Sorry to inflict my geek moment on you, but I can’t help myself, and if you’re into screencapping Richard Armitage, this might be of interest.
Last spring I was reading about an HD cinematic camera which could shoot frame rates at 100 times the usual. So what does all of this mean and why should you care? There are things that can now be seen which before could only be consistently captured with scopes (decidedly less detail than a camera) or speculated with mathematics, and usually that is so abstract for most as to be inconceivable and therefore blown off. But enter the Phantom Flex, and thankfully, as of a few weeks ago, there is now some fantastic video to show exactly how precise this camera can be.
I realize some may not be that impressed with this, but that’s because you have probably not watched much slow motion video. Most of it is a lot more blurry than this video above, so the detail in this is amazing. For any of you who have made screencaps, you know how frustrating it can be to fight the blur. Can you imagine the screen capture ability with this kind of video?! Mind boggling. It captures such detail that it’s like seeing the forbidden. Should be interesting to see what is unearthed from coming films.
And Richard Armitage just thought we had him under a magnifying glass. LOL!
If you haven’t already done it, watch that video in full screen mode.
And if you’re not a geek, I’ll throw in a picture to make reading this worth your time.
Sheez I’m gone for one day and an epidemic occurs from this Hobbit Press Conference. But who can blame anyone for being afflicted with Celebrity Worship when the object of our adoration easily makes us break out in a sweat. Even some of the Tolkien fans, who seem to be above that sort of thing, were affected:
Richard Armitage (Thorin) spoke surprisingly little, but when he did he had a notably deep voice, exactly right for Thorin, and real gravitas. He walked into the conference with a kind of testosterone charged lope. I don’t think he’ll have any trouble holding the audience’s attention.
Uh huh, his “testosterone charged lope,” among other things ;-), is going to hold some attention, and he’s just getting started. LOL! Yeah, I was right — won’t know what hit ’em, and some of these people are just getting a little taste of what’s coming.
All of that aside, I love that he’s just a guy here:
The “guy” almost jumps out of the video and grabs me. Loving this. Yet it seems this “guy” has been hiding. Before when Richard has been interviewed, we’ve mostly seen the sensitive artist, whose tacit message to women was, “I’m a little boy in a man’s body and my inner child hears you and understands.” :D But now he’s revealed a man for all of us to rhapsodize over! ………………………………………………………………. Excuse me I had to put myself back in my chair. All I know is I was fairly smitten by what I saw, and I’ve become rather jaded about these things. I thought. I take heart in the fact that no woman in her right mind could withstand that!
Seriously, it was evident the little boy was almost completely submerged by the man when even the talk about his first time on stage as an elf could not conjure it. The man was firmly in place. However, I wonder if the boy isn’t sensing the new tidal wave of affection that’s coming and shrinks from it. What else am I to make of this picture? LOL!
I feel a letter coming on. Oh, hell yes, this demands a fake fan letter.
Dear Richard:
You’re in my prayers, my friend. You think this Army thing is overwhelming? Get ready. That’s going to seem like a walk in the park. You keep coupling that stare with eyelids at half mast and deep voice with your “testosterone charged lope,” you will not have a moment’s peace.
I’ve long thought that if you catch on in America, you are going to go off the charts, but with ‘The Hobbit’ appealing to a worldwide audience, Ohmygosh! just thinking about this is… I can’t process it.
Back to my prayers for you and especially strong ones when I think that you will not be able to hide behind a beard as some actors are wont to do.
Signed,
One of Your Crazy Fans Who is Almost Fearful for You :D
Richard Armitage at 22 seconds, and I mean only at 22 seconds. So all of this for a one second shot. LOL! But I’m having a blast. I may breakdown and buy some fancy software yet. :D No, no, someone needs to slap me. I DO NOT need another diversion. LOL!
I snaffled a copy of the 1080i size, so the caps would be good quality, but bccmee has a great one without watermark:
I even stumbled across this kid while I was surfing YouTube:
He gives a pretty good run down on the history of Captain America movies.
Check out his channel. He is a hoot, but I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his bio. Check out “books”.
I throw him in because this is Richard’s audience for this movie, or at least the majority of the audience.
I’m seeing more and more press on the ‘Captain America’ movie, and I’m actually getting excited. Something I thought was impossible — even if Richard Armitage is in it. I am not a comics kind of person (I need to say that 50 times slowly), but then I didn’t think I was a period drama person either. So much for my convictions.
This week the movie is featured in Empire Magazine. I enjoyed looking at the article, but of course this was the most interesting piece:
See Diary Part 23 here, or to access all entries, hit “The Diary” tab above.
Spoilers for ‘The Impressionists’ and maybe a little for ‘Between the Sheets.’
[note: Regarding this diary, I sometimes get very kind notes from people wanting to comfort me. I really appreciate that. You will never know how much. But it has begged that I address the time line of these entries. Please know that these diary pieces are from two years ago or more. In fact, some entries are now almost three years ago. I thank all of you again who have expressed concern for me. I’m long since over the state of mind I was in then although in some respects I’m not over it. LOL!]
