Confessions, Part 5

London, Thursday, 5 September, 1974 (continued)

I have seen several shows during my stay in London. Last week we saw the Low Moan Spectacular (comedy theater co.) version of "Bullshot Crummond". This was a satire of the Bulldog Drummond TV and radio series (which, incidentally, was the inspiration for the Firesign Theater's "Nick Danger") - complete with suave, handsome British detective Crummond, arch villain Von Brunno, and a bewildered butler (remember Catherwood?). In all, it was a pleasant evening's entertainment.  Also saw "Bringing Up Baby", the 1938 Howard Hawks comedy classic, starring Cary Grant (Archie Leach) and Katherine Hepburn in their younger days and filmed in glorious black and living white, for those of you in our studio audience who hate hullabaluses.

 We also saw a trite but well-formed version of "Sherlock's Last Case" in which, in a bizarre twist, Dr. Watson finally kills Holmes because he is tired of being nothing but a second fiddle banana lackey dormouse. Play it again, Sam.

 Have been watching quite a bit of British television (TV, telly), which I think doesn't have the emotional stranglehold that it had on the American pop culture. There are three channels (two BBC, and one commercial) and the quality is, on the whole, quite good. I remember back home in the United Snakes that any BBC production shown on American TV was good simply because it was British. (I’ll admit, “Upstairs, Downstairs” was great.) However, I have seen some tripe over here, particularly several of the half-hour supposed comedies. On the positive, though, “Steptoe and Son” (the cockney forerunner of “Sanford and Son”, which was brought across the Big Ditch by Norman Lear.) Did have its moments of hilarity. The coverage of the European Games (one step short of the Olympics) was superb. The British athletes came through in jolly good (to paraphrase the vernacular) form, and my conscious retinal being was riveted to the squawk box as the spartan sprinters and heroic harriers kicked up the cinder dust. I have always hoped for a career as an Olympic javelin catcher. The commercials on British TV are more subtle and lower-key (Ab harmonic minor) than that of the by now moribund mediacracy that comprises the post-hypnotic American airways.

-- Saturday, September 7, 1974

Dear Friends,

I have been in London for nearly two weeks and am enjoying myself immensely thanks to my mother who is putting me up, buying and cooking good and nutritious food and taking me to the theatre and in general being a jolly good sport, not to mention the perfect hostess. In addition to these activities, I am reading, writing and studying the form and esthetic merit of the intrinsic artistic and historic intricacies of Victorian, Edwardian, and Neo-Elizabethan architecture. 

(Refer to Part 4, paragraph 7)
Rain...

"You're not getting younger, you're getting worse. Welcome to the past." - inverted TV logo

I hope all you anxious androids in the clinical psychology biz enjoy the forthcoming holiday season and fit those nuts and bolts together before we all go crazy.

"Sanity is getting away with it." - Anon.

Pax, Luv, Brotherhood, and Good Karma.
Yr. Obt. Svt. etc., etc. [FIN]