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Wow! What an amazing film. It really is epic. And, rather amazingly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the entire film before. Sure, I’ve seen parts. It’d be difficult not to have been exposed to at least some snippets of a film that’s so legendary and celebrated.

When you include the musical segments – overture, interlude, etc. – The whole thing is the best part of four hours long. Personally I think that’s part of what makes it a great film. Perhaps like an American celluloid version of Tolstoy’s War And Peace, it takes the time it requires, not to mention the space and the scale, to tell a big story in a big way.

There is a kind of deep irony embedded in the heart of the film. At least as far as I’m concerned. And that’s to do with the juxtaposition of the truly huge stories, to do with the slave-dependant way of life that has ‘gone with the wind’, and the romance. Both are universally interesting aspects of the human story, and both are about social conventions and power structures. Consequently both have a nigh on universal appeal to the viewer.

But the romantic aspect is the more easy to sugar-coat and sell, whilst the slavery/racism side is harder to digest. And the irony I mentioned can be highlighted by the fact that Hattie McDaniel was the first Afro-American actor to receive an Oscar, for her role as Mammy, but she couldn’t attend the première of the film, because … it was held in a segregated cinema. Unbelievable!!

Leaving this shocking aspect of the films history for now, and turning to its aesthetic appeal, the mixture of romance, grandeur, and lush technicolor, make for a winning combo. It’s clear that no expense was spared. There are numerous scenes that really are breathtaking. From the beautiful, such as the views of Tara at sunset, to the awful, like the Confederate open-air hospital, shown below.

Viewed from our contemporary position, some of this remains very effective, whilst other moments are clearly staged. There are numerous scenes in which action occurs against or in what is quite obviously a painted backdrop. The feats of this pre-CGI production remain, however – even in those obviously stagey/fake moments – extremely impressive.

Apparently the film was delayed for numerous reasons, including Selznick’s obsessive desire to get the right people in certain key roles. Vivian Leigh as Scarlett O’Hara and Clark Gable as Rhett Butler are the two key players, of course, and Selznick certainly struck gold with them. They both look the part, and they both play their roles with complete conviction.

Indeed, in this make-up test production photo, Leigh even looks like a convict.

But many of the supporting roles are played with just as much verve, such as Olivia De Haviland as Melanie Hamilton, and Leslie Howard as Ashley Wilkes. Melanie and Ashley are the yin to Scarlett and Rhett’s yang, and in this respect the film is almost operatic in style. Perhaps another reason for the films great success is that it’s almost fairy-tale like in its reliance on archetypes?

The first part of the movie follows the various characters as war approaches, and is fought, and, for our Southern folks, lost. Here the weather that rages is in the events of the nation, as much as the individuals. But in the second half the highs and lows, pretty much bi-polar in extremis, are more tightly focussed on the individuals, and Scarlett and Rhett in particular.

Several of the key events of the second half loom with the predictability of classic tragedy: they are seemingly inevitable, and yet lose none of their dramatic or emotional impact. This was the period known to the South as Reconstruction. Although that hardly seems appropriate to the relationship of the two key players here!

I found the film very involving and very moving.

Based on a Margaret Mitchell novel I’ve never read, some of the ideas at the core of the film, and presumably the book as well, are a bit hokey to say the least. Or, worse yet, sentimental and hypocritical, with the Old South portrayed as a land of genteel manners and friendly relations with the slaves. But despite these moral and cultural caveats, Gone With The Wind remains, essentially, a very humane story

It could be deemed trivial or banal, in that it places the romantic misadventures of a vain coquettish Southern Belle over and above the much tougher subject of slavery/emancipation, etc. But just as human power relations between the ‘races’ [2] are an evergreen subject of interest, so to are male female relations. And this no doubt, alongside the lavish production, helps explain the films enduring appeal.

We spread our viewing out over two evenings, our intermission being more or less 24 hours. When the end finally came, it really had been an awesome rollercoaster of a ride. And it didn’t feel too long at all. Indeed, in some ways the ending cries out for more.

