Snippet
Ageing
Community
Culture
Football
3 min read

Can we show respect across the generations?

A footballer’s taunt still hurts.

Jean is a consultant working with financial and Christian organisations. She also writes and broadcasts.

A TV screengrab shows a football manager walking while a passing rival player says (captioned) 'stay humble'.
Haaland harangues.
Sky Sports

If you are a football fan, you might be flabbergasted, curious and maybe a bit gleeful about the recent “dip” in form of Manchester City.  It runs deeper for me; I’m an Arsenal fan.  

So let me address the elephant in the room before I go any further.  Yes, we haven’t won the league for 20 years and yes, we’re everyone’s banter club, I get it. But Haaland’s “Stay humble” comment, directed at my team, was a lot for us  and here’s my take on why.  

I grew up in an African household. I have been taught to respect my elders. We aren’t allowed to be overly familiar with anyone older than us. You don’t randomly pat your elders on the back. There is a level of reverence that is not only expected but covertly and overtly demanded. Almost every child of African heritage has been chastised by a parent or caregiver with some version of “Is that your classmate?”, after taking things a bit too far with an aunty or uncle, aka anyone more than 10 years older than you.  

So, you can imagine my shock like so many Arsenal fans when Haaland decided that he was going to tap our manager on the shoulder and utter the words, ’Stay humble.’  

Football is a game of banter. I agree. Tottenham, Manchester United…. say no more, as we say in South London. My brother thinks I dislike Manchester United more than I support Arsenal.  That could be truetrue, but I digress.  

I would have completely understood if Haaland had done what he had done and said what he said to Saka, Gabriel or any other Arsenal player. But the manager, no, that’s taking the mick. The manager is off-limits he is supposed to be respected by the players.  

That’s why Arsenal fans, were celebrating the way we did when the boys humbly beat Man City 5-1.  

I know, it’s been a few weeks, now.  I’m a Christian I am supposed to be over it. But I’m not.  

The older I get the more I understand the wisdom of respecting those with more experience than me. Not just because it was what I was taught, but because I want my parents' generation to be respected. I want to be respected when I am older and I want my children’s generation to be respected, too.   

We live in a moment in time where the differences between generations are often magnified. Intergenerational collaboration doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue and it isn’t something you hear every day.  But I am reminded by my faith that there is wisdom in age and long life brings understanding. Strength and passion are found in young people. Communities work best when the young and the old work together in mutual respect.  

 If I want to live in a society that respects all generations, my role as a millennial (someone who sits awkwardly in the middle), is to ask myself two questions:  

When I meet someone older than me, would I be happy if someone were to treat my mum or dad the way I am treating this person?  

If they are younger than me, would I want someone to treat my siblings like this?  

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Review
Culture
Film & TV
Monsters
Sport
5 min read

Horror turns pro: when greatness demands blood

The pursuit of sporting glory turns into a fever-dream of sacrifice, madness, and mythic violence
A player holding a finger to his lips stands in front of an indoor American football pitch.
Marlon Wayans.
Universal Pictures.

October is here…spooky season. Naturally, I’ve decided to pivot exclusively to the horror genre, beginning with HIM

The promotion for the film has placed Jordan Peele (who stormed onto the scene with Get Out) front and centre, so much so that one might be forgiven for assuming that he is the writer/director. He isn’t. His Monkeypaw Productions have produced the picture, and so one can assume he has had some creative input, but the film is helmed by Justin Tipping. This is Tipping’s second feature film. He co-wrote it and directed it. Sophomore, but no slump here. The film is superb! 

All horror fiction explores contemporary themes in the mode of the ‘unnerving’, and often by adopting and then playing with the conventions of another genre. In the case of HIM it is ‘sport’ that takes a horrifying turn. We begin by meeting our protagonist, Cameron ‘Cam’ Cade, as a young boy. He is watching his favourite American football star, Isaiah White, take lead the ‘San Antonio Saviours’ to victory. In the process Isaiah is injured. Cam looks away. His father forces him to look at the television screen and take in the violent scenes, while giving a speech about the necessity of ‘sacrifice’. 

