Oh Joy, Oh Rapture Unforeseen

This is a random moment of vanity depicting me doing my hair in my dressing room some time in 1946, because I can't think of a good opening sentence for this Toast Post.

I have been to Buxton.

Buxton is a beautiful town in Derbyshire (and I'm not really one for admiring natural scenery, but Buxton was incredibly pretty), famous for spring water and an annual Gilbert and Sullivan festival.  Just to warn you, this post will be about the latter, so fans of spring water may wish to leave now.

Have we just got G&S enthusiasts left in the room now?  Excellent.

I was there to perform a special edition of HMS Pinafore: The War Years, which we first put on back in May (Remember?)

You've seen my synopsis and pictures of the first show, so I'll not bore you with the same thing again.

(Lies - when have I ever neglected an opportunity to publish photographs of myself?  Pictures will be in abundance!)  We returned late on Thursday, and I spent Friday in a state of utter despondency, which got me thinking about the nature of pre-show excitement, post-show bereavement and everything in between.  I have never known any experience that is so much of an emotional rollercoaster as putting on a show.

G&S face interpretation of 'happy' and 'sad' :op

My chum Kayleigh always likens the post-show blues to a messy break-up.  The whole thing IS rather like a crazy whirlwind love affair.  You can't sleep, you can't eat (doesn't seem to stop me drinking though...), it occupies your thoughts so completely that you neither notice nor care that you haven't been anywhere but rehearsal, spoken to your other friends, cooked a meal or watched a minute of tv all week.  You delight in in-jokes, you sing in the street without a thought to how silly you look to those who don't understand, and even though you know, you know it's going to come to an end soon, on that awful morning when it's finally over, you desire nothing more than to hurl your poor, hungover, heartbroken self into the nearest river.

Drunk and grumpy, post-after-show-party

So why do we do it?  Why do we put ourselves through the grief, to say nothing of the pre-show stress and exhaustion, all for two hours in the limelight?  Because it's FUCKING BRILLIANT, that's why.

 

In the past week I've been recognised in the street by audience members (DEFINITE high point!), wept tears of frustration at my own persistent out-of-tunefulness (low point), been lifted up in the air like Buzz Lightyear, spent inordinate amounts of money in public houses, been on a cross-country road trip, drunk more cups of tea than I normally do in a month, lost half a stone, made wonderful new friends, been treated to charming stories about being catheterised, indulged my vanity by watching myself on tv twice, soothed ruffled feathers, had my own feathers ruffled, been bitten by the Buxton bug, laughed myself into coughing fits, killed a few brain cells with hairspray fumes, sung, danced, acted made faces to dialogue, had a wonderful time and took the International Gilbert and Sullivan Festival BY STORM!

Bring on next year.

To Infinity and Beyond!

(Photographs stolen without asking first from the talented Liffy Wood.  Oh, and Matt.)

They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm

"I'm so obsessed with M&Ms at the moment... They're the new Farmville."

It's quite a while since I made that particular remark to Simon, and neither M&Ms nor Farmville especially excite me these days, but I am a bit of a serial obsessive.  (Note, not a cereal obsessive.  That's my sister.)

Fangirly obsession du jour is tv drama The Hour, set in the surprisingly dark and ruthless world of the mid-twentieth century BBC.

Have you seen it?  It is SWELL.  It's like Drop the Dead Donkey in the 1950s.  Secret agents and suicides abound, and the '50s setting provides a treat for the eyes.  The Hour has been hailed as 'the British Mad Men', but strangely it's the styling of the studio, not the costumes, that catches my attention every week.  I'm particularly fond of the big, stylised clock that floats behind Hector as he presents the show.

Pardon the crap picture.  Their heads were in front of it in all the higher-quality ones!

I would like that clock as an app on my supercool smartphone to tell me the actual time, 1956-BBC-style.

