The Lavender Hill Mob

I don't remember ever seeing The Lavender Hill Mob before, though it's a film I've heard about since I was a kid (it came out when I was six) and have wanted to catch up with for a long time.

I finally caught up on it on DVD yesterday, and what a joy it is. It has a wonderful cast, led by Alec Guinness (with a wonderful inability to pronounce the letter R) and Stanley Holloway (seemingly full of his own importance, but a softie at heart), along with Syd James and Alfie Bass (as two small-time crooks brought in to help the completely inexperienced gold thieves, Guinness and Holloway). Charles Crichton takes T E B Clarke's daft script and gives it all he's got. What a team they were.

The premise is that the extremely mild-manned Guinness, who accompanies gold bullion from the factory to the Bank on a regular basis, has hatched a plan to snaffle the latest shipment. He just needs an accomplice who fits with his plan. Holloway, whom he meets by accident, runs a small factory making gewgaws (the Factory's name, in fact) for the tourist trade. Amongst these are metal Eiffel Towers which are painted gold and sold to tourists...in Paris. If the towers are actually gold, and not just gold-painted, they can be easily shipped to Paris and stored there for future sale to those who are in the market for illegal gold. The two work together and everything goes well, until...

Well, you have to watch it to see how complicated it gets, but the result is a delight. There are so many wonderful details: Alfie Bass is the tiny little crook, but his shadow as he climbs through a window is enormous; Guinness wearing a knotted handkerchief on his head as they pour the gold, an angelic smile on his face; the crazy attempt to get through French customs where they're constantly sent back for yet another check by the annoying French officials; the totally daft car chase at the end with police cars chasing each other rather than the 'villains', an American driver's car aerial getting entangled with the police aerial so that Old MacDonald has a farm goes out to all the police cars, and a policeman, hitching a lift with Guinness and Holloway rousingly joins in the song.

Or the old lady who lives in the same boarding house as Guinness and Holloway and who asks, in crime detection language, if the police have sorted things out. And the woman who owns the boarding house, a harridan of sorts who's only four foot something high. Or the way Guinness is supposed to be roughed up by his co-villains, and isn't, and has to do the job himself while tied up with rope and blindfolded. It's endlessly inventive, and much of the humour is hard to describe because of its particularly cinematic nature.

The wonderful Britishness of it all is another marvellous aspect. Was Britain ever really like this, with comic faces and eccentric attitudes on every street corner? It's hard to know, but those who made the Ealing Comedies certainly thought so, and they've left a picture of Britain for us that is heartwarming and hilarious.

Oh, and watch out for the tiniest of appearances from Audrey Hepburn, near the beginning of the movie.

Advertising Ireland

Now this is the way to advertise your country...!  Although perhaps only the Irish could do it quite this way (with NZeders a close second)....

Robert Nye, poem and song

Still working my way along on the composing front. In preparation for the concert I'd like to do at some point in the next year, I've now got four piano pieces ready (all four of which are going to be played at a concert presented by someone else next weekend), and three songs. Not a large body of work as yet, but it's a beginning. Make that four songs - I wrote another the other day which isn't part of the group of songs I'm working on.
I'd been reading Alec Guinness' A Commonplace Book, which was published posthumously, and came across a poem by Robert Nye, called The Cockerel. The first time I read it, an approach to making it into a song came straight into my head, and stuck there - something that's rather unusual with poems, for me. So the tune that I've written is pretty close to my original idea, though of course it's been shifted around a bit to make it singable! It's the sort of song my friend Brent Read would do well, so I'll have to suggest it to him.
It would be great to think that all this writing would increase the amount in my savings account, but on the basis of the income from my last concert, I can't see that happening in a hurry. Admittedly I made a profit from my last concert, which was a nice surprise, but it was hardly enough to keep me functioning without doing real work.

Alec Guinness

A Commonplace Book, by Alec Guinness, which I discovered by accident the other day at the library, is a wonderful collection of quotes, odd dreams, poems, comments, wit, and a delight in life. There are plenty of wise sayings amongst them but in spite of that a few of the slight less wise ones took my fancy:

The three most important things a man has are, briefly, his private parts, his money, and his religious opinions. Samuel Butler.
Guinness comments: I am tempted to add: the first two diminish with age and only the last is rigid.

Guinness tells a little story:
On our return from church:
Lapsed Catholic: 'Have a nice mass?'
Self wanted to reply: 'Oh, you know, the same old thing. The Real Presence at the altar, body, blood, soul, divinity of Christ, as usual.'

A quote from Sydney Smith, writing in the Edinburgh Review, in an article called, Catholics.
Little or nothing is to be expected from the shame of deferring what is is so wicked and perilous to defer. Profligacy in taking office is so extreme, that we have no doubt public men may be found, who, in half a century, would postpone all remedies for a pestilence, if the preservation of their places depended upon the propagation of the virus.

A quote from Matthew Arnold: It is a sad thing to see a man who has been frittered away piecemeal by petty distractions, and who has never done his best. But it is still sadder to see a man who has done his best, who has reached his utmost limits - and finds his work a failure, and himself far less than he had imagined himself.

There are several other bits I'd like to quote - I'll just have to find them again!

But......Why?

You have to wonder if some people have too little to do in life. Ashrita Furman recently attempted the world record for using a metal hula hoop under water. He lasted all of 2 minutes 20 seconds while standing completely under water, with curious dolphins from the Island Dolphin Care facility swimming close by – and no doubt wondering what the heck the guy was up to. As I do.
Furman has apparently set 144 official Guinness records and is still the holder of 59 current records. He has set records in all 7 continents and in more than 30 different countries.
Why? Is this a way to achieve lasting fame? Apparently not, if someone is going to come along and beat your record at the drop of a hat. And what’s the value of such records as standing under water using a hula hoop? Why would you want to create such a record? It seems to me to have a lot in common with those art works known as ‘happenings’ where the point of the thing is barely discernible, or ‘installations’ where things like several crates of oranges are flung around the floor randomly – and that’s it.
Are we so short of records to achieve in the world that we have to stand under water with a hula hoop? Maybe we are.