Bashing Bush and Berlusconi is Old Europe’s delight

LONDON, United Kingdom – Last Friday night, literally direct from our British Airways flight which dropped us off at Heathrow, we went off to the Apollo Victoria Theatre to see Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Bombay Dreams.

There was a lot of corn, ersatz Subcontinental bottom-wiggling and bosom-shaking, some strained Indian accents from performers who’d never been to Mumbai (that’s what they confusingly call Bombay today, Babu), but I loved it.

Sure, they didn’t have a single unforgettable tune except the chart-hitting Shakalaka Baby, which saw those "Indians" onstage shaking, waving, bouncing and head-and-neck dislocating (acha-acha!) like only Indians can do it – great shades of Shiva dancing – but that spoof on Bollywood was great.

It was no Phantom of the Opera, that’s certain, and at times "Bombay’s Dream" turned into a nightmare of schmaltz and kitsch unacceptable even in the Flora Fountain area, but why quibble? The saris were gorgeous, and so are the gals – the real women, that is. For some of the characters are gays, you know – those "eunuchs" (as the Indians call their large population of the Third Sex Hijra in their tongue – with their mother’s faces and their father’s plumbing). The blurb in the program maintains that these Hijras have a special place in Indian society, particularly as entertainers – singing and dancing at weddings and births – and even have their own trade union. (Sanamagan, the article continues, one eunuch "was elected to Indian parliament".)

Is that unique to India? We’ve a battalion in both Houses of our Congress of the très gay varieties, in business, and in column-writing. Their kind of song and dance, of course, is far less amusing.

Yep, I liked Stephen Rahman-Hughes and his East Side Story movements, as "Akaash", the hero – he came not from Tamilnad, though, or Maharashtra, but from the Lewisham College and Ballet Rambert School, and once worked for Scottish Ballet (an Indian in kilts, the mind boggles) and the European Chamber opera. Zegra Naqvi, as "Priya", the petite heroine, came from Melbourne and Tasmania. And, as I complained years ago of the great movie, Gandhi, India was too clean in the Apollo Victoria stage version – smelling neither of cow dung, stale pomade and armpit, but rather of subtle perfume and scented incense. But, shucks, Kipling is dead, Ravi Shankar’s daughter is now a pop performing artist, and Indians are beginning to discover soap.

So, hail to the buxom performers and shaking ex-fakirs (not fakes) of the Bombay slums and the sleek "Monsoon Wedding" and "Lagaan" types of Bollywood. They bring a new flavor to West End theatre and the London stage.

And the plot, though thin, rings almost true. Gangsters do control much of the financing of those Bollywood film adventures (though back there they’re not happy with being tagged "Bollywood" – a term which many artists find copy-cattish and condescending). Years ago I actually drove there, was entertained by directors and stars, and prayed to Ganesha, the Hindu elephant god of good fortune and artistic endeavors. What impressed me was that they were shooting three different pictures at the same time, on different subjects, within a few hundred meters of each other.

Bollywood has come a long way since then. "Dreams" was great, but, to risk sounding a spoil-sport, it was a come-down for Andrew Lloyd Webber. Oh well, nobody’s perfect.

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The newspapers and media are still bashing Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi who took over as President of the European Union (for Italy’s six-month round-robin term) and, in angry response to loud and insulting heckling from a German Socialist (SPD) member of European Parliament – MEPs they call those parliamentarians – huffed that this abrasive Teuton would do well playing the movie role of a Nazi kapo (camp commandant) in a German concentration camp. The chamber erupted into an uproar last Wednesday, of course, and the session had to be suspended.

If Erap had his Eraptions, and US President George "Dubya" Bush has his Bushisms (like calling the Greeks "Grecians" and the Kosovars – whom he saved by timely military intervention – "Kosovarians"), Berlusconi’s coined retorts and verbal gaffés are legion.

His "Nazi" insult to the German heckler MEP Martin Schulz – who was really disrespectful and boorish himself – is just the latest, including his limp post-insult attempt to pass the intemperate remark off as "irony".

