Inspector Morse: The Settling of the Sun

 "The most suspicious thing of all is an excellent alibi."

This is, as is almost too obvious to point out, the first episode not to be either based on a novel by Colin Dexter or later to be adapted into one- although Dexter, I see, co-wrote the script. And yet, despite the obvious observation that for once the story was fully new to me, it didn't feel obvious. 

Mostly.

Because this episode was superb, but in a way I haven't really seen before in Inspector Morse. It was all about the dialogue- sparse, restrained, quietly and Englishly full of deep pain and anguish, almost Pinterian in its bleak economy of words. This style of dialogue allows clues to double wonderfully as character moments, such as the German student who looks uncannily like Bernard from Yes Minister remarking about how the war infected his childhood, and Jane telling poor Morse- spurned again- how she never fancied them.

The plot is clever, with its double drugs red herring, its Japanese doppelganger plot that is a sly comment on the racism of "they all look the same", its roots in Japanese atrocities in Singapore- to crucify a priest, and make the object of his faith be forever tied to unimaginable trauma is truly evil- which touch upon the theme of endless cycles of revenge, as old as Aeschylus. This is both a superb detective story and a profoundly meaningful drama.

And I must praise Thaw here, whose performance reaches new heights and who seems to relish the Pinterian dialogue. I'm hopeful that the series may still be worth watching once we (mostly) move away from the novels.

The Asphyx (1972)

 "I've failed!"

This film was, apparently, not a success on its original release, a serious horror film not dependent on spectacle was not wanted by the public in 1972. There's a lot to like about the film though, despite its flaws.

The concept is, in theory, interesting; a Victorian gentleman scientist discovers the secret of immortality, but discovers it has a terrible price. The immortality in question comes from capturing a supernatural "asphyx" (my subtitles said "ass fix"...), a tortured soul which looks quite terrifying) via a type of oh-so-Victorian pseudo-science. I love how very steampunk it is that reality obligingly behaves just as these Victorian "scientists" expect it to.

There's a strong cast, headed by Robert Stephens, but the characterisation very much takes second place to the ideas. And it feels weird that a film like this, based on a very horror concept and which requires an atmosphere of increasing foreboding to be at its most effecive, should not be shot like a horror film at all but just like a costume drama, with no attempt made to use the camera to create unease.

The cast is impressive on paper, but Robert Powell is fairly stiff and Jane Lapotaire (more recently seen as Prince Philip's mum in The Crown) doesn't have much of a character, The whole thing looks plush and expensive, but there are embarrassing moments: when Sir Hugo films his son's death, the resulting footage looks identical to the scene on the film, right down to the close-up.

Ultimately the film, a parable about the curse of immortality, is not quite so profound nor so deep as it thinks it is, and it would have been both much more enjoyable and, frankly, better, if it had been shot more like a Hammer-style high camp horror film by someone like Freddie Francis. This isn't a bad film, but there are reasons why it remains fairly obscure.

The Box of Delights: Leave Us Not Little, Nor Yet Dark

"Splendiferous!"

So that’s it. A splendid ending to a bonkers but deeply festive and entertaining adventure. Let’s just gloss over the disappointing fact that it was all a dream, shall we?

This episode is all action, with nary a chance to breathe- but there’s still time for lots of magic. The whole sequence with Abner and his secret semi-TARDIS, accesses through a secret door by drawing a glowing and inverted Star of David (probable symbolism there, although I’m buggered if I know)  is awesome, with the sarky statue head thing that Abner leaves upside down when in a sulk, and the cool animated dragon that Abner uses to prevent the secret agents of the Church of England fouling his dastardly plans. Yes, Abner is pretty much a cartoon villain at this point, but I for one have no problems with that.

However, his underlings have betrayed him, nicked the loot and freed the Bishop and his crew. Abner may not be in as good a position as he thought- as we confirm when (yay!) we finally meet Cole again. Patrick Troughton is on top form here as our Punch and Judy Gandalf saves the day in spite of rising water by drawing a key with which to escape (couldn’t he have done that earlier?) and co juri g up a boat from his hat as all are rescued, including Peter and the long-sidelined Caroline Louisa. It’s as though the world of the children (with which Cole is most certainly aligned) manages to save Christmas for the grown ups. We end, with the help of magic, with the Christmas service in the cathedral saved, and a few minutes where The Box of Delights briefly turns into Songs of Praise. What’s particularly nice, though, is that this is done with the help of the decidedly pagan figure of Herne the Hunter, who is basically Woden- true religious harmony. And we see that old woman again. Who is she meant to be? It’s not entirely clear.