Entry — A few weeks later and still Fall, 2008:
Haven’t watched any Richard Armitage lately, and I’m glad I quit watching so many things repetitively. I think I finally snapped to when I got to the point I was watching but not really watching. My mind kept wandering to all sorts of crazy notions, but I was dutiful in slapping myself mentally for wasting time. It seems I’m always doing that. My daydreaming is almost a sickness. I wonder if I can ever outgrow it. When I was a kid, I was too naive to cover it up, and it was a constant source of teasing. Dad always liked to tell the story of me walking to school and the neighbors seeing me and chuckling at my strolling around looking at the bushes and the trees and singing to myself, and how they would holler at me to hurry up or I’d be late. I still love looking at things along the way. I’ve never been able to completely stop, but the specter of being late is always there. SO seems to be the only one who doesn’t think daydreaming is a problem. I just wish I had been smart enough to make a living at it, and it was always about a living dammit!
When I was 18 and wanted to major in music in college, I got a lecture about what I was really looking at — “Unless you get lucky, you’re going to play dives for years or you’re going to teach other people’s children to play.” Dad was a fantastic musician, and his years of playing gigs legitimized the truth of what he was saying. If he couldn’t succeed, then how the hell was I going to? Anyway, neither of those paths sounded appealing, and so I let myself be talked out of my first love.
Today, ‘The Impressionists’ came from Netflix. I forgot I had it in my queue, and I’m not sure when I’ll watch. It’s just going to make me remember again how I sold out. Maybe I’ll just send it back since two of the little SOs want me to get ‘Jane Eyre’ w/Toby Stephens no matter that they’ve seen it several times. According to them he’s so good that they’re now head over heels in love with Rochester. Of course that was true after they read the book! They even made a Facebook page about fictional characters ruining their love lives. LOL!
I look at them fangirling, and I’m so glad they are lighthearted enough to do it and laugh at themselves. I wish I had let myself revel in things like that as a girl. Eventually I fancied myself above it and was too busy making fun of it to ever enjoy it myself. I was a pompous ass and probably still am. Maybe I’ll keep the ‘The Impressionists’ discs.
A few days later:
The little SOs have had to content themselves with watching ‘The Impressionists,’ and although they’re still into Toby, they’re rapidly becoming big fans of Richard Armitage. They’re just not great fans of him in this particular series. But then they’re too young to really appreciate the nuances of his Monet, and how can they truly understand the conflict over Camille — his contrition to her and his honor to his father? They can’t. Not yet, and hopefully never.
And so much for being lighthearted about this. I was hanging on Richard Armitage’s every move. LOL! I cannot believe I was unaffected by how he looks when I first saw him. Must have been one of my most shallow moments. Granted, he is not the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, yet he is continually making me re-examine how I define handsome. No, actually, he’s beautiful in this. I have rarely thought a man was beautiful, but that’s the best description. He is definitely physically attractive, but it’s something inside coming out of this character, that longing for Camille and something more which permeates his eyes and moves to his shoulders and arms and onto his fingers, and returns to his shoulders, and settles there.
A little while later:
After everything I’ve seen of Richard Armitage’s acting, I can still be in this much awe of how he brings out depth of character? Will this ever get old? I hope it never does, and it has me continually wondering what he draws on to convey his expressions. “Quite a detailed actor” — yes, but what detail is in the mind’s eye? Or does he even do this consciously? Is this part of unfocusing the conscious? I don’t think he has a wife and kids or a pregnant girlfriend stashed somewhere, yet the purity of his movements is stunning. Whatever is happening in his head, I find myself replaying mere seconds of footage to dissect exactly what he does as Monet to convey these impressions and can’t escape recognition of SO in his demeanor.
There’s an earnestness and an innocence in Monet that makes me see SO, my young man who had everything to anticipate but pulling some baggage. How in hell does Richard Armitage capture that? (need to finish the Stanislavski book). I know he’s not innocent, or maybe he is. I don’t know. I’m so curious how he can play this character and the one in ‘Between the Sheets,’ who now that I think of it had a believable innocence as well despite the revelation of his heinous behavior. Or how he could play the stalwart but naive John Thornton and then the mercenary Guy of Gisborne, whose behavior also had a childlike expectation woven through it. Interesting. I keep writing down my impressions, but I can’t quite capture the essence of his performances. It’s like I’m in the dark trying to find a lamp but stumbling over something at my feet when I come close.
The only other actor to stir me to this degree is James Dean. I watched ‘East of Eden’ again the other day (after about a 25 year respite from it), and he nails Cal’s angst. He strays into melodrama some, but I figure it’s the era the movie was made. When I was twelve, this performance embodied the questioning and frustration I had long felt. I remember thinking I would eventually find the answer and some relief when I was grown. But I still question what drives people and what drives me, and I try to push it away and function normally, and “normal” dictates that I figure everything out in a moment. I know that’s not possible, but I keep trying to sum everything up, always trying to conclude, but I can never conclude. In hindsight it was alternately relieving and excruciating to watch Cal.