Like US Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, who also offends what Rumsfeld scoffs at as the "old Europeans" (especially Germany and France), Berlusconi has a permanent smile pasted on his face. He delivered that furious reply to Schulz with his patented killer smile – but that lashing out may have "killed" in turn his effectiveness as six-month EU President.

What a media storm has erupted over poor Silvio’s head. Anyway, at that stormy Strasbourg meeting of the European Parliament, the Green Leader, Monica Fassoni, called him a latter-day Atilla the Hun, thundering through the political landscape without regard to any law known to God or man. France’s peppery Liberation daily groused that "the EU will have to complete its constitutional project under the leadership of the least suitable man for the task."

Germany’s leading newsmagazine, Der Spiegel called him "The Godfather", accusing him of "in his country… having demolished the justice system, brought the television stations to heel and made the parliament vote made-to-measure laws on his behalf, Today – groan – he is going to represent Europe."

Greece’s To Vima complained: "Europe is trembling at the thought of Silvio!"

Spain’s El Pais headlined an editorial, "Fear of Berlusconi", and quipped: "One can question the seriousness of a government led by a person who seeks laughs and effect rather than depth."

Yesterday, the media attacks continued unabated. On its editorial page, The Daily Telegraph here headlined its piece: "Berlusconi Makes Mussolini’s Heir Seem Less of a Fascist."

The daily did add an six-column story headlined: "Berlusconi Apologizes for Nazi Gaffe."

It reported that the Italian P.M. had "apologized to Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder of Germany last night after sparking one of Europe’s biggest diplomatic spats…"

"During a telephone conversation between the two leaders, Mr. Berlusconi expressed regret at suggesting he recommend the parliamentarian (Schulz) should star as a concentration camp commandant in a new Italian film."

Schroeder commented in Berlin, "I told him that for me the matter was closed." But in a statement from his office Mr. Berlusconi made it clear that he had been "gravely" offended by the German MEP’s remarks which had prompted his outburst.

The TIMES of London also slugged its eight-column headline: "Italian Leader Sends Cautious Regrets for Nazi Gibe."

The Financial Times of London huffed: "Berlusconi’s Stupid Gaffe." (They love that noun!) The FT grumped: "It is always said that in Europe, Italy punches below its weight. The danger is they will now simply say that under Mr. Berlusconi, Italy punches below the belt."

My reaction is: Punch on, Silvio Baby. At least you’re making waves.

Berlusconi’s pal, US President Bush, gets his share of Western European opprobrium, including from the FT. On the occasion of July 4th (yesterday), one columnist Gerard Baker very smoothly kicked the Tall Texan in his huevos, remarking that there is a view of Bush in Europe: "In thiscaricature, George W. is more George III that George Washington: bigoted, illiberal, intolerant, arrogant, a dangerous fool."

By the way, England’s King George III, whose stupidity lost the American colonies in 1776, was a German on the British throne, who spoke very bad English, and didn’t understand what was going on – and, moreover, sent "hired" German (Hessian) mercenaries to America to fight George Washington and his continental army and Minutemen. Gee whiz. Those Germans always manage to provoke something or other, even the Boston Tea Party.

Oh, well. Berlusconi’s now more famous than Fiat, Ferrari, or Olivetti – and even Atilla the Hun – so that’s something.

* * *

Berlusconi’s bad press continued, with no abatement, into the weekend.

The Independent here ran top of the page photos of the Prime Minister wearily rubbing his eyes, then his forehead, under a screaming banner which read: "SCUSI: Berlusconi apologizes over Nazi gibe. But has this imbroglio turned his EU Presidency into a bad joke?"

Certainly the cartoonist had a field day. Mr. B was portrayed on the TIMES editorial page 22 as a goosestepping black-capped (with signature tassel) Mussolini giving the Fascist salute, with one boot – one foot – in his mouth. The accompanying column by Mary Righter – may be rightly named – was more supportive however: "Berlusconi Must Have an Apology from the Red Rabble."

