event, research or survey data, politicians seek to sculpt conclusions that best fit their ideological standpoint. They deliver these arguments to the nation, their followers accepting this opinion as undeniable fact. Another danger comes in the use of political authority to present unsubstantiated claims as objective knowledge. In the political universe, power and influence often trumps the validity of fact. Speaking of which, the story of Donald Trump provides the perfect case study to understand the poisonous potency of presenting the past in a position of power.
Politics often forms the backbone of our past; decisions made by those in the highest echelons of power will one day trickle their way down to the history books. Their actions define our future, while heavily influenced by the past. Over the last four years, for good or bad, it’s been difficult to ignore the staggeringly memorable presidency of Donald Trump. Many books will undoubtedly be written on US politics under the Trump administrations, thus entering the 45th President into our collective historical narrative. But what narrative? When it comes to Donald Trump, it’s impossible to separate his time in the Oval Office from another term – fake news.
Trump’s narrative has both ridiculed the importance of historical accuracy, while simultaneously fitting the role of the stereotypical politician. The strength of support, combined with the power of his position, convinced Trump’s followers that he was the only one to speak the truth. While it’s nothing new for media companies to spin news stories to fit their own ideology, the President managed to attack the mainstream media for publishing false stories, while simultaneously spreading his own brand of misguided ‘truth’. The President was officially impeached, yet his followers still believe the terms of this impeachment to be unjust. The strength of the Republican Party in the Senate made sure Trump was acquitted of all charges brought against him, thus using the political system to alter the narrative.
Despite many claims proven incorrect from numerous sources, the raw power wielded by the President rendered this practically a moot point. And of course, the US is not alone in its manipulation of the past, the story remains the same in the UK. The Conservative government spin their failures as victories, shifting the blame to the Labour opposition, while Labour find ‘proof’ to criticise every action taken by the Conservatives. In a battle over who has the largest, let’s call it, ‘majority’, the employment of critical thought is insignificant compared to the power of shouting louder, longer and more convincingly than everyone else. We teach our children the importance of listening, politeness and justified arguments, while our leaders squabble like toddlers fighting over a toy. It really is brutally ironic, isn’t it?
Presenting the Past in the Present
It’s only by gazing into the mirror of your own time can you begin to grasp the bafflingly beautiful complexity of the human experience. If our own lives are anything to go by, understanding the past is much more than a few brief awkward lines. Imagine someone trying to objectively explain the Trump administration 250 years in the future; chances are the subsequent account will be shrouded in a subconscious biased brevity. The author will have taken their view on Donald Trump and woven this into the foundations of their argument.
In our eternal quest to understand the past, we must undertake an intricate decoding exercise. Any presentation of the past has been subjected to multiple layers of bias by those deciding to record it. Firstly, you take into account the personal beliefs of the author. Secondly, the society the author lives in at the time of writing – it’s natural to project the views of your time onto the past. Our contemporary experience cannot be directly compared to that of the past; put simply we live in very different worlds. And finally, the primary sources we now rely on have their own subjective agendas. So, between the bewildering barrage of stories from US politics and the argument over the rightful king of England in 1066, it’s fair to say the study of history is anything but simple.
History is storytelling. Storytelling is a subjective narrative. Subjective narrative forms objective fact. Objective fact rises beyond criticism, thus becoming ‘history’. From the family unit, through the local community, charging passed national politics all the way up to international organisations, this dangerous process has become entrenched on all levels of society. The mind boggling nexus of narratives at play can only really lead to one conclusive question – can we really accept anything as objective fact?
Archaeology is the search for fact, not truth. If it’s truth you’re looking for, Dr Tyree’s philosophy class is right down the hall
Henry Jones Jr (Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade)
So what I’m saying, if I’m saying anything at all, is this – don’t be afraid to question the narrative. Those invaluable skills of critique, analysis and investigation gifted unto us during our formative years can help us navigate the minefield of subjectivity, manipulation and abuse in search of fact. To simply accept the words of others is in the name of history is humanity’s great hypocrisy.
The human journey is constructed not just on a foundation of storytelling but an eternal quest for discovery. To therefore reject stories on the basis of their bias would be to reject the very basis of human culture, but then what is more human than to interrogate the establishment in search of something more? By questioning their own world, our ancestors forged a path towards our future. Our approach to history should be no different. By learning the lessons of our own time, we can begin to unravel the mystery of history. History is the past, its study is the present, and its consequence is the future.
In one extraordinary year, we have seen some extraordinary achievements. November 15th 2020 will go down in motorsport history as the day Lewis Hamilton secured his 7th Formula One World Championship in scintillating style under the stormy skies of the Intercity Istanbul Park. Over in Valencia, Joan Mir became the first new rider since Marc Marquez in 2013 to clinch the Moto GP crown. But it wasn’t just the international stage that captured our hearts; the British Touring Car Championship came to a typically dramatic conclusion at Brands Hatch, with Ash Sutton securing his second title. In those changeable conditions of the Kentish countryside, I witnessed a national touring car series deliver nothing short of a masterclass in motorsport.
