I’m sure that I was not alone in spluttering somewhat when I read that the director Mike Leigh had likened the scrapping of the UK Film Council to the abolition of the NHS. He was talking about certainty of funding, but the implication was that culture and healthcare are of equal importance. This is, of course, nonsense. Culture is vastly more important than healthcare.
When, as a comparatively callow fellow, I was offered the Culture, Media and Sport brief at Conservative Central Office my heart sank a little. Sure, I have always loved sport and I was dimly aware that the other issues covered by DCMS added to the gaiety of the nation. But I feared that this would be a peripheral role and that my peers would be more at the heart of things. So it did not prove to be for lo, New Labour did make a monumental mess of the Millennium Dome.
Being the Dome man was a tremendous introduction to frontline politics. It taught me (far better than Oxford ever did) how to wade through lengthy documents and extract the juicy bits. I crafted press releases and comprehensive notes for MPs. I became a walking encyclopaedia of Dome-related facts. Best of all, I got to be in the room. When Shadow Cabinet members (including the Leader) needed to know about the Dome – which was often, because this was a great opportunity to bash the government – I was summoned.
The Culture Department kept on serving up goodies for the Tories: so much so that all four ministers got the boot after the 2001 general election. The new Wembley Stadium ballooned in cost and is bereft of the promised athletics track. The National Lottery became New Labourised and gave money to absurd projects. The TV licence fee kept swelling indefensibly.
On one particularly glorious day the Government published one of their fatuous annual reports in which they claimed – fallaciously – to have built a UK Sports Institute at Sheffield. William Hague had fun with that one, and every time I see him he thanks me for the tip-off.
However, I am grateful for those days for more than purely political reasons. They had a civilising effect. How and whether the state in its myriad forms gets involved with the arts, media and sport is a debate for another article. What we should all be able to agree on is that these things – music, theatre, film, athletic endeavour, television, literature – matter profoundly. Some will touch us more than others. But we can’t expect to live a well-rounded and happy life without any of them.
The best exponents of these pursuits are transcendent, and humankind is elevated by association. Yet singing a song less than perfectly, playing football with a passion that far exceeds ability, and even watching a disposable popcorn movie can be enormously life-enhancing. Personally I find it all much more interesting than waiting lists, GP funding structures and private health accounts. I speak with some experience, as I was moved from DCMS to Health in my last year at Central Office.
I had to call an MP shortly afterwards, and I explained that I had changed jobs. At the end of our conversation he said, ‘congratulations on your promotion’. It was a nice thing to say. Nevertheless, I remember thinking that it didn’t feel like a promotion at all.
I’m sure lots of people thought DCMS a junior role. One press officer even asked me to move off the photocopier on the grounds that his boss was senior to mine. Traditionally the Culture Secretary is seen as an up-and-coming star on their way to bigger and better things (although under John Major, who has a reverence for sport and the arts, David Mellor and Virginia Bottomley were players).
Why should this be? To put it in stark terms, how much time do most of us spend in hospital and how much engaged in cultural pursuits? I’m not going to make any unkind jokes about illness being trivial. Of course life and death is a serious business. But surely the life part is more important than the death part.
Which is why the National Lottery should not have been co-opted to pay for healthcare; why politicians should not be afraid to assess and talk about the country’s cultural landscape; and why a night at the theatre with friends is often more restorative than any medicine. (It’s also a lot more fun than three weeks in hospital, I can tell you.)
If you are uncomfortable about the meeting of culture and politics then I have the perfect prescription. Stuart Barrow – who has worked for Michael Portillo, Michael Howard, Francis Maude and indeed Jeremy Hunt – is a renaissance man. Not only has he been an enthusiastic rugby player, he is also a playwright. Candidates for Change: the Road to Con-Dem Nation is on now at the Gallery on Redchurch Street.
The play is riotously funny, moves along at a cracking pace, has an unpredictable narrative arc, and is greatly enhanced by superbly developed characters and fine acting. I am tempted to see it a second time, but I don’t want to deprive others. This is not hyperbole on behalf of a friend; it was a jolly good show in a very agreeable setting.
As for the UK Film Council, perhaps two articles on this friend’s blog might shed some light. Moreover, I know for a fact that it is possible to make a good movie on a micro-budget, as I am in a feature film that was fashioned from love and hard work.
One thing’s for sure: I like the smell of greasepaint more than the smell of disinfectant.
After working in Central office, Tom Greeves formalised his relationship with comedy by going into legitimate stand-up. He has also speechwritten for, among others, Seb Coe and Boris Johnson.