Entry 01: My Heart Doesn't Even Want To Go On

The sinking of the RMS Titanic was terrible for several reasons. Mostly due to the subsequent loss of over 1,514 souls, though arguably that tragedy was evenly matched by the drippy romantic feature of the same name that followed later that century.  It seems that infamous night in April, 1912 has become embedded in the public consciousness, not just in the UK but in most of the English speaking world.  This year there was even a re-enactment, where the MS Balmoral set sail on a ten day cruise, plotting the course of the doomed vessel to mark the 100^th Year Anniversary. Those attending dine from menus identical to those on the original vessel, and many of those going intend to do so donned in period dress.  While promoters are quick to emphasise that the trip is not “ghoulish or macabre at all”, it, sort of is. I mean what exactly the attraction is in dressing up and eating (and most likely pooing) in a manner identical to that adopted by your doomed 20^th century counterparts is, I can’t really tell. It all seems in remarkably bad taste. I mean what exactly will come next. Will a couple of aeroplanes be chartered to do loop-de-loops above Ground Zero every September the 9^th, or perhaps we can just go for it and mark Remembrance Day as National Cowboys and Indians Day. While it is crucial to remember the past and to learn from it, this whole process of rather morbid re-enactment seems a bit much. While some of those attending the Memorial Cruise are relations of those that were actually on board the maiden vessel, still more are self-professed ‘Titanoraks’, there presumably for the shits and giggles. Of course, the story of the Titanic is truly inspiring and should be recalled for the devastating tale that it is, but there must be limits somewhere. While it’s all good fun sat at Alnwick castle on a rainy Sunday afternoon, watching a bunch of grown men decked out in tacky chain mail awkwardly re-enacting some dark-age conquest, this all feels a bit off.

The Titanic Story has rightly spawned a whole range of re-tellings, including Titanic: A Survivor's Story, written by Colonel Archibald Grace IV, and a swathe of motion pictures, most notably the excellent 1958 re-telling of the 1955 book, A Night To Remember.  And that other one. That other one I mentioned. That one. There could be a whole other language invented just to succinctly describe the venom felt for this particular moving picture. Recently re-released in 3D to coincide with the anniversary, Titanic is a shitfest of monstrous proportions. The first half is devoted to an unbelievable romance between Leo’s Jack, a starving artist from Ireland, who wins some tickets for him and his mate (nice one) and Kate’s Rose, who is getting forced into a marriage, or something. I appreciate the whole ‘transcending social barriers’ thing James Cameron was going for, but good god, spitting into a sea breeze is not indicative of social mobility, goddammit. Meanwhile the key themes that make the story great; hope, loss, human sacrifice, get put on the back burner in favour of rutting in one of those old timey Ford T’s. The second half is admittedly better, but that’s probably due to the fact we see less of the tacky subplot, or perhaps as they have less time to canoodle on account of the ship striking an iceberg and slowly sinking. But even still the memory of one of the actual crew members, First Officer William Murdoch was somehow totally ballsed up, with Cameron having him portrayed as a gun-toting loon, leading to a resultant £5000 donation to Murdoch’s Memorial Fund. And then there is the whole floating door crap. Watch the 1958 film if you are interested in the Titanic story. Feel free to watch the 1997 adaptation if you are a fan of Kate Winslet’s nipples.

So, The Titanic should be remembered. Absolutely. Even if it is through such insipid crap as the story of Jack and Rose (for a more interesting story featuring a Jack and a Rose, see Metal Gear Solid 2, which also features a sinking ship. Also robots), better to be in the consciousness than forgotten. The end justifies the means I suppose.  Although one thought lingers following the recent memorial cruise. When I was a bit younger I read a Thomas Hardy poem; The Convergance of the Twain. It was about the power of man and the capability of nature to always keep that power ‘in check’. The poem basically said that the ship and the berg were wedded in some creepy union, and that while it was being made in dock this one iceberg was just waiting to sink it. It basically described how nature would always have greater strength than that which man could muster. Nearly a hundred years later, in the prelude to the launch of the memorial ship, it was pointed out that the likelihood of the disaster going full cycle is markedly less likely. This is partly due to the fact that advancements in radar technology have lowered the chances of a collision. But more so due to the fact that global warming has led to icebergs at large doing more melting than ship-sinking. Hardy condemned the folly and arrogance of The White Star Line in calling their ship the 'unsinkable ship'. He warned that mother nature would just wave her handbag and swat the little ship and send her to the depths of the ocean, where her untold fortunes would slowly deteriorate. And so that fathomless power Hardy described was actually a little off. It's probably the first time carbon dioxide has ever disproved the work of a famous poet; obviously Thomas Hardy never envisaged the prevalence of the motor industry. Still, take THAT, icebergs, you giant floaty bastards. Drifting about, sinking-ships and being privy to that overused ‘tip of the iceberg’ quip. I mean that probably isn’t even accurate anymore. The tip of an iceberg is probably all there is to modern day icebergs. The continued bastardisation of the planet has definitely got us one back after that whole biso in 1912, I'd say. That’s at least a net score of 1.