Young Frankenstein [1974)

Hollywood.

It’s been a bad week for Hollywood.

And a rough week for me.

But John Cusack hasn’t sent a hitman after me ūüôā

Not yet.

I guess.

But let’s dispense with all these murderous liberals.

Let’s give them no more airtime here.

Jerks like Seth Rogen (who made jokes last week at the expense of a man in intensive care who at been stabbed nine times).

And let’s only mention Pedowood in passing.

The Hollywood run by pedophiles.

About which Corey Feldman has spoken.

About which Elijah Wood has spoken.

About which Ashton Kutcher has spoken.

About which Nicole Kidman has spoken.

And about which Stanley Kubrick spoke.

Ugly, nasty Hollywood.

Let’s not speak about Operation Broken Heart III (in which 238 “suspected child sex predators” [including “household names” as yet to be divulged] were recently arrested).

http://www.latimes.com/local/lanow/la-me-ln-operation-broken-heart-arrests-20160621-snap-story.html

And yet, the “household names” seem to be slithering away so far.

So let us not talk of John Podesta, of whom we have talked so much.

Nor Kevin Spacey, who has preemptively (?) blocked me on Twitter ūüôā

What do these folks have to fear?

Spacey, of course, famously rode on convicted child sex offender Jeffrey Epstein’s infamous Lolita Express (private plane). ¬†If I am not mistaken, Spacey’s trip aboard the aircraft coincided with one of Bill Clinton’s MANY trips aboard that airplane.

So yes.

Let us not speak of this.

Let us, in fact, celebrate (?) the fact that I am actually once again reviewing a film in my own peculiar way ūüôā

This was a personal favorite of mine as a kid.

Mel Brooks made a very fine film.

It hangs together nicely.

And the trio of actresses (Madeline Kahn, Teri Garr, and Cloris Leachman) who festoon this production bring a real joy of variety to the whole affair.

But the real star, besides the amazing Gene Wilder, is Marty Feldman.

Which brings us to Jimmy Savile.

Let me be clear:  Marty Feldman, for all I know, was just a damned funny comedian.

But he bears a striking resemblance to the infamous Savile.

And thus we must talk about what needs talking about.

Savile was a British eccentric.

[one who gave eccentricity an extremely bad name]

His Wikipedia page lists the following as his métiers:

  • DJ
  • television personality
  • radio personality
  • dance hall manager

But he will sadly be remembered mainly as a sexual predator who preyed (it seems) primarily on those in hospitals and psychiatric institutions to which he had access as part of his celebrity and “charity fundraising”.

He may have raped children (and elderly) in as many as 28 National Health Service hospitals in the U.K.

Said Jeremy Hunt, U.K. Secretary of State for Health in 2014:

“Savile was a callous, opportunistic, wicked predator who abused and raped individuals, many of them patients and young people, who expected and had a right to expect to be safe. His actions span five decades — from the 1960s to 2010. … As a nation at that time we held Savile in our affection as a somewhat eccentric national treasure with a strong commitment to charitable causes. Today’s reports show that in reality he was a sickening and prolific sexual abuser who repeatedly exploited the trust of a nation for his own vile purposes.”

So I should just go back to reviewing Young Frankenstein, right?

Or should I wonder why John Cusack has blocked me and thousands of Trump supporters on Twitter?

Or why Kevin Spacey seems to have blocked a very large number of people on Twitter who have (at one time or another) talked about “pizzagate” or “pedogate”?

Or should we talk of Cardinal George Pell?

This week has been a bad week for Cardinal Pell ūüôā

New York¬†magazine’s article title about sums it up: ¬†“The Pope’s Pedophile?”

http://nymag.com/daily/intelligencer/2017/06/cardinal-pell-and-the-vaticans-day-of-reckoning.html

That’s right.

Pope Francis’s “right-hand man”.

The man [Pell] in charge of the Vatican’s finances.

