God On Film

 

Cecil B. de Mille had two stabs at filming The Ten Commandments, both gargantauan affairs, the second (the first is a silent film) coming in at approaching four hours. Channel 5 did their bit for religiosity on the box at Easter by showing the 1956 talkie. It has its merits although the special effects seem, by modern standards, vaguely comical. Never mind, it still looks opulent and, for all its length, it fair rattles along. Nor can one criticise the scene-stealing efforts of Heston and Brynner in the two principal roles. I have a soft spot for this sort of Hollywood excess and Easter is the right time for what we might term, God - the Movie. 65/100.

I followed up my creditable efforts in the gale at Royal St. David's by assuming that I was all set to take the Royal Pype Hayes apart. Think again Pig. The usual middling golf was all I could manage and the pattern repeated itself on a visit with the QMT lads to Forest of Arden last week - we've got some vouchers we're using up. We played on the second course at F of A, the Aylesford, which I think is a tidy enough test. It was in commendable nick and I played really quite adequately on fourteen holes but allowed the others to debase my card. Back to The Royal Pype Hayes this evening - could this be time for that long-awaited breakthrough? No, would be the answer you are searching for. Old dogs and new tricks come to mind.

The war in Ukraine rages on and it is impossible to feel other than a disenfranchised observer. It is beyond my powers as commentator but its effect on domestic politics does strike me as noteworthy. In one of those horrible twists of political fate, this immoral war has come to the rescue of our own immoral Prime Minister. It is tempting to fall into the trap of saying that at such a time of international (not to mention economic) crisis we should not be indulging in squabbles about the leadership of the Conservative Party. Tempting yes, but wrong nonetheless. I watched the shameless scoundrel Johnson in parliament last week. He would have us believe that he was just too pig ignorant to understand that the parties he attended were in breach of the regulations he so consistently ordained for the rest of us. He is not that stupid. Bloody liar.  

 

God Is In His Heaven

That oft quoted line from Browning came to me the other day as I surveyed the windswept links at Harlech from the safety of the lounge bar - I am nothing if not unoriginal - probably my mean grammar school education.

I had just completed eighteen holes at Royal St. David's in the company of Big Willy Mac. The wind was severe (this is an understatement), certainly sufficient to scare more sensible souls off the course. Thus the two of us had these world-class links to ourselves. Fantastic, bloody fantastic. No day for keeping a scorecard but I can immodestly tell you that I parred the last (as I had done on my previous visit to RSD) and secured a narrow victory, BWM having come to grief in a greenside bunker. BWM took defeat in good part (our lifetime score sits well in his favour) as a man might well do when he is a member of as august a club as RSD. BWM moved to North Wales only recently and still maintains a country membership at his original club, Cavendish in Buxton, another wonderful course. To have been a member of two such great institutions might seem a tad on the lucky side but I can assure you that Willy is a sterling being and deserves whatever luck comes his way.

I am at Plas Piggy, the last of the floors having been laid yesterday - it looks brilliant and has removed pretty much the last vestige of my own DIY improvements to the place. Tempus fugit - it is closing in on quarter of a century since we bought the house. The best investment of my life, even with the extortionate penalty Council Tax. 

 When last I blogged I was lamenting the truly dreadful film, Blacklight. A happier report today of a worthy film - Animal Farm is a 1954 animation (I believe it may have been the first such British feature) which faithfully adapts George Orwell's important fable. It is understated and for the most part avoids the temptation to burnish the story with any winsome comedy - it would be difficult to imagine Disney not falling into that trap. As I say, worthy, and thereby mildly underwhelming, but nevertheless worth the effort. Better still read the book again. 63/100.  

Setting Low Bars

The Taken series of films get progressively worse but at least they have a certain panache on their side. The violence is gratuitous but stylish and the Liam Neeson character has a good strap-line what with his very particular set of skills. But don't worry I'm not going to trouble you with an evaluation of Taken - I've probably done that somewhere else. No, I must alert you to something altogether worse. Massively, egregiously, painfully worse. Ladies and gentlemen I give you Blacklight.

Somebody thought Neeson was worth another outing as gun-toting avenger notwithstanding that we are edging close to his seventieth birthday. They even give him another nice line ('You're going to need more men') but that line is deployed far more tellingly in the trailer than in the film itself. I don't blame Neeson - take the money and run mate. Bu, oh, that script. It's so full of holes it's indecent. And as for its obvious belief that it is somehow going to be the action genre's answer to All the President's Men, well grow up you idiots. This is a scandalous waste of time and effort. I would however admit that it is worth watching for a laugh. Not as bad as The Jackal but pretty bloody bad all the same. 31/100.   

