Chasing the sunset

The apartment my parents rented

We are enjoying a few days in Westward Ho! We chose this location because of my happy childhood memories of the place. Actually I can remember very little detail of those happy family holidays spent here, but I do at least recall walking under that strange arch - a buttress I suppose - and my mother commenting on the dank smell on entering the holiday apartment - funny the things, the very few things, that stick in one's memories as a child. And I remember that awesome view...

The view from the apartment

Then there was that evening stroll with my father along the cliffs heading west, chasing the sunset. This morning I tried to find the place but could not... maybe my memories are all mixed up with the closing scene of Oliver - a film that also made a big impression on me: my mother took me to a showing in a big cinema in Southampton where I first experienced the wonder of surround sound. I would have been about 16 at the time.

"I'm reviewing - the situation..." from Oliver

The coastal path - was this where we walked?

Wherever it was, the fact that we walked together, just us two, is strong in my memory. Perhaps because I felt like was being treated as an adult. I don't know what we talked about. Possibly we didn't talk. Talking is often superfluous, inappropriate, especially for men-folk. Why talk when you can see?

So I followed what starts off as "Kipling Tors" and has now become the way-marked coastal footpath for several miles before turning back; deep emotions throbbing inside me. How I wish I could turn the clock back. You parents out there, invest time with your kids, do unique things with them. Treat them as sentient beings. Your time with them will be so, so short, before they grow up, leave home, have their own lives to live.

Westward Ho! was of course originally named after the 1855 novel by Charles Kingsley. Only later did it rise to fame because of Kipling's associations with the place. His novel, Stalky & Co, is based on his schooldays here and Kipling Tors is where Kipling and his friends used to smoke cigars and pipes and read books together. Which makes another connection, for the Jungle Book stories also made a deep childhood impression on me. And so I am a sort of mixed-up product of all this.

During our short stay here I've enjoyed running up and down the beach and swimming several times - the weather has been remarkably warm: both air and sea temperatures at around 15'C - and the waves are so invigorating. But regardless of the time of day (I headed out at 07:00 this morning) you will meet countless dogs and their owners. Not that I mind dogs (or even their owners) but it just makes it more difficult finding somewhere discrete to change as there is in variably an owner and dog approaching from either direction.

The Artful Dodger

Does anyone else, in this coronavirus lockdown that besets us, turn to Youtube videos? I happened to chance on Terry Wogan interviewing Jack Wild and Mark Lester together in 2012. What struck me was how different these two actors were. One question Terry asked was whether either of them ever watched the film now. Mark said yes, often. Jack responded saying Mark he was mad to!

The film "Oliver" left a lasting impression on me, as I explained in a previous post.  I have watched it several times since and would gladly watch it again on the big screen. It remains one of my all-time favourite films.

What I hadn't realised until I started Googling after watching that interview was... Jack Wild was born in September 1952, just a few months before me.  The film was released in September 1968 so allowing a few months both Jack and I were then 16 years of age.

Quoting from his obituary in The Guardian: Jack was a millionaire at 18 and an alcoholic by 21, has died after a long battle with oral cancer, aged 53. He was also a diabetic and a heavy smoker.  And I thought - how sad.

At least he himself reckoned, as told in It's A Dodger's Life: "I only wish I’d invested the money and not drank quite so much. But other than that I don’t think there is much else I’d change. And I did have a lot of fun. And I honour him for that honesty.

In contrast, once past youthful flings, Mark studied hard to become a professional osteopath and is still alive.  And I'm kind-of glad he still watches the film he starred in, because it makes me feel OK about loving it.

And where does that place me?

Desert Island Films

On the BBC News website a few days ago I read with some disgust the editorial So long, 3DTV. Whilst some of what David Lee says may be true I will ardently defend all things 3D in spite of what he calls "plonker" glasses and mild eye strain. 3D technology was around long before my birth but went out of fashion after the war maybe due to the activities of a 1910 version of Mr Lee. There are some very passable 3D photographs from this era on display at Russborough House just down the road from us. Ever since my childhood I have longed to watch a 3D movie and my lust was not properly satisfied until 2009 when I saw James Cameron's awesome and archetypal Avatar in the cinema.

