Archive for Adolf Hitler

Pg. 17

Posted in FILM, literature, Politics with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 22, 2020 by dcairns


“Lance, there’s nothing so pleasing to most tastes as a good mouthful of molasses. But not too thick. You hate this setup enough to make the story sing. And tears and ink will make any story jump.” Carl placed a paternal arm about his charge. “What do you say, boy? Give Papa some nice molasses — a couple columns of it.”


It would be unfair to compare Cocteau with the monolithic classical writers of the twentieth century; for them writing was a profession, while Cocteau wanted only to be himself and say what he felt. He showed childish delight when he was elected to the Academie Francaise but it would be more appropriate to see him as an academy of one.


Next day, now look, the picture shows

How lank and lean Augustus grows!

Yet, though he feels so week and ill,

The naughty fellow cries out still —

“Nor any soup, for me I say:

O take the nasty soup away;

I won’t have any soup to-day.”


Meanwhile, the disease thus wonderfully generated betrayed more terrible symptoms. Fever and delirium terminated in lethargic slumber, which in the course of two hours, gave place to death. Yet not till insupportable exhalations and crawling putrefaction had driven from his chamber and the house every one whom their duty did not detain.


Dick Watchett liked Mr. Rabb, as did all juniors who came in contact with him. The midshipmen adored him. And indeed he was a likeable person, with his crisp hearty voice, his clean mind, and his courteous manner with the young or the poor — the best type of Englishman.


With a suitcase full of clothes and underwear in my hand and an indomitable will in my heart, I set out for Vienna. I too hoped to wrest from fate what my father had accomplished fifty years before; I too hoped to become “something” — but in no case a civil servant.


Obsessive compulsive disorders (OCD) such as these are recognised in humans and are also found in the domesticated species where, according to some sources, cats are more heavily represented than dogs. In the treatment of such cases behaviourists follow the developments in the human field where the environmental and managemental stress factors, which are contributing to the condition, are removed as far as possible. Medical treatment is also available and its effectiveness seems to be influenced by the presence of conflicts as well as by the time during which the OCD has been apparent. As yet knowledge about the causes and successful treatment of these cases is limited, and so the pooling of expertise within an organisation such as the APBC is invaluable.



Me again. I thought that, if I selected seven paragraphs of moderate size from the page sevens of a more or less random selection of books, the passages would begin to talk to one another and perhaps even form a narrative. I was right! I didn’t expect it to be so grimly topical, though.

The extracts come from The Dark Page, by Samuel Fuller; Cocteau’s World, by Jean Cocteau, introduced by Margaret Crosland; Struwwelpeter, by Dr. Heinrich Hoffmann; Wieland, by Charles Brockden Brown; In Hazard, by Richard Hughes; The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, by William L. Shirer (the narrator of this section is Hitler); and finally Why Does My Cat…? by Sarah Heath.


Everything’s Coming Up Hitler

Posted in FILM, Politics, Television with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 27, 2018 by dcairns

Reading yesterday’s post, greatest living Scotsman Steven McNicoll texted me with two more Hitlers.

First off, Frank Finlay is Hitler! In an ITV play, The Death of Adolf Hitler broadcast in 1973, the same year Alec Guinness hitlered up — must have been awkward if they bumped into each other.

Hilarious! It’s just pure Frank Finlay, to the power of ten, dressed as Hitler. That may be the problem of doing it in English — you can’t very well put on a Hitler voice.

I once saw Michael Caine interviewed, saying, “What I offer people is the shock of recognition,” and I thought, I’ve never felt the shock of recognition with Michael Caine, unless he means, “Oh look! It’s Michael Caine!” But I do LIKE recognising Michael Caine. Similarly, here, I don’t see Hitler but I do see quite a lot of Frank Finlay and that’s always a welcome thing.

Interviewing Richard Lester, I asked him why he didn’t make Porthos in THE THREE MUSKETEERS a giant, as he is in the book. “It didn’t interest me,” he replied. So he just got Frank Finlay to act giant. Good call.

1981: The Bunker. Anthony Hopkins is Adolf Hitler! Well, he does have the initials.

This one looks quite interesting, but the only impression Hopkins can do is Tommy Cooper. His Hitler suffers the same problem as his Alfred Hitchcock (though again, right initials) — the few areas of resemblance just point up the big areas of difference. He has some eye makeup here, I think, and he’s trying to make himself lipless (would Branagh be good casting? — his Heydrich was fun!) by sheer effort of will, and there’s some good physical work with the hands. But it doesn’t work, I don’t think. Not only do you not think you’re looking at Hitler, you don’t think you’re looking at a person. Whereas with his turn in NIXON, you believe he’s a person, just not Richard Nixon.