Many years ago now, I was a regular contributor to Drummer magazine. One of the things I did was a regular monthly classic album column, called Recycled. I enjoyed this so much I started posting reviews to Amazon’s UK website. I don’t know how long that went on for before I was invited to join the Vine programme.
The Amazon Vine programme lets you have free things in exchange for reviews. And for many years now I’ve enjoyed being a part of this programme. But today I’ve discovered I’ve been booted off the programme for ‘violating the terms’ of the programme. It’s a bit annoying, as I’m not sure what my ‘sin’ is!
But on the other hand, as one door closes, another, hopefully, opens. Over the years the programme evolved, and, having initially been mostly sent books, it shifted towards all sorts of random stuff. And it’d gotten to be quite overwhelming. So a break from this could be a good thing.
But I’ll be sorry if that’s the total and final end of my involvement. As I got a lot of great stuff over the years.
It’s Sunday evening, and I’m hoping I can watch the last part of the Northern Ireland snooker tournament. Mark Allen, the home favourite, vs. China’s Zhou Yuelong.
In the run up to the snooker, there were adverts for several other sporting events. Including some indoor cycling. What struck me most was that ol’ chestnut… Good God, jocks are dull!
Mind, what does that matter? The real excitement in sports is all about the action; the physical side, the doing, more than the telling.
And besides, there are the pundits – some of them former players, whose long experience finally yields insight and knowledge, if not outright charisma – to supply the verbal excitement.
And then we‘re ‘treated’ to adverts, including Coldplay teaming with DHL… Eh!? What the absolute feck!? I love music, and I can really enjoy some sports, on occasion. But I generally find the two are very ill-matched, at least in terms of my tastes, when it comes to TV sports.
I much prefer the more old-fashioned approach: a nice bit of theme music, that one learns to associate with the sport, like the Pot Black theme, and that’s that. Aside from that it ought to be just snooker and commentary.
I was looking for a comical photo of an old duffer in ridiculous under-armpit high-rise trousers. I failed in that enterprise! But I did re-discover old town, whose modern take on old fashioned classics in clothing I really dig.
Perusing their ‘Small Trades’ gallery then lead to learning about Irving Penn’s book of photographs of the same name, which old town acknowledge as a major influence. And from Penn we get to his wife, the ‘first supermodel’ Lisa Fonssagrive. And via her to photographer Fernand Fonssagrive!
The young Irv Penn, and his beautiful wife. Looking like the leads in a Hitchcock movie!
Fernand had a thing for patterned shadows falling over beautiful women. A thing I most definitely share!
Nuttily enough, this all started with me wanting to find some pictures of furry chaps. By which I don’t mean hairy blokes, but those crazy cowboy over-trousers. Ah, the labyrinthine ways of the interweb!
I’ve been aware of Matt Berry since seeing him in Garth Marenghi’s Dark Place. Up until now I’ve found his (always exactly the same) character – loud, brashly self-confident, etc. – for example, in The IT Crowd, rather annoying. But somehow, here, with a show that’s all about him, that same boorish self-love works much better.
Indeed, I have to confess I found this, when I binged on the first three or four episodes, very funny and entertaining.
Berry is also a musician, which is a mixed blessing in respect of this series. His theme music for the series – ‘Take My Hand’ – is terrific. But the song interludes embedded in the individual episodes are rather poor. Maybe that’s intentional? But for me it doesn’t quite work. And it makes the series, otherwise quite slick, a bit clunky.
Toast and his nemesis, Ray Purchase.
But all in all, Toast’s ludicrous self-regard helps propel him through various very silly scenarios, in which we can also enjoy numerous other ridiculous ‘luvvies’, admirably. Not an out and out classic. But very funny and enjoyable.
BONUS BALL
This slightly Bond-themed episode may be my favourite of series one. Or maybe not? Like all the episodes, it made me laugh a lot. But it’s also pretty lame. Somehow it builds its own crappiness and lameness into the fabric of the show itself.
One thing that really strikes me, whilst watching this – indeed, whenever I see Matt Berry perform – is what a truly dreadful actor he is. Genuinely. He is always exactly the same. His vocal delivery is always the same, a kind of pompous declamatory tone.
He sounds like he’s doing an impression of a British male actor from the 1940s or ’50s, but he’s forgotten exactly who.
One of the chief threads that runs through the whole series – and indeed all Matt Berry character’s I’ve ever seen – is Toast’s lothario lifestyle. And as a sex-crazed ‘deviated prevert’ myself, I can’t help but warm to this aspect of his delusional self-love. M
Toast enjoys Mrs Ray Purchase.
Mind, he’s not delusional as portrayed here, frequently getting his oats (always dressed in his vest!), usually doggy style! And frequently with the wife of his arch rival, Ray Purchase, another dreadful moustachioed ham.
