A spot of borderline insomnia lead me to watch two horror films last night; Wes Craven’s The Last House On The Left (1972), and the much more recent X (2022), by Ti West.
I have to confess, I enjoyed them both. Craven’s much older film is pretty grim, and follows on ‘nicely’ from Death Wish, in a way, inasmuch as there’s a ‘revenge porn’ aspect.
Lambs to the slaughter.
I won’t synopsise either in any detail here, as there’s plenty of other places where one can read recapitulations of their plots. What they have in common are interlaced themes of sex and violence.
In Last House, which Craven purportedly based on Ingmar Bergman’s brilliantly dark Virgin Spring, we see youthful beauty and innocence destroyed, leading all-American parents to an orgy of violent retribution.
Dad goes Tobe Hooper.
X, by contrast, follows a small film crew and their ‘talent’, set on making a porno flick, who wind up in hillbilly hell, a la Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Actress Mia Goth is both the lone surviving aspiring porn queen, and elderly psychotic murderess, Pearl.
Last House was considered an appalling shocker at the time. And, seen as an exemplar of the ‘video nasty’ phenomenon, was banned in the UK for decades. It all seems pretty tame now. Nasty at times. But massively eclipsed by far more graphic depravity in later years.
More than just a nod to Boogie Nights…
It is brutal, undoubtedly, as is X. But both also have some degree of a lighter, even humorous side, as well (esp’ the dumb-ass cop duo in Last House). And so it is that now we have indeed become rather inured to such violence and gore. Indeed, it’s assumed, and correctly so, that many viewers will revel in these once decried aspects.
Both of these films are, I would say, well shot and directed. X is the slicker of the two. And is actually quite beautiful visually at times. And both also manage to be cleverer than they might appear, at first glance.
… with some Texas Chainsaw Massacre thrown in.
The one theme that might elevate X above run of the mill horror is that of ageing, in relation to sex, beauty, etc. Sinister old wrinkly evil types aren’t anything new:
Howard, all dicky ticker and limp dick.
But depicting them as libidinous and sexually frustrated/active is a tad more unusual. And the pathos of a once beautiful Southern Belle turned murderous ol’ hag, does have aspects of poignancy, in addition to the more usual ‘yuck’ factor.
Anyway, whatever gets you through the night, as Lennon (and others) have sung… And last night that was, rather unexpectedly, horror movies!
Judged purely on quantity Woody Allen is very clearly my favourite film director. I currently have something in the region of 45 DVDs of his movies, films he appears in, or that are about him.
This blog entry is a place for me to keep track of the stuff by or with/about him, that I don’t yet have. That includes:
What’s Up Tiger Lily, 1966
Small Time Crooks, 2000
Hollywood Ending, 2002
Scoop, 2006
To Rome With Love, 2012
Blue Jasmine, 2013
Irrational Man, 2015
Wonder Wheel, 2017
Rifkin’s Festival, 2020
Coup de Chance, TBA
I have seen some of the above. And might even have one or two as digital downloads. But I don’t have them as part of my otherwise quite comprehensive Woody DVD collection. Sadly at present finances preclude expanding the collection!
The situation for me, is a bit like it is with Tom Waits; my favourite Waits stuff is everything up to about Rain Dogs/Frank’s Wild Years, maybe even Big Time? Thereafter Tom remains a great artist, but my passionate attachment to or love for his work fades somewhat.
I still love Tom, but just a little less so, post mid-‘80s.
With Woody he really gets going around the early ‘70s, and has a long wide purple patch running way into the 1980s, possibly even the ‘90s. But from the ‘noughties’ on, things have been more hit and miss.
There are occasional gems, like The Curse Of The Jade Scorpion, and Midnight In Paris. But after 1994’s terrific Bullets Over Broadway, I’m no longer compelled by his output, as I am in the years prior to that.
Jade Scorpion, Allen’s last hurrah ‘classic comedy’ wise?
Based on a 1972 novel of the same name, Michael Winner’s 1974 movie met with a pretty high degree of disapproval on release.
I’ve long wanted to see it, very largely due to Herbie Hancock providing the musical soundtrack. But I’ve never gotten around to it. Until now.
