Latest news with #TuppenceMiddleton

Nuclear Drama ‘The Deal' Wins Inaugural Series Mania Buyers Upfront

Yahoo

25-03-2025

Entertainment
Yahoo

Nuclear Drama ‘The Deal' Wins Inaugural Series Mania Buyers Upfront

The Deal, a 'timely drama' about last-ditch nuclear talks, has won the inaugural Series Mania Buyers Upfront. The European co-pro, which is sold by Gaumont, is set in a fictional 2015, with Switzerland hosting last-chance nuclear talks between the U.S. and Iran. Swiss diplomat Alexandra Weiss leads the mission, where rising tensions and delegates' hidden agendas threaten fragile diplomacy. The show is a co-pro between Switzerland, France, Luxembourg and Belgium. More from Deadline First Look At Tuppence Middleton In SVT Drama Series 'Blood Cruise' From Andy Serkis' Imaginarium Productions, Northern Fable & CBS Studios - Series Mania 'Comedy InvAsian' Preps Season 3 As Co-Creator Quentin Lee Gears Up For France-Canada Lab At Series Mania Amanda Seyfried Never Thought She Would Play A Cop: "The Industry Sees You In A Certain Way Through The Years" The Buyers' Upfront winner was selected from 10 titles, which were curated by Series Mania's artistic team and based on both artistic merit and broad audience appeal. The winner was revealed yesterday at a Beta Film brunch, as the Series Mania forum kicks off in Lille. Judging The Deal were acquisitions execs from Mediaset, Rai, Movistar Plus+, ZDF and Arte. The Deal came up against the likes of Germany's Dangerous Truth, Escaping Bolivia and Iceland's Fusion in the inaugural award. 'The jury and I were very impressed with the variety of genres and the quality of productions for the titles that were presented this afternoon,' said Katie Keenan, the group director of acquisitions at UK/ROI & Europe for Sky. 'We chose The Deal as the winner as it is a very timely drama given the state of world affairs which adds to its market appeal. Alongside the dynamics of diplomacy and the tension it brings to the drama, there were also human and personal stories that we are certain will unfold,' commented Keenan. Best of Deadline 2025 TV Series Renewals: Photo Gallery How To Watch 'Wicked: Part One': Is The Film Streaming Yet? All The Songs In 'Severance' Season 2: From The Who To Ella Fitzgerald

Yahoo

25-03-2025

Entertainment
Yahoo

Nuclear Drama ‘The Deal' Wins Inaugural Series Mania Buyers Upfront

The Guardian

08-03-2025

Entertainment
The Guardian

Scorpions by Tuppence Middleton review

Tuppence Middleton was 11 years old when her parents realised something wasn't right. It was 1998 and they had told their daughter – who was just emerging from a four-month bout of chronic fatigue – that it was time for bed. Half an hour later, her mother went to check on her and found her still dressed and standing in her bedroom doorway. Asked why, her daughter replied: 'I'm doing my routine.' Middleton – who would grow up to become an actor known for her performances in Mank and Downton Abbey – had developed obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), a condition that affects 2% of the global population, and left her convinced that if she didn't complete certain rituals, something terrible would happen: her parents would die, the house would burn down or she would vomit (one of her greatest fears). Her compulsions entailed silently tapping and counting to eight at specific points around the house: doorknobs, doorframes, the corners of rooms, the edges of mirrors. In Scorpions, Middleton lays out what it is like to live with OCD, skilfully and often poetically articulating the mental distress that comes with the condition. The scorpions of the title are how she characterises the illness, creatures that 'wield their own special power over my brain, shaping the architecture and rhythm of my thoughts … Small armoured bodies scuttle along an intricate web of neural pathways, disturbing the delicate flow of logical thought.' We are not short of books about OCD: Rose Cartwright's Pure, Bryony Gordon's Mad Girl and David Adam's The Man Who Couldn't Stop. Middleton's is a worthy addition to the roll call, throwing more light on the impulses and cycles of thought that many people with OCD strive to keep secret out of fear of judgment. Middleton has had OCD for 30 years and, in that time, public understanding has increased. But with that, she warns, has come a tendency to simplify and trivialise the illness. Years ago, she recalls receiving a coffee mug as a Christmas present with the words OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE emblazoned on it in pink letters. 'It is hard to imagine a line of gift items with ANOREXIA or PTSD boldly stamped across them for all to see,' Middleton writes. 'So why is OCD continually used as shorthand for lighthearted craziness?' There is nothing cute or whimsical about Middleton's absolute certainty that she has left her front door open after leaving the house, despite having gone back to check multiple times, or her mortal fear of being around people she suspects – usually on scant evidence – may be coming down with a virus. When this happens, social niceties go out the window, and friendships, particularly new ones, are easily destroyed. Middleton describes a typical conversation between her and the scorpions in the dead of night, a time when her senses are heightened and fears easily stoked. 'Trust us, we can help you,' they say as she becomes convinced she is going to throw up. 'All you have to do is count. It's so simple. We'll do the rest.' As a memoir, Scorpions is unusual in telling a strikingly personal story while revealing comparatively little of its author's everyday life. This is clearly deliberate: the book is no celebrity tell-all, and readers hoping for glimpses of Middleton's life as an actor will find precious few. What they will get, however, is an unusually immersive, candid and often bleakly funny account of a mental health condition. Middleton offers no theories as to the cause of her illness, and presents no easy cure. Instead, her aim is to provide comfort to others living with OCD and to show that 'life with [it] is not a hopeless one. It is surmountable, with the right guidance and medical help, and whether my scorpions are hibernating or voraciously present, I have learned to live alongside them.' Sign up to Bookmarks Discover new books and learn more about your favourite authors with our expert reviews, interviews and news stories. Literary delights delivered direct to you after newsletter promotion Scorpions: A Memoir by Tuppence Middleton is published by Rider (£18.99). To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy at Delivery charges may apply.

