Arrgh! Watch Treasure Island 2012 in honour of TLAPD, ye scurvy rascals

Ahoy, shipmates.  The first mate, the cabin boy and I lashed ourselves to the mast last weekend and viewed Treasure Island 2012, a BBC miniseries:

I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this version.  Featuring a talented cast who play well together, it’s a fresh modern production with a fabulous soundtrack.

Famous faces abound:  Donald Sutherland looks like he’s enjoying his role as the treacherous Captain Flint; Rupert Penry-Jones – fabulous in “Whitechapel”, another BBC production – is exquisitely nasty, playing the Squire so far towards the top of the upper crust that one wonders if he needed supplemental oxygen between takes;  Eddie Izzard imbues his Long John Silver with more chiaroscuro than usually seen in this character; Toby Regbo is terrific as Jim Hawkins and Shirley Henderson – Moaning Myrtle in the HP films – plays his mum, her fragile frame, pixie face and wispy voice perfect for the role of victimised widow.  Elijah Wood’s cameo as Ben Gunn is fun – with his love of cheese and the Bible, he was the kids’ favourite character.

A few characters have been invented for the series – including John Silver’s wife, played by Nina Sosanya – and some reassigned or re-imagined – the Doctor starts out as a cowardly drunk, but hits his hero straps eventually – in comparison with Robert Louis Stevenson’s original, but none of them seemed out of place or tacked on.

Beautiful art direction keeps you watching through the parts when your attention may stray a little, thinking you know what comes next.  And there’s an intriguing – if gory – keelhauling scene.  Four out of five pieces of eight.


85 Responses

  1. That be a fine bit of reviewing there, Cap’n Morgana. Avast, I shall be watching it at me earliest convenience. But I still say there be no better Long John Silver than Tim Curry. Aye, that I do – and I’ll keelhaul any landlubber who says otherwise! Arrrrrrgh!

  2. Aye, Cap’n Catty, Tim Curry do be a foin slab of man meat, thar be no doubtin’ your word. Hehehe. “Upstage, lads! This is my only number.”

    But he do be wearin’ far too much clothin’ over his bucaneers. I prefer him in fish-net stockin’s. Hello, sailor!

  3. Yarrrgh, he do be sweet as a transvestite.

  4. The rugged isle of Transexual do be a long, long way from the tradewinds – but not from the rough trade.

  5. Avast, that be a saucy comment, Cap’n Morgana. Ye be saucy sailor. Arrrrgh!

  6. TLAPD was fun but I’m pretty glad to be back to English. Well, Australian, anyway. All the “arrrrrghing” made my throat sore.

    My only regret is that I didn’t have the guts to TLAP when I took the kids to karate last night. When is TLA Ninja day? I assume that would be silent 99.8% of the time, with the odd blood-curdling howl as you disembowel your enemies.

  7. yeah I must have mixed my days up. That’s how I spent most of yesterday.

  8. Make sure you clean your katana thoroughly, Q. Bowel stains can corrode a nice steel blade something shocking.

  9. I tried to talk like a pirate but it came out sounding more like John Cleese’s village idiot.

    Nice review!

  10. A little piece of Python was just what I needed, today. Oh arrgh oggley oggle, thank ee Melbo!

  11. Yes, Melbo, thank you. After a crappy day, it was just what I needed.

    It should have been a good day. I’m just being a big girl’s blouse for no specific reason.

    Oh. I see. Aunt Irma’s coming again, isn’t she? Rotten bitch.

  12. Well, she just left here, she had to go somewhere. Give her a slap from me, Catty.

    One day to go, one day to go! Remind me that I was this excited about the school holidays when I’m over it, if you’d be so kind. You know, by Tuesday of the first week.

    Meanwhile, who’s seen this exciting news?

    I’d type more, but I don’t want to overdo it.

  13. You’re not alone Catty, I gashed my finger while Aunt Irma was visiting (she’s making me very clumsy) and the resulting sense of uselessness (bled every time I knocked it for the next 2 days so I gave up and did nothing) almost had me wanting a script for prozac. She’s just getting far more evil as we age. I was wandering about thinking rationally ‘Its a cut finger. Not the FKN zombie apocalypse’ and yet nothing could shake that feeling that the end was nigh. Thankfully I think I’ll be able to swim again today, I go completely mad if I can’t exercise. And hopefully I can hang the washing out without bleeding all over it. Grr.

    • Oh my … I do that kind of stuff too. I was worse during and after pregnancy. Got myself a whole new set of crockery that way.

  14. Have you tried that bandaid in a can stuff, ladies? It’s spray-on superglue, essentially.

    I’m always getting cuts between my toes and etc from not wearing shoes, and this stuff’s the bomb. Stops bleeding, seals and it’s waterproof. Lasts for a few days until you heal up, then it wears off. Great for kitchen versus finger incidents, too.