[remember the infamous Mr. Michele Sindona]

And for one more ingredient, let’s add former U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder’s strange 3 a.m. tweet from last night:

“To the career men & women at DOJ/FBI: your actions and integrity will be unfairly questioned. Be prepared, be strong. Duty. Honor. Country.”

What the fuck?!?

I thought only nutbags like me tweeted at 3 a.m. ūüôā

And Trump!

But Holder seems to be telegraphing something.

What the fuck is about to happen?

Something/Anything?

Nothing?

Will the U.S. “Deep State” (which appears to be so highly-addicted to pedophilia and occult ritual) finally be exposed?

Will Hollywood finally be exposed in such a way as to make Kenneth Anger rise from the grave?

What is this Babylon that we are witnessing?

In closing,¬†Young Frankenstein is a very entertaining film…which I highly recommend.

No ūüôā

Remember friends:  sometimes only humor can get us through the valley of the shadow of death.

And, for me, I pray to God.

I saw this wickedness coming long ago.

The level of vile crimes has already disgusted me and freaked me out before.

So I pray that you will be strong, my friends, as many bad things are revealed.

There are heroes in the world.

And those are such as former Navy SEAL Craig Sawyer.

His organization Veterans for Child Rescue is taking on the scourge of child sex trafficking.

He’s a sniper.

He’s been to war.

He’s not afraid of guys in suits.

Guys like Podesta and Soros.

And he’s not alone.

He’s been on the teams that go in and rescue kids that are literally in cages.

Check out that first article above.

It’s talking about a 6-year-old kid being raped.

The kid is lent out by the parent for $250 dollars.

And it gets much worse than that.

Let’s not talk about New York City Mayor Bill di Blasio’s employee Jacob Schwartz who was recently busted for child pornography.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-4546320/De-Blasio-employee-arrested-child-pornography.html

My friends, this young man (age 29) was apparently aroused by sexual photos of SIX-MONTH-OLD BABIES.

And I have to say it one more time:  it gets worse than that.

So when you see photos of Mr. Schwartz and Hillary Clinton campaign manager Robby Mook, pay those photos no mind, right?

And when you find to what ends Mr. Mook and Mr. John Podesta (Hillary Clinton’s campaign chair) went to concoct the “Russian collusion” (or, variously, “Russian hacking”) story which the largely-liberal U.S. media swallowed whole-cloth, you might begin to wonder just what dark secrets Mr. Podesta (and Hillary Clinton, for that matter) is hiding.

http://www.breitbart.com/big-government/2017/04/21/shattered-revelation-clinton-campaign-hatched-russian-hacking-narrative-24-hours-after-hillarys-loss/

For those in a hurry:

“That strategy had been set within twenty-four hours of her concession speech. Mook and Podesta assembled her communications team at the Brooklyn headquarters to engineer the case that the election wasn‚Äôt entirely on the up-and-up. For a couple of hours, with Shake Shack containers littering the room, they went over the script they would pitch to the press and the public. Already, Russian hacking was the centerpiece of the argument.”

The quote comes from¬†Jonathan Allen and Amie Parnes’s book¬†Shattered: ¬†Inside Hillary Clinton’s Doomed Campaign.

So once again, see¬†Young Frankenstein¬†ūüôā

 

-PD

Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa [2013)

Well, not everything can be a masterpiece ūüôā

And while this film (known in the U.S. simply as¬†Alan Partridge) has its moments, it’s a rather lackluster affair overall.

But something kept me watching.

I suppose it was the sheer talent of Steve Coogan.

Bloke’s got a real gift.

But this film just didn’t really do him justice.

24 Hour Party People was much better (if I remember correctly).

At any rate, Alan Partridge is set in Norwich.

Which is in Norfolk.

Which is in East Anglia.

Yes, Mr. Partridge is a pretty shallow gent.

The context, by the way, is that of a radio station.

The film’s action mostly takes place at a radio studio.

It’s a bit of a tense film, but always long on humor.

I must give the director Declan Lowney credit.

There are some quirky bits which work quite well.