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NOTES:

[1] This photo is terrific in that it captures, solely in facial expressions, the open candid innocence, or the what you see is what you get nature of Melanie, and juxtaposes it with skittishly moody and ever changing mirage of Scarlett’s countenance.

[2] Some current science writers argue that race, as commonly understand in human terms, is a false category, and therefore – ironically (and logically paradoxically) – inherently racist.

 

 

NB: This is another archival post, albeit slightly modified for inclusion here. I’m an Amazon Vine reviewer, and was sent this book several years ago. I’m winding down one of my other older blogs, and gradually transferring content from there over here.

Teresa and I like visiting ye olde churches on our travels. They are usually peaceful places, and sometimes quite beautiful. This is my thoughts on a great guide, written by poet and church-freak John Betjeman, which I was fortunate enough to be given a free/review copy of.

Betjeman’s original book* covered twice as many churches (approximately 5,000). Unlike the first edition, this newer shiny hardback coffee-table version is lavishly illustrated, and as a result cuts the number of churches covered in half, at roughly 2,500… still plenty!

First I’d like to point out before going any further that I’m not Christian. I am, using A. C. Grayling’s pithy phrase, a naturalist and free-thinker. Nonetheless I, like this country and our culture, am steeped in the ever-evolving Christian tradition. I was brought up Christian, and went to several churches (none of which were deemed interesting or beautiful enough for inclusion here!). And the legacy on our landscape, and in our lives, from our language to the sights and sounds we deem typically English, are all bound up with the history of Christianity, or rather, as Kenneth Clarke presciently clarifies in Civilisation, The Church.

And even if we were to disregard all of this cultural heritage mallarkey, some churches are just very beautiful. Okay, maybe not the one pictured above! More on that in the accompanying footnote, below. Certainly I’ve often enjoyed stopping at a random church and wondering around inside, connecting in my own quiet, personal and meditative way, with all that life and history. So, when offered this on Vine, it was a must have.

I confess I know precious little about Betjeman outside this book, except that he was a poet – indeed Poet Laureate for a while – appeared on the BBC a lot years ago, and is known for rhapsodising about trains. When reading his introductory essay I was struck by how he chooses to spell the word ‘show’ using the rather archaic British variant ‘shew’. Fittingly eccentric and antiquarian, but perhaps also mildly irritating. Why? Well, I feel, and indeed my brain is wired, through learning commonplace English, to think that it should be pronounced to rhyme with shrew, stew, brew, or even, for that matter pew.

In light of this I was not initially sure I could go with the TLS quote on the cover, which effusively describes Betjeman’s introductory essay as ‘pure gold’. In fact at first I found it rather crabbily and fustily conservative – rather like some of the church wardens you may bump into when visiting churches using this book – if very erudite and occasionally quite funny, as for example: “If the path leading… wealthy unbelievers … key from there.” (p23) Well, that’s certainly priceless, but not necessarily because it’s ‘pure gold’!

As well as making some very prescient remarks he also says a few things which, to my mind at least, are a little odd, such as “It must be admitted that spirituality and aesthetics rarely go together.” I guess this depends on you how you define spirituality, a nebulous term at the best of times. But many admirers of culture, including eminent scholars of religion, for example Diarmid MCulloch, stress the great contribution religion makes to our aesthetic culture.

Quite apart from our own largely Christian heritage, which has plenty in it that’s clearly paganism absorbed and transformed, one need only think of the incredible non-figurative arts of Islam, the rich iconography of Buddhist mandalas, or the great traditions of religious music, to wonder if perhaps Betjeman has made a mistake with this particular pronouncement.

