Fires Were Started

I went to the Serpentine Gallery for the Derek Jarman exhibition at the weekend. It’s an inspiration, I tells ya.

It’s a show to coincide with Isaac Julien’s new doc about Jarman which I have real reservations about, but you can forget about that anyway. The poetry speaks for itself in the show, and I’m glad (especially in light of the documentary’s canonising of Derek J) that nothing fake or reverent gets between you and the beautiful pictures, moving and still.

In fact, it’s a very personal experience in the gallery, which is amazing for the Serpentine, which always feels overcrowded and fussy. You can collapse on puffy cushions and watch Blue in a communal experience or, even better, be surrounded by about 10 screens of varying sizes on which Super 8 films play - and these are just stunning powerful films which overwhlem you with play and liberation and, oooooh, just a total feeling that 98% of other films have no soul and look like they were made by mindless cynics.

And you know what else? So many people there, all immersed in these romantic wonders, all silent but together, all declaring a love for someone the world seems to ignore apart from these retrospectives when he’s remembered again. You feel like you’re in a club of amazing people - people who’ve strolled as if by magic into a new zone of mystery and possibility.

It’s so ace. I love the attention he’s getting - as this nice little film (maybe a bit pointlessly but it don’t matter) says. Now can everyone please remember he’s still relevant for the next few years? And oi, sorry to carp on, but can we make the real tribute to him be a celebration of the free romantic spirits that we still have before they die or give up?

Look, I know I sound curmudgeonly, and  I do hate complaining, but there’s actually easy practical stuff we can do - starting with celebrating and supporting good original stuff, and ignoring bad boring stuff. Otherwise, what’s the point? Shut the cinemas and turn off the TV signal. Can you ever imagine the literary equivalent of Jarman being so subject to the ebb and flow of chattering class opinion?