(no subject)
As some of you may have gathered (and thanks to the wonderous scums) I have been watching quite a lot of Perry Mason recently, on top of my gleeful PM novel readings. Yesterday I came to the first adaptation of a novel I’d read recently enough for it to still be completely fresh in my memory, and it was really interesting to see what they had cut and changed in order to fit it to the (I should imagine) rather constraining 50 minutes of an episode.
One of the scenes that was changed was this rather sweet little Perry/Della moment, which I wanted to share with you in its entirety. There are some extremely mild spoilers for “The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife”.
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Mason stopped the car and helped Della Street out.
“Where,” he asked, “do we go for our picnic, Della?”
She said, “I think the lake is off here to the right. It is supposed to be up a trail through a patch of woodland.”
They followed a trail which wound up a slope beneath huge live oaks. The trail curved to the right and then doubled back sharply to the left.
Della Street exclaimed at the sheer beauty of the scene before them.
The lake, some hundred and fifty feet long by a hundred wide, reflected the reddish glow of massed clouds in the western heavens. Back of the lake on the east was a hill and from this hill a spring fed a small stream which trickled down over granite rocks under oak trees. There was no wind and the lake was a vivid mirror of growing color.
Della Street stood drinking in the beauty of the scene. Mason, at her side, slipped his arm around her shoulders, held her close to his side as they stood watching the sunset.
“What a perfect place for a proposal!” Della Street exclaimed, then laughed nervously. “I’m beginning to think she was telling the truth, Chief.”
Mason said, “The cold feeling in the pit of my stomach still persists. Let’s take a look around, Della, before it gets dark.”
They walked around the shore of the lake, found no difficulty whatever in locating the spot where the picnic had taken place.
The picnickers had been careless, not unusually so, but paper plates were still in evidence, an empty tin which had contained olives caught the reflection of the clouds and glowed with reddish brilliance. An attempt had been made to dispose of surplus garbage by digging a hole, but the hole had been left uncovered and Mason, using a little chip of wood as a scoop, carefully brought out the remnants of a meal, bread crusts, olive pits and a quantity of what had evidently been creamed tuna, below which was macaroni and cheese of the type dispensed by delicatessen stores; there were also some bags which had contained potato chips and the peeled shells from hard boiled eggs.
After a few moments of studying the results of his scavenging, Mason tossed the chip away, got to his feet, said, “Well, Della, this Friday the thirteenth certainly has been my unlucky day.”
Della Street slipped her hand into his. “I hate to add to it Chief… But the board’s over here, the one he used for a raft.”
Mason saw a rough slab of board floating in the lake, a board which had originally been cut to generous proportions, eighteen inches wide, two inches thick, and perhaps some five feet long. Some round limbs from a dead oak had been crudely lashed to the bottom in order to form a raft which looked capable of supporting one’s weight.
Mason turned abruptly away.
Silently they walked around to the far edge of the lake, then paused to look at the after colors of sunset. Della Street glanced questioningly at Mason.
The lawyer wearily settled down on the grassy slope, looked up at the clouds which had now turned crimson.
They sat in silence, close together, each preoccupied with his own thoughts. Mason, turning over and over in his mind the murder case, Della Street from time to time glancing up at Mason’s granite-hard profile, his level-lidded concentration.
At length, Mason lay back, put his hands under his head, looked up at the heavens and said wearily, “Let’s wait for the first star, Della. Then, we’ll go.”
She moved around, raised his head, put it on her lap, smoothed back the thick wavy hair from his tired forehead.
Mason closed his eyes. “That feels swell,” he muttered.
She placed the tips of her fingers over his eyelids, softly drew them around the edges, then gave a gentle pressure against the sides of his head just back of the eyes.
Mason drew in a deep breath, exhaled it in a sigh, relaxed until the furrows left his forehead, said almost dreamily, “Call me when you see the first star, Della.”
Ten seconds later he was asleep.
Della let him sleep until the stars were blazing brilliantly, until the evening air began to have a suggestion of a chill, then she wakened him.
“The first star, Chief,” she said.
“Della… Good Lord, what time is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s not too late.”
“You should have wakened me.”
