Latest news with #LifeofBrian
Atlantic
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
What the Great Teen Movies Taught Us
In the early spring, I caught a preview at my local Alamo Drafthouse Cinema for its forthcoming stoner-classics retrospective: snippets of Monty Python's Life of Brian; Tommy Boy; a few Dada-esque cartoons perfect for zonking out on, post-edible. The audience watched quietly until Matthew McConaughey, sporting a parted blond bowl cut and ferrying students to some end-of-year fun, delivered a signature bit of dialogue. 'Say, man, you got a joint?' he asked the kid in the back seat. 'Uhhh, no, not on me, man.' 'It'd be a lot cooler if you did,' he drawled. The crowd, including me, went wild. Richard Linklater's Dazed and Confused, in which a fresh-faced McConaughey appears as Wooderson, the guy who graduated years back but still hangs with the high-school kids, is that kind of teen movie: eternally jubilance-inspiring. Set in 1976 and released in 1993, it's a paean to the let-loose ethos of a certain decade of American high school. And boy do these kids let loose. On the final day of the school year, a group of rising seniors in small-town Texas set out with custom-made paddles to whack the bottoms of soon-to-be freshmen, and then take a couple of them to a 'beer bust' out by a soaring light tower. Along the way, they shoot some pool, cruise the town, smoke joint after joint. If the film has a point, it's that the teens want to party all night and still wake up in time to buy Aerosmith tickets in the morning. (The last frame shows them driving into the sunrise.) What makes Dazed and Confused so pleasurable is its adherence to a devil-may-care freedom just inside the bounds of believability. You can really imagine a group of mid-'70s high-school boys throwing a bowling ball through a car window. You can really envision (especially if you went to my high school, which held on to similar hazing rituals well into the 2000s) senior girls screaming at rising ninth graders, ordering them to lie on the ground and 'fry like bacon' while being squirted with ketchup and mustard. And if you're as jealous of a '70s upbringing as I am (largely thanks to Dazed and Confused ), you can daydream about a version of adolescent life with nary an adult to correct you or even shake their head. Only the school's football coach tries to hold the line on drugs, and he's roundly mocked. Wild partying is just a rite of initiation. As Bruce Handy—a journalist, critic, and fellow Dazed and Confused fan—writes in his new book, Hollywood High: A Totally Epic, Way Opinionated History of Teen Movies, relaxing the strictures on kids in the throes of puberty and letting them call the shots has been the modus operandi of the teen filmscape for decades. Teenagers coalesced as a demographic group and a niche market in the 1940s and soon became box-office-boosting conveyors of cool. By the time the first batches of Baby Boomers were graduating from high school in the mid-1960s, teens had arrived as 'the prime movers of American popular culture,' Handy writes. Over the ensuing six decades, 'teenagers and teen movies would come of age hand in hand,' stirring moral panic along the way. In Handy's astute and spirited account, grown-ups live in fear of the culture that teens have helped create—unnerved again and again by what they learn on-screen about an age cohort hell-bent on charting its own detour on the way to adulthood. 'They're just afraid that some of us might be having too good a time,' the coolest kid in Dazed and Confused concludes about his elders. As the genre has evolved, their unease has extended well beyond that. From the start, Handy argues, the on-screen adventures in teen movies have been targeted to a double audience of rebellious teens and anxious adults. Kindly caretakers of youths in prewar times (Judge Hardy in the Hardy films helps his aw-shucks son navigate chaste first kisses, etc.) retreat from view. Early-1950s headlines such as 'Youth Delinquency Growing Rapidly Over the Country' are the backdrop to Jim Stark (James Dean) in Rebel Without a Cause (1955), roaring across the California landscape in his Mercury Coupe, morally adrift and crying out for adult guidance he never gets. Posters billed the movie as a challenging drama of today's juvenile violence, savvily marketing it to hell-raisers and handwringers alike. Handy, who presides as a proudly pro-teen Boomer, is a clear-eyed critic who's not about to buy into the panic himself. Digging into movie backstories, budgets, ticket sales, and social trends, he is interested in how the films repeatedly glamorize adolescent acting-out in charged and timely ways. He situates the Beach Party series of 1963–65 ('crap, but interesting crap') amid early-'60s worries that teens would take over the culture. Watch out, warned a 1963 book called Teen-Age Tyranny; they're 'permanently' imposing 'teenage standards of thought, culture, and goals.' Or lack of goals. The seven Beach Party films feature airheads enjoying sandy weekend fun, no teachers or parents in sight—though an anthropologist on the sidelines scrutinizes youthful mating habits through a telescope. The fact that no sex was in sight either (even visible navels were deemed off-limits) didn't stand in the way of ad copy that deployed titillation and terror. 