Pullman

Both of the email lists that, together with the blogosphere, drain away such an alarming proportion of my time have been discussing this story today:

The director and screenwriter of the film adaptation of Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials is to remove references to God and the church in the movie.
Chris Weitz, director of About a Boy, said the changes were being made after film studio New Line expressed concern.

I confess myself to be somewhat mystified, not least by the claim that Pullman has approved the change (and incidentally, what happened to Uncle Tom Stoppard, who was writing the screenplay last I heard?). I do find myself wondering, on that score, whether the truth is closer to what I heard Pullman say at the ICA a couple of years ago - that his attitude was that he'd sold the film rights, taken the money, and run, and wasn't taking any part or interest in what happened next.

You may love the books or loathe the books; generally sympathise with Pullman's views or not; find Pullman slightly irritating or charming. Personally I love the books, sort of half sympathise with his views, and find the man's preachiness more than a little irritating.

Whatever you feel about it, I am incapable of understanding how a sequence of books which, I think, is essentially an attempt to take Paradise Lost, imagine it written by Blake instead, and then turn the result into a children's fantasy; and which was also, quite expressly, conceived as an extended disagreement with The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe et al, can possibly have the religion taken out. I despair, I really do. Joff said months ago he smelled an approaching train wreck and I told him he was over-pessimistic.

ETA: oh look, why don't I just stick to ghost-posting the chaps on Crooked Timber - first thing I read after I hit send and says it much better.

Bah humbug

I realised today that Christmas lurches ever closer - Chambers' Christmas Dinner this week and not a single card bought, let alone sent. As for presents, well, I did buy some but, um, now I want them.

My head still hurts from Sunday's thumping, and, to be honest, I'm still reluctant to walk that way home. Which is terribly inconvenient, as Primrose Hill is somewhat locked off -there aren't that many different ways in. I had a surge of quite seriously thinking about moving out of London, preferably to the middle of nowhere, but it seems to have died down, for the present. Which is a good thing, as it's entirely impractical.

Half-day trial tomorrow. Anyone care to guess when I received the papers. Mind you, since a crucial order in the case took two months to travel from the judge to my instructing solicitors it's par for the course really.

In other news, "Is there room on your populist ill-conceived bandwagon for two, Michael," Blair asks.