That boat was lowered. Were there any male passengers in there; any members of the crew, males?
I did not notice any. After we got them into that, I sung out to the seaman: "How many have you got in that boat?" I said: "Ginger, how many have you got?" He said: "There is only me here."
You have ginger crew members? Does this not alarm the passengers?
The White Star Line is an equal opportunities employer, sir. We always have a token ginger, but we take precautions.
And, due to society's expectations and constraints, she had to work overtime to avoid "frightening" the other passengers:
and, if you think that it is easy to forever be sweeping the huts or foraging for citrus fruit with a woven basket while dressed like the above, you are sadly mistaken. In the microcosmic society in which she found herself trapped, her function was "Eye candy/Servant" and there was no escape, literally and figuratively.
Even sadder for poor Ginger is the fact that the look forced upon her during the Johnson years, desired by men and emulated by women, is now so tragically dated that in certain episodes she looks like a female drag queen. And, one sees perhaps 50 drag queens dressed as Ginger for every one who shows up dressed as MaryAnn.
One wonders if after 1967 she became "empowered" or, as was then said, "liberated" and told the others to clean their own damned huts. And, if she got the unflattering shag hairstyle, just because she could....
And, so, I find anti-Ginger sentiments to be particularly appalling. Ginger Grant, one of the most compelling characters ever to appear in a television drama, deserves the respect NOW that she was never afforded in the 1960s:
And, if Henry VIII TRULY need to be portrayed as Ginger in the new Tudors series, the wig style shown below is probably more suitable for a larged framed man than the Fall shown above.
Henry VIII, in the new Tudor series Jim, is black-haired, slender and foxy. And his women are extremely 'modern'. I know it's a shared history between the USA and the UK, for better or for worse, but I think we might between us try to get it right.
I nearly got run over a few weeks ago by one of those slow but large vehicles which suck up rubbish in gutters. Now a non-fatal encounter might have given me psychic insights which unaccountably fail me at present. Shame.
I'm trying to get Demi Moore to work the same magic on the story of Henry VIII that she did on The Scarlet Letter. "Good Story Outline, But I Can Improve It." (As you'll recall, HER Scarlet Letter ends with an Indian attack that saves her fron the gallows AND allows her and the cute minister to run off to someplace less frumpy while the colonists are distracted, battling it out with the Indians)
Now, OUR version packs the same bold, feminist punch, and multiple wymmyn power happy endings, as did the aforementioned Scarlet Letter.
Demi plays Lisette, Henry's first fiancee, who declines marriage until she "finds herself." She narrates the film and appears in each segment.
Young Henry meets the lovely Catherine of Aragon while doing his year of study abroad. They have an erotically charged bathing suits-and-less sequence on the beach at Alicante. They marry, but Catherine soon finds life in England constricting and chafes at Henry's insistence that she put her career on hold to have children. Before she knows it, she's a Stepford Wife, positively imprisoned at Kimbolton. AND, her husband is cheating. So, she shows him the door, gets empowered, and returns to her true love: church work.
Henry, in the mean time, meets Anne Boleyn. Anne, like many society girls, hides insecurity, (fostered by a dynastic Kennedyesque family which cares more for power and wealth than it does for its offspring) behind a brittle, elegant facade. Much like Anna Wintour, the public judges her by the facade, and not the quality of the work she does. She is soon dismayed by her bad press and disastrous public appearances. When she learns that the staff in Henry's office is working against her, she positively loses her head. When he sides with them, she calls the marriage to a halt and when last seen is contemplating a life of solitude, in a nice river-vue tower apartment, away from the backstabbing world of Fashionable London.
Jane Seymour (portrayed by Jane Seymour) and Henry marry within days of Anne moving out. A plague outbreak dampens the early days of her reign, and her friendship with Catherine of Aragon is viewed as a Wymmyn Bonding threat by Henry's office staff. Henry and Jane go on a second honeymoon, to Ireland, where they have an erotically charged sequence in front of an ancient fireplace. She returns to London pregnant, gives birth to a son, and soon after goes into severe post-partem depression. Bereft of counselling, she grows apart from Henry to the extent that, heartbroken, he declares that she might as well be dead. They divorce, with regrets on both sides, and her segment ends on a hopeful note as she makes that important first call to a mental health professional.
