Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Doctor Who's 47th Anniversary



 

William Hartnell as Doctor Who in "An Unearthly Child"   


     Today, November 23rd, is the 47th anniversary of the first BBC transmission of ""An Unearthly Child", the first episode of Doctor Who, and I believe it is an anniversary worth marking.

     Given its 26-year original run and subsequent revivals, I assume Doctor Who will always wear the mantle of longest-running television program ever. For any and all of its ups-and-downs, the show is deservedly well loved.

     During the years I worked as a lawyer for CBS/FOX Video, we acted as BBC's home video marketer and distributor in North America.  CBS/FOX released an enormous amount of Doctor Who programming, all of it for the first time on home video, on a regular basis to a fairly sizable, ultra-fanatic audience.

     When you work as in-house counsel for a media company and have acquired a good reputation for problem-solving,  all of the weird and unclassifiable telephone calls and inquiries the company receives are sent your way.  Because of this, I found myself regularly dealing the "Who-vians" (i.e., Doctor Who ultra-fans), who would call enthusiastically and persistently with the most obscure questions imaginable about anything and everything. An earlier stint working in a record company publicity department  prepared me a little bit for the excessive level of personal devotion some people are capable of exercising regarding matters outside of their family, friends and work life, but the Who-vian passion surpassed anything I had previously experienced or could imagine.  Because the calls sometimes produced  unsatisfactory endings for the caller (not every question elicits the "right" answer) or tedious follow-up work for me (while it's good and important to "keep the customer satisfied", there are practical limits), I eventually formed an unfair negative impression of the show.

     However, this ended when one day I decided that I needed to learn more about the Doctor Who series in order to prepare for a substantive work project.  Over a weekend when I was bedridden with flu, I began watching the series.  The first shows I viewed featured Tom Baker in the role of Doctor Who (our head of Marketing, Mindy Pickard, told me that he was the most popular and highly regarded of the various Doctors). I immediately "got it" and understood the show's appeal. 


Tom Baker as Doctor Who


     Fabled shaky scenery and low-tech special effects notwithstanding, Doctor Who is simply character and story-driven television at its best.  Once you've bought into the story and the fantasy (the successive incarnations of Doctor Who, Time Lords, Daleks and, of course, the TARDIS), you found that the show's creative team had worked very hard over the years to keep Doctor Who both fresh and developing, continually interesting and entertaining. And, as is well known, Doctor Who had the best theme music anywhere.

    The original Doctor Who incarnation was played by the veteran character English actor William Hartnell, who will surely be recognizable to fans of British cinema. (Among other well-known roles, Hartnell played  Dallow in John Boulting's 1947 adaptation of Graham Greene's Brighton Rock.)   Hartnell was much scarier and a much tougher nut than the charming Tom Baker.  They are my two favorites Doctors,  but all the original series Doctor Who actors (the others included Patrick Troughton, Jon Pertwee, Sylvester McCoy, Colin Baker and Peter Davison) had their moments.


William Hartnell entering TARDIS


     "An Unearthly Child" was originally broadcast on November 23, 1963, the night following the assassination of John F. Kennedy.  That's a spooky, resonant thought and it's difficult to imagine what it must have been like to watch a new science-fiction fantasy show during those profoundly difficult days, even outside the U.S.  For what it's worth, the first week's ratings were disappointing, but viewership quickly picked up in succeeding weeks and the rest is literally "history".

     Following, if you care to read on, is an interesting summary of  "An Unearthly Child" and the early days of the series, which I have borrowed from a fan site in celebration of the anniversary.  Although I hesitate to recommend more television viewing to anyone (personally I'm trying to lay off:  things currently seem so grim, the days are getting shorter, and I think it would be good to get out of the house more), but it's easy for me to endorse Doctor Who to non-initiates.  Plus, for any concerned parents, it is definitely and edifyingly "family viewing".  In its odd way, the show is as thought provoking as it is escapist.  The Daleks, while silly, represent a solid and consistent vision of totalitarianism as evil.  And the TARDIS is still a very potent image and concept that has endured and animated a national consciousness for 47 years.


