Blackmoor Vituperative

“I have absolutely no idea what we’re doing here, or what I’m doing here, or what this place is about. But I am determined to enjoy myself.”

So… okay, I interrupt my reports of the previous moment’s heart-rending injustice (which is 87% likely to be something found exclusively in the United States Of America), to talk about a show I like, and to also share an unexpected heart-rending.

I am currently watching “Upstart Crow” on BritBox on Roku, and I am on the “Christmas Lock Down 1603″ episode. Thus far, it has been a humourous coddangle of an episode, to enjoy over an evening’s thrillop and quentish. But what’s this? Will (Mr. Shakespeare, to some) says this…”I haven’t seen my family in months. I missed my father’s funeral. I never even got the chance to say goodbye!”

–record scratch–

Hold on: is Harry Enfield (the actor who plays William Shakespeare’s father) DEAD?

So I paused the episode, typed all of this into futtington Facebook, and then googled “Harry Enfield”…

Mr. Enfield is alive and well (as far as Wikipedia knows). So why would… oooooooh… (google “John Shakespeare” …) ah, John Shakespeare died in September 1601. And this, of course, is “Christmas Lock Down 1603”. Hang on, there: are we to believe that London has been experiencing a plague lockdown for … ah. Never mind.

KATE: After all, while we be locked in our homes, there be no land cleared, no rivers damned, no forests felled. Nature has its moment and all God’s creatures a year without fear that man will destroy its very habitat.

KATE: That has to be a good thing, doesn’t it?

WILL: Yes, Kate, it does. But it brings me no comfort, child. Because even if humanity has by some miracle used this time to take stock of the things that actually matter, and if perhaps nature has been given momentary relief from its brutal servitude to man, it won’t make any difference.

WILL: Because the second this is all over and humanity is free to roam once more, we will be exactly as shallow and facile and selfish and destructive as we ever were. We will have learnt nothing, Kate. Nothing. Because frankly, we never do.

The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

“The Second Coming“, W. B. Yeats, 1919

Fun fact! Yeats went on to embrace fascism and authoritarianism — the “passionate intensity” of “the worst“. “The Second Coming” is the most compelling proof I know of that an artist is not their art — and if we insist on conflating the two, or on depriving ourselves of great art by less-than-great people, that it is we who suffer for it.

Yeats, after all, is long dead, and quite beyond our reproachment.

What had me thinking about this was, of course, the results of the election yesterday, in which the “the worst” — angry, hateful, and completely detached from reality — won virtually every election.

I am glad that I don’t have children. The United States is a dumpster fire, and it won’t get better in my lifetime.

If it ever does.

I’ve spent the last week or so watching the 4K extremely-high-definition blu-ray of the extended 11 hour “Lord Of The Rings” trilogy. The difference between this and the DVD is truly breathtaking. And the trilogy itself is, of course… it has no peer.

I am glad that I lived to see this.

Letting “Alligator” (1980) play while I work. I remember seeing this when I was 15 or 16 and thinking it was really funny. I’m only five minutes into it, but I feel so sad for the baby alligator. That’s true of pretty much any old movie I see that has real animals. I am a lot more sensitive to it now than I was when I was a kid. I have a hard time watching “Night Of The Lepus” (1972) nowadays.

I prefer fake-looking CGI animals over seeing real animals mistreated.

My very first RPG character was Dinara, a Chaotic Evil Magic User in Advanced Dungeons & Dragons. I repeatedly manipulated the other PCs into betraying and killing each other so they (and I) could get the dead PC’s stuff. Back then, we always started characters at 1st level, so after a while I had the highest level character by a significant margin.

Unfortunately, after the … fifth time, I think? … the other players must have compared notes, because at the beginning of the next game session, Dinara walked into the tavern, and all of the other PCs stood up from the table and drew their weapons.

“We need to have a talk,” one of them said.

“Fireball,” I replied.

That killed all but two of the other PCs, who then killed Dinara.

It was worth it.

Keep in mind that this was 1980, we were 15 (or maybe 14, now that I think of it), we were friends, we were all new to the game, and we were the only AD&D players we knew. Also, we weren’t as emotionally invested in our characters as everyone is now (including me). It was a game. Those of us with dead characters made up new ones and moved on. My next character was a Lawful Good Fighter.

While I was typing this, Susan asked if that experience taught me that playing a character like that was not a good thing to do. I said no: I have never played a PC like that again, but I have run a few NPCs like that in games I have GMd since then. But what I did learn is that you can only pull something like that once with a given group of players.

We watched a movie called “The Colony” (2021) last night. It was kind of like “Escape From New York” (1981), but without the bright colour palette and upbeat tone.

Today we watched a very interesting movie on Netflix DVD, “The Current War” (2017), about Thomas Edison, George Westinghouse, and (to a much lesser extent) Nikola Tesla. We enjoyed it.

If you get a chance to see “Nancy Drew And The Hidden Staircase” (2019), do. It’s cute and fun.

No spoilers.

If you’ll take my suggestion, do not read anything about it or watch any trailers. I didn’t, and I’m glad. This is a much better film than I expected it to be. Susan called it “a lovely surprise”. Maybe you will enjoy it, too.

Have you seen “The Swimmer” (1968), with Burt Lancaster? I love that movie. At the risk of a possible spoiler, I consider it one of the creepiest ghost stories I have ever seen. (*Is* it a ghost story? It might not be. That’s one of the things that makes it so creepy. But *I* consider it a ghost story.)

It’s based on a short story that I had never read until recently: “The Swimmer”, by John Cheever, originally published in “The New Yorker” in 1964.