In the context where he makes this rather bizarre sounding statement, it does actually make sense; lamenting the more recent restorations and additions to a church that are, by and large “practical and unattractive” (ugly modern heating, and P.A. equipment, and the like), he begs that we remember “however much we deplore it … [these ugly things] have been saved up for by some devout and penurious communicant.” Whilst this sonorous phrasing has an appeal, its rendering of the ‘spiritual’ is open to debate. And much of this passage reads like unadulterated Puritanism of a very dull dour sort. Despite England’s break with Rome, I don’t think Christianity, or humanity for that matter, was suddenly and totally bereft of aesthetic awareness. [2]

Indeed, that’s more than half the attraction of this book: these churches are not only frequently very interesting, but also often, in part or in whole, quite beautiful. It is true, there are some horribly oppressive Christian buildings across these islands, and even some of the churches we’ve visited using this book belong in that category, but fortunately they’re in a minority. However, when he follows his line of thought to the conclusion that “Conservatism is innate in ecclesiastical arrangement” I can’t disagree. But perhaps this observation helps define the difference between religion and spirituality?

In addition to a general review, I feel I have to mention at least one church we visited thanks to this book. And there’s really no contest for me as to which that should be. It’s St Wystan’s, Repton, on account of the fantastic subterranean crypt (pictured above).

Returning to the book: “Who has heard a muffled peal and remained unmoved?” Well, ironically part of the appeal of hearing church bells, at least to folk like me, nowadays, is the comparative rarity with which you hear the sound. In the times where I’ve lived close by a regular ringers’ church they have sometimes grown annoying. And what has annoyed me is not that “they are reminders of Eternity”, but that I’m being reminded of a belief which I don’t share, a belief whose omnipresence and omnipotence is, thankfully, receding.

One little technical criticism is that the photos which illustrate points being made in the introductory text give only the village/town name, and then the church name, but not the county. This could very easily been included, and would have been very useful in determining if the church shown is within easy reach. So, for example ‘EAST SHEFFORD: ST THOMAS’, which happens to be on the page I was on when this shortcoming struck me, could so very easily have been ‘EAST SHEFFORD: ST THOMAS (Berkshire)’.

One final note, and an addendum to my original review; Teresa and I moved to the town of March a couple of years back. And St Wendreda’s, March, is one of the churches Betjeman really effuses over, saying it’s worth cycling 50 miles into strong headwinds to visit! I’m not sure I’d go that far. But it does have a pretty splendid roof, with carved wooden angels (see accompanying pics).

A big heavy book, this is more coffee-table campaign planner than handy guide to tote on your travels. Attractive, informative and fascinating, if you find British churches – and it is very much parish churches, Betjeman doesn’t cover cathedrals – interesting or beautiful, or even occasionally both, then this is well worth having.

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* Or possibly books? This might in fact be anthologised from a number of church books by Betjeman.

[1] One of several churches we attended during my childhood. Unsurprisingly it’s not mentioned in Betjeman’s book!

[2] This is what Eamon Duffy is alluding to in the title of his book The Stripping Of The Altars. But that’s another whole topic, for exploration some other time and place.

Today, Saturday, I built a firewood storage unit out of old pallet wood. It’s another of my ‘jazz’ woodworking projects, in that I just winged it, without making any plans.

Making it up as you go along can be fun. Of course, you run the risk of screwing up more. And I did make one or two mistakes. But all things considered, I’m pleased with how it’s come out.

I had hoped to finish it in one day. But it’s late Saturday evening, and I haven’t done the ‘roof’. In fact I can’t, as I don’t have the necessary timber. I think I’ll pop out early Sunday morning and buy it, if I can. I might try and get the ‘lid’ on it before my mum and her husband arrive, for lunch.

Sunday now, and as can be seen, it’s done. Super basic! I watched a few YouTubers making some far more fancy stuff. That was fun. But I decided I hadn’t got the time or the resources to do anything snazzy. Hopefully this’ll prove fit for purpose?

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Paella #4, on the hob.

Sunday afternoon mum and Malcolm came over for lunch. We walked along the river bank, round the park, and then back. ‘Twas a gorgeous sunny day. Then Teresa showed them around whilst I cooked.

I got mum to take a snap of Teresa and me, partly ’cause we’re rarely photographed together, and partly on account of our similar woolly apparel! Mum said she liked my ‘new look’, avec ‘tache and Fairisle sweater. Most gratifying!

