MEDiA: Hallowe’en – Taste The Blood of Dracula, 1969

It is All Hallow’s Eve. Teresa decreed that we have pumpkin soup, followed by pasta and a Hammer movie, and rounded off wi’ pumpkin pie. Fab! So it is we settled down to a rich repast, and Taste The Blood Of Dracula!

Three and a half stars is actually quite a high Hammy House of Horrors score, from me. Whilst there’s definitely something I love about the whole über-kitsch vibe of their films, they are at the same time pretty trashy and low budget. But I guess these ‘faults’ are also part of their charms?

The settings are sometimes quite good, and this is such a one, with some decently spooky, or even just plain atmospheric, locations. The combo’ of ye aulde togs (clashing with the late ‘60s barnets!), period paraphernalia – from gas lamps to pony and trap – and a decidedly autumnal vibe (wood’s carpeted with golden brown leaves), all conspire to give the film aesthetic heft.

The acting is very mixed, ranging from the high camp overblown melodrama of Ralph Bates, in the role of Lord Courtley (and not forgetting some lesser but similarly sliced ham from Roy Kinnear, at the films’ outset), to surprisingly decent turns from Anthony Higgins (billed as Anthony Corlan) and Linda Hayden, as the vamp’-crossed lovers, Paul Paxton and Alice Hargood. Christopher Lee has, perhaps surprisingly, a fairly minor part as the titular Dracula; his antics had Teresa chortling merrily several times!

Courtley and his acolytes summon Satan!

The daft plot finds a trio of hypocritical Victorian gents in search of illicit thrills. Their chief is the appallingly odious William Hargood (Geoffrey Keen), abetted by the moustachioed Jonathon Secker (John Carson), and the hapless hanger on Samuel Paxton (Peter ‘Cleggy/Wallace’ Sallis).

A chance encounter in an East End brothel leads them to take up with the arrogant rake, Lord Courtley. A Hellfire Club type chap, who persuades them to sell their souls to the Devil, but then loses them at the very moment that gives the film its catchy title. It’s quite deliciously rifikvukits… erm… ridiculous!

Inevitably there must be hot babe interest. And this is supplied by the ‘kids’ of these hypocritical Victorian Pater Famili-asses, who are involved with each others families’ siblings. Linda Hayden n particular really is enchantingly gorgeous, in a softly and plumply innocent way!

A true Hammer babe!

Like most Hammer movies, the plot really isn’t worthy of the energy required to synopsise it. It is a quintessential ’McGuffin’, a term Hitchcock created to describe an irrelevant plot-driving conceit. All that’s required are the ingredients for a devilish bouillabaisse: antique settings, some darkly supernatural baloney, earnest heroes, evil villains, and buxom wenches, and some ketchup or jam, in vivid but not very blood-like red.

It proved to be perfect viewing for the evening. Mildly diverting, with just the right atmos’, and even providing the occasional chuckle.

Must check out Vampire Lovers!

All the cleavage and heaving bosoms got my thinking about the Hammer Glamour book, and similar titles dedicated to the groovily painted posters. Some ideas for stuff to decorate the home with, perchance!?

MEDiA: Toast

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.

MEDiA: Hong Kong Phooey, 1974

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!

FiLM REViEW: Danger Close, The Battle of Long Tan, 2019

Wow! I have to admit I thoroughly enjoyed this Australian ‘Nam movie. They say ‘war is Hell’, and it sure is in this particular story.

Based on real events, of 18 August, 1966, during which an Australian force comes under heavy attack from a much North Vietnamese contingent. Rather like certain British military events, such as Dunkirk and The Charge of the Light Brigade, and albeit on a smaller scale, it seeks to wring victory and heroism from botched or incompetent actions (so it’s also akin, in that respect, to We Were Soldiers).

American films about ‘the ‘Nam’ are both very plentiful and very familiar to us, here in the UK. Australian films on the same war? Much much less so. To the degree that this might be the only one that I’m aware of (Attack Force Z, what was that all about?*).

