Rogue One - a grimly great Star Wars tale

If you are looking for a 'soft and cuddly' Star Wars movie, then Rogue One is not the one you're looking for.

Expect hard edges and the grim realities of life under the Imperial boot in this tale about a group of unvarnished misfits willing to sacrifice everything to strike at the Galactic overlords.

With Rogue One, director Gareth Edwards takes the Star Wars story deep into the dim and dark territory that paid dividends for The Empire Strikes Back and made it the standout episode of the original trilogy.

Rogue One’s realism and its portrayal of the grey areas that exist between the light and dark of good and evil, give it a grown-up feel. There are enough nods in the direction of the main series to firmly anchor it within the Star Wars universe, but its self-contained story arc is not subservient to the Skywalker/Jedi/Force narrative of the main saga.

Felicity Jones, who plays the lead role, has tagged it as Star Wars 3.5, referring to the episodic nature of the film franchise, in which the original Star Wars is now known as Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope.

Chronologically, the events depicted in the film occur in the run-up to the original 1977 blockbuster, with Rogue One ending 10 minutes before the opening scene of A New Hope.

However, don't be put off if you are unfamiliar with the Star Wars saga, because a new viewer should be able to enjoy and follow this film without prior knowledge of either what came before or after, although they will miss out on a lot of symbolism and foreshadowing.

This is a standalone from the main series and is the first such departure. A further two standalones are planned, along with two more episodes in the main series.

Rogue One is a welcome return to gritty realism. It is self-contained with no obvious follow-on (aside from 1977's A New Hope). The characters are introduced, have their adventure and the tale concludes. Rogue One is decidedly dark and far from Disney-fied.

Bleak realism dominates. We see the struggle of the rebel alliance, and the wayward, raggle-taggle elements that are involved. Many of the locations are strikingly dimmer than we have come to expect in the Star Wars realm, including the opening scenes on a tundra-like world (filmed in Iceland). Darkly lit scenes add to a feeling of oppression, as does the nondescript clothing of the Rogue One team, which is a mass of blacks and grey. However, this compounds the already frustrating task of differentiating one character from another, as many lack distinguishing attributes and blend in as much of a muchness.

Jones stands out in her role as Jyn Erso, a plucky misfit. Sadly, her backstory is never divulged to the extent that it should have been, and consequently Erso lacks a truly engaging presence. This is not the fault of Jones, whose character portrayal lifts Erso above the band of rebellious cohorts.

There are other exceptions; droid K-2SO (played by Alan Tudyk) is a Star Wars classic, and the Jedi-like follower Chirrut Imwe (Donnie Yen) stands out, but the stronger sense of individuality and identity so masterfully achieved in the original trilogy is missing from Rogue One. Forest Whitaker is wasted in his small role. His character, Saw Gerrera, had scope to be a far more fascinating addition to the story.

As seems obligatory in movies today, the story rushes headlong towards the next development at the expense of allowing time for characters to grow and express themselves, or to reveal inner conflicts satisfactorily.

The grand battle in the final quarter of the movie will have its fans, but Star Wars cheapens itself by plumping for hefty war film stylistics. The original trilogy was all the better for relying on character development and interaction and less on half-an-hour runarounds with all guns blazing.

The fleeting return of three strong characters from the original movie (two through the wonders of digital technology), nicely ties Rogue One to the epic storyline to follow, and Edwards skillfully guides the film’s finale to the point where the 1977 classic lifts off.

Rogue One is a grown-up Star Wars adventure that entertains and delights. It succeeds in demonstrating the reality of a rebellion against evil overlords - the squalor and unglamorous realities of half-victories and sacrifices. A little more character focus, a little less wham-bam, and this could well have been a classic. As it is, Rogue One is a solid entry in the top four best Star Wars films.

The hurricane and the bee

The bee during the 'eye of the hurricane' interlude as Hurricane Nicole traversed the island

The night before Hurricane Nicole arrived I went outside onto the front porch to feel the fresh breeze blowing across Bermuda.

It was October 12, and by the following morning the island would be in the grips of the hurricane. Nicole was a Category 4 hurricane, although was to weaken to a powerful Cat 3 by the time she reached the island's shores.