I heard about this film via a program on BBC R4, several years ago: a British black and white road movie, with an allegedly cool soundtrack, and involvement from Wim Wenders and associates. Sounded good to me.

Okay, some of Wenders’ own films have proven to be either too dull or too bleak (or both, like The Wrong Move), but Paris Texas is a masterpiece, and I remember really enjoying Kings Of The Road. Radio On sounded like a home-grown version of the latter, so I figured it was worth a punt. Hearing that Sting had a cameo role – and this was back in’79, the year of The Police’s second album (and first full-on classic), Regatta De Blanc – only added to the film’s allure.

Now in young-ish middle age, I find that whilst my own taste for art-house cinema is only a little diminished, very few other people I know seem to have any stomach for it. I don’t mind watching films on my own, and used to love doing so. But nowadays I prefer to watch in company. Consequently this DVD languished, unwatched, for a couple of years.

I finally persuaded my wife that we should watch it the other day: give art-house cinema a chance, I pleaded. The argument against essentially boiled down to the likelihood it’d be depressing, boring, or perhaps even both. And with a sad predictability, despite this being in some respects a highly unusual film, it was.

Regarding the oft-vaunted music: I love a lot of different music. You could say I have something of a ‘Jones’ for it, being a musician, music teacher and occasional music journalist myself. But I have to confess that, by and large, Petit’s taste in music, more than simply leaving me cold, grates. But his choices certainly fit the alienated and depressed ambience of the ‘electric world’ alluded to in a rather self-conscious and pretentious sounding note we see pinned to the wall at the films commencement.

The opening shot kind of sets up the movie: slow and depressing. Slow moving downbeat films are often fine with me. But here it simply doesn’t work. A naked body is glanced in a bath as a camera moves round a dimly lit flat: my immediate thought, in this particular type of filmic context was, ‘uh-oh, suicide’. And sure enough… well, I won’t go into any ‘plot’ spoilers.

Leaving aside the cheery themes of suicide and alienation, there are some redeeming elements to the film, such as the photography of late ’70s Britain. Petit’s vision of Britain at this point in time is both bleakly depressing, but also at times quite beautiful (Wenders and even more so Jim Jarmusch are masters of urban decay as aesthetic pleasure).

There are also some enjoyable ‘character’ moments: Sting, and the snotty little streetwise kid by the hotdog stand, were both strangely endearing, the former wonderfully charismatic as a music-obsessed garage attendant, and the latter both sad and hilarious, a poignant reminder of the tragedy of youthful hipness. But the leaden taciturnity that predominates throughout most of this film is pretty oppressive.

One final thing: were the German language sections of the dialogue left un-subtitled to enhance the films sense of alienation? Or is it just an oversight type of omission? On my DVD there were only two subtitle options, hard of hearing and German. The German subtitles appear to be subtitles for German viewers (this was a joint British/German production), with captions for both the English and German language elements. The hard of hearing English subtitles simply put up text in the same language that’s being spoken, meaning a non-German speaker is still left guessing re the German language parts. There is also no chapter selection option in the menu, which is, in my experience, as unusual as it is unhelpful.

This could have been a great film, but it simply doesn’t have, for me at any rate, that certain something. In relation to mainstream cinema it certainly has the potential to interest, simply because it’s so different. But in the context of alternative film it’s quite disappointingly predictable, albeit that that’s meant more so in ‘vibe’ terms than plot-wise. But as other reviewers note, the plot, grim and thin as it is, seems subservient to mood. Also, as one gets older, it appears to me to be a trend that the charm of such mawkish art-house fare loses its shine.

Why can’t we have more black and white road movies that charm and uplift, like some of Jim Jarmusch’s early films? Stranger Than Paradise and Down By Law would be perfect examples, being oddball and art-house, but also beautiful, funny and uplifting. Certainly that’s how Wenders’ Kings Of The Road struck me when I saw it. Mind you, I was around 18 then, and as long ago as that was, I do remember a potential suicide bid being part of the story. Perhaps I should watch it again and see how it stands up now?