11 Platoon, pinned down in the woods.

It being Australian, I didn’t recognise many of the cast. I think a couple of faces were recognisable from Hacksaw Ridge? But even the ‘big name star’, Travis Fimmel, was not familiar to me. That’s actually kind of refreshing. One isn’t sidetracked by the ‘star factor’.

But, truth be told, that this is an Aussie take on the Viet Nam war was just about the only surprising thing about it. In most other respects it ticked a lot of the genre boxes:

The commander, Brigadier David Jackson (Richard Roxburgh), at the top of the chain, struggles to assert his authority, and is a bit disconnected from his grunts on the ground. Major Harry Smith (Fimmel) is a hard-ass, who eventually earns his men’s love and respect. There are slo-mo explosions and blood splatters aplenty, and last minute relief arrives just as the seemingly never ending tides of the enemy are about to engulf ‘our heroes’.

Fimmel as Major Harry Smith.

And there are lots more clichés from the Big Book of How To Shoot Viet Nam War Movies, 101. But I don’t mind that in the least. I found it engaging enough, and believable enough. Despite it belonging, ultimately, to a lineage that goes back to the ol’ Cowboys vs Injuns formulae of Hollywood.

After the barrage of Royal Funeral TV propaganda we were subjected to today, a chest-thumping, grim and bloody war movie was exactly what I needed!

FOOTNOTE

Whilst looking for images from the film I found this rather interesting piece by an ANZAC veteran who says he fought and was wounded in Viet Nam. He rates the movie highly, for depicting the ANZAC role in Viet Nam at all, but laments what he views as historical inaccuracies.

Director Kriv Stenders, Fimmel, and crew, on set during filming.

NB – The above photo comes from a series taken by veteran photographer Tim Page, who covered the actual conflict, and shot some very compelling black and white images of the film production on the very same 1965 Leica M2 he used to photograph the real war!

* I checked, Z is a WWII movie. But, what with links to Hacksaw Ridge, We Were Soldiers and, even if mistakenly, Attack Force Z, Mel Gibson’s shadow hangs over this post!

MiSC: Bank Holiday Monday, 2022

Labour MP Clive Lewis.

An interaction with family today has made me reflect on the incredible depths of penetration that politics really has. And how the establishment so totally owns and runs and controls the ‘status quo’.

The dominant narrative in the UK right now is that we’re all united in grief over the death of Queen Elizabeth II. And any dissent from this position is automatically negative and therefore despicable. This position silences debate, playing very powerfully into the interests of retrograde Conservatism.

And the ‘shut up and don’t complain’ card is very powerful. So I’m very happy to see and respectful of those few brave souls taking a principled stand against the ongoing propaganda and lies that swaddle our monarchy.

From Labour MP Clive Lewis to barrister Paul Powlesland, and the guy caught on film pointing out to Charles the costs to ordinary people of the monarchy, it’s refreshing to find that some people are not being hypnotised by all the pageantry.

Paul Powlesland.

Powlesland said “One of the many things that makes me proud to be British is our freedom of speech. It’s one of our most precious and sacred rights and it’s far more precious to me than the royal family is.” Amen to that! And, as he experienced, when making a very mild protest in London, these freedoms are being systematically attacked by our current Tory (mis)government.

And in the UK today amongst some of the most powerful groups serving and enabling Tory repression are those very large swathes of people who are doing alright. The ‘I’m alright Jack, don’t rock the boat, with your carping negativity’ crowd are helping silence dissent, or alternative views/possibilities.

And, lest we forget, we wouldn’t have things like weekends, holidays, sick pay, the eight hour day or 40 hour week, etc, if it wasn’t for the dissenting voices. Or even the NHS, which is really and fundamentally a response to the massive blood sacrifices made by the working masses in two world wars. If we’re required to make such sacrifices for the state/nation, shouldn’t that state/nation look after us? Damn right it should!

