Dancing the rest of the way
Belated but heartfelt birthday greetings to the wonderfully expressive katlinel!
I hope she doesn't mind sharing a post with another favourite of mine, because I've been meaning to write about this for a couple of weeks, and I've finally got round to it tonight.
One side effect of Sherlock was to leave me yearning for Raffles, the burglar-cum-cricketer. I was slightly shocked to find I didn't have any of the works of E. W. Hornung on my shelves (come to think of it, I don't think I've got anything from his brother-in-law Conan Doyle either), so I hastily ordered some from Abebooks, and now have three pleasantly battered volumes.
I wonder whether we could have another television dramatisation? I first met Raffles in the 1970s version, with Anthony Valentine and Christopher Strauli, which was lovely, though Valentine was a bit too nice to be Raffles, and had warm dark eyes instead of the cold blue ones Hornung describes. (If Benedict Cumberbatch wasn't spoken for, he'd be a very good Raffles. I'm not sure who I'd cast as Bunny; Strauli was perfect.) And they had to change a lot, especially to keep Raffles living as a gentleman in the Albany after he should have been on the run. I don't think I remember them doing the story where he plans to murder his fence, either. But I was quite touched by the way they managed to introduce, into practically every story, a heroine of the week who was mad keen on cricket.
The very first episode, the one that hooked me, was a one-off in 1975, and one of the many things I liked about it was that it used Dukas' music for The Sorceror's Apprentice. (The follow-up series two years later used a dull signature tune which I presume was commissioned specially.) Before seeing Raffles, I was very fed up with The Sorceror's Apprentice, which was one of those pieces apparently considered suitable for children's musical education because of the story about the broom. But once I thought of it as music about a strong will bending another to its purpose, I loved it. I forgot about brooms; Raffles was the sorceror, and Bunny his apprentice. And it's exactly right for the line that sums up the relationship for me, from the story which sees the pair reunited after a long separation:
And then the champagne that we drank, not the quantity but the quality! Well, it was Pol Roger, '84, and quite good enough for me; but even so it was not more dry, not did it sparkle more, than the merry rascal who had dragged me thus far to the devil, but should lead me dancing the rest of the way.
I'd completely forgotten, until I looked at the Wikipedia article, that there was a disastrous one-off dramatisation in 2001 starring Nigel Havers, which completely omitted Bunny. At least, given the way that the writers of Life on Mars and Sherlock have made it perfectly clear that they know how to nod towards the slash-loving audience, I don't think that will happen again. Because Raffles without Bunny is as inconceivable as Holmes without Watson (and yes, I do remember there's a story where Holmes is without Watson, but it wouldn't have been a very good idea to make a habit of it). Everything we know about Raffles comes to us through Bunny; and I put up with the slightly preposterous over-written style because it's Bunny's slightly preposterous over-written style. Here, have a chunk from the very beginning - it's page three of the first story in my edition. Bunny has arrived at Raffles's flat to tell him that he's ruined, and planning to blow his brains out.
The barrel touched my temple, and my thumb the trigger. Mad with excitement as I was, ruined, dishonoured, and now finally determined to make an end of my mis-spent life, my only surprise to this day is that I did not do so then and there. The despicable satisfaction of involving another in one's destruction added its miserable appeal to my baser egoism; and had fear or horror flown to my companion's face, I shudder to think I might have died diabolically happy with that look for my last impious consolation. It was the look that came instead which held my hand. Neither fear nor horror was in it; only wonder, admiration, and such a measure of pleased expectancy as caused me after all to pocket my revolver with an oath.
"You devil!" I said. "I believe you wanted me to do it!"
"Not quite," was the reply, made with a little start, and a change of colour that came too late. "To tell you the truth, though, I half thought you meant it, and I was never more fascinated in my life. I never dreamt you had such stuff in you, Bunny! No, I'm hanged if I let you go now."
I have pondered an update, in which the camera zooms in on Raffles playing a Pietersen-like flamingo shot, and Mick Jagger leaps to his feet shouting "Hang on a minute, that's my diamond earring wot disappeared in the lunch interval at Wormsley!" (And Mick is rather flattered that Raffles pinched his earring, so lies through his teeth when Mackenzie questions him.) But I think the nature of media attention would make it more difficult for Raffles to pull off the double act in the modern day, and anyway I think Sherlock has cornered that particular market for now.
