Getting rather silly

Today the sun manages to stay over the horizon for seven hours and a bit. Despite the snow, days are desperately grey, and everything kind of blurs. It's hard to keep track of deadlines, or even remember if I've managed to do anything worthwhile lately.

In addition to teaching and trying to finish my PhD there isn't all that much going on at the moment - but at least I've had some interesting dreams lately (even compared to my usual standard). Last night, for instance, listening to the constant drip-drop of water outside my window, I finally managed to fall asleep and grew convinced that there was only one person who could explain the meaning and the source of the noise: Samuel Pepys.

I believe this history lark is really beginning to mess with my head. In the nicest possible way. Just like this song.

That is all.

The fruits of 22 labours

It's been some time since I've written any kind of a book report here. Let me amend that lapse now. I know that's what you're all have been clamouring for at the backs of your minds, without really even knowing it. 

I won't go through all the historical books I read last summer - for after checking my reading diary I noticed that there is quite a number of them, most dealing with the Austen/Napoleon period, most appropriately. The memory of most of those, however, has now been blocked by Wolf Hall - which I'm reading now, and which is every bit as fantastic as they say it is. The (perhaps only) problem with a book of that stature is that it tends to overshadow everything else I'm reading at the time, diluting the pleasure of other books by reminding just how good prose can get. 

Fortunately Wolf Hall is facing some fierce competition; one of the books I read about a month ago refuses to be blotted out by another. I'm talking about Stella Tillyard's Aristocrats, a real-life story of four Lennox sisters whose lives spanned the latter part of the 18th century. The book has been made into a TV series, and that's how I first became aware of  the lives  of these quite amazing women some years ago. The splendour of the setting is one thing (after all, Caroline, Emily, Louisa and Sarah Lennox were aristocrats born and bred, and wed into well-connected and wealthy families), but what strikes me most is the sheer tenacity of the Lennox women and their strong mutual affection and loyalty, which must have carried them through some hard times.

I mean, if you've given birth to 22 children (like Emily did), you'll be mighty glad of some family support. 

Tudor times were also an era when family connections paid off; this at least was emphasised in Philippa Gregory's The Other Boleyn Girl.  I really liked the novel, especially Gregory's effortless depiction of Renaissance England and the court of Henry VIII, as well as her frank descriptions of the ribaldries that went on there. Placing Mary Boleyn in the centre of the story (instead of her more illustrious sister) is a good choice, as it gives the plot an element of suspense (after all, we all know what happened to Anne Boleyn). Yet I was somewhat disappointed in the rather straightforward solution of making Anne the scheming shrew and Mary the motherly lady-in-waiting who is all heart and loving tenderness. The Career Woman vs. the Mother debate in a nutshell = one gets her head chopped off, another gets to settle down with a good man of her choice.

Another book which gave me some ambivalent feelings is Mrs Caliban and Other Stories by Rachel Ingalls, which I just finished. I liked the slightly twisted starting points of the stories (including people being kidnapped by grannies in Switzerland, cheating their wives with a lifelike doll, or getting caught in a rain of frogs), but their solutions were depressingly rather similar. Most of the men (boyfriends, husbands, bosses) were portrayed as heartless bastards who only use women for their own gratification and start slapping them around when they show some character. That may work well to illustrate an important point in one novel, but after seven or eight of the same, the reader (or at least I) begins to feel the need of some more life-affirming stuff. 

Perhaps that's why I've been listening to a lot of Monty Python lately.

British Comedy Season, Pt. 3: Smack the Pony

It's been some time since I've tackled comedy on this blog, but last night I watched some Smack the Pony, and was inspired.

There are still very few all (or most-) women comedy shows around, especially on primetime TV. The reason it took me a while to get acquainted with Smack the Pony was its woefully late airing time. Which it a shame, for STP was the wittiest, most absurd, and definitely the most feminist comedy on Finnish telly at the time.