'When 10,000 Bodies Hit 5,000 Blankets …' invited thousands of viewers to fill in the blank with their imagination. In Handy's telling, teen culture rapidly became a lucrative feedback loop: Teenagers repeat the behaviors they see on-screen, Hollywood in turn tailors scripts to shifting concerns about kids, and the results both lure teens to theaters and encourage further antics—rattling adults even more in the process. Surging late-'70s drug-use statistics dovetail with Cameron Crowe's Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982), based on the year Crowe spent undercover at a real California high school. Its memorable pothead character, Spicoli (a young Sean Penn), literally rolls out of a smoke-filled VW van on his first day of school—and has the last laugh, flouting the history teacher who tries to set the wasted kid straight. But the movie makes room for more sober realism too, with its teen-pregnancy subplot and kids juggling jobs. These teens aren't just hedonistic idlers; they've prematurely saddled themselves with grown-up burdens they can't always handle. And in John Hughes's films, teens do what adults dread most: cast blame on their elders. In The Breakfast Club (1985), the kids consigned to Saturday-morning detention (a microcosm of high-school social tribes) conclude that it's their 'wintry, stone-faced' parents, as Handy puts it, who 'are the root of all their children's problems.' Hughes, who insisted on happy endings, grants the students victory: The film wraps with a freeze-frame of a freshly released detainee's defiantly raised fist—and it belongs to Bender (Judd Nelson), the disaffected, angry loner most inclined to stick it to the grown-ups. More recently, the flavor of the moral panic has changed in a way that Handy doesn't quite latch on to. Adults were once afraid of teens: the greasers of Rebel, the boppers of Beach Party, the stoners of Fast Times, the screwups of The Breakfast Club. They were threats to the order of things, both too grown-up to control and not grown-up enough to properly wield control themselves. But since the arrival of the 21st century, teen films have taken a turn. Adults have become afraid for teens, and newly distressed about their own role (or lack thereof) in the troubles facing them. The mode of anxiety has shifted, and the culture of concern is playing catch-up. As A ninth grader in April 1999, I came home one Tuesday to a news bulletin that showed a boy dangling from a window at Columbine High School, desperately trying to escape two schoolmates on a shooting rampage. That day, real-life teenagers entered a new era, one of victimhood. The fraught terrain has steadily expanded since, and now encompasses fears about social media's pernicious influence on teens, their growing anxiety and loneliness, their future in a polarized society on a warming planet. Handy does not underrate the bleak fallout in teen films of 'our current wretched century.' He also rightly identifies the rise of 'girl power' as a force in teen culture, and the popularity and quality of girl-centered movies, even as old-school sex romps (the American Pie franchise) never disappear. Tina Fey's 2004 film, Mean Girls, is near the top of his list of best teen films, as it is of mine, and he embeds it in a discussion of articles and parenting guides (Fey drew on Rosalind Wiseman 's Queen Bees & Wannabes) that sounded the alarm about aggression and insecurity in the world of American girlhood. But in emphasizing bullying's links to the usual teen-film theme of high-school tribalism, Handy stops short of recognizing the portrayal of it, both comic and horrifying, as part of a larger shift toward incisive psychological probing that skewed dark: When Fey watched the movie with test audiences, she took note that girls were responding to it less as a teen movie and more 'like a reality show.' They weren't 'exactly guffawing.' Recently out of high school myself at the time, though I laughed, I also remember wincing at the no-safe-spaces aura of the cruelty. In his choice of other 21st-century films to focus on, Handy veers away from depictions of teens whose newly stressful struggles for autonomy portend