The British Touring Cars exist within an exclusive club, joined only such illustrious names as DTM and the Australian Supercars championship; a globally recognised national touring car series. Since it’s inaugural season in 1958, the BTCC has undergone multiple iterations, including the world famous Super Touring era of the 1990s. In it’s current format, the series runs Next Generation Touring Car regulations, focusing on low costs and standard parts. Since adopting these regulations in 2011, the championship’s success has grown exponentially, attracting sensational talent in the form of teams, cars, and drivers. The 2020 season, restrictions and all, has proved beyond doubt the BTCC deserves its place on the world stage.
In a year dominated by the coronavirus pandemic, the BTCC provided a welcoming sense of normality. Despite the disappointment of the season taking place behind closed doors, fans in Britain were able to enjoy free full-day television coverage of the BTCC and support series, arguably one of the most comprehensive anywhere in the world. Living through lockdown has been challenging, so sitting down for a day of motorsport has been the perfect distraction. A genuine escapism has been hard to find, but the British Touring Car Championship has come through for us during these difficult times.
The Perfect Recipe
Close racing is a guarantee in the BTCC. Image Credit: BTCC.net
What makes the ultimate race weekend? Fans from across the motorsport spectrum could endlessly debate such a question. There is no definitive answer, but the key is tailoring to each individual series. The BTCC has perfected its three sprint race format over a number of years:
Qualifying on the Saturday to determine the starting grid for race one
Results from race one to provide the starting grid for race two
The finishing positions from race two are reversed (chosen at random between 6th and 12th) to form the final race grid
Success ballast added for the top ten positions after each race (championship positions used for race one)
There was a time when the reverse grid races would see the top ten reversed. However, this began the trend of the curious crawl to 10th in race two . By introducing random selection, it adds excitement through sheer unpredictability. Even now, new regulations are being considered to enhance the experience for both the fans and the teams. At Snetterton this year, a new qualifying format was trialled in which the top ten from the first session would go into a final shootout. The magic of the NGTC regulations is the promise of close racing, without preventing the championship challengers rising to the top of the pile. This introduces an element of strategy to what would otherwise be nothing more than a sprint race.
These regulations sound great, but do they work? In theory, it wouldn’t be uncommon for over two thirds of the field to be separated by less than a second during qualifying. And if that wasn’t enough, if the series arrived at the final three races with five drivers in contention for the championship, it would certainly suggest a winning formula to me. Well, forget the hypotheticals, because this was the story of the 2020 British Touring Car Championship.
Clash of the Titans
The level of competition throughout the 2020 season has been staggering. Image Credit: BTCC.net
As the 2020 season got underway, all eyes were on reigning double champion Colin Turkington in the mighty BMW 330i M Sport. In taking the title in truly extraordinary style in 2019, Turkington equalled Andy Rouse’s all time record of four championship victories. Fighting him to the last had been the Honda Civic Type R of Dan Cammish, defeated in the final race by catastrophic brake failure. Heading into the new season, one of the great unknowns was the new look Laser Tools Racing Infiniti Q50, which was to be driven by the 2017 champion Ash Sutton, alongside the feisty talents of Aiden Moffat.
Colin Turkington is undoubtedly one of the greatest touring car drivers ever to get behind the wheel. Commonly known as Mr Consistency, Turkington knows how to win titles without even needing to win many races. En route to his 2018 title, he took a single win in a season of 30 races. On the other hand, Ash Sutton has more of an all-or-nothing approach to racing, securing six victories during his 2017 championship run. These are truly two of the titans of the touring car world; 2020 would represent their ultimate showdown. They would both go on to earn their accolade as the greatest drivers in the modern era of the British Touring Car Championship. It surprised no one that as the grand finale arrived, it was their names at the top of the table.
None of this is to say there weren’t others jockeying for the top spot. After all, as the final race weekend began, Dan Cammish, Tom Ingram and Rory Butcher were all in mathematical contention to win the title. Despite losing three races as a result of the pandemic, the 2020 was arguably one of the most competitive and closely fought title battles in recent history.
No one could argue that Colin Turkington, myself or Tom Ingram haven’t given it everything! The top 4 all scored more points than the 2019 winner. Even doing a whole round less! Shows the consistency and speed this season!
Dan Cammish
It was certainly no coincidence seeing these names fighting it out for supremacy. These five drivers could, and in many ways should, be champions in their own right. In a year of 27 races, the top five won 20, working out as a staggering 74%. There is no disservice to anyone else on the grid, but they were simply on another level. With each passing year, the competition finds a sizzling new ferocity, as more drivers take their shot at ultimate glory.
Given the impossibly high standards, winning a championship is much more than winning races, hinging on the smallest of margins. Sport, more often that not, is a tale of ‘What If?’; if it wasn’t for that one bad result, that one incident, or that one bad qualifying, everything could have been different. The Snetterton round became proof of this, becoming a pivotal moment in the championship. After two non-finishes at Croft, Turkington stole the show with two victories and a 3rd, while Sutton could only muster a 5th, 3rd and 4th. Disaster would strike for both Ingram and Butcher, who collided during the final race at the final corner of the final lap, gifting positions, points and precedence to their rivals.
