Review
Change
Film & TV
Sustainability
5 min read

Why is the The Repair Shop so cherished?

Memory lane and the makers work magic on tired treasures.

Sarah Basemera is a circular economy enthusiast and a founder of Canopi, a boutique for recrafted furniture.

A restorer rest on his elbows while painting a wooden rocking horse.
@therepairshoptv.

In the beginning, before the plethora of streaming platforms, was Antiques Roadshow, Cash in the Attic and Bargain Hunt. I recall rainy summer days as a tweenager, stuck indoors tuning into uplifting afternoon TV, forced by my older sister to watch these wholesome shows... all because there was only one TV screen in our home. I dreamt of finds across our green and pleasant land, all the while safely seated in a gritty Camberwell (long before our newsagent sold Vogue Italia and ID magazine). 

Fast forward to 2017 and along came The Repair Shop. It swooped onto our screens almost a decade ago and has since become a family TV gem. During lockdown, its audience boomed. It became a soothing staple for many homes to open their doors into The Repair Shop barn and see makers work their magic on tired treasures. After almost a decade, why are we still captivated with seeing tired treasures and hope restored despite its recent troubles? Now The Repair Shop crew is embarking on their first live show tour called ‘Secrets from the Barn’. Instead of the Barn, they'll be traveling by bus to share their favourite repair stories and tackle problems in a Q&A session. 

To the uninitiated, I perhaps lost you at Bargain Hunt. The Repair Shop is a gentle show about tired treasures restored back to life by a myriad of craftspeople set in a picturesque barn in West Sussex. The list of these restorers reads as a fitting extension to the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker. Depending on its core material, each object, is matched with one of them. There is a carpenter, a goldsmith, a hatter, an upholsterer, a horologist and a leathersmith. A cobbler, a luthier, a seamstress, a ceramicist and a metalsmith appear too. Then a vintage electrician, a book conservator, a silversmith, a percussionist restorer, an organ builder and a painting conservator.  Finally, in a league of their own – the teddy-bear repairers! 

Suspense is weaved into the show as we want to see the object ‘before’ and ‘after’. During the repair, we eavesdrop on the challenges faced by the restorer trying to fix the object. The reveal moment is the show’s climax - seeing the object restored to full glory and reunited with its custodians.  

When the object is associated with loss or hardship, the stories will quiver the stiffest upper lip. I never imagined I could be tearful about the restoration of a teddy bear, a toy plane or a tractor.  Clearly it is not the objects that are important, but the treasured memory of those whom they belonged to and the enduring love of the family members who brought the objects into the barn. 

Our fondness for The Repair Shop is a quiet longing for things to be fixed both within and without. 

One day in the future, reality TV shows, like The Repair Shop, will be relics themselves. Pored over by generations to come, eager to learn what we were like. But not all such shows are made equal. I hope The Repair Shop is treasured just like those teddy-bears. Why? Because it says so much about us today. 

We are tiring with our throwaway culture – click, scroll and repeat. Things built to pass, made of materials that we cannot pronounce, and that nature cannot digest. Unforgettable one season later. Crafted often in upsetting conditions for workers, without fair pay, lunchbreaks or daylight. Our fondness for The Repair Shop is a quiet longing for things to be fixed both within and without. It is affection for those who are not with us now, an appreciation for craftsmanship and the resourcefulness in the face of waste. We are charmed by the craft of repair but why? 

Suffice it to say the Millennial, Zillenial, Gen Z, Alpha, and Beta generations did not grow up in a ‘make do and mend culture’. I know my mother is sad I wear red and white snowflake Scandinavian handmade mittens with holes in them. I cannot line a curtain. We kind of all know that the repair culture that Boomers and beyond practiced has been lost. But we long for it to be revived again. 

‘Humpty dumpty sat on the wall . . . all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put humpty together again’. As children we know instinctively this is tragedy, a broken toy or person that cannot be fixed. Our preference for mending as a virtue, is instilled in us from a young age.  

