Sunday 29 September 2024

Poof Didler



Party Never Stops

Breaking news from the sleepy town of Tipton (including Smethwick North, Dudley South, and Merry Hill). Today, it can be revealed that the renowned Tipton music impresario and mogul Poof Didler, aka Seth Grimthorp, has been arrested on charges of 'being a very naughty boy'. He was taken into custody by Inspector Nipper 'ferret' of the yard, who issued a brief statement: "After a thorough investigation by our elite Naughty Squad, Mr Didler has been charged with a variety of offences against nature under the Gross Moral Turpitude Act."

Poof arose as a central figure and a prominent member of the 'Clog Dancing Scene' in the 90s, along with other 'Cloggers', including ', Medium Size Whopper (deceased), Sixpac (deceased), Dogy, Do Do (feeling a bit poorly), Dr Fryup (moribund) and Ice Tray (feeling OK).

Poof quickly emerged as the unofficial leader of the Clog Dancing fraternity and accrued immense wealth from his performances on stage (Tipton Penny Threatre). He seamlessly entered the select group of Tipton's wealthy glitterati, comprising notable celebrities, film stars, politicians and gangsters. It was during this time that Poof became renowned for his parties, colloquially called 'Three Day Benders'. Local luminaries and up-and-coming 'starlets' would flock to his mansion next to and adjacent to the Tipton to Birmingham canal and midden pit. Rumours abounded about the strange activities and going ons during these royal piss-ups. It did not go unnoticed that all the dwarfs, midgets, elves (surely some mistake?)  and associated little folk went missing from the Metropolitan West Midland environs during Poof's 'Bring a Freak Party'. 

Although the Tipton Constublary was actively aware of the nefarious activities occurring during these frequent escapades, they did nowt. All changed after a rush of allegations of abuse from a slew of past lovers and a coterie of dwarf folk. Inspector 'Ferret of the Yard' led an elite team of officers who investigated Poof's activities culminating in Poof's arrest last Thursday.

On searching Poof's mansion, they found a dungeon, a gimp in full array, and a thousand pounds of exotic lard. It has been rumoured that there are video recordings akimbo documenting 'party' activities. Apparently, the videos are on sale at Mr Khan's Emporium of Cheap Tat and Shit for two groats apiece or six for 10 groats. 

Didler has been interred in the infamous Tipton Gaol. Apparently, Poof is on suicide watch, and his cell is constantly inspected when the guards can be arsed. It is feared that Didlier may end up accidentally falling down a disused mine shaft. 

The video surveillance cameras in Tipton Gaol are scheduled for routine washing/scrubbing on Tuesday. During the procedure, surveillance will be unavailable.

Poof's funeral is scheduled for next Wednesday.


Thursday 26 September 2024

My Research and other Musings

Pleasure is a fine thing if judicially applied. Good things must be added with a thin brush to remain exquisite. Light strokes are imperative lest they lose their delicate, oh-so-delicious touch. Future and further coats should be applied at infrequent intervals. 

If only we all could follow the rules as boldly stated above. But no, the restraint required is not given to all, and so they indulge too much too frequently, and what once was highly sensual and enticing becomes mundane and banal.

Titus Mugumbo Maximus (c 45 BC)


Anyway, what has just been stated has nothing to do with the following post, but I felt the sage words bubbling from within and impinging on my very being. My tumultuous mind begged their expression here and now, and thus they are to be expressed. The author notes that their placement is inappropriate, although ultimately necessary. So there.

Back to the post in hand. Below you are privileged to view important research I conducted whilst a young scientist. It relates to the vexed and controversial area of 'intelligence' and various associated qualities, genetically fixed or otherwise. At the time of publication, my research was criticised due to my failure to objectively define the concept colloquially referenced as 'intelligence'. I refrained from a formal definition as I took for granted that the concept was one ingrained in the public consciousness, and further comment was unnecessary redundancy. I acknowledge, after mature and considered reflection, that my egregious omission represented a categorical error worthy of correction. Therefore, for the sake of clarity, I proffer the following addendum. Intelligence can be defined: The ability to score highly on applied intelligence tests. Nuff said.      