With all these factors at play, for Ash Sutton to win the title is proof of his exceptional talent. To out perform the King of Consistency in such a hard fought year is worthy of serious commendation. As such, without the Laser Tools Racing and the Infiniti Q50, Sutton wouldn’t be the 2020 BTCC champion. This is a potent combination, still in the infancy of a debut year. With further time and development, this rocket ship may truly reach the stars.
The Majesty of Touring Car Racing
The Hybrid Future of the BTCC. Image Credit: BTCC.net
With the array of options available in the vast motorsport universe, there will always be an element of tribalism among fans. From the series, the format, or even the number of wheels, it’s a pure impossibility to declare one better than the other. Variety really is the ‘autospice’ of life. Claiming with any form of authority the British Touring Car Championship to be the greatest motorsport, or even top touring car series, would therefore be unhelpfully arrogant. However, in the confines of my own mind, there is no motorsport I enjoy more than the BTCC; it creates an instantaneous frenetic energy that other series simply cannot match.
The Super Touring era of the 1990s has often been referred to as the ‘Golden Age’, suggesting that which followed couldn’t live up to its past. While it’s certainly true the BTCC suffered an identity crisis during the 2000s, the rise of the NGTC era has re-established a whole new stratospheric success. The 2020 season has raised the British Touring Car Championship to a whole new level of energy and dynamism.
If I were to describe the championship in a single word, that word would be unpredictable. Drivers such as Sutton, Turkington, Cammish, Ingram and Butcher have harnessed that power of unpredictability to their advantage; this strategic unpredictability is the key to victory. To be a successful touring car driver is to possess a genuine talent that leaves our jaws well and truly dropped; not only can they win races, but they manage to score so consistently in the frenzied competition of a BTCC season.
The British Touring Car Championship never fails to captivate its audience into a state of anxiety-ridden excitement. The devious format and intense competition means your favourite driver is forever fighting for supremacy and survival. We’ve witnessed Ash Sutton rocket to Infiniti and beyond during one of the most competitive seasons in years, feeding the hunger of his competitors for their 2021 fightback. For such tantalising talents of Ingram, Cammish and Butcher not to be champions already is frankly outrageous, yet this fact alone is testament to the series’ scintillating success.
Reflecting the very same mindset required by any successful racing driver, the BTCC is looking forever forward, refusing to stagnate. There’s always room for improvement, whether a slight tweak to success ballast for 2020 or the introduction of the new hybrid era for 2022. Touring car racing exists for the fans, endlessly striving for faster cars and closer racing. You don’t need to be an expert in motorsport to find yourself drawn into the action. In what is an explosive 20 minute race for the flag, what is there not to like?
There simply are not enough words available in the English language to accurately describe the majesty of touring car racing, so instead I’ll leave you with this: The British Touring Car Championship saw some of the greatest racing anywhere in the world in 2020 – it was nothing short of a masterclass in motorsport.
The conversation around national identity has always been complex, often inviting a certain volatility. Possessing a pride in one’s nation is hardly an anomaly, yet the UK boasts an intriguing irony. Despite a welcoming message of multiculturalism, there is an inescapable sense of nationalism that breeds mistrust, and ultimately, division. By shining a spotlight on our 11th century past, we can begin to examine the origins of British identity. Is this identity actually constructed on a foundation of multicultural migration?
A United Kingdom?
National identity in the UK today has taken on a complexity not often seen in other countries. If you are from Greece, you are Greek. If you are from Portugal, you are Portuguese, and so on. However, when referring to the United Kingdom, some would identify as British, whereas others would identify as English, Scottish, Welsh or Northern Irish. Depending on the sport, we either compete as one nation or individual countries, while devolved parliaments exist in Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland. As we live through the Brexit era, murmurs of independence from Scotland and Wales threaten the existence of our united kingdom. All in all it’s really rather confusing, isn’t it?
With all these factors at play, it’s not difficult to see why division exists as a result of identity dynamics in Britain. It may go some way to explaining the xenophobic rhetoric, often masked as ‘humour’, that flows in the undercurrent of society. From seemingly playful jokes about the French or Germans, to the openly hostile view of immigrants, there is an uncertainty towards those not from the British isles. The history of the United Kingdom is forever intertwined with immigration, conquest, war and, of course, colonialism, thus creating a fragile identity. To acknowledge our history is to expose the hypocrisy of British identity. By turning back the clocks to the turbulent times of the 10th and 11th centuries, we can begin to deconstruct who we are.
Despite the best efforts of several kings, Britain during the 11th century was anything but united. It was King Æthelstan (924 – 939), by forcing the submission of the Welsh and Scottish kings, then defeating a united resistance of Vikings & Scots in the Battle of Brunanburh in 937, who came closest to achieving the Anglo-Saxon vision of a single united kingdom. Despite his title of ‘Rex totius Britanniae‘ (King of the whole of Britain), Æthelstan never truly held dominion over the lands of Britain. Following his death in 939, the English kingdom fractured after further Viking incursions, thus ending the dream. As such, using the term British is not necessarily applicable; this is the history of the English, Scottish, Welsh and Irish kingdoms.