From the light that shone through the open door behind me I spotted a shape on one side of the small wall that bounded the porch area. At first I guessed it was a tree frog, but on closer inspection I realised it was a bee. A bee that had perhaps lost its way, or run out of energy, and now was resting for the night far from the safety of its hive.

The bee was motionless, no doubt sleeping. As I went back indoors, I wondered if the insect would survive the night and find its way home before the storm hit.

The following morning, as hurricane winds started to build, I again checked how things were on the front porch. The wind was blowing from the east, which meant the porch was sheltered, providing a vantage point to watch the trees bending and the rain lashing. And there on the wall, although now perched on the flat top, was the bee. It was still motionless, but had moved during the night. For the time being it was protected from the ravages of the hurricane by the lee of the cottage, so long as it did not try to fly away.

The next time I checked was around midday as the eye of the hurricane passed over the island. During the eye the wind subsided; there was an hour or so of perfect, but slightly eerie stillness. The bee appeared to have survived the first half of the hurricane, but it was not moving.

I studied it for signs of life and concluded that it had perished after its night in the open, and its morning exposed to the elements of the hurricane. Then one of its small antenna moved a fraction. It was still alive, but must have been at its weakest. Could it be revived?

In a bid to assist, I mixed some water and a sugar cube in a cup to create a sweet liquid. Using a teaspoon I poured some of the liquid in front of the bee. The liquid quickly spread around on the surface of the wall, going around and beneath the bee.

Suddenly aware of the liquid, the insect started to move and drink the sweet solution.  The bee was no longer inanimate, it was walking around. Another small teaspoon of the sweet drink was poured on the wall, and again the bee responded to the helping of liquid energy.

I went indoors for a moment, and when I returned the bee had gone. It had flown away.

Would it now be able to complete its journey to the hive and safety before the second half of the hurricane? The eye of the storm moved away and the wind howled from the opposite direction. Had the bee still been on the porch it would not have survived the battering that came during the next few hours.

Now, many weeks later, as I walk through the garden I occasionally catch a glimpse of a bee or two, and I wonder if one of them might be the 'hurricane bee' that tenaciously held on during the storm.

BELOW: A short video of Hurricane Nicole, including the bee during the eye of the storm:

Love the song #2: Galway Girl

This is the second in an occasional series where I highlight a song that particularly inspires, uplifts or simply grabs me.

When it comes to an uplifting song, this version of Galway Girl, by Mundy with Sharon Shannon, takes some beating. From the first note to the last it has an infectious joy that touches the soul. Mundy's soaring vocals and mandolin playing are faultless. With the smiling Sharon Shannon, one of the most accomplished accordion players in the world, also on stage and driving the melody, you can't help but wish this performance would last forever.

The party atmosphere of the audience further enhances the life-affirming essence of the song, as does the stage full of performers and guests. And if you look closely, you'll catch a glimpse of Glen Hansard, singer with The Frames and star of the film Once, adding backing vocals.

Shannon was once a member of The Waterboys, playing on the 1990 album Room to Roam before enjoying considerable success as a solo artist. Her wonderful, instrumental debut album, Sharon Shannon, was released in 1991 and is the biggest-selling album of traditional Irish folk music.

As one commentator noted, this performance of Galway Girl should be essential daily viewing as it lifts the heart and the spirit.

Life's journey among the isles

A cairn on the abandoned island of Mingulay,. Beyond are the islands of Pabbay, Sanday, Vatersay and Barra.

BOOK REVIEW: My Journey by Elizabeth Campbell (Acair Books)

Elizabeth Campbell's autobiography

Although only 67 when she died, and having spent the majority of her days in one of the remotest parts of the British Isles, Elizabeth Campbell saw the world transformed during her lifetime.

Born in 1913, she grew up in a community where homes had bare dirt floors and where shoeless children were the norm. She witnessed the mixture of marvel and trepidation that greeted the appearance of the first car on the island of Barra, and she could recollect the famous shipwrecking of a cargo vessel loaded with whisky, as well as the arrival on the island of gramophones and finally electricity.

Campbell was a teacher all her life, mostly in Barra and Vatersay, but also in Glasgow.