Comic chaos ensues, as paintings gets switched in transit. Henry receives what he THINKS is a portrait of his new fiancee but which is, in fact, a misdirected piece of brothel art. Meanwhile, at the brothel, the inmates and procurers are puzzled by the portrait of Anne of Cleaves (Whoopi Goldberg) when they uncrate it.
Henry accepts Anne of Cleaves as his mail order bride, but is shocked when she arrives and is not a busty blonde strumpet. Dont worry, folks, she soon smacks him some new attitude, and after being told "You aint so hot yourself," Henry renews his lapsed gym membership and soon regains his six-pack abs. They realise that, as lovers, they are bettter off as friends, and divorce amicably while promising to keep in touch.
While at the gym, Henry meets Catherine Howard during step class. She is 18-ish and quite a fireball. Henry, admittedly, goes a little crazy for her, and soon purchases a red coach pulled by six black horses, restyles his hair into something curly and greasy, and they rush into a marriage that no one is happy about. It turns out that Catherine is the long term girlfriend of a musician in a "cool" London group. She runs off with him; the sex is better; and a sadder but wiser Henry lets his perm grow out and tries to reconnect with his alienated children.
He then meets and marries Catherine Parr. Catherine is a successful author, who urges him to mend fences with his children. While he is away in France she assumes control of his office in London, and proves to be a competent manager. His staff tries to turn him against her, but years in the journalism business have taught her how to punch below the belt, and she stymies their efforts. And, fires them without a Christmas bonus. Henry realises, at last, that intelligence and beauty can coexist, and they look forward to many happy years together.
This adaptation has legs, Jim. I'd watch it. And maybe even invest in it. After all, it can't possibly be much more inaccurate that the film showing the USA getting the Enigma code book from a sinking sub months before they'd even entered the war. The only war film I've ever refused to watch, in a rage, only to find it sneaked up on me on TV without my realising.
I think though, for reasons of verisimilitude, that Henry should die of the pox just as he and Catherine Parr reach their understanding. Happy endings are just so yesterday.
Oh yes, lots of them. And also torsos, backs, and simulated sex. AND, exposed buttocks for the "expanded director's cut DVD version."
Amazing how I can consistently come up with such brilliant projects for Demi Moore just by thinking about the Scarlet Letter and then letting my mind go blank.
>Happy endings are just so yesterday.
This ends with a prolonged sex scene, followed by them cuddling, and watching the sun rise beyond Big Ben. (Yes... I KNOW... but its just such an integral part of London that I'll fudge a tad on historical accuracy)
But, dear, think SEQUEL. Henry dies, and Catherine masks her grief by throwing herself back into journalism and sees her comeback book, Lamentacions of a Synner, become a bestseller. She marries Thomas Seymour, and soon finds herself locking horns with his bitch sister-in-law, Anne Stanhope, who is just the sort of jewelry hoarding Stepford Wife that she has always detested. THEN, Catherine becomes pregnant, unexpectedly, and, at 35, finds herself the champion of a cause: Womens' Right to Choose.
She then hears rumors that her husband is sexually interested in her step-daughter!
Sizzling stuff... but a lot more Jackie/Joan Collins Power bitch material and far fewer soft focus, artsy sex interludes than in the first film.
>The only war film I've ever refused to watch, in a rage, only to find it sneaked up on me on TV without my realising.
Ehhh... I avoid "Based on a true event" films as a rule. I may have mentioned, once or twice, disliking Titanic... well, I feel the same way about most of the genre. I like exactly ONE film pertaining to WW2, the German film Das Schreckliche Mädchen (1990), and I wish that I could order the entire Western World to view it. (English title: The Nasty Girl) I tend to like one film per decade, other than as "camp," and that was my film for the 1990s. I'm losing confidence that a film which isnt total garbage will emerge before the end of the current decade....
Kitty: A Return to Auschwitz (1979) was brilliant, too. Having watched that, there was subsequently no need to watch the dramatizations during the 1980s and 1990s since I had viewed a piece of film making which could not be surpassed.
At the other extreme sat Pearl Harbor, and Midway, both of which could be adapted, into comedies without much script alteration, like Zero Hour/Airplane.