Tip. J. Int. Res: 52 (3) 102-104. 2014


A systematic approach to assess the impact of non-standard names on intelligence quotients (IQ): A retrospective study

Dr Saxon, F. and Prof Mugumbo, L. Tipton Institute of Difficult Sums and StuffUK.

Introduction
Intellectual disability (fuckwittus maximus) is characterised by significant limitations in both intellectual functioning and learning profiles (FM). The aetiology of FM is often unknown, although genetic and compounding environmental factors have been implicated. Anecdotal evidence suggests that there is a positive correlation between non-standard names and mental retardation. We suggest a systematic formalisation of non-standard names, and using retrospective data culled from the Tipton census (1900 to 2013 inclusive), we attempt to provide data to support the null hypothesis: shit names =  thick folk.

Methodology 
Research into this valuable area has often been hampered by the lack of a systematic and widely accepted definition of non-standard names. For our purposes, a non-standard, or shit name, is one which incites lip-curling derision in any reasonable research professor. We acknowledge that names that were once considered 'piss poor' have now entered mainstream status (e.g. Wayne and Sharon- call me Shazza). Nonetheless, anyone with an ounce of taste would still consider the recipients of such names as below contempt. Having established a formal definition, it is necessary to delineate the research population under consideration. The Tipton census (c 1900-2013) was plundered for succulent data. Cohorts were established according to decade. One hundred randomly picked names were assigned to two discrete categories: 1. Nice middle-class names, which you would be happy to assign to the fruit of your loins; 2. Woeful appendages that you would not call your pet hamster (or ferret). The names Kevin and Tracy were excluded from the study based on arbitrary taste.     

The data was subject to a non-parametric meta-analysis.

Results

Fig. 1

The data shows a clear statistical and valid correlation between fucking diabolical first names and intellectual deficits. Of particular note, the following names were associated with profound intellectual retardation: Paris, Devon, Tipton and Brittany. In fact, any name associated with a piece of real estate automatically rendered the owner as 'brain fucked'. Likewise, any name that really should have been a last name showed similar 'tardation' tendencies. For instance, Madison, Spencer, Evan and anything starting with Mac should have been strangled at birth. Within this category, we include those names with non-conventional spelling or appellation. Consider, for example, the following monstrosities: Jaxson, Jawge, Sighman and Fr8t-Train. In addition, it has not gone unnoticed that celebrities have a penchant for assigning their children bizarre and highly unconventional names. Certain sectors of the socio-economic strata are apt to ape the behaviour and mores of the rich and famous. This strata, due to poor cerebral processing, consider that giving their children eccentric celebrity names, fictional or not, will somehow, by processes unknown, confer the cache and wealth associated with the world of the 'Rich and Famous'. The consequences are far-reaching, and currently, we are observing a rash of six-year-olds called Khaleesi, Daenerys and Jorah.

Discussion
Our study unequivocally supports the contention that shit names are positively correlated with low IQs and frank intellectual deficits. Furthermore, individuals called Flint, Loshandra and Donatello are more likely to end up in a correctional institution or a home for the terminally befuddled than someone called Frank or Emma. In conclusion: Anyone with a non-standard first name should be sequestered at birth and quietly smothered. Their parents should be imbued with the illusion that their offspring (for it is they) have been taken orf by a wandering band of Spanish gypos and are fated to dance the flamenco for an eternity......

Potential Future Studies
It has not gone unnoticed by the authors that this trait may have an inheritable genetic component. Therefore, it is suggested that further studies be directed at measuring parental IQs in order to establish whether there is a hereditary component to this phenomenon. It is strongly suspected that 'arse brain' is inherited as an autosomal codominant factor. Although maternal/paternal uniparental disomy cannot be ruled out.
          References and Citations

Available on request


Await my second paper on this topic with bated breath. Do not worry, gentle reader; it cometh soon, very soon.