Not lighthearted craziness, or a comic disorder of the mind: what it's like living with OCD

The Guardian

16-02-2025

Entertainment
The Guardian

Not lighthearted craziness, or a comic disorder of the mind: what it's like living with OCD

My mind is full of scorpions. Devious, nimble little beasts that have occupied my head for the best part of 30 years. A cerebral itch, impossible to scratch. They wield their own special power over my brain, shaping the architecture and rhythm of my thoughts. An immovable nest, weighing heavy in my skull. I know these creatures well, but they know me better. I am their dutiful puppet, stuck inside an endless loop of sleepless nights and watchful days. They answer to another name, this nest of scorpions, the writhing black mass that lives inside my head: obsessive-compulsive disorder. OCD is a mental illness that affects about 2% of the global population, but the proportion of people touched by it is far higher. A condition that causes obsessive, unwanted thoughts and repetitive behaviour known as compulsions, it is often described as a 'silent' illness, carrying with it a lot of shame, stigma and misconception. It is common, and relatively easy, for sufferers to disguise or hide it due to the internal nature of the intrusive thoughts and the embarrassment brought about by irrational or unusual compulsions. As a society, we often classify certain mental health disorders as less acute than others; OCD is one of them. It is still trivialised by the media, and many people falsely believe that it can be filed under a personality type characterised by traits or quirks such as liking things to be clean or being concerned with order. There is a plethora of novelty merchandise available, branding their owner as 'a little bit OCD'. I have a coffee mug that I received as a Christmas present many years ago in my own kitchen cupboard that has the words 'obsessive compulsive' emblazoned across it in bright pink letters. It is hard to imagine a line of gift items with anorexia or PTSD boldly stamped upon them for all to see. So why is OCD continually used as a shorthand for lighthearted craziness, or categorised as one of the more comic disorders of the mind? Tuppence Middleton won plaudits recently for her portrayal of Elizabeth Taylor in Jack Thorne's play The Motive and the Cue, which was directed by Sam Mendes at the National Theatre and subsequently in the West End. On television, she has appeared in Black Mirror and played the wicked Hélène Kuragina in the BBC adaptation of War and Peace. Film roles, after her breakthrough in The Imitation Game, have included Lucy Smith in both Downton Abbey movies and Sara Mankiewicz in David Fincher's Mank. Born and raised in Somerset, she was named Tuppence after the childhood nickname her grandmother gave to her mother. The truth is that this condition can devastate people's lives, leading to job loss, relationship breakdown and total isolation, as well as, in more severe cases, suicide. Diagnosis is often reached much later than it should be for numerous reasons, be that social, cultural or familial. From my own experience I know that it was a condition my family and I had heard very little about when I was growing up, let alone felt able to seek help for. Thankfully, the conversation around mental health has opened up a lot since I was a child, but to me it feels as though OCD is still relatively misunderstood, under-researched and has fewer treatment options than other mental health conditions such as anxiety or depression. For almost as long as I can remember I have struggled with obsessive thoughts, checking compulsions, and an extreme fear of vomiting, manifesting and evolving in different ways at each stage of my life. This took root when I was 11 and had to stay off school for months with chronic fatigue syndrome. It started with my favourite number, 16, which as all children are aware can be divided into eights, fours and twos – all even, rounded numbers. But it was the eights that interested me most, and I started to see them everywhere. The fingers on a pair of hands fascinated me, while the thumbs faded into soft focus. My eyes would seek out a constellation of eight small freckles on a stranger's arm. Each time the world around me filled me with fear, I heard the encouraging hum of the scorpions telling me to count. This silent counting kept the swelling panic at bay. At first it was the corners of rooms, the edges of mirrors, the frames of doorways. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Each corner had its own dedicated count. All eight numbers were given their due weight and time before I moved on to the next 'unclean' corner, waiting to be baptised by my routine. The looming threat of corners and edges soon became bigger: pillows, curtains, TV screens, textbooks, light switches, pieces of toast. Everything needed to be organised and contained by the number eight. My blood would bubble and a feeling like a wave rising in a tsunami would build inside my chest, only to be stopped by the incessant counting. Dark thoughts threatened to punish me for any noncompliance… If you don't finish the count, your parents will die. If you don't finish the count, the house will burn down. If you don't finish the count, you will be sick. Sticking to my silent counting rituals in order to quell the panic that