What I love about the show is its ingenious way of taking everyday situations and turning them into something that could almost happen: having a pregnancy test turn orange instead of blue; taking revenge on your annoying flatmate by mixing washing-up liquid into her yogurt - or, meeting a lexically challenged postgirl:

I think everyone who's ever had to write English can sympathise with her despair over silent Gs, and the irrationality of spelling F with PH.

Another great thing about Smack the Pony are the recurring features, like these deliciously random dating agency videos:

I mean, EGG! who would have a BIG EGG! problem dating her?

All great comedies also have music in them, and STP doesn't let you down in this sense, either. At the end of each episode there is usually a music video parodying some current musical trend, ranging from peppy girl groups to trance. My current favourite, however, is this:

I nearly fall off my chair laughing every time Doon Mackihan comes in with that wonderfully earnest rap voice of hers. Woof-de-woof, indeed.

Art, For Art's Sake!

 

 

This year's hibernation is finally coming to an end, at least when it comes to sampling bits and pieces of art and culture. Yesterday was really hyper-active in that department, and it looks like next week will be quite busy as well. Which suits me just fine. 

Yesterday Juzka and I set out to find how much popular culture one can find and consume within an evening; as it turns out, quite a lot. First, we went to the cinema to check out the latest Disney flick. I've never been an ardent fan of that particular genre, but as far as predictable and visually pleasing fairy-tales go, The Princess and the Frog was fairly enjoyable.  I especially liked the music (composed by none other than Randy Newman).  I'm actually listening to the soundtrack right now (bless you, Spotify!) - and I can say that the original versions are even more jazzy than the Finnish ones (although they weren't un-groovy either). 

After the film, we had some lovely soup and pasta and wine at Soppabaari (one of my favourite restaurants), and then headed for the theatre to see The Crucible.

I can't pretend that I was aware of the work before (although as a former English major I probably should have been) - and the only thing I knew about the play before seeing it was that it dealt with the Salem witchcraft trials. So at least you can say that I wasn't exactly expecting a comedy. And comedic it certainly wasn't; instead, there were shrieking women, selfish judges, witchcraft (real and imagined), deception, false accusations and death aplenty. Lovely.

Basically I liked the play; most of the characters were well cast, and the actors embraced the chaotic atmoshphere of 17th century Salem convincingly. The only major thing that hindered my enjoyment were the ridiculous and illogical costumes. Some characters were dressed in more or less accurate period clothes, others looked like they'd been imported from Victorian England - and the rest had apparently thrown on any black-and-white garments they'd happened upon (black and white being the thematic colours). 

The greatest sartorial faux-pas, however, was the ridiculous waist-length black wig worn by the Deputy Governor, with strange curly bits on top, which made him look like a cross between a Goth and a badly permed granny. But perhaps that was the whole idea.

Finally Juzka and I ended up in a pub, listening to a mediocre U2 cover band. We did manage to make some serious plans for empire dresses, though, which was good. 

Oh, and here's a thing I just have to share with you. This song never fails to tickle my anachronistic fancy:

British Comedy Season, Pt. 2: Blackadder

Brits make wonderful costume drama, and as we all know, they also make cracking comedy. Now, when it comes to combining the two, rarely has there been a better effort than  Blackadder, which ran for four series between 1983 and 1989.

The consensus seems to be that the first season, which is set in the Middle Ages, is the weakest of the four, as the concept is still a bit underdeveloped and Edmund Blackadder (Rowan Atkinson) tries to wear too many hats, character-wise (so, instead of just being scheming and rude, as in the later series, he's also ambitious, cowardly, self-important, and god knows what else). However, I never found this to be a problem: a complex character can be just as funny as a flat one, or even more so. It's perhaps the Mr Bean-like antics he could have done without.