Saturday 21 September 2024

Anabasis



The Anabasis by Xenophon

This historic, epic tale is not well known outside the dusty cloisters of acadaemia. This is inexplicable to me, as it is a rip-roaring, rollicking story worthy of the attention of Hollywood moguls. Then again, considering their previous attempts to place ancient history on celluloid, it is best if they leave well alone. For instance, does anyone remember the film Alexander, starring Colin Farrell? Nuff said.

I recommend either reading the book or, as I did, listening to the audiobook produced by Librivox. It takes just over nine hours but is well worth the trouble. I heard as I lay supine (double redundancy) adorned with ear pods in a darkened room, engulfed by the narrator's dulcet tones. My third enrouged (not a real word) nipple poked precariously through a tiny rent in my nightshirt and wobbled in accordance with the cadence/rhythm of the recital. 

The Setting

In 401 BC, Cyrus The Younger rebelled against his brother, the Persian king, Artaxerxes. He gathered an army of perhaps 20,000, which included 10,000 Greek mercenary troops. At the battle of Cunaxa, near Babylon, Cyrus was killed by a javelin to the head, and the battle ended with a victory for Artaxerxes. During the battle, Cyrus' Greek mercenaries suffered few casualties but had a significant problem. They were bereft of benefactor and were stranded 1,000 miles from home. At this point, the leaders of the Greek host decided to treat with the enemy. Treachery befell the Greek generals, who were captured and sent back to Babylon for execution. This bold move left the Greeks leaderless and in despair. At this desperate point, a mid-ranking officer named Xenophon took control and exhorted the men to strike for their homeland.  

Anabasis or 'Forward March'

The Greek force was mainly composed of heavy infantry (hoplites), with a number of Cretan archers, Rhodian slingers, and others. They faced the daunting task of travelling 1,000 miles through enemy-contested rugged terrain. In addition, they had scant supplies and would have to rely on plunder and barter to obtain sufficient food for themselves and fodder for the animals. Xenophon and his merry band were in a difficult position, indeed. Obtaining necessary supplies was only one of their problems. The Persians were not too happy about an army of Greek mercenaries roaming at will through Persian-controlled territory. Therefore, the satraps whose land they travelled were compelled to contest their journey and set forth to destroy the Greeks. In this respect, they failed. Even though the Greeks were subject to severe attack, they managed to maintain cohesion and remained an effective fighting force throughout, even after incurring severe losses. Not only did the host have to face Persian troops under the wily and treacherous satrap Tissaphernes, but even when left unmolested by Persian regulars, they faced attacks by barbarians hoping to gain plunder and slaves. The Greeks ultimately prevailed, and after much tribulation and extreme hardship, 6,000 made it to the safety of Trabzon on the Black Sea coast.

Many years after the event, Xenophon put stylus to papyrus and wrote about the escapade in simple but engaging Attic Greek prose.   

I'm not going into detail about this remarkable journey, but I want to offer brief commentary concerning the implications and consequences for the Persian Empire in the aftermath. Again, I exhort my readership to go forth and immerse themselves in this monumental and fascinating tale of men overcoming and succeeding amidst severe hardship and privation.

It did not go unnoticed by the Greeks and others that the passage of these bold and doughty warriors through Persia could not be stopped by the mighty Persian empire and the 'King of Kings'. In previous contests between the Greeks and Persians (Persian, Greek wars 5th century BC ), the Greek hoplite system had established superiority over the mainly light infantry displayed by the Persians. The triumphant march of the 10,000 reinforced hoplite battlefield dominance and uncovered grave weaknesses within this apparently mighty empire. The Greeks muttered: ''If the Persians cannot overcome a small Greek force, what would happen if faced by a mighty host''. Thus, the Persian king and his armies were nowhere as formidable as formerly believed. 