Mending things is satisfying and makes a positive contribution because the object can be used or admired in its full glory once again. It reduces waste by preventing us from buying new things and is therefore resourceful. Many of us ‘click and collect’ not just because of price but also convenience. There is deep satisfaction in salvaging something that you own or in having it restored with expert help when its beyond your ability. 

Many of the things we buy now couldn’t make it to The Repair Shop because they wouldn’t survive being passed down. Things manufactured by machine, out of synthetic materials are not strong contenders for heirlooms of tomorrow. Visitors to The Repair Shop own something precious but durable and worthy of being restored by an expert.   

Craftmanship is beautiful.  Revealing what it takes to repair gives us deeper appreciation for it and the hands that made it. When we see what it took to ‘remake’ we foster respect for the skilfulness of the craft.  

The intergenerational quality strikes a chord in a culture preoccupied with youthfulness and anti-aging. Often families come into the barn together and recall a fond memory of a loved one from another generation. The story behind the piece and the person it belonged to, is fascinating. Our affection and love for our grandparents and beyond is endearing and it is uplifting to see this fondness on screen. 

Then there is the big reveal, the dust sheet is lifted and the artisan reveals the repaired masterpiece. If you make it to the end of the story the reward is to see the dramatic change. It can be emotional, at the end when the custodian sees the object restored. Emotions run high; there is joy, gratitude and a sense of satisfaction that the broken object is revived and the memory of the loved one lives on.  

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Review
Ambition
Culture
Film & TV
Politics
6 min read

Why we’re fascinated with power behind closed doors

Conclave captures the powerful chemistry between heaven and earth.

Roger is a Baptist minister, author and Senior Research Fellow at Spurgeon’s College in London. 

A cardinal glances to the side as he stands amid a gather of clergy,
Cardinal Thomas Lawrence played by Ralph Fiennes.
Film Nation.

An ecclesiastical election, conducted behind closed doors, by a group of old men hardly seems a subject for a riveting thriller. Yet, back in 2016, Berkshire-based novelist Robert Harris thought otherwise. Conclave became an international best-seller. 

Now it’s been turned into a movie. And, according to the cognoscenti, a rather good one at that. British Vogue lauded it with great enthusiasm: 

“It’s a treat in every sense – visually, sonically, dramaturgically – and, as we hurtle into this bleakest of winters, exactly the kind of galvanising, pulse-racing shot in the arm we all need.” 

Really? 

Well, following its UK premiere at the London Film Festival in October, the BBC were quick to report a potential flurry of Oscar nominations and even that it was ‘thought to be a strong contender for the best picture award’. 

So, what’s going on? How has this dangerously dull and turgid subject turned into a narrative that tames the critics and converts the sceptics?  

A late night showing on the day of its release at the end of November beckoned me to find out. So off I went with my wife, after she had finished Gospel Choir practice. 

Directed by award winning film-maker Edward Berger (All Quiet on the Western Front), it stars Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow and Isabella Rossellini.  

The premise is simple. The Pope is dead, and the Cardinals of the Catholic Church convene from around the world to choose his successor. But this, of course, is only the beginning. 

Sequestered in the Vatican the prelates are cut off from outside influence as the secret process of electing a new pontiff is enacted. But this does not stop events, past and present, from impacting and shaping their deliberations.  

Overseen by Cardinal Thomas Lawrence (Fiennes), the British Dean of the College of Cardinals, the story unfolds as he negotiates these successive revelations and happenings. Along the way he is also wrestling in his own faith for spiritual reality and personal integrity. 

As they gather, the not-so-friendly fraternal rivalry of the cardinals and the manoeuvring of the leading contenders sets up a presenting series of tensions for the Conclave: 

  • Cardinal Bellini (Tucci) is the Vatican’s theologically progressive, yet diffident, Secretary of State 
  • Cardinal Tremblay (Lithgow) is a slippery and ambitious, self-promoting Canadian conservative 
  • Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto) is the forthright and reactionary traditionalist Patriarch of Venice  
  • Cardinal Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati) is a theologically conservative and populist Nigerian who offers the possibility of making history as the first Black pope.  