I like history, including the colourful Napoleonic wars, with the ridiculous peacock finery of uniforms that were often destined to be torn into bloody pieces, along with the ‘soft machines’ wearing them, by shot and shell. I love cathedrals, but I loathe religion. I can see the appeal of the pageantry. But I also see the oppressive institutionalisation of inequality such mummery represents.

Tory propaganda nowadays looks different, but is essentially the same.*

It’d all be fine if nothing meant anything – a position that appears to have escaped the genie’s bottle of left-wing ‘postmodern’ academia and infected the entire organism of modern culture with a very pernicious form of relativism – but alas, stuff does mean something. And in this case it means ‘shut up, know your place, and march in step with us, backwards towards a fantasy feudal past’.

No thanks!

I’m inevitably going to see some of today’s tomfoolery. Teresa likes that sort of thing. I can hear she’s watching it now. So I’ll get sucked in as well. Hey ho!

Gillray’s prodigious talent was very effectively deployed by the Tories.

As I’m typing this the soporific harmonies of High Anglican service waft up the stairs. It seems as if, thinking back to the ECW – what Royalist history calls ‘The Interregnum’ – with the Stuart Restoration, and then later the Glorious Revolution, England, or what became the UK, awoke momentarily from the stupefied slumber of monarchy, only to lapse back into a deep sleep. A sad state of affairs that continues to this day. Wake up!

* Gillray was a brilliant satirical political cartoonist. But his fabulous talents were deployed by the oppressor, to maintain a conservative status quo. Nowadays Gillray’s job is accomplished via the predominantly right wing media, be it print, TV, or online. At least Gillray left us something we can still admire and enjoy! The tawdry disposable ephemera of our own times barely exists beyond the few minutes or hours it’s required to do it’s job.

ADDENDUM

Ever since hearing the news of the Queen’s passing, I’ve been thinking, who else died that day? How many took their own lives, amidst poverty and despair? How many of those who died, anonymous unlamented (relative to the Queen that is), might have lived longer and better lives – richer lives, even if not in the fiscal sense – if our society was less wealth and power crazed, venal and uncaring?

MEDiA: The IT Crowd

Over the last week I’ve binged on The IT Crowd. Having watched the entirety of the show, all four seasons, I’m, well… ?

I liked the way the series starts. I’m a Chris Morris fan, so his presence was immediately appreciated. The opening scenario sets things up nicely; Reynholm Industries boss Denholm Reynholm (Morris) appoints Jen head of IT. She clearly knows nothing about IT, just as Denholm knows nothing about, well… anything, his business least of all.

The IT Crowd set.

The core trio of Roy, Moss and Jen, played by Chris O’Dowd, Richard Ayoade and Katherine Parkinson, are great. And the subterranean mise en scene , the IT dungeon, is terrific. But, like the whole show, it’s a peculiar collision of fantasy and reality in that absurdist vein Graham Linehan found fame with, via Father Ted.

Roy, Moss and Jen.

Father Ted is, or was, properly bonkers. Who’d have thought a show about the insane antics in a remote Godforsaken parochial house could make such great and successful TV comedy? By comparison The IT Crowd, like its subject, is a bit more obvious, mundane, humdrum… all that kind of stuff. But, in a funny old way, that’s a strength of the show; it’s more immediately relatable.

This isn’t going to be a full synopsis of the entire show. Far from it! I’m just registering my enjoyment.

I have to say I preferred Chris Morris, as Reynholm Sr, to Matt Berry, as Reynholm Jr. And I was sorry – although I laughed lustily – to see Denholm taking that infamous executive leap. Both Morris and Berry are portraying ludicrous caricature characters. But Berry seems to always be exactly the same, whatever I see him in, from Garth Marenghi’s Dark Place to Toast. Morris has more range, and is just funnier.

Down in the IT dungeon, Roy is almost the straight guy. Although, having said that, Jen is also almost the straight gal. Although they both goof aplenty, there’s something almost distressingly ‘normal’ about them. The character that really makes the show work, when it does work (and it doesn’t always), for me at any rate, is Ayaode’s Maurice.

