For a magazine titles Men in Conflict, this men's pulp seems to obsessed by sex rather than war - although the main cover painting (recycled from an earlier pulp, as was the custom with this title's latter days), pays lip service to the title's implied theme. Still, it was May 1966 and this type of magazine was in decline. The increased emphasis upon sensationalised sex-related headlines was a last roll of the dice in terms of attracting readership. Of course, as it was now the supposedly sexually liberated 'swinging sixties', those headlines could be more forthright than ever before, hence a hinted excursion into S & M: 'Pain - The Key to Sex Happiness'. Likewise, while all those old covers showing women in their underwear being menaced by Nazis/Commies/Japs/Red Chinese implied that all the painful tortures included rape, now they could finally say it: 'Rape is a weapon of Terror!'.
Alongside the amped up kinkiness and sexual abuse implied in the cover stories, we also have ever more sensationalised versions of some of the favourite old men's magazine tropes: the 'man in conflict with animals' theme, for instance, with 'I Fight With Killer Snakes'. Satanism and black magic is present with 'The Terrible Truth About Devil Worship', (that 'truth' presumably being that it is all a load of old bollocks and simply a pretext for some old pervs to get naked and shag young women while wearing a pair of goat's horns). As for 'The Blood Crazed Mob Was Bent on a Massacre - Watch the Vice Girls Die' mixes together prostitution, sex violence and crime - all recurring themes in these sorts of publications. As a footnote, the recycled cover painting doesn't seem to illustrate any specific story - these sorts of generic cover paintings became ever more common during the declining days of the men's pulps, before they eventually gave way to cheaper photo covers.
The Russians Have Arrived, The Russians Have Arrived...
I keep coming back to that quote usually - and wrongly -attributed to Edmund Burke: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing". I opposed the military interventions in Iraq and Afghanistan and was dubious about many of the NATO interventions in the former Yugoslavia. Yet, with Ukraine I find myself feeling very differently as their fight for survival against an unprovoked Russian invasion unfolds on our TVs and laptops. To simply stand by and do nothing feels the wrong call altogether. Unlike those other conflicts, here the issues seem far more clear cut: a democratic sovereign state that we, in the west, see as a friend and ally, has been the subject of a foreign military assault avowedly aimed at toppling its legally constituted government. Yet, the very countries, the very alliance, NATO, that were so keen to intervene militarily in Kuwait (not a democracy), Iraq, Yugoslavia and Afghanistan (definitely not withing NATO's sphere of influence), seem very reluctant to give any meaningful support to Ukraine. Sure, they're all full of fine words about liberty and democracy and condemnations of Russia, but words don't stop tanks or protect people from bombs and missiles. They've enacted some half-hearted financial sanctions - particularly weak ones on the UK's part, which is only to be expected as the governing Tory party has, in effect, been bought and paid for with Russian money over the last decade or so - but these aren't going to do anything to influence what's happening on the ground right now. Then there's that military aid they've promised - all very well, but if you don't also train the Ukrainians to use it effectively then you might as well not bother.
I'm well aware of all the arguments for non-intervention being advanced by 'experts' and politicians - that do so would risk an escalation and lead to Putin deploying nuclear weapons. But if we're saying that we're deterred because Putin possesses weapons of mass destruction, then surely that is tantamount to admitting that we wouldn't intervene if he attacked a NATO member, as it would risk the same thing? Besides, I seem to recall that the invasion of Iraq was justified on the grounds that Saddam Hussein had developed weapons of mass destruction, (except, of course, that we knew he hadn't)? Yes, there would be a risk to intervening, but equally, there's just as great a risk if we don't. I'm put in mind of the Spanish Civil War, when the legally constituted government of Spain was overthrown by Franco's fascists. Countries like Britain, France and the US refused to intervene. Indeed, we even used our navy to blockade Spanish ports to try and prevent military aid from reaching the government forces. Nazi Germany, by contrast, sent men and aircraft to support Franco, ensuring his eventual victory. (The Soviets did, initially, provide similar aid to the Republicans, but eventually abandoned them in order to pursue a non-aggression pact with Germany). Thanks to this triumph and the failure of the world's other democracies to support the Spanish government, emboldened the Nazis, seemingly signalling to them that the rest of Europe simply wasn't going to oppose their expansionist plans. The rest, as they say, is history.
I know that it is all very well my making a case for intervention of some kind in Ukraine, as I'm unlikely to be called upon to do the fighting (or dying), but that doesn't change the fact that we stand at a watershed here. Simply standing back and hiding behind the fact that Ukraine is not a NATO member, is simply to try and postpone the problem. Victory for Putin in Ukraine will mean an inevitable confrontation with him elsewhere, (already, Russia is attempting to intimidate Sweden and Finland from contemplating NATO membership). I don't want to see the UK involved in another military conflict, but if we sit and do nothing now, odds are that, not too far down the line, we'll find ourselves with no choice but to become involved in a wider conflict. To track back to the Spanish Civil War, at least then there the International Brigades of volunteers who went to fight for democracy, now, all I see is a lot of chatter, most of it inane, on social media. That and the likes of the 'Stop the War Coalition' engaged in their usual hand-wringing antics and trying to paint all sides in the conflict as being at fault, (or even placing the blame squarely at the feet of NATO and the EU for letting all those East European countries join them, thereby upsetting Putin). I've news for you guys - the war has started, some pious finger-wagging isn't going to stop it. Look, I actually have huge respect and sympathy for pacifists - I truly believe that is often more courageous to decide not to fight than to fight. Those who don't bear arms are no less brave than those who do. But in this case, the likes of the 'Stop the War Coalition' are just plain wrong. I abhor violence and think it should be avoided - but sometimes we can be put in a position where we have no choice but to defend ourselves. By denying this right of self defence, or the right to defend someone else in need of help, you are putting yourself in the same position as those governments that refused to support the government of Spain in their civil war against the fascists.
I'd like to say that this is the last time I'll rant on about the situation in Ukraine, but, sadly, I doubt very much that it will be. There's too much at stake here ad I find the inaction - on any front - of our governments endlessly frustrating. They really do need to find some way of giving practical support to Ukraine, even if it falls short of a military intervention. The measures they've enacted so far are little better than 'virtue signalling' and send the wrong message altogether to Russia.