 TARDIS in South Ambersham, Sussex ("Secret Of Loch Ness" episode)



Regarding "An Unearthly Child", Dr. Who Episode, Original BBC Broadcast Date: November 23, 1963:

     "The very first person you see on screen in Doctor Who is a policeman (played by an uncredited Reg Cranfield, trivia fans), walking outside a junkyard in Totters Lane, London. This is the home of Susan Foreman (Carole Ann Ford), a teenaged pupil at local comprehensive Coal Hill School. Susan’s strangeness attracts the attention of two teachers, science master Ian Chesterton (William Russell) and history teacher Barbara Wright (Jacqueline Hill), who one night pay a visit on Susan and her eccentric grandfather, known only as The Doctor…...

     That’s the beginning of “An Unearthly Child”, the first episode of Doctor Who. The series was originated by Sydney Newman, a Canadian-born broadcaster who had had considerable success with ABC’s Armchair Theatre. He had been brought over to the BBC to breathe new life into the then rather stuffy drama department, and Doctor Who was an attempt to bridge a gap between the end of Grandstand and the beginning of Juke Box Jury, a half-hour gap on a Saturday teatime where audiences tended to drop. The BBC had been a rather tradition-bound organisation, but by the early 1960s, with competition from ITV since 1955, new winds were blowing. If Doctor Who seemed new, it was the creation of outsiders and young people: Newman was a Canadian, the producer Verity Lambert was then the only female producer at the BBC and twenty years younger than her youngest male counterpart, while Waris Hussein was the only Asian-born director working then.

     William Hartnell was only fifty-five, though certainly looked at least a decade older. He had become typecast as sergeant majors, notably in the first Carry On film, Carry On Sergeant, though Lambert had been impressed by his seedy bookie in This Sporting Life. By contrast, Carole Ann Ford, playing a teenager, was actually twenty-three and a mother. William Russell had been the star of the 50s series The Adventures of Sir Lancelot (which survives and is available on DVD), and was well qualified to handle any action sequences going. Meanwhile, Jacqueline Hill had built up a distinguished CV since the 1950s.

     Hussein and Lambert had in fact two goes at making that first episode. Unusually, the “pilot” version still exists (and is included on this disc). Small changes were made, such as a generally faster pace, Susan’s costume being more like a 60s teenager (a Mary Quant top, no less), and the Doctor’s characterisation being made less aggressive. Also, the theme tune is somewhat different. In whichever version you watch, the first major coup comes halfway through that first episode, when Ian and Barbara follow The Doctor and Susan into what looks like a contemporary police box…and into the interior of the TARDIS, bigger inside than outside. Given that this and others of the series’ key concepts have taken root in the public consciousness over the last forty-two years, it’s hard to imagine the impact this must have had on its first screening. In fact, audience numbers were a little low, blamed on Kennedy’s assassination that day and also on power failures in certain regions. The first episode was repeated the following week, and an increase in viewers (up to 5.9 million) was noted." 





Monday, November 22, 2010

Book Of Rules by The Heptones -- Misheard Lyric Or Great Unknown Bob Dylan Song?





  

The Heptones

 
     Anyone who has ever had the pleasure of hearing the great 1973 Heptones song "Book of Rules" is unlikely to forget it. The experience probably came while seeing the movie "Rockers" or possibly listening to the album "Night Food" or hearing the song played on the radio.   Like Desmond Dekker's "Israelites", The Wailers' "Stir It Up" and The Paragons' "The Tide Is High", it occupies a secure, unbreachable place as a song most non-reggae aficionados can identify and identify with.  Without being in the slightest a watered-down version of reggae (like, say, Eric Clapton's terrible, logy version of "I Shot The Sheriff"), it's a brilliant example of a "cross-over" hit from another musical culture.