The Anglo-Saxon Kingdom
Alfred the Great: An Icon of the English?
Alfred the Great: King of the Anglo-Saxons
Heading into the 11th century, England was a single, wealthy kingdom, united under the single banner of the Anglo-Saxon royal house. This was not always the case; England had once been split into different kingdoms, all vying for supremacy. The dream of a united England is often attested to King Alfred, remembered in history as the definition of the ultimate underdog story. Driven to a small Somerset marshland by the Great Heathen Army, Alfred gathered an army and drove the Vikings out of his Wessex homeland at the Battle of Edington in 878. The eventual peace deal even saw him convert the Viking leader Guthrum to Christianity in the process. Alfred the Great, as he is now known, began the House of Wessex – the first unbroken line of kings that would eventually rule the whole of England.
His achievements are remembered and celebrated to this day. For many, King Alfred is an icon of the English identity, used to further the cause of English nationalism. By using the image of Alfred as the ultimate in ‘English-ness’, it implies an acknowledgement of the origin of the Anglo-Saxons. At one time, following the fall of the Roman Empire, the Germanic tribes of the Angles and the Saxons were the invading foreign force, eventually settling in England. These tribes used a shared cultural identity to become what we know as the Anglo-Saxons. The establishment of the Anglo-Saxons required the displacement of or integration with the natives of the time – the Celtic Britons and the remnants of the Roman occupiers.
Confusingly, the British school system focuses on Roman Britain as the introduction of ‘civilisation’ to the country. The Anglo-Saxons form part of the ‘Dark Ages’, nothing more than an outdated phrase suggesting chaos and decline, used to further promote a common heritage with our Roman occupiers. In the case of both the Romans and the Anglo-Saxons, there is a fascinating observation to make: those we have adopted as the origins and icons of our national identity are none other than the one-time immigrants, invaders and settlers.
Viking England: An Anglo-Scandinavian World?
The North Sea Empire of King Cnut: England’s Viking King (1016-35)
It is impossible to discuss the Anglo-Saxons without the Vikings. The two are intrinsically linked in the history of England. The first Viking raid came in 789 when Beaduheard, a royal reeve from Wessex was killed when three ships landed on the Isle of Portland. The attack on the Lindisfarne monastery in 793 signalled the beginning of increased incursions and the dawning of a new age in Anglo-Saxon history.
When discussing the Vikings, it is important to note that ‘Viking’ is not necessarily an accurate term to describe a people. Those that came to England hailed from Scandinavia, mainly Norway and Denmark. ‘Viking’ is most closely associated with ‘pirate’; in fact many argue that the correct use of the term would be ‘to go a-viking’. Within the 9th and 10th centuries, the Vikings were referred to by a variety of names: Danes, heathens, pagans, Norsemen and Northmen.
The invaders would soon become settlers, the descendants of which can still be found in the north of England today. When King Alfred finally drove the Great Heathen Army out of Wessex, he would sign an agreement with their leader, Guthrum. England was to be split; Wessex, Mercia and parts of Northumbria would remain Anglo-Saxon, while East Anglia and a large chunk of the Midlands would become the ‘Danelaw’.
The population in the north of England naturally became a hybrid of the Anglo-Saxon ‘natives’ and the new Scandinavian settlers. Many northern earls of the new English kingdom would be of Scandinavian descent, fully integrated into this new society. And if ever you wondered where the origin of the north-south divide in contemporary England lies, then search no more. The north was now a land of the ‘heathens’, where the ‘civilised’ Anglo-Saxons reigned in the south. Sound familiar?
Despite the best efforts of rulers such as Edward the Elder, Æthelflæd and Æthelstan to remove Viking rule from the north, the population had been altered forever. The elite were not, after all, the only Scandinavians who had integrated into England. However, Viking raids and invasions would continue throughout the Anglo-Saxon era. At their height, it drove King Æthelred (known to history as the Unready) to order the St Brice’s Day massacre – the systematic killing of Danes living throughout England. This must be one of the earliest examples of genocide, driven by the fear-mongering of the English elite.
As bad decisions go, there are few worse than this. In trying to prevent the Vikings destroying the English kingdom, it set in motion a chain of events that ended with Danish king Sweyn Forkbeard successfully invading the kingdom. Forkbeard may not have lasted long, but he paved the way for his son, Cnut the Great to become England’s coronated Viking king. His reign (and that of his sons) would last from 1016 – 1042, whereafter the English throne returned to the House of Wessex. As King of his North Sea Empire (England, Denmark, and Norway), Cnut blended the very best of the Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian worlds.
When discussing the Vikings in England, once again we return to invaders-turn-settlers, integrating themselves into society. However, knowing violence as a result of an anti-foreigner rhetoric was prevalent in the 11th century shows that, in some ways, little has changed in the last 1,000 years.
The Norman Conquest
Duke William of Normandy defeated King Harold Godwinson at the Battle of Hastings in 1066 to claim England. It was immortalised in the Bayeux Tapestry
For anyone growing up in Britain today, they will be familiar with the story of 1066. The Battle of Hastings marked the end of Anglo-Saxon rule, signalling the start of a new Anglo-Norman kingdom, with William the Conqueror as the new king.
