I spend AGES hanging round the Rue Morgue in a Gorilla suit, & what do I get?

The inevitable campaign to get a track by a beloved deceased person has started, and Twitter has decided that the track we should go for is My Way. Buy it on amazon here, or Google Play here, or iTunes here.

If you're a proper tightarse, listen to it a few times on Spotify, that counts, but not as much as actually buying it, so listen to it LOTS.

I'm all electionned out, so I'm going to indulge myself today by talking about something else dear to my heart.

Those of you who have known me for some time, and know my proclivities when it comes to men, might have noticed that I have something of a type. Tall, geeky boys with deep voices and good legs. Men who can cook. Well-dressed, curly-haired men who look good in a beard and can pull off an outrageous hat. Men with a wicked, dry sense of humour; who look great in shiny boots but will wear slippers when nobody is looking. Men who lean bi, or at least are not bothered by being accused of such. Men who can wear a cravat. Men who can do a quizzical eyebrow.

This springs from a LOT of places, but not least of which is the fact that at the possibly somewhat precocious age of six I got REALLY into old horror movies. And the stalwarts of old horror movies* were three men, one of whom had his birthday yesterday, and the other two have it today.

Peter Cushing would have been 101 yesterday. At a mere dead-on-six-foot he's the shortest of the three, and he was certainly the slightest. He was an extraordinarily talented actor, and if you don't believe that you haven't seen his Winston Smith, which knocks old raddled-face Hurt into a cocked hat.

Peter Cushing always looked stunning in whatever he was wearing**, partly due to poise, and partly due to cheekbones you could slice steel with. I believe he is a large part of my fondness for men in suits, especially a good three piece.

The thing that I admire most about The Cush, though, is that everybody seems to have had a very deep and genuine affection for him - even that grumpy old Tory Sir Lee (of whom more later), who was his best friend and co-Sylvester the Cat impersonator from 1957 till the day that he died. He was a Proper Gentleman, always unfailingly polite to everybody from the tea lady to the Queen. This is something I could probably learn from.

Vincent Price was the most impish of the three, and also by far the most political. He would have been 103 today. He was huge friends with Kenny Everett***, campaigned against racism and sectarianism, and built and endowed the Vincent And Mary Price Art Museum at East LA college because of his firm belief in public access to great art. He adored his doggies, especially Joe, whom he loved so much he wrote a book about him****.

He was also a fabulous cook. I know this because (thanks to karohemd) I have one of his cookbooks. Because of the era it was written in, it has the same approach to healthy eating that I was brought up with - i.e. everything contains lots of butter, cream, and alcohol. Now that I am reasonably close to my target weight I look forward to trying more recipes from it.

Christopher Lee is the baby of the three, at a mere 92 today. What can I say about the grumpy old sod that I haven't said a thousand times before? Although in social terms I probably would have got on better with Cushing, and certainly in political terms I would have got on better with Price, Lee is the one whose voice goes directly to the forelock-tugging peasant genes in me and makes me sag at the knees and wish to serve, and I mean that in a deeply sexual way.

I have a spotify playlist called "Christopher Lee Reads Stuff". When magister is playing Lego The Hobbit on his playstation he calls me into the room for the cut scenes because Sir Lee narrates them. Christopher Lee's voice has had a very profound effect on me from the first moment I heard, at the tender age of six, they have destroyed my servant; they shall be destroyed. For all the stuff I talk about above, this is the biggie. Men with deep, commanding voices are my kryptonite, and Sir Lee is their king.

So yeah. In terms of genuine admiration that comes from judgment in my brain, Price probably just beats Cushing but they are both up there. In terms of instinctive reaction that I have no control over whatsoever? Yet to meet a man that can do with his entire soul and being what Christopher Lee can do with a single whispered syllable*****.

Here is Sir Lee talking about his two best mates. Enjoy:



I shall certainly be raising a glass to the three of them later.

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* or at least the ones that I obsessively recorded on our Video2000 video recorder that they showed late night on the BBC.
** seriously, even as a tramp in fingerless gloves for Doctor Terror's House of Horrors the man radiates style.
*** yes, this almost certainly does mean what you think it means.
**** if you ever have an afternoon to spare and feel like one of those feel-good books that makes you laugh and cry in equal measure, I fully recommend The Book of Joe by Vincent Price, by the way.
***** although I can think of a couple who come close. You know who you are.

Christopher Lee Reads Stuff



Currently containing Dracula, Frankenstien and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

Currently NOT containing his Heavy Metal Christmas album, although I could be tempted by a Christopher Lee Sings Stuff playlist at some point too...

(X-posted personal journal and spotification)

I had three problems with the film:

1. There weren't enough girls in it, and those there were... Well, they were only there to orbit the boys, to help them because boys are the ones who matter. I am weary of this trait in pretty much all forms of fiction - it's probably why I'm so addicted to Bones at the moment.


2. Christopher Lee should never twinkle. It was unnerving how good he was at it.


3. Gustav's resemblance to officer Crabtree from 'Allo 'Allo detracted from both the pathos and the menace of his character.

Aside from those minor issues*, though, I really enjoyed it. There was some beautiful and innovative camerawork, and the lighting was exquisite, and the performances from the three leads (the two kids and Ben Kingsley) were excellent. And I cried. Lots.

You should see this film if:

• You like early cinema, because there are some beautifully integrated bits of old films, and a ton of visual and scripted references too


• You're a steampunk person, because the set and effects will make you cream yourself, especially if you see it in 3D


• You want to discover that not all child actors are awful and annoying.


• You appreciate a beautifully crafted bit of cinematic act, even if it's not flawless


• You can cope with all the flaws I mention above

You should NOT see this film if:

• You need your films to pass the Bechdel test.


• You need to have ACTION every five seconds, and can't cope with long, lingering, langourous artistry.


• You don't want to see Jude Law die screaming in a fire - you don't get much warning that it's going to happen, so I'm warning you now.

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In other news, I am feeling AWFUL tonight. This week has not been the easiest. So I am curled up in bed with a hot water bottle and faint sounds of Holly playing on her computer coming through the door. All brandy gratefully recieved.

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* lack of female characters being a minor problem on a per-film basis, which adds up to a major and endemic one if you consider te totality of film, obviously.

minnesattva confessed that her first crush was commander Data. I can empathise with that; always having had a thing for Mister Spock, of which Data is the modern example. But here I am posting a picture of my first crush:



Christopher Lee in Taste the Blood of Dracula. ♥ Just that voice... Mmm...

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