And so, perhaps I just haven’t understood this film.

It was relatively enjoyable.

I don’t want an hour and a half of my life back.

It wasn’t that bad.

But something was a bit off.

I must say, the concept was relatively sound.

[no pun intended]

Somehow the execution of the concept was less than stellar.

The acting was all fairly decent.

No doubt that Coogan was the star.

Really, I don’t know quite what to say about this one.

I wouldn’t recommend it as a life-changing film.

It’s relatively light and enjoyable, but there are a good many guns in the film.

The premise is, as stated, quite tense.

If you work in a radio station, you might find certain parts funnier than I did.

At any rate, it was great to know that Steve Coogan’s still got it.

I will be looking out for more of his wonderful performances in the future.

Cheerio!

-PD

#6 Mr. Bean Rides Again [1992)

This one is darn near perfect.

And I needed it.

After an all-nighter devoted to a Power Point presentation, this got a hearty laugh from me throughout.

We really see Bean’s dark humour start coming to the fore here.

Likewise, we start to realize by now that Bean’s middle name must certainly be “Ingenuity”.

But his genius is a sort of Rube Goldberg variety.

For Bean, it’s all about the process…the journey.

It must be:  he seems to miss his destination an overwhelming majority of the time.

Whether he makes it to the beach or not is immaterial.

It’s that he starts off by packing six cans of Heinz Baked Beans.

No can opener.

Just the beans, thank you very much.

For those of us in America, this makes less sense without a bit of experience.

My one and only trip to Great Britain was an eye-opener.

The English eat beans for breakfast!

Not only that, but some sautéed mushrooms and maybe a boiled tomato.

Sausage and a rasher of bacon.

And eggs:  runny as Usain Bolt.

It all mixes together into a mélange of heartiness.

THAT is a true English breakfast!

A working-man’s meal.

Ahh, I miss those days.

So short and fleeting.

But with Mr. Bean, I am back in the magical mundane of English society.

The Royal Mail.

The politeness.

The grasp of my mother tongue.

Feeling rather “poorly”…

Yes, a glorious grasp on the language.

Of course, I could listen to the lads in Oasis talk all day long.

High and low.

And the Midlands.

God save the Queen!

We mean it, man ūüėČ

 

-PD

 

 

#3 The Curse of Mr. Bean [1990)

Just who does Donald Trump think he is???

Answer:  Sam Walton.

It’s the big, goofy, mesh-backed baseball cap.¬† The ones with the plastic snaps and infinitesimally small corresponding holes.¬† And then the squishy, peaked frontispiece:¬† “Make America great again” –or– (alternately) “Wal-Mart”.

That is the Donald’s costume…out on the campaign trail.¬† It’s bold.¬† Comedic.¬† A bit like George H.W. Bush “shopping” for groceries out among the common folk and being dumbfounded by this whole newfangled barcode scanner.

Yes, Donald Trump:  man of the people.

And so who did Rowan Atkinson think he was with Mr. Bean?

Well, that one’s a whole lot harder to pinpoint.

We might know Chaplin.  And Sellers.

But then there’s all these other institutions which don’t quite translate outside of Britain…The Goon Show, Dudley Moore, The Goodies…

Just from whence was Atkinson pulling his stuff?

We want to think it’s all original.¬† And perhaps it is.

But influence is unavoidable.

And so with the third and final episode of 1990, Atkinson gave us The Curse of Mr. Bean.  [1991 would yield only one episode of the show.]

The curse…hmmm…certainly sounds like an allusion to Sellers’ Clouseau.

Whatever the case may be, Atkinson’s material is all tied together with a very cohesive theme this time:¬† fear.

Fear of the diving board (afraid of heights).

Fear of public nudity or embarrassment (lost his trunks in the pool).

And finally the orgiastic grand guignol of laughter:

fear of movies.

It sounds like a pretentious art school pop album.

For instance, the Talking Heads’ Eno-produced Fear of Music (1979).