But I do like a man in a dinner jacket, and I'd love to see those two again.
I hope she doesn't mind sharing a post with another favourite of mine, because I've been meaning to write about this for a couple of weeks, and I've finally got round to it tonight.
One side effect of Sherlock was to leave me yearning for Raffles, the burglar-cum-cricketer. I was slightly shocked to find I didn't have any of the works of E. W. Hornung on my shelves (come to think of it, I don't think I've got anything from his brother-in-law Conan Doyle either), so I hastily ordered some from Abebooks, and now have three pleasantly battered volumes.
I wonder whether we could have another television dramatisation? I first met Raffles in the 1970s version, with Anthony Valentine and Christopher Strauli, which was lovely, though Valentine was a bit too nice to be Raffles, and had warm dark eyes instead of the cold blue ones Hornung describes. (If Benedict Cumberbatch wasn't spoken for, he'd be a very good Raffles. I'm not sure who I'd cast as Bunny; Strauli was perfect.) And they had to change a lot, especially to keep Raffles living as a gentleman in the Albany after he should have been on the run. I don't think I remember them doing the story where he plans to murder his fence, either. But I was quite touched by the way they managed to introduce, into practically every story, a heroine of the week who was mad keen on cricket.
The very first episode, the one that hooked me, was a one-off in 1975, and one of the many things I liked about it was that it used Dukas' music for The Sorceror's Apprentice. (The follow-up series two years later used a dull signature tune which I presume was commissioned specially.) Before seeing Raffles, I was very fed up with The Sorceror's Apprentice, which was one of those pieces apparently considered suitable for children's musical education because of the story about the broom. But once I thought of it as music about a strong will bending another to its purpose, I loved it. I forgot about brooms; Raffles was the sorceror, and Bunny his apprentice. And it's exactly right for the line that sums up the relationship for me, from the story which sees the pair reunited after a long separation:
And then the champagne that we drank, not the quantity but the quality! Well, it was Pol Roger, '84, and quite good enough for me; but even so it was not more dry, not did it sparkle more, than the merry rascal who had dragged me thus far to the devil, but should lead me dancing the rest of the way.
I'd completely forgotten, until I looked at the Wikipedia article, that there was a disastrous one-off dramatisation in 2001 starring Nigel Havers, which completely omitted Bunny. At least, given the way that the writers of Life on Mars and Sherlock have made it perfectly clear that they know how to nod towards the slash-loving audience, I don't think that will happen again. Because Raffles without Bunny is as inconceivable as Holmes without Watson (and yes, I do remember there's a story where Holmes is without Watson, but it wouldn't have been a very good idea to make a habit of it). Everything we know about Raffles comes to us through Bunny; and I put up with the slightly preposterous over-written style because it's Bunny's slightly preposterous over-written style. Here, have a chunk from the very beginning - it's page three of the first story in my edition. Bunny has arrived at Raffles's flat to tell him that he's ruined, and planning to blow his brains out.
The barrel touched my temple, and my thumb the trigger. Mad with excitement as I was, ruined, dishonoured, and now finally determined to make an end of my mis-spent life, my only surprise to this day is that I did not do so then and there. The despicable satisfaction of involving another in one's destruction added its miserable appeal to my baser egoism; and had fear or horror flown to my companion's face, I shudder to think I might have died diabolically happy with that look for my last impious consolation. It was the look that came instead which held my hand. Neither fear nor horror was in it; only wonder, admiration, and such a measure of pleased expectancy as caused me after all to pocket my revolver with an oath.
"You devil!" I said. "I believe you wanted me to do it!"
"Not quite," was the reply, made with a little start, and a change of colour that came too late. "To tell you the truth, though, I half thought you meant it, and I was never more fascinated in my life. I never dreamt you had such stuff in you, Bunny! No, I'm hanged if I let you go now."
I have pondered an update, in which the camera zooms in on Raffles playing a Pietersen-like flamingo shot, and Mick Jagger leaps to his feet shouting "Hang on a minute, that's my diamond earring wot disappeared in the lunch interval at Wormsley!" (And Mick is rather flattered that Raffles pinched his earring, so lies through his teeth when Mackenzie questions him.) But I think the nature of media attention would make it more difficult for Raffles to pull off the double act in the modern day, and anyway I think Sherlock has cornered that particular market for now.
But I do like a man in a dinner jacket, and I'd love to see those two again.