A Quiet Drink, Except for the Bombs

Author Ian Fleming

The bombs were falling, and James Kirkup’s hands were shaking. The gay poet, a conscientious objector during World War II, was in London for the weekend, up from the Essex farm where he worked.

Unlike the denizens of London, Kirkup was unaccustomed to the German Blitz, so, sitting in an otherwise-empty Piccadilly pub, he fortified himself with a glass of Algerian wine. And then in walked Ian Fleming.

The future creator of James Bond, then a naval intelligence officer, had been walking home when he was caught in the air raid. Kirkup sensed this man wasn’t gay. A raffish businessman, he decided.

James Kirkup portrait by Maurice Feild

“Ian looked at him quizzically, and asked, ‘What’s that muck you’re drinking?’ When Kirkup told him, Ian introduced himself, took a flask from his Burberry coat pocket and poured the young poet a stiff brandy. ‘Here, have a proper drink on me,’ he said.”

The men quickly discovered their keen, mutual interest in literature. “So, with the bombs still falling, Kirkup slowly recited one of his more labored and inscrutable works. When he came to the end, the air raid suddenly ceased. ‘You’ve stopped the Luftwaffe,’ shouted the Irish barman.

“‘That’s really quite sinister,’ announced Ian after some reflection. ‘I suppose the word ‘cottage’ has more than one meaning?’

“’If you like,’ replied Kirkup.

“’And I expect the ‘inspector’ is both a ticket inspector and a police inspector?’ continued Ian.

“The poet agreed that his words were not to be taken literally. ‘The inspector could be anyone in authority, come to take me away to the jail or the loony bin.’

“Ian sighed, ‘Your poor parents,’ — a veiled remark which Kirkup thought perceptive.”

As the all-clear sounded and the strangers parted in the night, Fleming asked for Kirkup’s address. He explained that he thought Kirkup’s cryptic poetry might just be cryptic enough to form the basis of a code to fool the Nazis.

Source: “Ian Fleming” by Andrew Lycett

Fun with Thunder

Chris Hemsworth as Earth's defender, the mighty Thor

Brad Kupiec, Mary Maddox and I just attended “Thor: The Dark World,” running into Sean Copeland and Bryce Ricketts there. Marvel movies draw my friends like iron filings to an Asgardian lodestone.

And this latest is great fun, dancing to the same snappy blend of action, melodrama, heart and humor that made “The Avengers” a winner, although it doesn't share the latter's perfect pace.

The metaphysical mumbo-jumbo is considerable, but never gets in the way of the audience’s enjoyment for long. And when you have to talk about metaphysical mumbo-jumbo, you're better off to get Sir Anthony Hopkins to do it for you in his redoubtable, undoubtable voice.

A dimension-hopping climactic superhero battle is just about everything a comic book fan could want, but it’s the humanity of the superhumans that carries the day, thanks to actors well-rehearsed in these roles after three films.

Particularly to be relished is Anthony Hopkins’ effortless gravitas as Odin the All-Father and Tom Hiddleston’s wonderful, seductive, layered performance as Loki, the trickster god. Watch how Hiddleston’s face shifts and shades from grinning evil to a flicker of lost-boy vulnerability, his eyes hinting at a child who has angrily pushed away the arms he longs to have hold and protect him.

Often unsung but perhaps best of all is Chris Hemsworth as mighty Thor, saddled with the thankless task of portraying an utterly noble champion. If his hammer strikes sparks of humor from the situation, that’s only because of the deft juxaposition of gods and bemused 21^st century mortals, and never at the character’s expense. Think how easily such a role can slip into thundering self-parody, and you’ll savor how well Hemsworth, with his matter-of-fact valor, pulls it off and pulls the film together.

Our Monumental Mistake

Last night, I dreamed of a monstrously huge Washington Monument-type memorial to 9-11 rising from the middle of Manhattan until it disappeared into the clouds, and remember thinking that if it toppled, it would kill us all.

