mockturle06: (Avengers)

Well, my ovaries have good and proper exploded. It was the full Edwardian drag what done it, which I have a decided thing for, and then, yikes, the floppy blonde hair. I was gone. Gone.

I blame it on far too much Merchant Ivory at a tender age. Yes I do (and as if it wasn’t bad enough, the Guardian decided to get all retrospective over Merchant Ivory and their floppy-haired Edwardian chaps).

But, you know, lawks. If I’m like this now with just the pre-publicity, what am I going to be like when I see the damn film. Well, the complete lack of ANZACs should keep me suitably thin-lipped and dry of eye and dry of seat. So far it looks like the only Australian referenced in the whole damn enterprise is Frank Hurley and his WWI photos.  Like really referenced, like rip-off, like they better hope they’re out of copyright.

But anyway, short story: too much drooling over the Pine and boom, my second period in two weeks, because one wasn’t enough? I thought going crone meant less, not more. I’m gonna be a hollowed out husk at the end of it.

So, aside from the full Edwardian (swoon), there were repeats of Beyond and a brief appearance in Angie Tribeca (père et fils, actually, and my second Pine Snr sighting that week – I really need to get out more).

But that wasn’t my only Chris, oh no. I cheated and saw Guardians of the Galaxy. One of those other Chrises.

Meant to go last week but I had the dreaded lurgy, but I crawled off to see it on the weekend, dosed to the gills on borrowed Codral (I haven’t had it in years, so I’m still coming down). So, maybe it’s the Codral talking, that is, critical faculties not at full strength, but I kinda loved it.

Okay, yes, another decided entry in the sad man-child with massive daddy issues genre (the bit where he played catch with his dad was cringe-inducing) but hey, if films are still being made by a generation with abandonment issues, at least it had something to say about love and friendship and bonds that are stronger than blood (especially as blood kin are always proving perilously duplicitous – see also Lucifer). I do wonder what films from the helicopter parent generation are going to be like. More stifling, less hanging the kids out to dry, I suspect.

I could be crueller, but having been ‘raised’ by biological units with less instincts than reptiles or rocks, or, as Victor Hugo so accurately put it, she was a mother only by accident of biology, I kind of get where they were coming from (alas my surrogate mum met the end I might have wished on others) re the absent and abusive parentals.

But it was funny, the soundtrack rocked, the aesthetics were on point (especially the end credits) and Baby Groot stole the movie (should the flesh and blood actors be worried)?

What I really loved was that the big space battles were not endless, mindless minutes of stuff being mashed, but happening hilariously off-screen, in the background, and/or in between bickering. You know, back to being a means to an end, part of the narrative, not an entire reel of mind-numbing first-person player, for which I care not. That was clever and funny, and, gosh darn it, fresh and funny. More, please.

Finally, a film that was more about characters than explosions. Well done. More like this please.

I’ve also had the good fortune, via an email and a $20 ticket, to see and hear Ian Rankin read from A Clockwork Orange, talk about his early influences, being very funny, and then, then I got my book signed. Squee!

If that wasn’t enough, I managed to go to the talk, get my book, line up, get my book signed, get my big work bag back, walk blocks to bus stop, get on a bus and get home only 40 minutes after Himself who left the city over three hours before me. No, no wormholes or time-travel, it’s just that after 7-8pm the roads finally clear and zoom!

I was actually very thrilled to the point of, my colleagues accused me of, blushing, as I’d intended to see a talk by Mr Rankin in the UK, but that fell through, of course, so to see him out here for the Writers’ Festival, well, wishes do come true (yep, wish for Ian Rankin granted, others, not so much, but the universe knows which would cheer me up most).

It was also a good, if brief night, because I ended up sitting next to this retired lady (never did ask her name, I’m shocking) both in the foyer and in the auditorium (and my seat bought on spec was bloody marvellous) and we were chatting and she asked me what I did and declared it ‘useful’. Ah, some much needed validation at last.

The other talks were interesting (I have whole new uses for ‘oscillating’) and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

So, there I was, drinking French wine, listening to great authors, while Himself was strap-hanging on a dangerously over-crowded bus for hours. Ooops. Needless to say, tea wasn’t that much further on from having a tin of beans lobbed at my head. Ah well, seeing Ian was the only good thing this week.