Many landless Greek troops, battle-hardened and honed by the Peloponnesian war (431-404 BC), were clambering for foreign adventure. If only they could coalesce under one unified command. In that case, they would represent a formidable force. However, that was not to be for reasons, mainly political. No doubt, the political scene was complex and convoluted. The fierce independent mentality of the Greek city-state did in no way align with pan-Helenic unity. The city-states formed loose alliances for military defence or aggression as expediency demanded. However, these alliances were fragmentary and liable for disruption if self-absorbed petty grievances or alternative opportunities arose. Athens and its allies jockeyed to increase their empire and thwart Spartan hegemony. The self-destructive war that followed (Peloponnesian war) ended with a Spartan victory. Spartan dominance was short-lived, however, and Spartan power was forever broken at the battle of Leuctra, which ended in a Theban victory (371 BC). During this fractious, politically fluid, and rapidly evolving time, Greeks formed alliances with Persians for action against fellow Greeks. Treachery and deceit were rampant and commonplace. The political will and foresight to form a pan-Hellenic army was totally lacking. 

Indeed, though Persia was ripe for picking and undoubtedly rotten to the core, the Greek genius could not forge the political unity necessary to enact this destruction. For all their achievements, the Greeks lacked the fundamental political nous and concerted wisdom that would characterise their ultimate conquerors, the Romans. It would take the genius of the semi-barbarous Macedonians, under Phillip and subsequently Alexander, to contrive and pound the petulant Greeks into One. But only by the power of the sword. Under Macedonian hegemony, at last, and under unified command, the Greeks were able to destroy and supplant Persian power at the battle of Gaugamela (331 BC). The Greek flair for suicidal despair imposed from within could only be countered from without.     

Wednesday 11 September 2024

Free Money Fairy



Money for nothin' and your chicks for free


O dear me, there are a few basic truths in this world that should guide the wise through this veil of tears we call life. If you do not abide by these universal rules, your life will be adversely affected. These rules are usually imparted whilst young and by those older than ourselves, generally those who fulfil a parental role. The incipient and intellectually growing individual needs to take heed. There are those in life, for reasons that are eminently clear who wantonly ignore these basic and universal axioms. Folk who do not follow these fundamental maxims are not hard to identify as they suffer from a medical condition of no known cure called Fuckwittius Maximus
.   

A Tik Tok trend of late has been exalting the 'Chase Free Money Glitch'.

Background.

Here is how it goes: Chase Bank is a major financial institution based in the US. Apparently, and according to internet lore, there is a 'glitch' in Chase Bank's system that allows access to wads of 'Free Cash'. Simply write a cheque to yourself for a large amount and deposit said cheque using a Chase ATM. The amount, as if by magic, will instantly appear in your account. You are then able to withdraw the amount, and thus, you are the recipient of a great deal of free gelt. Hurrah! 

Newly wealthy folk are posting videos online showing themselves holding clumps of crisp, nay uncrumpled, dollar bills. What on earth could go wrong? Queues of people have been observed outside Chase banks, waiting hours so that they, too, can lay hands on all that absolutely free lucre. Apparently, all this insanity took place during a US holiday weekend, and banks were closed until Tuesday. However, the bank was quick to note the problem, and on Tuesday, participants were shocked to discover that their accounts were devoid of funds and, strangely enough, the debit equalled the amount they thought was 'free cash'. O, woe is them.      

What could ever go wrong?  

Well, it turns out that writing and cashing cheques that do not have the backing of the requisite funds is called bank fraud. And bank fraud is taken very seriously by the banks and the government. As I understand it, this type of crime is punishable by up to 30 years in the nick, as well as incurring a hefty fine. Not only is the escapade a crime, but it is also a very stupid crime, as the perpetrators have left an easy trail leading back to themselves. Thousands of folk are involved and it will be interesting to see how this plays out. Personally, I have no sympathy for those who break the most rudimentary and elemental life rule: There is no such thing as free money. 

It has not gone unnoticed by the flaxen-haired one that the folk involved belong to a distinct ethnic group. Nuff said. 

Saturday 31 August 2024

Protocell Revisited


It Was RNA 


It is time for me to adjust my neural brainwaves to a frequency in concordance with a 'sensible' scientific topic. While it is true that I have previously presented a post on the highly vexed topic of Abiogenesis, this topic is so controversial, immeasurably complex, and convoluted that it is worth a second look.