    • I must check this out.

  15. Yeah, I know it’s out there but with my atopic skin and penchant for reacting to glue by coming out in welts, I stick to the hypoallerginic bandaids that fall off after three immersions in soapy water.

  16. How on earth do you make them stay on that long? Mine fall off while I’m putting the wrapper in the rubbish bin!

    The spray on Elastoplast has been around for a while. I’ve been meaning to get some, but was too lazy to research whether it causes reactions. The two youngest kidlets have inherited my tendency to break out in welts from bandaids, so, like Quokka, we have to use the sensitive skin ones, or wrap gauze around our boo boos. Still, the older kidlet and the Boss would probably have a bit of fun with it. I’d better write it on my shopping list, before I forget.

    Hooray, hooray, last day of school today….. So, will it be a conga line or Pîna Coladas?

    • Both – pina coladas to take the edge off and the conga line to take us right out the door. I’ve already booked us a hotel suite in the city.

  17. The fabric ones stay on for longer, but they’re probably full of latex and other crap. Of all the things I react to, dressings don’t seem to be one of them. Give me time!

    Last day of school conga:
    Let’s drink and dance together – hey!
    Drink and dance at once
    Drink and dance together – hey!
    Thank God for sippy cups.

  18. Oh it’s all very well for you lot to laugh and sing but sooner or later this conga line of liberated children will end up on my lawn.
    Thankfully mother nature has provided an abundance of bindis.
    If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be stocking up on betadine and hunting out the tweezers.

  19. S’ok. EB didn’t wear shoes at all until Prep, and MM never takes his off. So both can trample bindiis all day without trauma.

    What’s your next line of defence?

  20. Easy fixed, Quokka. If our children end up on your lawn, just pelt them with RV cakes. If someone else’s children end up on your lawn, turn the hose on the little bastards.

  21. That would be ‘I’ve never seen that child before officer and I have no idea how it wound up sandwiched between the lasagne sheets in my oven”

  22. Hehehe.

    Red sauce or bechamel?

  23. Children have such tender flesh. You’d best go with the bechamel.

  24. There’s one or two around here with a hide like a warty rhinoceros. May need to make the sauce out of pool acid if I catch that one sniffing at the licorice allsorts nailed to my windows.

  25. Mmmmm…. Pool acid-dipped warty rhinoceros lasagne….

    Just like mother used to make.

  26. I must get the recipe.

    Actually, I might start making gruel for EB and MM. They don’t appreciate the stir-frys/pasta/stews/meat&3veg/whatever I make at the moment, and it would be cheaper, plus I wouldn’t mind wasting it.

    First argument of the school holidays, over who would sit where in the lounge room. Catty, brace yourself – I’m coming to visit, without them.

    • See above comment re hotel suite. All welcome.

  27. Woo hoo! Hey, how about I send my kidlets up to your place? EB and MM can entertain them while we lounge all over my new sofa and eat vodka cake straight out of the bottle. With a straw.

    Oh, did I tell you about the new sofa? When it was all set up, the Boss decided he didn’t like it. There were gaps between some of the modules, one of the cushions was made with foam that was half the thickness of all the other cushions, and the recliner mechanisms were askew so that we can’t close the footrests without kicking them. So he rang the furniture people. They sent out a Sofa Doctor (that’s what it said on his shirt, anyway), and he filed a report. Result? The furniture people rang us on Thursday to tell us that they’re replacing the entire sofa. I’m expecting a call from the delivery man this morning. Not bad, considering I was expecting our complaint to be handled by an ex 2010 Delhi games security guard:

  28. A Sofa Doctor who makes house calls? And not only that, but they’ve listened to your complaints and they’re prepared to actually do something practical – and expensive – about it, and do it swiftly. Strike me lucky, Catty, you’ve hit gold.

    Let’s take a moment, people. None of us may ever experience customer service like this in our lifetimes.

    Who did you buy The Precious from, Catty? I’m not the ABC, plug the hell out of them – they deserve it!

    MM and EB are happy to entertain your kidlets, by the way. They want to know if they like making their own spears out of bamboo and flints, to use to catch dinner?

    • Mine were just trying to start fires yesterday by rubbing two sticks together so if there’s room for two more …

  29. Super A Mart sold us the sofa. Actually, I recently realised we got the old couch from the Toowoomba Super A Mart, and it was in amazingly good condition for a 12 year old lounge suite that had been used as a climbing frame/trampoline by four children. I would have been happy to keep using it for years, but once the Boss makes up his mind about something, he won’t be dissuaded. Not that I’m complaining – I love the new sofa. Except for the bit about not being able to eat Tim Tams on it.

    Oh, and the kidlets say they are happy to spear their own dinners, as long as those dinners are Happy Meals.

