The Gathering Storm

 "He promised to cut down to three bottles of champagne in the evening."

It's good to see this again, twenty-three years after I saw it first being broadcast. This TV film is an exemplar of something that exists, yes, as a nice little historical drama, but primarily as the vehicle for an actor to show us a real, incredible tour de force in a truly seminal role. For here, Albert Finney simply is Winston Churchill, in all the nuances of that very complicated human being. We often speak, when actors play real historical figures of whom footage exists, of the distinction between acting and impression. But here... well, the distinction simply doesn't exist. It's a truly extraordinary performance from a first rate actor.

The script, of course, deserves credit too, for this is Churchill- blinkered, irascible, deeply emotional, loving, exasperating. His views are nicely shown- of course, history remembers him for being very, very right about the most important thing- the urgent necessity of utterly crushing Nazism without mercy. But the script doesn't shy away from other things, such as his strong support of British rule over India, often using problematic language. Nuance, again. Yet, despite his flaws... he can't help but inspire loyalty and affection, something shown very well here.

The narrative is nicely done, beginning with Winston's career in the doldrums and ending with him being First Lord again, although much of this is due to Ralph and his deep sacrifice. But there's more- how he was so problematic yet loving as a husband and father. As a salutary reminder that one can, and bloody well should, have absolutely no truck with any of this "fourteen units of alcohol a week" nonsense.

And with that... I'm posting this and uncorking the wine. Happy Friday.

Murder on the Orient Express (1974)

 “Trial by twelve good men and true... is a sound system

I have read, probably, more of Agatha Christie's ouevre than not, although all of it- and it startles me still that I should happen to be of an age to say this- not much less than thirty years ago. Her plots are of course unparallelled: writing in an age where the tropes of the whodunit were well-estabished, she subverted and played with them, and did so with unmatched cleverness. In that respect, she was a genius.

Alas... he characterisation and prose were bloody awful, and she kept her snobbishness  close to the surface of her writing. I, in turn, have become rather more of a prose snob over the last few decades. Functional prose I can cope with. Bad prose I cannot. I prefer Margery Allingham.

However, there are always screen adaptation, which provide the wonder of Christie's plotting without the pain of her prose. This is a particularly sublime example, with a cast to die for, partly- Lauren Bacall, Ingrd Bergman- from Hollywood's golden age. Yet Albert Finney is incrddible. At first, having known only David Suchet as a screen Poirot, I didn't want to like him. Hercule Poirot, unlike Sherlock Holmes, is not a part known for many actors. Yet Finney's subtle and mannered performance makes the film. So does Sidney Lumet's visually creative directing style which nevertheless serves the plot well, masterfully combining subtly sublime camerawork- the backstory of the baby at the strt is particularly well done- with clear storytelling.

Sadly, I remembered over the decades who killed the late Mr Ratchett, so I was unsueprised, and noticed a few of the clues. But this is a hugely successful and enjoyable adaptation.