But for Bean, the horror was more of the Freddy Krueger type.

Indeed, by December 30, 1990 (this show’s airdate), there had already been five (yes, 5ive) A Nightmare on Elm Street movies.

Churned out of the dream factory like diabolical cotton candy, they appeared in 1984, 1985, 1987, 1988, and 1989.  The series then would recommence in 1991.  Which begs the question, just what was Freddy Krueger up to in 1986?  Laying low?  Vacationing?  The Caribbean?

To wit, Bean is scared witless while on a date (yes, those things where aspiring romantics “go out”) with the absolutely adorable Matilda Ziegler.

For those of you (like me) who can’t live without pithy character names, Ziegler’s role (like my beloved Enid Coleslaw) is that of Irma Gobb.

And Bean, therefore, is the man-child…the everlasting Gobbstopper [sic].

[Which is to say, Ziegler’s character is a reoccurring one.]

Perhaps we need to look further back to find a precedent for Rowan Atkinson’s Mr. Bean…perhaps out of the world of comedy proper.¬† Perhaps to the Dadaists?¬† I can certainly imagine Mr. Bean dressed as a sort of human tampon √† la Hugo Ball…with lobster claw hands.¬† Or maybe Bean with a lobster telephone courtesy of Dal√≠.¬† Certainly Bean would have a pet lobster to take for walks in the Bois de Boulogne with a ribbon for a leash like G√©rard de Nerval.

But we perhaps perhaps perhaps need to look further.  To the wry humor of Marcel Duchamp.  To the childlike fancy and brilliance of a René Magritte or an Erik Satie.  Even, god forbid, the humor of a Mauricio Kagel.

Conductors don’t have heart attacks mid-concert?¬† Not according to Kagel’s Ludwig Van.

Yet Bean never crosses that line of pretension.

He’s never Anthony Braxton’s Quartet for Amplified Shovels.

No, Bean always remains funny.

And so, perhaps, nothing is more revolutionary than comedy.

This kind of comedy.

Absolutely scripted, miniaturist-perfect comedy worthy of Jacques Tati.

In that sense, we might say that Mr. Bean is like Peter Sellers having Charlie-Chaplin-like total control over a production.¬† At least that’s the way it seems.

Perhaps we would be criminally neglecting the director of these first three Bean episodes:  John Howard Davies.

But in such comedies, the thing really does speak for itself.

Rowan Atkinson fills every moment of screen time in these gems with his thoroughly inimitable charm.

 

-PD

#2 The Return of Mr. Bean [1990)

As we enter into the second chapter of Mr. Bean’s television life, it is worth noting a particularly prevalent-yet-understated theme of the show:¬† loneliness.

For instance, Mr. Bean takes himself out for a birthday dinner.¬† He writes a birthday card for himself which, a short time after signing it, he discovers with na√Įve surprise and is heartened that he remembered his own birthday.

Yes, Mr. Bean is the surreal loner.

But there is another theme here:  optimism.

Bean doesn’t seem bothered by shopping alone (as long as he has his shiny, new American Express card…and his potato…and his fish).

No, he revels in the wonder of life.

Everything is an adventure.

If Seinfeld is a show about nothing, then Mr. Bean is a show about less than nothing.

Atkinson is wielding a sort of comedic antimatter weapon.

And the effect is devastatingly funny.

It’s funnier if you’ve had steak tartare, but it’s still funny if you haven’t.

Also present is that English (as in England) preoccupation with courtesy and politeness…manners, if you will.

Bean wants to save a man from the ignominy of embarrassment.¬† The bloke has picked up the wrong charge card.¬† So Bean surreptitiously picks the man’s pocket just to put the right card back in.¬† But his hand becomes stuck at the end of the act.¬† And so Rowan Atkinson is dragged all the way to the toilet with this man.¬† Silently following.

It brings to mind the famous Pink Floyd lyric:¬† “Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way.”

I’ve many times thought that applies to me (as I am mostly of English descent…though a bit French…and Italian [Venetian]).