As the history books will tell you, it was King Harold Godwinson that lost his life that day. While many would argue he was the last Anglo-Saxon king of England, that may not necessarily be true. The rise of Harold Godwinson goes back to the time of King Cnut; his father, Godwin, served under the king. Godwin was rewarded for his service by not only the Earldom of Wessex, but with marriage to Gytha Thorkelsdóttir. Gytha was the brother of Earl Ulf, who was married to Cnut’s sister. Their marriage kickstarted the rise of the Godwin family as the most powerful in England. Following the death of the childless Edward the Confessor, Harold Godwinson was crowned as the new king. To describe Harold Godwinson as Anglo-Saxon would, therefore, be inaccurate. In reality, King Harold Godwinson was an Anglo-Danish king.
As a vassal state of France, Normandy began as a gift from King Charles the Simple to end Viking incursions into the Frankish kingdom. Hrólfr Ragnvaldsson (better known as Rollo) became the first leader of Normandy. The name Normandy comes from ‘Northmen’, the term used to describe the Viking invaders. The Normans integrated with the local Gallo-Roman population, creating a new state made up of the Norseman, Celts, Romans and Franks. Duke William of Normandy was Rollo’s great-great-great-grandson.
William’s decision to undertake the invasion of England was multi-faceted, and one which requires a whole study in itself, but what matters is that he did successfully overthrow the Anglo-Saxon kingdom. William’s army contained not only Normans, but forces from Brittany, Flanders and other regions of Europe. And how did he gather such an army? It’s simple really – promise of payment. William carved up English lands for those that helped him achieve his victory.
William the Conqueror may have become King of England, but in reality, during the first years of hie reign he only controlled the south. The limited but consistent resistance to his authority came from the north – the now ancestral home of the Anglo-Danish population. The new Norman dynasty would eventually bring the north under control; the brutal ‘Harrying of the North’ by King William in 1069-70 wiped out all that stood before him. The last remaining English aristocracy were removed and replaced by Norman nobility. Once again, therefore, we have an example of an invading force integrating itself into an already multi-cultural English society.
The Normans laid the foundations of modern Britain. William I is, in fact, the 22nd great grandfather of Queen Elizabeth II. And yet, discussions of the Battle of Hastings usually see a contemporary English allegiance with the Anglo-Saxon army of King Harold Godwinson. Due to more recent entanglements with the French (did someone say Napoleon?), it can be difficult for some to accept we may have more in common with the Normans than with our Anglo-Saxon ancestors. Despite everything, the Normans remain nothing more than an invading French force, taking on Harold and the ‘English’ underdogs.
A History of Invaders and Immigrants?
What, then, does it mean to be British? The United Kingdom of today is the combination of four distinct nations. As with any country, British history is a complex web of happenings, coming together to form the identity many hold today. To many, Queen Elizabeth II is the ultimate ‘British’ icon, despite the royal family being most definitely German. And now we know the Queen is also a direct descendent of the Norman conqueror of England, who himself was a descendent of a Viking invader. Consider then the propensity for jokes aimed at the Germans and the French, the punchline usually implying the superiority of the British. Somewhat ironic, wouldn’t you say?
Without this tumultuous period of change, adaption and conquest, the foundations for the British society we know today would never have been laid. Many aspects of the Anglo-Saxon period have been adopted and idolised by people who take pride in their identity. However, the legendary status of these past people has led to a worrying rise of cherry-picking the evidence in the formation of the ‘English’ identity. If we are to celebrate our past, we need to embrace it within the context in which it existed.
From the Anglo-Saxons, through the Vikings, all the way to the conquering Normans, the English past is characterised by immigration and invasion. The English kingdom of the 10th and 11th century was the envy of Europe, due in no small part to its economic prosperity. That prosperity, arguably, came from the adaptive qualities of the country. The Anglo-Saxons incorporated the settled Vikings into their kingdom, forming a powerful Anglo-Scandinavian society. When William the Conqueror took England for himself, he integrated Norman ideas into the kingdom while maintaining the successful English infrastructure.
From our place names, traditions, the English language (constructed of Anglo-Saxon English, Norman French and elements of the Norse languages of the Vikings), and even religion (Christianity was once an unwelcome immigrant on English shores after all), without the movement of these people into the country, through immigration, invasion, or otherwise, British society would not be what it is today. We are the United Kingdom thanks to the dream of King Alfred. We are Great Britain because we accepted multi-cultural migration and harnessed our diversity for success.
What does it mean to be British? To be British is to be proud of our past. To be British is to be proud our multi-cultural migratory origins. To be British is to welcome new ideas. We may be living in a different world to our Anglo-Saxon, Viking, and Norman ancestors, but without their cultural integration, there would be no us – there would be no United Kingdom. It is time we reject the rhetoric of division and embrace the power of diversity.
Living in the midst of a global pandemic, the human experience has transformed before our very eyes. Our cultural landscape has been forced to adapt in order to survive. As the United Kingdom searches for a route back to normality, the doors of the British Museum have opened once again. Once inside however, things feel anything but normal. Yet in these unprecedented times, is this necessarily a bad thing?