And now in watching Richard Armitage, that relief and agony is heightened again. Maybe much worse this time. It has created an almost painful longing to express what it is that dogs me all the time, and at one point in my life literally drove me insane. When I was watching him in this, I wanted to paint or play, and even toyed with the idea of writing a story, but writing has a vulnerability I can’t bear. I can’t write and exposing my clumsy attempts at it makes me shudder, and I haven’t painted anything in such a long time I’m not sure I can anymore. I’ve become too jaded to paint anything. But I can still play. I think. All I know is Armitage’s movements as Monet have a resonance that’s clear and sweet, and it reminds me of a finger slipping across a note, the feel of it coming off the note, and the tension and resolution and sometimes lack of resolution it expresses. And now I haven’t put my fingers on any notes for two years, and my frustration at not being able to express adequately how I feel has been locked up. I’ve wondered why I quit playing; I don’t remember any other time I didn’t play. I was playing before I could read. There are pictures of me trying to pick out pieces when I was barely able to sit on the piano bench. But I can’t bring myself to play. The thought of it leaves me…I’m not sure how it leaves me.
The next day:
I wish SO would watch this guy! He would agree with me about his abilities. SO is very attentive to detail when it concerns human beings. He still surprises me at times with what he perceives; I know he would appreciate Richard Armitage’s sensitivity and craftmanship. I would love to hear his thoughts! What a shame he hasn’t really watched anything. He was only half watching Vicar of Dibley, and Richard Armitage is mostly a foil in that. Then there was such a break between Vicar and George Gently that I don’t think SO realized it was the same guy, and Ricky Deeming also wasn’t a big part. Mostly I would love to talk to SO about what is happening to me and my urge to capture on paper the types of ethos and emotions I’m seeing Richard Armitage convey in his portrayals. Until now I’ve been content to swell up like a toad with what I perceive of people and things. I’m about ready to burst with what I want to express, and that’s much more interesting than writing all of this crap about my life.
This has become one of my favorites. I love the version of Ave Verum Corpus that bccmee used. She has a great sense about her music selections not to mention tight, well done videos, and this was her first one! I’ve been anxious to post this piece so I could highlight it.
I also love this music because it’s a wonderful Welsh baritone. The Welsh are my weakness. I am a quarter Welsh, and when I visited Wales, the sense of kinship was overwhelming. More about that later. For now, the version of Ave Verum Corpus that I normally listen to is on this album, but the Ave is not my favorite piece in that collection. So glad bccmee introduced me to this new version.
I really need to start that music blog. Maybe I’ll work it in during my spare time. LOL!
[Note: For those new to this blog, my tangents usually have little or nothing to do with Richard Armitage. For the fans: I do like to post pictures of RA as often as I can, so maybe there will be one at the end. And for all of you: be sure to read the post script at the very end if your stamina holds out.]
I have this quirk in my nature which always wants to buck the system when I have even the slightest sense the system is all about form and not really about any meaningful function. The first time this obstinance manifested was in the first grade. One Friday the teacher asked me to go to the blackboard to write something so I could learn along with the others, and I said, “I don’t have to go to the blackboard.” She arched a brow and looked over her glasses at me, and said, “What do you mean?” I replied, “It’s Friday, and my mother says I don’t have to go to the blackboard on Fridays.” I was quickly reprimanded and taken to the hallway where she grabbed my chin and with her other hand, dug her fingernail into the top of my head while she told me how much trouble I was in. The following week she requested a conference with my parents (I still hate that word conference), and I got my backside blistered by dad when he got home from that meeting. I also got a lecture about how it was wrong to co-opt the idea from our Catholic neighbors who didn’t eat meat on Fridays. All I knew is there was no need for me to go to the board. I already knew what the teacher was talking about.
None of this is to say that I’m generally obstinate. I just don’t like doing things expected of me which don’t appear to have any benefit, to anyone. Yeah, it sounds arrogant and selfish, but how many of us hate doing things that are a waste but we do them anyway? C’mon, I know some of you do things like this, but you do them only because someone, somewhere expects it. And you hate it. We’ve all done it. But as I get older, I find I’m going back to my six year old self. I don’t want to squander time on things that really don’t count no matter how good they might make me look. So where am I going with this? Well, I felt a little bit of a pull to do the requisite New Year’s write-up/recap thang on the blog, and I was not excited about that at all. So I didn’t do one. I’m simply enjoying the wonderful pieces done by others.
But you’re not getting off the hook before I wax on about my objection to New Year’s resolutions, and yes, I know I’m not the first one to say this nor will I be the last. But people like me need to keep saying it until a few of you get it. New Year’s resolutions for most of us are a waste of time. I mean who keeps those things — if you even remember them after a couple of months? I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who kept a New Year’s resolution. No, that’s not true. I have known one person who did, and she talked about it incessantly, which was the result of being shocked that she kept it. But most and probably darn near all people don’t keep them. Or maybe I just run with a slothful crowd.