And the funny thing is, by the time I got around to watching Death Wish, I’d actually forgotten Herbie did the music. So I’m watching it, and immediately I’m thinking ‘God damn it, this music’s unusually good!’
Rather unbelievably, to my mind, I have to ‘google it’… Oh, yeah, it’s the Herbmeister!
Personally I think it’s actually a pretty well made movie. Obviously made much better by the incredibly groovy music.
The basic idea, plot wise, is as old as the hills. After he is wronged, a man takes the law into his own hands. From Westerns galore, through to Clint and Sly Stallone, even more arthouse stuff, like Ingmar Bergman’s Virgin Spring, it’s a long established plot driver.
It’s possible to think that, without Herbie’s music, this might just be a rather workmanlike entry in that long established tradition. But I’m going to make a case for it being better than that.
Okay, so it is very ‘70s. But in good ways, I’d argue; gritty, urban, grim, yes. But there’s even an element of humour, with Bronson’s Paul Kersey character referencing the Western tradition, which this movie is very definitely a somewhat twisted modern heir to.
This is most obvious when Kersey challenges an assailant to ‘draw’, and again, when he asks Inspector Frank Ochoa (the stand in for the sheriff, played by Vincent Gardenia) if he needs to be out of town ‘by sundown’.
A subway mugger makes a fatal misjudgment.
Charles Bronson is great as Kersey, the taciturn former CO (conscientious objector, as opposed to commanding officer) and Korean War medic, who snaps and turns vigilante, when his wife (played by Hope Lange) is murdered, and his daughter sexually assaulted, and left so traumatised she can’t function, in a home invasion mugging turned violent.
The film takes its time, building to the protagonists’ crossing the line. And Bronson’s Kersey is physically sick after his first rather impulsive slaying. Ochoa, ill and overweight, is nonetheless a resolute legal beagle. So the Western tradition and it’s heirs are somewhat subverted, in this grimmer modern urban ‘Wild East‘.
Director Michael Winner and his star.
Personally I think this film is much more nuanced than its detractors, at the time of release, realised. Despite his brawny physique Bronson/Kersey isn’t typical leading man material, facially speaking. There’s even a depth to him that makes his role here quite beguiling.
And, as well as the self-deprecating awareness of the clichés it draws upon, there’s an interesting relationship with ideas that have become ever stronger with time, such as the media’s role in such things, and the vigilante as modern urban hero. I like how this idea is somewhat undermined when Kersey passes out, during his final ‘mission’ to clean up the streets of NY, near the end of the film.
Somehow – maybe it’s just chutzpah? – Death Wish walks a tightrope between being grossly clichéd and grittily realistic, in its depiction of contemporary urban grimness. The plot, acting, direction, and music all contribute to making a rather familiar idea quite refreshingly compelling and entertaining.
The home-invasion villains. Noo Yoik scum!
Perhaps the most strikingly dated things (for some another might be the music; but I love it!) are the hippy-bum-ne’erdowells. These are not ‘60s love and peaceniks, but the amoral dregs of a more Last Exit To Brooklyn type lineage.
The home invasion scene, which sets up the rest of the movie, really is nasty. The villains are repulsively trashy and amoral. Jeff Goldblum’s character in particular is an appalling avatar for the idea of modern urban youth as poisoned and toxic beyond redemption.
A young Jeff Goldblum is strikingly nasty.
The book was, I’ve read, unequivocally anti-vigilante. The movie is, according to its detractors at the time, not just ambivalent, but unabashedly pro vigilantism. This scenario caused the author of the book to write a sequel, Death Sentence, clarifyingor reinforcing the anti-violence message.
The movies meanwhile, would spawn a further series of films – six in all (so far!) – all of which are more blatantly exploitative of the longstanding tradition of retributive violence, as meted out by the lone man pushed too far.
The book that inspired the movie.
The first three of these are all by Winner, and Bronson reprises his role as Kersey in all but the last, in which Bruce Willis stars (and Eli Roth directs). All of these remakes are, according to most critics, blatant ‘revenge porn‘.
I guess such folk do have a case that even this original film version certainly leans that way. But as critic John DeFore noted, the later iterations make the original ‘look philosophical by comparison’.