Avatar and the floating islands of Pandora

My first taste of proper 3D photography was at my parent's church. By "proper" I mean full colour stereoscopic and I thus exclude those red and blue glasses which did no more than tease the desire. Of course I'd love true immersive 3D like holograms and some virtual reality provide but, so far, this technology is not available to the masses. Some visiting missionary brought with him a slide show. Generally these were only marginally more interesting than a sermon but on this occasion the slides were 3D! Of course I made it my business to suss out the projection equipment which, I found, was more or less two projectors side by side Siamese twins style, projecting two separate 35mm stills. I understood the polaroid principle well enough although whether it was circular polarisation as is now used I know not. We were all issued with polarising glasses and - wow! I can still see in my mind one slide in which there were flowers in the foreground which literally flowed out of the frame of the screen and towards the audience.

A film (or any other experience) that ranks high in my pecking order is one that I would gladly enjoy twice, thrice, perhaps any number of times and, when asked after watching a film whether I enjoyed it or not, you will get very little response from me if it was good. To put into words anything so wonderful would be travesty, sacrilege, deprecative. The principle applies equally to 2D as well. The multiple viewings must be suitably temporally spaced else it might amount to over-indulgence: a first slice of strawberry cheesecake delights but the second too soon after might make one feel sick.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

I know folk for whom the cinema holds little or no pleasure but, for me, a good film on the big screen is hard to beat. I recently took my grandchildren to a theatre performance of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I was very well done and the boy and girl actors were very endearing but it did not compare to the 1968 film version.

My parents held out against TV until I was a teenager and, even then, watching was restricted. Colour was in its infancy: we settled on the cheaper and more reliable monochrome. Likewise going to the cinema or theatre was both a rarity and a treat, and it has remained so all through my life. There are things that I love doing but that does not necessarily mean that I indulge myself in them. There are other people to consider and, we are told, God watches all. In spite of these restrictions I have managed to watch a number of films of which the following have stood up to my test of time. You might detect a common denominator.

Julie Andrews

Many folk today, especially youngsters, pour scorn on The Sound of Music but I have to say I loved it and would gladly watch it many times more. I love the mountain grandeur and the music, and I will admit that I kind of fell in love with Julie and I remember my father cautioning me of this folly.

Mark Lester

My mother took me to see Oliver (1986) in a large cinema in Southampton. Of all the musicals I have seen I think Oliver ranks the highest. Although it was disappointing to hear, more recently, that Mark didn't actually sing any of his songs! One particular "wow" moment was experiencing surround sound wittingly for the first time as Oliver and the Artful emerge from a narrow side street into the open square in front of St Paul's.

Mowgli

The 1967 cartoon version of The Jungle Book met the test. I have watched this film many times and still enjoy it. And yet the sequel I have seen only once.

Polar Express

We watched Polar Express (2004) one Christmas on DVD. It was the first entirely animated film in which the characters were sufficiently human to instil an emotional response and thus another archetype for me.  I discovered that it might be possible to fall in love with a virtual avatar! Surprisingly for a staid establishment, the IET publishes some interesting thoughts here in an article "Love and sex in the Robotic Age". And anyway (back to Polar Express) as I have mentioned elsewhere,I loved the railway theme particularly where the train leaves the track.

Neel Sethi as Mowgli

I've only had the chance to watch Favreau's excellent 2016 version of Jungle Book in glorious 3D once, but I reckon it meets the test and I look forward to a sequel.

Magnificent set in Hugo

Some while back I posted my approval after watching Martin Scorsese's Hugo (2011, ) and later alluded to its making. I have watched this film several times though regrettably not in 3D, and regard it as an artistic masterpiece and also amazing acting by Asa Butterfield speaking of whom his The Space Between Us (2017) looks like it might be worth testing although some reviews are rather damning.

In all it seems I am an incurable romantic.

Dreams and Floaters

Love-eye-floaters

They say we dream all the time, but rarely remember unless we happen to wake during a dream. In my dreams I often have memories, for example that I have been in a particular place before - they say this is common, that dreams have their own set of recollections that need not concur with awake memories.

The other night I dreamed I was going along a road - probably running barefoot - and found it didn't go anywhere so retraced my steps back over a river bridge to a junction I had remembered passing. I took the other path hoping that it would lead me back home. This road ended abruptly at the river and I found myself on a boat which took me to city build on either side of a deep valley. My vantage point gave me a panorama of both the complex architecture and the deep, rocky river gorge below. In my dream I remembered that in a previous dream (so I knew I was in a dream!) I had been amazed at the finesse of detail - so I made a point of testing this - I found I could make out striations in the rocks by the river maybe half a mile beneath me, could resolve the guy wires supporting a distant radio mast atop a fantastic building caught in rosy evening light: and the sheer glut of detail surrounding me reminded me of the film Hugo.