And then... Kay spins around, recreating the final moments of another Patrick Troughton masterpiece... and it was all a dream. That doesn’t change the fact, though, that this is a truly wonderful and special bit of telly.

Maybe I should make this a 35 year thing? See you in 2054. I’m sure my pension will stretch to it, if England isn’t a desert by then.

The Box of Delights: Beware of Yesterday

"Now do you see, you mutineering doddlehead?"

Well then. A lot can happen in half an hour.

We begin with a reprise of the big cliffhanger reveal about Arnold of Todi and Ramon Lully, aka Cole Hawlings, and then we, along with a miniature Kay, get to see the splendidly moustache-twirling Abner providing more and more exposition, ostensibly to the mutinous but dim Joe. The clergymen have been taken as hostages for the Box's return, and silly Abner doesn't suspect Kay simply because Sylvia Daisy Pouncer has declared him an "idle muff". Heh. This may be the most lampshaded piece of dramatic irony ever.

But Kay has failed to rescue Cole, Peter or Caroline Louisa, so in desperation he turns to the Box, and Herne the Hunter. If Kay can go to the past, and persuade old Arnie to take back the Box, it wont be around to cause all this trouble, right? So we get a trippy and cartoony interlude as Kay travels to a surreal-looking Trojan War past which makes no attelpt at realism and, above all, probably didn't cost that much. Here he finds a delightfully eccentric Arnie, played by Philip Locke, who went forever to the past because "my own time was dull"; believes Englishmen has tails; has no wish to leave the tiny island in 1200ish BC on which he happens to be marooned, alone; and is quite, quit mad, This is silly, pointless, and really rather brilliant.

Back in the present, the Bishop and a load of choirboys are in dungeon cells and Abner plans to double cross hi underlings to escape on his own with the fortune from the various robberies the gang has committed. But they plan to double cross him too. Neither of whch is Kay;s concern at present as he's small, has lost the box, and is trapped.

This is, by now, completely and utterly bonkers. I love it.

The Box of Delights: The Spider in the Web

"Put her in the scrounger!"

A revelatory episode at last as we stake out the baddies’ lair and, at the end, finally get some answers. This one is all plot with rather less symbolism. On the other hand, though, there seems to be a car that turns into an aeroplane, plus we get more Patricia Quinn. All is well and good.

We begin with a jolly jape as Kay and the Jones children get a ride down a waterfall on the toy boat, and dodge the evil curated and their aeroplane before arriving home... to signs of a burglary, the reasons for which are obvious. But the Box, of course, has been with Kay.

I love the whole sequence with Maria being scribbled and her defiance against the wonderfully evil Sylvia Daisy Pouncer. It’s brilliant how we are not shown the scrounged but get to imagine the ways in which it might go “round and round” and turn children into dog biscuits- but Maria gives as good as she gets.

Sadly, the inspector pooh poohs all this as usual; it’s up to the kids. So we have Kay and Peter staking our the baddies’ lair but it all goes wrong as Peter is, er, scrobbled. And back home things are getting worse- various clergymen are being randomly scrobbled as, it seem, has Caroline Louisa. Rarely has there been such a surfeit of scrobbling, and something must be done.

So Kay must go small once more, and spy on Abner with his dastardly scrying globe- and here we come across a bombshell: the Box belonged to Arnold of Todi, a mediaeval philosopher, who got stranded in the past. And it was then taken by another mediaeval philosopher, one with an elixir of youth, one Ramon Lully... yes, it’s Cole, and he’s locked up in their dungeon.

An absolute delight. More please.

The Box of Delights: In Darkest Cellars Underneath

“He was a child for whom I had the utmost detestation and contempt.”

More goodness here as Kay and his rubbish mouse friend begin the episode spying on the baddie, Abner Brown, his fellow evil vicars and, er, rats, as they ponder over where Cole’s box may be- implying they may indeed have “scribbled” him. They suspect it’s with the bishop but, more importantly, the wonderful Patricia Quinn suddenly appears as the splendidly nasty Sylvia Daisy Pouncer. I hope to see more of her.

It’s interesting that adults are often absent- Cole, the mysteriously delayed Caroline Louisa, the Jones’ awfully neglectful parents- and those that are around- the avuncular inspector or the unworldly bishop- are not quite authority figures. There’s no one to protect them from Abner, and he certainly seems to have young Maria (pronounced the old way, in a nice touch, as it would have been in 1935).

The Christmas party at the Bishop’s is an odd affair- did bishops really do this for local kids, I assume not just the well-heeled ones? He gets burgled for reasons we know damn well, and there’s a Punch and Judy show ostensibly by Cole Hawlings- but we don’t see him.