Badness was waking up to being violently unwell, during a violent thunderstorm, and reading Roger Moore had died. My Saint, my Maverick, my Persuader, my Bond. My hero. I’ve adored Roger Moore since I was a child. I snuck in the theatre to see Moonraker (I never sneak).

I was, quite simply, besotted with the man. And, to my great relief, he seemed so sweet and wickedly funny on Twitter (his quiet on Twitter had me worried, I wasn’t wrong to worry). To my further relief, most media reports have been tributes, relating fan love for the man, his good deeds and cheeky wit, and his fine turn as a knitwear model. Really, I couldn’t ask for anything else. Vale Roger, my beloved TV idol.

I’m so very, constantly on the verge of tears sad, but also still full of my love for that man. Last night they played Live and Let Die on telly. Roger Moore, immortal, forever dashing.

I think I was oddly happy, too, to discover so many I follow on social media were massive Persuaders fans (points awarded). I loved that showed. And I adored Maverick. But my favourite would have to be The Saint. I don’t know why, but that suave crime-fighting (later, in the silly 60s, giant monster ant fighting) international man of mystery really took my breath away.

Depending on what age I was at the time of viewing, it was either about the clothes and the cars, the grittier black and white episodes where he was more anti-hero with a conscience, more of a crook than a playboy with a heart of gold, or it was the wacky full colour mid-sixties episodes where the previous too cool Simon Templar became a cardigan wearing grump complaining about pop music and teenagers. And I still loved him. There’s a Saint episode for every occasion, if you want black and white noir and Soho nightclubs, go early. If you want giant ants roaming the Welsh hillsides or brainwashed teenagers, go late. I loved that show. I loved Roger.

The Persuaders, well that just seems just get camper with every viewing. I don’t know what they were thinking, but the series is thoroughly enjoyable. Seriously, some episodes feel like Roger and Tony have taken some time out from their holiday to stumble in front of a camera, but the results are joyous.

Maverick I came to late, only having seen the show when Fox Classics played it a few years back now, but I was hooked. Some of the greatest episodes ever committed to film are contained within Maverick, in my opinion. Sadly not many of them were Roger’s, but he had a few crackers, and I still want to know what he did to get a fire hose in the face in one episode because he breaks character and it’s so obviously unscripted but delightfully silly.

Bond, well, technically he was my Bond, but my Dad always preferred Connery (even if he was a lowlander), but Live and Let Die and the Man With The Golden Gun, total faves. I never did get that Saint film I wanted, but as far as I was concerned, the Bond films were near enough.

Oh man, it was such a joy to watch him last night. At least he’s not gone, gone. He’s still there, taking up shelves of my bookcases (dvds,  memorabilia). He’s there, on my playlists. Immortal. Beloved.

But it hurt. And he is gone. No more zingers on Twitter – damn, I’ll miss that. It made me love him so much more, as if that were possible.

Ah, why must you make me live in a world without heroes.

mockturle06: (Avengers)

Still on Russians, apparently, I went to see the Man From U.N.C.L.E.

Yes, the reviews have been poor, but as I’d been watching the Girl From U.N.C.L.E. the only way was up, oh dear, yes. And I was a properly official and ticketed card carrying fan. Why, I still have an old Man From U.N.C.L.E. car sitting atop my bookshelf, next to the Tardis.

So, off I went. It wasn’t too bad. Not at all. It ticked the Man From U.N.C.L.E. trope boxes: camp villain, ex-Nazis, some ‘innocent’ they co-opt into their adventures (more often than not, not so innocent) and the exotic locales (for reals this time) and even near as dammit a volcano lair.

What really amused me though was it seemed Guy Ritchie wanted to make a 60s film, got the rights to Man From U.N.C.L.E., but, to these eyes, seems to have made a massive love letter to ITC. It was so very, very The Protectors, The Saint, The Thunderbirds, Callan, The Persuaders, Department S and Danger Five. So very Danger Five. So Danger Five I was disappointed when the swarthy villain didn’t die with the words ‘two parts vermouth’ on his lips. Nor did Mr Waverley fetch the sit-down gun. But it did have Nazis and euro-tropes, so I think my Danger Five comparison is more than valid. (Oh, and I’ve not seen the Sandbaggers for years, but maybe a bit of that, too).

