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John Charmley

Pat Buchanan leads off for the Affirmative (C-Span)

Pat Buchanan leads for the Affir­ma­tive (C-Span)

The Great Debate: “Resolved, that Win­ston Churchill was more a lia­bil­ity than an asset to the free world.” Spon­sored by Intel­li­gence Squared, view­able on C-Span.

LONDON, SEPT. 3RD— It was avidly awaited but fell flat. Tabling a truly ridicu­lous motion, Intel­li­gence Squared (“the only insti­tu­tion in town aside from Par­lia­ment to pro­vide a forum for debate on the cru­cial issues of the day”) com­bined with C-Span to bring us this, er, spec­ta­cle. It would have been more inter­est­ing to debate whether Hitler or Churchill was the bet­ter painter.

I will spare you the tempt­ing wise­cracks about Intel­li­gence Squared. The debate was not a “cru­cial issue of the day,” and so orga­nized as to obfus­cate the argu­ment by forc­ing pan­elists to respond to dis­parate ques­tions hurled in suc­ces­sion from the audi­ence. It started off inter­est­ingly, but soon tapered into a long palimpsest of clichés, accu­sa­tions, denials and counter-charges.

Argu­ing the affir­ma­tive, and by far the most lively and effec­tive, was the engag­ing Patrick J. Buchanan (Churchill, Hitler and the Unnec­es­sary War, reviewed in Finest Hour 139: 13). His team included Nor­man Stone (Bil­lkent Uni­ver­sity, Turkey) and a super­cil­ious Cam­bridge don named Nigel Knight, whose Churchill: The Great­est Briton Unmasked (Finest Hour 141: 53) con­cludes that it was Hitler who made Churchill a his­tor­i­cal fig­ure. Pat Buchanan was the best they had going. A great debater, he knows how to liven things up. But he could have done bet­ter by enlist­ing Pro­fes­sor John Charm­ley, a witty and able critic, and, like him­self, a gentleman.

Oppos­ing the motion was a team led by Andrew Roberts (Mas­ters and Com­man­ders, and numer­ous other sound his­to­ries). Roberts is a razor sharp advo­cate, but the nature of the pro­gram pre­vented him from get­ting in all his best ripostes. He stuck too closely to his pre­pared remarks and—except for a few pre­emp­tive strikes at what he knew was coming—not until the Q&A was he able to chop away at the for­est of misinformation.

Also effec­tive was Anthony Beevor (D-Day: The Bat­tle for Nor­mandy), sup­ported by  Richard Overy (Uni­ver­sity of Exeter), who usu­ally just repeated Roberts’ points while sniff­ing at Knight’s. Stone seemed to want to talk about grow­ing up in post­war Britain, and what a bad pic­ture of him appeared in the papers.

What it came down to was a pow­er­ful attack by Buchanan (“We have come not to praise Churchill but to bury him”), who rolled out all the shib­bo­leths and out-of- con­text quotes from his book, from Churchill lead­ing the war party in 1914 to bomb­ing Dres­den in 1945. Pat labeled the failed attempt to occupy Nor­way in 1940 the “worst British deba­cle,” but later fas­tened a sim­i­lar title on the British guar­an­tee to Poland in 1939, omit­ting that it was Neville Cham­ber­lain who did that. Roberts called him, but Buchanan replied that, well, Churchill was “urg­ing Cham­ber­lain on,” for­get­ting that the last per­son Cham­ber­lain was lis­ten­ing to in March 1939 was Churchill. Nor­way as Deba­cle is some­what out­ranked by Sin­ga­pore, but not to worry, Knight trot­ted out Sin­ga­pore later. He was right that Churchill guessed wrong on Singapore—but so did the entire British mil­i­tary establishment.

Buchanan’s most orig­i­nal idea was that it wasn’t nec­es­sary to guar­an­tee Poland (which couldn’t be guar­an­teed, after all). Britain and France merely had to “draw a line down the mid­dle of Europe,” to the west of which they would throw all their armed might against any Ger­man aggression.

Say what? Debate where it should have been if you like—but Churchill’s whole pur­pose in life from 1933 onward was to get some­body, some­where, to draw that line, and nobody ever did. I think the Rhineland is to the west of Pat’s line, and we all know how the French and Stan­ley Bald­win responded to Hitler over that piece of real estate  (Finest Hour 141: 16).

Of the Pol­ish guar­an­tee, Churchill said basi­cally what Pat Buchanan said: “Here was deci­sion at last, taken at the worst pos­si­ble moment and on the least sat­is­fac­tory ground, which must surely lead to the slaugh­ter of tens of mil­lions of peo­ple.” (Alas one of the quotes Pat didn’t men­tion. Later Pat told me that Churchill only took that view in ret­ro­spect, in 1948. Prove it.)