She quietly lived most of her life in the Western Isles. In 1977, the year before she retired, she was bestowed the honour of MBE for services to the community of Vatersay, and she travelled to Buckingham Palace to receive the award from the Queen Mother.

In 1980 she completed writing her autobiography, Air Mo Chuairt [My Journey], in her native Gaelic. She died the following year. In 1982 the book was published. Now, 34 years on, an English translation has been released for the first time.

My Journey reveals what it was like to grow up and live on one of the islands of the Outer Hebrides. Campbell chronicles her life from childhood, when her father was away serving in the First World War, through her school years, the dances and ceilidhs, the weddings and how it was to walk the length of the island to reach the main town of Castlebay.

The shipwrecking of the SS Politician off the coast of the nearby island of Eriskay, an event later immortalised in the film Whisky Galore, is also recollected by Campbell, who was then in her late 20s.

She chose teaching as her profession and it was a career that lasted for 40 years.

In My Journey she does a tremendous job of creating a sense of place, setting and time, giving voice to her recollections in a natural, everyday manner. Indeed, reading the autobiography almost feels like being in Campbell’s company, sitting in her front room and listening to her stories.

Among the tales is an encounter with an elderly, former resident of Mingulay, the remote island to the south of Vatersay that was abandoned in 1912. Campbell does a fine job weaving in enlightening facts about the history of the islands, including stories of Mingulay.

Ruins at Uidh on Vatersay

My Journey takes readers back to a world far removed from the often frantic one of today. Community spirit was all encompassing, traditions were well observed, and even though worldly possessions were scant, the people were happy.

The children of the villages went barefoot, they had no choice. When new tackery boots arrived they would compete to see who could keep theirs in the best condition for the longest time. "Often a young girl would have them on a table beside her bed at night," writes Campbell in one of many touching vignettes that jump from the pages of My Journey.

The first car arrived in Barra in 1926, of which Campbell said: "People were truly amazed watching it (nearly lost the two eyes). If an old man or old woman was walking on the road, on seeing the car miles off they would dive off the road and run up on the hillside as fast as they could."

There are a few moments that are touched upon more than once, and therefore appear to carry extra poignancy for Campbell. One is the striking image of a boy declaring his independence from school life, in the days when children were allowed to leave school when they turned 14.

"One day a young 'hero' was fully ready to leave school the very day of his birthday," recollects Campbell. The bell rang and the schoolmaster called the boy to join the others inside the school grounds. "But instead the lad gave a speech informing the whole world that he was this day in a heaven of his own, free from all the restrictions that did not appeal to him. Thus he stood with one hand on his hip, the other raised upwards to the sky, and happy as one ever seen he bounded off over the hill of the bay. But that did him no harm. He got on well in the world, though his life was cut short. Each time I see that bridge, the memory of the 'Highland Fling' comes back to me."

Campbell's descriptive and highly accessible writing style is as much of a joy as the tales she relates. A good example is the story of George, who was the first to bring to Barra a gramophone player, complete with an elegant long horn.

"We thought the voice came from the next world! George used to take it on the rounds to each and every house in the village, and our group always followed him. Those who could not fit inside the house were like leftovers outside the door."

Later on we hear about that arrival of electricity in Barra in 1967, soon followed by television - or "the box".

Although there are moments when the book becomes almost a stream of conscience as anecdotes finish abruptly and a new thread is taken up, these instances are few and far between and hardly detract from the otherwise compelling narrative.

Kisimul Castle, in the harbour at Castlebay, Barra

During Campbell’s lifetime Gaelic was widely spoken across the Western Isles, but from an early age she was aware that it was viewed as "the language of the working people" in comparison to English. However, it is abundantly clear that Gaelic was, and is, one of the most important bonding elements within the island communities. And Campbell states her belief that even in the future native islanders "will allow no one under the sun to push Gaelic backwards out of the way".

Towards the end of the book, as she reflects on her life she wonders if the modern generation are as happy and fulfilled as she was in her youth.