     For me, because of a possibly mis-heard lyric, I've always thought of "Book of Rules" as a great Bob Dylan song not written by Bob Dylan.  According to some internet websites that collect song lyrics, which are notoriously inaccurate, the song's words, apparently borrowed from an oft-quoted, but historically somewhat obscure short poem by an American poet named R.L. Sharpe (1870-1950), seem to be these:

Book of Rules

Isn't it strange how princesses and kings,
in clown-ragged capers in sawdust rings?
While common people like you and me,
we'll be builders for eternity.
Each is given a bag of tools,
a shapeless mass and a Book of Rules

Each must make his life as flowing in,
stumbling block or a stepping stone.
While common people like you and me,
we'll be builders for eternity.
Each is given a bag of tools,
a shapeless mass and a Book of Rules

Look when the rain has fallen from the sky.
I know the sun will be only missing for a little while.
While common people like you and me,
we'll be builders for eternity.
Each is given a bag of tools,
a shapeless mass and a Book of Rules

     The original Sharpe poem, called "A Bag Of Tools", is a short work that reads:

A Bag Of Tools

Isn't it strange
That princes and kings,
And clowns that caper
In sawdust rings
And common people
Like you and me
Are builders for eternity?

Each is given a bag of tools,
A shapeless mass,
A book of rules;
And each must make --
Ere life is flown --
A stumbling block
Or a steppingstone

     Bizarrely, I think, you can hear Dame Maggie Smith recite the poem in this UBS bank commercial.

     The lyric I "misheard", according to the internet transcriptions I found,  is the last line of each verse.  Instead of "mass", I hear "mask".

    What I hear, and what really hit home with me, goes:

"Each is given a bag of tools, 
A shapeless mask and a Book of Rules."

     Both lyrics fit and "work".  However, for me the word "mask" (which I still heard clearly when I listened to the song on headphones this morning and I actually believe is one of several deliberate, effective alterations the Heptones made to the source material) draws a much subtler, sadder and more accurate picture of the worker's yoke and mantle than the more general, indefinite "mass". The hopelessness of being saddled with "a shapeless mask" contrasts strongly in counterpoint with the redemption the "sufferah" protagonist hopes and seeks to create through his labor and works, i.e., to make stepping stones, not stumbling blocks. Ultimately in the song, redemption is found through the buoyant melody, exceptional musicianship and glorious lead and harmony singing of Leroy Sibbles, Earl Morgan and Barry Llewellyn.

     Listening to "Book of Rules" this morning, I was also struck by a similarity of mood and attitude it shares with another "Dylan-y" song,  Joe South's extraordinary "Games People Play".  They would co-exist very well on an anthology called, say, "Music for the Downbeat and Extremely Thoughtful."

     Misheard, differently interpreted lyrics are a rock and roll tradition and my hearing, at this point, is more degraded than I would like it to be.  Here is "Book of Rules" by the Heptones.  You be the judge and please let me know your thoughts.  And if you like this song, there's a great Heptones world to discover, both through the group's own records and through the inestimable contributions to Jamaican music made by their leader Leroy Sibbles, who played bass guitar (as partner to drummer Leroy "Horsemouth" Wallace) and acted as arranger (paired with keyboardist Jackie Mittoo) on most of the classic Studio One recordings that form an important part of reggae music's foundation. 

     My beautiful Russian Blue cat U, a genuine reggae afficionado and connoiseur, was raised on Leroy Sibbles' felt-as-much-as-heard, heart-massaging "riddims".  If you have never seen a cat transported by Jamaican bass sounds (especially via the medium of made-in-JA 12" vinyl recordings), you're really missing something.


