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Italian scientists have discovered a way to replace the expensive silicon in solar panels with blueberry pigment You cannot make this stuff up. Whatever else it will be, our future will be indescribably weird.

Saw “The Madness of King George” a night ago and found myself, to my surprise, somewhat annoyed–I usually love Alan Bennett’s work. For those of you who haven’t seen it, King George III goes mad (historians now believe as a result of the hereditary eyzmatic disorder porphyria). He is tormented by doctors and forced into seclusion by his conniving son. But, just as he’s about to be locked away for good, he’s given a new doctor with strange, modern methods and is cured.

Okay, nice story, but not true. George went mad periodically for the rest of his life, and the Prince of Wales did eventually take over. So the catharsis of the movie–which is blatantly historical–is fraudulent. Furthermore, the “methods” of the hero-doctor involve slinging the King into a restraining chair (think of an electric chair without the metal cap where all the real business is conducted), then keeping him bound and gagged “until [he] learns to behave.” The scene where George, formerly a King in all his confidence, suffers an outbreak of compulsive talking, then walks over to the chair and meekly offers himself to be strapped down, is heartbreaking.

“The Madness of King George” reduces authentic mental illness to a two-year-old’s tantrum. It’s lesson is that we can conquer anything–if we can just be masters of ourselves. This is a comforting idea. Unless you’re gay. Or bipolar. Or mortal.

It’s very British of the old school, that locked-down ethos that caused so much quiet suffering, and loud alcoholism. That attitude seems to be changing now, thank goodness, but “The Madness of King George” is nothing less than a paean to the proverbial stiff upper lip. And, in my opinion, a load of bollocks.