I’m typing this at roughly 2.45 a.m. I think I’ve dozed for about 30 minutes, perhaps? Other than that, I’ve been wide awake all night.
In some ways I don’t mind. What I mean by that is that I’m not in a highly agitated state. But as I know that there will be ‘payback’, there is a dull and muted sense of dread.
And, ironically, my worst nights are often those that precede my most demanding days. So it’s Tuesday night, and I need to be sleeping properly, as Wednesdays are my busiest teaching day.
I feel relatively okay right now. Like I ought to feel during the middle of an active day. But how am I going to feel midway through teaching?
Teresa, meanwhile, sleeps like a champ. Just as she always does. She’s a gold medalist ninja snoozer, whilst I’m an F-grade dunce, sleep wise!
It’s all particularly galling, in a way, as I’ve only recently read Walker’s excellent Why We Sleep, so I’m particularly aware of the need to sleep properly. Hey ho! It is what it is…
In trying (and failing) to buy a ticket to see Ron Carter, playing his first UK gig in nearly a decade, I discovered Jas Kayser, a young female drummer.
I’ll definitely be checking her and her group out live, as and when I get the opportunity. In the meantime, here’s a rather sweet little interview with her – click here – conducted by her twin brother!
A sudden wave of nostalgia swept over me, recently, in the guise of the theme song from Hanna Barbera’s Hong Kong Phooey theme song.
Recently, well, today, to be precise, we watched almost all of the episodes whilst child-minding for my sister. I actually dozed off for a considerable portion. And then I had to help cook the evening meal. So I didn’t actually see as much as I’d hoped to.
Now, back home, I’m watching from the start again. And it’s really silly! Not amazing, but just kind of fun, especially as a dose of nostalgia.
Scatman Crothers.-
Scatman Crothers’ voice is perfect for Phooey, somehow approximating in vibe to his half-closed eyes when in Penry mode: mellow, relaxed, and winningly self-confident, despite his hopeless incompetence. Blissfully unaware that his triumphs are all accidental, or brought about by Spot, the cat, or other helpful characters.
Penry and Spot.The hapless Sgt Flint, centre.
Sgt Flint is endearing, as a gruff, dim and bear-like flat footed-copper. And Rosemary? I loved Rosemary way back when. And I find I still love her now! ‘Your lovable lady fuzz’!? Delicious!
Switchboard sweetheart, Rosemary.
The stories are ridiculous. Never was a ‘McGuffin’ less relevant to the enjoyment of a show! It’s all just an excuse to have Phooey (and frequently Spot) goofing about in crazy situations. The charmingly doofus Phooey, with his correspondence course book of Kung Fu up his sleeve, is undoubtedly where the charm lays.
For a cartoon with such a short run, it seemed to hit some kind of nerve, such that it’s remained on screens ever since it was made, way back in ‘74. And I find, that whilst I’m now far older, I still have a soft-spot for this mild mannered janitor/superhero, and his sidekicks, Spot, Flint, and very definitely, Rosemary!
Over the least week or so I’ve been chipping away at getting more flooring down, up in the loft, so we can store more stuff up there.
I did a load of work like this about four or five years back. But that floor space quickly grew to be full to o’erflowing! I think the area I originally floored was about 60 sq. feet? Minus the access hatch.
The two areas I’m adding, one either side, are about 40 sq. feet each. So we’ll have about 140 sq. feet when I’m done. I did the western side already. And that’s already getting full!
Just a little bit more to do.
I need to shift a ton of stuff, quite possibly literally, to get the eastern side clear and ready to be laid. It’s grim work up in the loft; there’s about 140 years worth of soot and dust and dirt up there!
When I did the first tranche of work I substituted the fibreglass type insulation for foam boards. I don’t know if that was worth while or not? But fir the remainder I’m recycling the insulation that was there already.
That said, I’ve been getting rid of the oldest (lowest/dirtiest) layers, bagging them up and taking the hideously dusty and dirty stuff to the local dump. I need to run some wiring / lighting and power – up there.
I have to admit I find Ted Kaczynski darkly fascinating. I ought also to qualify that immediately, by making it clear that his lone wolf campaign of murder and mutilation, what he himself viewed as ‘revenge’ against society, was appalling. Obviously!
Sharlto Copley (what a splendid name!), who I first saw in Elysium, and District 9, is superb as the titular Ted K. And this film is very well directed. We can really feel Ted’s isolation and rage.
I’ve read Kaczynski’s manifesto (see this post), and – unlike the ravings of some infamous killers – it’s got a good deal in it that actually makes sense, or rings true. But, like so many critiques of the ills of modern life, whilst there’s much that’s understandable, or even valid, it’s not really cogent as a road map to a better future. Not, that is, unless you share Ted’s Adolf Hitler like levels of Nihilism.
Copley is terrific as Ted.