The Hour's clothes are of course delicious, though. (Make-up, on the other hand, is curiously hit-and-miss.  I'm no expert, but did well-heeled socialites like Ruth Elms and Marnie Madden genuinely wear rockabilly eyeliner flicks??  And surely nobody has EVER looked like Verda Rowley...)  There's much to admire in Bel's sensible suits, Sissy's bright colours and glamorous Marnie's full-skirted New Look party frocks, but I think the chicest wardrobe belongs to my favourite character, The Hour's smart and sarcastic foreign correspondent, Lix Storm.  (Wouldn't you like to be called Lix Storm?  Total superhero name!)

Hunting for screencaps is a job requiring heaps more time and patience than I'm willing to employ (ANND I didn't make a note of where I got these ones from so I can't even credit properly!) so you'll have to take my word for it, but Lix wears Hepburn wide-legged trousers with crisp shirts (the pretty stripey one reminds me of the Heyday blouses) and looks much slicker and smarter and superheroier than the other, girlier characters.  Take note, ASOS, Topshop and the rest of you, THAT is how you do androgyny with style!

                                       Correct

 Incorrect                        

                  

Lix accessorises her masculine attire at all times with a packet of Gauloises and a glass of whiskey (Oh! And, in this week's episode, what looked like a wedding ring on a necklace chain.  Backstory coming up next week, I'll bet!  Widow?  Not divorcée - Lix wouldn't keep a cad of an ex-husband's wedding ring, she'd fling it into the middle of the Gobi desert, leaning perilously out of the cockpit of a fighter jet on her way to cover emerging unrest in a war-torn nation for a BBC exclusive, that's more Lix's style.)  She spends her days at The Hour dispensing whiskey and common sense to the younger members of the team, obtaining insider info from her "little man in Alexandria", and getting furious when nobody will run her reports on Egypt and the Suez Canal.  She's ambitious and steely and, methinks, desperately hiding some sort of vulnerability which we will  no doubt discover in the last two episodes.

"Darling, don't be utterly wet."

"Whiskey is God's way of telling us that he loves us and he wants us to be happy."

"Don't sulk, it ruins your face."

 "Darling, please don't deny me one of life's little pleasures; patronising those younger and fresher than me."

Adventures with a Hippy in the Big Smoke

Roll up!  Roll up!  Step inside the Nickelodeon, sit back and follow the hilarious escapades of Bette and Alexa as they encounter time machines, hippies, sunshine, garlic roasters, talking mushrooms, bargains, pubs and far too much sugar, all in one weekend in London!

Saturday
8.30am - While Alexa sleeps, Bette undertakes the first leg of her looooong journey by walking to the station in the early morning sunshine.
9.30am - Sausage sandwich for brekkie, then on the train!
12.42pm - Bette disembarks from train at King's Cross and is reunited with Alexa.
1.30pm - Picnic in the park.  After years of mocking Alexa, Bette is shocked to encounter an actual barefoot hippy brazenly meandering in the park with no shoes.  Alexa gets cold, so the two retreat to Alexa's house and watch Charade (very good film - Bette on Toast seal of approval!)

7.30pm - A night out at a 1950s party in aid of Japan is planned, and it's time to get dressed!  By amusing coincidence, both girls had picked the same dress to wear.  Despite Bette's protestations that it would be TOTALLY HILARIOUS to turn up in the same frock (It would!  We would look like some sort of nightclub singing sister act!), Alexa is secretly relieved when the zip on her dress refuses to do up and she is forced to find an alternative outfit.

Face-wise, I was trying to go for a youngish Elizabeth Taylor sort of look.  (Yes, I know, in your dreams, Bette!)

Anyway, much fun and frolics were had, breaking out the jive moves, watching a real live Elvis perform, winning handmade ...things... in the raffle, drinking and eating cake.  Brilliant fun.

SUNDAY

9.30am - Bette and Alexa get up and flollop around trying to decide on a plan of action.

1.00pm - Sunday lunch sitting outside a pub in Camden.  Alexa eats all of her vegetarian crap and declares herself so full she can't move.  Bette has eaten most of her chicken and left all the vegetables, and could have fitted in pudding, given half a chance.