Few things in this world are more antiquated than the British monarchy and (not completely unrelated) “manners”.

I don’t have any particular fondness for Queen Elizabeth or any other royal (of any nation) who’s ever lived.¬† It’s a bunch of poppycock, if you ask me.

But manners are worth something.

Yes, I do respect the common man and the common woman…who remind us of a different time.¬† Common courtesy.¬† THAT is the true royalty of the planet.

 

-PD

#1 Mr. Bean [1990)

Ah!

A new decade, a new voice.

A VOICEless voice.

Focused on trigonometry.

Or, oops, calculus.

Pi day.

The first episode of Mr. Bean.

It’s all in the gait.

Shuffle along.

Arnold Rothstein.

Rowan Atkinson had immensely talented nostrils.

Right from the start.

And he was an industrious chap.

As I always say (and the maxim by which I live), if you’re going to be an idiot…at least be entertaining.

Indeed.

Jester of God.

Falling from the sky.

giullare di Dio

Hallelujah!  I know that part!!

Ritardando the fellow.

Yes, a caesura.

Very centered.

A smiley face.

I can’t quite draw what it is I mean.

But the main point is that Mr. Atkinson was/is a bloody genius.

It’s an overused word, but I think only a few have approached in comedy.

Chaplin.  Sellers.  Atkinson.

All English.

But I would add Andy Kaufman.

And perhaps Roberto Benigni.

Actors who could carry a whole production with their funny talents.

Such a rare thing.

An exam.¬† And church.¬† And don’t forget the beach.

Very much silent film.

Such a joy!

 

-PD

 

SNL Season 1 Episode 11 [1976)

Just as Buck Henry had me stumped in the last episode (Buck Who?), Peter Cook threw me for a loop right off the bat here.

Dudley Moore I knew, but Cook?  No idea.  In terms of firsts, this appears to be the first SNL hosted by more than one person (simultaneously).

Cook met Moore while at Cambridge University as a student (Cook) of Radley and (later) Pembroke Colleges.¬† Moore, on the other hand, was himself a student at Magdalene College (pronounced “maudlin”) of Oxford University.¬† They started performing together in these school days.

But the act which Cook and Moore were essentially reviving on this night in 1976 was their comedy duo which powered the BBC’s Not Only…But Also (1965-1970).¬† We can be fairly confident of this based on their throwback chestnut Sir Arthur Streeb-Greebling.

Sir Streeb-Greebling’s featured skit (Table Talk) is one of the highlights of this episode.¬† In it, we learn of the knighted eccentric’s restaurant Frog & Peach (which serves, unsurprisingly, frog…and peaches [exclusively]).¬† If I remember correctly, the two dishes on the menu are frog √† la p√™che and, conversely, p√™che √† la frog.¬† This bit of absurd, excellent humor is indicative of the talents which Cook and Moore possessed as both writers and comedians.

Cook and Moore additionally did film work together such as Bedazzled (1967).¬† For all of you Yo La Tengo fans out there, this gives me an opportunity to wax informative on the song “Tom Courtenay”.¬† It is one of my favorite YLT songs (from the excellent Electr-O-Pura album). ¬†Perusing the lyric sheet of the above song, not only is English actor Courtenay mentioned in the title (the narrative is likely from his perspective) but Julie Christie makes an appearance (her name being the first words sung by Ira Kaplan).¬† For our purposes, however, it is simply enough to point out that the real “star” of said lyrics (Eleanor Bron) played Margaret Spencer in Bedazzled.

Moving on…

Now that I have spent an inordinate amount of time on Cook and Moore, I should point out something important.  Saturday Night Live in its inaugural season was attracting what might be called B-list entertainers.  To illustrate this point, I would direct readers to my piece on the previous episode.  To have Bill Withers do but one song and have it be a tune from 1971 (on a 1976 broadcast) illustrates this point which has a parallel in Cook and Moore (who were ostensibly rehashing material from their show which ran 1965-1970).