Anyhoo, quite unfairly, since it was evoking my ITC tropes so hard, I was mildly annoyed there wasn’t speed boat chase down the Venice canals, or fights atop alpine cable cars, but that’s just me, perhaps going a little too far with the flow (did I mention I was in Gold Glass and had ordered a couple of glasses of an Italian red, because Man From U.N.C.L.E.).

As for the boys, don’t mind ‘em, bit of a fan, though in truth I’ve mainly worked my way through their back catalogues on planes. As for the romance, and I’m talking the boys here, well, I’m wondering what they were trying to do here, I mean, it was so obvious I’m not sure if I was supposed to be offended and laugh like it was some off-colour joke or wait for a happy announcement.

Still, despite thinking it was being played cruelly for laughs, as per both Sherlocks, by bully writers, I found it rather sweet. Certainly the rather sociopathic Solo (who seemed much more Neal Caffrey than Napoleon Solo, and yes, that bothered me) seemed to find himself surprised that he was fond of Illya, and the saving of Illya from drowning, not to mention the gift of the watch when Illya had come to kill him, they weren’t just literally disarming scenes but the biggest most purple pieces of romance I’ve seen on screen all year. Hell, I’ve sat through four to five series supposedly hetero couples and seen way less romance than that. Swoon, in other words.

And what’s with making Illya a psycho all of a sudden? Not happy about that. Yes, he used to be callous and strange, but he was being played by a Scot – grin. (Have you ever seen McCallum in any of his 50s films like Violent Playground? I suspect Guy Ritchie has). So I can see where they fetched the idea from, but I’m not happy. Bit of a trope and exactly the sort of thing my younger fan-ficcy self would have written, so I sneer on it a bit now (not that I ever write now, nor did I ever write well, which is why I sniff at anything that whiffs of something I might have written, as in not good and extremely amateurish and obvious).

But overall, yes, the standard Man From U.N.C.L.E. plot didn’t quite stretch to movie-length size, but it looked good, the guys were cute and well cast (well, they didn’t cast The Rock as Napoleon, so anything other than that is a bargain, in my shattered by shocking casting opinion) and I’m not too fussed about getting The Protectors served up instead of Man From U.N.C.L.E.. Not really. Maybe the nazi dinosaurs will show up in the sequel?

Then I went to see the V&A Julia Margaret Cameron exhibition at the gallery. She of the wistfully high Victoriana photos. Lots of people posing in drapery. It was all very, very Pre-Raphaelite, and hardly surprising as a Rossetti (not Dante or Christina) popped up, as did Tennyson. In fact the photos for Tennyson’s Idylls of the King were very, very like drawings by Rossetti, and I’m not just saying illustrating the same scene in the same poem the same, but the exact same costumes and poses, including that rather unique and exotic helm. It made me think anyways. Not the curators, though, who couldn’t even tell there were two different coloured roses in one photo, or seemed vaguely aware of the different processing techniques. Ah, well, just look at the pretty pictures.

So I did, and I enjoyed it.

It’s fun, running away early/on-time and instead of sweating for hours in unpaid overtime, seeing some art, or the Man From U.N.C.L.E.

It’s been a while. A year in fact, since the great retrenchment. I figured I needed to, I don’t know, celebrate, ease of the pedal a bit, just for a bit (though the larger part of me always thinks knows that the moment I relax for a second, that’s when they’ll get me. Because they do. They did).

mockturle06: (White Collar kiss)
Finally, I come to priase White Collar, not to bury it. I know, I'm as confused as you are. I mean, how did they finally manage it? One damn fine episode. All I can say is: fluke.

Or maybe it's just me who loved it, because it was big on the Pete and Neal, and mercifully light on annoying sidekicks. Mind you, I do wish I'd written this before I got to my Persuaders fest, because I just loved the scenes with Neal and Peter in the hotel, Peter being all prissy over the bar fridge, and Neal just sprawling on the sofa. I mean, look at that sprawl. Seriously, if Peter isn't hitting that then he's the world's biggest eejit.