2 - 4pm - Shopping.  Alexa only buys clothes if they're ethically-farmed and carbon-neutral and Bette is a massive cheapskate, so they raid every charity shop in Camden.  Bette buys two frocks and two books.  Alexa buys a belt and some shoes.

4.00pm - Alexa is having a lovely time.  Bette is tired and bored and whiny, so they go home.

5 - 7pm - Another Audrey Hepburn DVD. 

Bette is of the opinion that Freddy is a better catch for Eliza than Higgins, on the grounds that he's pretty and he sings.  Alexa disagrees quite violently.

8.00pm - Bette is very excited because they are going to...

The Comedy Store!  To see...

The Comedy Store Players!

(Website here since I am shite at explaining.  It's been an ambition of mine for a couple of years to see the Players, and I wasn't disappointed.  Bloody hilarious, my favourite bit was the long and musical fairytale of Prince Liam and the Talking Mushroom, or maybe the three-headed interview about rugby-playing hyenas, or no, it was definitely the Gilbert and Sullivan bit!  Highly recommended, if you have any way of being in London on a Wednesday or Sunday night, which is obviously a bit of a bugger for me, living far, far away in the distant North and working Monday-Fridays.  I have got the Comedy Store bug now, and intend to make it my quest to come down every school holiday!  I *did* even research what time the last train leaves King's Cross on a Sunday night - reasoning that if I left London at 11pm I could be home and in bed before 3am, and could get in a whole three and a half hours of sleep before my alarm - no problem! Sadly the 11pm Sunday train only goes directly to Edinburgh and probably wouldn't stop to let me off at Newcastle, even if I fluttered my lashes most prettily at the driver.)

I also got to meet up with one of my imaginary-friends-off-the-internet, which was nice too!

ANYWAY.

10.00pm - Bette manages to get over her "OMG I was in the same room as Josie Lawrence and Paul Merton" excitement, and moves on to the next stop of the adventure...

...the Haagen Dazs cafe of Leicester Square!  Whoever came up with this idea was a genius, I tell you.  Bette consumed a scoop of praline and a scoop of dulce de leche with waffles and butterscotch sauce, and Alexa had a medley of different flavours with dark chocolate sauce!

A huge plate of ice cream at 11pm might SEEM like a brilliant idea, but it really isn't.  Bette and Alexa waddled home clutching their bellies and sobbing, and then went to bed.

MONDAY

9.00am - Alexa goes to work, unwisely leaving Bette in charge of her laptop.  Several stolen photographs later, Bette leaves Brixton, hops on a bus and goes to the National Portrait Gallery.

Anna Neagle, painted by McClelland Barclay, 1940.  Move over, Rita Hayworth, I've found my new Best Film Hair Ever.

Next, Bette spent a few hours reading in the park and wandering around the theatre district going "Oooo!", and then got on a train for the bloody long journey back home.

Hello, lovely bridges, I didn't half miss you.

Fabulous weekend.  I hope the rest of my Easter holiday is this good!



"But we were younger then...and we knew the alphabet."

Ohmygod, I am having a total geek moment.



Thanks to last week's Comic Relief 24 Hour Panel People, and some copyright pirate who put it on YouTube, I've finally witnessed the renaissance of Channel 4's Whose Line Is It Anyway?, featuring many of the original panel members.

Okay, it's not the best WLIIA? ever (Not that I went through a phase of watching all 136 episodes on YouTube instead of studying for my supposed Master's degree...), and it needs a damn good bit of editing (I'm kind of missing the point of the whole 'live broadcasting' here, aren't I?), but the very fact of it is amazing. Amazing!

Also, I think they've photoshopped in Clive's, Neil's and Josie's 1995 faces, because they all look exactly the same. The same can't be said for poor, once-beautiful Tony Slattery, though, but we love him all the same.

Oh boo stinkin' hoo, I was going to link to a YouTube compilation vid of Josie Lawrence and Tony Slattery, but APPARENTLY "Channel 4 has blocked it in your country on copyright grounds." Alright Channel 4, don't get your knickers in a twist.