So, how did you spend your time last week, when we were all told to stay indoors as gale force winds battered the country? I found myself watching an obscure so called slasher movie at two in the afternoon. Does watching such a film in daylight hours dissipate any of the fear and sense of menace it seeks to induce in the viewer? A good question - it isn't just the fact that we associate these things with darkness and the 'witching hour', but at two in the afternoon we, as viewers, are in an entirely different frame of mind than we would be late at night, at the end of the day. We're in no mood to entertain the supernatural or crazed serial killers in broad daylight, so tend to be less accepting of the film's shortcomings and less inclined to indulge its inherent absurdities. That said, I think that my reaction to The Slayer (1982) would have been much the same whatever time of day or night I saw it. The fact is that, despite being lumped in with the genre by critics and commentators on its original release, The Slayer isn't really a slasher movie in any conventional sense. That said, the killings that it does include are gorily and effectively enough staged that, at one point, it found itself mixed up in the whole 'video nasties' nonsense. The Slayer's set up certainly sounds like a slasher movie scenario: four people are trapped on an island by a storm and find themselves stalked and killed by an unseen assailant.
Unlike the typical slasher movie, though, the protagonists aren't teenagers, but rather two married couples - artist Kay, her doctor husband David, her brother Eric and his wife Brooke. Kay is the key character around whom the plot turns. She has been increasingly plagued by nightmares, during which she and her loved ones are stalked and killed by a mysterious assailant - but can never recall the details when she wakes. She has taken to painting what vague memories she has of the dreams, disturbing images that her brother fears will derail her successful career. The island trip is intended to be a vacation to help her relax before a new exhibition of her work. Naturally, Kay has a sense of foreboding about the trip, feeling a vague sense of familiarity when they arrive on the island. Inevitably, weird things start to happen and the various characters start to die, with David being the first victim, vanishing during the night and eventually turning up decapitated in a deserted building that Kay had painted from her dreams. Clearly, with only four possible victims, the killings are going to have to be spaced out quite considerably, (indeed, a the bonus killing of a fisherman is thrown in to keep things going), resulting in a very slow pace. Much slower than than in a regular slasher picture. Moreover, while it does have a handful of jarring shock moments, the film focuses on suspenseful build ups to the killings rather than just rapid shocks.
What quickly becomes apparent is that, (unsurprisingly in view of Kay's sleeping problems), is that we can never be entirely sure whether what we are seeing is actually happening, or whether it is part of Kay's dreams, (which she fears are taking over her waking life). The killing of the fisherman, for instance, cuts back immediately to Kay waking up with a start as she lies on the beach. Likewise, while apparently we see David's killing - he is decapitated in a lift - we again cut back to Kay waking up in bed, realising he isn't there and telling her brother and Brooke that she has dreamed about his death. The script tries to throw some shade with regard to the killer's identity, with Eric convinced that the creepy pilot who flew them there never left the island as is behind it all. But inevitably, it all moves toward the idea that the killer is either Kay, in some sort of dream-induced trance, or that the creature from her dreams has somehow taken physical form. At the film's climax, with Kay the only one left alive, she is finally confronted by a skeletal creature - 'The Slayer' - as the house burns around her. But guess what? That's right - we then cut back to Kay as a child, waking up from a nightmare and an incident involving a cat previously described by Eric is re-enacted. Implying, of course, that the whole thing has been some kind of premonition on the part of the young Kay, one she couldn't act upon, because she couldn't recall the details, just the sense of dread and horror.
So, was 'The slayer' real, an entity escaped from Kay's dreams, a construct of her subconscious that she had created in the same way she had her abstract paintings? Or was she the killer, acting in a somnambulant state without conscious recollection of her actions, rationalising them as dreams? Is it significant that the killer always uses some kind of physical implement to kill, such as hooks and pitchforks - surely a supernatural entity wouldn't need to do this? Or was everything we saw a dream? Is the film, in fact, about a woman trapped in a series of recurring dreams from which she can never wake up and even if she did, wouldn't be able to discern her waking existence from a dream? The script, of course, offers us no definitive answers - this is a horror thriller with intellectual pretensions, rather than a slasher film. Which is both its main weakness and its strength. A weakness because it frustrates the expectations of the casual viewer expecting a slasher film, undoubtedly leaving them feeling cheated by the lack of resolution, a strength because it is what lifts it above the run of derivative early eighties slashers and makes it linger in the memory. Interestingly, like more conventional slasher movies, the motivating trauma for the killings seemingly lie in a childhood trauma, but here the 'monster' created by this trauma (Kay's dreams) - 'The Slayer' - was also the initial cause of the trauma, reinforcing the idea of Kay being trapped in a cyclical nightmare.
As alluded to earlier, the film's Achilles heel is its poor pacing, with far too many long and talky scenes between the murders - we have to wait nearly half the film's running time before the first proper killing and then have to endure what seems an age of people walking around the island looking for the missing David. WE then have to wait virtually until the end of the film before the next two murders and the very end for our glimpse of the monster. Moreover, with only four main characters, the dialogue and their interactions quickly become repetitive, not helped by some variable performances from its low-key cast. To be absolutely fair, the often languorous pace is clearly intended to invoke a dream-like atmosphere which, at times it succeeds in doing. Also, while the set-pieces might be few and far between, they are very well executed. There is an impressive sequence with Kay waking up and seeing David beside her in bed, apparently alive, only to find, as she kisses him, that it is his severed head, which provides a real jolt as it isn't clear until that point that it is another dream. The killings are well staged, with a pitchfork stabbing in the back, the prongs of the fork bursting through the victim's chest, looking particularly realistic.
All-in-all, while I can't say that I found The Slayer exactly thrilling or chilling, it was quite intriguing in the way it unfolded. Bearing in mind that it was director J S Cardone's first feature, it is actually a pretty credible effort - despite what was clearly a low budget, it has a very slick, professional sheen with surprisingly high production values. The island locations are well used and well photographed, creating a suitably isolated feel. So, not a classic, nor really a slasher movie, The Slayer does at least represent an attempt to do something slightly different in a low budget horror film. Interestingly, it precedes, by a few years, the similarly themed, but much better known and more successful Nightmare on Elm Street, where the same basic idea was fashioned into a more conventional slasher format, thereby guaranteeing a greater degree of success by fulfilling the expectations of multiplex horror fans.
It has become fashionable to say that, with the plethora of TV channels, digital and streaming, that now exist, it has become impossible to be able to keep up with everything on TV. The implication being, of course, that back in the days when we had only three terrestrial channels, it was possible. Indeed, I used to pride myself upon the fact that I thought that I could recall, even if I hadn't seen them myself, the majority of stuff that had shown on the BBC and ITV before 2000, or so. If push came shove, I thought that I even had a reasonable knowledge of what had been on Channels Four and Five between their respective launches and the early 2000s. In recent times, however, I have been proven brutally wrong. Forces TV is a digital channel that shows all manner of old TV shows, from all the old terrestrial channels. Scarily, there are many that I have absolutely no recollection of whatsoever. It is the ITV sitcoms from the nineties which really seem to have passed me by, right now, for example, they are showing the Brian Conley starring Time After Time, which apparently ran for 15 episodes between 1995 and 1997. Nothing about it stirs any memories for me - I don't even remember seeing trailers for it, or noticing it in the schedules. Then there's a Richard O'Sullivan sitcom which features him as a psychiatrist - this also draws a complete blank. Not to mention that one with Paul Nicholas as a vet and featuring LIsa from Eastenders as his daughter. To be fair, it isn't just ITV sitcoms - there's a BBC one featuring Ray Winstone and a young Kate Winslet as his daughter that I never knew existed as well.