Radio On, however, was a major disappointment. I wanted to like it, but I didn’t.

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* In this Radio On has something in Common with Abel Gance’s 1927 Napoléon; both yield up plentiful fantastically beautiful stills, but – for me at any rate – are nigh on unwatchable as films.

Teresa cued up an old Omnibus BBC programme on Stanley Spencer she’d found  on YouTube this morning. We both love his work, and have plans to visit his Sandham Memorial Chapel – the artist’s very personal commemoration of events of WWI, in which he served – as soon as can be arranged. It was an excellent programme, presented by Kirsty Wark, with David Bowie narrating!

Some time later this morning I went out to Sainsburys, probably around 10.30/11-ish. I wondered why there were so many people out and about. Then the preponderance of poppies, an unusual abundance of Boy Scouts, and noticeable numbers of older gentlemen with Service related items of apparel, all these things made me recall, belatedly… It’s Remembrance Day! And not any old Remembrance Day, but the centenary of the end of WWI.

On my short walk home from the supermarket I had an interesting encounter: a Scout dropped his Seven-Up drinks cup – the sort with a plastic lid with a straw through the middle – and made as if to move off. But then he stopped, looked back, and, seeing me approaching, returned and picked it up. I thought to myself, good old Baden Powell. It still means something to be a Scout. It’s a reminder to behave well, or better.

As I overtook the kid in question, he said hello. The people of March are a decent friendly lot, by and large, especially the older generations. It was really nice to have such behaviour from a young kid. He asked me if I’d seen the Parade. I was embarrassed to admit I hadn’t. But I chatted amicably with him about it all nonetheless.

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They Shall Not Grow Old

Much later in the day, I’m watching YouTube makers such as Pask Makes, and an ad plays – funny this, in light of my recent post about hating ads – that actually alerts me to something I am genuinely interested in: a colourised footage doc on WWI, by Peter Jackson. A quick Google at 9.25 pm reveals that the programme is due on BBC2 at 9.30.

Quickly make a hot chocolate, and get BBC iPlayer going on the iPad.

Usually I miss these things, finding out about them once they’ve been and gone. On this occasion I was very pleasantly surprised to be able to watch the programme as it aired. And it was/is good. Very, very good. Indeed, such excellence is a rare thing these days, and something to be savoured and treasured.

It certainly succeeded with me, in making me, if not much better informed (having watched and read a fair bit on WWI before), then at least much more interested and involved. My interests in history in general and military history in particular are Napoleonic, WWII, and ACW, in that order.

My pal Paul, due round for dinner and a movie tomorrow evening, is well into his WWI stuff, saying he finds it more interesting than WWII. I’ve never really felt that way. I do like how the uniforms and tech evolve from ye olde 19th Century style, all colourful uniforms and cavalry, etc, to the drab hues of khakis, buffs, beiges and greys, along with the quantum leaps forward signalled by the arrival of tanks and planes, and so on.

This post is here as my own personal slant on my Remembrance Sunday. It’s something I once actively boycotted, in my then anti-war hippy-ish manner. But now I’m with all those, and they cover a wide range of views and feelings, who believe we really should remember these incredible times and events. For a more detailed response to Peter Jackson’s incredible film, take a look here, at the post about the film on my mini-military hobbies blog.

I’ve seen these colourised things done before, and usually not really liked them. This, however, is done so extremely well, it really does bring these century old events across time, so that they feel nearer and closer. Superb!

After the negativity of my previous post, I thought I ought to bring some love. So, here are a few links to and thoughts about some of the many YouTubers and/or Bloggers I’ve been enjoying of late.

My most recent discoveries are predominantly ‘makers’, as they’re known these days, and include these guys:

Uri Tuchman, an inventive German with excellent English, and a delightfully laconic way of going about things. I’ve enjoyed quite a few of his videos. But perhaps my favourite is the engraved hammer, as shown above.

