Though, by 70s standards (and vernacular), Sam is a prize poof. I don't claim to know much about Northern England in the 70s, but many schoolmates' parents and elder siblings were ten bob poms from the North, and thus I'm aware that back then it was implicitly understood that any man who didn't punch first and ask questions later was a poof, by very definition. Sam, bless, was always one to try reason first, but I note that as he sinks into the 70s, he starts going native, shall we say. But we're talking generally of first impressions here, so when Sam first arrives he prefers talking to hitting, and when you throw in the fact that he talks to rather than leers at women, takes notes and worse, applies science, well, could he be any more of a big girl's blouse?
Of course, we all know that Sam is realy as tough as nails, and can dish out the thumpings, boozing and sexism as well as any other man, given means, motive and opportunity, but I can see why the lads found him a figure of fun, never mind all the intense and intimate male bonding going on between Sam and Gene, which would, I suspect, be grist to the mill (especially for abruptly displaced court favourites).
And if you think I'm drawing a long bow, let me quote a source from roughly the same time and place:
"Pascoe was taking shorthand notes, a skill Dalziel mocked as feminine." - Reginald Hill, 1971, An Advancement of Learning.
But basically, I'm just trying to give my muses a kick up the arse and hope that they'll fly to my rescue. And I'm thinking that even in 2006, with all those shiny gadgets and that kitchen just so, I'd be raising an eyebrow at young Sam, but possibly just because I live here, the land of Priscilla. And you do realise I'm just mucking about, right?
Meanwhile, speaking of longbows, I'm still struggling with my guilty addiction to certain outlaws, or as we call them now, terrorists (and 'scuse the rehash, but I'm feeling lazy and mopey today, despite stellar emails, pics, skype chats, etc).
I'm still not sure what they are trying for with the show, as it can't seem to make up it's mind whether it's campy or serious, superheroics or meaningful dialogue, adult or kiddiefest (and whatever happened to those great 'kid' shows I grew up with in the 70s that had plots far more complex and deep than any drama aimed at grownups?) or franchise.
The constant dance with the sheriff is of particular concern, especially the actual pillowtalk scene where the sheriff rigtly claims Robin is all talk and no action, though what action he was wanting, well, I blush to think. If you've ever seen the Robin of Sherwood outtakes, it was like that, exactly. I found it frustrating because they flirt outrageously, then back off, then flirt, then back off. It's like warped Moonlighting, only poor Robin lacks the acting chops to really convince. To be honest, I think Keith scares the poor wee lad shitless in these scenes, hence the air of anxiety that pervades. (Sometimes these wispy straight from soapies lads really fail to convince when pitted against older, hammier thesps, fer instance, it wasn't until S3 of House that I ever thought wee Neighbours boy could actually, convincingly, stand up to the old weasel).
Meanwhile, Much sulks and whines and declares he no longer loves Robin as Robin seems to care more about those who don't love him than those who do. Most people seem to loathe Much, but I find within him a genuine sadness and longing that negates some (but not all) of the buffoonery. He is mad for Robin, and Robin treats him like a joke. It's tragic. Okay, that's the way I'm watching it. Is there nothing more wretched than a great love belittled by its object?
He jests at scars that never felt a wound, etc. I worry about Much. In more competent hands, he might very end up tragically trying to prove his love/worth, but I don't think it's that kind of show. Alas, he's just pratfall comedy relief tied to the train tracks boy, as they can't do that to Marion in these allegedly post-feminist times. You know, season one Daniel Jackson - snerk.
Oh, callow, shallow youth is that young Robin. Which is how they're playing it, and I like that he doesn't have all the answers, and makes mistakes, but a little more depth, thought and angst wouldn't go astray, imho. He has, afterall, been stripped of his rank, never mind his land, comfy bed, etc, and that's got to burn. Would that a more skilled hand could demonstrate that Robin's larks are over compensation for his losses, rather than having Much trying to clummsily plot dump same.
Ah, there's a good show in there, somewhere, crying to get out. It has promise and it's a shame it was dumped on and dumped by the masses (unlike certain other shows whose apologists are legion). So no season two, then. No making the PTB sit through Kurosawa until their eyes bleed. Alas and alack.
Btw, Much really does declare his love, out loud and in public. It's that kind of show. It's frustrating. It panders shameslessy, but then goes all coy and silly because it's a kiddie show. Were it later we could have Queer as Merry Men and I'd be a very happy girlie. Okay, yes, another RTD reference. Hopefully with a touch more character development and angst, then.
Okay, so I'm putting far more thought into the show than the PTB ever did. Sometimes that's half the fun with shows like these, a perfect fixerupper for fic.
Last I got home late, knackered and violently bus sick (yet still managed a half doz oysters bought special, because, well, nuff said, really) and eschewed all other duties aside from washing and rubbish collection and collapsed to watch the end of the Spooks seige at the embassy. Yes, another siege at an embassy. This makes how many? Though I think it's a theme they return to because I have some vague memory of dramatic news footage involving sieges of embassies. Damn, I wish I'd paid more attention to the 70s. I didn't realise I was going to be examined on them later.
Anyway, I was thoroughly, really impressed with Roz this episode. Unlike some of the more feckless females previously, she managed to even make her screwups look professional. I like Roz now. Lots. Stylish, sassy lass. Adam didn't have much to do until the end, where he gave the naughty Mossad boy a right pounding. It was a tad on the gratuitous side, but it was nice to see some real, thumping British fisticuffs on tv and none of your silly high wire chop socky naffness. A real, solid, nasty knockdown fight. You could feel the kicks and punches. Great work. Then poor angsty Adam toddles home all bruised and beaten to the nanny. How very Jude Law of him - snerk ('my country doesn't understand me'). Poor Adam, he's really having the stuffing knocked out of him this season, literally. Not quite so cocksure now, are we. The poor dear. And don't I just love it.
I love Kudos. They are my angst crack dealers.
Realitywise, I'm bored, tired, cranky and fed up. It's cold and wet and it looks like the window shopping expedition I'd planned as an attempt to cheer myself up is orf tonight, love. Also, you know how whwn you're tired and grumpy the smallest thing gets your teeth on edge, like colleagues slurping tea noisely, etc. It's like that. I've finally got ideas for the plothole, but can't write, I'm too nervy. Damn, I really, really wish I'd remembered to buy a new radio. I am quietly but surely going NUTS.
Also, currently, being flogged like a dead horse. People are pitching up to my desk waving cds full of millions of files like those damn brooms in Fantasia. Argh!
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