Clearly, I didn't watch as much TV as I thought that I had. To be honest, there was a period, during the nineties, when my viewing patterns did undergo a change, coinciding with when I bought this house and finally had full control over the TV remote, meaning that I no longer ended up spending time sitting through stuff I wasn't really interested in. That's one of the great things about living on one's own - you no longer have to endure other people's viewing habits and instead develop your own. One of these new habits was not watching anything on prime time ITV, which was then beginning its long decline into lowest common denominator mediocrity. Getting cable TV in the late nineties (mainly due to poor reception here of the analogue signals for Channels Four and five), further diminished my BBC and ITV viewing, as I suddenly had access to a number of new channels. The advent of digital TV and the acquisition of a Freeview box reduced my watching of conventional TV, while buying a Roku box a couple of years ago really shifted my viewing patterns, giving me access to a whole panoply of low-rent streaming channels. (Right now, for example, I'm watching a sleazy Italian supernatural thriller, Ring of Darkness (1979) on Otherworlds TV - the sort of thing I'd never get to see on terrestrial). Anyway, getting back to Forces TV, they also show a lot of old US TV series, most of which I remember but haven't seen since their first UK broadcast. I'd forgotten just how depressing Midnight Caller became as it quickly settled into its 'issue of the week' format, or how surprisingly enjoyable Spenser For Hire was in its own cheesy way, (despite its standard US private eye TV series format, it remains the best screen adaptation of Robert B Parker's characters that I've seen - Avery Brooks' casting as Hawk was quite superlative).
The sense of relief amongst the media and politicians is almost plapable: Putin has finally made a move vis a vis Ukraine by recognising the two self-declared breakaway 'people's republics' in Eastern Ukaraine. Prior to this, the rhetoric coming from politicians - particularly in the US and UK -.was becoming shrill and hysterical in its tone, ('the invasion has already started', bellowed the UK defence secretary, for instance, despite the fact that there still has been no 'invasion' as such). They were desperate to be proven right after weeks of bellicose sabre rattling, with Putin refusing to oblige by sending his tanks over the border. Of course, with Putin now promising to send 'peacekeepers' into Donetsk and 'Luhansk', we have the idiots trending '#worldwarthree' on Twitter. Such an outcome is unlikely: as with previous Russian incursions into other former Soviet states' territories and even straightforward annexations like that of Crimea from Ukraine, there is realistically, little that NATO can do, other than shout and holler. Even if member states still had the military strength, (which they don't - just look at how the UK's armed forces have been depleted over the past decade or so of Tory governments), they certainly don't have the will. They talk the talk, but they simply can't walk the walk. Unless they want to resort to nuclear strikes and they simply aren't going to risk a nuclear exchange over Ukraine, a non NATO member. Sure, they can slap on economic sanctions, but the trouble is that Russia can undoubtedly hurt the West ecoomically in return, particularly with regard to gas supplies. The unfortunate fact is that Putin has effectively called the West's bluff over Ukraine. Which is what this has all been about - it isn't so much that he necessarily intends a full blown invasion of Ukraine, but more that, as he's demonstrated, nobody could stop him if he does.
On a slightly lighter note, I caught up with a film I hadn't seen in decades this weekend: The Russians Are Coming, The Russians Are Coming (1966). A hugely popular, not to mention critically acclaimed, film in its day, it is now largely forgotten. A sprawling comedy about the panic that ensues when a Russian submarine runs aground on a sandbar near an island off the coast of New England, it actually wears quite well. If nothing else, it is superbly photographed, with director Norman Jewison perfectly capturing that lazy end-of-summer ambience of a small community, whose normally placid lifestyle is suddenly shattered by unexpected events. As rumours of a an invasion - sparked by the mainly incompetent Russian landing party sent ashore to try and secure a boat large enough to tow the submarine off of the sandbar - chaos escalates, with an armed militia whipping up panic and a harassed police chief trying to keep a grip on the situation. It is helped by enjoyable performances from the likes of Alan Arkin (as the leader of the landing party), Theodore Bikel (as the sub captain), Brian Keith as the police chief and Carl Reiner as a writer holidaying on the island. Even John Philip Law is there, as a Russian sailor who becomes involved with a local girl (played by Andrea Dromm in one of her only three credited acting roles - her first having been as Yeoman Smith in the second Star Trek pilot episode). Anyway, I couldn't help but thin that the time might be right for a remake. Perhaps this time a Russian sub could run aground off the Ukrainian coast, with hilarious results: a nuclear exchange. Maybe this time around the Russian sailors could be hostile, rather than the comedically harmless ones of the original, deciding to engage in a bit of rape pillage and plunder, having heard Western radio broadcasts featuring politicians ranting and raving about Russian invasions of Ukraine and assuming that the war has already started...
Why do film makers persist in casting real cats as, well, cats in films? I mean, they are just about the worst actors I've ever come across - unless they are trying to persuade that they haven't been fed, when they can give Oscar-worthy performances which convince you that they might actually like you. But on film, they are resolutely poor actors. Today, for instance, I had the misfortune to catch part of Funeral Home again, the sequence near the beginning when our heroine, walking to her new home, encounters a cat. She's supposed to find the approaching feline menacing - the problem being that the cat playing the part approaches in a bouncy manner with its tail up: a clear sign that it is being friendly. It doesn't look the least evil or menacing. There are similar problems with the 'star' of Lucio Fulci's The Black Cat (1981), which spends the entire film wandering around tail up, blinking the camera and looking as if he is about to fall asleep under the hot lighting rigs. It rather undermines the premise that the creature is somehow possessed by evil. In the one scene were the cat 'acts' by reaching up with his front paws to operate a door knob, it is obvious that he has been bribed by smearing something edible on the door knob - you can see him licking it, for God's sake.
