Untimely clouds and cold are back, not I hope too low and bleak for friends and loves of mine who are out of town and deserve better on holidays in parts of France where the forecast is little more promising.
Finding my own entertainment, it's been an interesting time to watch the pros at work. Sam Raimi the 'Spiderman' director is one such.
So is Eleanor, the friend who let me in on that meal in the dark.
I've sometimes been stood down of late in surprising ways and less unusual ones.
The Hotel Losserand became prematurely peaceful when the last visitor, who had planned to stay until Friday morning, headed north on Tuesday answering a new imperative in a life forever on the move.
Once a Wildcat, always a wildcat.
May she go on writing well! A pro in the making, though I can't disclose what she's working on.
The beautiful beast left me dreaming, though, of the fieriest and feistiest of hot dates later in the week, maybe even this weekend, with the Secret She from whom no kiss could ever go amiss.
But as the Faithful Five ¾ -- most welcome back now that I am myself again -- are aware, Milady too is rarely around this summer, a very busy bee seen just enough to know how happy she makes me.
Thus I was delighted when Eleanor, a widely travelled journalist who works at the Factory from time to time, told me of the assignment she had on Thursday and let me tag along. Literally tagging, for at the blacker than pitch eatery we visited you are led in holding the shoulder of the person in front of you.
The reason I won't write it up in detail is that it really is Eleanor's story and was one of the most perfect opportunities for radio journalism imaginable.
All I would say of the place -- apart from those food stains -- is that because I'm an "aural person", I found it fascinating. If later, Eleanor says I can link to the broadcast, which should be available on broadband Internet, I shall. Also interesting was to see how much radio work has moved on (and how much it hasn't really) since my BBC days in the late '70s, since my companion was doing a job there.
Well. There's one other thing.
After previous mention of the famous meal Albert Finney and Susannah York share in 'Tom Jones', it would be absurd to skip saying that goodness gracious me! while that film scene is very erotic, it doesn't hold a banned candle up to the idea of eating somewhere where everything is sound, touch, taste and smell.
What a place that would be to invite my love, never mind the mess!
 The Susannah season on DVD has been pursued this week with two more superb films unseen for ages.
Robert Aldrich's 'The Killing of Sister George' (1968) still holds up very well today as a brave drama about a lesbian couple, where TV soap opera filming scenes bore some, but not me. They're an accurate portrayal of the broadcasting corporation where my career began, ruthless in its hypocrisy but full of truly decent and courageous people. Beryl Reid, funny and tragic, acts brilliantly, giving the best of her emotional range.
The scenes where she and York play Laurel and Hardy are among unforgettable episodes.
Another classic, 'Battle of Britain' (1969), has this year been re-released as one of the best double-DVD special editions I own.
The most realistic, dramatic and historically triple-checked account of the 1940 air war ever made, with a big dream cast including Laurence Olivier as Dowding (History Learning Site), it now even has William Walton's musical score as well as Ron Goodwin's, the one used at the time apart from the very best bit.
The other extras are also exceptional and include making-of material with director Guy Hamilton -- who reveals the one enigma where the film couldn't be quite accurate because it was then still covered by the Official Secrets Act -- York and cinematographer Freddie Young.
I have more films with my "screen goddess" in the pipeline, knowing that's not the best accolade for such a consummate talent, but I should also watch the budget.
The more I learn about the hard work of movie-making, notably from such DVDs, the tougher it becomes to slag off a stinker without acknowledging its merits.
When Francis urged me to buy Sam Raimi's 'Darkman' (1990) while he was selling it dirt cheap, I was reluctant, despite the surprising cast for a comic-book story: Liam Neeson, Frances McDormand, Larry Drake, Colin Friels...
It is a stinker, so awful that it's a hugely entertaining, ridiculous superhero film, right over the top. Neeson, a pioneering scientist who gets horrendously burned but fights back with real style and some appalling lines, had the sense to get out before 'Darkman 2' and '3'.
Maybe it's the perfect comic-book movie, beating 'Batman and Robin', but this comic book was never drawn anywhere but in Raimi's manic head.
I'll even watch it again, but those who've praised it for its insight into our light and dark natures must have been raised on pap pulp psychology. The nastiness is fun without being gory. The special effects are spectacular. The attempts to make it all believable are laughable.
What the hell. Most of the humour is even intentional. For being what it sets out to be, without pretension and sublimely silly, I'd give this piece of nonsense a 6/10.
If you're intrigued enough to read the best-written of some surprisingly good reviews, take a gander at Chris Hick's article for 'Deseret Morning News'.
12:16:45 PM link 
|
|
postbox