dire consequences. He omits Sofia Coppola's excellent and grim feature-length directorial debut, The Virgin Suicides (based on Jeffrey Eugenides's 1993 novel and set in the mid-'70s), which was released with a sickening thud in 2000—a bookend of sorts to the freewheeling laxity of Dazed and Confused, set in the same era. When 13-year-old Cecilia, the youngest of five spectrally beautiful sisters whose severe parents keep them cloistered, throws herself out a second-story window in the middle of a rare party at their house, she is the first of the girls to successfully take her own life; the rest follow. With the haze of inexplicable death clouding every sequence, The Virgin Suicides reset the barometric pressure of teen movies. Who could or would protect these kids from themselves? Instead, Handy homes in on the biggest teen blockbusters of the 21st century— The Twilight Saga (2008–12) and The Hunger Games (2012–23)—two series, one fantasy and the other science fiction, in which teens succeed in summoning rare strength not just to manage their own hormones but to deal with their elders' destructive drives. The themes are familiar: sexual initiation for Bella Swan (Kristen Stewart) in Twilight and peer competition for Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) in The Hunger Games. But a vampire boyfriend for Bella and gladiatorial combat in a totalitarian dystopia for Katniss—and ultimate wind-in-the-hair domestic bliss for both—leave the current social realities of teen life behind. The pressures of a hyper-meritocratic, social-media-saturated world surface elsewhere, with girls again in the foreground. Handy mentions the hilariously incisive Booksmart (2019) only in passing, but its two super-stressed-out, overachieving Los Angeles seniors, Molly and Amy (Beanie Feldstein and Kaitlyn Dever), embody a strain of contemporary, and contradictory, fears about teenagers: Have they been so intent on molding themselves into some optimized version of young adulthood that the only thing they're headed for is burnout or disappointment? If they just chill, though, what about their future productivity? On the last day of school, the two girls are busy resolving student-council-budget issues—only to be jolted into questioning their rule-following zeal. Together, they dare to let loose before it's too late. Booksmart delivers a giddy quest-for-a-party ride, while also feeling like a heady glimpse into a teen therapist's session notes. For poignant scrutiny of the digital revolution's repercussions for teens, Handy might have explored the sweetly rendered Eighth Grade (2018), which arms a fledgling adolescent with her own camera. Kayla (Elsie Fisher), a painfully shy and insecure 13-year-old, is glued to screens, a voyeur obsessively scrolling for glimpses of lives that seem intimidatingly alien and glamorous. At the same time, she's a vlogger, posting wishfully affirmative videos online. Set during the last week of the school year, the movie deftly captures a kid caught between the digital and real worlds, trapped in her own head and stranded on the margins of an inaccessible peer scene. Finally daring to show up at a pool party, she doesn't reach for beer or pot; she has a panic attack. I couldn't help comparing the scene of Kayla, in an all-wrong bright-green one-piece, anxiously descending into the pool, head down as if to make herself invisible, with a memorable moment in Fast Times: the sexually-savvy-beyond-her-years Linda (Phoebe Cates), clad in a fire-engine-red bikini, majestically emerging from the water, a symbol of an era freighted with such different fears. By now, in the TikTok-teen era (vlogging Kayla was a little ahead of her time), the feedback-loop premise of Handy's history shows signs of being under strain. Teens, once Hollywood's lucrative market, no longer flock to theaters. And the place where their adventures are playing out isn't as readily accessible as it once was, even to hyper-hovering adults. If teens are still showing up at parties, they're on their phones there; if they still venture out to whatever malls they can find, they're on their phones there. When they're at school, they're mostly on their phones there, too. And what they are consuming is content produced by other teens—stories and TikToks and straight-to-camera diatribes more real to them than any film written by adults and shot through their anxious, or nostalgic, lens. The cohort that took over mass culture more than half a century ago has now built a sprawling culture for itself, by itself. In 2025, the most potent media produced about teenagers will likely emerge on those pocket-size life changers, and most grown-ups will never get wind of what's on display. How's that for something to worry about?
