Mel Brooks is sort of anti-subtle, isn't he?
"By a stroke of good fortune, producer Robert Young and director Brian Eastman found just the right pair of swallowing performers - Stephen Fry, who smiles secretly, and Hugh Laurie, who babbles on."
Um. Swallowing performers. Wut.
No, I mean, it makes sense in context, I guess, but still. Those two don't need the word "swallowing" anywhere near them.
On a somewhat-related note, I'm finding Leave it to Psmith tough going. Not that it's not funny, because it's Wodehouse which automatically makes it A+ in the humor department, but there's just so much damn romance. That he should be doing it to Psmith...well, ok. I'm being unfair. But as I haven't read any other Blandings yet, Psmith is my entry point into this world, and so is pretty much the only one I care about at this point. And instead of being all gregarious and charming and perfectly lovely, the way he was when he was with Mike at Sedleigh, he's doing nothing but mooning over Eve.
Faugh. It's times like this when I wonder if slash hasn't ruined absolutely everything for me. Because I can no longer stomach traditional romances, whatever form they might be in - Shakespeare comedy, chick flicks (not that I had much tolerance for those in the first place), dramatic arcs on TV. Even when it's a comedic author as infinitely capable as Wodehouse, I just can't seem to stick it. Which is why the Jeeves books are beyond perfect for me. As someone somewhere online once said, the Jeeves and Wooster stories are basically anti-romance; I mean, good grief, Bertie practically shudders when confronted with the mere threat of matrimony. All of the romantic entanglements of his friends are looked upon with a fond sort of eye, albeit also a bit of a confused and patronizing one, as if that eye (and, presumably, the person attached to it) could not fathom why a person would put themselves through all of that.
Oh dear, I hardly know what I'm talking about at this point. My point is, Psmith is the only part of this ruddy book that I have a vested interest in, and I wish he'd go back to being the way he was - the dashing, witty, secret cricket player that I fell in love with. Oh well, if I can manage Ring for Jeeves I fancy I can manage just about anything.
And lest I start despairing too much, there's always Thank You, Jeeves and Joy/Jeeves in the Morning to look forward to. Besides which, I need to get my hands on The Gun Seller, Moab is my Washpot, and Making History pronto. The "how?" of this operation is eluding me at the moment, but I'll get it eventually.
Hmm, I seem to have given myself a segue from Wodehouse back to SFAHL there. How fortuitous. So, in the interest of bringing this thing full circle, Stephenf (I can't stop adding that bally f in my thoughts) made another podgram at long last, and I listened to it today. It was a 40-minute impassioned speech about the state of broadcasting today, and it was wonderful. I can't pretend to have any deep understanding about the Beeb or its history or the debate over license fees, but I do know a convincing case when I hear one. And I'm plenty fond of the BBC for what it's given me over the years, not to speak of what it means to Britons, so I thought his final sentence was more than usually lovely: "We actually can afford the BBC, because we can’t afford not to."
Utter perfection.
Um. Swallowing performers. Wut.
No, I mean, it makes sense in context, I guess, but still. Those two don't need the word "swallowing" anywhere near them.
On a somewhat-related note, I'm finding Leave it to Psmith tough going. Not that it's not funny, because it's Wodehouse which automatically makes it A+ in the humor department, but there's just so much damn romance. That he should be doing it to Psmith...well, ok. I'm being unfair. But as I haven't read any other Blandings yet, Psmith is my entry point into this world, and so is pretty much the only one I care about at this point. And instead of being all gregarious and charming and perfectly lovely, the way he was when he was with Mike at Sedleigh, he's doing nothing but mooning over Eve.
Faugh. It's times like this when I wonder if slash hasn't ruined absolutely everything for me. Because I can no longer stomach traditional romances, whatever form they might be in - Shakespeare comedy, chick flicks (not that I had much tolerance for those in the first place), dramatic arcs on TV. Even when it's a comedic author as infinitely capable as Wodehouse, I just can't seem to stick it. Which is why the Jeeves books are beyond perfect for me. As someone somewhere online once said, the Jeeves and Wooster stories are basically anti-romance; I mean, good grief, Bertie practically shudders when confronted with the mere threat of matrimony. All of the romantic entanglements of his friends are looked upon with a fond sort of eye, albeit also a bit of a confused and patronizing one, as if that eye (and, presumably, the person attached to it) could not fathom why a person would put themselves through all of that.
Oh dear, I hardly know what I'm talking about at this point. My point is, Psmith is the only part of this ruddy book that I have a vested interest in, and I wish he'd go back to being the way he was - the dashing, witty, secret cricket player that I fell in love with. Oh well, if I can manage Ring for Jeeves I fancy I can manage just about anything.
And lest I start despairing too much, there's always Thank You, Jeeves and Joy/Jeeves in the Morning to look forward to. Besides which, I need to get my hands on The Gun Seller, Moab is my Washpot, and Making History pronto. The "how?" of this operation is eluding me at the moment, but I'll get it eventually.
Hmm, I seem to have given myself a segue from Wodehouse back to SFAHL there. How fortuitous. So, in the interest of bringing this thing full circle, Stephenf (I can't stop adding that bally f in my thoughts) made another podgram at long last, and I listened to it today. It was a 40-minute impassioned speech about the state of broadcasting today, and it was wonderful. I can't pretend to have any deep understanding about the Beeb or its history or the debate over license fees, but I do know a convincing case when I hear one. And I'm plenty fond of the BBC for what it's given me over the years, not to speak of what it means to Britons, so I thought his final sentence was more than usually lovely: "We actually can afford the BBC, because we can’t afford not to."
Utter perfection.