Twelve months ago, no one would have predicted that visiting a museum in 2020 would be considered such an achievement. Since the onset of coronavirus restrictions in March, the museum sector has been starved of its most vital lifeline; visitors. As the British government announced an easing of lockdown, our cultural spaces could begin to welcome us back. But in this strange new world, what would happen to the museum experience?
For the first time, tickets for the British Museum have to be booked in advance, with visitors choosing a time slot for entry. The ability to pop in on a whim over a lunch hour is now nothing more than a fond memory. Straight away however there’s an obvious advantage at play; the lack of crowds. For the museum industry, the lower attendance figures are a real danger to survival, but for the visitor experience it is nothing short of a blessing in disguise. How many times have you gone to a major museum but been unable to get anywhere close to your favourite objects? How many times has your shot of the Rosetta Stone been photobombed by an over excited family? How many times have you learnt more about popular brands of rucksacks than the funerary beliefs of ancient people? Like the objects in the galleries themselves, all that is now a thing of the past.
The once packed galleries containing the Parthenon Marbles – perhaps more room for discussing the politics of ownership?
Despite the colossal size of the British Museum, you are often gripped not by a sense of history but one of claustrophobia as you navigate the exhibition spaces. During this new era however, you emerge into a new feeling of freedom and opportunity. The necessity of social distancing inadvertently promotes a policy of fair viewing around the most popular exhibits. The clever combination of lower visitor numbers with social distancing creates a stress-free environment where an object can finally be studied, not swiftly scanned while an impatient tour group lurks behind.
They say variety is the spice of the life, but that can be a curse when you only have a couple of hours to see one of the largest and most diverse museum collections in the world. A trip to the British Museum is therefore either a planned assault on selected galleries or an open-mouthed wander around collections and cultures from all around the world. Whatever your chosen approach, unless of course you have set aside an entire day, there is an inescapable certainty that you will not be seeing everything on offer. But imagine for a moment your freedom was taken away, replaced by a journey curated by the museum itself?
At first, any talk of an imposed restriction on your freedom would be met with instant negativity. But you know what they say, the journey can be just as important as the destination. Tolkien would certainly agree, anyway. While it is certainly obvious that the new route is driven by logistics over visitor experience, it does create a curious new interaction with familiar objects and galleries, culminating in a feeling of re-discovery. The museum is giving you what could almost be described as the ‘greatest hits’ tour; you are led through the monumental achievements of the Egyptians, through beautiful Greek sculpture, stopping to marvel at the wonder of the South American past before travelling back to our Imperialist in the Enlightenment Gallery.
The Enlightenment Gallery: taking a step back into the history of collecting
The more cynical visitor may suggest the British Museum is using the opportunity to boast about it’s impressive, and often controversial, collections. Both the Rosetta Stone and the Parthenon Marbles have a troubled past in their acquisition, yet the museum has pushed these exhibits further into the spotlight. However, it can be argued the museum has done an impressive job of creating a new scaled down event that still inspires conversation. In many ways, this political conversation has become an integral part of the experience, for better or for worse.
It is certainly frustrating that only the ground floor galleries have been opened. The upper exhibitions provide greater depth to the icons of the ground floor, alas the restricted space prevents the possibility of safe viewing and integration into the one-way system. One possible solution could be looking towards bookable slots to a selection of the upper galleries for a more limited audience. After all, for some the museum is more than just something to do; it is a wealth of knowledge that could lead towards new exciting discoveries about our past.
Our past helps define our present. We must protect and preserve our history.
The normality we once knew may well be gone forever, but this doesn’t have to be a time for despair. The success of the human race has been our adaption and evolution (biologically, technologically and culturally) to the world around us, especially in times of adverse change. Our establishment cannot cope with the coronavirus, for it exists to serve a world that no longer exists. The only solution is evolution. As such, this is a time to embrace what many are calling the ‘new normal’. Change is an exciting prospect, inviting innovators to develop new ways of engaging with the material culture of our shared human experience.
As a superpower on the global stage, the British Museum should use this opportunity to spearhead real change as we look towards a new era. The museum has opened its doors once again, making the best of our current situation. And given the circumstances, the experience is certainly impressive. But museums need to do more than just cope, they needs to thrive. The very soul of humanity burns within our cultural expression, and we cannot let that spark go out. Now is not the time for negativity; now is the time to embrace our new future, and with it, save our past.
Every great film needs a villain. They drive the plot in their desire to prevent the success of ‘the good guys’. Some of the best villains are so beautifully evil they command not only respect, but admiration, from audiences. But every now and again, a villain will emerge that not only redefines the term, but makes us question our own morality in the process.
Stories are the fabric of our society. The tales we tell may vary in content, but they all tell the same timeless story. This can be order vs chaos, light vs dark or, of course, good vs evil; it’s the conflict between the two that forms the basis of the narrative. Basically, there can be no hero without a villain. The villain is the embodiment of evil, often causing harm to achieve their objective. Their actions lead to them often being referred to as a ‘monster’.
