My excitement is almost palpable.
I lie.
I am the soberest I have ever been at this time of a January 1st since the 1970s. Maybe even the 1960s*, who knows...Right bloody boring Christmas and New Year, with my Dearly Beloved working far too many hours in a sh1t job that thankfully he has now served his notice upon. At which point I shall write reams...
2008 is turning out to be a peach of a year so far. Suburban South London has been re-enacting the Battle of the Somme in their gardens carefully manicured and concreted-over, with decking and water-features, natch. Exactly how dull must your life be that you mark this auspicious occasion by letting off incendiary devices and, doubtlessly, exclaiming "Ooh! OoH!". Indeed, my feeling of ennui at being stuck in on New Years Eve is tempered only by the relief that I am not out there, forced to join in artificial jollity whilst being overpriced for a meal prepared with slapdash pressure and served with the zero care and attention. I saw in the New Year by timeshift viewing a very crap film, The Girl With the Pearl Earring. What a pile of pointlessness.
I have watched a considerable number of films this break, and that one takes the biscuit as far as rubbishness is concerned. I was most impressed by Das Leben der Anderen. History Boys was entertaining, and to some extent thought-provoking, but utterly unrealistic - not least in the sense that I doubt any state school in 1983 could afford to provide a Seventh Term Sixth Form. Sorry, not realistic. Although clearly the way to be accepted into Camford University, especially in a subject such as history where relative maturity of thought is expected. Meet the Fockers was rubbish but was worth watching for a good Dustin Hoffmann and a superb Robert de Niro. Naked Gun 331/3 has begun to pale a little on the sixth or whatever viewing. There seems to be an accidental Robert Redford minifest going on on channels diverse. I have watched the Great Waldo Pepper - surprisingly good, living up to my positive memory of having seen it decades ago - and still have Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and All the Presidents Men to go. Somehow I missed Barefoot in the Park.
As for telly in general, I think I have avoided most of the dross, and, flicking through the Radio Times, I espied plenty enough of that. I watched Ballet Shoes, and whilst I enjoyed it I was disappointed. I must have read that a billion times as a child, and one of the most satisfying aspects, as with the dozens of other Noel Streatfields I enjoyed, was the detail in the finely honed prose, much of which had to be cut out for a 90 minute drama.
I watched Romeo and Juliet and The Tales of Beatrix Potter but concluded that, wonderful though Carlos Acosta undoubtedly is, ballet isn't for the small screen. It kind of has to be experienced live, I think.
Much the same thought went through my head on watching La fille du regiment. Yes, the performers were wonderful, Natalie Dessay and Juan Diego Florez in particular. But it seemed such a trivial little story, and the full glory of the production, especially the scenery (which, surely, will be clapped when it turns up at the Met in the Spring) was lost on the small scene. and as for that aria, nine High Cs? So what? It really doesn't ring out from the TV at all.
Carmen also lost a little in the televising but gained so much in the intimate shots of the wonderful Jonas Kaufmann, who really inhabits this role. I am so looking forward to seeing in him in a couple of weeks, sadly only as Alfredo the Wimp in Traviata, but later this year as Cavaradossi, the eponymous hero of Puccini's opera of the same name. And, reportedly, he returns in the autumn as Don Carlo, which is splendid news for me.
It was nice, but ultimately disappointing, to watch To the Manor Born. I think what really worked in the series way back when was the chemistry between Audrey and Richard, and the element of suspense of 'will they won't they', whereas in this episode, because she walked out on him, there was very little of them together, and one was inclined to think that probably the walking out was a common occurrence in their twenty five year marriage.
I also got round to watching the serialisation of Oliver Twist. Imagine my ignorance when I thought it was all over after the first episode, because that more or less coincided with the treatment in the musical. And I kept wanting them to break into song, especially "Who Will Buy?". It's a lot deeper than I realised from the Musical. I really ought to read books, you know. But then, when they serialise books I have read, such as Cranford, I realise how little of it I actually remembered from reading it. I think I read too fast, taking very little in. I don't know if one is supposed to re-read classics, or to read them very very slowly,savouring each passage as it comes. I do remember reading Bleak House. God, that book did go on. And on. And on. I think it took me six months to read the first half, and then I managed to read the second half in a week or so. Dickens would have benefited from editorial brutality.
And with that I must retire. It seems the bombardment has all but seized and the only sound to pierce the night sky is sirens and more sirens. At least I'm not waking up in a police cell for the New Year. I can't remember if that's one of the Forty Things To Do Before Forty. I certainly won't be seeing in another New Year in my Thirties. You cannot begin to imagine how relieved I am!
* I'm joking, not a drop of alcohol passed my lips until 1974