“I was asleep myself,” she lied.
“Honest?”
“Uh huh.”
“Gosh, Della… Where are the flashlights?”
“Over here.”
“It’s going to be dark.”
“That’s all right. We can find our way down the trail.”
“Well,” Mason said, “let’s go back and call it a day, Della.”
[…]
They walked silently down the pathway. Mason held the door open for Della, fumbled for his ignition keys.
“Okay?” she asked.
“I think I forgot something,” he said.
“What?”
He grasped her shoulders, pulled her towards him, kissed her, then held her close to him.
She sighed when he released her. “It should have gone with the sunset,” she laughed, but her voice was wistful.
“Better late than never,” he told her. “I’m going to quit taking my cases so seriously if they make me unable to concentrate on the things that are worthwhile in life.”
“Don’t go to extremes,” she laughed. “Just dismiss it from your mind until tomorrow.”
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Adorable. But what made me glee like a very gleeful thing was the fact that it was changed to this:
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[Perry and Paul wander into view, Paul’s hand on Perry’s shoulder. They look around. They are by a lake, which has a picnic bench and a bin and other things lying about.]
PAUL: Well, this looks like the place she described.
[Perry wanders too close to the edge of the lake and nearly falls in. Paul grabs his arm and stops him from ending up soggy.]
PERRY: Thanks! Well I can see how he might have slipped and gotten wet. Everything matches…
[Cut to the next scene]
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And that’s all it is… but I’M SURE YOU SEE WHERE MY EVIL LITTLE FANGIRL BRAIN IS GOING TRYING TO SUPERIMPOSE THE TWO.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Della, she’s awesome. (I like almost every female character in Perry Mason. How is this possible? I am the fabled female-character-hater that fictional females fear. Girly bits? Then I probably won’t like you, text-based heroine!) But I just can’t break the habit of the last ten or more years (counting only from when I actually found out about fanfic) by not taking this blatant chance for slash! Not to mention that I’d feel bad if Paul got left out. He’s too brill.
So now I have Perry plus Paul and possibly Della… plus picnic basket, plus lake, plus sunset and sleeping in laps! And hair stroking! And kissing by the car in the dark! And it might just be the sappiest thing ever.
One of the scenes that was changed was this rather sweet little Perry/Della moment, which I wanted to share with you in its entirety. There are some extremely mild spoilers for “The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife”.
_____________________________________________________________________
Mason stopped the car and helped Della Street out.
“Where,” he asked, “do we go for our picnic, Della?”
She said, “I think the lake is off here to the right. It is supposed to be up a trail through a patch of woodland.”
They followed a trail which wound up a slope beneath huge live oaks. The trail curved to the right and then doubled back sharply to the left.
Della Street exclaimed at the sheer beauty of the scene before them.
The lake, some hundred and fifty feet long by a hundred wide, reflected the reddish glow of massed clouds in the western heavens. Back of the lake on the east was a hill and from this hill a spring fed a small stream which trickled down over granite rocks under oak trees. There was no wind and the lake was a vivid mirror of growing color.
Della Street stood drinking in the beauty of the scene. Mason, at her side, slipped his arm around her shoulders, held her close to his side as they stood watching the sunset.
“What a perfect place for a proposal!” Della Street exclaimed, then laughed nervously. “I’m beginning to think she was telling the truth, Chief.”
Mason said, “The cold feeling in the pit of my stomach still persists. Let’s take a look around, Della, before it gets dark.”
They walked around the shore of the lake, found no difficulty whatever in locating the spot where the picnic had taken place.
The picnickers had been careless, not unusually so, but paper plates were still in evidence, an empty tin which had contained olives caught the reflection of the clouds and glowed with reddish brilliance. An attempt had been made to dispose of surplus garbage by digging a hole, but the hole had been left uncovered and Mason, using a little chip of wood as a scoop, carefully brought out the remnants of a meal, bread crusts, olive pits and a quantity of what had evidently been creamed tuna, below which was macaroni and cheese of the type dispensed by delicatessen stores; there were also some bags which had contained potato chips and the peeled shells from hard boiled eggs.