What I love about the first series is the mixing of Shakespearean dialogue with unpredictably silly scenes. Most of the brilliancy is down to the casting. Peter Cook is wonderful as the unjustly murdered Richard III (A horse! A hooor-se... my kindom for a hoooor-se.... Ah! Horsie!), and Miriam Margolyes makes a tremendous appearance as the overamorous Spanish infanta. Yet the character who (at least for me) makes the entire series is the wonderfully energetic Richard IV, played with great gusto by Brian Blessed and his beard ("Blood! Death! War! Rumpy-Pumpy!") . Here, too, we get Baldrick (later merely Blackadder's downtrodden sidekick) showing his true potential as a skilfull political schemer. (What I've never cared for is the casual violence which in the later series features in most of the Blackadder-Baldrick interaction.)

I haven't yet seen all the episodes of the third and fourth series, but from what I've seen,  Blackadder Goes Forth is the superior, as it so poignantly combines the tragedy and downright silliness of war. Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie are both in their element - Fry as a bumbling general (BAAA!) , and Laurie as a Bertie Wooster-type clueless aristocrat.

However, my favourite series is the second, set in Elizabethan England, and brimming with excellent writing, great acting and absurd characters. Fistly, there's Blackadder's cross-dressing fiancé Bob, who is later stolen by none other than Rik Mayall (Woof!); there's Bernard the Nursie, who still considers Queen Elizabeth to be a little girl - and finally there's Queenie herself, who may as well be a little girl in court dress, sceptre and the power to cut off peoples' heads. My favourite scene in the whole of Blackadder (which used to be on youtube, but like most  BA clips, was quickly taken down) features Queenie laying down the law after a night of drunken revelry:

"I may have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a concrete elephant. First I'm going to have a little drinkie - and then I'm going to execute the whole bally lot of you!"

As I said, unlike most Monty Python material (which is virtually in the public domain nowadays), Blackadder clips don't remain on youtube for long. Luckily, a special episode of the series survives in its entirety - and appropriately enough, it's a sort of reversal of Dickens's Christmas Carol. Enjoy!

Merry messy Xmas to you all!

British Comedy Season, Pt. 1: Monty Python

I did promise a couple of weeks ago to start a series of posts about my favourite British comedy shows, and in case anyone is wondering whether I've forgotten this promise, I can now confidently answer: no, I haven't.

Although I'd watched loads of British comedy before I was aware of Monty Python - and although there were many brilliant TV comedies before The Flying Circus came along (chronologically speaking), I think no other show has had quite the same influence (on me, or on British comedy) over the years.  Also,  as it's now the 40th anniversary of the first broadcast of the series, so I think Pythons are a very good place to start.

For me, the first encounter with the Python phenomena didn't come through the TV series,  but through the films. When I was around 17, YLE broadcast The Holy Grail and The Life of Brian, and especially the first of those hit me over the head with the proverbial rubber chicken. To this day, it's one of the few films I know by heart, and quote at unsuspecting people (the only other films are A Hard Day's Night and Help!. I suppose I was a bit of a Beatles geek as a teenager).

There are so many brilliant bits in The Holy Grail that it's hard to pick only one. However, the Knights Who Say 'Ni' sequence is one of the highlights of the film, as it includes not only the bewildered King Arthur and his long-suffering entourage, the wonderfully silly Knights, and Roger the Shrubber - but also Brave Sir Robin and his minstrels (who get eaten towards the end of the film. There are just so many random elements around that it's amazing they hang so well together.

After wearing out the VHS tape on which I'd preserved both of the aforementioned films, I finally got to the real thing - the Flying Circus TV series, which of course blew me away (and gave me loads of whole new quoting material). I generally like the more 'literary' stuff (like the sketch in which John Cleese and Graham Chapman - dressed as suburban housewives - get into an argument about existentialism, and sail to France in order to ask Jean-Paul Sartre which one of them is right); the 'Dead Parrot' sketch, for instance, is a bit too shouty and violent to my taste. However, one of my absolute favourites is the 'Cheese Shop' sketch, which works along similar lines, but is much more clever and verbally acrobatic (it also features some lovely dancing).

