Why Wodehouse Is a God
Apr. 21st, 2008 12:40 pmI stumbled upon this gem while aimlessly procastinating surfing Wikiquote, and thought I'd share with folk who would also not mind spending half an hour crying with laughter.
(no subject)
Mar. 30th, 2008 09:58 pmJust came back from seeing the play "An Enemy of the People".
Dude. Mindblowing stuff. Not least the performances, which were brilliant, but the script itself. Henrik Ibsen is my new favourite playwrite, replacing Oscar Wilde. It was well adapted too, although after reading the Wikipedia article, I was disappointed that some really great lines had been edited out. But then, I guess very few people in a current generation Sri Lankan audience can appreciate references to Methusaleh.
Apparently, the Norwegian Literay something something paid for the entire production twoce over as part of their celebrations commemorating something. Can't remember, but Ibsen was mentioned. Yes, I am very informative and precise tonight.
My point is that the Norwegians get my vote tonight.
In other news, I am sick. This accounts for the lack of any degree of coherency in this post. Shall crash now and stay dead to typos.
ETA: 'Tis the Norwegian Embassy who funded the production to commemorate the 102nd anniversary of Ibsen's death. Yay, for trufax!
Dude. Mindblowing stuff. Not least the performances, which were brilliant, but the script itself. Henrik Ibsen is my new favourite playwrite, replacing Oscar Wilde. It was well adapted too, although after reading the Wikipedia article, I was disappointed that some really great lines had been edited out. But then, I guess very few people in a current generation Sri Lankan audience can appreciate references to Methusaleh.
Apparently, the Norwegian Literay something something paid for the entire production twoce over as part of their celebrations commemorating something. Can't remember, but Ibsen was mentioned. Yes, I am very informative and precise tonight.
My point is that the Norwegians get my vote tonight.
In other news, I am sick. This accounts for the lack of any degree of coherency in this post. Shall crash now and stay dead to typos.
ETA: 'Tis the Norwegian Embassy who funded the production to commemorate the 102nd anniversary of Ibsen's death. Yay, for trufax!
But I thought he was immortal...
Mar. 19th, 2008 05:39 pmArthur C. Clarke's dead.
Sri Lanka has always regarded him with a love bordering on reverence. My school used to be next door to his former residence and I used to sometimes catch a glimpse of him in his library out a classroom window. And yet I never got around to reading any of his books.
I'm glad he had such a long and fulfilling life, and I'm proud to be a citizen of a country that he loved and that loved him.
Rest in peace.
Sri Lanka has always regarded him with a love bordering on reverence. My school used to be next door to his former residence and I used to sometimes catch a glimpse of him in his library out a classroom window. And yet I never got around to reading any of his books.
I'm glad he had such a long and fulfilling life, and I'm proud to be a citizen of a country that he loved and that loved him.
Rest in peace.
Flist, Americans, Countrypersons. Lend me your screens.
Once there was a girl who watched the Pilot of House, decided that the eponymous character was too much of a cynical, self-satisfied bastard to bother with, and wrote the whole show off lock, stock and actor. The fact that her peers were indulging in disturbing porn fantasies about this man who was probably of her grandfather's generation, and who possessed no discernable sex appeal unless you were also a masochistic leather-daddy-lovin' Severus Snape groupie, grated on her nerves enough to make her discount reports of his considerable acting prowess. This had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that his show was in close competition with her own favourite Show for being one of the best character dramas on TV, and yet continued to get more recognition and publicity than her Show could ever hope for. Bitter? Jealous? What juvenile notions are these? Discard them immediately! And incidentally, Hugh Laurie? Pfft!
This, you will be nauseated to learn, is the tale of her redemption.
Let us establish a seeming non-sequitur first. P. G. Wodehouse is the funniest writer the English-speaking world has yet produced. While Adams and Pratchett are indubitably as gods in their own realms, the fact of Wodehouse's absolute dominion over the craft of Farce is a truth more irrefutable than 42.
And yet, once upon an insanity, somebody had the strangest idea to bring Wodehouse to television. Now, such an idea makes me tremble, because you know, an undertaking of that magnitude requires a talent as specific and unique that There Can Be Only One in the world who could do the material proper justice. Imagine a world where say, Fatty Bolger were given the task of RIng Bearer rather than Frodo Baggins. Or Stan Shunpike were marked by Voldemort as his equal rather than Harry Potter. So you see, the fate of an entire creation was at stake here.
But these were the Brits, y'all, and the BBC. I have great faith in the BBC. The British, despite their curious penchant for treating their Royal Family like newest trend in iPhones, regard their writers as Srz Bznz, as long as said writers don't sell out their creations to Americans. (I'm looking at you, Mrs. Rowling.) Coming on the heels of mini-series' like Miss Marple, Hercule Poirot and Pride and Prejudice, I am assured that the British good sense extends also to the art of film-making. It's enough to make a body feel proud of having been colonized by them for 150 years*.
So, who was to be the Peter Jackson to Wodehouse's middle-earth?
Apparently, the droids they were looking for came in the form of Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry, in their resoundingly successful television adaptation of Jeeves. Now, I have worshipped at the altar of Jeeves ever since I read Code of the Woosters in Grade 9, and anybody who had the balls to embody that Sherlock Holmes of Valets has my vote in the bag. I suppose I did spare a thought of appreciation for the actor of Bertie, but Stephen Fry had a second claim to my affections by reason of being the narrator of the Harry Potter audio books. Coupled with the fact that I never got to see the Jeeves and Wooster adaptation for myself, and my obsession with the Man Who Played Jeeves, I completely forgot that the second half of the inimitable duo was none other than Hugh Laurie, who played the endearing, predicament-prone, good natured, epitome of upper-class British yuppie-hood, Bertram Wooster.