Eye of the Cat (1969) features ensemble non-acting from a whole horde of cats - the only time they get aggressive is when they are forced to fight over some meat. Actually, Eye of the Cat is interesting because it does feature one cat that has clearly been trained to perform some actions on cue. He plays multiple roles, in that he's electrocuted on his first appearance, but apparently returns from the dead (or is it just an identically marked cat?) to further menace the cat-phobic protagonist. This cat even gets his own, individual, credit on the closing titles. Mind you, I don't blame cats, in general, for not co-operating in the making of these films - after all, they all pursue the anti-cat agenda all too common in cinema, whereby felines are depicted as being creatures of evil. Anyone who has ever owned a cat knows that they aren't evil - lazy, untrustworthy and entirely self centred, yes. But not actually evil. Being evil would require too much energy, which cats are loathe to waste. It always irritates me the way in which, by contrast, dogs are invariably portrayed in film as being loyal, intelligent and resourceful. The reality is that they are four-legged shitting machines that follow orders blindly. Everyone surely knows that the only good dog is a dead dog. (That latter statement is guarantee to wind up dog lovers). So yeah, stop this anti-cat propaganda or, at the very least, give the ones you use in films acting lessons.
Today I was in receipt of the early birthday present I'd bought myself on eBay: twenty four vintage copies of Model Railway Constructor (MRC) magazine. I am now the proud owner of complete runs for 1971 and 1972. A scan of the October 71 cover is above. MRC, although now defunct, was a venerable publication - the main rival to Railway Modeller (which is still published), from the forties through to at least the eighties. While I love all old magazines, I have a particular affection for old magazines about model railways - they are a reminder of how much the hobby has changed. The layouts featured in these early seventies issues, for instance, tend to be much less complex than their modern equivalents and far less detailed - their emphasis was on running rather than producing intricately detailed reproductions of reality. As someone who first became interested in model railways around this time, I naturally have more affinity with these layouts - they are much more what I aspire to create than their modern equivalents.
Back then, there was no DCC, so it was all relatively simple (and cheap) DC electrics. There was far less available commercially in terms of scenery, buildings etc. One had to be ingenious to come up with such things. There were also far fewer ready-to-run models of locomotives and rolling stock available. By 1971 there was, in effect, only a single manufacturer of British outline 00 gauge model railways left, in the form of Triang-Hornby, (they'd swallowed up Hornby Dublo in 1965). To be sure, some of the old Hornby Dublo range was still available, now manufactured by Wrenn, but these were very expensive, while British Trix was going through all sorts of difficulties and offered only a very reduced range of models. Consequently, modellers spent a fair amount of time either building stuff from kits or modifying existing commercial models. While the models available were far less detailed than anything available today, people were more accepting of this - while they might have lacked detail, most captured the 'essence' of their subjects. Besides, there was a whole mini-industry of small firms and individuals producing detailing parts back then.
Skimming through these issues, the preponderance of Great Western layouts is striking - God forbid that you should want to model anything else, particularly the Southern. Of course, this simply reflected the fact that, at the time, the GWR/BR Western Region was the best supported in modelling terms, with more ready-to-run models and kits available. The Southern was very poorly served at this time. (Although, to be fair, if you wanted to model the Southern Region toward the end of steam, then, back in the sixties, you had, in ready-to-run form, the Dublo rebuilt West Country, R1 tank engine and BR 4MT tank engine, the Triang unrebuilt Battle of Britain, L1, M7 and BR 3MT tank, plus the Trix BR 5MT - not the most balanced selection of locos, but the best that would be available to Southern modellers for many years). Anyway, here are a couple more pages from the October 1971 issue, including a full page photo of the layout featured on the cover and the reviews page highlighting some of the kits available, particularly the MTK Class 47 diesel:
Doubtless, over the coming months I'll be boring you more with further scans from these magazines - I've got twenty four to draw upon, after all. In the meantime, they are going to provide me with many hours of reading enjoyment, not to mention inspiration for my own modelling.
These are fraught times. I mean, we've got Russia threatening to invade Ukraine and possibly trigger a wider conflict. Or are they? I generally steer clear of the world of elaborate conspiracy theories, but sometimes even I start having my suspicions. In this case, for instance, all the noise about invasions is coming from the West, principally the US, backed up by the UK and EU. Ukraine itself has been doing its best to downplay it all their government, rightly, pointing out that the avalanche of media speculation, fueled by constant statements from Western leaders, risks causing panic in Ukraine, at a time when no direct threats have been made. Sure, the Russians have been positioning lots of military units near to the border with Ukraine and in neighbouring Belarus (on the pretext of military exercises). Putin has also been vocal in decrying the very idea of Ukraine joining NATO. Yet there have been no direct threats of invasions. Clearly, Putin is trying to pressure Ukraine into acquiescing to his demands that they not join NATO, but that's not the same thing as actually threatening to invade another sovereign country. It's crude coercion, to be sure, but the West have so far not produced any concrete evidence that he is either prepared, or planning, to go further. So why all the scaremongering? What do Western leaders have to gain?
So, just for a moment, let's slip on our tin foil hats and venture into the world of the conspiracists in order to indulge in some speculation. One obvious answer to the question of 'why?' is that the Western leaders most vocal in their talk of invasions are seeking to divert public attention from their own domestic difficulties and Putin's less than subtle attempts to pressure Ukraine have provided them with the perfect opportunity. It would explain why they seem so keen to prolong their (allegedly) manufactured crisis despite the Russians' failure (so far) to oblige with an actual invasion of Ukraine. But what if they really do want a war? Arguably, a conflict with Russia would be a way of pegging back a rival and possibly undermining Putin domestically. Doing it this way, using Ukraine as a proxy, would obviate the need for direct involvement, thereby avoiding all that bad publicity domestically when the body bags start being shipped home. In this context, let's look a moment at one of the West's most recent, completely unsubstantiated, allegations that the Russians might be planning a 'false flag' operation to make it look as if the Ukrainians had attacked them, thereby justifying incursions into Ukraine. But let's turn this all around - what if a 'false flag' operation was launched to make it look as if the Russians had launched some kind of military attack on Ukrainian territory? It would validate the West's invasion talk and justify them reinforcing Ukraine with all sorts of hardware and military expertise with which to retaliate.
I know, we're getting deep into paranoid conspiracy territory here, but the way in which Western leaders have conducted themselves invites this sort of speculation. Back in the real world, I suspect that Russia's actions are being amplified by some in the West as a convenient distraction. Moreover, the more their bellicose statements build up the threat of invasions, the more it can be presented to their domestic audiences as a huge 'victory' when it doesn't happen. Not that I have any sympathy for Putin's position - his demands that Ukraine not be allowed to join NATO are completely illegitimate. As a sovereign country Ukraine obviously has the right to join, or not join, any international alliance or organisation it likes. At base, it seems as if Putin's demands are all tied up with his annexation of Crimea from Ukraine: his statements make clear that his objections to Ukraine's possible NATO membership are that it might result in Ukraine pressing its attempts to reclaim Crimea, militarily and backed up by NATO allies if necessary. Unfortunately, the approach currently being taken by the West, would seem to back up these fears - at least, that's the way Putin will present it domestically and to his allies.