After a few moments of studying the results of his scavenging, Mason tossed the chip away, got to his feet, said, “Well, Della, this Friday the thirteenth certainly has been my unlucky day.”
Della Street slipped her hand into his. “I hate to add to it Chief… But the board’s over here, the one he used for a raft.”
Mason saw a rough slab of board floating in the lake, a board which had originally been cut to generous proportions, eighteen inches wide, two inches thick, and perhaps some five feet long. Some round limbs from a dead oak had been crudely lashed to the bottom in order to form a raft which looked capable of supporting one’s weight.
Mason turned abruptly away.
Silently they walked around to the far edge of the lake, then paused to look at the after colors of sunset. Della Street glanced questioningly at Mason.
The lawyer wearily settled down on the grassy slope, looked up at the clouds which had now turned crimson.
They sat in silence, close together, each preoccupied with his own thoughts. Mason, turning over and over in his mind the murder case, Della Street from time to time glancing up at Mason’s granite-hard profile, his level-lidded concentration.
At length, Mason lay back, put his hands under his head, looked up at the heavens and said wearily, “Let’s wait for the first star, Della. Then, we’ll go.”
She moved around, raised his head, put it on her lap, smoothed back the thick wavy hair from his tired forehead.
Mason closed his eyes. “That feels swell,” he muttered.
She placed the tips of her fingers over his eyelids, softly drew them around the edges, then gave a gentle pressure against the sides of his head just back of the eyes.
Mason drew in a deep breath, exhaled it in a sigh, relaxed until the furrows left his forehead, said almost dreamily, “Call me when you see the first star, Della.”
Ten seconds later he was asleep.
Della let him sleep until the stars were blazing brilliantly, until the evening air began to have a suggestion of a chill, then she wakened him.
“The first star, Chief,” she said.
“Della… Good Lord, what time is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s not too late.”
“You should have wakened me.”
“I was asleep myself,” she lied.
“Honest?”
“Uh huh.”
“Gosh, Della… Where are the flashlights?”
“Over here.”
“It’s going to be dark.”
“That’s all right. We can find our way down the trail.”
“Well,” Mason said, “let’s go back and call it a day, Della.”
[…]
They walked silently down the pathway. Mason held the door open for Della, fumbled for his ignition keys.
“Okay?” she asked.
“I think I forgot something,” he said.
“What?”
He grasped her shoulders, pulled her towards him, kissed her, then held her close to him.
She sighed when he released her. “It should have gone with the sunset,” she laughed, but her voice was wistful.
“Better late than never,” he told her. “I’m going to quit taking my cases so seriously if they make me unable to concentrate on the things that are worthwhile in life.”
“Don’t go to extremes,” she laughed. “Just dismiss it from your mind until tomorrow.”
_____________________________________________________________________
Adorable. But what made me glee like a very gleeful thing was the fact that it was changed to this:
_____________________________________________________________________
[Perry and Paul wander into view, Paul’s hand on Perry’s shoulder. They look around. They are by a lake, which has a picnic bench and a bin and other things lying about.]
PAUL: Well, this looks like the place she described.
[Perry wanders too close to the edge of the lake and nearly falls in. Paul grabs his arm and stops him from ending up soggy.]
PERRY: Thanks! Well I can see how he might have slipped and gotten wet. Everything matches…
[Cut to the next scene]
_____________________________________________________________________
And that’s all it is… but I’M SURE YOU SEE WHERE MY EVIL LITTLE FANGIRL BRAIN IS GOING TRYING TO SUPERIMPOSE THE TWO.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Della, she’s awesome. (I like almost every female character in Perry Mason. How is this possible? I am the fabled female-character-hater that fictional females fear. Girly bits? Then I probably won’t like you, text-based heroine!) But I just can’t break the habit of the last ten or more years (counting only from when I actually found out about fanfic) by not taking this blatant chance for slash! Not to mention that I’d feel bad if Paul got left out. He’s too brill.
So now I have Perry plus Paul and possibly Della… plus picnic basket, plus lake, plus sunset and sleeping in laps! And hair stroking! And kissing by the car in the dark! And it might just be the sappiest thing ever.