But credit must be given to the comedic duo in question who persevered and relocated to New York City in 1973.¬† They did, in fact, win a Tony and Grammy for their production Good Evening.¬† This success was parlayed (partially) into a more risqu√© act where they assumed the personalities Derek and Clive.¬† In total, this new incarnation was featured on three LPs (that would be, for the young’uns,¬†VI-NYL/RE-CORDS).

Ok, so Cook and Moore weren’t totally washed up.¬† That much is obvious when seeing this episode.¬† In fact, I find their humor much more effective than most of the hacks which preceded them as hosts.¬† The “One Legged Tarzan” skit near the top of the show exemplifies their shrewd method of laugh-getting.

It should also be¬†mentioned that stars on one side of the pond aren’t¬†necessarily stars on the other.¬† And so, dear readers, you must forgive my ignorance regarding Cook.¬† I have now done my research.

I should mention a further two bits.  Cook himself went on to work with some of my favorite musical acts (Sparks and 10cc).  That Ron Mael, Kevin Godley, and Lol Creme saw something in this chap is good enough for me.

Again, the separation between British and American entertainment really can’t be overemphasized.¬† I know there is a Doctor Who craze in the States now, but (back to Peter Cook) this bloke had a bleeding planet named after him in 1999 [20468 Petercook].

Furthermore, I am ashamed to say that I needed Wikipedia to tell me that Mr. Cook gave the world “mayorwidge” as the clergyman in The Princess Bride (1987).

Ok, ok…enough about Cook.¬† [I’ve hardly said a word about Moore, but we must press on.]

This is generally a great episode (with the notable exception of Neil Sedaka).¬† I really don’t want to hate on this guy, but his repertoire…ugh. And his sartorial choices (burgundy velvet jacket).¬† The jacket would have been great if he didn’t have Meathead’s haircut (Rob Reiner…Archie Bunker).¬† [“And now I would like to impersonate the Archie Bunker.¬† (…)¬† Tank you veddy much.”]

To be fair, Sedaka had talent.¬† Singing voice?¬† Check.¬† Piano chops?¬† Check.¬† But the schmaltz gluing it all together is what made it unpalatable.¬† Not to mention, what was an MOR guy like this doing on such a counterculture show as SNL?¬† Look to the corner office, my friend…the corner office.

On the whole, a great episode.¬† Just bite the bullet when Neil starts crooning ūüôā

 

-PD

 

 

The 39 Steps [1935)

Oh, to be a spy.¬† At once the dream of the adventurous and the curse of the actualized.¬† Why?¬† Why does Robert Donat let Annabella Smith come home with him from the music hall???¬† Perhaps it is her allure…¬† Her strange foreign accent.¬† Once you take the first step, the case collapses to become a chute…a slide.

Perhaps Richard Hannay (Robert Donat) was simply curious.¬† We know how the cat ended behaving thusly…

Perhaps Hannay was horny?¬† It was, after all, 1935…things were lightening up a bit.¬† No Tinder, but still…one might luck out at the music hall.

Well, Hannay has the misfortune of true cloak and dagger.¬† Annabella Smith…Hannay asks if she’s ever heard of persecution mania?¬† Yes, a good question until she comes stumbling from the kitchen with a knife in her back.

And so Hannay sees her fears materialize before his very eyes.¬† Sure, she could have stabbed herself in the back, but it’s not bloody likely!¬† And what’s this?

Her last words…cryptic…and a map of Scotland clutched in her hand.

Hanney has become a believer.¬† It is that moment when hypothetical (suppose she’s right?) becomes, to a certain extent, proven.

No time to split hairs quibbling…she makes it clear with her last breath:¬† they killed me and you’re next.

Why trust?¬† Perhaps the spy becomes tired.¬† She is, after all, a mercenary in a foreign country.¬† Yes, she is protecting the Kingdom, but for a price…¬† Her homeland is elsewhere.

And so an act of transference occurs.¬† Robert Donat now bears the burden of a secret…a hint of a secret…a trail.