The concept of the ‘monster’ is fascinating and deserves much more attention than the mention I’m giving it here. I would highly recommend reading The Science of Monsters by Matt Kaplan who takes a wonderful look into the manifestation of the monster throughout our society, past and present. We’ve come a long way from demonic creatures, zombies and aliens loose in our world, killing everything in their path, to more considered, almost relatable enemies. Sometimes the real evil lies on the inside, much closer to home.
It’s not all about bloodthirsty monsters anymore. Still one of the best, mind you
I could spend a lifetime discussing the array villains that have appeared in popular culture (and what a life it would be). However, I’ve narrowed it down to five of my favourites that encapsulate some of the greatest there has ever been.
The Puppet Master: Dark Lords
Sauron
Sauron was become now a sorcerer of dreadful power, master of shadows and of phantoms, foul in wisdom, cruel in strength, misshaping what he touched, twisting what he ruled, lord of werewolves; his dominion was torment.
J.R.R Tolkien. The Silmarillion
Fans of Middle Earth will be more than familiar with Sauron. Throughout his most famous appearances in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings he utters a mere few lines, and is seen only a handful of times. Despite this, he is the mastermind of evil, his actions and intentions drive the fate of all. Sauron personifies darkness and manipulation, bending many to his will in his quest for the One Ring and dominion over Middle Earth. His name is mentioned in hushed tones, often simply referred to as ‘The Darkness’, inspiring fear through seemingly limitless power and his ability to influence all life. Sauron adds a nuance to the definition and complexities of what a villain can be.
Emperor Palpatine
Our second Dark Lord is Palpatine, the Dark Lord of the Sith. When Star Wars: A New Hope first hit the big screen, audiences were introduced to Darth Vader as the primary antagonist; he represented the oppression of the Empire and fast became one of the most iconic villains in popular culture. However, there comes a moment in The Empire Strikes Back where Darth Vader kneels and speaks to the one he calls master.
We are first introduced to the Emperor in Return of the Jedi as what appears to be an old man, concealed by a hood, yet possessing a voice that sends a shiver down your spine. He is the master manipulator, the sentient strategist and the ultimate power in the universe. His intellect alone is enough to disable Luke Skywalker; when he does resort to a physical attack he produces a terrifying blast of lightning from his fingertips with ease. That right there, is true power.
“So this is how liberty dies, with thunderous applause” – Palpatine achieves his goal. He defeats the Jedi and becomes Emperor of the entire galaxy
In more recent films, we learn he was the mastermind behind the rise of the Empire, acting as both the Supreme Chancellor and Darth Sidious. He created the conflict that paved the way for his rise to power and the realisation of his vision, even defeating Yoda along the way. His lust for power was so great he even murdered his own master. The fear appears through the mystery of his identity, the limits of his power and his political manipulation. No one can challenge his place among the greatest villains of all time.
The Mirror: Who Is the Real Enemy?
The Titans
For any fan of manga or anime, Attack on Titan is a must. In saying that, for any fan of a post-apocalyptic fight for survival and a coming of age story like no other, this cannot be ignored. The story begins with the remnants of humanity living in territories surrounded by three huge walls. They live in fear of the titans, giant humanoids who seem to want nothing more than to devour the human race (literally).
Initially it seems very simple, the humans must do what they can to stop the onslaught and wipe out each and every titan. The origin of the titans is unknown; they look like larger, mutated versions of humans, but devoid of humanity. As the story develops, we learn the central government has ‘rewritten history’ and covered up what exists outside the walls, killing anyone that questions this new reality.
The humans come to learn a terrible truth. These titans are not the villains, these humans, or Eldians, are the titans. There is another race of humans across the sea, the Marleyans, who want to see the end of the Eldians. By using Eldian slaves and transforming them into their titan form, the Marleyeans are turning Eldians against each other, while the Eldian central government has its’ people convinced the titans are a supernatural enemy.
Words alone cannot truly explain the beautiful complexity of Attack on Titan. But the story reveals a truly terrifying type of villain: the mirror. The real enemy is not an external force. Sometimes the truth we seek cannot be found in the supernatural; often reality falls much closer to home. A little perspective and reflection can radically change the supposedly rigid definition of right and wrong. And in the process, it gives us a chilling reminder of how the abuse of power leads to corruption. The real enemy may just be humanity itself.
The Joker
The Joker is one of the all time great supervillains, a criminal mastermind with a truly sadistic sense of humour. The 2019 film Joker gave the character the origin story we had all been waiting for.
The natural antagonist had become the protagonist. We sat and watched in horror as Arthur Fleck transformed into the Joker. Suddenly the Joker was no longer the villain, the Joker was the victim of a heartless society fighting to be accepted. Once again, we searched for the villain and found ourselves looking into a mirror. It was society that drove Arthur to become the Joker. His criminal empire was forged as a revolution against a corrupt and uncaring world.
What do you get when you cross a mentally ill loner with a society that abandons him and treats him like trash? I’ll tell you what you get, you get what you f***ing deserve!
Arthur Fleck. Joker.