But then, alas, it was a case of not bad for a beginner, but this is how you do it, baby, as Danny and Brett take us on a masterclass of tv hotel hijinks more: doing what comes naturally )
mockturle06: (Dean sad)
Oh god, it's like a death in the family. No, it's worse. Family, shamily, this was Tony Curtis, my man, since, god knows, he's always been there. Just the other week were were watching and hooting during The Vikings. I adored him.

Really, truly adored him. This has really hit me hard.

I was going to wallow in a Persuaders-fest on the weekend. I think I still will, only it'll be sadder, and need more chocolate.
more: the love that... )
mockturle06: (White Collar kiss)
This week: Where did the week go? Soon my life will just consist of Mondays, to eventually just become one single Monday entity.

Anyway...tv. Saturday was fun. Three art heists, one spot of computer fraud, and that was before I got anywhere near White Collar which was about...oh well, whatever it was about.

Anyway, yes, Saturday dawned gloriously and while I multitasked there was some cracking telly going on. Art, and almost exclusively pretend post Impressionist pieces, on the Thunderbirds, Hustle and Get Smart.
more: cars )

on the QT

Jan. 29th, 2010 02:27 pm
mockturle06: merlin in a hat (white collar)
Thursday: Well, last night I actually got to do exactly what I wanted to do: wallowed in a couple of hours of Chuck. Thanks to a dear friend I now have both seasons and no longer am at the mercy of erractic scheduling, and I just wallowed in ad free Chuck-ness. I heart that show hardcore.

Oh yeah, loved everything else (I have my own goat now - grin) and the Peanut Gallery exclaimed "Pumpkiny Wumpkinys!" and ran off trailing orange Halloween streamers (you see what I have to put up with) so that was a big hit, too. Will I wear the t-shirt this weekend, or is it too obscure? Hmmm.
more: fire truck )
mockturle06: merlin in a hat (white collar)
It's only in the high twenties today so it's Go! Go! Go! re getting on the interwbs. Friday was insane, I was up til one or two in the morning unable to sleep on account of the heat, trying to get new mp3 player working (I have lousy luck with those things) and watching Carnivale. Yep, I saw a bit of it, and some of those bits included nekkid DeKay (oh my) though I was having PC probs (El Diablo, the PC of mean, as always) at that exact moment.

Saturday was also 43C or some such so I was up at 4am trying to get the washing done. I've never had washing dry before I've finished the next load before. Watered the poor plants, not that you could tell, but it wasn't all bad as I ended the day with lightning, cannons and bats.
more: shock and awe )
mockturle06: merlin in a hat (Default)
"Time and again I tell myself
I'll stay clean tonight
But the little green wheels are following me
Oh no, not again"


Sorry, being both silly and sleep deprived. I told myself, no, put the pretty boy back in the dvd box and go to bed but nope. Never gonna happen. Worse, I can't even admit to what I was watching (so ashamed was I the box set has been up the back of the collection, for a while). Let's just say that the ogling of pretty tv eye candy continues apace.
more: some mothers do 'ave 'em )
mockturle06: merlin in a hat (sam gene)
Quote of the day:

"And now I'm totally '70'd out - look, I'm dressed as Roger Moore today."
- John Simm, Back in crime, Toronto Star.

Now I don't know about you, but I've gone straight to the Persuaders place, which is equal parts amusing and alarming, and perhaps straight isn't quite the word to use in the same breath as The Persuaders either - grin. And dammit, there should have been a photo with the article. That, I would have paid to see.

Meanwhile, have you read this: Bosom Buddies 'Boston Legal' redefines guy relationships? It starts off Boston Legal but then dives into Pullo/Vorenus with a brief mention of Aubrey/Maturin in passing.

It's all about man love, and it's a pity it never mentions Life on Mars, because it would have been doubly relevant both in man love and production house. You know, I almost had a near positive thought about the American version of Life on Mars. Could it possibly involve actual male bonding? Up until now, I was thinking no, despite American tv and films having practically invented the buddy show.

Ah, but the concept of homosocial bonding, or rather, romantic friendships - where to start? The Persuaders? Rome? Life on Mars?
more: and they call it buddy love )

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