Eee, I'm proper excited for going to see my "obscure 1990s comedians" at the Comedy Store next month now.

Pardon the geekiness, friends. In order to resume normal service, here are some photographs of me wearing clothes:

As you can see, today I've gone for my 'Fred Astaire from the waist down' look.

(Yes, Hermes Pan is totally a style icon, if I say so.)

Shoes:  Dorothy Perkins

Trousers:  River Island via charity shop via Mum's wardrobe

Cardigan:  Principles via charity shop via birthday present last year

Shirt:  Some horrendous shop called Quiz, when I was 18 and had no taste

Belt:  Best Vintage

Hair flowers:  Accessorize

P.S. Trip down Memory Lane: Me 'blogging' on Livejournal in early 2009

The Margaret Leighton Project

Loooong, looooooong ago, I started a wee mission to educate myself about British classic stars because I thought it was a little bit shameful that all of my favourites are Americans and I can scarcely name any from my own land.  You can read about my absolutely fascinating adventures on this road here, at the Jessie Matthews project,and  here, at the Ellen Terry project.

Tonight’s special celebrity guest is an actress called Margaret Leighton.  She was born in 1922 in Woucestershire, trained for the stage and made her professional debut at 16, and soon after, joined the Old Vic Company under the direction of Laurence Olivier and Ralph Richardson.  Her London debut was as the daughter of a troll king.  Cool.  Theatrical renown in London and on Broadway followed, and fortunately for me and my YouTube addiction, so did roles in the moving pictures.

I have seen Miss Margaret Leighton in three films, thanks to the generosity/piracy of YouTube.  In ‘An Ideal Husband’ she plays the glamorous blackmailer Mrs Cheveley, and makes the lady by turns alluring, vulnerable and a tough old battleaxe.  It’s her voice that does it – she’s got this compelling, rich contralto (get in!), loaded with sarcasm and arsenic and with those grand-dame-of-Shaftesbury Avenue vowels.  I can’t stop listening to her.  Try this:

YouTube link 'cos I can't figure out how to embed videos

[Skip to 06:38 or so]

I was very disappointed that in the next film on my reading list that voice just… wasn’t there.  In ‘Under Capricorn’, Margaret is Miss Milly, a junior Mrs Danvers who skulks around her employer’s mansion with a big bunch of keys and a sour face, barking at her kitchen underlings, snubbing guests and patronising her drink-sodden mistress.  I liked Milly (I always like the nasty ones!  Plus Ingrid Bergman has a face like a tree trunk and deserved everything she got.) and I thought it was a very interesting performance, but all the same she wasn’t enthralling.  Her face was a bit unmemorable too.  This was 1949 and Margaret Leighton was only 27, compared to 47-year-old Mrs Cheveley in 1969.  I reck she’s one of those women who are more interesting when they’re old.  Some actresses are like that.  Sort of sharper.

 

"Oh no, Mr Flusky, I'm not good enough for you, I know that! 
I'm only good enough to work for you, and slave for you,
and look after your drunkard wife!"

 

"What sort of woman is she?" 
"She is a genius in the daytime and a beauty at night." 
"I dislike her already."



So being a bit of a Margaret Leighton fangirl by this point, the next thing I watched was ‘Seven Women’, which is about missionaries in China in 1935, and Margaret plays boss lady missionary, Agatha Andrews, who has to put up with chain-smoking, trouser-wearing, New Woman female doctors, outbreaks of cholera and marauding Mongolian barbarians without losing her grip and going batshit.  She does go batshit, and she does it brilliantly.  (And the voice!  The voice is back!)

"Whore! Of! Babylooon!"

IMDb says “The tall, reedy, opulent lady with strikingly odd, yet fascinating facial features also gave rich performances on film, stealing more than a few features away from the stars with her neurotic, brittle matrons and their unique brand of sophisticated eccentricity.”