surged in my chest, I managed to carry on with life in an outwardly normal fashion until the night my mother discovered me on the landing, midway through one of my self-imposed routines. She took me to visit our family doctor, the first of many visits throughout the blur of my secondary school years. Therapy was naturally one of the first suggestions made by Dr G, but the idea of it scared me, making me feel like I had failed at the simple task of being normal. Later, he suggested antidepressants. I exchanged a look of barely concealed terror with my mother, before reassuring him: 'I'm not depressed, I just can't stop doing these routines. I don't want to take any tablets.' Dr G was a quintessential, doctorly mix of utter kindness and cold, hard realism as he told me: 'It's actually very common that antidepressants are prescribed for your condition: they alter the way different parts of the brain communicate with each other, and the way in which obsessive compulsive disorder interrupts these processes.' Obsessive-compulsive disorder. It felt strange to hear it said aloud so flippantly. Until then we had largely referred to it as my 'routine'. The words seemed to reverberate around the room, bouncing off each of the corners I was doing my very best not to count. On the short journey home, my mother and I agreed that it was the right decision to refuse the tablets. Medication was meant only for the severely mentally ill, the desperately unhappy or hardcore drug addicts – and I was coping just fine, we concurred. Everyone has their little quirks… Mental health was almost never talked about in our house – or any other house that we knew of, for that matter. As I crept towards the end of my school days, I managed the condition relatively well, but because OCD thrives in solitude, intimate friendships were something of a minefield. Group gatherings, sleepovers, school trips were all things that I resolutely avoided. I still observe large friendship groups like a detached cat watching a swarm of bees. When I left home for drama school in London, where I had opted to share a house with three young men during my first year, I had hoped the move might rid me of my compulsive rituals for good. I had hoped that it was habit born of a time and place that I had now left behind. However, the routines travelled with me. The routines developed. They became longer and more complex, which often made me late leaving the house. Late attendance to our course was tolerated on a 'three strikes and you're out' basis, so there was a particularly all-consuming kind of pressure that accompanied my ritualistic checking in the first year of training. My routines or compulsions centre (and have always centred) on two main points of focus: home environment and illness/death. A typical thought/behaviour cycle I experienced often went something like this: I'm standing in the middle of my kitchen and am already 10 minutes late. But if I perform the routine one more time, then this feeling of impending doom might just go away long enough for me to get out the front door. I hold my hand palm-up beneath the tap, staring at the empty space where running water would usually flow. It's definitely off. Can I feel the water? NO. Can I see it? NO. Can I hear it? Sign up to Observed Analysis and opinion on the week's news and culture brought to you by the best Observer writers after newsletter promotion I close my eyes for a moment. I open my eyes again and everything remains the same, not least my belief that somehow the tap is still running at full flow into the sink. I look. I count. I've lost track of the minutes I've been standing here. I move to the cooker. The gas is off. I know it's off. But gas is invisible, so how do I know it isn't slowly leaking into every room of my house and I won't die of suffocation in my sleep later tonight? In the midst of these thought cycles I might send a quick message to my agent/friend/family member to say I am running late. Transport issues, I'd say. Now I would have to start my routine again. I look at the various enemies occupying my kitchen: door, tap, cooker, fridge, light switch. I'd promise myself this was the last time. After all, I'd still have more rooms to check before I could leave. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. The counting happens almost without thought or intention now. It is so ingrained, so practised, that I can perform it in a kind of standby mode. After drama school it became obvious that three years is not long enough to learn how to become an actor. You spend your entire career learning, as you spend your entire life learning how to become a human being. Each year of my training I learned new skills, new processes, but I also learned how to pretend beyond the confines of acting. To pretend I was calm or composed. That there wasn't a nest of scorpions living inside my brain. It is an exhausting way to function, to constantly hide a part of yourself that is so intrinsic and unappealing. I have no doubt that I am a better pretender than I am an actor, so adept at moving through life undetected that I can almost convince myself that the scorpions are not there. But they are there. Meddling, goading, rewarding. I decided it was time to attempt to kill them. The year after drama school I tried an NHS-prescribed course of cognitive behavioural therapy, during