A dramatically exciting scene from the film, set on a fog-bound Thames.Synopsis: The film starts on a dark and stormy night in a graveyard, with some Christmas-hating tightwad chasing a young, heavily pregnant woman into a workhouse. A swarthy criminal lurks nearby. He approaches a remote farmhouse where he dances a jig while bemoaning the death of his orphaned mother's son.
A number of ghosts arrive over the course of the film and express - in very flowery language -their concerns about debtors' prisons, gambling, and fog. A short section about mulling.
Someone called Joshua Whackbrain Puddlehead (check spelling) strolls along a dirty London street looking totally bemused, a look he has cultivated in order to deceive others into giving him money.
Suddenly! All is a-flurry! Small boy, withered arm, no sprouts for Xmas. Lawks a-mercy and dibble me for a muddlepot, sir, for I am nowt but a swiving blackguard and nincompoop. The law is my wife’s ass. Where's my hat?
Small boy steals books, gives them to larger than life criminal-mastermind who has clearly seen better days. A bit of skating featuring judges and beadles. Happy ending for most. (Criminal banged up waiting on the rope.)
Col's commentary: Very old-looking. Very old indeed. Clever that. Supremely clever.
I give it 1 out of 5 stars, simply for the nerve of trying to film what every film-maker knows is the epitome of the un-filmable novel.
2 comments:
is it true that you never expected a black Nancy?
That comment is quite out of context and a deliberate attempt to smear my good name. I note that you are too ashamed of your opportunistic intervention to give a name. Get thee gone.
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