Obviously, I think my crowd is in the majority, which compels me to talk to you about something that is so unnecessary and usually just leads to guilt. Yep, it’s a setup for failure. I don’t know about any of you, but I don’t need any help with feeling like a failure, and several years ago I resolved to stop making resolutions because of that feeling. There are so many deadlines to meet in life, and I don’t need to create another one for myself especially when it only facilitates self-flagellation. Of course there is that minority who keeps resolutions, and if you are one of those people, and it makes you feel good, I’m sincerely happy for you. My lazy self will continue to refrain.
Yet I completely understand the need to make New Year’s resolutions, the need to wipe the slate clean and start over, the need to have another chance at making something right or attaining something we long for. That need is so great among us, that when a year comes to an end and a new ones starts, and we’re quite naturally taking stock of our lives, it seems fitting to cobble together something that sounds important for us to do, something that sounds like a great destiny. But I submit to you that you don’t have to start on January 1, and that may be the worst date to do it for some of us. So make up your own day for starting over, and hey, it really can be every morning. Frankly, if I didn’t start over at least once a week and sometimes daily, I would never want to talk to anyone or leave my house, and I’ve been there before. Not fun. So it’s Monday after the holiday, and the day didn’t get started all that well. I may need to start the year over on the 4th.
End of sermonette.
A picture of Richard Armitage as sort of promised. (Scroll beyond it for Post Script).
Yeah, I know you understand what I’m sayin’, Rich.
Screencap courtesy of my stash.
Post script: My mother just reminded me the first time my obstinate nature clashed with a teacher was actually in kindergarten. The class was learning to print their names. My name ends in an ‘A’, and I’ve always hated the look of a lower case ‘a’, and when it was on the end of my name, it didn’t look finished. So when I printed my name, I ended it with a small sized capital ‘A’, and I still print it that way today. (Yes, I know it’s harder to write.). When the teacher came by to check my work, she said, “No, honey, you must write it like this — ‘a’.” I just nodded and kept writing it with a capital ‘A’. The teacher got so flustered she screamed at me and ripped my paper into several pieces. Then she gave me another paper, but I still proceeded to write with an ‘A’ on the end of my name. She finally called my mother, who met with her that afternoon. The teacher told her I was developmentally delayed (or whatever pc language teachers used back then to say a kid was slow mentally). Mother was devastated and went home in tears. When my dad came home from work, he quizzed her about her upset, and she told him what the teacher had said and how she wasn’t sure what to think. To which good ol’ dad said, “Oh, that’s horseshit. The kid can write in cursive for cryin’ out loud.”
See Diary Part 22 here, or to access all entries, hit “The Diary” tab above.
Entry — Still Fall, 2008 + a couple of days later:
I guess I can’t stop thinking about Richard Armitage in ‘Between the Sheets’. I haven’t watched it again. I’m really trying to forget it. The graphic sex scenes that were like a hot poker to my adrenal glands are still somewhat vivid but thankfully receding a little. Now I’m experiencing something less visceral and a little more thoughtful. I just had to get past the shock of seeing John Thornton in all his glory. LOL!
A long time ago I fancied myself becoming a great photographer. Eventually I “wised up” and let that go like I have a lot of other things I enjoy. I’m not sure I’ll ever get back what I once had, but there are things I learned and can’t forget. My first mentor told me to ditch the color. Once the color was gone, I learned how lousy my photos were. It was the first time I really considered composition and contrast, and they needed work. But I was glad I knew the truth. Sex can be like that. It can color everything — for a while. But when the euphoria of sex is gone, people look at their partners and ask themselves, “Do I really care about you?”
In ‘Between the Sheets’ the character Alona seemed to need the euphoria. Almost like an unbroken drumbeat she lets Paul, her partner, know how she needs sex from him and not much else. It’s plain that Paul was little more than a prop in her world.
After the dip in sex and some tense therapy sessions, she seemed to be fighting the urge to dismiss him and move on if he didn’t satisfy her. From talk about her son, to her job, to her dead husband, to her relationship with Paul it seemed that everything revolved around Alona. From the moment she learns about Tracy, she is suspicious of Paul and tries to control the outcome. Too late she realizes she might really care for Paul only to be startled by the final revelation. I would have loved to have seen another series to see who Alona really was. Part of me thought of her as a narcissist, and narcissists can be intensely fascinating — when you don’t have to live with them. In fact, they are sometimes the most interesting people. Self absorption that intense always has me wondering what created it and if it can survive.
My friend Leah was this self absorbed, and I have to admit she was extremely fascinating. In hindsight she was so obsessed with herself and getting her way that it was frightening, but at the time I alternated between admiration, humor, and a little fear about her desperation. By day she was a very capable physical therapist, and in her free time she trolled hardware stores for guys who could flip her in bed and install a hot tub or track lighting, or maybe a security system on the side. I actually laughed at this when I wasn’t horrified. There was no hesitation in her about using other people. Oh, she was smart, and frequently said things I thought, and now I’m wondering what was wrong with me that I wasn’t more appalled at the time.