Only just discovered this guy, whose output goes under the name of Trustin Timber, literally today, via the above video. It was the mention of Roy Underhill (how cool is that Tolkienian surname!?), who’s an old-timer by comparison with Trustin Timber, and who I also only discovered very recently, that made me watch. He – TT, that is – has a short ‘intro’ video (here), where he explains his background/philosophy a little. And I dig it.

Going back a bit further into my discoveries, there’s this chap:

… a very groovy video, made by what appears to be a very groovy guy, calling himself the Homestead Craftsman. And then of course there’s Roy Underhill himself:

I’ve ordered a nice old edition of one of Mr Underhill’s classic books (Woodwright’s Shop: Exploring Traditional Woodcraft), as an Xmas gift from Teresa. He’s some kind of dude! Very witty, very stylish, and a goldmine of the ‘old ways’. A real inspiration. The above video is an interview with Mr Underhill (formerly of Bag End… or not) on another guy’s YouTube channel.

And then there’s Brit abroad, Neil Pask, who’s based in Australia:

The above is one of Pask’s many superb and inspiring videos, and happens to be amongst my favourite, in part perhaps because it’s one of the few projects by a YouTube ‘maker’ that I’ve attempted to do myself. Like Neil, I love dowels!

Shortly after discovering Pask Makes, I stumbled upon James Wright, another excellent and inspiring maker. As with Pask, I’ve even dared to try my hand at a project inspired by James, namely my recent saw-bench build. Indeed, I was making kindling for our fire-pit today, using the saw-bench. It works a real treat. I love these guys and the whole YouTube maker movement!

In the end, I think we can go all the way back to two Canadian dudes (poss both of Germanic descent?), Heisz and Wandel:

That’s John Heisz and Matthias Wandel. I love the above video, from one of John Heisz’s numerous YouTube channels. It’s not one of his many, many superb build videos, but rather one of his chattier ones. And I totally relate to it. The interweb is such a great development for folks of this sort, as it provides a wonderful virtual community that really does provide succour and inspiration for the stay-at-home introvert creative type.

Matthias Wandel is great as well. I’m not sure how we’d get on in the flesh, as he’s a spiky, geeky kind of chap, and you can see how this manifests in his chemistry with John Heisz, both of them being ornery independently minded type guys, capable of bordering on contrarian at times. But Wandel’s spot on in this video, explaining why slick TV or cinema style content isn’t as popular as the home-made indie stuff.

A clever, witty inventive chap, with all sorts of interesting output. I’d dearly like to build a pantorouter at some point. And even more so, one of his robust bandsaw designs.

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As can be plainly seen, all the above are workshop kind of guys, making stuff. And I’ve been really getting into all of that over the last year or two. In part because my wife and I have bought our first home all of our own, and there’s lots that needs doing.

There are numerous others I could mention, such as Marius Hornberger (see above; I drove to Devon/Cornwall and bought me a Kity 636 after watching this vid), Jeremy Schmidt, Cosmas Bauer, Matt Eastlea, and so on.

And it’s not purely this kind of stuff I’ve been watching, I had a phase of getting into documentaries on serial-killers, which was a bit of an aberration, plus more normal topics for me, such as drumming, music in general, and all sorts of other stuff, wargaming and model-making, art, films, all sorts. But for this post I’m sticking to my recent ‘maker’ phase.

As far as I can, I always mute TV ads, when they come on. I often wonder if most people might think me odd for doing so.

I’d be happy living without a TV, and have done so on several occasions. Not so Teresa, my wife. We went without for a while whilst moving homes. But in the end, Teresa wanted TV, so we did Freeview for a while. However, the cheap Freeview box Teresa bought – I refused to spend any money on TV media – was rubbish.

We’d been getting by without an internet service provider or home phone as well. But in the end I caved in, and we went with a Virgin package. Much to my chagrin, as I swore after our last bout with them, never agin!

Anyroad… even with all the channels we now have on our Virgin deal, with broadband and a phone line, there’s practically nothing I can ever find that I want to watch.