Nigel Knight took the attack to the 1920s when, he said Churchill not only foisted the Gold Stan­dard on Britain, impov­er­ish­ing her for the war ahead, but dis­armed in the face of Hitler—whom Knight (but nobody else) divines was a seri­ous threat circa 1928, when the Nazis won 2.6% of the vote. It was of course the Bank of Eng­land that wanted the Gold Stan­dard, and not with­out rea­son, though this is an argu­ment far removed from the subject.

Knight landed one good punch by declaring—in sup­port of invad­ing France in 1943—that they used more land­ing craft in the inva­sion of Italy than in Nor­mandy. If that’s true, it’s an inter­est­ing point, but in his zeal Knight for­gets that in the final analy­sis, D-Day was post­poned through a series of deci­sions by Roo­sevelt, Churchill and their mil­i­tary advisers—and it was the wis­est of choices.

Anthony Beevor gamely replied, and the third bat­ters on each team fol­lowed suit, but it soon devel­oped into an exchange of “the real fact is that…” ver­sus “that is an appalling trav­esty of the truth.” Halfway through, I wanted to pull the plug on my monitor.

Mod­er­a­tor Joan Bakewell helped make the time drag by com­plain­ing about the sound and the light, and insist­ing on tak­ing ques­tions in bunches rather than one at a time. This nat­u­rally dis­tracted the debaters and got into all sorts of mud­dles, dropped threads and mis­taken rec­ol­lec­tions of the questions. The most inter­est­ing fac­tor, Bakewell con­cluded, was the dif­fer­ence between the two audi­ence votes, taken before and after the debate:

Vote taken………Before       After

For the Motion       118              181

Against                     1,167       1,194

Don’t know              422              34

Oho, Bakewell chor­tled: The pro-Churchill side added twenty-seven votes, but the anti-Churchill side added sixty-three! Her impli­ca­tion was that Buchanan and Co. had made seri­ous inroads.

Not really. The star­tling change was in the totals. Add them up and you’ll find that 1707 peo­ple were there to vote before the debate, but only 1409 after­ward. The rest appar­ently left early. Justifiably.


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Brendan Gleeson as WSC. (Photo by Susan Allnutt for HBO.))

Bren­dan Glee­son as WSC. (Susan All­nutt for HBO)

“Into the Storm,” a tele­vi­sion drama broad­cast by the BBC and HBO, pro­duced by Rid­ley Scott, directed by Thad­deus O’Sullivan, with Bren­dan Glee­son as Win­ston Churchill and Janet McTeer as Clemen­tine Churchill. Screen­play by Hugh Whitemore.

Then out spake brave Hor­atius,
The Cap­tain of the Gate:
“To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die bet­ter
Than fac­ing fear­ful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the tem­ples of his gods…”

—“Hor­atius,” stanza XXVII in Lays of Ancient Rome, by Thomas Bab­bing­ton Macaulay. Recited at the begin­ning and at the end of “Into the Storm.”

Here is a TV docu­d­rama pack­ing excep­tional hon­esty. An old man, at an age when most men retire (or in his time die), is handed com­mand of his nation, when no one else wants it, in the great­est cri­sis of her his­tory. They fight alone, save for their kith and kin, “the old lion and her lion cubs,” as he put it, “against hunters who are armed with deadly weapons.” And they win—only to see the old man dis­missed in the moment of victory.

The open­ing scene is Hen­daye, France, July 1945, where Churchill, his wife and daugh­ter Mary spend a week’s break between polling-day in the British Gen­eral Elec­tion and the start of the Pots­dam Con­fer­ence. Anx­ious for elec­tion returns (delayed for a fort­night to count the ser­vice vote) Churchill relives the past five years in a series of flash­backs. This is the film’s one jar­ring ele­ment: the back-and-forth occurs with­out obvi­ous tran­si­tion, and you have to remind your­self whether you are in the past or present. It is the only fault worth not­ing. The story is mas­sive, the action real, the his­tory hon­est, the dia­logue con­vinc­ing, the scenes art­ful, the act­ing superb.

Bren­dan Glee­son, who in life speaks with a heavy Irish brogue, is the best Churchill since Robert Hardy. He falls into none of the usual traps. Most Churchill imper­son­ators overdo the accent or the famous lisp, the V-sign or toi­let scenes or siren suits, the car­i­ca­tures painted by Lord Moran or Alan­brooke. Gleeson’s work was praised by WSC’s daugh­ter Lady Soames, the sternest of critics.

Hugh White­more, the sen­si­tive scriptwriter of Scott’s pre­ced­ing film, “The Gath­er­ing Storm,” has again helped by not load­ing the dia­logue with soar­ing rhetoric. “Papa spoke in pri­vate,” his daugh­ter says, “much as he did in pub­lic.” And here is the pri­vate Churchill, with doubts about win­ning, fears of the future, and faults of his own—for he was as human as any­one, freely admit­ted it, and often apol­o­gized for it, espe­cially to his wife.

