From the hyperbolic verbiage of Oscar to the sparser prose of Mr Isherwood took only only two generations of Gay literature but during that relatively short time the love that dare not speak its name was being being grasped (figuratively speaking) by the incipient chattering classes and buggery - if "Christopher and his kind" is to be believed - was being elevated to the level of an Olympic Sport. Certainly Mr Isherwood,once having escaped from England's frying - pan to Nazi Germany's fire ( and you must ask what was he thinking about here)joyfully entered the fray,gleefully indulging in rough trade with all the energy of his class(posh domineering widowed mum,unwilling Cambridge student dropout). This programme was so bad it made me look back with affection towards the Laurence Harvey "I am a camera" of half a century ago - and anyone who remembers that will know what a leap in the dark I'm making. Mr M.Smith is very poor as Isherwood,inciting no sympathy whatsoever,rather a drawback you might think in a drama where he is the main character and,presumably,is supposed to be presenting a gay man in a positive way.Sadly Mr Smith does not seem to possess the acting "chops" to carry off such a complex part. His Isherwood is only interested in one thing - and we all know what that is. "Christopher and his kind" is a missed opportunity to interest a new generation to a minor but interesting figure of British literature whose life surely cannot really have been so proscribed by his sexuality.
Review of Christopher and His Kind