Some Books Of Rules:

 




Code of Hammurabi








Moses Carrying The Ten Commandments, Engraving By Gustave Dore






Mons Wheel of the Law, India





Buddhist canonical work








How To Disappear -- Vanishment Made Easy

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Raymond Chandler: The Long Goodbye -- Goodbye (Conclusion of Chapter 53)

     







 
      "You bought a lot of me, Terry.  For a smile and a nod and a wave of the hand and a few quiet drinks in a quiet bar here and there.  It was nice while it lasted.  So long, amigo.  I won't say goodbye.  I said it to you when it meant something.  I said it when it was sad and lonely and final."

     "I came back too late", he said.  "These plastic jobs take time". 

     "You wouldn't have come at all if I hadn't smoked you out". 

    There was suddenly a glint of tears in his eyes. He put his dark glasses back on quickly.

     "I wasn't sure about it," he said.  "I hadn't made up my mind.  They didn't want me to tell you anything.  I just hadn't made up my mind."

     "Don't worry about it, Terry.  There's always somebody around to do it for you."

     "I was in the Commandos, bud.  They don't take you if you're just a piece of fluff.  I got badly hurt and it wasn't any fun with those Nazi doctors.  It did something to me."

     "I know all that, Terry.  You're a very sweet guy in a lot of ways.  I'm not judging you.  I never did.  It's just that you're not here any more.  You're long gone.  You've got nice clothes and perfume and you're as elegant as a fifty-dollar whore."

     "That's just an act", he said, almost desperately.

     "You get a kick out of it, don't you?"

     His mouth dropped in a sour smile.  He shrugged an expressive energetic Latin shrug.

     "Of course.  An act is all there is. There isn't anything else.  In here --" he tapped his chest with the lighter -- "there isn't anything.  I've had it, Marlowe.  I had it long ago.  Well -- I guess that winds things up".
   
   He stood up.  I stood up.  He put out a lean hand.  I shook it.

     "So long, Senor Maioranos.  Nice to have known you, however briefly."

     "Goodbye."

     He turned and walked across the floor and out.  I watched the door close.  I listened to his steps going away down the imitation marble corridor.  After a while they got faint, then they got silent.  I kept on listening anyway.   What for?  Did I want him to stop suddenly and turn and come back and talk me out of the way I felt?  Well, he didn't.  That was the last I saw of him.

     I never saw any of them again -- except the cops.  No way has yet been invented to say goodbye to them.



 








Saturday, November 20, 2010

Albrecht Durer's "Adam And Eve" Engraving (Two States); Adam And Eve Cocktail




Albrecht Durer, Adam And Eve, 1504, Engraving (trial impression before completion of the plate, second stage)

    When I came across this early stage impression of Albrecht Durer's famous Adam And Eve engraving two days ago, I was in a funny mood and, rather than looking at it seriously and "for itself" initially, I considered (for reasons I think are easy to understand looking at this compellingly uncompleted work) what sort of jokey caption I might apply to it -- something along the lines of "Not Feeling Completely Yourself These Days?" or "Scenes From A Marriage".  Fortunately, the feeling quickly passed.

     It had been some time since I paged through my wonderful Dover collections of Durer's woodcuts and intaglio work and, while I hadn't forgotten what a master Durer was (that would be like forgetting the most basic facts of life), his greatness as a print maker immediately hit me again like a tidal wave and it was very difficult to put the books and images down.



Albrecht Durer, Self-Portrait at 28, 1500, Oil painting on panel, Alte Pinakotech, Munich


     Connecting my impressions to my memories, I thought back to the best art history course I took in college and graduate school, Robert Walker's Master Print Makers seminar at Swarthmore College. What most distinguished the course (which was as in-depth a survey as one could hope for in the history of graphic art) was the fact that we spent about half our time at the Lessing Rosenwald Collection in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania, one of the finest print libraries in the world, experiencing and learning to work with original works of art on the most intimate terms possible.



 Albrecht Durer, Self-Portrait at 13, 1484, Drawing, Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna

     At the Rosenwald, we had access to everything -- Durers, Callots, Rembrandts, Goyas, Daumiers, Redons, as well as 20th century works by Picasso, Matisse and other master graphic artists. We learned so much from the good and patient teaching, but the greater lesson was learning to look hard and intensely focusing and training our eyes studying these great, small-scale works.