A decade or so later the father has died, and Cam is a rising star in the sport, tipped to be the next ‘GOAT’ (Greatest Of All Time), the most worthy successor to Isaiah White’s legacy. While practicing late one night he is violently assaulted by a figure in a goat costume. The resulting head injury puts his prospects into question. It is doubtful that he can even play football going forward. He and his family are devastated.  

‘Salvation’ seems to come when his agent calls him with an offer that seems too good to be true. The ‘Saviours’ are seeking to sign him as their quarterback, replacing Isaiah. All he must do to earn this great opportunity is to spend a week with Isaiah at his specialised training compound, to demonstrate his potential and win Isaiah’s blessing. He accepts, and travels to the remote compound. As his car pulls up, he encounters a number of Isaiah’s demented ‘fans’ (who operate more akin to the Manson Family) decrying him in violent screams. He brushes this off and enters to meet Isaiah. He finds him engaged in an odd form of taxidermy with the skulls and skins of goats. The two embrace and share warm words of respect and welcome. The training begins.  

What follows is a rapid descent into bloody madness. 

I won’t say much more for set-up; only that the following week quickly becomes less a training camp, and more a psychedelic fever-dream of physical and psychological torture. The film is gruelling to watch in the best way. Tipping directs this masterfully, disorientating the viewer with sudden jumps from wide shots to close-ups to X-ray inflected visions of the appalling damage endured by athletes seeking to achieve their best. The cinematography of Kira Kelly keeps this relentless confusion running throughout the entire film, playing with angles and stillness and sudden swoops. 

These visuals are supplemented by some terrific performances. From the exceptionally creepy ‘fans’, led by Naomi Grossman, to Jim Jeffries reigning his comedic persona in to play Isaiah’s jaded and sardonic personal doctor (who is constantly drawing Isaiah’s blood…uh oh!), to Tim Heidecker’s unctuous agent always grasping for more. The standouts, however, are Tyriq Withers as Cam and Marlon Wayans as Isaiah. Wayans, of the ‘comedy’ dynasty, is best known for dreadful ‘funny’ (not ‘dreadfully funny’) films, including the Scary Movie franchise. Every now and then he has demonstrated his serious acting chops, shining in Requiem for a Dream, but this performance ought to cement his reputation as a genuine talent.  

He is mesmerising as Isaiah, switching in an instant from quiet melancholy, when reflecting on this past glory and the nature of sporting sacrifice, to outright unhinged menace – screaming directly in Cam’s face when trying to motivate him to go further and further. He dominates every scene he is in and is the lynchpin of the film’s mood, his performance (effortlessly walking the tightrope above measured and manic) driving the bewilderment the film seeks to force upon its audience. He is aided by Withers’ straight-man, who masterfully maintains a quiet yearning in the face of bafflement. He is muted and introverted without ever disappearing into the background, and so is instrumental in supporting Wayans as he gives the performance of his career. 

In spite of all of this brilliance, I have one small critique. The film’s theme is…messy. It is also far less subtle than it thinks it is. Its focus on the pain and suffering of sporting excellence – which is displayed in the literal brutality of injury – and the idea of selling one’s body, health, and even soul for glory, is often undermined by supernatural and theological symbolism which interrupts the dramatic thematic force. The use of the goat, both as a verbal and visual symbol, is overdone, and is rather obvious to anyone who knows even a little of biblical or esoteric literature.  

Added to this, the constant reference to sacrifice, and to behaviour resembling the cultic, continues the on-the-nose hammering; cemented at the end when an actual pentagram is emblazoned on a football field. This is a shame, as the final scene is a well-earned, wonderfully slapstick celebration of horror-movie gore and splatter, undermined by the symbolic silliness. None of this is enough to ruin the film – I still think it is superb – but I would have preferred Tipping to make a choice: subtle realism, or all-out commitment to the supernaturally sinister. In trying to have-its-cake-and-eat-it the film compromises the bake…a slight soggy bottom of a denouement. 

The film just fails to be the GOAT of this year’s horror fare. Still, a jolly entertaining cinematic experience which I highly recommend for October viewing. 

4.5 stars. 

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