Archive for Dead of Night

The Soho Dialogues

Posted in FILM, MUSIC, Politics with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 9, 2021 by dcairns

Something different — Fiona and I bounce around thoughts on Edgar Wright’s LAST NIGHT IN SOHO, avoiding major spoilers — but if you want to go in clean and blind, you still might want to bookmark this for afterwards.

DC: So, we both enjoyed LAST NIGHT IN SOHO, though you loved it more than I did. It was certainly nice to see a filmmaker enjoying himself so much — several of my worries about the project proved quite unfounded. To start on a high note — I loved the dance where the two lead actresses keep substituting for one another, in a long take which uses framing and blocking rather than visible special effects to make the changes. Edgar Wright COULD have been using CGI to enhance the trick, but the beauty of it was that it wasn’t visible. Rather like the mirror tricks in our recent viewing, THE HALFWAY HOUSE. I enjoy special effects but in-camera stuff has it’s own thrill.

FW: At the end I wanted to stand up and applaud, but then I had an emotional connection to it that you didn’t. I empathised with Eloise so deeply that I was dragged in, almost unwillingly at first, into the narrative.

LAST NIGHT IN SOHO is such a tour de force of filmmaking. I didn’t frighten me, apart from one superb jump scare, I was just vibing on the emotions and the extremely clever steals from other movies. I struck up a conversation with a couple in their twenties who’d been seated behind us and I was really surprised when the guy admitted to being scared shitless by it. We, being old hands, had to explain that most of what we’d just witnessed was a wickedly clever homage to other films, so it was more of a hugely enjoyable box-ticking exercise for us. I really like that cinephiles and non-cinephiles can appreciate it together for different reasons.

DC: Agree that the story and dialogue do a great job of setting up the character and making us feel for her, by giving her such an implacably hostile environment, personified by the awful Jocasta. I have a slight question about why that evil woman scenario is the right way to set up a story about toxic masculinity and the patriarchy in sixties media, which seems to have been the foundation of Wright’s interest in the material. But that’s maybe one example of why it’s often best to ignore what the filmmaker says about their work. But it makes me wonder if the two writers were on the same page. There’s a tantalising story told by Wright that he had wanted to make all the sixties sequences musical numbers, and Krysty Wilson-Cairns talked him out of that. The idea being they could get more emotion in if there was dialogue, which strikes me as a failure to understand musicals. I kind of wish he’d made that version, because as stylish as the film is, that could have been truly remarkable.

FW: When you think about something like THE UMBRELLAS OF CHERBOURG, you don’t have to give up emotion at the expense of the genre. I’d love to see Wright’s original conception of this movie. However, I also loved what Wilson-Cairns brought to the piece, so I feel a bit torn. I still felt like I was caught up in a maelstrom of film and being flung about hither and thither by its makers. Normally I don’t like feeling out of control, but this was just so deliciously delirious. When we got home, I started declaiming Wright as one of those rare British directors who take flamboyance to the next level. I was putting him in the same pantheon as Ken Russell, Michael Powell and Alfred Hitchcock. You, very wisely, pointed out that they were originals, so I came to the conclusion that Wright is more like a supremely talented magpie, exuberantly stealing ideas out of other filmmakers nests. 

Shall we talk about the ‘colour’ problem?

DC: Well, in term of the film’s colour palette there’s no problem, just a luscious blend of Bava, Argento, Clouzot’s pop-art phase and Hitchcock’s tests for the unmade KALEIDOSCOPE-FRENZY. 

In terms of race and representation, yes, we each picked up on different things. I found it strange that there are no gay characters in either the sixties section (Soho, polari, a vibrant queer culture) or the modern section (a fashion college). Homosexuality seems not to exist, even as a concept, so that Eloise never even wonders if the sympathetic John (Michael Ajao), who’s a fashion student who’s interested in her as a person, not a lust object, might be gay. There may have been something I missed, but if so it was very minor.

FW: I pointed out that I was surprised there seemed to be no people of colour in 1960s Soho, which was incomprehensible to me. Also, Eloise’s boyfriend, John (Michael Ajao) seemed almost tokenistic in his representation.