All told, a very watchable and – I found – enjoyable movie. The cherry on top? Herbie’s fabulous soundtrack.
Having invested in a load of fancy ring binders and wallets, for some of our DVD collection, which has grown way too space consuming, it’s taken me many years to finally get round to cataloguing what’s in these folders, and trying to impose some kind of order on the inchoate mass.
There are currently 18 of these folders. Eleven are general movies of all sorts, with Hitchcock and Woody Allen both very well represented. Teresa collecting the former, me the latter. Then there are the remaining folders, some of which house a good chunk of my war movie collection, with other covering music, comedy, documentary, etc.
Cataloguing all this stuff is proving very labour intensive and time consuming! I think that as well as having web pages like this, I’ll also do PDF catalogues, for both print and digital storage. Don’t want to lose all this work!
Sellers, Peter – The Return of the Pink Panther, 1975
Sellers, Peter – A Shot in the Dark, 1964
Sellers, Peter – The Pink Panther Strikes Again, 1976
Sellers, Peter – On The Trail of the Pink Panther, 1982
See No Evil, Hear No Evil, 1989
Selling Hitler (TV series), 1991
Seven Samurai, 1954
Shakespeare In Love, 1998
Silent Running, 1972
Spartacus, 1960
Spider Man, 2002
Spider Man 2, 2004
Spinal Tap, 1984
Stir Crazy, 1980
9
Star Wars – New Hope, 1977
Star Wars – Empire Strikes Back, 1980
Star Wars – Return of the Jedi, 1983
Star Wars – Bonus material, 2004
Straight Story, The, 1999
Stuck On You, 2003
Super Fly, 1972
Superman I, 1978
Superman II, 1980
Superman III, 1983
Tintin & the Golden Fleece, 1961
Tintin (cartoons) [5 discs], 1991-2
Tipping the Velvet (TV series?), 2002
Topsy Turvy, 1999
Tropic Thunder, 2008
Twelve Monkeys, 1995
Vanity Fair, 2004
Vanity Fair (TV series), 1998
War & Peace (TV series), 2016?
War & Peace (TV series), 1972
War of the Worlds, 2005
10
Warrior, 2001
Weeping Camel, 2003
Welles, Orson – Citizen Kane, 1941
Welles, Orson – A Man For All Seasons, 1966
Welles, Orson – Waterloo, 1970
Welles, Orson – The Lady From Shanghai, 1947
Wenders, Wim – Kings of the Road, 1976
Wenders, Wim – Paris Texas, 1984
West Side Story, 1961
What Happened to Kerouac? 1986
When Harry Met Sally, 1989
Withnail & I, 1987
Woody Allen – Take The Money & Run, 1969
Woody Allen – Bananas, 1971
Woody Allen – Everything… 1972
Woody Allen – Play It Again, Sam, 1972
Woody Allen – Sleeper, 1973
Woody Allen – Love & Death, 1975
Woody Allen – The Front, 1976
Woody Allen – Annie Hall, 1977
Woody Allen – Interiors, 1978
Woody Allen – Manhattan, 1979
Woody Allen – Stardust Memories, 1980
Woody Allen – A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy, 1982
Woody Allen – Zelig, 1983
Woody Allen – The Purple Rose of Cairo, 1985
11
Woody Allen – Broadway Danny Rose, 1984
Woody Allen – Hannah & her Sisters, 1986
Woody Allen – Radio Days, 1987
Woody Allen – September, 1987
Woody Allen – Another Woman, 1988
Woody Allen (et al) – New York Stories, 1989
Woody Allen – Crimes & Misdemeanours, 1989
Woody Allen – Scenes From A Mall, 1991
Woody Allen – Shadows & Fog, 1991
Woody Allen – Alice, 1990
Woody Allen – Husbands & Wives, 1992
Woody Allen – Manhattan Murder Mystery, 1993
Woody Allen – Bullets Over Broadway, 1994
Woody Allen – Mighty Aphrodite, 1095
Woody Allen – Everyone Says I Love You, 1996
Woody Allen – Deconstructing Harry, 1997
Woody Allen – Celebrity, 1998
Woody Allen – Sweet & Lowdown, 1999
Woody Allen – Curse of the Jade Scorpion, 2001
Woody Allen – Anything Else, 2003
Woody Allen – Melinda & Melinda, 2004
Woody Allen – Match Point, 2005
Woody Allen – Cassandra’s Dream, 2007
Woody Allen – Vicky Cristina Barcelona, 2008
Woody Allen – Whatever Works, 2009
Woody Allen – You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger, 2010
Woody Allen – Midnight in Paris, 2011
Woody Allen – Magic in the Moonlight, 2014
Woody Allen – Café Society, 2016
Woody Allen – A Documentary, 2012
Young Victoria, 2009
Zoolander, 2001
Other movie folders include several dedicated to war films, and some dedicated to comedy, documentaries and music, as separate categories. Folders 1-11 (probably twelve soonish?) are just general movies.