History and cinema have always had a fraught relationship, with the medium always insisting that factual fidelity play second fiddle to entertainment when it comes to making feature films based around real events and persons. Which is understandable - we're talking about an art form where the primary focus should always be dramatic satisfaction for the audience, rather than trying to give them a history lesson. Besides, more often than not, films which try to be scrupulously accurate with regard to historical fact are pretty dull because, well, reality generally isn't dramatic in the way that cinema needs to be. All of which brings me, in roundabout fashion, to Jesus Franco's The Bloody Judge (1970) - released by AIP in the US as Night of the Blood Monster - a film purportedly portraying the life of the notorious Judge Jeffries (Christopher Lee), one time Lord Chancellor of England, against the background of the Monmouth uprising. The end result, however, has less to do with either historical fidelity or dramatic licence than it has with financial expediency. Bloody Judge is one of the movies Franco made for nomadic producer Harry Alan Towers, (during this period Towers was effectively 'on the run' from authorities in several countries, variously accused of espionage and living off of immoral earnings amongst other things), which were, in effect, international co-productions, with complex finance deals underpinning them. This latter aspect, as Franco himself noted in interviews, meant that the productions were inevitably shaped by the demands of the various financiers as much as by any artistic vision. On the simplest level, it resulted in having a certain number of actors, for instance, of a particular nationality to satisfy financiers from that country. Or, it might dictate the use of locations in certain countries to satisfy other financiers.
But the need to satisfy individual backers could also influence the final shape of a film itself: Bloody Judge might well have started life as a lurid historical drama, but the finished film seems to be trying to satisfy several different demands from different backers: some seemed to want a sex film with plenty of female nudity, others a gory horror film, while another group seemed determined to cash in on the popularity of Witchfinder General (1968). Inevitably, the final product doesn't satisfy as any of these things, with the various elements jarring against each other and frequently leading the narrative off down sub-plots that never really come to anything. Characters seem to vanish for long periods as the narrative switches to other sub-plots and the historical under-pinnings of the plot are poorly and confusingly related. The witch-hunting sub-plot is the most jarring, its subject matter an ill-fit: by by 1685, when the film is seemingly set, witch-hunting in England was, as far as I'm aware, pretty much a thing of the past. Certainly, I don't believe there is a record of Jeffries ever presiding over any trials for witchcraft. But it provides an opportunity to insert some scenes of dungeons where naked women are brutally tortured, not to mention giving a reason fro leading lady Maria Rohm to be stripped and variously abused in a sexually provocative manner. In an attempt to more firmly embed this sub-plot into the historical plot, we have the rebels consulting and being guided by a local 'wise woman' or white witch, representing the 'old ways' which are being suppressed by the establishment, (which was rather reminiscent of one of the plot threads of the contemporary Vincent Price vehicle Cry of the Banshee (1970)).
The sex film aspects of the production are also inserted, somewhat awkwardly, into the story, with Jeffries abusing his position to obtain sexual favours of the women brought before his court. Apart from the fact that there seems to be no historical record of the real Jeffries being such a lecher, the centrepiece of this sub-plot - Jeffries' ravishing of Rohm - has obviously been inserted into the film after the main production had been completed. At the crucial moment, when we see Rohm, naked, in Jeffries' bed, all we see of him is a hand, variously groping her, a hand which pretty obviously doesn't belong to Christopher Lee, (one can't really imagine Lee ever agreeing to shoot such a sequence, hence the use of a 'hand double' in a scene probably filmed after he'd completed the rest of his filming and inserted into the middle of the sequence where Rohm is brought to his chambers). When it comes to the historical aspects of the film, Lee gives a typically professional performance as Jeffries, doing his best to lift the character above the status of one-dimensional pantomime villain. He is, however, undermined by a script that never properly develops the character - its most promising aspect, the idea that Jeffries' insulates himself from any moral responsibility for what happens to those he sentences in jail by ensuring he has no knowledge of how these institutions are actually run, is never fully explored. It is eventually dismissed in throwaway fashion at the film's climax as an imprisoned Jeffries must now face the same fate as those he had himself sent down. The real Jeffries, of course, was a complex character, known for his irascible and frequently outrageous court room conduct, his partisan interpretations of the law, his loyalty to Charles II and eccentric judgements. Most of his popular notoriety rests upon his conduct of the 'Bloody Assizes' which dealt with those involved in the Monmouth Rebellion - most were sentenced to hang. But the film passes over this incident lightly, preferring to focus on the sex, torture and blood of its sub-plots.
Even taking into account that Jesus Franco was a director who rarely allowed little things like plot or narrative coherence to stand in the way of striking visuals and bizarre incident, The Bloody Judge presents a disjointed narrative. But, in fairness, this time around this has more to do with the script and Towers' chaotic production financing than anything else. As discussed earlier, the script was clearly designed to satisfy the requirements of international financiers - most of whom probably weren't even aware that Jeffries was a real historical figure, any more than they would have known what the Monmouth rebellion was or when it occurred - rather than to produce a cinematic portrait of a controversial historical personage. Franco is also hampered by a limited budget, which renders some of the film's set pieces, (notably the confrontation between the rebel forces and the King's army, which, I presume, is meant to represent the Battle of Sedgemoor), somewhat underwhelming. The script's telescoping of history, (William of Orange's arrival and the 'Glorious Revolution' seem to come hard on the heels of Monmouth's defeat at Sedgemoor - in reality they happened three years later), robs the film of any sense of historical progression. While the locations used look great and are well-used by Franco, they look nothing like the West of England, (having been filmed in Spain). Then again, the film's sense of geography is shaky, with Leo Genn playing 'Lord Wessex' and much of the action taking place in the 'County of Wessex', (Wessex was the ancient Kingdom of the West Saxons, it was never a county - judging by the film's dialogue, its 'Wessex' seems to correspond loosely with the real County of Wiltshire). Yet, despite all of these problems, I have to say that The Bloody Judge ranks as one of the better films that Franco made for Harry Allan Towers. In spite of a low budget, production values are decent, Christopher Lee and the rest of the cast give the best performances they can from a confused script and Franco himself is relatively restrained in his direction. That said, he can't resist zooming in om Maria Rohm's nipples in trademark fashion, during her bedroom scene with the phantom hand.