For me, the evolution of early life is a fascinating topic, but not as interesting as the original formulation of life itself. When we find evidence of early life in the rocks, that life is already highly complex and highly evolved. But if we look back further in time, what did the first ‘life’ look like? And more importantly, how did this first primordial life come about? Is it possible somehow to resurrect, in a Mad Scientist’s test tube or surreal dream, the very first proto-life, and if so, would we recognise it as such? Now that IS a question. 

I've discussed LUCA (Last Universal Common Ancestor) before. It is the organism that gave rise to all life on Earth as we know it. LUCA, it is conjectured, was hanging around deep water thermal vents 4 billion years ago. There is a common misconception that LUCA was primitive and the only creature in town. But LUCA had already evolved a complex metabolism with enzymes, RNA and ribosomes. And it was not alone but highly likely part of a complex interweb of organisms. These diverse cells would have formed an enclosed ecological system.  

Darwin was well aware that although his theory of natural selection was a wonderful descriptor of how species can change over time, he was at a total loss as to how life came to be. He imagined a 'warm little pond' where all the chemical precursors of life were present. How those precursors came about and how they interacted to produce the first protocell was a concept behind his ken. Since Darwin, we have come a long way in understanding the conditions present on primitive Earth 4.5 to 3.5 billion years ago. Furthermore, our knowledge of biochemistry, genetics, geology and palaeontology has improved in ways incomprehensible to the great man. 

It is likely that 'life' first came about, not in Darwin's 'warm little pond', but on the rim of volcanic vents deep within our primitive oceans a little over 4 billion years ago. I place 'life' in parentheses as the entity that subsequently developed further to give rise to all life on Earth was not alive in any biological sense, at least as we understand it today. We must suspend our concept of life and substitute the notion of proto-life instead. The first proto-life would be extremely primitive, perhaps just a lipid sphere containing a jumble/jungle of inorganic and organic compounds that had the ability to break apart due to dynamic physical processes in its environment. 

Of course, conditions on Earth 4 billion years ago were vastly different from what we see today. The atmosphere was dominated by carbon dioxide, water vapour, and methane; oxygen was not a component. The oceans were a mix of salts and inorganic chemicals; however, hydrovolcanic vents would be a rich source of chemical reactions as they spewed forth sulphur, carbon dioxide, and hydrogen-rich gases.     

Three conditions would have to be met for the formation of proto-life. Clearly, a stable, relatively quiescent environment is required if chemicals are to be localised. Free-floating chemicals at the rim of hydrovolcanic vents would be dispersed by thermal currents, and concentration would be impossible. Therefore, some form of compartmentalisation would have been necessary. This could be achieved by the formation of lipid bilayers. Lipids have the interesting feature of having a hydrophilic domain (water-loving) and a hydrophobic chain (water-repellant). Lipids spontaneously form bilipid chains in a water environment, which naturally coalesce into water-containing spheres. However, in seawater, lipid vesicles will not form in the presence of salts such as sodium and calcium. This is a problem for the hypothesis of life first appearing at the sites of hydrothermal vents.  However, recent evidence has shown that lipid vesicles can form in the presence of salts if the water temperature achieves 70ºC and the pH increases to 12. A hot alkaline environment readily occurs around oceanic hydrothermal vents.

The presence of lipid spheres achieves several important functions. First, it offers a stable enclosed system, separate from the ebb and flow of the external environment. Second, the lipid bilayer allows molecules to enter and leave. Third, a primitive form of 'replication' may ensue. Continuous addition of lipids by physical forces will result in enlargement, and once a critical stage is reached, and in the presence of physical agitation, the spheres will spontaneously bud off 'daughter' sphere configurations.

Life, in any form, requires energy. Even the most primitive present-day bacteria have a complex metabolism (glycolysis) for the production of adenosine triphosphate (ATP). ATP is the energy currency of all living cells necessary to stave off the inevitable march of entropy. The cells of more complex organisms (eukaryotes) also harness the powers of glycolysis for ATP production, however. in addition, there is a second mechanism (Krebb's cycle), localised in the organelle, mitochondria, that continues with the initial oxidative process started by the glycolysis that ends up producing a great deal of ATP, or potential energy in the process. Clearly, the first protocell did not have the complex metabolic machinery for energy production as outlined above. It would have been reliant on the energy belching forth from the hydrothermal vents. In the presence of heat, carbon dioxide and free hydrogen, energy is released in addition to the formation of complex carbon chain chemicals. By harnessing the energy and organic compounds, it has been hypothesised that a primitive chemical 'metabolism' may have actually taken place.

