Stuff and Moonshine

Lots of scenarios, including a family reunion where I didn’t really know anyone, examining some white flowers growing by a wall, and various ghosts. There was a bit where the new pop-culture test for sexism in a movie was “how many times do we see the main female character get in or out of bed?” I was upset by the premise that someone in bed was inherently titillating to the audience, or that it could never be depicted in a non-erotic way. Then I was watching/experiencing the first episode of a new horror/supernatural anthology series, and thinking it had a parallel in my own past, because my family, when we lived in Japan for a while in the ‘eighties, had first moved into one house, found it “unsuitable” in some weird unspecified way, and then moved to the place that became our home for the rest of our time there. I never found out where the ghost story went, plotwise, but the ghost had quite a specific and detailed identity—a British South African named Neil Dacre who’d died sometime in the early ‘sixties. I’m not sure exactly how he’d died, but it was after a somewhat tempestuous life, career, and marriage. He was just walking into the room—through a closed door—looking exactly like the framed black-and-white photo of himself (at a car rally or something, mouth open in a yell) that still hung on the wall. Then I wokeup, and remembered there’d never been a “first” house, we’d lived in the same house the whole stay—the university provided accommodation to visiting professors.

So far I’ve got:

‘Ride a White Swan’ (T. Rex)
‘Check U Out’ and ‘The Spider Is In the Drum Track’ (Jank Sinatra)
‘Central Time’ (Pokey LaFarge)
’Love Is a Cylindrical Piano’ and ‘Underwater’ (Salads and Sunbeams)
’Black Sails In the Moonlight’ and ‘Mucho Mungo/Mt. Elga’ (Harry Nilssen)
‘Pirate Radio’ (Jean Dawson, thanks to sovay  for introducing it)

Watched this on YouTube as part of my Albert Finney binge. Finney plays Alfie Byrne, bus-conductor and enthusiastic fan of Oscar Wilde, who is determined to stage Salome with a cast mainly assembled from the regulars in his route. When he casts pretty new passenger Adele (Tara Fitzgerald) as princess Salome, everyone assumes he’s got a crush on her; but it’s his driver Robbie he’s pining for (quite understandably— Robbie’s played by Rufus Sewell). Also, it’s 1963.

The actors all have the usual problem in a movie about amateur theatre, which is figuring out just how well or how badly their characters should deliver their lines in the scenes where they’re rehearsing. I did end up thinking that this church-hall production of Salome has some awfully good sets, given what they have to work with—but I’ve seen that happen in real life. There’s a gag midway through about the shop sending them the wrong costumes, but later we see the wardrobe mistress working at a sewing machine and I think we saw her running about earlier with a sequinned gown. Maybe we’re meant to assume hiring costumes was a stop-gap measure that didn’t work out.

The movie’s own wardrobe people did pretty well on the early-‘60s costumes—I think a few of the hairstyles were softened from what you see in photos of the time, but that usually happens. The extras in what you eventually realize is the local gay bar, where Alfie tries lurking nervously and later tries cruising with disastrous results, wear pretty standard menswear for the era and signal subtly. When Alfie swans in cosplaying Wilde, it does not go well. Our protagonist is almost more asexual/homoromantic than anything else, but it’s hard to tell how much of that is innate, and how much is the result of nothing all these years but his collection of Wilde to advise him. None of the other characters seem to suspect his homosexuality until the third act, but all of them comment on his naïveté.

”He’s a great sinner.”
”He’s a terrible director, but I’m stayin’.”

Curious as to how it would hit if you weren’t familiar with the life and works of Oscar Wilde, because some of the allusions were spelt out but some (Alfie referring to Robbie as “Bosie”, looking up at the stars after getting mugged, his defiant speech to the bus inspector that’s taken straight from the transcript of one of Wilde’s trials) weren’t. Not complaining, I think they work better if the script doesn’t hit you over the head (with this, anyway—the villains are not exactly written subtly, though they’re played with flair, especially by Michael Gambon).

Got up early and met a_t_rain downtown to watch the York Plays, or at least as many as them as I could see before ten a.m. when I headed home to get ready for this afternoon/evening’s 20th wedding anniversary at the Dog & Bear (which is where I’m currently typing this—we got here early, our guests are supposed to arrive around two o’clock).

I saw the York Plays from the Fall of Lucifer up through the Nativity, and it all gets way for serious after that point so I was happy enough to stop there. The Flood was a highlight, as usual—loved Noah’s obviously fake beard that he removes, after having spent a century constructing the Ark, and replaces with an even longer fake beard. The construction was staged as Noah unrolling the plans and then folding them into a paper boat—God comes and helps him with the final little tug at the corners that turns it into a boat shape.

Later, Abraham was played by someone who reminded me irresistibly of Matt Berry in voice and general appearance; but he made it work. Also this one was originally produced by the parchment-makers’ guild, so the bunch currently staging it not only made the mountain look like a collage of written texts, but handed out stickers to the audience that read “Abraham and Isaac were grete” and “wende, wende parchment makeres!”

