Despite soaring profits for the studios, US film and TV writers are striking because they can’t securely earn enough to craft a body of work. Photograph: Amy Katz/ZUMA Press Wire/ShutterstockĬinema has died, the small-screen streamers won and the pandemic turned us all into tracksuited recipients of infinite digital “content”. Going off-scriptĪ picket line in front of Netflix Studios in Hollywood in support of striking screenwriters. When you observe Christiane Amanpour and Anderson Cooper working their magic you look at yourself with your phone camera and conclude that, for all your competence, perhaps you just don’t exude screen-burning cinematic power-charisma and that wanting something a lot doesn’t make it happen. I dream about having a beige corporate apartment in Manhattan, walking to work holding a coffee and signing off, on-camera: “This is Bidisha Mamata, for CNN/NBC/ABC/CBS.”īut my royal TV gigs showed me where I am in the pecking order. I like the can-do American spirit, the lack of snide negativity and the appreciation for ambition. The levels of good hair were unbelievable. Exuding punch and pizzazz, they had the presence of Hollywood actors playing TV correspondents. Our American journalist peers were in another league altogether. Last week, and at the Queen’s funeral last year, British broadcasters lurked outside Buckingham Palace, murmuring about heritage and history in our sardonic way. Over the last few years I’ve enjoyed a sideline as a TV royal commentator, trying to explain their nifty blend of telenovela melodrama, imperial privilege and divine medieval mystique. So now Charles is crowned, ending the world’s longest workplace apprenticeship. ‘Punch and pizzazz’: US broadcaster Christiane Amanpour was in town for the coronation. But the monochrome palette, the bouclé wool, the pearls, the silk jersey, the uncorseted black dress, the neat little shoulders and narrow silhouette, the androgyny and uniform aesthetics, the quilting and tweed, the chains and braids, the camellias, the handbag, the logo and – above all – Chanel No 5 perfume, whose sales keep the business running? Those were invented by one woman, the genius Coco Chanel. Lagerfeld’s designs were peppy and sellable. The men triumphed this year, what with Taika Waititi’s unstructured bluish-grey housecoat, Bad Bunny’s seductive white backless blazer, Barry Keoghan in retina-sizzling electric blue plaid and Pedro Pascal’s bare knees, cheeky scout grin and scarlet overcoat.Įvery Met gala has a theme, and this one honoured the late Chanel designer Karl Lagerfeld. Like many people, I balance ignorance of its purpose (it’s an annual fundraiser for the Met museum’s Costume Institute) with needing to know what everyone wore. T he Met gala has come and gone in a brief cacophony of internet clicks.
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