Spectator
6 days ago
- Politics
- Spectator
This is a dangerous moment for free speech
Britain without blasphemy laws is a surprisingly recent development. Blasphemy was abolished as a common law offence in England and Wales only in 2008 and in Scotland in 2021. But that was the final burial of a law dead for much longer. The last execution for the crime was in 1697; the last imprisonment in 1921; and the last successful trial in 1977 – Mary Whitehouse's prosecution of Gay News for publishing a poem about a centurion's rape of Christ's corpse. Even if 11 local councils banned Monty Python's Life of Brian two years later, the trend since has been towards trusting that the Almighty is big enough to fend for himself. Yet this week the clock seemed to have been turned back to around ad 650. Hamit Coskun was convicted of a racially aggravated public order offence motivated 'by hostility towards… followers of Islam'. His crime? Setting fire to a Quran, shouting 'fuck Islam' and declaring the faith a 'religion of terrorism' outside the Turkish consulate. The Crown argued Coskun's demonstration could not have been peaceful, since it provoked a Muslim man to attack him. The alternative explanation – that Coskun had, in a rather regrettable way, proved his main point, eluded the professionals of Lord Hermer's Crown Prosecution Service. Coskun was originally charged with the exciting new crime of harassing the 'religious institution of Islam' – treating a faith with 1.9 billion followers like someone with hurt feelings. Although that charge was not pursued, the eventual ruling's impact is effectively the same. Henceforth, anyone criticising a religion is at the mercy of the tender sensibilities of any bystanders.
Scottish Sun
11-05-2025
- Lifestyle
- Scottish Sun
All the useful Latin phrases you need to know – including final word to shut down ANY conversation
Click to share on X/Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) HABEMUS papam, folks! Yes, in layman's terms, we have a new pope. And with the pontification of Pope Leo XIV comes the reminder that Latin is a very useful language indeed. Sign up for Scottish Sun newsletter Sign up 5 Latin lines in the Monty Python film Life of Brian Credit: Alamy 5 Habemus papam, we have a new pope - Leo XIV Credit: Getty After all, not only did it herald big news in Vatican City that resounded around the world (resonare – to echo), it also plays a massive role in our daily conversation. Don't believe us? Just look at some of the frequent words and phrases that pepper our everyday speech: ad hoc, mea culpa, quid pro quo . . . et cetera. Monty Python famously asked: what have the Romans ever done for us? Read More on World News CRASH HORROR Airport bus full of tourists ploughs into stationary traffic in Germany So with that in mind, here Charlotte Oliver collates – and translates – some of the most useful Latin phrases we still use today, taking you from the battlefield to the bedroom and beyond. Carpe diem AN obvious one, but next time you tell someone to 'seize the day', you might want to remember where the quote came from. It was actually said by poet Horace in his ode to girlfriend Leuconoe . . . to convince her to go to bed with him. Also worth noting is that, while 'carpe' is frequently translated as 'seize', it's actually closer in meaning to 'pluck'. So whenever you use it in a sentence, just remember that a horny Horace was keen to pluck . . . Robert Prevost elected as Pope Leo XIV - the first from North American In vino veritas MEANING 'there's truth in wine', this aphorism needs no explaining to anyone who's ever woken up in the morning with a stomach full of rosé and regret. Originally coming from the Greeks, Pliny the Elder translated the phrase to Latin as a warning that your large glass of Pinot comes with notes of lavender, hints of all-spice – and a guarantee you'll be spilling your guts before the night is over. Militat omnis amans IT was Pat Benatar who sang with Eighties pop angst that Love Is A Battlefield, but she was actually pipped to the post by the writer Ovid 2,000 years earlier. In his work Amores, the satirical poet told his audience: 'militat omnis amans' – or 'every lover is a soldier' – summing up the bittersweet rollercoaster that is falling head over heels. Add a music video with mullets and you've got yourself a hit. 5 A bust of Rome's great leader, Julius Caesar Credit: Bettmann Archive Mulgere hircum A LESSER-known expression, you'll be milking this for all it's worth soon enough. Literally meaning 'to milk a male goat', it can be used to describe a situation where one is attempting the impossible. Used in a sentence? That in itself might just be a mulgere hircum. Barba non facit philosophum HAVING a beard can say many things about you: you're a hipster, you like having something to stroke, you don't like your chin or you couldn't be bothered to shave. But back in Ancient Rome, beards were squarely associated with deep thinkers. However, this phrase, meaning 'a beard doesn't make one a philosopher' was used to note the difference between brains and bristles…a razor-sharp observation, indeed. 5 In vino veritas means 'there's truth in wine' Credit: Getty Aut Caesar aut nihil AS the first ever Roman 'emperor', Julius Caesar rose to the highest rank ever reached in its society…while the word Caesar was later used to describe all Roman emperors. So, by saying 'aut Caesar aut nihil' – meaning 'either Caesar or nothing' – you are saying 'all or nothing'. In context, it suggests you'll either achieve the ultimate goal, or crash and burn spectacularly. But you can, of course, also use it to order a tasty salad dressing. Festina lente WE love an oxymoron – like saying something is a definite maybe or giving our unbiased opinion. But this one is particularly impactful. Translated as 'hurry slowly', Suetonius used it to describe Emperor Augustus' military style, which was all about conquering and pillaging the world . . . with caution. Surdo oppedere LATIN may be associated with epic literature and romantic verses, but those Ancient Romans loved a fart and burp joke, too. They also loved brevity. Put those two together and you've got 'surdo oppedere', which literally means 'to belch before the deaf', and describes a pointless or futile action. 5 American singer Pat Benatar Credit: Getty Panem et circenses ACCORDING to the Roman satirist Juvenal, politicians could distract the masses by offering them two things – 'bread and circuses'. The idea is that, presented with free food and entertainment, we can turn a blind eye to more pressing concerns affecting the current state of affairs. To which we say . . . did somebody mention free food?
