Posts tagged as:

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.


{ 1 comment }

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.

{ 1 comment }