Boxed sets and individual/loose DVDs will also be getting catalogued. As soon as time allows!
Sorting the 11 folders I just did took a lot longer than anticipated. I started around 2-3pm, yesterday, and I’m just finishing now, at midday Sunday. And I’ve been working on it solid between those two times. I’d estimate it’s taken about 14-16 hours!!!
Anyone who knows me at all well will most likely know I’m vehemently anti-royalist. I’m with Tom Paine, who said ‘Monarchy is the Popery of government.’ That said, I’m watching the coronation.
As I’m typing this South African singer Pretty Yende has just finished singing ‘Sacred Fire’, by Sarah Class. What an apt surname for a such a day! Read more about Sarah here.
Pretty Yende in her coronation outfit.
As a musician and music teacher, the fact that music has such a prominent and important role in this and all such similar ceremonies is a double edged sword. It shows how central music is to culture at large.
But in broader terms the UK’s musical culture is in a pretty bad place, as a result of Brexit, under-investnent in music education (esp’ in state schools), and the abject reign of crass commercialism on all fronts.
As a lover of history, and martial history, I have to confess I do love all the military pomp and splendour. But my historically aware and critical eyes also see the way it is used to maintain an oppressive status quo.
We can thank Napoleon for this impressive look.
Anyway, back to an observation on the military parade: the ‘Blues & Royals’ owe their very powerful look to Napoleonic France. They adopted their cuirasses and shiny helms thanks to their role in defeating Boney’s heavy horse at Waterloo. This was itself a triumph of the ‘Ancien Regime’, fighting against French Republicanism (despite Nap’s attempts to convert to Imperial ‘legitimacy’). The Royalty and aristocracy of Europe (Oligarchies, in truth) didn’t want French Revolutionary ideals being exported.
Stock image (copyright Reuters).
The two horse drummers are, as ever, really impressive. Usually, at any rate. One of them wound up doing a rather awkward looking sideways shuffle, just as the cameras were on them. No mention was made of this gaffe. Indeed, Claire Balding was fulsome in her praise of these beasts and their riders.
And the music has switched to the Abbey’s organ, and a rather ridiculous Blackpool Pier sounding musical selection! What the heck was that? Rather bizarre and comical, for a coronation.
Now it’s gone into a rather gonzo reworking of Waltzing Matilda! Apparently Chucky chose a lot (maybe all?) of the music. Bonkers. Well, a bit of research reveals that the organ weirdness was the work of one Iain Farrington, and was called ‘Voices of the World’.
Balding has just acknowledged that Apollo, one of the drum horses, is giving his rider – who also has to drum, as well as guide his steed – a rather hard time!
The Royal procession in progress. On our TV.
Just snapped the above, on’t iPhone. It’s a rather dismal day. Overcast and raining lightly. On such a gloomy note, it might be time to turn to one of the less appealing facets of this show.
Thirty-six facial recognition cameras, made in China (and banned in government buildings, on security grounds!) are being deployed to help the forces of oppression deal with anyone who might dare to show their disapproval. Our slide towards a fascist police state continues.
You can read more about this here. But I think that link is very pro usage (poss’ it’s the company providing them?), so take their gloss on it with a bag or two of salt!
So, from salt, to sand. What’s that all about? Some are saying it’s to keep the horses from slipping. Others are saying it’s because of the appalling state of the UK’s roads; filling in potholes and making it all look slightly less shabby.