I guess I wasn’t that upset over her selfishness because I didn’t realize how much it hurt others, and I figured she was just lashing out about things in her life that were unfair — alcoholic parent, untimely death of her husband. There was also her well ordered life, which seemed to say she was in control but just battling some demons on the side. She had a great job, her house and her bills were in perfect order, her 14-year old daughter was very pleasant and a good student. But when her daughter tried to commit suicide, all Leah could talk about was how stressful it was for her and how she needed a damn vacation. She flew to Mexico for 10 days. Meanwhile the kid was on suicide watch at a mental hospital. I never saw any concern for this kid. I mean nothing. Any concern for the kid was left for others. Leah wrung her hands a little, but she was never there for anyone but herself. She did not know how to feel any kind of empathy or real remorse. She only reacted to being inconvenienced and then moved to take care of herself. I can hardly think about this without wanting to knock myself silly for not being more horrified and doing something. I’ve always prided myself on knowing what was going on, and thinking for everyone in the room. I am an idiot.
I think maybe I couldn’t see it because I couldn’t see myself. SO has told me in his quiet way to get over myself. But sometimes he’s gotten exasperated. When we were first together he said, “What happened that you think everyone in the world gives a f*ck about all of your opinions?!” He’s so right, and here I am journaling for the first time in my life and feeling like a putz. But didn’t he want me to do this? Maybe he just wanted me to write so I didn’t have to verbalize all of it to him. What the hell did he ever see in me? Only the pretty girl of 21? Does any of this shit I’m writing mean anything? What was my point? Yeah, Alona’s character brought all of that back, and as badly as I hate to admit it, somehow I saw a little of myself in her. Trying to control everything and controlling almost nothing. Faking myself out and sounding like I know what I’m talking about while I’m doing it. Maybe.
And Richard Armitage once again completely became someone else. I was actually dreading this performance and expecting it to be the one that disappointed me in his abilities, but from the first scene I saw Paul Andrews, the probation officer, and not Richard Armitage, and there was a suspicion about him at the periphery of my mind that wouldn’t come to fruition. He seemed to care about Tracy, but he was unsure of himself as a mentor, and his voice, which was so different from all of his other roles, did a lot to convey this. At times his contrition was almost too much and screamed he was guilty of something, but he stopped short and had the perfect intonation for nailing passive/aggressive. These made his fatal flaw believable. I loved the scene in the therapist’s office with Alona where he sounds like a boy lashing out at her. Plus, that sounded like some real shit that goes on between dysfunctional couples. Hell, aren’t we all dysfunctional? LOL! SO’s never sounded like a little boy, but he’s got his issues as well, and I could believe Richard Armitage has had a dysfunctional relationship; otherwise, what did he draw on to capture something that realistically? If not, then damn he’s good. He certainly had the whine and the subtle manipulation down, and I was never quite sure of the extent of the latter until the end. Usually I can quickly see things like that coming in real life as well as in a drama. In fact, my horribly arrogant, impatient nature often wants to bring things to their logical conclusion in an instant, so I can move on. I missed it this time, but I’ll blame that oblivion on his naked ass.
And I’m still trying to rationalize his naked ass in this show. It really wasn’t gratuitous sex even though on some level it felt like it. Rather it was a couple being intimate, and I was in the room with them.
I have never felt more like a voyeur. It was too much, and I came away asking: why did he do it? And when I think of it, I come to that question and can’t move on. I wonder about Julie Graham as well, but hell, I don’t have time to really ponder her when I’m wondering about Richard Armitage’s motivations. Was he that insecure about working? This is the most obvious answer. He had not made it big with North and South yet, so his offers had to be less. That makes sense, but maybe I don’t want to think of him prostituting himself to be working although the answer may be that simple. Or was he honestly unsuspecting of how the scene was going to be filmed, and he’s so biddable that he just went along with it when he found out? I’ve heard that reason floated by some, which makes my bs detector hit alarming levels. Surely actors aren’t that naive. Don’t they have agents who are supposed to be savvy, so they don’t just stumble into things like graphic sex scenes? Didn’t he have a contract with some details? It just makes no sense unless the agents in the UK don’t have as much edge as the ones here. I really doubt this. People are people, and negotiators no matter where they are have an uncanny awareness of how someone can get screwed.
So what was it that motivated him? Maybe I’ve invested in watching him so much that I will not let myself be disappointed by thinking he might be shallow or God forbid, a hedonist. So maybe he felt some artistic challenge? Maybe he really is interested in the human condition and the stories that come from it to the point that he could suspend any compunction about getting naked? Damn, that’s a pretty big step. It’s not just being without clothes. It’s the intimacy portrayed that will be forever captured on screen for his present and future loved ones to see and wonder about to a much greater degree than I’m doing. That’s something he can never take back. It’s out never to be private again and will have to be confronted again and again. Was he that thoughtless?