The Irish Sun
11-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Irish Sun
All the useful Latin phrases you need to know – including final word to shut down ANY conversation
HABEMUS papam, folks! Yes, in layman's terms, we have a new pope. And with the pontification of 5 Latin lines in the Monty Python film Life of Brian Credit: Alamy 5 Habemus papam, we have a new pope - Leo XIV Credit: Getty After all, not only did it herald big news in Don't believe us? Just look at some of the frequent words and phrases that pepper our everyday speech: ad hoc, mea culpa, quid pro quo . . . et cetera. Read More on World News So with that in mind, here Charlotte Oliver collates – and translates – some of the most useful Latin phrases we still use today, taking you from the battlefield to the bedroom and beyond. Carpe diem AN obvious one, but next time you tell someone to 'seize the day', you might want to remember where the quote came from. It was actually said by poet Horace in his ode to girlfriend Leuconoe . . . to convince her to go to bed with him. Also worth noting is that, while 'carpe' is frequently translated as 'seize', it's actually closer in meaning to 'pluck'. Most read in The Sun So whenever you use it in a sentence, just remember that a horny Horace was keen to pluck . . . Robert Prevost elected as Pope Leo XIV - the first from North American In vino veritas MEANING 'there's truth in wine', this aphorism needs no explaining to anyone who's ever woken up in the morning with a stomach full of rosé and regret. Originally coming from the Greeks, Pliny the Elder translated the phrase to Latin as a warning that your large glass of Pinot comes with notes of lavender, hints of all-spice – and a guarantee you'll be spilling your guts before the night is over. Militat omnis amans IT was Pat Benatar who sang with Eighties pop angst that Love Is A Battlefield, but she was actually pipped to the post by the writer Ovid 2,000 years earlier. In his work Amores, the satirical poet told his audience: 'militat omnis amans' – or 'every lover is a soldier' – summing up the bittersweet rollercoaster that is falling head over heels. Add a music video with mullets and you've got yourself a hit. 5 A bust of Rome's great leader, Julius Caesar Credit: Bettmann Archive Mulgere hircum A LESSER-known expression, you'll be milking this for all it's worth soon enough. Literally meaning 'to milk a male goat', it can be used to describe a situation where one is attempting the impossible. Used in a sentence? That in itself might just be a mulgere hircum. Barba non facit philosophum HAVING a beard can say many things about you: you're a hipster, you like having something to stroke, you don't like your chin or you couldn't be bothered to shave. But back in Ancient Rome, beards were squarely associated with deep thinkers. However, this phrase, meaning 'a beard doesn't make one a philosopher' was used to note the difference between brains and bristles…a razor-sharp observation, indeed. 5 In vino veritas means 'there's truth in wine' Credit: Getty Aut Caesar aut nihil AS the first ever Roman 'emperor', So, by saying 'aut Caesar aut nihil' – meaning 'either Caesar or nothing' – you are saying 'all or nothing'. In context, it suggests you'll either achieve the ultimate goal, or crash and burn spectacularly. But you can, of course, also use it to order a tasty salad dressing. Festina lente WE love an oxymoron – like saying something is a definite maybe or giving our unbiased opinion. But this one is particularly impactful. Translated as 'hurry slowly', Suetonius used it to describe Emperor Augustus' military style, which was all about conquering and pillaging the world . . . with caution. Surdo oppedere LATIN may be associated with epic literature and romantic verses, but those Ancient Romans loved a fart and burp joke, too. They also loved brevity. Put those two together and you've got 'surdo oppedere', which literally means 'to belch before the deaf', and describes a pointless or futile action. 5 American singer Pat Benatar Credit: Getty Panem et circenses ACCORDING to the Roman satirist Juvenal, politicians could distract the masses by offering them two things – 'bread and circuses'. The idea is that, presented with free food and entertainment, we can turn a blind eye to more pressing concerns affecting the current state of affairs. To which we say . . . did somebody mention free food?