One Mozza I can stomach.

And yet I think Moss is flawed. And I’m not meaning just in the obvious ways in which his character is supposed to be flawed. Perhaps the entire show is? It’s often funny, sometimes very funny. But it’s also a bit rote. And Richard Ayaode, as much as I love his whole style, is nearer Matt Berry than Chris Morris, in terms of range. Nonetheless, in Moss The IT Crowd has a character I can love, albeit in a muted slightly awkward manner.

I wonder if the Linehan factor has anything to do with the ‘great but also slightly disappointing’ feeling I’m trying to get at? Whilst I love Father Ted, I think he was totally the wrong guy for Count Arthur Strong (the radio and stage versions of Strong are so much better!).

Anyway, it’s nice to find relatively recent TV that I can bear to watch (there’s so little of it!). Especially so when it can supply much needed chuckles in what are, in many respects – Covid, Brexit, never-ending Tory misrule, the ‘cost of living crisis’, etc. – very trying times.

Ah, Denholm Reynholm, a true Captain of Industry.
Oh, and thingy from Boosh and baking stuff is in a few episodes.

Some time later… Well, I’m nearing the end of a second run through the entire series, and, whilst I think it started out pretty strong, towards the end it was fizzling. Father Ted is Linehan’s best work, as far as I’m aware/concerned. The IT Crowd has its moments, but ultimately is too weak and inconsistent.

Diverting contemporary tech-nerd fluff. Mildly amusing.

FiLM REViEW: FUBAR, 2002

Watched this during another insomniac wee small hours spell. A spoof documentary, or, as they call ‘em now, a mockumentary, FUBAR follows a film-maker, Farrel Mitchner (Gordon Skilling) who is himself following two white-trash stoner headbangers, Terry and Dean.

Set in suburban Alberta, Canada, it takes a while to get used to, and was filmed on a Canon XL1, giving it a very lo-fi verité flavour. With a core cast and no script, the movie was largely improvised, some scenes involving ‘John Q Public’, unaware it was actually a work of fiction. Apparently the fist-fighters, for example, were genuine.

Terry (Dave Lawrence, who made the film) and Dean (Paul Spence) are two young long-haired rocker slobs. Continually shotgunning beers, smoking (fags or weed), and living on diets of appalling junk food. They’re dumb, foul-mouthed and pretty nihilistic.

At first I found myself thinking, what’s the point of this wallowing in the kind of hippy dream turned sour that has created zombie hordes across the US, and – this is set in Canada – North (and no doubt also South) America?

Dean and Terry.

It was horrifyingly salutory to see how large a part of the MAGA/Trumpite crowds of Jan 6th were longhaired losers looking very like the two chief protagonists of this film. But there’s also everyone else; the lads’ families, partners, friends, co-workers/employers, etc. And Farrel and his documentary crew.

All these others, inc Troy/Tron, a former party animal gone ‘square’, are the ‘straight’ world. Dean’s mom [sic!] recites a poem, ‘Woman Is A Danger Cat’, by her son, whilst he plays his sensitive acoustic ballad ‘Rock & Roll Is My Guitar’. Terry’s employer (or is it Dean’s? I forget!) corrects his delusional embellishments on his professional responsibilities. And Troy’s partner tells it like it is, regarding women and their effects on slacker slobs!

In some ways this film, as awful as it is in many ways, has a resonance for me, in that I lived for a while a life a little bit like theirs. The ubiquity of ‘cuss-words’, the aimless boozing and smoking, and the ‘us against the straight world’, were all part of my early twenties hippy-dream-gone-sour interlude.

But whilst we were naive, we were never so moronically dumb, nor so grotesquely ignorant and hypocritical. These dolts love to trash stuff, leaving a trail of litter in their wake (‘the park ranger’s’ll clear it up’). This particular brand of white trash rocker types seem peculiarly American (or Canadian; I have Canadian ancestry*) in their boorishness. From their ‘hockey mullet’ hairdos (very obviously wigs!) to their mix of heavy metal and ‘sportswear’ clobber.