In her column entitled "Thunderer", the commentator said: "Yes, he would have done better to keep his cool. Yes, he must have known that gibes, particularly barbed-wire ones, sting hardest in translation . . . But there is a sickening hypocrisy about the righteous harrumphing in Berlin, where Gerhard Schroeder stooped to the stagey ploy of putting calls from Rome on hold, and about the pompous strutting in Strasbourg of the offended ‘dignity’ of the European Parliament. Dignity had gone to the dogs, a whole slavering pack of them, well before Berlusconi bit back . . . Berlusconi delivered an accomplished, thoughtful speech. He, and the country he leads, were entitled to the customary courtesy of an adult debate on its substance."

Well said, Mary! As the columnist pointed out, before Mr. B even opened his mouth, he had been beset by "a raucous claque of Green and left-wing MEPs (who) waved placards plastered with the best insults they could plagiarize. His speech was greeted with a barrage of invectives all of it ad hominem, much of it infantile, some of it contemptible – the French communists calling the Berlusconi Government ‘barbaric’, or the Belgian MEPs accusing him of laying waste Italy as did Atilla the Hun."

Atilla, in truth, is beginning to look like a nice fellow, in contrast to those riotous and rude MEPs, whose main gripe with Berloscuni is not just scorn for him but also for his countrymen, the Italians (whom they credit mostly for pizza and pasta, without acknowledging their creative genius and fashion superiority) – but, most of all because Berlusconi sided with "Dubya" Bush and backed America and those off-shore islanders, the Brits, in the war on Iraq.

They also dislike Berlusconi because he is rich, and the idea extant is that behind every great fortune there lies a great crime.

Yesterday’s Financial Times commented that "Europe’s sense of humor failure is no laughing matter."

The FT wisely observed that there have been many attempts "by busybodies in Brussels to impose rigid standards on everything from the size of bananas and beer mugs to corporate takeover rules and the financing of nationalized industries . . .(and) while not everyone shares Mr. Berlusconi’s idea of a good laugh, it is indisputable that the jokes most likely to set Europeans giggling are often at each other’s expenses."

Added The Independent, in its editorial: "Mr. Berlusconi is the richest man in Italy. If the mere size of his business empire did not set up enough conflict of interests, his dominant position in the Italian media should not be tolerated in a mature democracy." Aha, there lies the rub. Berlusconi is said, aside from owning or controlling many newspapers, to control or influence 90 percent of Italian television!

Susmariosep. When you rule the airwaves, you’ve got the capacity to make waves – which he does with Bull in a China Shop regularity. However, Mr. B, as everyone in any true democracy, is entitled to his success. That he dominates the media in his nation may not seem fair, yet that’s what freedom of speech and of the press also entails. Stifling him would stifle that very liberty.

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THE ROVING EYE . . . Here, the weather is a cool 21 degrees Celsius. Friday was overcast but dry. Yesterday was cool and sunny. It’s a contrast to Rome, where temperatures swelter at 35 degrees Centigrade. We met a couple from Milan at the WE WILL ROCK YOU musical in the Dominion Theater, the ear-splitting Rock Musical by Queen (the singer, not Lizzie, guys) and Ben Elton based on the premise that Rock and Roll will save the planet, even if it smashes your eardrums. The two we encountered, one a former Army captain, his wife, a fashion designer and importer from Israel, said temperatures in Milan were also between 34 and 38 degrees Celsius. Anyway, it was amusing to see those joyful ex-teenagers, aged 40 to 45, rocking, rolling, raising their arms and clapping in unison to the Queen’s big beat. The girls onstage were stunning even in their punk rags, the guys muscular and in synch – and the entire concept of happy anarchy confounding boring conformity was almost totally convincing. If you entertained a contrary opinion, it was completely drowned out by the deadly decibels that rendered you deaf but enlightened. And outside, if you want to know, fellows with pedicabs – yes, foot-powered pedicabs – were waiting to whisk you home to your hotel. (At one pound eighty per kilometer, the ride back might be pricey, but it was surely fascinating.) They used to laugh at rickshaw drivers and cyclo-pousse coolies in Asia: Now, the white guys in London have caught on to the virtues – non-pollutive – of foot power.