It Catches All Of Us Eventually

That at least is how I feel at present. On the very morning (yesterday) that I was looking forward to a knock at the Belfry, I felt a tad ropey so dutifully took a Covid test and, Sod's Law at work, I joined the infected millions. I have felt more than just slightly ill today and I'm unwarrantedly knackered but, all in all, I think I'm relieved to have had some symptoms - it would feel wrong to be asymptomatic. So here I am, feeling that masculine self-pity (the Groupie is powering through the virus) and writing for your delectation. You have been tuning-in to the blog in greater numbers recently. Not anything earth-shattering but thank you anyway.

Sean Connery has more presence than any other actor I can think of (and I have considered Brando and Bryner) and he brings this to bear in The Hunt for Red October. He plays a Russian submarine commander with a distinguished Scots brogue but none of this matters - the camera devours him. The movie is based on Tom Clancy's Cold War pot-boiler and does it s job very nicely. I have to confess that, despite my dubious status as a student of literature, Clancy is one of my guilty pleasures. The man can do plot. As for the film, 69/100.  

A Culinary Discovery

You all know me - I'm a world recognised connoisseur of fine food. You knew that didn't you? Well, that being so, how is it that only as I approach my sixty-second birthday (I know, it's kind of you to say so - that's clean living for you) have I discovered something as delicious as Chinese Takeaway Salt and Pepper Chips, also known as Salt and Chilli Chips. I was introduced to these on Saturday evening by Daughter Number 2 with whom we were staying in that Manchester. Bloody Hell, these things are magic. I swilled mine down with a Reserva Rioja, having had an earlier pint of Timothy Taylor at the pub. Life's been good to me so far.

It has finally caught up with us - the Groupie has gone down with Covid. She feels quite a bit ropey but is handling it better than I would. Thus far I am testing negative and hope to maintain that status to allow me to play golf with the lads tomorrow. Got to get your priorities right on these occasions.

DN2 was on good form at the weekend and we had a satisfying time getting her garden into shape. I can't get over-enthusiastic about gardening, preferring to let things get just out of hand so that you can wade in and enjoy the full fruits of the labour of tidying-up. I exclude lawn-mowing from this sentiment - because, as any fule kno, ownership of a petrol mower is one of the greatest things known to man. DN2 doesn't have a lawn but she does know how to handle a petrol mower because her doting father taught her this vital life skill when she was back home last year. Chip off the old block. DN1 (resident in that London) doesn't have a lawn either but she is a keen horticulturalist and lives with copious plantage. They do make you proud. Behold the only things greater than yourself.

 

I May Just Have Been A Very Small Bit Wrong ... Perhaps

You have to admire (well almost) our shameless politicians and their inability to admit any error. I, you will be relieved to hear, am not cut from that cloth. No, the Pig is wrong quite a lot and, if forced/shamed to do so, will admit as much.

And no, I am not about to ask forgiveness for my failure as a tipster on the second day at Cheltenham. Put it this way, you have been very lucky that I didn't belabour you with my selections for the final two days of the Festival. Thanks to that semi-stellar first day, I finished well up on the whole thing but we were playing for small stakes so my lifestyle (already rather cavalier) hasn't changed.

The Pig in academic mode

As I said above, that was not the subject of my confession. The true subject is Cymbeline. I have been reading, watching and thinking about this play a lot for the past few weeks and I must recant of my view (expressed here and elsewhere I am ashamed to say) that is not a very good play. You already knew this but the Bard of Avon deserves a better critic than the Pig. It may be the least satisfactory of the five Roman Plays on stage but it rewards careful attention. Here's the shocker - it's a good play. Now all I've got to do is to redraft the chapter in my thesis and put the record straight.

Don't you just hate it when I'm wrong.

The Secret To Successful Gambling

A slightly odd feeling this morning as the build-up to the Cheltenham Festival cranked into full motion. Odd because I know that I am not going this year. I have other commitments. So today I played golf at The Belfry courtesy of the largesse of CDL who was kind enough to share a gift fourball with JRS, BH and your correspondent the Pig. It was on the Derby which is the least of the three courses at The Belfry but made a nice change from the mud-bound Pype Hayes and reminded us all what decent greens are like. I played quite passably as it happens.

Look very carefully and you will note that the Pig is not there.

Anyway I promised you the secret to successful gambling, to be precise successful gambling at Cheltenham. Well here it is - don't go. I confined myself to a £2.40 worth of penny accumulators and managed to show a 2500% return on my investment.  So for those of you who want to be ahead of the game, here are tomorrow's horse for some penny investments - Stage Star, L'Homme Presse, The Shunter, Shiskin, Prengrade, Editeur du Gite, and Poetic Music. Small print: you may get back less than you invest, in fact judging by previous form, you may get back precisely bugger all. But you'll never win the lottery if you don't buy a ticket.