Image grab from an online piece by The Sun. (Not a working link!)
If it’s the former, then surely it should be uniform along all the route? and it very clearly isn’t. So it does rather suggest it might be the latter. Either way, it kind of draws attention to the fact something is a bit odd.
Out cometh the flumpets… parp!!!
A stock photo, can’t recall where from.
So, a bit of a lacuna here, as I was busy wrapping presents for Teresa and Chester’s forth-coming birthdays. In the meantime we’ve moved from the procession from Buck House to Westminster Abbey, to the ceremony itself.
Jeez, High Anglican is so very obviously Catholicism-lite. They even have the papal style hats! The transparent evolution of religion that’s plainly on view here – despite being swaddled in mummery – makes a mockery of the idea there’s any inherent truth in religion.
And the bizarre professions of allegiance to Protestantism jar somewhat; a relic of the ECW, a failed attempt to be rid of monarchy.
Royalist parties? No, food banks, at record high.
The most offensive parts of this, with deep and horrific irony, tragically, are the hypocritical genuflections towards helping the meek and needy, and serving. Oh how the ruling elite do salve their consciences.
No amount of charity work by the ‘great and the good’ can ever make a rotten system that condemns so many to bleakly hopeless poverty-stricken lives better, let alone acceptable.
But wait, who’s footing the bull?
I’m going to leave that corrective typo (bull instead of bill) in place, as it’s a Freudian slip worthy of the occasion. John Q Public, of course. The same ‘commons’ of whom over 14 million currently live below the official poverty line. The same commons the rapine Tories are robbing blind every single day.
Rees-Mogg’s failure to get a Handel on history.
‘Zadok The Priest’ makes its inevitable entrance. The ironies here won’t be getting any mention: written by a German composer, only able to live and work in Britain thanks to a specially enacted law, about which the odious Rees-Mogg made risibly ignorant pro-Brexit remarks (revealing himself to be extremely dumb, despite his hugely expensive Etonian education), this Germanic expression enabled by ‘free’ European movement has now become a staple of modern Tory England, the acme of regressive backwards looking ignorance.
The smorgasbord of ‘inclusivity’ at such events is in stark contrast to the elitism actually practised by the wealthy. We now have a Byzantine choir, and earlier we had a very modern take on African choral singing.
Royal inclusivity only extends so far.
I remember being struck by all of this when Harry and Meghan were married, shortly thereafter their relation with the rest of the royal family descending into a tabloid-baiting circus of awkwardness. Harry is here, but Meghan is home in California. How very inclusive.
And how’s this for tolerant inclusivity:
Britain today. Yep, the plot is long lost!*
*Predictive text actually rendered ‘long lost’ as ‘king list’… oddly apt!
Anyway, as the Archbishop of Cranberry drones on, peaceful anti-monarchy protesters are being arrested. Their crime? Wanting a fairer society.
Lock ‘em up and throw away the key. Better yet, hang ‘em from traitor’s gate, and put their heads on spikes. That’s what real royalty would do. And did, back in the ‘good old days’.
Watch out, traitors, it’s the Tower (and the chopping block) for you!
See our doughy, er, doughty boys and gals in blue endorsing more Royal inclusivity in Toryland here.
Some believe this to be Oliver Cromwell’s head.
For a gruesome reminder of what real Royal power used to look like, have a butchers at what is purported to be Oliver Cromwell’s decapitated noggin.
Cromwell died in 1658. His corpse (or perhaps someone else’s?) was dug up by the minions of Charles II, to be hung and decapitated, along with a certain John Bradshaw and one Henry Ireton.
Cromwell’s head (or whoever’s it was) remained on a twenty foot spike until 1684, when it was blown off in a gale. It then passed through various hands, before winding up at Cromwell’s alma mater, Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge.
Read more about the peregrinations and authenticity of ‘Cromwell’s head’ here.
The Monarchical bling-wagon.Grenadiers (whose busbys are another Waterloo relic) pass through…And back to Buck House.Canadian Mounties.
Somewhat ironically our Virgin set-top box decided it had had enough, and switched itself off. Even Clare Balding admitted that, after the lengthy investiture of crowning, etc, the change to a parade was ‘a bit of relief’.