Another one of those Mexican wrestling movies in on - this one's called The Champions of Justice (1971). It features Blue Demon and his band of vigilante masked wrestlers riding around on motorcycles and fighting villainous mad scientist The Black Hand and his army of dwarf wrestlers. All to accompaniment of a jazz soundtrack. They must have been smoking some powerful shit when they made this: a dwarf has just been thrown into a control panel which then exploded. The dwarf wrestlers all dress in red costumes with masks and capes and attack the good guys en masse in order to overwhelm them. Oh, and The Black Hand's masterplan seems to have something to do with kidnapping the contestants in beauty pageant (one of whom is Blue Demon's God daughter). At least, I think that's what is going on. You know, it's at times like these, when I find myself watching this sort of insanity, that I'm tempted to ask myself where my life is going. Or, indeed, how it got here. I keep thinking that I really should make more effort to get back into some kind of paid employment, but, you know, it's February, the weather's bad, it's gloomy - the prospect of getting out of bed early to go out into all that just doesn't appeal to me right now.
Besides, that last job I had ended up being so bloody traumatic that I'm just in no hurry to expose myself to that sort of shit again. Believe me, there's nothing worse than a toxic work environment, where you can't trust anybody, nobody has your back and management most certainly don't have anyone's interests, other than their own, at heart. So, I find myself on my sofa watching Mexican wrestling films. But it isn't as if my activities these days are entirely passive - I also spend time writing and podcasting about all this pop culture I consume, not to mention continuing to come up with stuff for The Sleaze. The trouble is, of course, that all this creative output isn't regarded by wider society as being 'work', despite the effort that it requires. Certainly, nobody seems prepared to pay me for any of it, (cue a torrent of spam emails from those guys telling me how I can - with their help - monetise my web presence). Anyway, despite the stuff I'm currently doing apparently being unsaleable, I keep circling back to the idea of some kind of self-employment - that way I least have some control over my workplace and who work with and for. The problem is finding something that I can do, that other people are willing to pay me to do. Which easier said than done. Ah well, back to the sofa and those Mexican wrestling movies for the meantime...
It's easy to forget now the level of hype that surrounded the release of Dino Di Laurentis' remake of King Kong in 1976. Especially when the film itself is seen today, with its variable special effects, particularly the man-in-a-suit Kong who strides around some large scale miniatures pretending to be New York, (ducking behind a building to hide from the US Army at one point - a sequence which still makes me laugh). Yet it was a huge financial success, meaning that cheap imitations were inevitable. One such was 1977's Yeti: Giant of the 20th Century, a Canadian shot Italian production, made on a fraction of King Kong's budget - and it shows. Like Kong, the titular creature is discovered and exploited by an oil company, develops a crush on the female lead, scales a skyscraper, faces off against helicopters and saves the heroine from peril. The titular beast is also portrayed by a man in a suit, well, sort of - it isn't a full suit, as the actor's hirsute face can be seen, (allowing him to emote far more economically than Kong - who required a complex mask operated by cables in order to change expression - did). He sports a magnificent mane of hair, which he is prone to play with, like a love sick teenage school girl, as he shoots coy glances at the object of his fascination. The yeti, (who is portrayed as some kind of giant primitive hominid), is inserted into the action mainly via some very shaky green screen work, backed up with some miniature props, his size seemingly varying from scene to scene. As in the 1976 film, he breaks free in the city when being exhibited (and startled by the flash bulbs of press photographers). He even has a scene similar to the fore mentioned one in King Kong, when he hides from the police, this time by ducking between two buildings.
In a fascinating parallel with the 1976 film, the end credits even include mention of the crew responsible for a giant mechanical yeti - part of the hype for King Kong was that the title character was to be portrayed by a giant animatronic ape. In reality, of course, this contraption didn't work and - apart from one blink and you'll miss it appearance - it is Rick Baker and his ape suit portraying Kong for the majority of the film. The only other times we see anything of the mechanical Kong are when we see his giant hands picking up Jessica Lange, or his giant feet in a few scenes. I can only assume a similar situation in Yeti - if such a complete mechanical prop ever really existed, then it isn't seen in the film, with only a pair of giant hands featuring in some scenes, (a giant nipple is also seen, to be fair, becoming erect when the heroine's hand brushes it). But while Yeti is clearly closely modelled on King Kong, there are some significant differences - the skyscraper scene isn't the film's climax and the creature isn't eventually gunned down by authorities, instead being allowed to vanish back into the wilds. Most significantly, the film inserts a set of villains into the film separate from the original oil company that found the creature frozen in Arctic ice and thawed him out. A consortium of their rivals hire the oil company's own trouble shooter to head up a gang of heavies, with the aim of ensuring the Yeti is destroyed and the oil company blamed for the mayhem it creates. To this end, they frame the creature for the killing of the scientist looking after him, but this backfires when the heroine and her brother overhear their scheming and they decide to eliminate them. The Yeti turns up to save the girl from being raped, but she's still kidnapped by the villains, with the Yeti finally confronting them (and the RCMP - the budget apparently didn't stretch to hiring the Canadian Armed Forces) on a remote hill top.
As can be gathered, Yeti: Giant of the 20th Century is a typically ramshackle King Kong knock off, with shaky special effects, threadbare production values and some utterly ludicrous dialogue, ('Go away Yeti - this world is not for you'). Yet time has given the film a certain nostalgic charm. The special effects are reminiscent of seventies Dr Who, or even seventies British kids film Digby, The Biggest Dog in the World. Indeed, watching Yeti you get the impression that its target audience might have been kids - the heroine is in her teens and her brother younger (they are the orphaned grand children of the head of the oil company), for instance and the Yeti himself, in appearance and character, seems designed to be child friendly. Moreover, the brother even has a Lassie look-a-like dog that, toward the climax, seems to have sacrificed itself to save its master when it takes a knife for the boy, yet miraculously turns up again at the end, seemingly have walked miles with a serious wound in order to be reunited with the kid. At the same time, some of the film's incidents - the attempted rape of the girl or the Yeti breaking a bad guy's neck between his prehensile toes, for example - seem unsuitable for a picture aimed at children. It has to be said that the heroine, played by sixteen year old Antonella Interlenghi (billed as 'Phoenix Grant') is probably the best thing about the film - strikingly attractive, she manages to keep a straight face throughout proceedings, despite the indignities heaped upon her character. One time Euro-spy star Tony Kendall (he was Kommissar X in the long running series) is probably the most familiar cast member, portraying the trouble shooter turned bad who eventually gets stamped on by the Yeti. In what appears to be a sly dig at the marketing hype surrounding the Di Laurentis King Kong, Yeti includes a scene highlighting the oil company's exploitation of the Yeti with all manner of merchandising, such as Yeti dolls.
The film ends on a poignant note: as the theme song 'Yeti' (performed by 'The Yetians') plays, we see the creature back in the frozen Arctic wastes where he was found, the same stock footage of an ice floe collapsing which opened the movie playing on the back projection behind him, as he looks around wistfully, perhaps hoping that a lady Yeti might be freed. See, there is an upside to global warming after all - if you are a lovelorn Yeti seeking love, that is.