Sad to say, I was unaware that there WAS an Enigma film. My revulsion over the Tom Cruise Valkyrie project was such (The assasination attempt was NOT inspired by This Is Monstrous sentiments, but by Oh Shit We're Losing realizations, and I did not view the central character as in any way heroic) that many lesser WW2 disasters passed beneath my radar while I was fuming...
>Go for it. There's no need for another authentic treatment of the Henry saga
Well, Demi and I are following the broad outline of the story. We've tried to stick as close to the facts as possible. BUT, we're trying to make this a tale of female empowerment and male "awakening" and, as such, a few tiny liberties have been taken. If even one girl chooses to follow her dream, after watching the Catherine Parr segment, or realises that someone calling you ugly doesnt MAKE you ugly, unless you let it (our spunky Anne of Cleaves), then we feel we've done our work.
Miley Cyrus is lined up for the Catherine Howard role, btw.
How I now realise that my own paltry screen-writing pretensions are totally devoid of imagination or originality, Jim. Maitre!
Mind you, I'm a bit surprised to see the you've omitted Catherine Parr's well-documented claim to have formulated the general theory of relativity in 1547 following a mad dash on horseback, in pursuit of the panicked Seymour, when she suddenly noticed a church clock etc. etc. To his eternal credit, Thomas pulled up, and trotted back in awe to take her dictation. Sadly, he lost her notes after she died not long afterwards.
But credit where it's due, Jim. This is not revisionism, after all.
I omitted that entire episode, to focus on her struggles to get Lamentacions of a Synner published without the extensive "dumbing downe" her publisher initially demanded. And, on her heartbreak when the stage adaptation proved to be slick, commercialized, and superficial. And, on her guilt when it proved to be a money-spinning hit.
Waxing nostalgic. Once, during a period of extreme dementia, my work friends and I composed an entire operetta around the horrors of managing a video store in the suburbs.
The New York Woman was a number dedicated to the massively irritating sort who acted as if living 50 miles from midtown was the equivalent of being stranded on a desert island, as if their former life in "The City" had been a 24/7 whirl of intellectual fulfillment, and who asked rather offensive questions such as "What do people do for fun here?"
Without exception, they'd ask the annoying question "Do you rent foreign films?" which was such a ridiculous blanket statement (posing as intellectual one-upsmanship) that I'd, invariably, direct them to our selection of Z-grade Mexican wrestling films from the 1960s. Blood of the Aztec Mummy was, after all, a foreign film.
Our New York Woman, while clutching her Bloomingdales Big Brown Bag, trilled:
rent foreign films?
Give me Fellini, and "Tati Danielle"
and Gerard Depardieu.
I want subtitles and non-linear plots.
Now, Demi Moore won't do."
That, of course, was BEFORE The Scarlet Letter. After the release of that film, we saw Demi for the genius that she truly was/is... the film was a brilliant deconstruction of a classic, AND a wry piece of social commentary: a "guerilla" parody which most unelightened viewers saw only as pure crap.
My favorite "Foreign Film" of that era was Baxter. Not for its content, but for the unending disruption it caused in the homes of the idiotic.
Baxter was a French black comedy about a cuddly dog that happens to be a serial killer. People, ignoring the big sign that said "French Language Films Only" and the equally large "All Films In This Section Rated Pg-13 Thru NC-17" sign, would see the cuddly dog and grab the R-rated film off of the shelf as an electronic baby sitter for their brats. And then bring it back, while screaming at me, because the cuddly dog gleefully murders his owners.
When I would show them that the cuddly dog on the box cover had a dialogue balloon coming out of his mouth reading "My owner is a sweet old lady. She treats me well. Today I think I will kill her" and that the film was clearly marked rated R AND in a section filed with French language movies, it wouldn't abate the screaming at all.
"I OUGHT TO HAVE YOU ARRESTED. THAT FILM IS DISGUSTING AND IT DISTURBED MY KIDS. YOU OUGHT TO TAKE IT OFF THE SHELF OR PUT IT IN THE PORN SECTION"
My rehearsed response was an admittedly borrowed joke:
"I hope you dont apply that brand of consumer logic to Windex. 'Attractive looking blue liquid in transparent bottle. Looks tasty. Down the hatch, kids.' "
All of which made me long for people who just rented their Demi Moore films and went home....