Among the many issues that divided the audience streaming out of Sir Christopher Frayling’s valedictory lecture as Arts Council England (ACE) chairman last night was his complaint that ACE did not get enough credit for what it did.

There is a salutary lesson in arts funding from America.

New York’s Metropolitan Opera is cancelling expensive new productions and planning cuts in artists’ fees as a result of the credit crunch.

Relying as it does on endowments and donations, it has been severely affected by the financial crisis. The New York Times reported that the value of its funds had dropped a third from a high of $300 million (£200 million). There had also been a $10 million drop in donations and ticket sales were also likely to plummet millions.

The ramifications of the downturn for British art institutions are yet to become clear.

But the situation over the Atlantic should make one thing clear - if we believe the arts are a public good that should be made widely available, depending on private philanthropy to provide them is not the answer.

A typical major theatre company or art gallery in Britain already has a funding model that goes something like a third subsidy, a third sponsorship and fund-raising and a third ticket sales and other revenue.

Early signs are that many major sponsorship deals are holding up - for the time-being.

But everyone knows it’s going to get tougher.

And it would be unwise to bank on business backing in a recession.

The reality is that government subsidy will be needed more than ever.

Labour were bold in funding the arts to unprecedented levels in the last decade and that support has borne astonishing fruit.

But being bold in a recession would be even more impressive. e

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And the winner is - British actors, directors and producers. Congratulations to all those involved in the string of British successes at today's Golden Globes and commiserations to the losers (notably Frost/Nixon).

Topped by Slumdog Millionaire, a film which went from having no distributor last autumn to a resounding four wins at last night's ceremony, the British film industry has every reason to feel its on a roll.

Hollywood has long recognised the skill of British stars and technicians and encouraged them across the Atlantic.

But this year, unlike some years, many of the victories come from films actually conceived and backed by Britain.

It is not just a question of actors such as Tom Hopkinson winning acclaim in the mini-series John Adams, a history of America directed, incidentally, by the Londoner Tom Hooper in a move that might have made the founding father of the United States of America smile.

It is not even a matter of brilliant directors such as Sam Mendes and Stephen Daldry eliciting knockout performances from Kate Winslet in Revolutionary Road and The Reader - an Anglo-German production - respectively.

Instead, it is Film4, the small but plucky film arm of Channel 4, that is the producing brains behind not only Slumdog but two of the other winners - Happy-Go-Lucky, Mike Leigh's story of a north London teacher, and In Bruges, the black comedy film debut of the playwright Martin McDonagh.

None of these was a surefire hit. Slumdog Millionaire has no star names, is a love story with added torture, some of it performed in Hindi. And even Danny Boyle, its effervescent director, had not produced a movie on the scale of his early triumphs Trainspotting and Shallow Grave for some time.

Happy-Go-Lucky was, as ever, a leap of faith in the ability of arch-improviser Mike Leigh to extract something special from his crack cast. And who could have predicted whether Martin McDonagh could have translated his Olivier Award-winning theatre success to film - not only as writer, but directing, too.

So hurrah for Tessa Ross and her team. But one word of warning.

It has been said before - and subsequently much mocked - that the British are coming. No one can doubt that this year they have done.

But the current financial state of Channel 4, Film4's paymaster, is parlous, to say the least. The Film4 film-makers have paid their way this year with hit after hit, even with productions - such as Hunger, the astonishing movie debut from the Turner Prize winner Steve McQueen - that were overlooked by the Globes.

Yet such success can never be guaranteed. All you can do is back talent.

And all that can be hoped is that the critical acclaim now ringing around Hollywood carries weight with those who hold the future of the channel - and, on current form, British film-making - in their hands.

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I have been wondering how to mark the death of Harold Pinter when tributes have been flowing from those who had known him well for decadess.

But I encountered him enough over the years – at first nights, at a small British Film Institute lunch for writers who once worked on TV drama, in an interview last year at the time of a great flowering of his work on stage and television, by telephone when he won the Nobel Prize – to feel a sadness at his passing.

He was, as has been widely reported, scary on occasions - but only if you imposed or said something silly. Dealing with him just involved a little bit of thought.

Because he was also exceptionally generous. I am almost certain that he agreed to be interviewed by me not for himself but to help the production of The Dumb Waiter being directed by his close friend Harry Burton. The passion he exhibited for the underdog and oppressed in his political statements was just the extension of the warmth he demonstrated for friends and family.

It is not good in a journalist to be star-struck and I like to think I am not. (My beloved says I was little excitable after interviewing Andy Garcia on a yacht in Cannesbut in general it is not appropriate.)

But for me, Pinter is one of two people – the other being the cellist Mstislav Rostropovich – I was honoured to have met.

He was commanding in person, compelling as an actor on stage – seeing him perform his own plays made you understand how they should be done - and an innovator in his writings.

He, like Rostropovich, was a true great. As Antonia Fraser said at his funeral yesterday, from Hamlet: “Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”