"I don’t see young girls picking flowers as they did in my day. Neither do I hear young people complaining of lack of money. There is no word now of working hard all week to earn the shilling entrance fee for the dance. Everything is so easy for them, perhaps they are just as happy in their state as we were in our youth, but it is difficult to believe that," she writes

Though it was more than 50 years distant at the time she completed her autobiography, Campbell remembered the opening of the Northbay Hall in the late 1920s, and the first community dance held there and the happy steps and the noisy clatter on the floorboards.

Over the years there was plenty of joy and some hardships, but even the latter - such as clambering on hands and knees across rocks and seaweed to reach the little ferry that linked Barra and Vatersay - had an endearing edge.

My Journey is a pleasure to read with its vivid documentation of a world now mostly vanished, and is a reminder of how things once were, and how important it is to enjoy life’s journey through the good times, the hard times and all manifestations in between.

Air Mo Chuairt by Ealasaid Chaimbeul [My Journey by Elizabeth Campbell] is published by Stornaway-based Acair Books.

The first half of the new edition features the original Gaelic version. It is followed by a supporting English translation, compiled by another Barra native and teacher, Mary Flora Galbraith. Galbraith has done a sterling job bringing the book to a wider audience and preserving much of the flavour and quirks of the Gaelic original in the translated version, which includes numerous enlightening footnotes.

Love the song #1: Stronger - Kelly Clarkson

Kelly Clarkson in a video dance scene for 'Stronger'. Guitarist Cory Churko is just over her shoulder

This is the first in an occasional series where I'll highlight a song that particularly inspires, uplifts or simply grabs me. The tunes will appear in no particular order.

First up is Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You) by Kelly Clarkson. Although it was released five years ago, I only recently came across it for the first time when, by chance, I heard a snippet of it being played as incidental background music.

Kelly Clarkson was the first winner of the American Idol TV talent show in 2002, and despite some obstacles along the way she went on to forge herself a very successful career,

Stronger is an infectious, rock-anthem whirlwind. Clarkson's vocal delivery captures the empowering essence of the song's theme. Yes, the lyrics don't go deep, but then they don't have to. The message is simple, pretty much universally understood, and delivered with a stomping, punchy verve.

The song features some great guitar playing by Cory Churko, who is a mainstay of Clarkson's band and is also a key figure in Shania Twain's current backing band. Churko can be seen in the official video, both as a member of the band and in the flash mob dance scene led by Clarkson.

The video is as uplifting and fun as the song, with some great choreography for the aforementioned flash mob dance scene, which includes a few light-hearted kung fu fighting moves from Clarkson. The video is interspersed with clips submitted by fans doing their own dance interpretations of the song. Both as a song and video, Stronger is a feel-good wonder.

Here is the video:

Farewell to "Mr Happy Man"

Johnny Barnes with his statue on East Broadway.

Bermuda awoke on Saturday to the news that Johnny Barnes, "Mr Happy Man", had died at the age of 93.

For the last 30 years Mr Barnes has wished commuters a happy day, waving, blowing kisses and saying "I love you" as he stood next to the main roundabout junction leading into the capital city of Hamilton.

Since retiring from work, he has spent the last three decades getting up in the middle of the night to make his way to the roundabout by foot, in time to spread greetings of unconditional love to commuters.

It mattered not who you were, for Johnny the message was "one love". He'd wave, blow kisses and call out "I love you" continuously from 4am to 10am every weekday. He never missed a day, unless a hurricane was blowing or he was ill.

In fact, shortly after I arrived in Bermuda I saw the panic that gripped the community when Mr Barnes was not seen at his usual perch for three consecutive days. The radio chat shows were full of it, the phones at our newspaper office were ringing with concerned callers wanting to know where was Johnny.  As it turned out, it was one of the rare occasions when an illness prevented him performing his daily ritual. But he was back in place a few days later. Panic over!

It was in 1986 that Mr Barnes began his astonishing, virtually unbroken 30 years as an ambassador for love and happiness. However, he had been making occasional roadside gestures of goodwill to all-comers for many decades before, even as far back as the late 1940s when he worked on the now long-vanished Bermuda Railway.

In 1998 a bronze statue of Mr Barnes was created by artist Desmond Fountain and for the past almost 20 years has stood about 100 metres further along the East Broadway approach road. The statue wonderfully captures his open embrace for all.

