My Interest In This Film Has Been Rekindled*
- by Peter Caddick-Adams epic "Sand And Steel". Your Humble Scribe first saw this film on television back in the mid-Seventies, when having it on a DVD would have been goggled at as science-fiction, and where you couldn't go back to re-watch a bit you'd missed because you got sent into the kitchen to make a brew, nor could you pause it to take a photograph with your mobile phone (more sci-fi technology!).
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Here an aside. The film is based on Cornelius Ryan's book of the same name, and hence omits entirely the Canuckistanian contribution to D-Day; a whole beach, Juno, was their purview. Apart from a couple of maps in the background of the film, you'd never know they were there, though it's not in their diffident and self-effacing nature to complain - although the Teutons might be forgiven for feelng a bit cross at being beaten by invisible men. Ol' Pete's work mentions one French-Canuckistanian tank commander, who manifests the ruthlessness of the French with the dash of the Canuckistanians; having spotted a Teuton 88 mm anti-tank gun firing on his fellow tanks, he destroys it with two shells, and then coldly relates how his tank killed all fourteen gunners hiding in trenches around their wrecked piece of ordnance.
On that rather grim note, let us note that there are some noticeable goofs in the film. For one -
| Old John Wayne |
He was 27 years older than the soldier he portrayed, one Colonel Vandevoort, and was only brought in late in production thanks to being a bankable name.
Next!
To those of us in the know, a jarring image, because it's a South Canadian 'Maxon' mount, electrically-powered and mounting 4 x 0.5 Browning heavy machine guns. The Teutons lacked the ability to power these things at the water's edge, nor did they have ammunition for them, even if captured.
Next!
It's not crystal-clear here, but rain is apparently lashing down on the docks here, except the puddles in the background are completely still, revealing that this is film rain, only pouring in front of the camera. Ooops! (Gives self a congratulatory clap on the back).
I think we'll leave it there for the moment. Rest assured, gentle readers, that we will be returning. O yes indeed!
<There will now be a short pause as I go downstairs for a can of beer>
There's A Joke In Here Somewhere ...
Apparently there is a sporting venue in Dublin known as "Croke Park", where they - er - play sports? Conrad not familiar with British sports, let alone Gaelic ones, don't expect any commentary on the intricacies of furling or <thinks> the ballfoot game.
Anyway, the city's Muslims cannot celebrate Eid as is normal, thanks to Covid-19 (booh!). The consequences of ignoring the restrictions are being borne by the Iranian population, since the collection of idiots who dictate over them pretended it was all dreams and pixie dust.
So, what do the Irish do? Art!
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| There's about 190 folk there, just so you know |
It makes sense - it's not being used to house a mass of spectators, nor will it any time soon. Good grief - the Irish being relentlessly logical - it's almost enough to demolish a stereotype!
O Marketa!
From Dublin to Prague in one easy hop. Hops! What they use to make beer from, Czechs being fond of their beer, make no mistake about it. One day, when these travel restrictions are over ...
Let us politely enquire of Marketa, our favourite Angry Young Czech, what unusual yet useful Czech word she has for us today. Marketa?
"Fotr": not a nice way to call your father.
Hmmm. Ah! I know, I know, I know - Art?
| Eccentric billionaire Sir Reginal Hargreeves |
If you know anything about "The Umbrella Academy" AND YOU SHOULD, then you will know he was a shockingly unfit foster-dad, distant, neglectful and manipulative - definite "Fotr" material. In fact, while we're on the subject of Netflix show's that I've already mentioned today, look no further than Martin Brenner of "Stranger Things", who masquerades as Eleven's dad, and who routinely conducts horrible immoral experiments upon her. Art?
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| A very bad Fotr |
I think this is what Marketa's trying to get across. Of course, as the Barf Of Avon said, "How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is, to have a thankless child", so it may be that we have some horribly unappreciative children in the mix, who are slandering Daddy terribly.
This may have legs and we may come back to it, as the latter concept is interesting.
"Dwile Flonking"
Those foreigners out there who regard This Sceptred Isle with a wary eye, convinced that millennia of breeding only within our own shores have produced a race of very odd people, may have something.
The above mentioned is what passes for a sport in East Anglia, if you've had enough to drink. It involves two teams of twelve, one of whom dances, hand-in-hand, around the other. The non-dancing team must try to hit the dancers with a beer-soaked cloth, hurled by means of a stick. The teams alternate turns in dancing and hurling, and the whole seems to take place amidst an alcoholic haze. Art?
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| Professional athletes at the peak of their game. Perhaps |
It seems the non-drinking side, apart from the person throwing the "Dwile" (which seems to be dialect for "cloth") are busy sinking pints, which must render them a little unsteady on their feet once they become the dancing or "Girting" team.
Finally -
Well well well Bruce Campbell. In my musings on the siege of Drogheda a good few blogs ago, I described Crommy's artillery siege train lumbering it's way out of Dublin as it headed north to assault the town.
My mistake, which I humbly admit and correct. Apparently Crommy moved his artillery train by sea, rather than overland, which he could do with impunity as the Roundheads controlled the sea. Moving immensely heavy and awkward cannon by marine transport was a far more efficient and quicker way than hauling them over poor roads with enormous numbers of horses. It may also be why the idiot commander of Drogheda, Sir Arthur "I Am A Bottom" Aston, was caught by surprise.
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| BROOOOCE!! |
A fittingly classic note to end on.
* NOTHING to do with the wretched electronic book thingy
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