DC: That’s very weird, as you see all races even in British films of that milieu made at the time. The customers in the particular nightclubs depicted may well have been overwhelmingly white, but you have black performers in BEAT GIRL and JUNGLE STREET, and Burt Kwouk turns up on the Soho Streets in both EXPRESSO BONGO, eating fast food, and DEEP END, selling fast food. And then there’s FLAME IN THE STREETS and SAPPHIRE.

Wright’s movies have been pretty damn white — BABY DRIVER is the only one with a major Black character, but it was shot in Atlanta, where you might expect to see more than one. So, in a film that wants to cast a critical eye over the entertainment industry’s exploitation of women, is there no room for any other kind of representation? It’s great to see Ajao featured, but he has to stand in for the entirety of a multiethnic metropolis here.

FW: HA HA HA. I’ve just re-watched the trailer and they’ve put Psycho ‘stabs’ into Land Of 1000 Dances by Wilson Pickett the Walker Bros! Genius.

Shall we talk about the use of music? You seem to know more about the inspiration behind, and the making of, the film than I do, because I went in completely ‘blind.’ As we’re still writing about it, I’m really struggling not to look at other people’s reviews because I want my response to be pure and untainted. So far, I’m winning, but I’m teetering on the brink.

DC: I went in as blind as the trailer leaves you, but it was all interesting enough to make me want to read up on it. Wright has an impressive list of influences.

Since he’s adept at using music that’s quite on-the-nose, but never being clumsy in a Zemeckis way (e.g. the use of the Kinks’ Village Green Preservation Society in HOT FUZZ) I was waiting for a couple of songs to turn up: the Pogues’ beautiful A Rainy Night in Soho (produced by Elvis Costello) and Pulp’s Bar Italia (Soho is “where all the broken people go”) but the concentration on sixties tunes, even in the modern sections, ruled that out I guess. He’s said he liked the idea of using songs that have well-known cover versions, reintroducing the originals people might not have heard. What did you think of the use of songs and score?

FW: Oh God! She’s so adorable.

 Maybe we should talk about the performances and how great they are. And also how neither of the leads are English but they do flawless Cornish and London accents respectively.

DC: Almost nobody in this film is using their own accent: McKenzie and Rita Tushingham are being Cornish, Taylor-Joy is doing London, Matt Smith does Cockney. Only Ajao, Terrence Stamp and Pauline McGlynn are talking naturally, but you’d never know it because everyone’s so good.

FW: Anyway, back to the soundtrack. I loved it. It’s given as much importance as the visuals. The result is overwhelming, but in the best possible way. Triple threat Anya Taylor-Joy actually did cover versions for the movie.

Was just watching the Anya Taylor-Joy video and picked up ANOTHER cinematic reference. Last night, as our Halloween treat, we watched DEAD OF NIGHT. There are shots in LNIS that reminded me of Robert Hamer’s Haunted Mirror section from that movie. 

DC: Which goes back to your enjoyment of non-digital effects in LNIS. DEAD OF NIGHT and THE HALFWAY HOUSE are jam-packed with practical effects that are still incredibly impressive to this day.

FW: I guess Wright wanted to keep an element of “old-fashioned” filmmaking in his period-infused movie. There’s also superb editing going on, courtesy of Paul Machliss, who worked on Wright’s BABY DRIVER, SCOTT PILGRIM VS THE WORLD and THE WORLD’S END.

I was fascinated when you told me the cinematographer was Chung-hoon Chung, who’s probably known best for OLD BOY. When the Oscar noms are handed out, expect to see his name. He’s done an absolutely spectacular job on LNIS.

Production designer Marcus Rowland, another Wright regular, also deserves a nod.

DC: One missed opportunity in the film — there’s a sequence where Matt Smith’s bad guy bites Sandie and it’s Eloise who receives the hickey, so we learn that her link to the sixties is actually physical as well as audio-visual. What happens to Sandie happens to her. But this never recurs. Which seems like a missed opportunity (1) to develop and clarify the rules of the game and (2) to add jeopardy. There is actually another scene where Eloise experiences Sandie being injured, but this time she does NOT share the injury. Inconsistent, and weaker dramatically than it would be if they’d kept that idea going. (If you die in a dream you die in real life.)

FW: Yes. They had a marvellous opportunity to enlarge on that material and inject some real jeopardy. That loose end might have been caused by two writers coming together who hadn’t worked as a unit before, but surely someone else reading it could have pointed out that are real-life consequences to the events in Eloise’s dream world. You mentioned before that they might not have been on the same page, and this certainly seems to reinforce that idea.