     Prints (at least before the advent of large-format 20th century fine art lithography) are by their nature an intimate medium.  They mostly take the form of book-size pages that can be held (carefully) in the hand, which need to be seen up-close to be fully legible. (Using a magnifying glass to examine woodcuts, engravings, etchings, drypoints and monotypes is commonplace.)  For a 20-year old, being afforded this kind of proximity to a broad range of Albrecht Durer's graphic work was overwhelming. Like Durer's own 15th and 16th century contemporaries, it was immediately apparent to me that I was in the presence of genius: a brilliant, original, inventive mind who possessed eyes and hands capable of the greatest power, dexterity, precision and judgement.



Albrecht Durer, Wing of a Roller, ca. 1512, Watercolor and gouache on vellum, Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna

     Intense study of Durer could easily and profitably occupy a lifetime.  As is universally known, Durer was equally accomplished and displayed surpassing talent in every artistic medium (painting, drawing, watercolors, print making) he essayed and he was as prolific as he was prodigious.   Shortly after my seminar concluded, I decided to devote at least a year to  Durer and his world by applying for a Thomas J. Watson Fellowship, an unusual scholarship set up by the children of the founder of IBM in his name.  Now, as then, the Watson Fellowships award a generous stipend to American students for a year of travel outside the U.S. to pursue "non-practical", i.e., not strictly academic or purposeful, goals.  No tangible output of any kind is required of Watson recipients and the travelers are specifically barred from engaging in any kind of outside, paid employment during the fellowship year.  The idea is simply to pursue the idea that got you the grant for your own edification.  It's easy to see why students found this a very attractive program. 



Albrecht Durer, Portrait of Elizabeth Tucher, 1499, Oil painting on panel, Staatliche Kunstsammlung, Kassel

     I formed a plan to ferret out and try to follow the route and activities Albrecht Durer pursued beginning in about 1490 during his wanderjahr, the traditional period following completion of a formal apprenticeship when newly minted "journeymen" craftsmen seeking to attain "master" status in their fields traveled away from home to broaden their skills and hone their art.  I planned to use some of my stipend money to purchase  portable video equipment, which had recently become available in the artist/hobbyist consumer market, to record my journey and make a sort of art piece of the experience.  Because many of the details of Durer's wanderjahr were (and in fact still are) shrouded in mystery, I thought my idea had all the elements of a great and fundable Watson project -- imaginative, worthy-sounding, impractical.  I worked hard on the proposal and believed in it passionately.



Albrecht Durer, Nemesis or Fortuna, 1502, Engraving

     At this point, I can't remember who I lost out to, but I clearly recall that their ideas seemed more straightforward and obviously socially redeeming than mine. (The lesson to be learned here, I believe, is  Never Believe The Advertising.)  I was briefly crestfallen, but was somewhat consoled when the artist husband of an art history professor at the college told me that he liked my idea a lot and had been rooting for me.

     Now that I seem to be approaching new mystery plateaus in life, perhaps the door is still open to make the trip. As I said, so much is still unknown and Durer, like all great artists, is inexhaustible.



Albrecht Durer, Adam And Eve, 1504, Engraving


While we're still with Adam And Eve, I thought it would be useful to present an excerpt from Walter L. Strauss's notes on the finished work.

After that, it's time for drinks:

1.  Adam And Eve:  "Mentioned in Durer's diary of his trip to the Netherlands, 1520/21, on three occasions.  According to Zahn, the conscious application for the first time of a set of rules of proportion explains why these figures have a rigid pose, contradictory to the essence of Durer's concept of nature.  The disagreeable impression is compensated only by the mastery of technique. Thausing asserts that 'this brought Durer before the world in full consciousness of his power, as indisputably the greatest master of the burin', while Kohler remarks that 'it is equally certain that the biblical story served the artist only as a pretext for presenting the nude, both male and female, according to the best lights he then had, based on Apollo Belvedere and on Venus. Nowhere else has Durer treated the flesh with such caressing care, using much fine dotting in the modeling, and in no previous plate has he used such a variety of textures in the conscious striving for color.'"