I do watch YouTube on the TV sometimes. Indeed, I’m more likely to watch YouTube than ‘proper’ TV. I suppose most TV has probably always been junk. But it seems to me that the percentage of brainless crud is higher than ever.

I do know, from experience, that I can quite easily get sucked in to watching loads of garbage, and I might even find myself quite enjoying some of it. The thing is, I feel there are sooo many other and better things one could be doing. But this post is not about the programmes on TV, it’s about the advertising.

I’ve never really liked adverts. I’ve had short spells where I’m less averse to them than currently. The way I see it, watching adverts is like letting loudmouthed sales-people into your home, to harangue you with their patter. I wouldn’t do that! I suspect most people wouldn’t. Why let them in via my TV?

Even though the BBC is not all it once was – I might think of the Attenborough at the helm of BBC2 period as a probable peak – maybe it was never really as good as my memories suggest? Certainly these days it seems dominated by a dumbed down populist agenda, and almost as vapid as any other media outlet.

But it does remain ad-free. And for that alone it should be cherished. Of course the content could and should be better. Then it’d be more worth cherishing. But it seems to me a part of our cultural heritage we allow to wither away at our peril. [1]

But getting back to adverts. One of many reasons I dislike the kind of neo-Marxist-po-mo-ne’erdowells I had to endure as lecturers on my degree at Goldsmiths (not all of ’em, thankfully), apart from the utter guff that comprised much of their so-called philosophy, was that many of the beloved writers of such claptrap seemed to love advertising.

Although I find comedian Bill Hicks rather too dark and depressing overall, he does have several threads he returns to that I quite like. One of these is his hatred of advertising. In the spirit of the dead comedian, and in a departure from my usual preference for mild-mannered politeness, this is my message for the world of advertising in general, and current TV advertising in particular:

Having said all this, I do find I can enjoy vintage adverts. I think this is due to them no longer being a contemporaneous attempt to manipulate me/the viewer. And this distancing effect defuses the quality I find most repulsive, allowing me to be able to ‘enjoy’ them as the type of cultural artefacts folks like Roland Barthes might have reveries over.

And one of the fundamentals of why I hate a lot of advertising generally, but TV (and online or cinema) advertising in particular, is that we, the viewer are treated as, and frequently portrayed as, gormless idiots. Without the loving handholding corporations to direct us, we’d just be dribbling into our crotches on our sofas.

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NOTES:

[1] Peter Hitchens is, in my view, a pretty insufferable cock, but in spite of this, I find myself agreeing, in essence, with his views on the ‘Decline and Fall of the BBC‘. I must add that simply because I add a link to this content does not mean I endorse it. First Things is a religious and conservative organ.

[2] I couldn’t find any pics of the ads I was looking for, and this one isn’t the best example, as it is very entertaining. But I hate unison dancing, or unison anything for that matter. It always makes me think of storm troopers goose-stepping. It’s one of the many things that makes me allergic to any form of organised religion; not formation dancing, per se, but conformist behaviour.

[3] Creativity and humour are to be found, of course, albeit in varying degrees, in advertising of all sorts. And sometimes the ‘pure’ information communication of advertising can be relatively neutral, and therefore less prone to make me nauseous. The rose-tinted effect of nostalgia can also allow me to enjoy older ads. But what’s crucial is that the passage of time has defused the weapon of psychological manipulation.

The Complete Columbo DVD set, in faux cigar case.

Teresa’s the one who usually likes her murder-mystery TV shows. I do love Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes, and I can occasionally enjoy a bit of Suchet Poirot with her, but I wouldn’t generally choose to watch the latter on my own.

Columbo, on the other hand, the rumpled but earnest antithesis of Hercule, but with equal capacity in the little grey cells department, I do choose to watch, on my own or in company, even though it’s ultimately pretty much just as formulaic as any Agatha Christie. Just a different formula.

One of the conceits that makes it work so well, for me, is the way it plays in reverse, with the audience seeing the crime at the outset, and then following Columbo, as he appears to bumble along, piecing the jigsaw of events together, until he nails his culprit.