After watching this, I always get a craving for Venezuelan beaver cheese, for some reason.

As there's so much good stuff to choose from, it's nigh impossible to name my absolute favourite Flying Circus sketch. This court scene one, however, encapsulates many things that I adore about Monty Python. It's got Eric Idle giving a mock-Olivier address to the court, John Cleese hopping about in wig and gown, Graham Chapman both as a voluable lady and a keen-eyed police inspector, and Michael Palin as Cardinal Richelieu (complete with pink robes and a personal microphone). Yet my favourite bit comes at the very end.

A guy in a suit of armour, wielding a rubber chicken. That would come in handy at my Doctoral defence ceremony, as a kind of rhetorical device - in case my carefully prepared argumentation fails to impress the audience and my opponent. 

(In case any of my friends are reading: this is what I'd like for Christmas. One suit of armour, one rubber chicken, and someone willing to act as a rhetorical device in the near future. Please.)

Later That Same Wednesday...

Well I'll be damned. After having complained for ages about the non-existent progress of my Licentiate, it seems I'm soon being robbed of this particular joy. This morning I got a call from our professor, who had finally got things moving at the department, and arranged the defence for 13th of October.

And he said there'd be cake.

This is of course great news, and also means that I'll have to stop all this complaining, and actually get some work done towards the PhD in the near future. But I'm in no particular hurry to get my silly hat and sword just yet. In the meanwhile, I'll concentrate on teaching (I'm planning of smuggling some Beatles into the first literature lecture) - and all those lovely extracurricular things.

Speaking of which, lately I've been watching loads of classic Brit comedy on Youtube (seriously - what did people DO before Youtube?) - and for some reason I always end up watching Blackadder, or something by Fry and Laurie (with or without Rowan Atkinson). I'm planning of doing a separate post on either (or both) of these in the future, but here's a little something I discovered the other day browsing around. This clip features Emma Thompson and Stephen Fry doing what they do best (i.e. saying absurd things in impossible upper-class accents): 

Ebsolutely fentestic!

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Brits do know how to make first-class costume drama. And comedy. And comic costume drama. And Emma Thompson and Stephen Fry are gorgeous.

Perhaps I should include this in my lecture as well...?

Turned out nice again

After a week or so of glorious autumn weather, even I am finding it hard to constantly complain about things. So before the darkness and general grumpiness set in, I thought I'd better do a post about things I've been enjoying lately.

To start off, some music: Nellie McKay is an amazing artist who does Broadway-style songs with a twist (most of the times a political one), and liberally mixes all kinds of musical influecces ranging from jazz to rap. It's nice to hear some fresh protest songs in this cynical, passivist time.

Along with Joni Mitchell, I've been listening to a lot of English folk lately - June Tabor and Norma Waterson in particular. Great voices. Oh, and Martha Wainwright's 'Bloody Motherfucking Asshole' has been going around something silly in my mp3 player.

Thanks to my friend Fidia, I rediscovered Smack the Pony, which in my view is the most brilliant tv comedy series since Monty Python.





I never knew a bull could look so melancholy...

Finally, I must confess (and this shouldn't come as a surprise to those who know me) that I'm in awe of the British skill for making costume drama. I don't know which appeals to me most: the great actors (whose greatest quality is that they can get through a page-long sentence from Jane Austen without appearing at all constipated - and not the fact that they look great in corsets - although many of them do), the amazing locations, or the respect and sense of humour with which the 'classics' are treated. These people actually look like they've lived in that set, in those clothes, in that society.

The 1995 adaptations of Pride and Prejudice (the BBC series) and Sense and Sensibility (with Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman) are my favourites, but there's a marvellous one of Persuasion also from the same year. Amanda Root plays the sad-eyed Anne Elliot to perfection, but I particularly like Sophie Thompson's portrayal of her constantly ailing sister Mary.



I can also fully symphatise with Anne's dislike of Bath.