There’s more odd symbolism as Kay walks with a Roman soldier, dressed in the classical rather than late Roman armour, who tells him of wolves and lambs in a way which unavoidably evokes Romulus and Remus. This Christmassy programme has an awful lot of pagan undertones.

We end with not only Kay but Peter, Jemima and Susan all shrunk and hiding from the evil vicars on a toy boat, about to go down a waterfall. More please. This is great, and also really weird, a perfect combination.

The Box of Delights: Where Shall the 'Nighted Showman Go?

"I think it's the purple pim!"

Ok, now this is getting delightfully weird. The cliffhanger reprise sees Kay, having flown on his white horse, inside Arthur’s camp at some undefined mediaeval (Arthurian?) time and he’s asked to pitch in with a sword and defend them all against wolves. I’m sure there’s all sorts of symbolism here, and I’m wondering about the name “Kay”, very Arthurian.

But then it’s escape out of that “picture” to Cole, and some exposition. The box belongs to “Master Arnold” but Kay is to keep it safe. It can make him “go small” or “go swift”. Come only knows the “old magic” and is vulnerable to the “new magic”. All very intriguing and atmospheric. This is getting really good.

Things remain symbolic and weird as Kay and his friend Peter see Cole kidnapped by that dodgy pair of curates. Yet Cole phones them at the police station to say he’s alright- somehow we know that can’t be him. Incidentally, it’s surreal that the Inspector is in fact Superibtendent Strange from Inspector Morse with a Mummerset accent...

Caroline Louisa is away and incommunicado, leaving the maid in charge- has something happened to her? And when Kay looks into the box he sees a figure he recognised as Herne the Hunter, superficially a forest ghost but really a rich legendary figure, Lord of the Wild Hunt in all of Germanic Europe, and actually Woden. These may no longer be “pagan times” but the old gods are not forgotten.

And I had a jolt of memory- I remember that cartoon where Kay and Herne jump from animal form to animal form, with predators always being there. It’s awesome, and has brought back a long buried memory from when I was seven. Wow. And I’m appreciating more and more the great sense of using cartoons to remove the need for prohibitively expensive special effects.

This is awesome. So awesome, in fact, that I can accept that, when Kay shrinks and sets off to find the baddie, he can talk to an anthropological talking mouth in a terrible costume, and dodge some cringeworthy anthropomorphic rats. I don’t care. A programme this awesome can afford the off but of absolute crap like this. Never mind that we’ve never previously been made to suspect that talking animals might be a thing. I’m hooked.

This is awesome. I’m seven again.

The Box of Delights: The Wolves Are Running

"That's the time that likings are made."

I have distinct childhood memories of watching The Box of Delights, but I haven’t seen it since 1984, when I was seven. I’ve only seen it that once, thirty-five years ago, and such memories I have are full of the fuzziness of being that age- and bound up with other things of the era like reading Battle Action Force and whatever else I was into at that particular time. So what will I make of it now?

The first episode is an odd but atmospheric beast. That title sequence is bloody terrifying, though, especially Mr Punch- how come I have no childhood memories of this giving me nightmares when other things most certainly did? Surprising, too, that I don’t remember recognising Patrick Troughton, as I certainly knew who he was. But, mostly, my memories are just impressions and this felt new, my memories just faint ghosts.

So, it’s the early twentieth century, presumably 1935 going by the novel, and we begin with a steam train in the English countryside, where young Kay Harker is returning home for Christmas having been sent away to boarding school for the whole half term, the heartlessness of which is not remarked upon. But then again, I assume he’s an orphan, and Caroline Louisa is his older sister? The two of them share an obvious affection, but she isn’t very maternal and, possible crucially, not much of an authority figure.

Cole Hawlings is a suitably mysterious and wizard-like figure, doing his stuff since “pagan times” (although presumably not Punch and Judy for as long as all that) who has undefined magic powers- able to show Kay a Phoenix and walk into a picture, both times by harnessing the incredible power of cartoons. Only Patrick Troughton could possibly have played him.

Cole’s real magic is contrasted against the sinister card sharpery of Foxy Faced Charles and Chubby Joe, but only at the end do we, and Kay, see the full extent of the baddies- including Rat (Bill Sallis, incredibly) and the unnamed baddie boss, played by that icon of the ‘60s stage Robert Stephens, who was so splendid in The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes. Alas, he supposedly turned to the bottle and derailed his career, but he’s in fine fettle here, quite the ac-tor.

But this is only the beginning. I’m excited for the rest...

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970)

“Dust, Mrs Hudson, is an essential part of my filing system.”