Adam And Eve Cocktail


2.  Adam And Eve Cocktail: 

1 oz. brandy
1 oz. gin
1 oz. Forbidden Fruit liqueur (see note below)
1 dash lemon juice

Directions:  Shake ingredients with ice and strain into a cocktail glass.

Note: "Forbidden Fruit liqueur" is a now defunct, once highly regarded, proprietary American brandy-based, pomelo-based liqueur, which was light amber in color and slightly sweetened with honey.  I think a reasonable substitute might be grapefruit (pink grapefruit sounds nice) juice fortified with a small amount of vodka or a dry vermouth or fino sherry, slightly sweetened with simple syrup, or even substituting something like Lillet, the French aperitif.  If pomelos are available, use those of course.


Pomelo (also known as Citrus grandis, Citrus maxima, shaddock, Chinese grapefruit, shabong, lusho fruit, pomelmous and பம்பரமாசு).





Friday, November 19, 2010

Diogenes of Sinope


 
 
Jean-Leon Gerome, Diogenes, 1860, The Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore


Diogenes (70):  Pilfering Treasury property is particularly dangerous; big thieves are ruthless in punishing little thieves.

Diogenes (90):  Be careful that your pomade doesn't cause the rest of you to stink.



Rep. Charles Rangel (D-NY), former chairman of the House Ways & Means Committee, former "chief tax writer" in the U.S. Congress. 

"On November 15, 2010, Rangel's formal ethics trial in the House began.[115] He walked out of the hearing at the start, saying that he was unable to afford representation after having paid his previous lawyers over $2 million, and arguing unsuccessfully that the proceeding should be delayed until he could arrange for a legal defense fund.[115]

The following day, Rangel was found guilty on 11 of the 12 charges against him by the adjudicatory subcommittee of the House Ethics Committee (2 of the original 13 charges having been combined).[116][117] Two days later, the full Committee voted 9–1 to recommend that the full House approve a sanction of censure upon Rangel.[118] Censure is the strongest penalty the House can impose short of outright expulsion from Congress.[118] The Committee also said that Rangel should make restitution for any unpaid taxes.[118] "











Jacob Jordaens, Diogenes Searching For An Honest Man, ca. 1642, Gemaldgalerie Alte Meister, Dresden

Note: Diogenes translations by Guy Davenport, 7 Greeks, New Directions, 1995

Foretold/ Then (The Slaves Of Solitude by Patrick Hamilton)



London, the crouching monster, like every other monster has to breathe, and breathe it does in its own obscure, malignant way.  Its vital oxygen is composed of suburban working men and women of all kinds, who every morning are sucked up through an infinitely complicated respiratory apparatus of trains and termini into the mighty congested lungs, held there for a number of hours, and then, in the evening, exhaled violently through the same channels.

     The men and women imagine that they are going into London and coming out again more or less of their own free will, but the crouching monster sees all and knows better.

     The area affected by this filthy inhalation actually extends beyond what we ordinarily think of as the suburbs -- to towns, villages and districts as far as, or further than, twenty-five miles from the capital.  Amongst these was Thames London, which lay on the river some miles beyond Maidenhead on the Maidenhead line. (Chapter 1(1))




     Then Miss Roach, knowing nothing of the future, knowing nothing of the February blitz shortly to descend on London, knowing nothing on the flying bombs, knowing nothing of rockets, of Normandy, of Arnhem, of the Ardennes bulge, of Berlin, of the Atom Bomb, knowing nothing and caring very little, got into her bath and lingered in it a long time.

     Then she got out and dried herself, and then put on her night-gown, and cleaned her teeth last thing, and then went back into the double room, in which the presence of the other bed made her feel that she was sleeping with the unhappy ghost of herself.