Finally, a means of genetic transmission is required. Nucleic acids, particularly ribonucleic acid and deoxyribonucleic acid fulfil this role. Of the two, RNA is more easily produced, forms single chains and is inherently unstable. A primitive RNA molecule may have provided a genetic blueprint for replication and mutation. The ferment of the hydrothermal vent environment is not an environment conducive to nucleic acid generation, and therefore, an alternative source is required. There is the possibility that organic compounds were imported through the medium of stellar objects. Complex chemistry can occur in the vast reaches of space. Bombardment by intense solar radiation provides the energy to generate organic compounds from simple elements. Analysis of meteorites has revealed a complex and diverse array of organics and nucleic acids. The possible role of extraterrestrial bombardment in providing life's precursors should not be underestimated. The early Earth was severely pelted by comets, asteroids and comets during the 'Heavy Bombardment' phase of its existence. Indeed, it is conjectured that much of Earth's water was provided by comet impacts.   

I'm making the whole process seem easy and inevitable, but there is a major problem. On its own, an RNA-based replication system is not enough. There has to be a conglomeration of molecules that can translate the RNA message into amino acids, the precursors for protein synthesis. Tis a chicken and egg conundrum. Which came first: RNA responsible for the genetic code driving protein production and replication or proteins necessary for RNA to do its job. Both are required to cooperate at the same time. According to the 'RNA World Hypothesis', a primitive RNA molecule fulfilled both roles. However, when it comes to the details, scientists are in disagreement. I have touched on this hypothesis previously, but only in a perfunctory manner. To do this hypothesis justice, it will require a blog post in itself- I'm working on it          

I do not wish to downplay the problems to be overcome or plaster over the glaring, gaping cracks in our understanding. Those of a religious bent are quick to gloat and shout: “God did it”. Is this the last bastion of God of the Gaps?-  or perhaps cracks? To say an invisible unknown entity 'does it' by means unknown is tantamount to magic and wand waving, and therefore, in the final analysis, no answer at all. I'm comfortable with the notion that we simply don't know how the first proto-organism got started. We are working on the problem and can be assured that if we do finally understand how it happened, it will be through the work of sound empirical scientific effort and not a consequence of theology. Nuff said, for now.  

Monday 19 August 2024

Night of the Demon

                                      Who's a Pretty Boy, Den

This will be the first and most likely the last time that I discuss a film's merits, artistic or otherwise.

I'm taking time out from writing my usual drivel to comment on an old British black-and-white film from the 1950s: The Night of the Demon or Curse of the Demon as it was rebranded for the US audience. In addition to the name change, the film was truncated by 15 minutes. The Americans deemed it necessary to cut out a couple of subplots in order for the film to fit into their double-feature format. I've watched both versions and the unsullied version is superior and well worth its inclusion of minor distractions. 

I don't intend to summarise the plot, as you may well wish to view the film for yourself if you haven't already done so, and I do not want to curtail your viewing pleasure. In this post, my intention is to bring out a few highlights and comment in my inestimable style. Beware, there will be disclosures and perhaps the odd digression with the emphasis on 'odd'. You have been warned! 

Context

I first watched the film whilst young, at about the age of 7. I remember being transfixed and scared shitless, although I enjoyed the film immensely. Of course, at the tender age of 7, most of what transpired was lost on my fulminating brain. Role forward 51 years, I am now comfortably ensconced in rural New Zealand. My son lives and works in the capital city of Wellington about a two-hour drive from where we live. He is a busy man, and consequently, I don't get to see him as often as I would like. On those intermittent occasions when he comes to see his parents, we generally arrange what is colloquially called 'Gangster Night'. Tis a night where myself and second born retreat from our respective wives, leaving them to watch drivel in the living room whilst we become lodged in the lounge. We confer and select a film for our viewing pleasure. Our selection is of undoubted quality, gritty and usually comes with a body count. During the film, we consume fine ales, and afterwards, we comment and discuss the film in detail. On my son's last visit, I suggested Night of the Demon, a film that I had not seen for five decades.   