Wow. That was amazing. Fanwank this film may be, and somewhat light on star wattage, but the script just sparkles with wit and metatextual knowingness. This is certainly the finest Sherlock Holmes film I’ve seen to date. It’s the only Billy Wilder film I’ve seen to date, but it certainly not the last.

I know little about Robert Stephens (Holmes) and less about Colin Blakeley (Watson), and both of them reminded me, rather oddly, of Leonard Rossiter in their styles of performance. Stephens gives us an arch, knowing Holmes, who always seems to be aware of his nature as a character in a film; we know when the film’s final act is dawning because Holmes tells us so! Blakely plays Watson more-or-less as the buffoon of legend, although he’s shown to be an intelligent and competent physician, and as something of a ladies’ man.

The first scene proper (after a short modern-day framing device)  starts the metatextual fun straightaway, as Holmes compares the “reality” with Watson’s published stories, complaining that the public now expect him to wear the ridiculous clothes from the illustrations in The Strand! We then move on to a rather interesting bit of speculation as to Holmes’ sexuality. This is a rather obvious thing to do, perhaps, but 1970 is probably about as early as it could be done in a Hollywood film. A rather haughtily attractive Russian ballerina with seemingly supernatural menopause-dodging powers (“I must say that she doesn’t look 38.” “That is because she is 49…”) wants to spend a week shagging Holmes so she can have a child by him as an exercise in eugenics. Nice work if you can get it.

Holmes isn’t keen, though. So much so, that he resorts to claiming that he’s, er, like Tchaikovsky, a previous choice (“You couldn’t go wrong with Tchaikovsky.” “We could, and we did.”, and claims to be shagging Watson. This has unfortunate consequences for the good doctor, who has up to this point been having rather a lot of fun with some attractive young ladies. He’s not in the best of moods, unsurprisingly, once he gets back to Baker Street and, this being 1887, starts to fret about scandal, leading to some wonderfully arch retorts from Holmes. The whole sequence ends with Holmes refusing to discuss his sexuality, which remains a great big question mark.

This sequence takes up the first thirty minutes, after which the main plot begins. The whole thing is rather more coherent than might at first be expected, though. The sequence sets up the theme of the film- Holmes’ relationship with women, and the question which it poses is more or less answered.

The arrival of a mysterious, amnesiac Belgian lady, Gabrielle Valladon, starts off the larger part of the film, and this leads to some rather sexually charged scenes between her and Holmes. The case doesn’t get very far, however, before Holmes receives a summons from his brother Mycroft (the justly ubiquitous Christopher Lee). There’s a delicious little retcon here, as we’re told that the outwardly eccentric “Diogenes Club” is in fact a front for British Intelligence. Mycroft warns Holmes off the case which, of course, only encourages him.

Holmes seems to make a real connection with Mme Valladon, and they have a rather interesting discussion about his experiences with women. Most interestingly, he claims, in an interestingly light-hearted tone, that his mistrust of women ultimately stems from his fiancée (!) inconveniently dying just twenty-four hours before their wedding. Are we to believe this, or do we have a case of unreliable narrator syndrome here? We should probably remember Holmes’ fourth wall-breaking tendencies at this point.

To Inverness, then, and some rather gorgeous location filming in the Highlands. It soon becomes clear that things are mixed up with the legend of the Loch Ness Monster- oops! This is a bit of a clanger, as the legend of the Loch Ness Monster is not anywhere near as old as you’d expect, dating back only back to 1933. The whole thing really kicked off with a famous photograph which appeared in 1934. April 1^st 1934, to be precise…

The monster, it turns out is mechanical. It seems that Holmes is close to solving the mystery, when he receives a summons from Mycroft. It’s revealed that the “monster” is an experimental submersible, and that Mime Valladon’s husband died accidentally while testing the device. In a nice twist, it’s revealed that “Mme Valladon” is in fact an agent of the Kaiser, Fraulein Von Hofmannsthal, and that she has rather cleverly enlisted Holmes to do all the work for her. He’s fallen hook, line and sinker for her charms.

The best bit’s near the end, though. Queen Victoria- a Holmes fangirl, naturally- is such a delight. Wonderfully, she refuses to allow the submersible project to continue, because it’s “unsportsmanlike” and “un-English”!!! She dismisses Mycroft’s protests by insisting that she will write to her nephew Willie (who won’t succeed his grandfather and his unfortunate father as Kaiser until next year, but never mind!) and get him to abandon any similar plans by Germany.

We end, sixteen months later, on a sad note, as Holmes reads of Fraulein Von Hofmannsthal’s death at the hands of the Japanese, having been caught spying. He’s clearly deeply affected. It seems that Holmes is, after all, susceptible to certain women (although he may still be asexual). She did, after all, defeat him.