Or was there such a relief in being naked that it didn’t matter about the consequences? When reading his comments about this show and his family’s reaction, the flippancy of it borders on disrespectful. Maybe I’m wrong about that, but that’s how it seemed. Maybe he seems too much like SO who chafed under the rigid mores of his parents and I’m assigning motives to him that are really SO’s. His upbringing does sound much like SO’s, and that upbringing is still so foreign to me. To be that inhibited about speaking of one of the most elemental things in life — sex? I can’t really wrap my mind around that. But then maybe I’m misreading his comments and maybe I’m a freak. I was at the other end of the spectrum — never inhibited from discussing anything, Mom and Dad really were not like other people, and I’ve fought that notion for a good part of my life. When I was a kid and my friends used to comment on how different my parents were, I blew it off as my friend’s ignorance of people. Years later I realized they were right. I certainly was aware of sex and a host of other subjects long before my peers. Even today I still shake my head in bafflement when I hear women talk about their mothers never telling them anything — even about their menstrual cycles — so that they freaked out when they finally got their periods. I don’t understand this kind of parenting. A friend of mine told me that her mother left a book out for her to read about periods, sex, and unwanted pregnancy but never said a word to her. My friend got pregnant as a teen, and it was the first time she had sex. Small wonder.
One of my many sex talks was Mom telling me that unwanted pregnancies and disease are certainly issues of indiscriminate sex, but the most important thing is how much sex affects your head and your heart. Those are what really matter. In one instance she ended with, “because there is nothing sacred about a p*ssy.” Mom always did have a way of putting things in perspective. LOL! So to think of some mom just leaving a book out that hopefully her daughter might find and understand and heed is… I don’t get it.
Maybe I do have issues with that kind of detachment, and I can’t help being curious about those who may have experienced it. We’re all inclined to seek intimacy. It’s hardwired into us. So I wonder what it would be like to seek intimacy when coming from a perspective where intimate matters can never be discussed with our intimates, i.e., with those closest to us who have our best interest at heart. Whom do you discuss intimacy with if not those people? I still marvel at the fact that sex was never a discussion in the house of SO’s youth. There weren’t even any implications of it other than his existence, and others outside their home who talked about sex were like aliens speaking a foreign language. SO is infinitely curious about life and people and how they work, and he’s also the most honest and forthright person I’ve ever met, so he felt like an alien in his own home. I was his relief, and to a lesser degree so were my parents. But what happens to people who get little or no relief? Where do they go? How do they make sense of things when they have never been able to talk of things that profoundly affect us all? And if they are curious about the truth, how do they seek it and convey it?
I know discretion was something I grappled with as I was coming to adulthood, and at times my reaction to my parents’ unabashed and sometimes brutal honesty has provoked me to such a circumspect posture that I’ve fairly strangled my emotions. I can’t help but wonder what went on in Richard Armitage’s head with respect to his upbringing and whether it played a part in selecting this role. Maybe I can understand his need to take the bark off the tree as it were. If I could not easily speak of elemental things to people who matter to me, I might also want to show my ass, just to know if it was real.
Naked asses aside, ‘Between the Sheets’ is so obviously designed to provoke someone to honestly examine their opinions about sex, and I guess I’m verbalizing my response to the show here since I can’t really talk about this to anyone. But it’s not the sex. It’s the fan odyssey I’m on. Sex is so easy to talk about. My need to watch some obscure British actor is not. I’ve enjoyed so many of his roles, but if I’m honest, something unhealthy is going on with me. The fact I’m writing all of this about some actor is….I don’t know what it is. Certainly it’s an escape, and the problem is this show wasn’t an escape. It was too damn real, and here I am trying to get in Richard Armitage’s head. I have to admit there is something satisfying about that. Certainly, I don’t know him, and to speculate that I do or can guess what he’s thinking really is one of my curses but then I always try to get inside people’s heads. I’ve been doing that since I was a kid. I can’t stop now. I never want to do it to exploit anyone, but I really do want to know what drives people, and isn’t that the point? Isn’t the point of me watching all of those characters to be curious enough to wonder what in hell’s name is going on inside their heads? And if it spills over to the actors themselves, isn’t that a normal reaction? Or maybe I do have CWS. Whatever is going on, I’m intrigued and can’t just turn that off.
Later:
I found myself feeling very sad for Hazel. All that angst over what? Some misguided sense of decorum? Yeah, yeah, I know that was the point of the show — more bark off the tree. It must have been hell to grow up in an era that didn’t allow you to speak openly about something so important as sex and Kay Mellor and company are definitely of that era (I think of them now as the British version of the Ephrons only less restrained). Hazel’s part practically screams it, and I appreciate what they were doing to show just how silly some of the mores of that generation were. Plus, abuse is still something that too often shames people and keeps them quiet. The muzzling effect of it can’t be exposed enough. So I’m glad they worked that in. But mostly I look at Brenda Blethyn playing Hazel and how she’s about the age of my mother, and I realize Mom was and is so open and honest about so many things — so much more than most women I meet and come to know. She’s always been honest to a fault. No sexually repressed woman unable to articulate what she thinks for her. Thank you, Mom. You are rare, and I realize it more and more every year. I’ll have to tell you this next time I see you.
