My Summer of Love (2004): a great British success
Colin MacCabe has always been a highly vocal critic of the UK Film Council—established in 2000 to provide a strategic vision for the British film industry—as well as of the new Labour cultural project. So no one can accuse him of inconsistency for his attack on both in the January 2010 issue of Prospect. Beginning with the Film Council’s amply remunerated director, John Woodward, MacCabe offers a passionately argued distillation of everything he feels is wrong about government film policy. This is not the place to answer all of his points. But it is worth considering his central accusation: that vast sums have been expended pursuing the illusory goal of a “sustainable British film industry.”
MacCabe is right that the fact that Britain shares a language with America, the world’s dominant film provider, makes our industry different from those of other European countries. For better or worse, we are embedded with Hollywood. Our premier production company, Working Title, is owned by Universal Studios, while our most successful film franchises—Bond and Harry Potter—are financed by US studios. But, leaving aside the global recession, has there really been no improvement in British film during the ten years of the Film Council’s existence?
Every country’s film industry relies on government intervention. Tax credits attract inward investment and support domestic production, and there is usually additional public funding for films that deliver cultural goals. Britain is no different. Our film industry consists of exhibition (cinemas), distribution, production and facilities (studios, effects houses). The first two sectors are thriving, but the number of people visiting multiplexes to see Ice Age 3 isn’t MacCabe’s sphere of interest—or, for that matter, the UK Film Council’s. Their focus is on domestic production, and especially on films that deliver cultural value.
MacCabe suggests that films like the award-winning Fish Tank are the exception. Of course, all film-funding bodies make decisions both good and bad. But the UKFC did also invest in Bloody Sunday, In the Loop, Man on Wire, Red Road, The Magdalene Sisters, Touching the Void, The Constant Gardener and Vera Drake, to name but a few. And it has helped broaden the definition of British film to encompass voices as diverse as Shane Meadows, Noel Clarke and Lynne Ramsay. These achievements are, by any measure, substantial. MacCabe’s demolition of the UKFC also fails to mention its distribution strategy, which helps specialised films reach audiences outside London that would have been unimaginable in the days when he himself headed the British Film Institute Production Board (1985-89). The UKFC has over the years invested both in the distribution of foreign-language films—such as the acclaimed A Prophet, a French film released in Britain this January—and in supporting homegrown successes such as Control, Hunger, My Summer of Love and This is England. Compared to the overall sums spent annually on marketing film in Britain this distribution fund is indeed tiny. But its interventions are vital for those films lucky enough to get them.
MacCabe also accuses the UKFC of exploiting its monopoly position to pursue aggressive recoupment and indulge in unwelcome creative interference. I’m not so sure. First, the council funnels cash via regional film funds that are vital partners for many British productions. It also invests alongside private companies (including Pathé, Icon, Lionsgate and the StudioCanal-owned Optimum) and broadcasters (BBC, Film4). It is on an equal footing with these co-investors and, like them, views footage and submits notes to producers. Its production funds have recoupment targets, to try to ensure films are being made with audiences in mind. But it’s only too happy when its investment is not required: for example Slumdog Millionaire (funded by Pathé, Film4, Warner Independent Pictures and Celador) and An Education (BBC and US equity investor Endgame). Hardly a monopoly.
As to the future, I’m agnostic as to who should lead any successor body that emerges from the proposed merger of the Film Council and the BFI. But whoever does has a responsibility to pursue industrial as well as educational and cultural goals. I was asked recently by the Observer to nominate my top ten British films of the past 25 years, and was surprised how lean the pickings were from 1984-89. Maybe that just makes me a child of my time. Either way, let’s not turn back the clock on an industry that is growing in confidence and global stature. The UKFC, for all its faults, has consistently tried to connect culture and business, focusing on audiences as well as filmmakers. Any debate about the future is not served by rubbishing its achievements.
Colin MacCabe has always been a highly vocal critic of the UK Film Council—established in 2000 to provide a strategic vision for the British film industry—as well as of the new Labour cultural project. So no one can accuse him of inconsistency for his attack on both in the January 2010 issue of Prospect. Beginning with the Film Council’s amply remunerated director, John Woodward, MacCabe offers a passionately argued distillation of everything he feels is wrong about government film policy. This is not the place to answer all of his points. But it is worth considering his central accusation: that vast sums have been expended pursuing the illusory goal of a “sustainable British film industry.”
MacCabe is right that the fact that Britain shares a language with America, the world’s dominant film provider, makes our industry different from those of other European countries. For better or worse, we are embedded with Hollywood. Our premier production company, Working Title, is owned by Universal Studios, while our most successful film franchises—Bond and Harry Potter—are financed by US studios. But, leaving aside the global recession, has there really been no improvement in British film during the ten years of the Film Council’s existence?
Every country’s film industry relies on government intervention. Tax credits attract inward investment and support domestic production, and there is usually additional public funding for films that deliver cultural goals. Britain is no different. Our film industry consists of exhibition (cinemas), distribution, production and facilities (studios, effects houses). The first two sectors are thriving, but the number of people visiting multiplexes to see Ice Age 3 isn’t MacCabe’s sphere of interest—or, for that matter, the UK Film Council’s. Their focus is on domestic production, and especially on films that deliver cultural value.
MacCabe suggests that films like the award-winning Fish Tank are the exception. Of course, all film-funding bodies make decisions both good and bad. But the UKFC did also invest in Bloody Sunday, In the Loop, Man on Wire, Red Road, The Magdalene Sisters, Touching the Void, The Constant Gardener and Vera Drake, to name but a few. And it has helped broaden the definition of British film to encompass voices as diverse as Shane Meadows, Noel Clarke and Lynne Ramsay. These achievements are, by any measure, substantial. MacCabe’s demolition of the UKFC also fails to mention its distribution strategy, which helps specialised films reach audiences outside London that would have been unimaginable in the days when he himself headed the British Film Institute Production Board (1985-89). The UKFC has over the years invested both in the distribution of foreign-language films—such as the acclaimed A Prophet, a French film released in Britain this January—and in supporting homegrown successes such as Control, Hunger, My Summer of Love and This is England. Compared to the overall sums spent annually on marketing film in Britain this distribution fund is indeed tiny. But its interventions are vital for those films lucky enough to get them.
MacCabe also accuses the UKFC of exploiting its monopoly position to pursue aggressive recoupment and indulge in unwelcome creative interference. I’m not so sure. First, the council funnels cash via regional film funds that are vital partners for many British productions. It also invests alongside private companies (including Pathé, Icon, Lionsgate and the StudioCanal-owned Optimum) and broadcasters (BBC, Film4). It is on an equal footing with these co-investors and, like them, views footage and submits notes to producers. Its production funds have recoupment targets, to try to ensure films are being made with audiences in mind. But it’s only too happy when its investment is not required: for example Slumdog Millionaire (funded by Pathé, Film4, Warner Independent Pictures and Celador) and An Education (BBC and US equity investor Endgame). Hardly a monopoly.
As to the future, I’m agnostic as to who should lead any successor body that emerges from the proposed merger of the Film Council and the BFI. But whoever does has a responsibility to pursue industrial as well as educational and cultural goals. I was asked recently by the Observer to nominate my top ten British films of the past 25 years, and was surprised how lean the pickings were from 1984-89. Maybe that just makes me a child of my time. Either way, let’s not turn back the clock on an industry that is growing in confidence and global stature. The UKFC, for all its faults, has consistently tried to connect culture and business, focusing on audiences as well as filmmakers. Any debate about the future is not served by rubbishing its achievements.