Just like that, you start to understand where the Joker is coming from. He lived in a world where a corrupt power structure leads to the oppression of the powerless. He became the icon of the powerless, fighting back against their oppressors. And in that moment, the long time villain became our hero. The origin of the Joker forces us to question not only our own morality but also that of society as well.
Once more, looking at events from another perspective can drastically change our judgement. The concept of right and wrong become relative and force us to ask an uncomfortable question: who is the real enemy?
Thanos: The Mad Titan
The Marvel Cinematic Universe is, in my humble opinion, the greatest film series that has ever existed. The 22 films that span the Infinity saga, starting with Iron Man through to Endgame, are tied together through one single character. This character forges the puppet master with the mirror to form the ultimate supervillain.
Throughout the 22 films, Thanos only appears in 3, with minor appearances in 2 more, and yet his quest to collect the Infinity Stones drives the plot forward. His mere influence creates a tension, a mystery and a fear that is felt by the heroes yet never fully explained. When he emerges from the darkness, he reveals a seemingly limitless power and impressive intellectual capabilities. His arrival in Infinity War brings with it connotations of fate and the manifestation of inevitability.
I know what it’s like to lose. To feel so desperately that you’re right, yet to fail nonetheless. It’s frightening, turns the legs to jelly. I ask you to what end? Dread it. Run from it. Destiny arrives all the same. And now it’s here. Or should I say, I am.
Thanos. Infinity War
Thanos wants to collect the six stones in the Infinity Gauntlet and perform the snap, which will wipe out half of all life in the universe. Learning this truth comes across like the dreams of a genocidal maniac. Having established Thanos as a presence in the universe, the final two films provide his backstory. Much like the Joker, we come to learn the detail of his plans.
It was beautiful. Titan was like most planets. Too many mouths and not enough food to go around. And when we faced extinction I offered a solution. Genocide, at random. Dispassionate. Fair to rich and poor alike. They called me a madman, but what I predicted came to pass. With all six stones I could simply snap my fingers and it would all cease to exist. I call that mercy. Then I finally rest and watch the sun rise on a grateful universe. The hardest choices require the strongest will
Thanos. Infinity War
His home planet was destroyed by overpopulation and the draining of resources. Without a radical solution, Thanos’ prediction came true. From that moment, he vowed to right the wrongs he saw in the universe. By wiping out half the population, it would give the universe a chance at peace.
You were going to bed hungry, scrounging for scraps. Your planet was on the brink of collapse. I’m the one who stopped that. You know what’s happened since then? The children born have known nothing but full bellies and clear skies. It’s a paradise. Perfectly balanced, as all things should be
Thanos, Infinity War
Thanos is convinced his actions are justified; to him they are not coming from a place of evil. To him he is acting for the good of the universe. His methods have brought peace and prosperity to planets that once suffered in poverty. In his opinion, he was the only one with the strength and determination to make such a difficult choice.
This is why Thanos takes his place as my ultimate supervillain. His philosophy is rooted in a desire to do good, yet his actions make him responsible for the murder of trillions. His limitless power from the darkness makes him feared, yet you have to admit, his arguments attract some level of respect. Once again, Thanos’ ideology reflects our own fears; we are living on a planet of limited resources and an ever growing population. How much longer can we sustain life until more drastic measures must be taken? Why are we fighting against an inevitability? Thanos represents the radical last resort to overpopulation, but who brought this about in the first place? And so I ask again, who is the real enemy?
The Villain: Evolution in Action?
A villain forces us to question our own humanity, challenging us to face the changing fears in our society over time. Their methods may be extreme but their message is often hauntingly relatable. A well-crafted villain can force us to question morality; there is a much greater complexity to life than just right vs wrong, good vs bad, or light vs dark. To understand our society, we must understand that perspective changes the narrative.
Our definition of monster revolves around fear, cruelty and inhumanity. In popular culture, monsters have taken many forms. When humans looked towards space, aliens became the icon of terror. The mystery surrounding what happens after death led to rise of the zombie. Religious beliefs have given us the deadly sins and the devil himself. We exist in the light and naturally fear the darkness. Darkness means uncertainty. And we fear what we do not understand.
Monster is a relative term. To a canary, a cat is a monster. We’re just used to being the cat.
Henry Wu. Jurassic World.
But what if the monster looked a little more, familiar? Sometimes what scares us most is the monster we see in ourselves. The best villains are those that hold a mirror up to our own world; an insatiable lust for power and profit, manipulation for personal gain, and the destruction of our world through our unrelenting expansion. They remind us dark thoughts are nothing more than what it is to be human.
When we begin to understand the other side of the story, we realise humanity is the cause of many of the evils of our world. What happens when we lose our control? What happens when the consequences of our actions come back to haunt us? Is it time to face the reality that we may be our own worst enemy?
Villains cannot be bound to a fixed description. In the years to come there will be new evils to dominate our destiny, forming fresh enemies in the stories we tell. They exist to remind us of our flaws, and in the end, make us better people. So what I’m saying, if I’m saying anything, is we have some truly exciting and terrifying villains still to come. And I can’t wait.
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The Osiris Diaries 