A quote from said manifesto, used in the film – ‘The aim of The Freedom Club is the complete and permanent destruction of modern society’ – succinctly sums up Ted’s wishes, whilst neatly encapsulating his ‘madness’. The lone wolf wants to be part of something bigger (his ‘Freedom Club’), and yet, as he admits in other writings, he knows his ‘one-man show’ can never achieve such grandiose ends.
This film captures very well his fascinating and tragic mental isolation and unhappiness. There’s a powerfully tragic scene in which, dressed smartly, he hand delivers a letter of complaint to a telecommunications company. In this one moment, we see both the microcosm and macrocosm: his ‘stolen quarters’ – he’s making a complaint about a malfunctioning payphone he regularly uses – mean nothing to the huge faceless corporation that runs the service. They even spurn Ted’s occasional efforts to play the game by their own rules; the refusal of the functionary to pass on his hand-delivered letter epitomising the inhumanity of the system at large; common humanity is sacrificed to the machine.
Ted is vexed by technology.
The telephone calls Ted makes from the malfunctioning phone booth, about which he has complained, are, at least in this film, mostly to his brother, David. David is the guy who would ultimately contact the police, leading to Ted’s arrest. Ted exhibits a schizoid hatred of and dependency upon his family. And he sounds depressingly like a brand of misfit ne’erdowell I’ve known personally (and perhaps even been, to my shame). Indeed, we probably all know or have encountered the type.
Something that strikes me, as I watch this, as a ‘resonant’ truth about the failings of humanity, is how Christians worldwide fail to have true faith in their supposed God’s ability to dispense justice. One might follow a similar line further, expanding the ‘fate’ thread to take in both religious and secular views, and argue that eco-terrorists ought, likewise, to have a little more faith, and just let modern industrial society destroy itself.
The real Ted K, in prison, c. 1999.
But there’s the rub. Ted, like so many of us, frankly, wants his heaven right now. And under the reigning dispensation that ain’t happening. So, as he says early on in the film, it becomes, rather than a righteous crusade^ to improve the world, merely a matter of revenge. And, as he also says, he feels empowered by his acts of revenge.
I think Ted K is a very well done movie. I found it fascinating, and compelling, rather like Kaczynski himself. It raises many questions, whilst maybe answering just a few. And it dramatises an interior mental world very well. There are some bizarre moments – is ‘Becky’ real?* – which, odd as they are, feel appropriate.
All told? Really very good. Well worth watching.
* In the film Becky seems to be an imaginary idealised woman Ted fantasises about. But she might be tenuously based on Becky Garland.
FOOTNOTE
Er… what was this going to say!?
^ The Rampage film series features a fictional American ‘domestic terrorist’, whose externalisation of his own psychosis is justified in the grandiose narcissistic tradition of the righteous crusader, killing the innocent (who they see as bovine docile collaborators, i.e. not innocent) to make a better world.
I found out, via a pal’s FB post, that Loretta Lynn died today. I’m not a big country music fan, but I did enjoy the movie Coal Miner’s Daughter. And Loretta’s sister, Crystal Gale, recorded One From The Heart, with Tom Waits, which is a sublime album.
So, in memory of Loretta, here’s my review of Coal Miner’s Daughter (originally posted to Amazon UK, some years ago):
Exactly how near the true facts of the Loretta Lynn story this is, I don’t know. For all that some difficult moments are depicted, I suspect it’s still a somewhat sanitised version. But, gol’darn’ it, it makes for a very entertaining and moving viewing experience.
Sissy Spacek is excellent in the lead role – both she and Beverly D’Angelo, who plays Patsy Cline, sing their songs (an album was released alongside the film) – and Tommy Lee Jones, despite shockingly dyed red hair, acquits himself well as her man, known variously as ‘Mooney’ (from a stint running ‘moonshine’), and ‘Doo’, short for Doolittle. Recently deceased drummer for The Band, Levon Helm, plays Lynn’s titular coal-mining father. ‘Ted’.
The real Loretta, plus ‘Doo’ and kids.
Director Michael Apted handles the whole film very well, evoking an America that one suspects is nearly vanished. At one point in the film they receive several telephone message by the means of a neighbour, who has a ‘phone, hollerin’ the news at them from his nearby property. How real all the hillbilly shacks, honky-tonks, pie-auctions, dungarees and dancing, the “coalminin’, moonshinin’ or movin’ on down the line” really are, is hard for me to estimate. But it paints a very evocative and charming picture.
I got to this via Tom Waits and Crystal Gayle, Gayle being Lynn’s sister (the Waits/Gayle collaboration for Coppola’s One From The Heart being an instance of a pretty duff movie paired with a beyond-words-brilliant OST), and the Levon Helm connection.
Even after watching this and loving it, I’m not sure I’ll be getting into Lynn’s music too deeply. But that just shows that this Country & Western star biopic has an appeal beyond Lynn’s fan base. As told here, hers is both an interesting and at times very moving story.