* My grandfather and one of my uncles were Canadians. I still have relatives over there.

Hangin’ out on the stoop…

But, not unexpectedly, several threads are introduced to being a bit more depth. First we learn Dean has testicular cancer. And is kind of in denial. And second, the interactions between Farrel and his crew and their subjects lead to… well, we’ll get to that.

The whole cancer thread is, kind of ironically and paradoxically, the saviour of this movie, which otherwise might’ve been a pointless exercise in Ali-G’esque social satire. In the end it’s awkwardly straight Farrel whose reaction to Dean’s medical emergency catalyses the catatonic headbanger into taking appropriate action, with some chiding from his ex, Trixie.

Farrel starts out mostly off camera, but gradually becomes a more and more key character, until… blam! He’s gone. I won’t say more, not wanting to spoil it too much for those who haven’t seen this. But everything around this crucial episode is very well done, and, like the revelation re Dean’s monster nut, it elevates an otherwise mundane movie, bringing pathos and a degree of subtler human observation that’s actually both well observed and quite moving.

The film was a success at Sundance, and has spawned a sequel, Fubar II, a TV series, and some sort of online offshoots. So it’s done well for a super low budget indie affair (financed by a maxed out credit card and a parental re-mortgage; phew… that could’ve ended very badly!).

Dude’s got style…

It’s very sad to say this, but the film’s low key trashiness, and the imbecilic Everyman types it portrays, make it perfect for the efflorescence of serf-culture that’s been so assiduously cultivated by the evil machinations of recent populist governments – Trump in the US, BoJo in the UK – in the so called developed Western world.

I genuinely didn’t know which way it’d go at the end. And it was nice the way it did turn out. But maybe that’ll be the aspect that makes it so very much a work of fiction? And perhaps the rise of the kind of cultures it documents in the real world won’t turn out to have such a happy ending?

Far from essential or classic, nonetheless, not too shabby. And, whilst I’m not sure I’d say ‘worth watching’, it wasn’t a total waste of time.

Like, wig city, man!

FiLM REViEW: No Time To Die, 2021

The title font is good…

Myeah… Not great, to be honest. The Bond Franchise is, like so many these days, flogging a donkey carcass that died a long time ago.

What this means is that it’s kind of lost, and all that remains is a collection of accessories: exotic locations, action sequences, the movie stars employed for it, and labyrinthine plots that are ultimately the most disappointing element of the whole collapsed soufflé.

I don’t buy Craig as Bond. At all. I like that he’s ruggedly odd-looking. But, aside from looking pretty good, he has zero charisma. The best Bonds – Connery and Moore – literally exuded charisma like sweat.

Like so much modern cinema, it becomes a series of set-piece action scenes that are impressive on the technical and adrenaline fronts, but utterly bereft of emotional involvement. I simply don’t care about anyone, as nobody seems either remotely real, nor even pleasingly cartoonishly intriguing.

Matera, Italy. Fab location!

So ultimately I simply don’t care about the story, or the ‘characters’, and all that’s left is the hi-octane stuff. And that’s just not enough, is it?

And now I’m coming to the biggest problem of all. This is a gutless, neutered version of a vision of masculinity that was born in another era, and whose charm lay very much in lots of assumptions that simply don’t get past the guardians of PC who make this sort of ‘by committee’ pap.

I guess this conclusion also shows up my demographic? If you’ve ever read any of Ian Fleming’s Bond novels, you’ll know that the movies with Connery and Moore, whilst different (esp. with Moore’s more comic take), do capture the preposterously presumptuous macho visions of Bond’s creator, whose creation is sick with self-love.

I don’t need to be a privately educated scion of a self-appointed aristocracy, or have that Tory sense of self-righteousness and entitlement that Bond and the ‘establishment’ he serves have, and represent, nor approve of the multilayered series of assumptions that underpin the whole ‘Cold War’ worldview in which most of the old stories unfolded, to enjoy the real ‘vintage’ Bond. In fact the daftness of it all is part of its period charm.