I rank Hugo among the best films I have ever watched, along with (to name a few) Oliver, the Sound of Music, Avatar and the new Jungle Book. I rank it highly because (in order) it is intensely beautiful, because it is about a boy discovering himself, because of its unashamedly story-book feel particularly in the way the major characters are so cleverly exaggerated, and because I liked the music. Indeed the only character that comes across at all normal is the boy Hugo himself (Asa Butterfield). Maybe you have not seen the film? You should. Here are some stills to wet your appetite and illustrate what I am saying. In a still, sadly resolution (hence quality, detail) is lost along with the dimensions of time and depth (I strongly regret that I did not see the film in 3D), just as audio quality is lost in monaural listening. The film is one continual feast for the eye - it is impossible to take in all the detail before the scene changes. Click on the images to enlarge them.

Speaking of finesse - the word aptly describes the degree of detail generated by the Fabry–Pérot interferometer. Had I not fallen for the colour and intricacy found in electronics I would surely have become a physicist specialising in optics. I have some friends who are into photography in a big way and they, at least, respect optics, but for the most part folk take sight and the fact that we can see in 3D for granted, not to mention movies and the ubiquitous digital camera to boot. Perhaps you have never taken a camera apart to study the compound lenses, or disassembled a flat screen monitor to find out how it is so evenly illuminated? You should.

Looking at this diagram it is frankly amazing that we can see as well as we can. In fact we can't - the brain adjusts for many imperfections in our eyesight but, together, I reckon they do a pretty good job. I am so glad that I can see. Even if I have largely lost the ability to accommodate - I have needed reading glasses for several years and now even my far vision needs some correction. Recently I invested in a pair of those cheap generic reading glasses with the lowest power and these work well for my far vision though I do not generally need them. Donning them whilst watching a film or movie I discover a new level of detail that I had forgotten existed.

I suppose we all see floaters to varying degrees. And I suppose everyone has "played" with their eyes - screwing up your eyelids to allow only a tiny slit of light to pass through and observing the fancy interference patterns when looking at a source of light. So you will recognise my title picture - these are basically Newton's Rings, which are closely related to the fringes generated by the interferometer.  Apparently vision artifacts like this have been observed in distant history: I guess back then they had little else to do than screw up their eyes or build the occasional pyramid.

Oliver!

My mother took me to see the film "Oliver" soon after it was released and it made a great impression on me. I came away sort of dazed. I remember my mother asking me which song I enjoyed most and I told her that obviously it was "Where is love?". Although in hindsight "Who will buy...?" is another tear-jerker.

And that is why, possibly, I have a fascination with curved terraces such as Regents Street, London and the Royal Crescent, Bath. We stopped in Bath on our recent trip to the UK and so, whilst Ali was buying beads, I ran across town (barefoot) and took the next two photos.

The Royal Crescent, Bath

Royal Crescent rear view

The building is quite deep - so I figure the rooms inside must be quite large. And the rear elevation is rather random with later additions, as can be seen from this aerial view I found. Posh facade and not so posh derriere.

Aerial view

So what was it in the film "Oliver" that moved me so much? That puts it in first place of all musicals I have seen. Perhaps I am incurably romantic? Perhaps I fell in love with Mark Lester's face? Perhaps I was moved by the music? Or perhaps the whole thing was just so well crafted from beginning (sepia photograph coming to life) to end (Fagin's adieu).

Some admiration for Mark Lester dissipates on hearing that he did not actually sing any of his songs! There were no film locations - the whole show was filmed in the studio. This link shows some of the "behind the scenes". And the following quote gives some sense of the epic nature of the production:

"This was to be more than "a big picture." The timelessness of its theme, its depth of story and character, its richness of song and dance, its evocation of an era, all demanded painstaking devotion, over a long production period. The original stage presentation had to be "opened up," so that the movie camera might do justice to its several hundred performers amid new colourful settings; and so that 110 musicians, and scores of singers, and the magic of sound engineering might give new dimensions to its music. But it had to be expanded by the addition of far more dancing than the limited confines of the stage had permitted.

"A crew of 350 built the astonishing sets, and symbolic of their scope may be these random examples of the materials used: 110 tons of scaffolding; 10 tons of nails and screws: 1000 cobblestone slabs to recreate roadways of  long ago; 1000 gallons of mixed paints. But cold statistics can convey no sense of the warmth, dedication and "heart" of the vivid life and crowded panorama which so many talents joined forces to create."