     Then Miss Roach -- this slave of her task-master, solitude - had to choose which bed she was going to sleep in, and chose the one nearest the window, and then got into bed and stared at the ceiling, and then decided that they were heavenlily comfortable beds anyway and that was all that mattered, too.  And then she decided that she felt like sleeping, and would probably have a good night and so everything was all right, in  fact very nice.  And she realised that it would be a bad thing if she didn't have a good night as she had to be up early in the morning looking for somewhere to live, and then, of course, she had to go to the office, because Mr. Lindsell had said 'See you tomorrow' when he had left her, not realising that she had to look for somewhere to live.  And then she thought that she might phone Mr. Lindsell, and ask if she not need go, and then she thought that this might offend him after all his kindness, and then she was sure it wouldn't because he was a nice man, and then this thing, and then that matter and then this thing again, until at last she put out the light, and turned over, and adjusted the pillow, and hopefully composed her mind for sleep -- God help us, God help all of us, every one, all of us.  (Chapter 29(4))



The modern entrance to the tunnel at Norhausen, where the V-1 and V-2 rockets were produced.




A replica V-2 rocket at Peenemunde


 
London Blitz 




London Overground Rail Map





Patrick Hamilton (1904-62)

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Peter Cook: The Funniest Man Who Ever Drew Breath

 



     There is a school of thought, which I belong to, which holds that Peter Cook was the funniest man who (in the words of English comedian and Cook disciple Stephen Fry) ever drew breath.

     Because (as I just said) I'm schooled, I know that is a historically unprovable statement, but like the other dogmatists in our academy (many of whom, I'm sure, hold such other hyper-observant, acutely expressive comedians as Jonathan Winters and Sam Kinison in high regard), I am prepared to stick by it and defend it if necessary (but I hope not ponderously).

     John Cleese, another Cook disciple, observed, following Cook's passing, that: 

"Most of us have to grind away for something like six or seven hours to produce three minutes of material, whereas for the first fifteen or twenty years of Peter's professional life it took him exactly three minutes to produce three minutes of material."




     Sanity-restoring, confusion clearing, hysterical laughter, reducing stress and providing insight into a pressurized world that had recently survived two world wars without, apparently, solving most of its  problems, was Cook's generous gift to his large audience. All his comedy (performances, writing, ad libs) was stamped with his powerful, retentive and unpretentious intellect and subtly extroverted personality.


E.L. Wisty

     From the beginning of Cook's career (amazingly, he authored a West End production, One Over The Eight, while still a Cambridge University student) until its too-early conclusion, Peter Cook's original "characters", including the Coal Miner from Beyond The Fringe (who wanted to be a judge, but "didn't have the Latin for the judging"), the very strange E. L. Wisty ("I thought I saw it move"), Pete (half of Pete and Dud, the funniest comedy duo ever), and Sir Arthur Streeb-Greebling (not Greeb-Streebling; a man who spent his life trying to teach ravens to fly underwater), lived in the audience's imagination and were greatly loved because, for all their peculiarities and biases, we identify with their intense energetic curiosity.


Pete and Dud 

     These and Cook's other characters' concerns tend to be, at least sometimes, also our own, and their tics are all weirdly, subtly, scarily recognizable. Equally, if not more important is the fact that, unlike Monty Python's often amusing, but essentially tin-typed, academically referenced characters, you don't need to be university educated or think of yourself as an intellectual to understand or enjoy Cook's creations. Cook imparted this legacy to less obvious, but major disciples, like the Bonzo Dog Band, as well as the comedians and writers who made The Fast Show so great.




     Moving from Cook's Classical period to his Mannerist and Baroque styles, these same qualities carry over into the "Pete" character's later transmutation into the extraordinarily smutty Derek (half of Derek & Clive, one of the strangest, most unexpected acts ever, but mostly very funny) and Cook's real-time, radio call-in character, Sven, the Norwegian fisherman from Swiss Cottage who originally appeared late one evening, unannounced and incognito, on Clive Bull's radio program.  Apparently, both of these beings emerged in a highly stimulated state from inner recesses of Cook's mind that were enervated during periods of boredom and professional frustration.