When I awakened, I recognized it as a symbol of the American police state apparatus that has been set up in the last decade — the true legacy of 9-11.

How to Rescue a Reporter

Alex Ross creates rhe same effect in a painting that John Williams creates in music.

For an illustration of just how powerfully music can contribute to a film, click here.

The key helicopter rescue scene of Richard Donner’s 1978 Superman film has been stripped of sound, with the soundtrack music brought up full.

“Do not get me started on the brilliance of John Williams,” remarked theatrical designer Ken Barnett. “This is one of my favorite scenes of all time. THIS IS THE PERFECT SUPER HERO MOMENT!!! When Clark comes out and picks up her hat... CHILLS! Perfection. They have not been able to top this moment in any of the Superman films. They were close with Supes rescuing Lois on the plane with the space shuttle in ‘Returns...’”

“When Clark is running, and she’s sliding down that seatbelt... Hitchcock couldn't have done better.”

“John Williams is such an amazing artist!” Ken said. “Sadly, people will not realize this until he is gone. I love this soundtrack...”

I agree that the music and the scene are perfect, and perfect for each other. I get my frisson when the strings go mournful as the fire trucks and ambulances arrive. John Williams is telling you “Poor Lois is going to die now,” and you believe it emotionally, even though you know she won’t intellectually, simply because of the power of his music.

And then there's the wonderful way that the rhythm of the Superman theme begins as Clark Kent grasps the situation, low and slowly under the disaster music, building in power. Watch a real actor at work as Christopher Reeve lets the disguise of ordinariness drop from his face, replaced by the laser-focus moral determination of Superman as the Williams theme builds and builds...

Expand the Awareness

Let us dwell in this day, and not in the imperfectly remembered past nor in the vainly imagined future.

If 1950s Films Were Like 21st Century Films...

Faux poster by Alex Wright.
These ladies are the 1940s-1960s incarnations
of the original Bat-Girl, Black Canary and Batwoman.

The Joy of Solitude

By Dan Hagen

From boyhood on, Ian Fleming advised friends that he required at least three-quarters of an hour of solitude each day. My requirement is twice that, and more if I’m writing.

Solitude, of course, has its critics. “Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god,” said Aristotle or Bacon or Plato, depending on which source you read. I guess it makes sense that a quotation attacking solitude would come from a crowd.

Author Thomas Mann expressed a more serious objection to the love of being alone. “Solitude gives birth to the original in us, to beauty unfamiliar and perilous, to poetry,” he said. “But also, it gives birth to the opposite: to the perverse, the illicit, the absurd.”

Yes, constant solitude may turn you into a smelly eccentric, but being constantly in society fragments mental focus.

“One of the greatest necessities in America is to discover creative solitude,” Carl Sandburg said, and that statement has only become more valid in the 21^st century.

Einstein thought that a quiet life stimulates the mind, which implies that creativity is drained by the age of digital distraction in which we live — an era in which pediatricians have to warn parents not to let their children take their cell phones to bed and text all night.

While relentless societal interaction creates shallow connection, solitude can, at its best, create a profound sense of connection. “I’ll tell you what hermits realize,” the Zen thinker Alan Watts said. “If you go off into a far, far forest and get very quiet, you'll come to understand that you’re connected with everything.”

And, by facilitating the reading of books, solitude offers a connection between minds so profound that it might as well be called telepathy.

“Language... has created the word ‘loneliness’ to express the pain of being alone,” Paul Tillich said. “And it has created the word ‘solitude’ to express the glory of being alone.”

“Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self,” explained May Sarton.

What richness? Well, solitude offers not just solace, but strength, as Salman Rushdie observed. “What one writer can make in the solitude of one room is something no power can easily destroy,” he said.

I suspect that the greater your responsibilities, social and professional, the greater your need for some measure of solitude.

Superman, after all, requires a fortress of it.