On-screen neuroticness is all well and good, but I wanted to know about the squalidly scandalous stuff.  Margaret had three husbands.  One of them had been married to Elizabeth Taylor, but then, who hadn’t?  Her second one was an actor called Laurence Harvey, and a blog called Notonetogossip doesn’t have a very high opinion of him:

“It was during this week, that we were aware of regular visits to Miss Leighton's dressing room by the totally obnoxious Laurence Harvey, there were rumours but we thought as it was well known that Harvey was a screaming queen, there couldn't be any truth in a possible marriage. How wrong we were, amazing the lengths some actors (and I use that term loosely) will go to further their career, marriage followed.”

I also found, lurking deep on something silly like page 27 of my Google search, a lovely piece of scandal all about her affair with Old Vic co-star Ralph Richardson and his all-consuming obsession with her.  I’ve forgotten the details and I can’t find the page again, but it was a very entertaining read!

Anyhoo, Margaret Leighton carried being grand and wonderful until she died of multiple sclerosis in 1976.  Apparently she continued acting until the year before her death, by which time she was no longer able to walk.  What a woman, eh?

While I’ve been ‘researching’ this project, I’ve seen reviews and references to absolutely loads of Margaret Leighton’s films (and for the most part British films) and I’m dying to see them all.  I want to see her as a “dizzy socialite” in ‘X, Y and Zee’, and as a “batty old exorcist” in ‘Moira’, and “hanging around and rotting” in ‘The Sound and the Fury’, and as a madwoman in ‘The Madwomen of Chaillot’, and an Oscar-nominated matriarch in ‘The Go-Between’, and a hundred other things.  Anyway, this post has been well over a week in the making and it’s somehow got far too long, so I’m going to leave it here.  I urge you all to go out and become Margaret Leighton fans, because she’s COOL. 

"British Actress Margaret Leighton Showing New Fashion Trend By Wearing Slouch Style Hat"

"Look at you! Straight off a shortbread tin!"

It's been rather quiet here at Bette on Toast Headquarters lately, with only Greta for company.

She don't say much.

To replace conversation and human interaction I've been playing on YouTube, and oh what a treasure trove, all of Monarch of the Glen is on there!  My friend Helen and I loved that series when we were at school.  I liked brooding, beautiful Archie and she liked Duncan and his kilt.

Why neither of us noticed Fergal in series two is a mystery to me.

We all wanted to be Lexie, but this time around I've been hankering after Molly's wardrobe with all its vintage finery. ("I stopped buying clothes years ago, when the money ran out.  I don't even buy knickers anymore.  I just don't bother wearing them.  Mind you, I don't think Hector's noticed." - Episode 3!)

Full-length, lace-trimmed red evening dress.  Very Mrs Claus!

Wearing a smart little blue number (with unsubtle, opponent-distracting cleavage) to challenge an unscrupulous blackguard at poker, win back her diamond pendant and save Glenbogle!
You can't see it, but she's got a black satin hair ribbon and gold spectacles on a long silver chain.

Judging from the first two photos it's scary work wearing a brown velvet suit with lace cuffs and neck-thing, with tartan, er, Scottish scarf-thing and a tam-o-shanter with an entire dead bird on it.

L-R:  Sorting out the husband whilst in a ballgown with sleeves as big as her head - shortly before "You, sir, are an appalling little oik.  Unhand my wife!" ;  I couldn't snap a good picture of the whole thing, but it was covered in little beads and went swish swish.  I long to wear a dress that goes swish swish, don't you? ;  "You look so wonderful in that frock tonight.  Is it new?", "It was - a quarter of a century ago!"

My faaaavourite dress.  Red and white POLKADOTS, accessorised with pearls and a gigantic hat.  Flippin' love it.

I even like this look!

Those are all from series 1 and 2.  I like the early ones better, before they got all carried away with dying patriarchs and wrong-side-of-the-blanket half-brothers and estranged daughters and entirely unsuitable dalliances between the dowager and the groundskeeper.