I think I might have mentioned this publication in passing before, when I featured a cover from the US detective magazine Manhunt. Because Bloodhound was a UK reprint of Manhunt, featuring stories (and covers) from around 1953-54. It didn't, however, reprint complete issues, instead featuring a selection of stories from the US original each month. These sorts of reprint magazines were very common in the UK in the fifties and sixties, their origins lying in the immediate post-war era, when direct imports of US magazines and comics were blocked, so as to protect the UK publishing and printing industries, which were struggling to recover from World War Two. But while the import of complete magazines might have been banned, the reprinting, on British presses, of them wasn't. The format of these reprint magazines varied with some pretending to be original publications - like Bloodhound - while others presented themselves as 'UK editions' of the US originals, usually replicating complete issues, minus the ads and letters pages.
Various anomalies occurred as a result of these reprints - sometimes a UK edition might use the title of one US publication, but its contents would be drawn not just from its namesake, but also its US stablemates, for instance. This would sometimes entail the use of covers from one US title bearing the title of a sister magazine in the UK, used to illustrate different stories. One of the most interesting cases was the UK edition of Science Fiction Adventures, put out as a stablemate to UK sf titles New Worlds and Science Fantasy. It outlasted its US progenitor, continuing to put out issues long after the original had folded, commissioning original stories one the supply of reprints had dried up. For its part, Bloodhound lasted for fourteen issues between May 1961 and July 1962. The above cover is from the second edition, dated June 1961. (The cover had previously seen service not just on the original US magazine, but had also been used during the 1953-54 UK reprint run of Manhunt, which had reprinted the first thirteen issues of the original, in order, but about six months behind the US publication schedule. It seems that Bloodhound recycled the contents and some of the covers of these reprints).
No matter how much of a cinephile you might be, here are always entire genres of films that pass you by, whether they be mainstream - musicals, in my case - or exploitation, (Nazisploitation being one exploitation genre I've never really been interested in). Sometimes it isn't the subject matter of genre, so much as their availability for viewing which results in this situation. Last week, for instance, I finally experienced an example of a genre that I was aware of, but simply had never had the opportunity to view before. Santo and Blue Demon Against the Monsters (1970) is, of course, one of those Mexican wrestling movies featuring masked stars of the Mexican ring. These are a very localised phenomena and, while I know that examples are available in the US, they rarely seem to reach the UK market. Certainly, few are ever dubbed or even sub-titled into English. Anyway, this one, which I caught courtesy of the Otherworlds TV streaming service, is, as its title implies, one of the 'crossover' entries in the genre, which features not one, but two masked stars - Santo and Blue Demon - but also features a horror/science fiction plot. Actually, the title is somewhat misleading, as for much of the movie the two titular grapplers aren't fighting side-by-side against the monsters: Blue Demon is captured by the bad guys early on and a fake Blue Demon spends a lot of time trying to frustrate Santo's attempts to defeat the monsters.
The plot is straight out of a thirties or forties movie or serial - a mad scientist that the wrestlers had apparently brought to justice is executed, but then secretly revived by his henchman. Naturally, the scientist vows revenge against not just Santo and Blue Demon, but also his brother and niece (who is also Santo's girlfriend), who were also instrumental in his downfall. To do this, not only does he plan to use his army of zombies, but also to revive several legendary monsters to assist in his schemes. Obviously, these include a Dracula-type vampire, Frankenstein's monster, some vampire women and a scrawny looking mummy. Plus a couple of uniquely Mexican monsters: a weird dwarf-like thing with a huge head and exposed brain and a cyclopean amphibious creature. These were left-over costumes from another 'classic' Mexican movie, Ship of Monsters. What follows is quite insane, with lots of Batman-style action - comic strip wrestling inspired fights and car chases. At one point, the monsters all take on Santo in a wrestling ring. In one particularly bizarre moment, Frankenstein's monster (who has facial hair) drives the getaway car after he and the other monsters kidnap the niece, chased by Santo in his sports car. Equally bizarre is the fact that neither of the wrestlers never take their masks off - not even when Santo is romancing his girlfriend. Obviously, a lot of the apparent weirdness is the result of English-speaking audiences' unfamiliarity with various aspects of Mexican popular culture - many Mexican film from the fifties and sixties look decidedly off-kilter to English speaking audiences, but were clearly not considered so in the country of origin.
Not surprisingly, Santo and Blue Demon Against the Monsters looks incredibly cheaply made: production values are on a par with UK or US TV sitcoms of the era. Nevertheless, it is wildly imaginative and executed with plenty of energy and verve. Principally a vehicle for the two titular wrestlers, the movie's acting performances are probably best described as 'servicable'. Not that the original target audiences would have care - they were there to see their favourite wrestling heroes go through their paces, which they do, with fights breaking out every time the plot flags (which is pretty often). In truth, the monsters aren't utilised particularly well - they are pretty much deployed as generic wrestling heavies, rather than any of them employing their unique characteristics. (The cyclops does have an underwater fight with Santo, to be fair). While I'm not sure I'd want to sit through another one, (Santo alone appeared in a long series of these movies), I was entertained by Santo and Blue Demon Against the Monsters - it made an interesting diversion from my usual choice of exploitation viewing.
It all depends how you look at it, I suppose. Whether recent developments have been disastrous for Boris Johnson, or whether they actually show that he's taking a grip on the situation. Having five top officials resign in a period of forty eight hours, or so, would, to most of us, seem catastrophic, implying all sorts of behind the scenes turmoil at Downing Street. But for at least one right-wing tabloid - the Daily Express, I think - framed it rather differently: as Johnson taking control of the situation by acting decisively and starting the 'Partygate purge' of officials. An interesting attempt to salvage the situation, but undermined somewhat by the fact that these individuals all departed Number Ten under their own steam, rather than having been sacked. But it serves as another example of how the media try to brainwash us into believing that what we can see with our own eyes isn't true, but rather that the exact opposite has happened. Which, of course, simply reduces news reporting to the level of the sorts of conspiracy fantasies which try to convince us that the moon landings were fake or that the earth is flat, in the face of all the available evidence. But we live in an era when even our political leaders are happy to peddle such fantasies as these when they think it suits their purposes: just this week we had Johnson repeating, in the Commons, the nonsense popular on far right web sites, that, when DPP, Keir Starmer had personally decided not to prosecute Jimmy Savile. As a distraction from his own crimes, it failed miserably. Indeed, it supposedly sparked the resignation of at least one of those advisors.