Then, at the last minute, into the mix enters a cardinal that no one knew of. Cardinal Benitez (Carlos Diehz) is a Mexican who arrives claiming the late pope appointed him Archbishop of Kabul in pectore (in secret) prior to his death.  

Shuttling between their living quarters in the Domus Sanctae Marthae and the Sistine Chapel, the venue for their voting process, the story unfolds. A complex interplay of ecclesiastical politics, theology and spirituality intermingle with issues of identity, character and choice to make for a heady mix. At stake, or is that on offer, is the power of the Papacy. 

Reflecting the church at large the Conclave is a community of conservatives and liberals, traditionalists and progressives, populists and academics, activists and administrators.  

Like the world at large, all human life is here. Men with hidden secrets, driven by ignoble motives that often dress themselves in more noble apparel. Ambition, greed, ego and privilege rub shoulders with graciousness, sincerity and self-sacrificial service. Sometimes even in the same person. The human condition is a complicated one. It seems that power retains its age-old allure and ability to corrupt. 

And maybe that’s it. For all the secrecy and mystery that surrounds a papal election, right down to the colour of the smoke, it is a human concoction. Human fingerprints are all over it, just like they are all over the church.  

The church aspires to be better. To be shaped by a higher ideal. To properly be ‘the body of Christ’ and represent the imago dei in the world. To so inhabit the love and grace of God that through its life and witness God might touch and transform the world for the better. Yet, as one of the Italian cardinals correctly, if too easily, argues, “We are mortal men; we serve an ideal. We cannot always be ideal.” 

Indeed, the great apostle St. Paul had to confess, “Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect …”, but he is committed to go further, “… [yet] I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.” There is an ideal to pursue. 

As the cardinals progress through successive rounds of voting the field of candidates narrows and the required two-thirds majority comes within reach. Yet the prospects of the main characters rise and fall through the twists and turns of the plot as it heads to its inevitable climax.  

Then one final, unexpected and flabbergasting reveal hits the audience from out of left field. It is a masterful denouement to the tale. 

Speaking about how it all came together Harris revealed: 

“I approached this not as a Catholic and not as an expert in the Church. So my preparation began by reading the gospels, which are revolutionary. And the contrast between that and this great edifice of ritual and pomp and power and wealth of the Church is striking … There's also this question of can you freeze anything at a point nearly 2000 years ago? Haven't the world and humanity evolved?” 

As we drove home at gone midnight I found it hard to disagree with Vogue.  

The visual spectacle created by cinematographer Stéphane Fontaine plays wonderfully with the renaissance setting of the Vatican. It is a beautiful and luscious feast for the eyes.  

Volker Bertelmann’s teasing creativity with the score made the drama come alive and heightened what has been an unforgettable experience. 

But for me, most of all, it was the drama. The story that was told. The unfolding of events and the interplay with people and their motives, their relationships and their vested interests. It is layered and nuanced and complex, just like real life.  

It has left me pondering once again the chemistry between heaven and earth. Between our freewill and agency as individuals and the mystery of the divine presence and the fruit of prayer.  

As the cardinals prepare for the final vote a waft of air blows gently through a broken window in the Sistine Chapel and rustles their voting papers. Is Berger tipping his hat to the presence of the Spirit of God, present and active in human affairs? 

Perhaps the last word should go to Robert Harris. 

“With temporal power, or indeed spiritual power, it is very difficult to avoid factions, scheming, the lesser of two evils—all the compromises that go into running any huge organization and trying to keep, not just hundreds, but thousands of people onside … I have a lot of time for politicians, just as I have a lot of time for these cardinals, because they are grappling with almost insoluble problems. But someone has to do it. Someone has to run a society. And I've tried to write about them with a degree of sympathy.” 

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