I am almost confident that the brief clip of Kathleen Harrison that leads off Lone Scherfig's Their Finest (2016) has to come from A Call for Arms! (1940), since the latter was a propaganda short aimed at women released in the right year by the Ministry of Information, but I wouldn't mind verification from anyone in a country where BFI Player actually works. Would it have killed the end credits to identify the footage? People care about these things who aren't even me. In other news, I had wanted to see the movie for the last five years, I appreciate it manifesting on one of the free channels, I enjoyed it very much, I think I am running entirely out of tolerance for advertising. This one crashed at least three delicate emotional moments with ad breaks; it was worse than a voiceover in an Anthony Mann noir. At least if I read the better-titled novel, I can only be interrupted by the cat.
2022-04-14
I just told ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch that life is a series of exhaustions and interruptions. I spent the day so tired, I almost fell asleep once at my desk and once on the couch and both times my phone jolted me awake, which in the latter case was especially unappreciated. Rob made me a spider cake when he got home from work. His place of work has multiple staff out with COVID. We will be testing before joining the rest of my family for Pesach. One plague-time Seder would have been enough.
I am going to need to read Winifred Holtby's South Riding (1936), because if Victor Saville's South Riding (1938) is at all a faithful transfer of its source material, it's got to be a speedrun. Subplots alternate so rapidly onscreen, you can miss crucial information without even blinking. I imagine the politics were more nuanced in the original, too, and chronologically it cannot have ended by observing the coronation of George VI and Elizabeth, however reassuringly it permits once opposed ideological elements to reconcile in the singing of "Land of Hope and Glory." On the other hand, I cannot disdain any film which offers me Ralph Richardson as a full-fledged romantic lead and John Clements as the local socialist with TB—he answers a charge of being "yellow" with a faintly smiling, "Oh, no, I'm not. I'm not even pale pink. I'm red. Scarlet," then double-entendres the declaration with an inevitable cough. Plus Glynis Johns in her screen debut and about forty-five seconds of Skelton Knaggs. The photography by Harry Stradling is very good open-air black-and-white. If it wasn't a faithful transfer, I'm still interested to see what it was transferred from.
Courtesy of a friend who is not on DW: what to feed a budgie during WWII.
I think I had mono the last time I felt like this.
spatch that life is a series of exhaustions and interruptions. I spent the day so tired, I almost fell asleep once at my desk and once on the couch and both times my phone jolted me awake, which in the latter case was especially unappreciated. Rob made me a spider cake when he got home from work. His place of work has multiple staff out with COVID. We will be testing before joining the rest of my family for Pesach. One plague-time Seder would have been enough.I am going to need to read Winifred Holtby's South Riding (1936), because if Victor Saville's South Riding (1938) is at all a faithful transfer of its source material, it's got to be a speedrun. Subplots alternate so rapidly onscreen, you can miss crucial information without even blinking. I imagine the politics were more nuanced in the original, too, and chronologically it cannot have ended by observing the coronation of George VI and Elizabeth, however reassuringly it permits once opposed ideological elements to reconcile in the singing of "Land of Hope and Glory." On the other hand, I cannot disdain any film which offers me Ralph Richardson as a full-fledged romantic lead and John Clements as the local socialist with TB—he answers a charge of being "yellow" with a faintly smiling, "Oh, no, I'm not. I'm not even pale pink. I'm red. Scarlet," then double-entendres the declaration with an inevitable cough. Plus Glynis Johns in her screen debut and about forty-five seconds of Skelton Knaggs. The photography by Harry Stradling is very good open-air black-and-white. If it wasn't a faithful transfer, I'm still interested to see what it was transferred from.
Courtesy of a friend who is not on DW: what to feed a budgie during WWII.
I think I had mono the last time I felt like this.