This is a time of change for at least two political parties on this ire-landed island, one in Norneverland and the other in the Free Southern Stateen. Sinn Fein now have Michelle O Neill at the helm while an underwhelming Fine Gael has gone into a (yawn, stretch, trouser-cough) Beginning of the Enda mode.
The changing of a leader has been compared to the changing of a coat. Sometimes it works out while othertimes, what looks good in the shop (mirrors, cunningly angled, m’dear ) might not look quite so good in the publicity of one’s own home:
-What possessed you to buy THAT ?
But the Goddess of Retail never did close one button without opening another. Hence, the burgeoning of the Charity Shop phenom.
Hollywood has been in the news of late with an elaborate sketch called Push the Envelope: curiously enough, two Oscar-spangled movies or yesteryore from the same Dream Factory, each involving a form of envelope,i.e, a coat (if one wishes to tush -push the analogy) in a wierdly wonderful way presage the changing of leaderships in q.
Each of the these two fillums shares the Big D in common:
-Dakota: Dhá Chóta.
Dhá Chóta, of course, means Two Coats in the Lepreachaun, a linguistic feather in the cap of those who maintain that the tribe of Mother Ma Cree might well have settled in Dakota after emigrating from the Emeral Isle, albeit with,erm, reservations.
- The first fillum is ‘Calamity Jane’ and this is the one which sends out all the right smoke signals in respect of the party contesting the Elections this Thursday.
As it is a bouncy, optimistic, cheerful and tuneful movie it moves along at a whip-crackaway pace. It ticks, you might say, all the not at all inappropriate boxes.
Unsurprisingly, it scores 10 out of 10 on the musical front as the composer of the celebrated soundtrack is (gulp), S. Fain.
Even his first name has a Nordie ring to it: Sammy. Even (whisper it) a cross community ring tone to it. He was blessed too with his lyricist whose surname marked hm down as cobbler of words from Day One:
-Paul Francis Webster.
One whose surname saw to it that he dogeared every page in the eponymous dictionary.
-Oh the Deadwood Stage is a-headin’ on over the hills
Where the Indian arrows are thicker than porcupine quills.
There are those fillum buffs who know enough to claim that this opening sequence is one of the most exhillerating ever in the history of the motion picture: The Perkin would not be in disagreement with them.
One would even go further than that and point out that these lyrics previewed the Provo’s morphng into deadwood (a sorta non-renewable type) but that the narrow-focused no-surrenderers in the media have refused to budge an inch from this (gasp) stage. Hence, the predominance of porcupine quills in the paws of the shrillies in the press when the Shinners are up for 24/7 ambush.
-Take me back to the Black Hills, the Black Hills of Dakota.
But, of course, these slowlearning Mohawks of the Mainstream Media will always be with us. Or, at least till Soc Med socks them out of the ball park, the one sponsored by Ball-point Parker Inc.
The clincher of this magical musical movie is obvious: the star is a Blonde called Doris. Sinn Féin may well be able from now on to hold their annual Hoe-Down in a Mansion House made up to look like the Golden Garter:
-Introducing New Lady at the Tiller, just as busy as a fizzy sasparilla.
(Speaking of Blondes: right now on the Free Southern Stateen airwaves there is a campaign advertsiing an upcoming concert on Liffeyside with Phil Collins (no relation, one hopes) as the headliner and (gulp) Blondie, aka the divine Debbie Harry as a support act. This is as cockeyed a ranking as – say – Arl the Snarl as the Headliner and Blondie as the back up in the Slow Biz of Politics).
Still, one is not without hope: the, erm, Tide is High, and rising.
- The second movie with a Dakota dimension is of an altogether darker hue, as befits the stop-go, no-show, under-the-top contest for the Top Job in the Red Neck Blue Shirt Francishe.
The movie, of course, is Rosemary’s Baby whch is set in the Dakota Buildings, New York. A real chiller of a thriller.