And on it goes…
The military segment rumbles on, now in the garden of Buckingham Palace. Poor old military man and commentator Greville welled up in tears contemplating and admiring it. The troops did look dapper, and did their bit with proper parade ground precision.
I understand the powerful appeal of all the pomp and ceremony. But what century are we living in? As historian David Olusoga just noted, there’s a contradiction here, between our everyday lives and culture, and this sort of shenanigans. Indeed, as Olusoga also said, it accentuates the contrast.
Beefeaters and ermine lined cloaks.
Hmmm… well, that’s nearing five solid hours of BBC bootlicki… er, I mean coverage. And I’m all coronation-ed out. Utterly exhausted. Can one imagine what it must’ve been like for someone in a bearskin busby carrying a sodden flag? At least they’re young and fighting fit. I’m older and more knackered… Phew! And it isn’t over yet.
I’m bailing now. Getting out while I can. Pimms and some strawberries and cream probably added to my tiredness. What a rigmarole!
Today was pretty weird. I had a counselling session at 10am. I barely managed to get myself out of bed in time to be there. So of course my counsellor was late. That figures.
Then whilst mid-session, some work comes in. I’m having to take this kind of drop of the hat stuff, to ensure some money comes in. That plays havoc with arrangements. Such as my meds being dropped off ‘pm’.
Naturally I get a call during my delivery route, asking where I am. I’m working. As and when I can. Fortunately my meds can be (and are) left with a kindly neighbour. It’s bit of a faff. But it gets sorted.
Elephant dung.
Back home, and straight into a bit of weeding in the garden. Take several buckets filled with nettles, numerous stings to remember them by, and other green garden waste, to the dump.
And then an interlude. A farewell to an era, perhaps? A need to be outdoors. Free for a brief spell. A pleasant respite from ‘purpose’. A beer and a smoke. And then back to reality.
With a (free!) tin bath strapped in the boot, and empty weed buckets, it’s back home for dinner. Teresa’s terrific. Where would I be without her? A lovely pasta meal ready. And she’s pleased about the work and the weeding, and even the tin bath!
An old tin bath.*
A bit of TV: Fred Dibnah frothing over the golden age of steam, and a bit of 147 snooker action on YouTube. A Guinness and some pud? All good!
And then from tin baths to hot steaming watery baths. Ah, bliss. But I’ve burnt my neck, driving around delivering with the roof down. The cool drivers’ breeze means I don’t notice sunburn. Better start carrying sun block.
The nettle stings, quite vicious at the time, are all gone. Now the pain is sunburn and a headache. Beer and smokes, sun behind the wheel? Ok, so I’m paying with a mother of a headache.
Ouch!
But all things considered, todays’ pleasure pain balance has at least been not just tolerable, but slightly weighted towards the better end of things. And thank goodness.
And finally, bed. How I love bed at the moment. It’s a soft warm womb-like haven. And to be clean and warm, and a bit woozy from sunshine, booze, dinner and a hot bath? It outweighs sunburn and existential angst. At least for now!
*Not our old tin bath. I’ve seen folk selling these online, for £100-200+! I’ve half a mind to clean ours up (only a little; patina is good!), and see what we can get for it.
I was lucky enough to be sent a free review copy of this excellent book. I’ve actually had it quite a while now. I was initially somewhat chary of reading it, as it has the look of a self-published work.
And so, I believe, it is. Either that or it’s published by a small specialty publisher. Whatever the case may be, it is sometimes a bit like one might expect such works to be; a bit amateurish, and would’ve benefited from some firm but fair editing.
Having said all of that, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it. Truth be told, it’s very well written, esp’ so for someone who isn’t primarily an author or writer, but a good ol’ U.S. of A. ‘flyboy’!
Many chapters start with Eager’s poems. And whilst they’re not Shakespeare or Longfellow, I think they’re a good inclusion, showing another facet to a military man many might’ve assumed could be lacking in sensitivity or artistic leanings.
Occasionally it’s a tad repetitive. And when Eager renders conversation, he does so – especially regarding his own ‘voice’ – in a somewhat stiffly formal manner. One suspects recorded transcripts of these moments might’ve been slightly less stuffy, or expository.
