I have always thought about the American Civil War as a bloody mess. I never thought that I would have to take my place in the firing line. I can see myself in the Photo of the soldiers, same look in the eyes, nonplussed. Remember in the Shining when Nicholson sees the faces in the photos. When did all this start? It started with being privileged. I was looking after this friend's house he had gone to Paris for a course in Photo Lighting. Ten days, of house arrest, his house is a sweetwater in a backwater. Lonesome but with the dog in the garden. Do some writing, keep an eye out for the bandits. What with unemployment going places, the boys are looking for easy pickings. My friend; is a piano player who has a great gift and Hollywood uses him for tricky technical musical work, He had the video of the latest “Return to Cold Mountain" he waved his magic wand with the orchestra. So I am all alone a wee bit anxious and I start to look at the film. It’s dark outside, no one for miles. The Civil War. Jude Law. I am interested in him because he married and fathered three children with the daughter of a friend of mine. Sadie Frost. I used to look after her and her sister when they were tiny. Part of my apprenticeship. Jude Law a bit wooden. Hand carved furniture. Inman. Coincidence. I once wrote a book with a character called Inman. Inner man was the cypher. Did he become anything more than a cypher? Jude Law and his Ada Munro. Nicole Kidman now there's a trier. It was the direction that screwed the film. It was long, too long three hours. Privileged viewing, six months before the release in the cinema with all the dumbstuff for the mass audience. Here I was like Spielberg in his house in Thunder and Lightning street. Without the over exposure and the promotional overload. I could judge it as a work of cinema. Reminds me of when Lennon played me the first cut of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Just to see if it would blow my mind out. Story told. I've got cramp in the Knees and I've drunk too much beer. The Civil War was the first modern war that’s what the historians say. So did it ever stop? Was it exported? To the rest of the world with Hoovers washing machines and technical exhibitionism? Like a compulsion so overpowering in it’s inevitable modernity and horrible reality. My friend has the novel, written I see, as I finish the last strong Spanish beer and scale the stairs to lonely bed, it's an oral account, extrapolated from the stories of grandparents. Of course I like that a lot. That sort of stuff being the clouds that dreams float upon. The battle of Fredericksburg. Blast your eyes. The book was tender and fine. Even though I liked my friend’s music, beautiful strings. The actors were wooden all except Ruby. Who I fell in love with and wanted to play doctors and nurses in the barn. I know she would like that. \ So there I was in the photos of the film that were in an envelope at the back. Location shots. How is it that I have modeled my "Look " as the French call it on a Johnny Reb Officer and one of the extras is there and he looks like me. Then I look at the backs of the photos and they are archives from the first modern war. There I am just before Lee surrenders. It’s four o clock the hour of the wolf. I have found myself on the losing side once more. How long will they keep me prisoner. I who could not die for liberty. Modern man face haunting. Holding the gun that will not work. Unemployment for all these soldiers. Wait till they become cured and run for office. At least I am not totally dead just a prisoner in this fiasco of a War. Nicole Kidman makes 11,000,000 dollars a year. How wonderful to be on the winning side. The anxiety of not being rich is something that I have got used to. What gets me is the lack of enjoyment among my fellow prisoners. As if it’s all my fault we are prisoners inside the reel of film. Philip Hartigan, Marseille Back to Harkness