The National
09-05-2025
- Business
- The National
What happened when Donald Trump visited the Scottish Parliament
It was April 2012, and the US businessman was met outside Holyrood by crowds of booing environmentalists and placard-wielding anti-wind farm activists chanting: 'There's only one Donald Trump'. He smirked and waved before making his way inside to present evidence as part of a committee looking at the impact of renewable technology. Why? He was appearing to give evidence as a business owner in Scotland and arguing against further wind turbines. At that time, he owned just one golf course in Aberdeenshire but would soon add Turnberry in South Ayrshire a few years later. The billionaire was invited by the committee convener Murdo Fraser, explains Patrick Harvie – now Scottish Greens co-leader and then a member of the committee. (Image: Andrew Milligan/PA Archive/PA Images) 'Murdo Fraser was a little bit more sceptical about the Scottish Government's renewable energy targets. I obviously believed that they were not only achievable, but that we could do even more than those targets, and indeed that's what we did do,' he told The National. 'And at that time, Donald Trump was busily campaigning against renewables because he didn't want his wealthy guests at his golf resort to have to see the terrifying spectacle of a turbine on the horizon when they were teeing off.' Harvie added: 'I think it's probably fair to say that Murdo slightly bounced the committee into calling him as a witness. The idea that he was an expert witness on renewable energy is laughable. But, as far as I recall, Murdo met with Trump's team, and after the meeting, they announced that they were going to be giving evidence to the committee, without the committee having agreed to call him as a witness.' READ MORE: Keir Starmer's India trade deal panned as gift to Nigel Farage He went on: 'And once that was in the papers, most of the committee felt that they couldn't then say no without looking embarrassed. You know, I thought that was absurd. Trump is someone who has long pedalled unhinged conspiracy theories. He once wrote that climate change was invented by China to steal American jobs. 'It became the absurd circus that I was worried it would be.' And, of course, it did. With Tory MSP Fraser himself admitting in the aftermath that in terms of actual evidence, there 'wasn't much substance.' In a particular noteworthy moment, the now US president was claiming that the Scottish public hated wind farms. This led to SNP MSP Chic Brodie asking him what evidence he had to support this. The billionaire then pointed at himself and said 'I am the evidence'. After the mammoth two-hour long session, Harvie tweeted an image from the famous Monty Python's Life of Brian crucifixion scene and superimposed a speech bubble in front of each character that read "I am the evidence'. This didn't go down well with Trump. 'He got, I think at the time, one of Scotland's highest paid lawyers as his legal representative,' Harvie explained. READ MORE: Everything you need to know about John Swinney's Programme for Government 'And a little while later I got a letter informing me that I was being accused of blasphemy. That I offended the whole of Christendom, who I'm fairly certain were not all following me on Twitter.' The complaint was also sent to the Holyrood standards commissioner who was then forced to launch an investigation due to parliament rules and an obscure Scottish blasphemy law that was last enforced in 1843. It was, of course, thrown out as frivolous eventually. 'After many run-ins with religious hierarchy figures over equal marriage or sex education or umpteen other issues, I am now to this date the only MSP ever found formally not guilty of blasphemy,' Harvie said. 'So, I'm delighted with that.' Of course, Trump is now a two-term US president. How times have changed. But Harvie said people shouldn't forget what he has done and said in the past. 'At the time, there were people who still regarded him just as a media celebrity. They'd seen him on The Apprentice. They saw him as this kind of celebrity clown figure,' he explained. '[But] I think it's really important to acknowledge that well before then. In fact, decades before then – he was a notorious racist, sexist, homophobe, climate denier, and procurer of other conspiracy theories.' Harvie added: 'He's a dangerous, dangerous man and always was.'
