Tag Archives: UK

Sisters in Death

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I know how hard it can be to produce good copy on a regular basis, but you know a story with a head like the following – from the LA Times’ TV critic, which popped up on Google News today – is going to be as ridiculous as you’d think: “Margaret Thatcher, Annette Funicello and the spectrum of sisterhood.”

The first graph confirms the fatuousness: “… a strange day took from us two women who helped a generation redefine what it meant to be a woman… as disparate as their careers and legacies were, they each contributed to shifting ideals of femininity and a modern woman’s movement often as dismayed by its successes as its failure.”

Oh, yeah? I remember when Groucho Marx and Elvis Presley shuffled off this mortal coil at about the same time. And I thought, wow, they each contributed to the shifting ideas of what it means to be a man in the modern world.

This is just too easy to mock. The process of putting this story together seems to have been the following: two famous women just died. Let’s put them together in death! Because they were both women who were, you know, kinda different from each other. Compare but especially contrast. By golly, women aren’t all the same! You can destroy a lot of patriarchal privilege with that kind of heavy insight.

Not that Maggie and Annette had nothing in common. Both were female, both spoke English, both had once been in the public eye, and both happened to die at roughly the same time. But can you imagine Prime Minister Thatcher sporting mouse ears or in a beach movie? (Go ahead, try.) Or Mouseketeer Funicello busting a coal miners’ strike or ordering the Royal Navy to clean Argentina’s clock?

Another story popped up today that I found much more interesting: “Nervous Europe Drives Demand for Dollars,” which was in The Financial Times. It notes: “The amount of dollar cash in circulation has risen by 42 percent in the last five years, with a main reason being demand from Europe, according to a top U.S. Federal Reserve official… The surge in demand for U.S. cash suggests that the world is worried about the safety of its banks and the future of the euro — but has no fear of inflation or default in the U.S.”

A little bit nuts, when you think about it. The euro’s dodgy, for sure. So what do Russians et al. decide to hoard instead? U.S. paper. (A special linen-cotton blend, actually). $100 Federal Reserve notes, to be exact. I guess it really is all about the Benjamins. Talk about talismanic power. I’m hardly a gold-standard crank, but last time I heard, Federal Reserve notes offer zero percent return, which is even lousier than a savings account, meaning that their value is slowly eroding.

Longitude John

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I’ve been reading Longitude: The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of His Time by Dava Sobel (1995), which is about John Harrison, solver of the Longitude Problem, and I came across this passage: “Sometime around 1720… Sir Charles Pelham hired [Harrison] to build a tower clock above his new stable at the manor house in Brocklesby Park.

“The clock tower that Harrison completed about 1722 still tells time in Brocklesby Park. It has been running continuously for more than 270 years, except for a brief period in 1884 when workers stopped it for refurbishing.”

Wow. I had to find out if that was still the case, and it seems that it is. That’s a clock tower I would go look at, if I were in the neighborhood. I saw the Harrison chronometers at the Maritime Museum in Greenwich before I had much inkling of what they were or what he did, but finding out things sometimes works that way.

Naturally, specialists are busy revising the legend of John Harrison, including this fellow, who asserts that the clockmaker might have farmed out some of his brass parts. Could well be, though I’m in no position to pass judgment on the matter. But even if it were true, that hardly takes away from Harrison’s achievement.

There’s even a song about John Harrison. That’s what we need more of, songs about generally obscure but remarkably important people, places or events.

A Weekend With the Doctor

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Spent a chunk of the weekend watching old Doctor Who. Very old, as in a story from 1964 and one from 1967, survivors of the shockingly routine practice of destroying old TV shows that the BBC and other organizations used to follow. You’d think that the BBC, of any media concern, would have had some sense of history, but apparently not. Separately, I’ve read that the company was about to wipe the tapes of Monty Python’s Flying Circus when PBS showed an interest in them, and thus a crime against comedy was averted.

