Bah. Bah. Bah!
Can I write this, having not read Dante’s Inferno? I’m not sure. Steven Knight must have. The whole series is littered with references to hell and the journey there and back. Maybe, as a proud worshipper of Jim Steinman, this is one of the things that attracted me to the series. This Town, available on BBC iPlayer, was recommended to me by my best friend, and my most trusted media guru.
I’d have loved to be a TV journalist, but the effort it would take to get all these thoughts into an order that made sense, and actually gave people the kind of useful information they would want or need, wouldn’t make it very cost effective. So, instead, maybe some people will read this and watch the programme if they haven’t, smile at how obvious all my comments are or look back on it in a different way.
I haven’t seen the final episode yet. I don’t want it to end. Also, I feel as though the ending might force me to see some things differently, and I just want to hold on to this feeling for a bit longer.
The fact that Dante’s poetry is the first thing we hear (I think), might make my observation that it is the most literary piece of TV I can remember seeing in a while seem ridiculously obvious. I love TV, and I have possibly said something very similar if not exactly the same about some other things I have seen, but still, I mean it. I fell into the literary structure of ‘This Town', the symbols, motifs, themes are so perfectly expressed, I don’t know how else you could see it really. I nearly tried to use a simile here, but I’ll leave that to Kae Tempest in this case.
Watching ‘This Town’ has made me think about creativity, being human and all the issues that go with that, just as any great work of fiction should. My analytical, English/Media teacher brain has had the best time, writing little bits of analysis in my head as I’ve watched. The more I saw, the more I was pulled to make notes, until I told my bestie that I felt like writing an essay, and she said ‘do it’, so I am. Trying to. I’ll get there.
Knight sets the story, predominantly, in Birmingham and Coventry in 1981- with several trips over the sea to Belfast or down the motorway to London. He charts a descent from abstinence to sex, drugs and violence on one hand, and a rise from following paths that seem set in stone, to breaking free and finding purpose on the other. Set against the grim concrete of the M6, council estates and the two worlds of the ‘ra’ and the gangs, fighting for power.
This context lends itself perfectly to asking the questions that, to me at least, Knight seems to be asking. Why do we fight rather than sing? Why does creativity so often go hand in hand with vices? Why are artists so often lonely, or alone? Why do some people dedicate their time to sourcing ingredients for bombs rather than looking for the perfect drummer to make a band sound a bit more ‘beat up’? We’re not all living in The Troubles, or in any of the wars currently blighting our world, but literature, literary TV, makes us question how we fit into this world. Have we found the people who fit with us? Have we listened to the birds? Do we have connections that mean we’ll never be alone? Like Estella?
Knight asks us these questions through the plot, the characters and every aspect of cinematography available to him. The mise-en-scene is dark and grainy, but punctuated with flashes of neon lights: the cars racing along the M6, street lights flashing, IRA explosives or gun fires. Sometimes these seem symbolic of God, or artistic inspiration, mainly for Dante. But at other times they evoke the fear of violence and death and the ‘hell’ that so many of the characters are fighting to escape. Appreciating the lights on the M6 is depicted as ‘weird’ or magical, depending on the character.
Bridges are used throughout, as shelter, potential homes, divine meeting points, a prospective suicide location. Scenes on top of and underneath the spaghetti junction make sure that we know where we are: slap bang in the middle of England.
The wardrobe and make- up is blummin’ stunning. A moment for Dante’s ‘I do what I want’ cat/ sunset t shirt. Dante finds his inner dancer when he puts on his dad’s hat for his nan’s funeral, from that point on knowing that he wants to make music. (Edit- I’ve now googled The Specials and realise this is a respectful nod to them from Knight- thanks AH) I haven’t watched ‘Peaky Blinders’ but hats are clearly a thing for Knight.
Bardom steals a leather jacket from a back room full of ‘liberated’ goods and becomes a rock star, using his velvety voice for Dante’s words rather than the traditional Irish ballads and dancing he has been performing previously.
Estella’s hair and smeared mascara is iconically 80s, the trauma she has experienced is apparent in every curl. I’m in awe of the realism created by hair and makeup- in avoiding the big perms and shell-suits that we are bored of seeing recreated in TV or film - something for which ‘Stranger Things’ set the tone.
Jeannie’s Madonna inspired bright red lipstick maybe symbolises her rebellion from her Catholic background but also from the gangs she is connected to. The fishnets, the football scarf (which team? Or is it generic?). Of all of the young characters, she is the one who seems to have done the most to disentangle herself from a world she wants to leave- and the first to see the potential in Dante’s genius.
Fiona cuts her hair in an attempt to impress Dante after hearing a song he wrote for his nan, what changes are we pushed or compelled to make for the people around us?
Knight scripts dozens of questions in the first two or three episodes. Dante and Bardon asking ‘why?’ too often for the ‘adults’ who need them to just listen and do as they are told- not realising that they are passing on generational trauma rather than the values and belief systems that they might claim to instil. Gregory seems to be offered as a blueprint for escape, retribution and reconciliation. His sleek silhouette and gold chain have chameleon properties: he fits in with the gangs as much as he does with his arm around his brother and dad.
Catholicism, racism, gang culture, police brutality, the history of musical genres such as reggae and ska, all feature in the six episodes, but they fit in a different piece of writing. Amz? Maybe one for you there? I’m waiting for episode six with an uncomfortable, Shakespearean tension. Will music save the group of young people who are so at risk of sinking into the inferno, or will sacrifices be made in order for the warfare to pause?
Episode 6 SPOILERS ahead:
I have to stop writing, and mark the hundreds of essays that I have ignored so far during this school holiday. But. Thank you Steven Knight, for such a bloody gorgeous, heart-warming and uplifting end to this series. To focus so cleverly on the stories of characters that were best friends to me within seconds, whilst showing respect for the time and place in which their story is set- genius.
Music does save. So does family: blood and found. Estella and Deuce leaving the drink behind to go and watch their children rehearse had me in tears. Welcoming back the needle marked drummer and somehow making the music venue’s opening night seem a million miles away from the ‘real’ business that Robbie Carmen has planned- GENIUS.
I have family in Warrington, and I have horrible, vague memories of the 1993 IRA bombing that killed two children. I think that’s part of the reason that I felt on edge for the final episode. I honestly didn’t know if we would all survive. I’m glad we did.
There’s so much more to say! With their tanks and their bombs and their bombs and their guns. Rushes were made, and music was saved. Baby don’t worry, about a thing. Bluebirds fly.
Bah. Bah. Bah! BAHBAHBAHBAHBAHBAHBAHBAHBAHBAHBAHBAH!!!!!!!
P.S
Have you read Dante’s Inferno?
What stood out for you in ‘This Town’
Comment below!