Inspired by this, I started thinking about what I might have done with the material as a writer, based on my own experiences. As a child, growing up in an abusive household, I had such horrifying nightmares that I would dig my nails into the palms of my hands until they drew blood to stop myself from falling asleep. I think that once Eloise discovered that these wonderful, inspirational dreams had taken a very dark turn and were actually having an effect on her own body, she would do anything to stay awake – Do what I did. Drink gallons of coffee. ANYTHING to stop it. This would cause severe sleep deprivation in the ‘real’ world. Sleep deprivation can cause hallucinations. But she wouldn’t have any control over her autonomic nervous system, so she would fall asleep anyway, in the design studio, on the underground, anywhere in fact, leaving her in a constant state of terror. She would still want to solve the mystery, but this would be balanced with her need to stay safe and not get sucked into a potentially fatal situation in the dreams.

DC: I’m very glad that Diana Rigg got a decent role at the end of her life: the oldsters in HOT FUZZ were very welcome but it looks in retrospect a bit uncomfortable to have Simon Pegg kicking them in the head, when they were all so close to the end. Rigg’s role is juicy and doesn’t have the same kind of discomfort.

What else can we say? It embraces giallo style without indulging in giallo-style misogyny. I know Farran Smith prefers to use the word “sexist” when it’s adequate, but sometimes only the M word will do. The stuff that allows the film to escape misogynist sadism is the psychological and parapsychological angle, which tries to introduce fear unrelated to physical violence. And the #MeToo theme makes it imperative that leering sexism and sadism be avoided, and it mostly is. But the giallo is also a genre of crazy plot twists, and maybe overmechanistic plots have a tendency to pull filmmakers back to stereotypes and retrograde attitudes. I’m not sure why that should be, unless we accept Daniel Riccuto’s “narrative is evil” theorem. Which might be right. Or, at least, it might be right that when a creator is trying to follow what feels like the right narrative line, they’ll be unconsciously guided by hidden prejudices. At any rate, the need to make things turn out neatly turns a film about female victimization into something about female predation. Wright and Wilson-Cairns do inject some surprising tender beats into the climax which are commendable, but it’s almost like someone trying their damnedest to subvert a genre they really love and not quite admitting whether what they want to make is an anti-giallo. And then it’s weird to do all that and then serve up a female hate-figure like Jocasta.

FW: I completely agree. It’s an admirable attempt to do something different with a traditionally misogynistic genre. At the end I wanted to stand up and cheer. I’d been picked up and carried off by a cinematic twister, just like Dorothy in THE WIZARD OF OZ, another film about alternate realities. It’s a tornado of film, throwing you about all over the place as you descend into the eye of the storm, then depositing you in a field, miraculously unharmed. And LAST NIGHT IN SOHO is not just about alternate realities. We’ve got time travel and the supernatural in the form of Stone Tape theory. It’s an exhilarating mix. I also connected to it emotionally in a way I wasn’t expecting.  I think I said, “Whoa! What a ride!”

But that ending. Are we supposed to feel pleased about what Eloise sees in the mirror, or disturbed that the image is still there? It adds an interesting element of unease.

MY VERDICT – Flawed but brilliant.

DC: I don’t have a fixed opinion — it seems quite likely I’ll love it or hate it more next time I see it, so I’ll record an open verdict on this unusual venture. More films like it would definitely improve the national cinema’s hit-rate, even if it took a few tries.

Cinephrenia

Posted in FILM, Television with tags , , , , , , , , on November 6, 2021 by dcairns

Somehow, all the other times I’ve watched DEAD OF NIGHT, I haven’t thought about PSYCHO. This time, I did.

It’s Cavalcanti’s ventriloquist dummy episode. There’s a case of split personality. In the end, the dominant personality, the one that doesn’t really belong to a living entity but to a dead squatting puppet of a thing, takes over. And an authoritative psychoanalyst explains it all to us.

Hitchcock was a voracious cinephage and would probably have checked out DEAD OF NIGHT out of curiosity, but the film’s inclusion of four actors from his own THE LADY VANISHES — Michael Redgrave, GoogieWithers, Basil Radford & Naunton Wayne — would have made it even likelier. If he didn’t see it when it was new, he might have been drawn to it later while getting into short story adaptation for his TV show.