Filmy Bit

The film was directed by the acclaimed horror director Jacques Tourneur and starred Dana Andrews, Peggy Cummins, and Niall MacGinnis. Although it is a British film, the male lead, Dana Andrews, is American. Post war British films of the 40s and 50s always seem to feature an American actor in the male lead role. This was no accidental quirk. British films of the era were produced for a dual market, and the presence of an American in a prominent role garnished the film to suit the American palate. At the time of filming Dana Andrews was a fading star and was bereft of the cachet he had had in the 1940's. That said, Mr Andrews acquitted his role competently and with due professionalism. However, gone was the sparkle of an earlier decade and an air of 'contractual obligation' was evident in his gait. Or perhaps he was getting old. 

The accolade of 'Star' must go to the Irish character actor Niall MacGinnis. In the film, he is the counterpoint to white hat-wearing Dana Andrews. He fulfils the role of the archetypal baddy, dare I say it, with veritable aplomb. Apparently, the character he plays, Julian Karswell, is loosely based on the 'Wickedest Man in England', Alister Crowley. Niall plays an occult leader for a group of local followers. His skill with the dark arts has given him immense power and wealth, and he resides with his mother in a grand, graceful mansion. There is a hint that although his dark powers have provided him well, there is always a foul debt ultimately to be paid. It is as if Karswell holds a wolf by his ears. Niall is the master of understated horror. There is evil in this man, but it is not overt, certainly not in the way of a Hollywood villain complete/replete with maniacal laughter. Karswell's projection of cultured menace is the perfect foil to Dana Andrew's initially uncomprehending and befuddled character (Dr John Holden). Evil comes in many forms, and there is something to be said for philosopher Hannah Arendt's concept of 'The banality of evil', but not in this case. Niall's projection is not banal in any respect. Evil is present, but it is not commonplace. Evil abides in all of us but, for the most part, is kept in check by the intellect. Dr Karswell projects a fractured, erudite intellect which extrudes an air of menace with quiet abandon. We are not witnesses to the banality of evil; on the contrary, tis more akin to the 'urbanity of evil'. As a digression, Niall McGinnis was a qualified MD and served as a military surgeon in the second World War. It is difficult to state which was the side gig, doctoring or acting as he had over 80 films in his filmography. A very underrated character actor, in my opinion.  

Peggy Cummins is the film's 'almost love interest.' She is attractive in a well-groomed secretarial way, very British, even though she is Irish and strictly opposite to the Hollywood vamp of the 1930s and 1940s. Tis ironic as Miss Cummins is mainly remembered for playing a femme fatale in the 1950 crime film noir, Gun Crazy. In Night of The Demon, Peggy's main plot role is to provide an adroit intellectual counterpoint to Dr Holden's hard scepticism.

 Hal E Chester, the producer, and the director Jacques Torneur had significant artistic differences during the film's production. Tourneur envisaged an imaginative horror film with the portrayal of the titular demon left for the viewer to conjure in their own fertile or otherwise imagination. However, in the final cut, the demon became manifest at the beginning and end of the film. Considering the technology of the time, the portrayal of the huge lumbering bat-faced demon was reasonably good. However, I agree with Tourneur that some things are best left to the imagination. The weakest moment transpires when our doughty hero, Dr Holden, grapples with the cat cum leopard. It is clear that our protagonist is wrestling with a stuffed animal. That said, with the use of shadow and adept camera work, Tourneur saves the scene from outright farce. just. 

For me, the best scenes occur during Karswell and Holden's meeting in the British Museum's library; Holden's marrow-chilling 'run through the woods' after breaking into Karswell's home. There is something 'Wolfmanesque' as the clouds cut out the full moon, and lastly, there is the unforgettable Niall MacGinnis—in fact, any scenes in which he is part.

