The Age of Banality

“Under pressure people admit to murder, setting fire to the village church, or robbing a bank, but never to being bores.” Elsa Maxwell

Banality, Dear Reader, ought to be a cult, don’t you think? Because most people are polite it is hard for them to admit that somebody is boring and banal. President Lyndon Johnson once observed that making a speech on economics was like pissing down your leg, you think it’s hot but nobody else does. Refreshingly honest. Out for a walk with friends and running into somebody that one of the number knows.

“Who was that?”

“Oh that was Pete”.

“Very interesting.”

No, he’s not. Having a sports star, an astronaut, the inventor of a vaccine, a movie star, a member of royalty along to speak to a crowd is interesting. Everyone wants to be there. Everyone wants the selfie with him or her. Everyone wants to boast to friends and acquaintances about with whom they’ve been seen. Then afterwards when they recollect in tranquillity they realise that they should be careful what they’ve wished for. How often, with hindsight, do we realise that we really wouldn’t want to be seen dead with that particular slice of fame? They are celebrities because they have done one thing exceedingly well. They may have been lucky simply to have been in the right place at the right time. They have had the muscle twitch that has made them a wonderful athlete; the singular focus to concentrate on achieving one aim; the stamina to research for workaholic weeks so that we are given a cure, a prevention for an horrendous disease. They are movie stars, fulfilling our fantasies vicariously. In achieving these outstanding results, they may have put a lot of bums on a lot of seats in a lot of stadia or helped us to survive a pandemic. Our awestruck ‘oohs’ and ‘aaahs’ may have echoed around our being when we have witnessed their achievements on the screen or read about what they have done in the newspapers. They deserve our accolade for that one achievement. But, Dear Friends, we live in a multi-faceted world, singular dedication towards a goal is laudable, one can be filled with admiration for all that that takes, but it does not necessarily make the celebrity interesting. We can have, Dear Reader, maybe a short round of applause but let’s not stand for an ovation, let us reserve that for somebody truly interesting.

Don’t get me wrong, I respect men and women of substance, whose character, determination and grit have enabled them to create and do so much good in the world. And, OK, maybe this blog should have the title, “The Age of Celebrity”, because that is what I am really referring to here. And I am not talking about celebrities like astronaut, Chris Hadfield, who has proved time and time again that he is so much more than a one trick pony. No, I am talking about a claim to fame because one is somebody who is related to somebody who has done something important. I am irritated about a footballer’s wife*, a WAG, for example, a reflected glory.

I think that we have all, at some time or other, seen celebrities on chat shows, listened to the rich and famous spouting their beliefs with virtuous ‘nobody-else-is-as-good-as-me’ conviction. If we are honest we have hung on their every word and then, if we are reflective, we have suddenly realised that what we have just heard makes absolutely no sense; that we have been carried along by the glibness of word salads and the confidence and fame of the speaker. What we have in fact heard are the banal utterings of a famed face, thoughts that if we ourselves thrust forward would be dismissed out of hand. So yes, Dear Friends, the age of celebrity is so often the age of banality; it is feathers from a burst pillow; candy floss over meat and potatoes; waters as shallow as a bird bath.

I love a person who can tell a good story. I could listen to the late Peter Ustinov for hours. I love the brilliance of a Stephen Fry and the late Christopher Hitchens who produce well-articulated arguments based on sound research and a great deal of reading. But sadly, Dear Reader, there are too many ‘lates’ in this triumvirate of personalities. I have struggled to find more current sources. Ricky Gervais creates a good argument.  George Carlin hooked me on his thoughts but he too is no longer with us.  But I know they are out there. I have recently been introduced to younger excellence in the shape of Tim Minchin, a man of incredible talent, who doesn’t just know one thing and know it well but knows many things which he communicates so well both in music and in conversation. How did I not hear of this person before?       

Changing tack slightly. In my teaching career, I have been called upon to interview children prior to their entry to school. Latterly they were 8 or 9 year olds.  Like all of these things, there is a recognised format. There are questions we are supposed to ask like, “Do you like school?” “Why might you like to come to this one?” and so forth. Then one is supposed to administer the basic English and Maths skills test. I remember sitting at the big table in the school boardroom awaiting the arrival of the next candidate. An anxious parent knocked at the door, introduced her daughter and left.  This little character shook my hand, sat down opposite me and opened her ‘portfolio’. I was then subjected to coloured pictures which she had sketched of her family in the park, the dog which she loved, anecdotes from her family life, how she liked her current teacher, what sports she played, how she loved Christmas and so on. When I managed to get a word in edgeways, I went through the motions of asking her some of the questions I was supposed to ask. This worked. She picked up on them and elaborated. All this was delivered with a smile and energy and confidence, a winning personality. Her mum arrived to pick her up. They left. I never administered the formal tests and so many of the formatted questions were not asked. I scrawled across the form something along the lines of, “She’s in. We must accept this student.” So, of course, I was asked about her scores, an analysis of her questions and answers amid the dog pile of administrivia. You know the kind of stuff, Dear Reader, all the minutiae we use to cover our backs when things go awry. I was shaking my smiling head. No need for any of those formalities. All I would say was that if I am trusted to make judgements, let me make judgements.

This was an 8 year old with character and personality. If her educational establishments could give her substance in the shape of understanding and knowledge then her personality would take care of the rest. She would have a happy, effective life. She was never likely to be the bore on the talk show but always destined to become the life and soul and, one sensed, she had the foundations to marry those characteristics with learning and expertise. David Letterman, Christiane Amanpour, Stephen Sackur could interview her tomorrow and she would carry her audience. She and people like her will change the age of banality into that of joyous fun.

“A talent is formed in stillness; a character in the world’s torrent.” Goethe.

Hopefully in 2023 we can be spared the inane utterings of heehaw donkeys better left grazing in a paddock. If we have to yawn and doze let it be because we need sleep, not, Dear Friends, because of a mundane interview with a condescending celebrity. I don’t need a pontificating pompous politician preaching that they know better than me, after all, I have two adult children and a wife, not to mention a group of wise friends, who are quite happy to tell me when I am jumping off a verbal cliff or stepping off the sidewalk of societal acceptability.

Phew, that’s a load off my chest. Thanks for passing time with me, friends.

*”Footballer’s Wife” a song by Amy Macdonald