 

     Relatively late in his tumultuous career, at Amnesty International's 1979 Secret Policeman's Ball celebrity revue in London, Cook created as a one-off one of his greatest and most important characters, the High Court Judge  presiding over the murder conspiracy trial involving former British Liberal Party leader Jeremy Thorpe. The story of how Cook created this amazing 8-minute parody of Mr. Justice Cantley's summing up for the jury is legendary (essentially, it falls under John Cleese's description of a man writing a perfect 8-minute sketch in 8-minutes flat), but what is most remarkable about the piece is how Cook (responding with a genius comedy pistol shot to newspaper criticism that the Secret Policeman's Ball consisted mostly of previously performed, tired and warmed-over material by the celebrity cast), devised a piece acutely and precisely keyed to the Amnesty International benefit's intended message, illustrating how justice for influential people is different from justice for the rest of us. Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose.


Peter and Judy Cook (Mr and Mrs)

     Apart from his undoubtedly on-and-off-again-through-Eternity partner, Dudley Moore, Cook outclassed all of his many performing accompanists and comedy disciples (Eleanor Bron aside).  John Cleese's petty and frequently repeated remarks about what a pity it was that Cook never became an "actor" like he himself did is silly and always makes me unhappy for that sad clown.  Watch Bedazzled, watch The Wrong Box.  (One of my best memories of my mother was hearing her laughing herself to sleep through the wall that separated our bedrooms after a late-night television showing of The Wrong Box).  Watch even Cook's charming, if slight 1981-2 American television series with Mimi Kennedy, The Two Of Us.   Peter Cook is always the  performer you can't look away from. You always want to see and hear from more from him, speaking the funniest lines in the world (usually his own work), standing slightly off balance, in his superb range of voices.  

Much has been published about Peter Cook since his death in 1995. The funny stories are varied and seemingly endless.


From The Wrong Box

Two I particularly like are the following.  The first I read about, the second is personal.

     Although Cook's relationship with Dudley Moore became increasingly fractious over the years, Moore was inconsolable when Cook died.  He told an interviewer that he phoned Cook's London answering machine from Los Angeles repeatedly just to hear his friend and partner's voice again. The journalist reported that whenever Moore spoke of Cook, he (seemingly unconsciously) adopted Cook's voice and inflections, sounding just like him.

     About ten years ago, when Caroline and I were visiting Dublin, we met a very nice person who we engaged as a driver and tour guide during our visit.  He was a charming, chatty man and one of our driving tours the conversation turned to Peter Cook. Our guide, to our surprise, was also a member of the Peter Cook Was The Funniest Man Who Ever Drew Breath School.  This surprised us because Cook was English and by that time we already knew and had witnessed on several occasions instances of our friend's Irish-on-English antipathy. But fair is fair and funny is funny and our guide was an honest man.  One of his proudest professional engagements, he told us, was driving Peter Cook in and around Dublin for a week.  He said that Cook was a kind, exceedingly polite man who laughed at his jokes and encouraged easy repartee. Our friend admitted, however, that Cook's responses to his own joking remarks all effortlessly "topped" them, but unpretentiously, like breathing.  He also said that the continual, convulsive amusement attendant in having Peter Cook as a passenger made the driving a little difficult.

     In 1999, in a marvelous act of tribute, the minor planet 20468Petercook in the Main Asteroid Belt was named after Peter Cook.   This, I think, is a much more fitting honor for this great man and subversive comedian than the standard issue MBE, OBE, CBE or knighthood.  Peter Cook is a star and planet in the night sky.

Notes to reader:  

1.Please scroll over text and captions to find various color-masked links to Peter Cook performance excerpts.

2. For more on this subject, please see Here.


 


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