Lincoln

The test of a movie, I always think, is not so much the impact it has on one in the cinema, but whether it lives on in one’s mind in the days and weeks afterwards. Spielberg’s Lincoln, which we saw last night, passes that test with flying colours. There are lots of reasons for admiring the movie, and most of them have been extensively rehashed by critics more knowledgeable than me, so I won’t dwell on them here, except to say that Daniel Day-Lewis’s performance as Lincoln is truly awe-inspiring in capturing the greatness and the humanity of the man: his inner confidence, his conversational style, his unique combination of patience and impatience, his combination of realism and idealism, his wit. And, above all, his weariness.

And who would have thought that you could make a Hollywood blockbuster out of 150 minutes of pure dialogue? But actually the film’s dialogue is a work of genius. Or, more precisely, of a genius, name of Tony Kushner, who strove not just for wit and sparkle, but also for historical accuracy. He worked with the 20-volume OED by his side, checking the historical accuracy of the terms used by the characters. The only made-up word, he told the Boston Globe, was “grousle” — used by Lincoln in exasperation at the cavilling of his cabinet: “You grousle and heckle and dodge about”, he expostulates, “like pettifogging Tammany Hall hucksters.” The dialogue I enjoyed most, however, came not from Lincoln but from Thaddeus Stevens (played by Tommy Lee Jones), whose withering scorn for his political opponents left this viewer awestruck with admiration. (I used to be a TV critic, and so am a connoisseur of invective.) When he moderated his radical stance (he was a fervent believer that all men are created equal) for pragmatic reasons to the statement that “all men are equal before the law”, he was challenged by George Pendelton of Ohio on whether he believed that all men were equal. “You”, he said, staring at Pendleton, “are more reptile than man, George, so low and flat that the foot of man is incapable of crushing you.”

What’s most admirable about the movie is its willingness to embrace the complexity of the story of the Thirteenth Amendment. Politics is always a messy business, and politics in time of war is even messier. What the movie brings out brilliantly, though, is how politics is the art of the possible. It shows Lincoln achieving a supremely worthwhile end (enshrining the outlawing of slavery in the Constitution) by dubious – but not illegal — means. It leaves one thinking romantically about Churchill’s trope about democracy being “the worst system — except for all the others”. And shaking one’s head at the mess that Lincoln’s successors have made of his legacy.

I’ll have Wikipedia and chips, please

Wonderful story in The Register about Jimmy Wales’s explanation for the popularity of Wikipedia in Chinese restaurants.

Wales also dropped some fascinating vignettes about the online encyclopedia. The organization was banned in China until the Beijing Olympics, and is still not as popular with local internet users as it is in the rest of the world. But the name has started cropping up on local restaurant menus.

He showed images sent in of menus listing beef brisket with Wikipedia, stir fried Wikipedia with peppers, steamed eggs with Wikipedia, and even a bread company that takes its name from the site. The Chinese Wikipedia editors are mystified by this, but Wales suggested a hypothesis.

“What we figured out was that just around the time of the Beijing Olympics a lot of restaurants were expecting millions of foreigners to flood into the county for the first time,” he said. “Restaurants that wouldn’t normally see foreigners decided to translate their menus and if you type almost anything into a search engine what’s the first thing that comes up? Wikipedia.”

Wales also showed off some country statistics that raised a few chuckles. The most popular type of category for Wikipedia articles in Japanese is pop culture information, he said, which given the country’s documented obsession with such matters is unsurprising.

But in German the most popular topic is geography, which raised a smattering of chuckles from those who know their 20th Century history. In France, one of the least popular categories was sex, which Wales attributed to the fact that the population spent more time actually having sex and so was less inclined to read about it.

The futility of wanting to be liked

I’m not a fan of David Cameron, but I had given him the benefit of the doubt on the same-sex marriage Bill. My feeling was that he could only have embarked on such a divisive issue (divisive for his party, that is) because he believed passionately in the cause. But Geoffrey Wheatcroft, in a perceptive piece in today’s Guardian puts it down to political ineptitude: it was part of his campaign to de-toxify the Tory party. “Of all Cameron’s own goals”, Wheatcroft writes,

none is stranger than the same-sex marriage bill. Try to set aside the rights and wrongs and look at this in terms of brute calculation of political advantage (and that’s how politicians do view matters, whatever they may say to the contrary). Bear in mind that Cameron’s critics are correct when they say that same-sex marriage was in neither the Tory manifesto (or any other party’s) or the coalition agreement.

To make this clearer, go back 45 or more years, as some of us can, to the famous liberal reforms passed by parliament under Harold Wilson’s government in the late 1960s, on abortion, homosexuality and divorce. I am old enough not only to remember them but to have collected signatures when I was an undergraduate on a petition for the repeal of the existing law criminalising homosexuality, one of my last political activities and for all I know my only good deed.

But although the bills were passed under the Wilson government, they were not introduced by it. They were all private members’ bills. Abortion reform was sponsored by a recently elected Liberal called David Steel, and homosexual decriminalisation by Leo Abse, an eccentric Labour MP (and by another eccentric who deserves to be remembered with honour, “Boofy” the Earl of Arran, a Wodehousian peer who bravely steered the bill through the Lords).