Rami Malek as Lyutsifer (!) Safin. Ugly is evil!

Ironically, for all the limply emasculated Bond-age, and the ‘empowered’ females, of whatever ethnicity, some of the most toxic and unattractive ideas of modern culture (present in the ‘real’ Bond, as well), esp’ around casual, even comical, violence, do pass the moral filters that rob this version of Bond of any balls.

I kind of want to say that the only actor who comes off even half decently (or should that be indecently?) – and that’s only speaking relatively – as he isn’t given much to work with, is Rami Malik. Who does, almost, make a Bond villain worthy of the original lineage. But even that claim is, in reality, too weak. Look at how Bond eventually offs him. Turns out Lyutsifer is a pathetically easy push-over!

And Cristoph Waltz, who I liked in Inglorious Basterds and The Hateful Eight, is really pretty lame here, as Ernst Stavros Blofeldt. And pretty much all the other characters, from M and Q to Moneypenny, and the many supporting characters, are just blank cyphers.

I like long films if they’re good. But this is way too long. And both very dull and very disappointing. But, truth be be told, it’s exactly what I expected. In fact, the best – or at least the most attractive – character in the movie is the Italian town of Matera, also recently featured in James May’s Our Man In Italy.

FiLM REViEW: North & South, DVD

I got this DVD box quite some time ago. Been meaning to start watching it for ages! It was enjoying Swayze in Dirty Dancing that prompted the purchase! His undeniable charisma coupled with my abiding interest in the ACW meant this was a ‘shoe-in’, whatever that is!

Last night Teresa and I watched the first two episodes. Each of which is a 90 minute self contained movie. We really enjoyed it. Sure, it’s cornball, and very sentimental. But it’s durn good fun watching.

Our handsome heroes at West Point.

Swayze’s Orry, and his buddy Hazard (James Read) make for very likeable pals. And the basic premise, of the clashing of cultures and a friendship tested by the travails of love and war, is a familiar but potent vehicle for good solid drama.

I’m not going to go into any great detail here, this is just a brief note to record that I’m watching and enjoying this old but epic series. I might have more to say about it as I watch more of it.

Ding Dong! A real Southern Belle!

One thing I will note is that Lesley Anne Down is, as we said back in the 1980s, lush! And I rather warmed, bizarrely perhaps, to the villainous Bent (Philip Casnoff), esp’ when we learn that he’s the bastard ‘mistake’ of a powerful senator.

Looking forward to watching some more later today!

MEDiA: The Terminal List, Amazon Prime

I have to confess I binge watched this entire mini-series last night. Not a terrifically wise decision, given I started watching it at about 9-10pm! I’m guessing it must have been about 5am when it finished?

I was hankering for some enjoyable adrenal-gland stimulation, that could be administered lying down. And in that respect, this new show – premiered July 1st – ticked the box.

Author and former SEAL, Jack Carr.

The story is based on a book of the same name by former Navy SEAL turned author, Jack Carr. Rather surprisingly, whilst the TV show has a Wikipedia page, Carr himself does not.

I’m not going to delve too deep into Carr’s real life or military career, nor am I going to synopsise the entire TV series. This is just going to be a fairly basic review/reaction to having just watched the entire show.

The fetishisation of macho violence is total.

I’m giving it three stars, for now. Why? Well, it was entertaining and compelling enough that I stayed up most the night to watch it. But it is also rather troubling – very worrying, frankly – in how it relates to the current rise in neo-Fascist aspects of contemporary American Conservatism, US gun culture and modern ideas of masculinity.

Jaws so square they could chisel granite.

What it highlights for me is the incredibly dangerous intersections of whole constellations of myths and reality in the psyche of the modern American right.

To highlight what I’m talking about, let’s just very lightly unpick one aspect of the story… the private contractors hired to provide security for various characters, large numbers of whom wind up as just so much cannon fodder.