But what made me think it certain that Hitchcock had seen the Ealing compendium was the dissolve/wipe at the end of the dummy story, where Michael Redgrave’s rictus grin remains onscreen, Cheshire Cat fashion, for some time after the rest of him has faded away. Well, actually, in the end it’s his haunted eyes that linger longer.

Hitchcock, of course, has refined things by having Simon Oakland, with his baby’s-knuckles face, summarise the backstory with added dollar-book Freud, BEFORE showing Norman/Norma in his blanket, and before the lap dissolve from smiling face staring right at us to Marion Crane’s car being exhumed from the swamp, with the semi-subliminal embalmed grin bleeding through the celluloid as the shots merge.

And I think it’s likely Jack Clayton was influenced by that when he made THE INNOCENTS a year later, a film with a couple instances of the unusual three-layer dissolve, none of them quite as memorable as Hitchcock’s, but very fine nevertheless. It’s a technique that could stand being used more, and the fact that it turns up in two scare films made within a year is surely uncoincidental.

A cicerone to The Cicerones

Posted in FILM, literature, MUSIC, Mythology, Painting, Radio, Television with tags , , , , , , on February 13, 2020 by dcairns

I just started reading Robert Aickman’s “strange tales” — I guess I’d read bits in anthologies over the years, but now I feel I’m really into him. In a sense, since his best stories are mysteries without explanations, it helps to read a few in order to see that what he’s doing is quite deliberate and forms a pattern.

I had seen the short film of THE CICERONES, adapted and directed by Jeremy Dyson of the comedy troupe/TV show The League of Gentlemen, and found it unsatisfying. When I read the story at last, I thought, “Ahah! THAT’S what it’s supposed to do. I didn’t get any of that from the film — it just seemed pointless.” (In fact, one’s first reaction to an Aickman story is likely to be a sense of “What was the point of that?” and True Understanding follows when you’ve thought it over — but that Understanding is elusive and partial and impossible to put into words. Apart from Aickman’s words.)

Then I rewatched the film. It was a lot better than I remembered. Parts of it come very close to capturing that Robert Aickman Feeling. But it doesn’t quite get there, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to compare the story and film to see why. Even if you haven’t read the story, my hope is that this will throw a light on some of the differences between literary and cinematic expression, which may be of interest.

Here’s the short film.

And here’s a documentary on Aickman. It’s a remarkable mixture of poor filmmaking (the interview footage doesn’t cut, they use dissolves as a very poor way of trying to disguise this) and very sound judgment as to content: everything that’s said is really smart and totally belongs in an Aickman show. It’s better if you treat it as radio.

Dyson is one of the talking heads in the doc, and points out that the ending of The Cicerones did not lend itself to filming. One might argue that the story as a whole resists picturisation, and that the obscurity of its meaning might defeat anybody. It’s like a Fellini film or something — it only works if you sense that the author knows what it means even if you don’t. And since maybe Aickman is the only one who really knows, nobody else can tell his story.

First off, let’s dispose of Dyson’s whole opening scene. It’s not in the story and I can’t work out why he’s added it. It’s very Dracula. It allows us to get to know Trant, the tourist, a little, I guess, but I don’t see any problem letting us get to know him by way of the story.

(I do like phony train journey scenes, I’ll admit, and indeed more-or-less began my own last short film with one.)

Dyson also does something I don’t understand the point of. From the list of artworks described in Aickman’s story, he picks one, Christ Among the Doctors by Frans Pourbos the Elder, and makes it Trant’s particular obsession. From a simple bit of set dressing, it becomes a damned PLOT POINT. One which is never fulfilled and doesn’t mean anything that I can see anyway. Adding to the sense that the film just fizzles.

Aickman, of course, can just tell us stuff, but he chooses to tell us little. Trant is 32 and he likes to travel, and he takes it rather seriously. He uses his Cicerones Guidebook in a very rigorous way. Aickman also begins by telling us that it’s exactly 11.28 when Trant enters the church he’s come to see, and there’s a lot of worry about the fact that it’ll be closing for a long European lunch break soon and he might not get a chance to see everything.