I was a little uncomfortable with the use of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. My first reaction was, No! don’t use that. It’s so cliche’. It’s becoming nothing but a caricature of forbidden fruit for the repressed woman, and so unfair to D.H. Lawrence. I think I rolled my eyes a little, but Brenda Blethyn does a decent job. The cliché aside, I just liked Hazel. She was sincere even if she was a little silly acting at times. At first I was predisposed to dislike her since Brenda Blethyn can’t move two feet without emoting and usually plays someone a little silly. Then there were the times I felt some queasiness at her part, but that was coupled with my admiration for her guts in taking off her clothes. I guess all naked asses don’t bother me, but then I didn’t have to see Brenda’s naked ass while she was scr*wing.
Peter’s mother, Audrey, was a hoot, and thank God I didn‘t have to see her naked ass. But who couldn’t like Audrey? She was so gentle and earnest. I can hear my own mother talking like that when she gets to be Audrey’s age except my mother adored my dad when he was living and doesn’t seem to be the least bit interested in another man since he’s been gone. Of course she might surprise me, and that would be fine; nothing she might do would take away from Dad. As for Maurice, he must have had more going on behind closed doors. LOL! He was a little mouse of a man.
Georgia was fairly clichéd too, but I liked her as well. Where I come from Georgia would be called “a good ol’ gal”. They always have a heart of gold even if life has done them dirty. The only problem I had was a couple of times she started looking like Miss Kitty from Gunsmoke. It made it hard to keep a straight face.
Then there were the children. Kieran was a shit with an endearing quality. Maybe it was the twinkle in his eye that had the promise of someone with depth. Whereas Simon was just a shit. An angry shit but still just a shit. No, there was more going on; I just didn’t care to find out. If the series had continued, maybe I would have cared. Of course there was Fiona who got my pity for being caught up in this mess. Sweet looking little girl. I wonder if she’s ever watched this show.
But Peter was the one who got to me more than any other. I loved him even though he cheated on his wife and had a seedy profession that should have generated self-contempt. Yet he kept trying but getting things so wrong. Boy can I relate to that. I felt his remorse so much that I sobbed over the herons too. Even writing this I’m getting choked. I just wish the writers hadn’t wrapped up his and Hazel’s story in a neat little package. It was decidedly unrealistic in a show that seemed to wear realistic on its sleeve. It’s never that simple.
[note: spoilers in this video]
I had never seen much with Alun Armstrong, but after this, yeah, I’m a fan. I guess once that fan thing gets turned on there’s no telling where it will be directed.
There are so many more things to say about this show. It had a lot of layers. Why do I hear Shrek’s voice in my head? Yeah, it was like an onion. It had layers. But I’ve got to stop thinking about it or it will drive me crazy. Kay Mellor would be so proud.
Not sure where I’m going next with my Richard Armitage watching. Maybe I need to cleanse my mind with a little John Thornton.
Screecaps and clips are mine courtesy of a friend loaning me the DVD. Thank you, friend. :D
edit: I frequently get email about this post and specifically about the pictures. Just so you know, the screencaps untouched were not nearly so tame. I strategically cropped them to make this post “safe for work.”
A spoiler about Spooks Series 9. Of course if you’re reading this blog, you probably already know, but I’m not taking any chances.
I’ve never watched much Oprah Winfrey. Probably seen that show five maybe six times, but I would have to be under a rock somewhere not to know about her “Favorite Things.” For those who may not know about Oprah, she is a mega star here in the States. She has a talk show which has been on about 25 years (can’t remember exactly), and she is so massively popular that I think at one point she could have run for president and won. During the holidays, she has these giveaway shows called “My Favorite Things,” and this year is her farewell. I understand that it’s been highly emotional, but I’m hard pressed to think how much more emotional it could be than in the past. Recipients are usually weeping while Oprah stands there grinning like a Cheshire cat as they receive their gifts. That’s what’s shown on the news, and my jaded self has mostly thought of this as an ego trip for Oprah.
But maybe I was wrong. If I had that kind of money, I would certainly give some of it away. It would thrill me to do that since it’s a pleasure to make people feel good. At times I wish I were rich just so I could give to people more than I’m able to do normally. Today is one of those days. I really wish I were rich enough to pay everyone’s way to see Richard Armitage in The Rover. That would be such a blast. And no, we have no further word on it other than this tweet from our initial source of info, the English Touring Theatre:
In lieu of giving any of you a trip to The Rover, I do have something planned for Christmas, but I’m not quite ready to reveal it. In the meantime, bear with me as I post a couple of more diary entries that frankly, I just need to get out of the way (picture me with my tongue hanging out), and of course I need to still mourn Lucas of Series 7 at least a few more days.