As a result, although the measures were contentious, there was no animosity between parties – or within them, a contrast indeed with this latest episode. So why did Cameron bring in the bill? The answer given by his somewhat diminished claque of sycophantic admirers in the media is that it was part of his mission to detoxify the Conservatives and show they aren’t the “nasty party” any more. In that case he conspicuously failed in his own terms, since more Tory MPs voted against the bill than for it. He has merely reminded us that he is the weak leader of a bitterly divided party.

Wheatcroft’s point is that the Tories were not brought into this world to be ‘nice’. They’re supposed to be competent, he says, and to protect the world for the wilder enthusiasms of the liberal mind. But Cameron doesn’t match up to that elementary requirement — which is why a new poll ranks him just ahead of John Major and Gordon Brown in the competence stakes.

Hiding in plain sight

The other day a colleague related an aphorism he had picked up in conversation with someone who had been in Tony Blair’s inner circle during his time in government:

“The best way to bury bad news is to publish it on the front page of the Guardian, because then the Daily Mail won’t touch it.”

It sounds like something from an Armando Iannucci script, but I’m sure it’s true. It’s also perceptive, as the phone-hacking story demonstrated: for over a year the story was doggedly pursued by the Guardian while the rest of the UK Fourth Estate determinedly looked the other way.

And then I remembered one of Marshall McLuhan’s aphorisms:

“Only puny secrets need protection. Big discoveries are protected by public incredulity.”

Which of course brought to mind the case of John Edwards’s extramarital affair, news of which was first brought to the world by the National Inquirer, a journal of, er, highly-blemished reputation which admits to paying for information and other breaches of Best Practice as taught by US journalism schools. Because the story was broken by the Inquirer, mainstream media wouldn’t touch it at first.

So maybe the best contemporary advice for Cameron & Co when they want to bury bad news is to by-pass the Guardian and go straight to the Daily Star.

Google drops sweetener to French media…

…in order to persuade the French to forget about that nasty “link tax” idea. Well, that’s how The Register describes the deal reached by Google Chairman Eric Schmidt and the French President on Friday. Google, unsurprisingly, describes it in more statesmanlike tones: “Google creates €60m Digital Publishing Innovation Fund to support transformative French digital publishing initiatives”.

Of the two, I’m afraid I’m more convinced by the Register‘s interpretation.

Frederic Filloux’s take on it is here. Excerpt:

Dealing with Google requires a mastery of two critical elements: technology (with the associated economics), and the legal aspect. Contractually speaking, it means transparency and enforceability. Let me explain.

Google is a black box. For good and bad reasons, it fiercely protects the algorithms that are key to squeezing money from the internet, sometimes one cent at a time — literally. If Google consents to a cut of, say, advertising revenue derived from a set of contents, the partner can’t really ascertain whether the cut truly reflects the underlying value of the asset jointly created – or not. Understandably, it bothers most of Google’s business partners: they are simply asked to be happy with the monthly payment they get from Google, no questions asked. Specialized lawyers I spoke with told me there are ways to prevent such opacity. While it’s futile to hope Google will lift the veil on its algorithms, inserting an audit clause in every contract can be effective; in practical terms, it means an independent auditor can be appointed to verify specific financial records pertaining to a business deal.

Another key element: From a European perspective, a contract with Google is virtually impossible to enforce. The main reason: Google won’t give up on the Governing Law of a contract that is to be “Litigated exclusively in the Federal or States Courts of Santa Clara County, California”. In other words: Forget about suing Google if things go sour. Your expensive law firm based in Paris, Madrid, or Milan will try to find a correspondent in Silicon Valley, only to be confronted with polite rebuttals: For years now, Google has been parceling out multiples pieces of litigation among local law firms simply to make them unable to litigate against it. Your brave European lawyer will end up finding someone that will ask several hundreds thousands dollars only to prepare but not litigate the case. The only way to prevent this is to put an arbitration clause in every contract. Instead of going before a court of law, the parties agrees to mediate the matter through a private tribunal. Attorneys say it offers multiples advantages: It’s faster, much cheaper, the terms of the settlement are confidential, and it carries the same enforceability as a Court order.

The Zen of Python

Beautiful is better than ugly.
Explicit is better than implicit.
Simple is better than complex.
Complex is better than complicated.
Flat is better than nested.
Sparse is better than dense.
Readability counts.
Special cases aren’t special enough to break the rules.
Although practicality beats purity.
Errors should never pass silently.
Unless explicitly silenced.
In the face of ambiguity, refuse the temptation to guess.
There should be one– and preferably only one –obvious way to do it.
Although that way may not be obvious at first unless you’re Dutch.
Now is better than never.
Although never is often better than *right* now.
If the implementation is hard to explain, it’s a bad idea.
If the implementation is easy to explain, it may be a good idea.
Namespaces are one honking great idea — let’s do more of those!

By Tim Peters.

Restaurants Turn Camera Shy

Tired of people tweeting what they’re about to eat? Well, according to the NYTimes, so are high-end restauranteurs.

When it comes to people taking photographs of their meals, the chef David Bouley has seen it all. There are the foreign tourists who, despite their big cameras, tend to be very discreet. There are those who use a flash and annoy everyone around them. There are those who come equipped with gorillapods — those small, flexible tripods to use on their tables.

There are even those who stand on their chairs to shoot their plates from above.

“We get on top of those folks right away or else it’s like a circus,” Mr. Bouley said.

Just for the record, I’m having tea and toast with home-made marmalade at the moment. Not worth a photograph.