Having said that, Eager was the son of a high school principal, a good Boy Scout, and a military man, through and through. So there’s a slim chance, I suppose, that he really did talk as he renders himself here. But I really suspect not. His character comes across as too human. And sometimes his speech here is almost robotically leaden!
But the thing is, he lead a very interesting life. And he was, by the sounds of it (admittedly his own self-portrait) a pretty ‘good egg’, as we Brits might say.* The book itself was written at the urging of friends and family. And they also helped bring it completion in its current form.
How much it owes its interesting back and forth structure – it jumps around from youth to adulthood in a very engaging way – to Eager, and how much to later editorial interventions, I’m not sure. It’s a clever way to make the book more compelling, and works a treat.
We learn about what seems to have been a pretty idyllic all-American childhood, with trips to a cottage in the mountains (built by his father and others). And then how he managed to get himself enrolled on a unique flying course, before the war brought America into the fight.
We learn about his family. And early romances. There’s even a very funny bit about a teacher he’s fond of and a fart in her classroom that she mis attributes to poor young Dick! And then there’s a really touching and moving bit about his dog, Judge.
All of this is woven into the more ‘officially’ significant story of how he wound up becoming Monty’s pilot, flying the victor of El Alamein around in a U.S. B-17 bomber converted into an airborne office-cum-taxi. But Richard Ernest (earnest and eager!) Evans’ life is ultimately fascinating for both his civilian and military experiences.
It’s supplemented by lots of pertinent photos, some very personal to Eager, some stock WWII ref, but still very relevant to the story this book tells. There’s also detailed ‘chronology’, lots of his correspondence, and a very useful glossary.
This truly excellent book tells the story of a very interesting and seemingly very decent man, living through extraordinary times. I’m not a military man myself (although I love military history). But nevertheless, Richard Evans, I salute you!
I’m writing this review as I near the end of the book. The vast majority of which is given over to childhood and young adulthood (I haven’t yet read the epilogue, which I suspect summarises some of the rest of his life). I’ve really enjoyed the read, and would definitely recommend it.
*He often refers to the various form of national linguistic peculiarities he encounters, serving in WWII alongside Canadians, Australian, Brits and his own fellow Americans.
At the time of first posting this, it’s really just an image dump. I’ve discovered that I really love the two Willem Van de Veldes – father and son – especially, perhaps, the Younger.
I hope to collect a gallery here, of as many of their works as I can. As both reference and inspiration. And then at some point I’ll start adding the pertinent info: attribution, title, year, and maybe even sources (for my images).
I’d like to make some copies of some of these paintings, in the fullness of time. I don’t see that happening all that soon, for various reasons. But hopefully it will eventually come to pass!
Willem Van de Velde, the Younger.Willem Van de Velde, the Elder.
After our recent trip to the National Maritime Museum and Queen’s House, both parts of the Royal Museums Greenwich, I have a consuming passion for naval maritime painting.
I recently ordered a very cheap copy of The Art of the Van de Veldes, which arrived yesterday. I have to admit to being somewhat disappointed in this. It’s actually pretty decent, for what it is. But it’s far from what I really wanted.
Looks handsome enough, doesn’t it?
This latest addition to my portfolio of interests has been brewing up a while now. I’ve had some great books from Pen & Sword, via some of their maritime imprints, such as Glasgow Museums, The Ship Models, and Warships of the Napoleonic Era, by Robert Gardiner (my review of the latter can be read here). Plus I had already acquired Naval Warfare in the Age of Sail, by Bernard Ireland, and one or two other titles in this line.
A beautiful book full of amazing models.
The issue, and it’s actually a very common one, especially with slightly older art books, is that there are only a very few colour images (and these are neither big nor very high quality), the bulk of the images being black and white.
As is so often the case, in this deeply capitalist society of ours, what I really want proves to be unaffordably expensive! This looks much more like what I’m after:
That said, and given the money folk are asking (mostly around the £300+ mark!) I’d want to be 100% sure these actually have lots of juicy high quality full-colour reproductions! And from what little info’ on them I’ve garnered online, I’m not sure that they do!