It pains me to look at that picture and think of the destruction of that wonderful character! I’m not so much thinking of him becoming a bad guy as the ruining of such an interesting character. That was just shot to hell. Sorry for this slip up. I really am trying not to be negative about any of RA’s jobs! But you may not think that after you read my next diary entry. Then again, it was just something I had to get out.
I keep forgetting that all of you who read this blog are not part of the rabid fans like I am. Oh, I know some of you are exactly like I am and could write this blog — meaning you could keep it supplied with the information over which so many salivate. Case in point is Richard Armitage leaving the Old Vic. I’ve long since looked at the YT clip of him leaving the theater after the plays. I figured anyone who read this blog had already looked at it too. But I was wrong. I’ve had emails and Facebook messages asking me about any word on footage or pictures of him at the theater, so here it is:
I love the YT user’s name, smartandcleverlass. Yes, she is, and I appreciate her grabbing this candid shot for all of us to drool over. But as I started to drool, I have to confess I had some hesitation. I began to feel sorry for RA, and the crap he must go through. His acting is wonderful, and I’ve already said I would love to see him on stage. That would be the ultimate experience of his acting for me. But I really can’t see myself following him out the door to take a shot of him with my phone. Maybe I sound like a hypocrite and one day may prove myself a liar, but I know my gut would be screaming: NO, DON’T DO IT! leave the guy be. Or perhaps I’m just a coward.
But enough of my conscience rearing its ugly head. Oh hell, I would just like a chance to find out if I would have a conscience. It would be a dream to go to one of his performances, but ever lurking at the back of my mind is this question: would I wait at the stage door to see RA afterward? I honestly don’t know. As I think about it now, I would feel like a fool doing that. No, I wasn’t kidding when I said I have too much pride to posture as a fangurl in public. I just can’t see it, but then I might let myself get caught up in the hysteria and do it anyway. Man, I am a coward.
I was talking with a fellow Armitage lover this evening, and she asked if I would go to the stage door if she dragged me there, and I said, “Of course, ’cause then I could blame it on you.” :D
Sometimes I wonder if I should have named this blog ‘The Reluctant Fan.’ That really is the best description of me, but I think that domain name was taken. All I know is I have fought this from the beginning and still fight it. I mentally slap myself about once a week. So my post about still stopping is describing a frequent occurrence. Maybe I shouldn’t write this post, but I must do it to at least fool myself into thinking I’m still sane. Momma didn’t raise a fool, so I’m trying to make her proud, but then Momma would go to the stage door. LOL! Maybe I should stop fighting my genes? Either that or take up drink. No, that will never happen. I’ve been too up close and personal with alcoholics, and that, my friends is about as revealing as I’m going to be on this blog.
I’m not quite sure this is a tangent, since the point is ultimately about Richard Armitage watching, but it feels like a tangent. Hell, this whole blog feels like a tangent. Ahem.
Twitter is a great tool once you get used to it. Yeah, there’s a bunch of bs that goes on there, but it’s one of the quickest ways to find out information; however, you’re at a disadvantage if you’re only using Twitter to well, access your Twitter account. With the advent of Twitter, Facebook, et al, there had to be something on the scene to manage them easily. I use Hootsuite. The best thing about it for me is the ability to see several things at once. I can watch tweets on my account stream and also show streams for searches of which I can make a permanent stream or do one on the fly, like oh let’s say The Rover. Yes, I’ll explain a stream.
Here’s what my Hootsuite Dashboard looks like, and please don’t let it overwhelm you. It’s really a lifesaver, or maybe just a headache saver because you can get lost just navigating your Twitter pages without it.
Click on image to enlarge.
The first stream is my account stream or what I would see on the home page of my Twitter account. The tweets showing on that page are the ones I make and the ones made by people I follow. Since I can see all of their tweets, I know if they say something to me. But not everyone who tweets to me am I following, so for those I have the second stream which shows any tweets that contain @RAFrenzy. The third stream I created to show any ‘Richard Armitage’ or #RichardArmitage comments in someone’s tweet. That pulls in anything anyone says on Twitter that has either of those phrases in it. The second phrase with # sign is referred to as a hashtag. You can create any search you want, and I have several on my ‘Twitter 2nd’ Hootsuite page. It makes things really easy to find. The fourth stream is one of my lists, which are groups of users you can make in lieu of following those users. I made one of media outlets that might have something of interest concerning RA but not necessarily use his name. If I followed all of these, it would clutter up my home stream, and frankly, from time to time I quit following some users and put them on a list. What’s great is that you don’t even have to make your own list. You can follow someone else’s.
Hopefully, you’ll consider doing Twitter and even Hootsuite. Frankly, if you’re going to make the most out of being a ripple in the RA pond, you should. LOL! You just have to ponder it a bit, and there are plenty of us to help if your eyes get glazed over.:D
P.S. I know there are other tools for managing Twitter. Feel free to share them, and perhaps about accessing from a phone. I just didn’t want to get into that in this post.
RAFrenzy 