With Mr Barnes at his greeting spot in 2009

When I first saw the statue I thought how unique, but remarkably fitting it was to have such an honor for a man who was very much still around and continuing to have an uplifting impact on people's lives. Of all the quirks of life in Bermuda, Johnny Barnes and his morning greetings was one that has always deeply resonated with me. And though the East Broadway roundabout has never been on my usual commute route, it always felt special when I did happen to pass through that way and received a fleeting greeting from Johnny.

I twice stopped to chat with Mr Barnes. His friendly, effervescence was infectious. On one of those occasions he handed me a postcard, featuring a photo of himself with the Desmond Fountain-created statue (pictured above), and a simple message on the back. It was a greeting card he handed to many people - islanders and visitors alike. The message read "Johnny Barnes. I love you. God bless you."

In 2011, American filmmaker Matt Morris made an award-winning 10-minute documentary about Mr Barnes, fittingly titled Mr Happy Man.

The following year, Mr Barnes fell at his regular spot. At almost 90, he struggled to get back on to his feet, and this incident led to calls from the public for a seat to be installed for the local legend. A tiny wooden bench, big enough for one, along with a wooden handrail were duly put in place for Mr Barnes.

As an example of the deep affection with which Mr Barnes was held by many a newspaper article in The Royal Gazette reporting the passing of Mr Barnes and featuring tributes, published on Saturday morning, had been "liked' almost 6,000 times on Facebook by Saturday evening.

Bermuda's Premier, Michael Dunkley, was quoted as saying Johnny Barnes was "a remarkable, original man whose life gave life to the love we all have in our hearts, and who, from his roundabout perch each morning, expressed that love to all who passed by — friend, acquaintance, stranger, it did not matter, because Johnny Barnes embraced the human race".

That loving embrace that Mr Barnes showed the world lives on. It is reflected in the statue on East Broadway, and in his own words as he explained to movie maker Mr Morris his reasons for engaging with people in the manner that he did. (see video below).

Farewell, Mr Happy Man.

Reflecting on Glastonbury Festival 1987

Tents at the Glastonbury Festival in June 1987. Some 60,000 (likely 100,000 unofficially) slept under canvas

Car henge - installation art in a field

No one said the Glastonbury Festival would be easy, but then no one had to. I was intent on experiencing the revered and much storied event, and if that meant hitch-hiking 100 miles with all I could carry crammed into a rucksack, so be it.

What lay ahead was an adventure I would not forget. It was 1987 and the Glastonbury Festival was about to undergo a watershed moment in its evolution. And by watershed I'm not referring to the "right on cue" deluge of rain that assisted in turning the fields into muddy quagmires, assisted by the trampling feet of the 60,000 official attendees and tens of thousands of gatecrashers and fence jumpers.

Actually, in the history of the Glastonbury Festival, 1987 was not one of the famed wash-out years, however, mud was a hazard thanks to at least one day of abundant "liquid sunshine".

In a few days' time Glastonbury Festival 2016 will get underway in Somerset, England, marking the 34th edition of the music and cultural gathering that has a history spanning 46 years. This made me reflect on my own Glastonbury experience, when I attended for the first (and so far only) time.

Accompanying these words are photographs I took at the festival, capturing elements of the travelling community, the music fans and alternative lifestyles that mingled, potpourri-style, like a lost in time, raggle-taggle nomadic tribe scattered across the fields of ancient Avalon.

In 1987 the festival was considered well-established, although looking back from the perspective of today it was still in its infancy, being held for only the 11th occasion.

One of the previous ten festivals had been an unplanned, spontaneous event in 1978 when a group of bedraggled New Age travellers, washed out on their annual summer solstice pilgrimage to Stonehenge, arrived at Glastonbury with the mistaken belief that a festival was going to take place. There had been two previous events, in 1970 and 1971, but then nothing. The travellers of '78 were given access to the old festival site. A makeshift stage was erected, and with power from a portable generator a headliner-free festival was held. The event lasted about two weeks, there was no admission fee, and it was attended by an estimated 500 people.

