31st August – King & Conqueror; and Thursday Murder Club. Reviews just in.

Brought to you by our ace TV & film analyst Cubby “eyes like boiled eggs” Begge.
swear-word free edition.

We’re funny us British, we’re sort of naff, and useless, and miles more timid and ponderous than we’d have you believe —but we’re a race of people happy to hide behind the complacent assumption made by others (often through isolated, fictional, exemplars) that we are dashing, subversive, seditionist, usurping, funny people who live at the forefront of everything new and cool; if not, the very creators of whatever it is that’s considered cool, in the first place.

But, if exposure to the arsehole Boris Johnson has taught you nothing about what we’re really like, understand this -we are anything but. We are a nation of wannabees and liars, who will hitch ourselves to any shooting star that passes our way, in the hope that, “This is the one,” and that, “It’s my turn now,” praying, as we do, that those who matter in our new firmament, continue to bestow on us these unearned attributes of reverence, wit and charisma, wrongly assumed to be our birthright.

And we get away with it all, because we have mastered the art of talking a good game -we are very good at covering up the terrible mess we make of all our failed attempts to be someone/part of something —mainly because we’ve had a lot of practice at falling short. And as for our ability to undermine and cynically dismiss that which, until we failed at it, had been our heart’s desire, there’s none better. We have a sort of self-knowledge of all this, hidden away inside us somewhere, which we think other countries don’t have (though many do), and we share it with each other through our sarcastic sense of humour, that taps into this this sense of how utterly shit we are. At everything. How schadenfreude is a German word, I will never know. Our favourite pastime is to observe the failure of people we know. We are just fortunate, that our bitter commentary on life is so often mistaken by people who are not us, for trademark acerbic wit.

It all goes to reinforce this notion, that most of us seek detachment from the mainstream; to be considered a bit aloof -that what everyone else has, by dint of that, been devalued. It’s an image that many of us spend a lifetime curating, until, of course, the opportunity to make some money comes along, at which point, we immediately revert to the same old canute, we’ve always been. We are like Americans in many more ways than we let on. I know. Don’t tell anyone.

Then, those of us who haven’t quite yet sold the final 5% of our souls, see other countries’ versions of cool, underground, counter-cultural, subversive movements, and we think “Maybe we aren’t that bad after all.”

Just before we go back into the long hibernation, know this of the UK: if a drama breaks in August, it is 100% certain to be funktionally awful.

King and Conqueror

Our towns are old, and our traditions older. There’s something about the UK that reeks of old established customs, styles and traditions. And everyone buys in. You’d think we were born as history buffs. Yet, I’d say about 1% of us understand the origins of, not to say what actually happened in our most recent historical event -World War II (what some nations call the Great Patriotic War). Some people, I’m going to stop using canutes as a euphonium for the swear word based on a lady’s pudendum; some coves think we won it! I don’t like coves any better. I suppose, in the context of the English throne in the 1060s, I should use Knuts, but everyone will be doing that now, while this drama is current (see above).
As to the First World War, even fewer of us understand anything about that.
The only thing that the majority of people from the UK understand, and when I say understand, I mean they can recite the names of the key players (though seldom in the right order), is Tudor England. They believe they know about this period of British history because of its familiarity —the Six Wives of Henry VIII, Shakespeare, and because almost every historical drama ever made in the UK, is set in this period —not to mention almost every historical reference book, or novel ever written, fiction, faction, funktion. The lot.

Yet, for all of this, 1066 is the best-known date in our history.
Let us ignore, for today, the ignorant cove-Knuts who believe that Britain has never been invaded, or lost a war.  They are a lost cause, to whom we will try, never to return. If substantially less than 1% of us understand the cause, and course, of the First World War, it is but a a small proportion of those left, who know any of the important facts about the lead up to the historical event always referred to by its shorthand, 1066.

Therefore, perhaps, we should commend CBC and BBC for having a go at telling the story, in their currently-airing, eight-part, joint-production drama, King and Conqueror. Perhaps too, we should have some sympathy for them in their attempt to tell this story which is assumed to be known, but isn’t. But it all goes to explain why they took the approach to it that they did —having an intern write it, using AI as an assistant. It is absolutely funking appalling.

 “Oh, but dad, our Godwin, as the oldest, and therefore assumed wisest, you have to make the decision about where our kid goes to live and whether we should fight with them lot, to whom we are related, but slightly competitive, or just maybe, do our own thing, or get that ponce to give our sister a babby and that, isn’t it?”

“Aye, son, but I am old and grisly, and like Donald Trump, who is yet to come, I say stuff, however stupid, and then, that’s the law, it’s me word, and there’s no going back on it, even though I’ve just made it all up on a whim, in a bad mood, like.”

“Oh no, our dad you daft Knut. Can’t you see, even though I’m the clever one, I still love wrestling naked with other men. Is that a cough our dad?”

“Leave your father to rest, our best son.”

“OK our mother, what’s for tea?”

“You better come back, our son, your dad’s about to die.”

“What is it our dad? Are you dying?”

“(cough cough cough) yes son, I am. My word, which binds you because I am your dad, and my word is law, even though I’m thick, and dying, is you better go and have a fight with Edward.”

“But I don’t want to, our dad.”

“Oh, all right then. Do what you want, you’re in charge now, or you will be in a minute, then your word will be law, and you’ll be considered to be omniscient, despite being a bit of a Knut yourself.”

“Goodbye our dad, you’ve been a right arsehole, apart from that time you got drunk in the tavern on our cousins’ homebrew, and killed all our enemies.”

“Goodbye best son. Don’t forget to kill your brother. Right I am going to die now, and when I do, I”ll do me best to live in Edward the Confessor’s head for a bit and pretend to be God. See you at the palace. I’ll tell our daughter to leave the back door open for you.”

The Thursday Murder Club

CU NEXT THURSDAY

End of reviews.
Your friend in bad times, and worse, Cubby Begge.
Eyes face forward.