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After a productive day yesterday (possibly the only time that I have ever successfully ticked all the things on my "to do" list), capped by a marvellous 90 minutes at $5-$10 on Virgin, I treated myself to watching some TV.
Although I put lots of stuff onto DVD, I doubt that I have watched more than 25% of what I have recorded in the past six months. Part of this is (semi)-planned. The collections of Sherlock Holmes (Jeremy Brett version), Avengers (Rigg, 1967, Colour, brilliant) and Inspector Morses (many of them as yet unseen by me even the first time round) are there for the long-term future.
However, other stuff I do mean to watch (e.g., movies) but they are accumulating, unwatched, at a frightening rate. But I did manage to see a BBC Three programme on the making of A Fairytale of New York, which, despite its somewhat repetitive nature, threw up some interesting snippets. Kirsty MacColl, loved by me for many reasons but mainly because she came up with the album title Electric Landlady died when I was on my first trip to Las Vegas. That city, not known for its TV or newspaper coverage of events of international importance, somehow failed to get the news of her death into either the Las Vegas Sun-Review Journal or onto the news channel that features "pudgy weather man" as I like to think of him. As a result, I remained blithely unaware of her death until about three months later, when someone mentioned it as a piece of common knowledge. I almost felt guilty at this. I felt that I should have known.
Anyway, another thing which I did not know until I watched this programme was that every year in December, a group gathers in Soho Square to sing Fairytale of New York, and that there is a bench in that square in memory of Kirsty MacColl. Now that, I think, is nice.
The other programme that I watched was evidence that, when it puts its mind to it, the BBC can produce television of the highest order. Riot at the Rite was the story of the first production of the ballet Rites of Spring in Paris in 1913. This was cultural terrorism. While yer average viewer thought that they were watching a general entertainment, featuring some excellent acting and not a little comedy, the programme also featured much of the original ballet and Stravinsky's score — choreography and music that even by today's standards might be described as "difficult". But, because the viewer was not watching the ballet or hearing the score in a vacuum, it all made much more sense. But, of course, it's the comedic lines that stick in the mind.
Two characters in the audience of the ballet.
"Look. It's Picasso"
"What's he drawing?"
"A chicken."
"Why?"
Gallic shrug and a silently mouthed "I don't know!"
Superb.
Although I put lots of stuff onto DVD, I doubt that I have watched more than 25% of what I have recorded in the past six months. Part of this is (semi)-planned. The collections of Sherlock Holmes (Jeremy Brett version), Avengers (Rigg, 1967, Colour, brilliant) and Inspector Morses (many of them as yet unseen by me even the first time round) are there for the long-term future.
However, other stuff I do mean to watch (e.g., movies) but they are accumulating, unwatched, at a frightening rate. But I did manage to see a BBC Three programme on the making of A Fairytale of New York, which, despite its somewhat repetitive nature, threw up some interesting snippets. Kirsty MacColl, loved by me for many reasons but mainly because she came up with the album title Electric Landlady died when I was on my first trip to Las Vegas. That city, not known for its TV or newspaper coverage of events of international importance, somehow failed to get the news of her death into either the Las Vegas Sun-Review Journal or onto the news channel that features "pudgy weather man" as I like to think of him. As a result, I remained blithely unaware of her death until about three months later, when someone mentioned it as a piece of common knowledge. I almost felt guilty at this. I felt that I should have known.
Anyway, another thing which I did not know until I watched this programme was that every year in December, a group gathers in Soho Square to sing Fairytale of New York, and that there is a bench in that square in memory of Kirsty MacColl. Now that, I think, is nice.
The other programme that I watched was evidence that, when it puts its mind to it, the BBC can produce television of the highest order. Riot at the Rite was the story of the first production of the ballet Rites of Spring in Paris in 1913. This was cultural terrorism. While yer average viewer thought that they were watching a general entertainment, featuring some excellent acting and not a little comedy, the programme also featured much of the original ballet and Stravinsky's score — choreography and music that even by today's standards might be described as "difficult". But, because the viewer was not watching the ballet or hearing the score in a vacuum, it all made much more sense. But, of course, it's the comedic lines that stick in the mind.
Two characters in the audience of the ballet.
"Look. It's Picasso"
"What's he drawing?"
"A chicken."
"Why?"
Gallic shrug and a silently mouthed "I don't know!"
Superb.