ETA— Just remembered the guy who played post-Eden Adam. He was good, but the text for that play hadn’t been modernized as much as most of the others, and contained several instances of the word “mon,” which iirc, and from the dialogue, seemed to mean either “must” or “may”—“where I mon run,” etc. But this actor seemed to think it was more like the modern Jamaican word “mon.” At least, he would phrase it like “Where I, mon, run.”

Wait did I miss something, or did Ciaran Hinds kill that guy *between* episodes?!

Prof. Porlock: I feel dirty because I just spent ten hours hanging out with an entertainment mogul.
Fyodor: *thinks* I feel dirty because I just killed someone.

Oh, she’s just spotted the body.
Fyodor: We had a row! (actual line)

This has been doing a sort of classical-tragedy thing where the rape and murders happen between scenes and we get descriptions and see the after-effects.

They’ve uncovered Daniel’s memory of shooting Pig. He blacked out after that, so now they’re trying to jolt him awake by feeding his brain an archival clip of Charles and Di giving a press conference, which has to count as torture.

Ok, filming this scene must have been a hoot. I have just had the experience of hearing Albert Finney declare: “Mumble mumble, plastic whale, mumble mumble.” He’s not mumbling, he’s saying the word “mumble.” It all makes sense in context.

Hoo boy I think we’re about to finally get a flashback to Daniel’s lost love.

Oh so we’ve shifted to first-person PoV camera, interspersed with back-of-a-younger-actor’s-head and Finney doing Dan’s voice. Beth’s not played by Saffron Burrows (Sandra), we’re not pulling a Life and Death of Colonel Blimp here.


The poor scientists haven’t seen Karaoke, so they’re completely lost in this flashback to the brasserie.
Dan’s brain (beginning to suspect something): What’s happening here?
Prof. Porlock: …..


Everyone in the series: Wow, Karaoke is such a great series!

Nice going, Prof. Emma Porlock! Also I ship you and Luanda!

Ok at this point I think this counts as neo-noir. Porlock and her team are getting in over their heads (and also Dan’s head)

Poor Dan’s starting to have flashbacks even when there’s nobody around to watch them. And poor Finney presumably had to spend several shooting days wearing frozen-head makeup and standing in a box.

And now his head’s about to be kidnapped. End of Episode Three.

Episode Four— more plot stuff, Daniel is finally released. I hope Emma and Luanda get away. Is that a clip of the Wilson and Kepple sand dance, and if so, why is it part of Daniel’s dying visions?

Both this and Karaoke give special thanks in the credits to a Dr. Paul Downey, who I think was Potter’s doctor during his final illness; which makes me wonder if the consultant who has that conversation with Dan about how long he’s got was based on Dr. Downey.

Oh hey, Renny Rye was also the director on The Box of Delights (1984). Also forgot to mention when I referenced Fahrenheit 451 (1960) in my previous post that Julie Christie is in this too.

Oof, Ben’s breakdown that we only see from the back. I really am going to have to watch Roy Hudd in more things.

When Dan stops talking around things and says them straight out, he really says them straight out.

I admit I’m a little disappointed his singing at the end was such an obvious dub—I know it’s Dennis Potter and it’s an in-joke, and we’ve abandoned any pretense of realism a while back; but I’d like to have heard the song in Finney’s real voice. Oh well, maybe he was actually incapable of carrying a tune, idk.

Not even sure Dan needs an alibi, but it makes for a good end line.

Welp, now I guess I'll have to watch Cold Lazarus.

Daniel Feeld (Potter’s Feeld oh ffs I just got it)

Dan’s literary agent Ben (*looks up the actor playing him*—he’s like Jim Broadbent but shorter—huh, Roy Hudd, he seems interesting—oh wait, I read about him a few weeks ago after seeing a photo of his gravestone!) is definitely the MVP of this story. He gets the only nude scene so far.

I don't think I could have watched this show when I was younger-- too many scenes would've had my stomach hurting in sympathy. Now I'm just  "Must a series have a plot? Is it not enough to see a sixty-year-old man with a gorgeous speaking voice endure humiliating medical exams?"

I think I can see how Dan ended up a professional writer—he can’t talk about anything head-on and has to build a sort of sanitary cordon of words around it. Mind you, I expect he’s from a generation that had trouble saying ‘cancer’ out loud. And I like his doctor—he’s incredibly deadpan, with a dark sense of humour, and ultimately I think he really is trying to meet Dan where he’s at. With a vibe I’m not sure how to describe other than “amused, subtly flirty psychopomp.” Even if people-misunderstanding-each-other is the leading cause of drama, I find it very satisfying to watch characters understand each other.

Feel like the soundtrack is doing some weird things—I can’t name any specific examples, but several times I’ve noticed it sort of playing against the script and the acting. Which fits with the fight Dan and whatsis-the-obnoxious-director-played-by-Richard-E-Grant are having over whether to open with Pig singing ‘Teenager In Love’ or with him singing ‘Your Cheating Heart’ (I’m Team Dan on this one—'Your Cheating Heart’ is too slow and not incongruous enough). I continue to feel less bad that Richard E. Grant’s character is going to get beaten up in what I now know is Episode Four.