That unplanned festival resurrected interest in the Glastonbury Fayre - as it had been known in 1971 - and an official festival was organised in 1979. Since then the Glastonbury Festival has been held almost every year, except for a few sporadic 'fallow years' when it is given a miss to let organisers rest and allow the fields a chance to recover. The most recent fallow year was 2012.

Music could be found in every corner of the sprawling festival site in 1987

Back in 1987, unlike today, festival tickets did not sell out within an hour of going on sale. Most people would wait to see which artists were lined up before buying their tickets. For others, going to Glastonbury wasn't so much about the music but was a kind of right of passage, something that beckoned in their teenage years and early 20s - a milestone along the journey from youth to adult, and an opportunity to escape the humdrum of everyday life and experience a liberating, alternative freedom - albeit only for a matter of days. For me attending the festival was a bit of both.

Home comforts were forsaken. Although officially a three-day festival, most people arrived a day early and left a day after the music was over; sleeping in tents, come rain or shine. As noted, Glastonbury '87 had its day of deluge and muddy fields to squelch through. The toilets were little more than farmyard latrines, open to the sky and with the wind whistling around your feet.

Food supplies and provisions were carried onto the site (or in a vehicle if you were so lucky). On site there was freshly cooked food for sale, from burgers to vegetarian to exotic Asian dishes. Music played most of the day and night (and getting to sleep while an illegal sound system was pumping out a beat somewhere in the valleys was just one challenge of life in the festival's tent metropolis).

My clearest memories include Ben E King singing Stand by Me, and then saying that as John Lennon had once sung his song he would perform one of Lennon's. He then launched into a beautiful, soulful rendition of Imagine that floated across the sunny Somerset countryside.

Then there was Los Lobos with their infectious hit of the moment La Bamba - played twice for good measure. Another unexpected standout performance was the new-to-the-charts singing duo The Proclaimers, who delivered a sizzling set to delight the audience that sat on the grassy slopes in front of the Pyramid Stage to check out the day's opening act.

Robyn Hitchcock & The Egyptians, and Michelle Shocked, were two of the second stage performers I sought out, while the main stage headliners of New Order, Elvis Costello and Van Morrison all delivered memorable moments. New Order's Friday night slot included the first live performance of their future smash hit True Faith and was accompanied by a much-anticipated laser show. The laser show was inspired, heightening the feeling that the festival was being played out in a parallel reality.

In the distance is the main pyramid stage at the Glastonbury Festival, June 1987

The 1987 festival was a watershed moment in as much as it was the last time the festival was truly a self-policing, communal gathering of people from every strata of the wider community. It was an event held essentially outside the constraints of regular authority, looking after itself with its own security team. That's not to say there were not minor crimes on a yearly basis, but by 1987 the winds of change were blowing and the regular police force was invited to enter the sprawling site on an observer-only basis. From 1989 onwards (1988 was a fallow year) the regular police force has been part of the festival's security arrangements.

The festival has continued to change and evolve over the past 29 years. Today it attracts upwards of 160,000 people. It has a more corporate identity, through sponsorship and the structure of its organisation. And it enjoys almost saturation media coverage, including comprehensive televised coverage of performances. As for ticket prices, they have gone from around £30 to about £230 today.

As time has marched on the rough edges of the Glastonbury Festival have been smoothed. However, I'm sure it remains a vital and uplifting experience for those who attend, and is still significantly removed from regular day-to-day life, if perhaps to a less dramatic degree than it was once. And no doubt today's festival-goers will feel a pang of sadness when it is all over and it is time to leave the empty fields on Monday morning, having been immersed for many days in that alternative world where there was an overwhelming acceptance of and openness towards others, and where anything seemed possible. That's the magic of the Glastonbury Festival.

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Click below to watch a silent, super 8 home movie filmed at the Glastonbury Festival in 1987 showing the day to day activities of one group of friends at the event. I don't know who these people are, but this film nicely captures the reality of attending Glastonbury in the mid-1980s, and one of the group, seen on the thumbnail picture, is wearing a Robyn Hitchcock t-shirt identical to one I owned at the time.



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And click here for New Order's first live performance of True Faith, as heard at Glastonbury 1987. The video will automatically begin at the start of the song.