The Truth Pulpit in St Bavo’s Cathedral, Ghent

But anyway, once we get inside the “Cathedral of St Bavon,” Dyson’s film improves. The sound design is rather heavy, right from the start, but it’s effective. And the figure in the pulpit is genuinely creepy. The POV tracking shots, and Mark Gatiss’s reaction shot, almost as if he’s waking from half-sleep, are excellent. Though I think showing the figure twice and for such a long time each time is a mistake. But the sudden reveal that it’s an arrangement of vestments (but we KNOW what we saw!) is genuinely uncanny.

The foreign guy emerging from the shadowed recess is somehow not startling, but it’s quite stylish. My feeling, though, is that what Aickman describes — someone speaks, and Trant realizes he’s been observed, and looks, and the guy’s just THERE — would be more disturbing, because more naturalistic. The only thing that’s eerie about Aickman’s character is the fact that he’s engaging a stranger in conversation — very un-English (or at any rate, very un-southern-English) — and that everything he says is a little off.

Dyson has messed with the dialogue a bit, but that’s OK: I’m not sure why he’s changed things, but he hasn’t done any damage.

Gatiss is very good in this — he’s always been very good at playing discomfort. Maybe he’s a bit too interesting to start with, though. Aickman is content to let his normal characters be quite stodgy and dull. And of course, Aickman was writing a contemporary story. You could, I think, play it in modern dress. Does the period dress-up add intriguing flavour, or does it remove it from the recognizable world? Remember Henry James’ line about a good ghost story having to touch reality in a hundred places…

The foreign guy leaves, in MUCH too strange a manner. I feel that by amping up the weirdness (perfs, sound design) Dyson leaves himself nowhere to go, so that the ending is bound to come us a let-down unless he exaggerates that, too. This is a very tempting mistake to make, because one naturally wants to make things interesting. Whereas Aickman seems content to, in Sidney Pollack’s admirable words, “Let the boring crap be boring crap.” And so his frissons stand out.

The high angle wide at 05:03 takes us out of the hero’s POV a bit. Aickman’s story is extremely specific — he based his fictional cathedral on a visit to a real one in Antwerp. Dyson has had to combine three real English churches as locations, so he may have had to invent transition shots like this to seamlessly teleport his leading man from site to site.

St Bavo’s

“”The cathedral in The Cicerones was at Antwerp, but the events described in the story happened to me so precisely (almost) that I moved the whole thing, including all the detail, to the cathedral at Ghent. I fear, therefore, that the student has to visit both cathedrals: not that he will regret doing so, or she,” explained Aickman. Though friends of his have spoken of his involuntary imagination — when he described to them events they’d experienced together, the incidents always emerged as fantastically altered, unrecognizable. Presumably, Aickman did have a series of odd conversations — Pinterseque comedies of menace — at the Cathedral of our Lady. The really weird thing he invents in his story is the notion that the varied characters Trant encounters — the foreign dude, an American youth, some kind of choir boy or juvenile servitor, and a small child who emerges from a tomb, are all somehow co-conspirators in an unspecified but malign cult.

The Cicerones translates as “the guides,” and it’s a rather obscure term for a modern audience — well, I’ll confess that I had to look it up. So I don’t think it helps Dyson’s film, though it’s a very nice title when you get it: the alternative title, THE GUIDES, doesn’t suggest a secret society, unless you’re a follower of Agnes Baden-Powell.

Dyson’s film now hits its first anticlimax phase, as the American and the choirboy are less flamboyantly strange than foreign guy. They’re both much closer to what Aickman wrote, and the peculiar sexual challenges fired out by the “transatlantic youth” are suitably discomfiting, and rather funny.

The tomb-child is very low-key, and maybe even less strange than the equivalent in the story, who is fair-haired, completely androgynous, and limps. But is dressed in dark brown, seemingly quite plain garments. For some reason, the film blurs the distinction between the choirboy or whatever he is, and this new character.

I also want to point out an error with the cutting. At some point, somebody’s decided they have to get things moving, so they’ve trimmed back, jump-cutting some of the movement in a way that’s not jarring or displeasing, and is in fact very commendable in most circumstances. (As, for example, around 2.58 and 7.19.) You can make the audience feel subconsciously that they’re in safe hands whenever you splink out a bit of time like this. We sense that we’re not going to be forced to watch boring A-B stuff.

Here, it’s really unhelpful, since suspense requires the audience to be forced to wait.