Sev­eral quotes, though real enough, are taken out of time or con­text, but White­more blends them flaw­lessly into the story, and the stu­dent of Churchill’s words doesn’t mind. Sev­eral scenes—the famous “naked encounter” with Roo­sevelt is one—didn’t hap­pen that way, but are so seam­lessly inte­grated and well acted as to make them believ­able and accept­able. Churchill’s habits—like the manda­tory siesta which enabled him to work into the wee hours—are deftly con­veyed in a line of dia­logue. There is no bend­ing of his­tory for the sake of drama. Only the advanced pedant can object to the film’s artis­tic license.

Yalta, 1954: Gleeson, Cariou, Patrenko (HBO).

Yalta, 1945: Glee­son, Car­iou, Patrenko (HBO).

Janet McTeer is no Vanessa Red­grave, the arche­typal Clemen­tine in “The Gath­er­ing Storm.” She doesn’t even look like Clem­mie, falling short of the char­ac­ter described by her daugh­ter Mary’s biog­ra­phy. Though she gives WSC good advice, she seems more of a neu­rotic scold than a pil­lar of strength. It doesn’t mat­ter because Glee­son, “throws him­self into the char­ac­ter and com­pletely owns him,” as Daniel Carl­son writes, “from the non­stop cig­ars to the famous cadence of his speeches. Glee­son is believ­ably tough but doesn’t make Churchill a war­mon­ger or bully; if any­thing, he’s bur­dened by the thought of the boys he has sent to die.”

Carl­son has his fin­ger on the out­stand­ing qual­ity of this film: its sen­si­tiv­ity to Churchill’s true per­sona. Despite many oppor­tu­ni­ties for igno­rant polit­i­cal posturing—the lev­el­ing of Ger­man cities, for example—Scott and White­more always have Churchill say­ing what he truly believed—culled in this case from My Early Life (1930): “War, which used to be cruel and mag­nif­i­cent, has now become cruel and squalid.”

”Into the Storm” packs less depth than “The Gath­er­ing Storm”—like the per­se­cu­tion of Ralph Wigram for send­ing WSC secret reports on Ger­man rear­ma­ment, and the brav­ery of his wife Ava dur­ing threats against their fam­ily. But too much is going on for side­bars. This is World War II, remem­ber: the French deba­cleDunkirk, the Bat­tle of Britain, the BlitzPearl Har­borSin­ga­pore, the fraught meet­ings with Roo­sevelt (Len Car­iou) and Stalin (Alexy Patrenko), the all-or-nothing assault on Nor­mandy. Lead­er­ship is the plot, sub-plot and side­bar.

Some Churchillians have asked why Rid­ley Scott couldn’t have stopped at Pearl Har­bor, and done a third film later; why there couldn’t be mul­ti­ple parts; why it wasn’t a Churchill ver­sion of “Lord of the Rings.” Indeed, I crit­i­cized “The Gath­er­ing Storm” for skip­ping over Neville Cham­ber­lain and Munich. But the best edi­tor I ever worked for said: “A bore is some­one who tells every­thing.” And we are not film­mak­ers. We have no idea what con­straints the pro­duc­ers labored under. We do know that Rid­ley Scott had ninety min­utes. And what he does to por­tray the real Win­ston Churchill is a work of genius. 

My endur­ing impres­sion of “Into the Storm” is of an old man, real­iz­ing after the most heroic chap­ter in his country’s his­tory that his­tory itself has passed him by, the Britain he loved van­ished before his eyes. “The palmy days of Queen Vic­to­ria and a set­tled world order,” as Churchill put it in 1947, are gone for­ever. The war is won, the coun­try lost in a Social­ist dream. Hardly, alas, unfa­mil­iar: a sig­nal mes­sage in 2009.

A lot of us who grew up in Churchill’s time feel the way Churchill does at the end of this film, as he reads a sym­pa­thetic post-election note from his old friend Jack Seely: “I feel our world slip­ping away.” Churchill thinks back: “I met him in South Africa, rid­ing across the veldt. He was Col. Seely then. I saw him at the head of a col­umn of British cav­alry, rid­ing twenty yards in front, on a black horse. I thought of him as the very sym­bol of Impe­r­ial power.”

Watch­ing this film, I had the odd sen­sa­tion that it was well Britain chose World War II for what John Charm­ley called “The End of Glory.” British power and faith, focused one last time by a leader steeped in his­tory and lan­guage, held the fort “till those who hith­erto had been half blind were half ready.” Bet­ter to go out in a flash of light than face the long decline that seems now to attend another super­power. “The proud Amer­i­can will go down into his slav­ery with­out a fight,” Pravda (aston­ish­ingly) declared, “beat­ing his chest and pro­claim­ing to the world how free he really is.” That will take years. For Britain the End of Glory came in months.

“Yes, I’ve worked very hard and achieved a great deal,” Churchill reflected at the end of his long life, “only to achieve noth­ing in the end.” A life that rose to the heights of fame, the hon­ors of the world show­ered upon him—for what? “I feel,” he said, “like an aero­plane at the end of its flight, in the dusk, with the petrol run­ning out, in search of a safe landing.”

Not only he.

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