which I ticked all the right boxes and agreed dutifully, when asked if the sessions were helping, giving the performance of my life as a young woman who was overcoming her compulsive behaviour and disordered way of thinking. I couldn't bear to disappoint my enthusiastic young therapist by telling her the simple truth. That I was scared of what it might require of me to make myself better, and that I didn't feel that this kind of logic-driven, behaviour-focused approach was the right fit for me. And so, after a block of eight arduous sessions, I was discharged from her care and my GP was informed that the treatment had been successful. Case closed. Or so they thought. The next attempt came three years later, when my anxiety increased substantially and the physical effects of that began to take their toll on my body. I was living alone at the time and finding it impossible to get any sleep due to the panic attacks I was experiencing on a semi-regular basis. However, I have always been one of those frustrating people who waits until the headache is almost blinding them before they take a painkiller. So, I waited until the physical effect of anxiety – the rapid heartbeat, the breathlessness, the chest pain, the stomach cramps, the insomnia – became unbearable, and decided to return to the solution that had been offered to me by Dr G as a teenager. Initially I was prescribed a strong anti-anxiety medication, diazepam. Then I began taking an antidepressant called fluoxetine, commonly known as Prozac. When it eventually kicked in, as Dr G had predicted, I felt calmer, more in control, less enslaved by the scorpions. I could sleep through the night and my panic attacks stopped completely. I felt stabilised for the first time in a long while. Although my physical symptoms had improved, I was still aware of a hum of activity continuing inside my head. Just because I couldn't see or feel the effects of the scorpions, it didn't mean they weren't still there, chipping away at my neural pathways, weaving new and complex thoughts into the bedrock of my brain. So after a blissful two years of feeling something close to normal on the outside, I decided to take advantage of this momentum and put everything into attacking my little monsters from the inside too with psychotherapy. As I sat in the chair and my therapist listened and shared and suggested, I realised that I had for most of my life underestimated the power of talking. As this slow and steady process began to blunt the pincers and neutralise the stings, my therapist suggested making steps towards coming off my medication. I felt daunted by the idea of saying goodbye to my crutch and fending for myself again. Would the panic attacks come back? Would talking about my scorpions really be enough to keep them at bay? Within six months I had stopped taking the drugs, which I attribute to continuing therapy at my own pace while slowly lowering my dosage. The scorpions were still there, but my mind was no longer a cramped and festering mass, rather an open passageway for the scorpions to pass through. Sometimes there are more than others, sometimes I don't feel them for weeks on end, and sometimes there is a blockage – a lone scorpion stuck in the outer reaches of my mind, leading all the others to the same place until the pressure builds and I must find my own ways to set them free. In Hindu tradition scorpion bites are known to have been treated by the recitation of mantras. There is a special mantra that consists of counting from 100 back to one, then repeating the whole count 108 times. Allegedly, this mantra is said to work solely on Holi or Diwali festival days, or during solar or lunar eclipses. Only an obsessive can appreciate how satisfying this kind of specificity can be… My rituals and routines function in much the same way as these mantras. Through counting or checking or touching, I soothe the anxious energy in my body and calm the negative thoughts until that thrumming swarm is reduced to a distant scuttle. When the rituals don't satisfy my obsessions, then I take photographs – of taps, of cookers, of other dangers – to assure myself. When I can't assure myself, I look to others to reassure me. When I can't be reassured, I wash my hands, I avoid people, I don't leave the house, I invent a new routine, a new bargain, a new unpleasant thought. And when the nest overwhelms me again, I return to my role as therapee. Treatment is an ever-evolving process, as different for each person as it has been for me at every stage of my life with OCD. Each avenue has provided me with a new way of approaching those days when everything feels stuck. A sense of relief that there is help out there, however the scorpions choose to surprise me. It is just a matter of asking for it. This is an edited extract from Scorpions: A Memoir by Tuppence Middleton, published by Rider, an imprint of Ebury Publishing (£18.99). To support the Guardian and Observer order your copy at Delivery charges may apply

Latest news with #TuppenceMiddleton

Nuclear Drama ‘The Deal' Wins Inaugural Series Mania Buyers Upfront

Nuclear Drama ‘The Deal' Wins Inaugural Series Mania Buyers Upfront

Scorpions by Tuppence Middleton review

Not lighthearted craziness, or a comic disorder of the mind: what it's like living with OCD

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