Which brings us to Spotify and Joe Rogan. I find it somewhat depressing that idiots of Rogan's ilk seem to be able to attract so many ardent followers who seem willing to take his ill informed 'opinions' over actual facts. But hey, say people who claim not to be fans of Rogan but are instead just interested in 'free speech', he's just allowing people to air 'alternative viewpoints' - that's just 'freedom of speech'. Except that it isn't. 'Free speech' doesn't and has never meant that you have the right to say whatever you like. If that were the case, then we wouldn't have laws, even in the most liberal of democracies, to protect against defamation, hate speech and incitement to hate or cause disorder, for instance. All 'free speech' means is that you have the right to be publicly critical of institutions and authorities, without fear of persecution or prosecution. (Although even these rights are limited under certain circumstances - just try criticising a judicial decision in open court: you'll find yourself going down for contempt of court). Which is the issue with Rogan: in the middle of a pandemic he is giving a platform to crackpots and nutjobs to spread dangerous disinformation about vaccines, potentially undermining public health. Sure, these individuals are entitled to hold their idiotic beliefs, but they don't have the automatic right to be able to spread them. But thelikes of Spotify and Rogan don't care about such niceties - they are only interested in increasing the clicks to their 'products' and, sadly, this sort of sensationalist shit attracts more clicks than sober, rational discussion does. Something the likes of JOhnson and his supporters know equally well.
I finally got around to watching this West German/Italian/French co-produced curiosity last weekend. Sherlock Holmes and the Deadly Necklace (1962) feels like something of a throwback to the thirties (or even earlier) in terms of its treatment of the character of Holmes. At a time when both TV adaptations (notably the fifties Sheldon Leonard produced series starring Ronald Howard) and other Sherlockian films (Hammer's Hound of the Baskervilles (1959) for instance), were putting their stories firmly back in period, this film instead chooses to place the story in the inter-war period. (Apparently, the producers' original intent had been to give it a contemporary setting, until this was vetoed by the Conan Doyle estate). The fact that the film stars Christopher Lee as Holmes, (he had already played Sir Henry Baskerville in the Hammer film) and is directed by Terence Fisher (who had directed the 1959 Hound), one might have led one to expect Deadly Necklace to be patterned somewhat after this production. Germany, however, had its own tradition of Sherlock Holmes adaptations, stretching back to the days of silent cinema. It is into this tradition that Sherlock Holmes and the Deadly Necklace fits, playing out more as a crime thriller than a detective story, with its focus on the criminal machinations of the Mabuse-like Moriarty and dark tone tone. Indeed, its main stylistic influence seems to have been the contemporary Edgar Wallace derived 'Krimi' films being turned out by German studios in the fifties and sixties.
The film is ostensibly based upon the Conan Doyle novel The Valley of Fear, but Curt Siodmak's (who was also responsible for writing several of the Universal monster movies of the forties - another possible influence on the film's feel) script only incorporates a few elements from the book. The foremost of these is the 'locked room' mystery occupying the film's middle section, for the rest of the script, Siodmak mixes together a number of scenarios familiar from the Universal Basil Rathbone Holmes series: Holmes and Watson in a tavern to try and get information, Holmes dons a series of disguises to pursue his investigation, Watson acts like a buffoon to provide a distraction, etc. The film's climax features Holmes (in disguise) involved in a heist from a security van, an element that wouldn't have been out of place in a thirties Holmes film, which often characterised Holmes as not just scientific detective, but also action hero. The film does feature an excellent cast, led by Lee (in a false nose) as Holmes and Thorley Walters as Watson, (a role he was to essay three more times in other productions). Lee makes an imposing and incisive Holmes, while Walters' Watson, while somewhat avuncular, is nowhere near as buffoonish as the characterisation foisted upon Nigel Bruce in the Universal films and provides a nicely human counterpoint to Lee's somewhat detached Holmes. Unfortunately, even in the English language version of the film, both are disconcertingly dubbed by other actors, with mid-Atlantic accents. Hans Sohnker makes an impressive Moriarty (here a professor of archeology, rather than mathematics), an urbane character combining sophisticated charm with smooth menace and clearly Holmes' intellectual equal. Interestingly, the film ends with Moriarty having apparently outmaneuvered Holmes and gained the upper hand, (the film was intended to be the first of a series, but a sequel never emerged). All in all, Sherlock Holmes and the Deadly Necklace is an enjoyable experience, atmospherically shot by Fisher on mainly Dublin locations, creating a grimy back streets feel. It might not satisfy Conan Doyle purists, but it is well produced and moves along smoothly through a few plot twists to a somewhat surprising conclusion.
So, in his latest attempt to distract us all from 'partygate', (his 'Look! There's a fish at the window!' gambit having failed), Boris Johnson is currently in Ukraine, trying to start a war with Russia. It's the only credible explanation for his presence there. I mean, it isn't as if the UK is going to commit military forces. (even if we still had any after ten plus years of Tory defence cuts), is it? Moreover, a political leader who spent the pandemic ignoring his own rules and partying on down can hardly speak with any moral authority when warning President Putin that there will be consequences to any misbehaviour on Russia's part, can they? After all, consequences are precisely what Johnson says there shouldn't be as a response to crossing legal and moral lines. But a war is always a good distraction from domestic troubles - just look at what the Falklands war did for Thatcher. Even better is a war in which we won't be directly involved, so we won't have all the initial euphoria and jingoism soured by the continual press coverage of body bags being flown home as the casualties mount. Just look at how enthusiasm for UK involvement in Afghanistan quickly waned. So, we can expect to see him standing at the border with Russia, baring his fat arse toward Moscow and shouting 'See how I salute, thee, President Putin!'.
Meanwhile, back in the UK I have no doubt that the distraction plans will continue with an announcement of an investigation into cake ambushes in Whitehall. After all, if Boris was ambushed by a birthday cake, how many other cabinet ministers have suffered similar attacks? Is it true that Micheal Gove was found slumped across his desk in the Cabinet Office, his trousers around his ankles and a chocolate eclair shoved up his arse? What about those reports that, at one of those allegedly illegal Christmas parties, Dominic Raab stumbled out of a Downing Street stationary cabinet, wearing only his underpants and smeared, from head to foot, with mud cake? How about those reports that Jacob Rees-Mogg was struck in the face with an iced Christmas cake, knocking his top hat off, as he left the Houses of Parliament? Is there a serial cake assaulter on the loose, lying in wait with cakes for random ministers to pass by? Surely this is a major security issue? The public has a right to know if the government is under threat in this way. I mean, if a rogue birthday cake can get into Number Ten and take the Prime Minister by surprise, then nobody is safe. What if it escalates and the mystery cake attacker switches to ambushing ministers with hot puddings? The idea of Rishi Sunak getting struck in the groin by a steaming hot suet pudding just doesn't bear thinking about, does it?
