Cat in Clerkenwell.
Primrose Hill, times two. All set for the Punch and Judy Man and a Box of Delights. With a touch of H G Wells.
In the middle of the depressing medieval bear-pit that’s the winter festival of Consumermas, there’s a beautifully-written and beautifully-presented essay by George Monbiot, over at the BBC, here: http://www.bbc.com/earth/bespoke/story/20141203-back-to-nature/index.html
Douglas Coupland had a memorable sequence in Generation X where the lead character tries to capture a moment of meaning at Christmastime. He buys lots (and I mean lots) of candles and fills the room. Described like that, it’s just a horrible Hollywood gesture – but that’s why we need great writers, for however worn, jaded and tired the message, they bring fresh life.
I wasn’t always at ease with Mr Monbiot’s Feral, but I’d say everyone should read his BBC essay. It’s not ‘just’ the environment, it’s about being flesh and blood. Given the human race as it is, you might as well settle down in your armchair and read Hamlet to a goldfish, ad infinitum.
Forget Christmas, look bravely into the darkness, and search for the light.
In exploring the mindset of a figure clouded by legend, this Swiss-made retelling has a beautiful atmosphere. It uses shore, mountain and forest to depict Mary’s psychological terrain; puppet effigies twitch in firelight with folk-ritual precision, and Elizabeth is a constant presence, never made flesh – she is paint or puppet or a glimpse of doppelganger.
Central to the story is Mary’s court musician and advisor Rizzio. With shades of Hamlet’s ghost, he lends another layer of tragedy to a treatment based on Stefan Zweig’s Maria Stuart with its key notes of suffering and fallibility.
There are beautiful sequences of Scottish landscape which the director captured himself (though most of the filming was in Switzerland).
As Mary narrates the letters she writes to Elizabeth, it’s a deathly, rough-hewn and unresponsive backdrop. At her moments of dislocation, the camera flees wraith-like over sea-washed shores or broken forest paths.
Camille Rutherford captures Mary’s isolation, besieged as a powerful woman, long before she is imprisoned by the English queen, with a grace that captures both youth and regality. It’s a stark, European perspective which shuns Hollywood excess, with a layer of modernity that lies with ease.
Many sequences foretell a life of imprisonment, with gunmetal-grey lattice and winter’s branches, failing winter light and a cooling sun.
The years as a prisoner are beautifully distilled to a vision of purgatory: a crown woven with the fabric of her being, stained like Lady Macbeth.
Mary Queen of Scots is a film that haunts and ebbs and flows. It’s not going to appeal to anyone seeking a history lesson, either gritty or lavish: it’s a theatrical, dramatic sequence of legendary events filtered through a poetic vision of inner life.
It’s released on Region 2 DVD now and also on Amazon Instant Video.
Roddy McDowall’s 1970 retelling of the Ballad of Tam Lin, like its counterpart The Wicker Man, had a troubled release and was destined to rot away in a vault. It was Martin Scorsese who rescued and restored a print for VHS in the 1990s.
A delayed release in the early 70s (as The Devil’s Widow) dated the mod look and it was dismissed by critics: a surface glance might file it away as a swinging vision of camp Hammer Horror.
For a start, its lead is Ava Gardner, in one of those difficult horror roles given to pre-1960s stars – navigated to perfection by Deborah Kerr in The Innocents but usually always ending in disaster never mind how hard the trying (an example might be Joan Fontaine’s 1966 effort The Witches with its promising village setting).
But it’s actually quite a witty, intelligent film with some really beautiful cinematography and solid performances. As McDowall’s first and only film as director, it’s brimming with ideas and techniques, some of which aren’t exactly successful (cue a particularly awkward and entertaining stop-frame segment), but it all adds up to a fascinating spectacle to enjoy on many levels.
McDowall appears to have taken the original material seriously: the locations and landscapes are authentic, filmed around Selkirk in Scotland – specifically Ettrick Forest and Tranquair House. The soundtrack features songs by electric-folk icons Pentangle, including a superb version of Tam Lin, and a couple of beat arrangements apparently supervised by Stanley Myers (who orchestrates girl-with-the-sun-in-her-hair embellishments elsewhere).
That’s not to say Tam Lin isn’t awash with late 60s stylistic excess, but these exaggerated visions of modern are eery in themselves, and contribute to the success. It’s not nostalgia any more, but a glimpse into the axis-tilt of a parallel universe, an acid-filter processing metaphors for experimentation and otherness. McDowall apparently called Tam Lin a swansong for the sixties.
The cast includes many familiar stalwarts of British Cinema (in later years, if not at the time). We’ve got Sinead Cusack, her father Cyril, Magpie‘s Jenny Hanley (OK, not exactly a cinema stalwart), Fabia Drake and Joanna Lumley…
There are, however, many qualities that make Tam Lin a classic of folk horror, modernity giving way to the ancient in the best traditions of its golden age.
And then the magic begins…
Pages from a Penguin edition of The Story of My Heart, with a horseshoe from Bodmin moor, against a wrapping paper by Lesley Barnes for Lagom Design.
Another H E Bates topic, because I’m really pleased with these which arrived yesterday. Through my last post I found out that there’s an official Facebook page for one of my favourite authors (who is much, much more than The Darling Buds of May). There’s lots of interesting stuff there, and I found out that Unicorn Press have recently published these…
They’re beautifully produced, in a smaller-format style of the great Little Toller books. The woodcuts by C F Tunnicliffe are a revelation, because these are much more fluid, full page compositions than the decorative examples I’ve dumbly associated him with…
Both titles were published in the early 1940s by Country Life and contemplate the war, changes in rural life and the future. The blurb introduces The Happy Countryman:
Not wishing to return to “a rural life governed by privilege”… he puts his faith in education as the only means towards a vision of a “new countryside”… economically and nutritionally healthy, and free of the indifference rife in country life.
On another note, some of H E Bates short stories, along with A E Coppard, were adapted for TV in the early 1970s in the series Country Matters. Some of these were released in the US on DVD, including excellent adaptations of The Watercress Girl and The Little Farm. It’s available for those with multi-region DVD players from Amazon.