Of course a major part of the charm of Columbo is Peter Falk himself. He is, in phrases I once read used to describe Burt Bacharach, ‘impeccably dishevelled’, and ‘rumpled yet earnest’. Equally important are the villains, and their chemistry with Columbo, and, to a lesser extent, the victims.

Actors like Patrick McGoohan and William Shatner, who I knew of before, and Jack Cassidy and Robert Culp, who were new to me, and even Falk’s curvaceous beauty of a wife, Shera Danese, all make repeat appearances in Columbo’s cases. And many other great actors, some well known, some less so, help make this a superb series.

Between 1968 and 2003, with some breaks, a total of 69 episodes of Columbo were made, mostly roughly between 70-100 minutes long. But with a number of longer ‘feature’ length episodes and specials. Over those years it evolved and changed in some ways, whilst remaining static in others.

Falk’s character didn’t really change, nor did his M.O, nor the overall structure of the narrative. But fashions in clothes, decor, music, and just the general vibe/ambience, these are all discernibly metamorphosing.

I had a primary school teacher, Mrs McKechnie, who dressed exactly like these ladies. I wonder what’s become of her?

Don’t look down! Columbo can’t quite bring himself to put his big, fat cigar in his mouth. Roddy MacDowell? Rod by name, and by nature.

Ah, the white suit with jumbo collars and cravat, a ‘classic’ look. Dangerous in high winds. Those long pointy collars will either have an eye out, or possibly help you fly.

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In exploring the world of Columbo I discovered an excellent blog/website, called Columbophile. I don’t intend to compete with them! But I probably will be expanding the scope of this post occasionally, or adding other Columbo-related posts. Although I’m tempted, I’m not sure I’ll go as far as getting us our own bassett-hound.

NOTES:

[1] Cassidy died not long after this, his final appearance in Columbo, when, home alone and having hit the bottle, his cigarette started the fire that would kill him.

Today I was mainly tidying up books, getting all our art books onto the upgraded shelves in the lounge, and all my Napoleonic books on the shelves at the top of the apples’n’pears.

Aside from moving books around – I got loads out of our bedroom and into the guest room – I also painted the door of the workshop. It was really because the sill is rotten, and swollen with rainwater. I spent a while yesterday with a hairdryer, drying the sill out, filing it down, drying it again, and then repeating, until it was both pretty dry and the door actually closed. Prior to this it was sticking at the bottom, and I was having to kick the door to open it.

It’s a lovely rich oily paint, and a beautiful colour. I need to let it dry for a few more hours this evening. I’ll shut it before turning in for the night. I might also paint the window frames in this colour. I’ll need to tidy up the blue a bit, as I was rather slapdash with the door and frame, what with painting in the dark!

The sill is in such a sorry state I might cut it out altogether, and insert something better. Perhaps an oaken plank? But at least it’s been painted. In fact I also treated the timber with something for rot… can’t recall exactly what? We’ll have to wait and see if the treatment and paint ‘cure’ it!

Well, no Farmacy Kitchen food tonight after all. Instead, Paella #3. This time I really browned the chicken off nicely. I left out chorizo altogether, added a bit more paprika,  and substituted asparagus for artichoke. Turned out really well. I got a fab socarrat at the bottom of the pan. Delish!

Bought a £5 Rioja from Sainsburys, to go mit der paella, and it was nice enough. They had some Armagnac on offer as well, which seduced me. Had a wee dram, and jolly nice it was to.

Didn’t do anything of great significance in the DIY domain today, other than tidy up the shed a bit, mostly bringing in FC windows/window-frames, so as not to ruin them by leaving them outside too long. They’re destined for the art and music studio build, at some future point. Might use some of ’em in finishing the greenhouse… dunno!?

And I put a second coat of Liberon Finishing Oil on the saw-bench as well. I’ll do one more coat tomorrow. And then that’s done. Was going to let a Teresa use it as a table for a bit. But I’ll make her a dedicated one, and get my saw-bench into the workshop.