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I'm blunter than a bull's-eye
After failing to sleep for three nights in a row, I conked out last night well before two in the morning and remained that way for nine or ten hours, which was just as well because this afternoon I had to go to the dentist's. I consoled myself with high-rises on Bowdoin Street.
Reading just now that Edgar Wallace's The Calendar (1930) was novelized from the author's successful stage play of the previous year makes a lot of sense of its talkative, minimally descriptive style, but I nonetheless enjoyed its mix of romance and crime which often reads like proto-Dick Francis, not only because of its detailed setting in the world of British horse racing—even the premise of an owner trying to clear his name after being warned off the turf for a piece of cheating he'll need help proving he changed his mind about at the last minute—but because the plot revolves entirely around the rules and regulations of the Jockey Club. The bookmaker who is one of the protagonist's best friends may be my favorite character, although I really appreciate that the reader can see the protagonist's feelings changing toward the love interest before he can. I am intrigued that the original play was adapted for film twice, both times by Gainsborough. The 1948 version seems readily available on the internet. The problem is that the 1931 version is the one which stars Herbert Marshall, Edna Best, Gordon Harker, Alfred Drayton, Nigel Bruce etc. I hope it hasn't been lost. Trying to trace it under its American title of Bachelor's Folly, I found a 1932 profile of Marshall which attributes his romantic appeal essentially to hurt/comfort. "Show me the woman who can resist the appeal of a handsome, injured man . . ."
I hope it would please Stephen Sondheim that when I encounter an article about the manhunt for John Wilkes Booth, the first phrase to my mind is "C'mere and kill a president!"
Reading just now that Edgar Wallace's The Calendar (1930) was novelized from the author's successful stage play of the previous year makes a lot of sense of its talkative, minimally descriptive style, but I nonetheless enjoyed its mix of romance and crime which often reads like proto-Dick Francis, not only because of its detailed setting in the world of British horse racing—even the premise of an owner trying to clear his name after being warned off the turf for a piece of cheating he'll need help proving he changed his mind about at the last minute—but because the plot revolves entirely around the rules and regulations of the Jockey Club. The bookmaker who is one of the protagonist's best friends may be my favorite character, although I really appreciate that the reader can see the protagonist's feelings changing toward the love interest before he can. I am intrigued that the original play was adapted for film twice, both times by Gainsborough. The 1948 version seems readily available on the internet. The problem is that the 1931 version is the one which stars Herbert Marshall, Edna Best, Gordon Harker, Alfred Drayton, Nigel Bruce etc. I hope it hasn't been lost. Trying to trace it under its American title of Bachelor's Folly, I found a 1932 profile of Marshall which attributes his romantic appeal essentially to hurt/comfort. "Show me the woman who can resist the appeal of a handsome, injured man . . ."
I hope it would please Stephen Sondheim that when I encounter an article about the manhunt for John Wilkes Booth, the first phrase to my mind is "C'mere and kill a president!"
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Eek! Nowadays I'm at the can't walk straight, "SLEEP NAOW!" stage after one missed night, never mind three.
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