He has a couple of choices.  The decision he makes ends up saving his life, yet it is completely counterintuitive.

He decides to get the hell out of there.  Annabella Smith is dead on the bed.  Hanney makes a deal with the milkman (1935) and creeps off towards the train station.

To Scotland.

Things begin to go very hard for Mr. Hanney.¬† He is pursued relentlessly.¬† A daring escape from a train stopped on a bridge brings him eventually to the Scottish moors and the village circled on Annabella’s map.

On the way he must¬†overnight with a farm couple…¬† The man of the house is an overbearing null…the woman, an angel trapped in an unhappy provincial cage.

This is really the beginning of the James Bond idea.  In 1935, they shared but a kiss.

Now, if you have made it this far you will be spared further spoilers…because that is not the purpose of my site.¬† This isn’t Cliff’s Notes.

We must talk of the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States.¬† Perhaps you have noticed the news element of my homepage?¬† It is really not fair to criticize our CIA…it is too easy.¬† There can be no doubt as to the difficulty of their work.

As a citizen of the USA I have dreamed of being a secret agent…just as many people do.¬† It would be a treasonous dream for me to wish employment by the MI6.¬† I am not British.¬† So my thoughts have turned now and again to my own country’s external intelligence organization.

Oh, I am too old to be a covert agent…too out of shape to have a fistfight with a Daniel Craig type.

But we remember certain things from our readings.¬† Wall Street = CIA.¬† This was Michael Ruppert’s assertion in his excellent book Crossing the Rubicon.¬† May Mr. Ruppert rest in peace.¬† No doubt he tried to do the right things during his time on this earth.¬† It was not until recently that I learned of his death.

Perhaps I began studying business as a roundabout way to court adventure.¬† There is no doubt that my future is not on Wall Street.¬† In fact, I don’t see much future at all.

Why?¬† Because I am like Robert Donat’s character in this film.¬† I can’t leave well-enough alone.¬† Killing in self-defense or in the defense of others can be honorable, but stretched to its limits by tenuous connection it eventually becomes murder.¬† When I read about the leading intelligence agencies of the world, I get the whiff of murder.¬† I get the scent of those who are “just following orders”…just like those good little Nazi soldiers.

It is this thirst for justice which makes me unemployable.  I know it.

And so I soldier on.  I do my cardio.  I lift my weights.  I study my texts.  I enrich my mind.

I am just a loner with my films.¬† I would like to contribute, but I was born of no prestigious family.¬† I don’t speak Dari or Pashto.

There are two camps of which I wish to be part of neither.  Camp one holds that everything America does is just and good. Camp two holds that nothing America does is just nor good.

I do not wish for a clean slate.  It is not possible.  Those who wish for the collapse of society are fools.  They are wishing for their own death and are far too optimistic about the practicality of starting over.

Now, dear film lover…you must be asking what this has to do with The 39 Steps.

Mr. Memory.

Office of Strategic Services.

Office of the Coordinator of Information.

Robert Sherwood.  movie critic.  Vanity Fair.  Dorothy Parker and Robert Benchley.  Algonquin Round Table. Rebecca and Foreign Correspondent.  Hitchcock.  Yes, it is a tenuous link.

Continuing…

Admiral John Godfrey.¬† “M”

Centre for Spastic Children, Chelsea.

…and finally

William Stephenson (c’est-√†-dire) James Bond

the Icelandic orphan

alluded to in Casino Royale (2006)

to wit

British Security Coordination

Camp X (Whitby, Ontario) [the original Farm]

Ian Fleming, Roald Dahl

Rockefeller Center (35th and 36th floors of the International Building)

under the cover of British Passport Control Office

For better or worse, CIA is MI6.  Where does one stop and the other begin?  To what extent is this a private army for the corporate members of the Council on Foreign Relations (Royal Institute of International Affairs)?

Surely we’re all playing by the Chatham House rules here, aren’t we, gents?

-PD