That is right. I, a devout follower of Wodehouse, forgot what Hugh Laurie should have meant to me. Clearly, several Hail Marys are in order.
I suppose that makes me as much of a flaming ignoramous as the casting director of House, who reportedly was so convinced by Laurie's American accent and impressed by his audition that he singled him out to be "real example of an American actor".
Which brings me back to the "point at tissue". Thanks to![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mrsmosley, it was brought to my attention that yes, Jesus Wodehouse yet lives, only nowadays they call him Hugh Laurie, for some strange reason.
Hugh Laurie - Wodehouse Saved My Life.
Clearly, in my Supernatural-blinkered haze, I have sinned. Therefore, I must set about the following Path to Redemption.
1. Stuff my reservations about anybody being able to execute the line "Tinkerty Tonk" with any kind of grace and hunt up the BBC adaptation of Jeeves and Wooster.
2. See what other richness hath spewed from this man's pen.
3. Download and watch House.
4. Fangirl Laurie while petitioning him to give up acting and write more, especially now that Pterry has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. (prays for the Pterrry) Your nation needs you, Hugh!
In conclusion: Brits, FTW!
*le sigh*
I think that's enough hyperbole fangirling for one post. *g*
* I am a prime example of the fact that the residual effects of the Stockholm Syndrome affects entire nations.
Once there was a girl who watched the Pilot of House, decided that the eponymous character was too much of a cynical, self-satisfied bastard to bother with, and wrote the whole show off lock, stock and actor. The fact that her peers were indulging in disturbing porn fantasies about this man who was probably of her grandfather's generation, and who possessed no discernable sex appeal unless you were also a masochistic leather-daddy-lovin' Severus Snape groupie, grated on her nerves enough to make her discount reports of his considerable acting prowess. This had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that his show was in close competition with her own favourite Show for being one of the best character dramas on TV, and yet continued to get more recognition and publicity than her Show could ever hope for. Bitter? Jealous? What juvenile notions are these? Discard them immediately! And incidentally, Hugh Laurie? Pfft!
This, you will be nauseated to learn, is the tale of her redemption.
Let us establish a seeming non-sequitur first. P. G. Wodehouse is the funniest writer the English-speaking world has yet produced. While Adams and Pratchett are indubitably as gods in their own realms, the fact of Wodehouse's absolute dominion over the craft of Farce is a truth more irrefutable than 42.
And yet, once upon an insanity, somebody had the strangest idea to bring Wodehouse to television. Now, such an idea makes me tremble, because you know, an undertaking of that magnitude requires a talent as specific and unique that There Can Be Only One in the world who could do the material proper justice. Imagine a world where say, Fatty Bolger were given the task of RIng Bearer rather than Frodo Baggins. Or Stan Shunpike were marked by Voldemort as his equal rather than Harry Potter. So you see, the fate of an entire creation was at stake here.
But these were the Brits, y'all, and the BBC. I have great faith in the BBC. The British, despite their curious penchant for treating their Royal Family like newest trend in iPhones, regard their writers as Srz Bznz, as long as said writers don't sell out their creations to Americans. (I'm looking at you, Mrs. Rowling.) Coming on the heels of mini-series' like Miss Marple, Hercule Poirot and Pride and Prejudice, I am assured that the British good sense extends also to the art of film-making. It's enough to make a body feel proud of having been colonized by them for 150 years*.
So, who was to be the Peter Jackson to Wodehouse's middle-earth?
Apparently, the droids they were looking for came in the form of Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry, in their resoundingly successful television adaptation of Jeeves. Now, I have worshipped at the altar of Jeeves ever since I read Code of the Woosters in Grade 9, and anybody who had the balls to embody that Sherlock Holmes of Valets has my vote in the bag. I suppose I did spare a thought of appreciation for the actor of Bertie, but Stephen Fry had a second claim to my affections by reason of being the narrator of the Harry Potter audio books. Coupled with the fact that I never got to see the Jeeves and Wooster adaptation for myself, and my obsession with the Man Who Played Jeeves, I completely forgot that the second half of the inimitable duo was none other than Hugh Laurie, who played the endearing, predicament-prone, good natured, epitome of upper-class British yuppie-hood, Bertram Wooster.
That is right. I, a devout follower of Wodehouse, forgot what Hugh Laurie should have meant to me. Clearly, several Hail Marys are in order.
I suppose that makes me as much of a flaming ignoramous as the casting director of House, who reportedly was so convinced by Laurie's American accent and impressed by his audition that he singled him out to be "real example of an American actor".
Which brings me back to the "point at tissue". Thanks to
mrsmosley, it was brought to my attention that yes, Hugh Laurie - Wodehouse Saved My Life.
Clearly, in my Supernatural-blinkered haze, I have sinned. Therefore, I must set about the following Path to Redemption.
1. Stuff my reservations about anybody being able to execute the line "Tinkerty Tonk" with any kind of grace and hunt up the BBC adaptation of Jeeves and Wooster.
2. See what other richness hath spewed from this man's pen.
3. Download and watch House.
4. Fangirl Laurie while petitioning him to give up acting and write more, especially now that Pterry has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. (prays for the Pterrry) Your nation needs you, Hugh!
In conclusion: Brits, FTW!
*le sigh*
I think that's enough hyperbole fangirling for one post. *g*
* I am a prime example of the fact that the residual effects of the Stockholm Syndrome affects entire nations.
