Commenting as FilmMeister (8/23/2020)

 The 39 Steps (1935)

Touted as a Hitchcockian masterpiece, this one was tough for me to navigate. I know that I tried to watch it Saturday night and failed miserably. I think I’ve tried watching it in the past but have never made it all the way through.

Huzzah! I finally made it through. I still had to visit my good friends IMDb and Wikipedia in order to wend my way through some of the more intricate plot twists and turns. Part of it, for me at least, is the whipcrack-rapid-fire dialogue so prevalent in ’30s cinema. If I can’t hear and understand you, I can’t get plot twists rushing by me at really, really fast speeds. (Not just with this film—I find that this is the case in other early talkies.)

While I enjoyed the performances (even though I was guessing at how they fit/furthered the plot), I was still behind the eight ball an awful lot of the time.

Once I actually saw the final music hall scene, all was revealed. I’m glad I finally lasted long enough to see it.

FilmMeister

Commenting as BookMeister (8/15/20)

The Road to Little Dribbling; Adventures of an American in Britain (© 2015)

What an enjoyable book. I’ve read Mr. Bryson before. He’s a very articulate writer, with the knowledge of just how much snark to throw in as well as just how often to repeat himself. This isn’t a book you can use as a guide for walking in the United Kingdom. Well, you could, just not all at once. Nor did he.

He created an imaginary ‘Bryson Line’ ranging from Bognor Regis in the southwest to Cape Wrath in the northeast. Along the way, he strayed from that line early and often. With wonderful results. He also commented on British railways, British parks, British roadways, British museums, British education, and British food. Oh, he also threw the USofA under the bus a few times too.

I especially liked his reminiscences of Durham Cathedral (which has its own staff architect—I’m not making this up, you know) as I celebrated my fourteenth birthday in Durham. A choir I was a member of assumed the duties of singing services in the cathedral while their choir was on tour in the US.

OK, one snarkism and then I’ll go. “I was immediately attracted to some shirts in the window, entirely because of their name: Seidensticker Splendestos. … I even thought of a slogan for the company: ‘Splendesto—when splendid isn’t good enough.’ … I had an excellent evening. When the waitress cleared my plate she asked me how my meal was. ‘Oh, splendesto,’ I said and meant it most sincerely.”

OK, two. How could I forget this one? “Cornwall ... isn’t a county at all but a duchy—a distinction the Cornish are very sensitive about. (You could say that it is a touchy duchy.)” For the record. Little Dribbling is not an actual place. Cornwall is.

I’m not a Goodreads person; I do not need to set up yet one more online persona/account/password. I do, however, recommend this book.

ConcertMeister