Anyway, I discovered that 50th anniversary Doctor Who specials are now in production, the earliest parts of which are available to us. Ann and I spent some time on Friday and Saturday watching them. Hearing about the earliest shows through the standard format of interviews-and-clips was fairly interesting, but even better, each special (so far) has included a full story featuring the particular Doctor under discussion. My interest in the series has been intermittent down the years, so I’d never seen any Doctors earlier than Tom Baker. Probably a lot of Americans and maybe even younger Brits can say that.

The two stories were “The Aztecs” and “The Tomb of the Cybermen.” First Doctor and Second Doctor, respectively. I can’t recommend watching them at one go, since they were created as serials. After a while the story arc gets tiresome – what, another complication preventing the heroes from getting back to the Tardis? Get on with it already. Spacing it out a bit would work better. But Ann insisted on watching all the way through.

Still, I found the shows entertaining. Doctor Who’s famed low-budget production values were on full display, especially when – as happened a few times during “The Aztecs,” – a character was called on to move a heavy stone door, and it’s clear that nothing more heavy than styrofoam or the like was involved. The story involved the Doctor and his companions showing up in pre-Columbian Tenochtitlan (presumably) and mixing it up high-caste Aztecs, all of whom look and sound precisely like British actors in costumes that could have done service in The Robot Vs. the Aztec Mummy. I had a hard time explaining to Ann exactly why I thought that funny.

As a story, “The Tomb of the Cybermen” seemed more cohesive and – put in context as children’s entertainment pre-Internet, pre-CGI – was probably pretty scary to many of its original audience. It involves the Doctor and his companions showing up on some desolate planet and unwisely helping to unearth a pod of Cybermen, who of course are long-running menaces bent on destroying humanity or conquering the Earth or whatever. Ann, of a more sophisticated (jaded?) generation, told me that one reason she liked the story was because the effects weren’t particularly good, thus making it less scary than the more recent iterations of Cybermen on the show.

My favorite bit was a supporting character who was supposed to be a spaceship captain. It was implied that he was an American, but he sounded like no American I’ve ever heard. I had to look this up: the actor was George Roubicek, born in Austria and saying lines written by British writers who seem to have had no ear at all for American idioms. Surprising, since even 50 years ago, weren’t a lot of American movies shown in the UK?

According to Wiki at least, Roubicek’s made much of his career doing dubbing work, and I say good for him (and he’s still alive) . He also had a small part in Star Wars. Like everyone else involved, he probably had no idea it would become the phenomenon it did. Probably the same could be said for Doctor Who.

Seem a Saint, When Most I Play the Devil

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I read today that Richard III’s bones have been located. I didn’t know they were missing. But then again, the story of Richard III pretty much always ends with, “A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse! Arrrrrrgh!” as some fearsome halberd makes contact with the king’s skull. After that, who cares?

Naturally, there are those who would rehabilitate the monarch’s evil reputation. The NYT article notes: “Among those who found his remains, there is a passionate belief that new attention drawn to Richard by the discovery will inspire a reappraisal that could rehabilitate the medieval king and show him to be a man with a strong sympathy for the rights of the common man, who was deeply wronged by his vengeful Tudor successors. Far from the villainous character memorialized in English histories, films and novels, far from Shakespeare’s damning representation of him as the limping, withered, haunted murderer of his two princely nephews, Richard III can become the subject of a new age of scholarship and popular reappraisal, these enthusiasts believe.”

Naaah.

I was also interested to learn that the king will probably be reinterred in Leicester Cathedral, against the wishes of those who would put him in Westminster Abbey or some such. Not that anyone’s asked me, but I’d go along with Leicester Cathedral. In London, he’d be just another king – albeit a hunchbacked, villainous one – among many. In Leicester, he’d be a star attraction. He’s served his country for centuries as an infamous villain of lore and literature, time now for him to promote tourism to the Midlands. If I’m ever anywhere nearby, I’ll go pay a visit.