This idea is quite well parodied in one of the Austin Powers movies; at one level these functionaries are really just guys doing a job, feeding their families. But here they’re no more than meat for the grinder of ‘righteous’ hatred!

Fails his family…

The attempt to have Reece as both a loving family man, as well as a war hardened super ninja, is, ultimately, as another reviewer I read elsewhere (I can’t recall where) says, really quite boneheaded.

Offing countless mercenaries to get to his targets, some of whom (the latter esp’) he brutally tortures – he’s more successful as a killer and a sadist than as a family man – just doesn’t square well with ‘nice ordinary guy’. Dude’s a freakin’ psycho!

… but excels as sadistic executioner.

Jack Carr loves his weapons, especially his guns, as you might imagine a Navy SEAL would. He hunts big game at home (mountain lion recently, I read somewhere). And he’s hunted humans too, as a sniper, whilst serving overseas.

He goes to gun shows, and gives interviews to people like Soldier of Fortune and The Federalist. The former essentially being ‘Mercernaries Monthly’, the latter a Conservative media organ that has shamelessly spouted anti-vax bollocks, and declared support for Trump’s blatant lies around the whole ‘stolen election’ fraud.

‘Lock and load’ is one thing. ‘Pray and spray’!?

In his SOF interview (read that here) he describes the story, accurately enough, as ‘a story of revenge without constraint.’ His hero Reece goes on the warpath, Stateside, to kill those – on his ‘terminal list’ – who he holds responsible for the deaths of his entire squad (mostly overseas), and his wife and daughter, once back home.

In the same SOF piece Carr expands: Reece kills ‘those involved using the tactics and techniques used by the enemy in Iraq and Afghanistan, so at another level it’s about someone abandoning the rule of law and becoming the terrorist and insurgent he’d been fighting … it’s about a veteran of the War on Terror bringing that war home.’

That sounds quite interesting as an idea. There is a chickens coming home to roost side to the ‘war on terror’ that America seems to fundamentally fail to grasp. But that potentially interesting thread is poorly served here, in the end.

The suits and their spooks, always corrupt.

The plot is further complicated by other strands in the story. I’ll refrain from spoilers. Despite these attempts to be confusingly interesting, however, the over familiar ’conspiracy from within’ trope is rather convoluted, and, frankly, veers towards the silly. But it just about serves its purpose, as a plot driver. Don’t examine anything too closely though. It bears very little scrutiny!

Ultimately this one of those recurring and popular fantasies of older right wing males: über machismo uncorked. And ultimately it’s pretty revolting. The ending being particularly dumb and horrid.

But the untethered ego of the hero survives! So… all is well, is it? Really? If I was Carr’s wife, I’d be pretty worried about his priorities and general mental health.

Black, red,white? Wasn’t there a little Austrian chap that liked this combo’?

Returning to the neo-fascist threads, these are on display everywhere, from the unctuous tattooed bodybuilder villain, to the rites of the US military itself, to Reece, part hillbilly demon, part sensitive beautiful powerful man!

There’s a toxic self-regard at the heart of this macho male military culture, in which everything and everybody else is merely an ancillary appendage to the hero’s ego. Not at all attractive, to me at any rate!

Most real world villains prob’ spend less time in gyms and salons.*

In the end it’s all just a rehash of everything from Clint Eastwood to James Bond to Rambo. The lone hero, against pretty much the entire world. Mean, moody. A hardass mo’fo’, who’ll slit you from gullet to gizzard just as readily as buy you a brew.

Clearly made with a huge budget, and pretty decently acted, albeit in a world of cartoonish simplification, I did enjoy ‘the ride’. But as a film that might have anything to leave the viewer with, after the adrenaline subsides? Pretty bleak!

Reece hangs with his bro’.

* I’m sure real-life super vain super villains like Trump spend plenty of time and money on their appearance. They just clearly do so far less successfully than some of the specimens Hollywood style casting agents clearly prefer.