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Tell Me Who I Am – Documentary on Netflix tonight

Tell Me Who I Am, the documentary by Ed Perkins, goes out on Netflix at midnight this evening. Anyone who has read the book that I wrote with Alex and Marcus can now see them telling their story in a powerful and moving film. All credit to two of the bravest men it has been my pleasure to meet.

And the good news is it is wowing audiences. This review is typical of the response.

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Durrells everywhere

Nancy in Corfu

Nancy in Corfu

Last year when the Durrells first appeared on ITV I wrote a fairly critical piece about it in The Times – and then enjoyed the series. With all that sun, sea, landscape and good humour, what did it matter that the characters bore no relation to anyone who’d ever actually lived there? As I wrote, ‘The family must appeal to some fundamental need we all have for there to have been a time when Corfu was bathed in perpetual summer sunshine, the English were regarded by a benign peasantry as ‘little lords’ and eccentricity had free reign.’

But this time, the charm is waning. I suppose, weirdly, I feel most protective towards Larry, who after all was a man of iridescent charm and charisma, who cared passionately about literature and was endlessly cruel to his nearest and dearest. And who was above all wonderfully funny. Someone – Theodore? – described him as a small blond firework, but the TV Larry has as much literary fire in his belly as a dough ball.

So I’ve stopped watching. Which is a shame, as the actor who plays Gerry is terrific. And so is the pelican. But still …


Percy Fawcett and the Lost City of Z

MV5BODM2MDAxMDg0N15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwMzQ5MzU4MTI@._V1_UX182_CR0,0,182,268_AL_The film the Lost City of Z tells the story of Major Percy Fawcett, an explorer whose life had a weird connection with Nancy’s. He had set out in 1925 with his son and a friend of his son’s to search for the ‘lost city’ and they vanished. Various expeditions were launched to try to find them, or to find out what happened to them, but none succeeded. In 1932 Peter Fleming, brother of James Bond creator, answered a newspaper advertisement for ‘two more guns’ to take part in a new quest to find out what had become of him. There were rumours he had been killed, but other rumours that he had gone native and founded a cult in the jungle. Fleming persuaded his friend Roger Pettigrew to go along with him and they were gone for four months.
The real Major Fawcett in pipe-smoking manly explorer pose:Unknown

But Nancy had been in love with Roger, though she never said it in so many words, and he had seemed to care for her – but when he came back after all his adventures he ignored her almost completely. And by then, in his absence, she had hooked up with a small, slightly lost-seeming young poet called Durrell.

What was heartbreak for her was a gift for travel writing: Fleming wrote Brazil Adventure, a brilliant, funny and infuriating account of their trip up and down the Amazon. They seem to have treated even life and death situations as a huge joke – that spirit of Boys Own Adventure that led to so many disasters and is now pretty much completely vanished.

John Hemming in the Spectator this week says the film, and the book it is based on, is a nonsense – and he should know. Far from being a hero, Fawcett was, apparently a nutter and a racist and totally incompetent. If you can divorce it from real life, the film is quite fun – and his side kick is brilliant (turns out it was Robert Pattison, who has been called ‘the sexiest man alive’ – not in this film, just a cracking good actor). But the ending annoyed me. Given that precisely what did happen to them has never been properly explained, a walking off into the unknown, three dots kind of ending (like that brilliant finale to Gods and Men) would have been much more satisfying rather than the obligatory Hollywood father-son schmalz ‘I love you Dad,’ – ‘I love you too, son,’ so now we can all die happy even though we are about to be slaughtered and probably eaten.

Also I would merrily have any script writer who lets a mysterious gypsy woman pronounce to our hero, ‘Eet ees your destineee!’ silenced with a poison dart immediately.

© 2020 Joanna Hodgkin. All rights reserved.