[MR. BANKS (MR. DAWES SR., spoken)]
Now, Michael, When you deposit tuppence in a bank account, Soon you’ll see
That it blooms into credit of a generous amount, Semiannually
[BANK DIRECTORS]
And you’ll achieve that sense of stature, As your influence expands
To the high financial strata, That established credit now commands
You can purchase first and second trust deeds
Think of the foreclosures!
Bonds! Chattels! Dividends! Shares!
Bankruptcies! Debtor sales! Opportunities!
All manner of private enterprise!
Shipyards! The mercantile! Collieries! Tanneries!
Incorporations! Amalgamations! Banks!
[MR. DAWES SR.]
While stand the banks of England, England stands…
When fall the banks of England, England falls!
[MR. BANKS]
You see, Michael, all for the lack of…
[BANK DIRECTORS]
Tuppence, Patiently, cautiously, trustingly invested in the…
To be specific:, In the Dawes, Tomes, Mousely, Grubbs Fidelity Fiduciary Bank!
From Mary Poppins
Will it utterly obliterate your good opinion of me if I disclose that I am a stone-cold Mary Poppins fan? So be it. I think it is one of the greatest cinematic works of all time. Yes, it’s a feel-good Disney romp, deemed, for 5 decades, suitable fare for the little darlings. But it was ahead of its time in terms of questioning authority/embracing and enshrining subversion. Released, as it was, a full three years before the Summer of Love, it pokes fun at staid institutions, placing them and their custodians on a lesser rung of power strata — visibly beneath the chimney sweeps and domestic servants who rule the roost in this re-imagined version of Early 20th Century Edwardian London.
It is also a work of pioneering psychodelia, full of laugh-propelled, levitating uncles, and evidenced most notably by the scene where Dick Van Dyke’s Bert the Chimney Sweep coaxes Julie Andrew’s Poppins to jump into a chalk drawing and enter an authentic acid trip — animated with men and horses, hoops and garters and (lastly) a hogshead of real fire.
To be fair, though, acid was legal in 1964; did not get outlawed until ’68.
I particularly call to your attention the climatic turn of the story — wherein the stuffy father of the feature family (named, appropriately, George Banks) takes his son Michael to deposit the tuppence he has squirrelled away into the above-named bank (where the former is a rising young executive). Michael has other ideas – a scheme, encouraged by a grimy bag lady, to use the funds to underwrite the feeding of the pigeons on the steps of St. Paul’s.
Notwithstanding the full force of logic and salesmanship brought to bear by the depository institution’s Board of Directors, Michael remains obdurate. He snatches his tuppence away and makes off with them, causing a full-scale run on the Dawes, Tomes, Mousely, Grubbs Fidelity Fiduciary Bank.
In accordance with Financial Conduct Authority and (presumably) Internal Bank Regulations, the episode impels the cashiering of Mr. Banks, Pere. Who responds in the only way possible – by uttering the signature phrase “Supercalifragilisticexpialodocious”, announcing, in doing so, his fullscale entrance into the counterculture.
And something like the above appears to be repeating itself – almost fully two generations after the release of this magnificent film.
Our present world is dominated by banks – Fidelity Banks, Fiduciary Banks. Think foreclosures! Bonds! Chattels! Dividends! Shares! Bankruptcies! Debtor sales!
And think of adorable little depositors causing collapses by withholding (or, alternatively, withdrawing) their tuppence from these mighty institutions.
The latest victim, of course, is First Republic, which, after putting up a gallant, weeks’ long fight, finally collapsed into the mighty, combined arms of the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation and J.P. Morgan, Inc. The latter is acquiring the former – all ~$300B of assets, and ~$100B of deposits, for 35 cents/share (approximately 15 tuppence).
As recently as February, FRC was trading at $150/share, implying that Jamie and his crew are picking up this here piece of biz for 1/500th of its value a mere quarter ago.
Oh yeah, and taxpayers are underwriting a substantial portion of the associated default risk.
Nice trade, Jamie! You may have even outdone your yodeling UBS compadre Sergio Ermotti in his snagging of Credit Suisse.
Other banks are now, of course, in play, with the result being the further consolidation of an industry where, in rhetoric but not practice, regulators have fought against this tide for many years.
How beneficial this is for the banking industry, however, is a matter of some doubt. Certainly, depositors will benefit, though, as they invariably do when regulators and big institutions collaborate to rejigger the alignment of the sector.
There are some signals, nonetheless, that merit monitoring.
This past week, for instance, the Bank for International Settlements (BIS) released its 2022 year-end report, revealing, among other dainties, an alarming decline in cross-border lending:
And all this before the banking psychodrama of 2023. Of particular concern, in the present-day redux of the Michael Banks run, is the well-being of American subsidiaries of large, multinational institutions. If the raids continue, they will need all the dollars they can obtain. Yet they have no natural greenback depositor base, so stay tuned.
Meantime, the Fidelity Fiduciary Central Banks, not to be upstaged, are all quite active. In the past week alone, the Fed, ECB, and Bank of England (regal overseers of the Dawes, Tomes, Mousely, Grubbs Fidelity Fiduciary Bank) all raised their overnight rates by 25 basis points.
Away from all this, and in that narrow corner of the universe that does not involve banking, the heavy information sequence is winding down for the quarter. Earnings and guidance are better than expected. The Jobs Market is improbably strong. Buffet’s Berkshire is, in time-honored fashion, blowing the doors off the joint.
The choice that thus devolves to us is as follows. Do we trust the banks enough to deposit our tuppence in their coffers, or do we feed the birds?
There are risks under both options, and I hasten to mention that if we choose the latter course, our little winged friends might fly off, showing their appreciation by dropping parting projectiles on our shoulders.
There is, of course, a third option. We can invest our tuppence in paper and strings, and fly a kite.
It seems to me, on this windy mid-Spring day, there are worse alternatives. So, if anyone wants me, they should look in the sky and follow the string that I am holding in my fist. (Spoiler Alert): that’s where we find the Banks family at the end of the film, and what’s good enough for them is good enough for me.
I reckon, though, that we won’t be able to eschew the banking industry entirely, and I can only urge you to remember that it is Supercalifragilisticexpialodocious.
With an emphasis, at least for now, on Fragile.
TIMSHEL