Now, consider the following:
-The truly scary Mia Farrow who plays the mother of Rosemary’s Baby in the movie is headed for the capital of the stateen south of the Black Sow’s Dyke for a Q and A session in a few weeks at a public venue on liffeyside. She is scheduled to perform her Whine and Roses Act round about the time when the FG Leadership heave will recommence its latest false leave-taking.
– Miss Farrow’s mother, Maureen O Sullivan, actress, was born in Roscommon. This is the same county which spawned the truly scary, James Dillon, FG MP. He who was W. Churchill’s Blue Shirt lackey in the Black Pool of Dublin during WW2. Winston C., of course, was the celebrated recreational genocicdalist.
– Rosemary’s surname is reminiscent of trhe RHI scandal: Woodhouse.
– Dublin is currently doublng as a set for the long-running Hutch-Kinahan gangland G-movie.
One of the characters in Rosemary’s Baby is called Hutch.
Guy Woodhouse: Hutch is a professional crepe-hanger.
Rosemary Woodhouse: He’s not a professional crepe-hanger.
Guy Woodhouse: Then he’s one of the top-ranking amateur crepe-hangers.
Hutch, by the way, ends up dead, safely dead. That would be the A-movie Hutch. With crepe semi-amateurishly hanging on his door.
– Ralph Bellamy plays the part of Rosemary’s bearded obstetrician. More to the point, he bears more than just a passing resemblance – uncanny, in fact – to the canny (gulp) V-President of the B-Shirts, Dr. James O’Reilly, former Minister of Health.
– V. Lenin once remarked that ‘any cook should be able to run a country’. The elegiacally creepy Elisha Cook, Jr. is the manager who runs the Dakota Building, where J. Lennon later came to an abrupt ending.
– Finally, and most ominously: while we ought to be thankful that the movie was not made by MGM, the same company whose logo features (gulp) Leo the Lion born in Dublin, nonetheless this is more than offset by the soundtrack of this compelling horror movie. Which is a Bagatelle in A minor.
One, once heard, never forgotten. Spookily it is named after the raison d’etre of the Blue Shirts, the party which has done so much to make a bagatelle of Irish Independence (no relation). It is a musical tribute to the Wet Dream of the West Britons who support A Minor Party which attracts the plump bluerinse types who so love to flaunt their pawnshop jewellery:
-Fur Elise.
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The Divine Debbie McPulchritude , Mr Chris Stein and surely the best pop-drummer since Keith Moon ,Mr Clem Burke (AKA Elvis Ramone!) playing second fiddler to Phil the Curmudeonly Fluter hardly makes any kind of righteous sense, Mighty Perk….will there be a mass-exitation at the interval?
Anyway …I’m still choking on “Dhá Chóta, of course, means Two Coats in the Lepreachaun, a linguistic feather in the cap of those who maintain that the tribe of Mother Ma Cree might well have settled in Dakota after emigrating from the Emeral Isle, albeit with,erm, reservations.”PS…
Will Woody possibly be in Dublin in the same time-zone as ex-wife Ms Farrow/Sinatra …that would make for interesting viewing, eh?
To say the very least, Protean Paddykool, a chara.
One has often wondered what sort of movie Woody might have made in Patty’s Green Shamrock Shore.
Maybe even one called ‘The Wood in the Quay of A’. Or perhaps ‘My Esteeemed Blogmeister’s Left Foot’ (detailing the devilsih events which led up to the possible auto- shooting in same)
One’s has memoreis (distant) of ‘Shake Hands with the Devil’ being shot arount Dublin back in 1959, with James Cagney playing the part of the Provo Taoiseach (1920 versh).
Perhaps, a modern day remake movie entitled ‘Shake Hands with the She-Devil’.? Unlikely though: the Galiphate of Liffeyside would hardly give their, erm, Himprimatur.
Beir bua !
Do we really deserve this capital pun-ishment.
Donal….we are not worthy…at all …at all….