All the way through, Dyson is forced to drop some of the story’s best moments, because they depend on Aickman being vague about things that a filmmaker would have to either show or not show. “There were occasional showcases and objects on pedestals,” writes Aickman, declining to tell us what he means by “objects.” Guillermo del Toro would clutter the scene with marvelous oddities, and that wouldn’t be right either.

“‘St Levinus’s ornament,’ said the child, and crossed itself. Trant did not quite know what to make of the ornament.” This is creepy and funny and of course quite abstract. But maybe you could make a good shot with an out-of-focus foreground ornament which we can’t make out, and a disturbed reaction from Gatiss? You can imagine him having fun with this. “What IS that? Oh NO! I must be mistaken. Yes, definitely mistaken. Still, how odd.” All unspoken.

Throughout, the great Joby Talbot’s music is doing good work — this composer always seems to find a distinct sound that isn’t like what you’re used to in whatever kind of thing it is you’re watching.

The climax. Christ Among the Doctors by Frans Pourbos the Elder is completely forgotten, but Dyson also leaves out “a small but exquisite alabaster keystone showing a soul being dragged away on a hook by a demon.” This detail, positioned above “a small door” from which the story’s Final Boss will emerge, is the thing that made me feel that Aickman’s baffling yarn did indeed have some secret meaning which we might fathom if only we strained our eyes and minds in just the right direction.

The story ends with a figure emerging from this hatch… but since Dyson has already done a big phony suspense thing about the small boy emerging from a crypt, this maybe lacks the punch it could have. But it’s going great until the figure comes through, partly because Gatiss’s performance of nameless dread is so gripping.

(I like also that Trant could obviously just shove his way free — two of his opponents are just small boys. But part of the story has always been about the social discomfort of odd things going on in a church. To struggle against one’s fate simply isn’t done.)

It’s the thing Trant thought he saw in the pulpit, but, writes Aickman, “It was undoubtedly the very person, but in some way enlarged or magnified; and the curious fringe of hair seemed more luminous than ever.”

This is all very far from the kind of stage directions one can write in a screenplay, or the kind of thing one can photograph. Dyson has made Aickman’s penultimate moment into the absolute climax of his story, but when the very person steps into the light, he’s immediately NOT SCARY. This seems to me because, even with his head lowered, we can see his very human face.

The strangely mundane line, “The cathedral closes now. Follow me,” makes me think of DEAD OF NIGHT and the line “Just room for one inside, sir,” which is delivered in a mundane way in a very peculiar circumstance. And we know Aickman was a serious and very opinionated admirer of cinema.

NOT SCARY. Why, though? Something about the combination of normal and ab- fails to hit Freud’s unheimlich square-on, and we just ricochet off into Nothingsville. I feel that Aickman’s figure is not in the least human — it was earlier revealed to be a cluster of clothes and a monstrance (superb word!) — even though it is described as a person and a man, and it says these words. It’s a very delicate balance, the one between the mundane and the uncanny, and the different elements are in tension here in theory but somehow everything goes slack in the execution.

My best guess — my best idea for a quick fix to make this ending scarier — is that the words should be slightly divorced from the actor. We should hear them over a shot of Gatiss’s terrified face, which is the scary thing in this scene. We’ll know they’re coming from the man, but their connection to him will be more abstract.

Even with this one element falling flat — it’s not the poor actor’s fault — things ought to be scarier. I think that without the alabaster keystone, there’s no actual threat. What’s going to happen to the film’s Trant? Nothing is really implied. Whereas it feels like the story’s Trant is going to Hell.

The last passage of the story is terrifying, and it seems to be this that Dyson felt he couldn’t film:

“His questions went quite unanswered, his protests quite unheard; especially after everyone started singing.”

Scary. Also funny. Very League of Gents. And I think you COULD show that. The song needs to be a strange chant without discernible words. And then you still need something definite to go to black on, something Aickman hasn’t provided. Unless maybe you have the big figure blot out the frame, which might work, if you didn’t do it in too hammy or obvious a way.

But surely they’ve GOTTA sing!

I don’t mean to knock THE CICERONES — in many respects it gets very close to the essence of the story and finds cinematic language for a lot of the mood. The fact that it can’t make it all the way just shows how tricky Aickman can be.

Dyson has made an excellent radio programme about Aickman.