I remember, vaguely a British horror series presented sometime in the late 60s (Mystery and Imagination). One of the stories presented was The Casting of the Runes which had a similar plot run to the film discussed. Both the film and episode, of course, were adapted from a short story by M. R. James entitled Casting of the Runes.  I remember very little about the episode, although I recall the featured demon was winged- I could be wrong. Sadly, all the episodes from the series seem to have been lost. 

That's enough for now. I'm happy to write further film reviews in my characteristic, jumpy, quirky and idiosyncratic vein if my regulars consider my meanderings along this route favourable. Regardless of opinion, I would like to hear your thoughts.       

Thursday 8 August 2024

Oscar Smiled

''The only thing worse than having a big fat arse is having no arse at all''

I'm sure my discerning and cultured readers are familiar with the works of the Irish raconteur and self-acclaimed genius Oscar Wilde. He lived a charmed life for the most part and was greatly admired for his ready wit and repartee. However, things didn't go well for poor Oscar after he buggered the son of the Marquis of Queensbury. In those days (1890s), the practice of putting yer winky up another man's arse (arse) was not only a sin but a grave crime. Though Oscar put up a spirited defence at his trial (x2), he was ultimately found guilty and sentenced to 2 years of hard labour (1895-1897) to be spent at Reading Gaol. During his incarceration, he wrote the 'Ballad of Reading Gaol'.  Apparently, the work was inspired by the fate of a fellow inmate who was charged with the murder of his faithless wife. The chap in question was a member of the Queen's Guard, and was duly hanged for his crime. In this spirit, I have penned a poem dedicated to an old acquaintance of mine, entitled 'The Ballard of Lugless Douglas'. As I recall, Dougy (for it is he) was not over-endowed with intelligence. As Douglas was virtually unemployable, he was forced to rely on his wits to travel through this veil of tears we call life. This, of course, was a calamity of the first order as poor Doug could not read or write. Interestingly, and like many dullards, he considered himself a self-proclaimed expert on all and sundry. His lack of cerebral matter had a serious and doleful influence on his life, and he was oft the target of the local constabulary and the law courts. However, his downfall occurred not because of a brush with the law but as a consequence of not paying an instalment from a loan from the local unlicensed 'Money Lender', 'Razor Eric'. For most of us, the name 'Razor' would be a clue that perhaps it would be best not to enter a business relationship with this gentleman.  Sadly, Dougy, at this stage in his life, was denied the conventional means of legal credit, and usuary was not a word that abided in his limited lexicon. Read on, gentle reader, to hear of Douglas' sanguinary fate.    

Although my version may lack Oscar Wilde's artistic brilliance, its virtue lies in its brevity.


   The Ballard of Lugless Douglas.

                    He wore his scarlet shell suit,             
      Stained with beer and food,
              And nicotine stained his hands
              When they found him on the road,
              The poor man had lost an ear,
              And the bloody stump did exude.

              He tottered amongst the drunken men,
              An earhole was rent and tore;  
              A knotted hanky was on his head,
              An orifice spewing gore;
              But I never saw a man
              Spewing forth such bright red ichor.

             I never saw a man who bled
             With such wistful aplomb
             Upon the street that night
             And nowhere a soothing balm,
             Yet, at every pump of blood, that vent
             A bloody mess did he become.

             He walked, with staggered step,
             Within a world of pain,
              And wondered where his ear had gone
                    It had disappeared down the drain,
             When a low voice whispered so,
            ‘Dougie will never hear again.’
                                                
             
             Dear me, the poor man
             Suddenly began to reel,
            And Dougie’s ear had been struck orf
            With the finest burnished steel;
                          And through the red mist,                
            The stump appeared like fresh-cut veal.

            Don’t feel sorry for Dougie       
            For Dougie has been a sinner
            Penance did not abide in him
           And thus his ear became a rat’s dinner,
           A fate he truly deserved,
           The fate of a severed pinna.


So endeth the Ballard of Lugless Douglas