Ooh, Pig  is prone to spoonerisms too? Or is it just that one phrase (“Umero Nunno”)? Anyway, spooky mirroring of Ben there. Hywel Bennet is terrifying. I don't know who plays a scarier East End gangster: him in this, or Christopher Fairbank in The Show (2020).

I supposed I should be creeped out by Dan fondling Sandra’s makeup brush, but it sort of reminds me of the bit in La Grande Illusion where the POWs are fascinated by a trove of women’s clothes. Anyway by this point we’ve seen him to be fairly harmless. Real Sandra is smarter and tougher than Fictional Sandra, and I think Dan’s going to come to appreciate that.

Had to break off midway through Episode Three last night, will try to watch some more on my lunch break today.

sovay  alerted me to the existence of a tv adaptation of one of H. C. Bailey’s Reggie Fortune stories, with Denholm Elliott in the lead.

Five minutes in and he’s definitely got down Fortune’s perpetual annoyance at getting dragged into crime investigations when he’d much rather be having breakfast and doing normal things.

ETA— he looks so doleful. C’mon, Inspector Bell, let him have some breakfast!

Further ETA—the intense longing with which he looks at that piece of cake.

Last night I came across this Swallows and Amazons+The Charioteer crossover fic, in which a teenaged Ralph goes camping with his Scout troop in the Lake District and recognizes James Turner from his author photo. Does a charming job of showing just how weird the kids’ shenanigans look to someone slightly older who doesn’t know them: Ralph is thrilled that the author of his favourite book, Mixed Moss, is giving him the time of day—and then a little girl in a red stocking cap bursts in, shouting piratical threats, as Mr. Turner cheerfully says “oh, is it two o’clock already? Sorry, I have to be Captain Flint now.”

The Road to Rio (9758 words) by greerwatson
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Charioteer - Mary Renault, Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Ralph Lanyon, Hugh Treviss, James "Captain Flint" Turner, John Walker, Susan Walker, Titty Walker, Roger Walker, Nancy Blackett, Peggy Blackett, Dick Callum, Dorothea Callum, Timothy "Squashy Hat" Stedding, Mary Walker, Bridget Walker, Mrs Dixon (Swallows and Amazons), Mr Dixon (Swallows and Amazons), Mrs Callum (Swallows and Amazons), Prof. Callum (Swallows and Amazons), Carter (The Charioteer), Green (The Charioteer)
Additional Tags: Crossover, Holidays, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, Canon Related, Missing Scene
Summary:

A troop of Scouts from Lanyon's school go on a camping holiday in the Lake District.

Last night Andrew came across The Show (2020), a fantasy neo-noir scripted by Alan Moore (who also acts in the movie). Initially I was on the other side of the room and just listening to the dialogue, but I got pulled in around the time the protagonist consults a detective agency that turns out to be literally two kids in a trenchcoat (“we don’t do messy divorce cases—we have to be in bed by 9:30”).

It’s a classic noir set-up: a hit man arrives in town (Northampton) only to find the target he was sent after is already dead; and begins to suspect, as his client’s phone calls grow increasingly frantic and profanity-laden, that the old man is less interested in avenging his daughter than he is in retrieving the “family heirloom” gold cross pendant that was not found on the target’s body. But as the coincidences and weird dreams pile up, it also looks like something supernatural’s going on as well.

Being written by Moore, it’s as funny as it is horrifying, and it’s also at least 40% easter eggs and in-jokes by volume— I didn’t pay enough attention to all the graffiti in the background to check if any of it read WHO PUT BELLA IN THE WITCH-ELM, or the in-universe equivalent, but if I spot it on a repeat viewing I won’t be at all surprised.


It’s still not quite as weird as Rudyard Kipling’s “The Brushwood Boy,” which I reread this week for the first time since high school. This one sounds fairly straightforward when described. We follow the protagonist for the first quarter-century or so of his life, from early childhood to becoming the youngest Major in the British Army; and his waking career is intercut with his dreamscape.

George’s dreamscape is one of the most realistically dream-like I’ve ever seen written. There’s a bit where George is on a boat that passes a huge stone lily, floating on the water, which is labelled “Hong Kong,” and thinks to himself “So this is Hong Kong. I always knew it’d be like this.” The first part, before he goes to school, is also a really good depiction of a young child’s view of the world, where everything is huge and the first time hearing a grown man sing is an astonishing phenomenon.

Thing is, I think in most stories the dreams would be presented as some sort of coping mechanism for either the boredom or the violence (depending on the author’s attitudes and experiences) of military life. George Cottar, otoh, thrives in public-school and military environments— he’s the kind of idealized subaltern who never meets a discipline problem he can’t solve by teaching his men to box, and who reacts with embarrassed modesty when awarded the DSO for having carried two wounded soldiers to safety while under fire. But the dreams aren’t a febrile distraction from his Empire-building, either. Kipling appears to consider George’s whole situation an example of balance—a healthy mind in a healthy body.

Anyway I’m still trying to parse it; as I think a lot of readers have been, for decades.