  30. So, the evidence of your previous indiscretion on the Precious with a packet of Tim Tams is about to be removed in the Sofa Doctor’s ambulance. Are you planning to behave yourself on the new one, or run rampant as soon as The Boss’s back is turned?

    My boys say, sure, you can spear a Happy Meal, as long as you can get through the teenage wage slaves who defend them. Based on reconnaissance, around 2 a.m. is when both staff levels and morale are at their lowest ebb. Can they wait that long for dinner? Mine pester me from about 4 p.m. onwards.

  31. Waiting until 2 a.m isn’t going to happen. The kidlets will almost certainly consider pimply wage slaves to be target practise. Shiskebab teens, anyone?

  32. No, thanks – far too oily for me, and many of them are full of toxins.

  33. Mmmmm…. toxins….

  34. Depends . . . I’m pretty sure testosterone is a toxin, and I don’t want any of that in me. I’d get punchy, and maybe also stabby.

  35. So testosterone is like rum, then?

  36. Yes, as I understand it.

    Or that vodka and orange you used to get in 4l casks. “Nikov”, it was called. I saw peace-loving vegetarian lesbians turn quite nasty on that, late last century.

    • Four litres of vodka and orange. Why God, why???

  37. Easy, Melbo. Because ugly men like to get laid too.

  38. I only have vague memories of the stuff . . . it was laden with chemicals other than ethanol, so I could never drink it . . . but I think it didn’t work out much stronger than wine. There was some licensing/labelling loophole – it contained a proportion of fermented kiwifruit (you couldn’t make this up), so fell into the “wine” spectrum rather than the “bloody hell, 4l of vodka and orange, noooooo!” category.

    There were more incidents than just the “hippy girls co cannibal” one, though and it was withdrawn from sale in Australia within a year. As far as I recall. My decade or so living in flats in the old, unreconstructed New Farm is blurry, to say the least. It was like “Felafel”, but with more gay men, added lesbians and bass players and we didn’t have Cocktail Wednesday – we were still intoxicated from Terrible Tuesday. And Manic Monday, Shocking Sunday etcetera.

  39. I hear you! Last year, I was trying to type up my resume. When I got to the job I was in during those blurry flatting years, I couldn’t for the life of me remember what my actual duties were. I do, however, remember being prodded awake by the manager more than once. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t get any job interviews?

  40. Hehehe.

    Luckily I somehow produced some scientific papers, so I have a scant written record of that time.

    Also, I believe Special Branch has some photos . . .

  41. yeah if ever I forget what I did in those years, ASIO has most of it on file.
    Good thing that fledgeling hippies with placards like ‘no nukes’ and ‘save the daintree’ constitute such a noteworthy threat to society.

  42. And gay rights protesters, visiting nightclubs and counter-demonstrating against the Festival of Light.

    My favourite chant was “2,4,6,8 – how do you know your husband’s straight?”.

  43. I was always fascinated by the level of delusion & hysterical derangement in the ex-wives of some of my gay friends.
    One of them still complains about how insane the mother of his children & the grandmother of his grandchildren still is, two decades after they divorced, and I’m still wondering if 25 years of being married to the gay guy sent her batty or if she was unhinged before they walked down the aisle & that’s what prompted her to think it was a good idea.
    maybe some women just don’t have a very good Gaydar.
    I remember back at uni taking a bet with a couple of girlfriends on a suspicious character who they thought was gay & I thought was bi – and I was drunk enough to think he could be turned. To the great hilarity of my girlfriends, I lost that bet, and when my blackfella girlfriends asked me to report back I had to confess that I think he stole my eyeliner. Never doubt the instincts of a bush-raised black girl, is what I learned from that experience.
    I ran into him years later and his wife was quite the piece of Crazy. I think she was suspicious but I don’t think she ever quite managed to figure that one out.

    I asked one friend why it took him so long to come out and he said that depending on what your family is like and what kind of profession you’re in, there can be very strong motivations to get married, have kids, and play the part. he did it for two decades before depression took hold of him and therapy set him free.
    Sad that it’s still like that in this day and age, but hey, I’ve seen it play out. I think with some of them, they know their parents will reject them & their families have been so important to them that it’s not until their parents are dead that they feel safe to come out. And by then you’ve got a shakespearean tragedy of epic proportions. Very sad.

    • This is so true, Q. It is sad isn’t it.

  44. I think you’re right about career advancement/parental expectations/denial/terror motivating the male half of the equation. In a few cases I know, youth plus sexual and even social inexperience explains the poor women.

    Think about it. If you’ve only had a little bit of sex with one or two . . . or, gasp, no! . . . previous boyfriends, how are you going to realise that he’s just not that into you on a physical level? Until after you’ve been married for several years, possibly had a few kids and become thoroughly stuck.

    Because he’s likely to be a good conversationalist, happy to shop for hours, tuned in to your emotional states and all of that stuff that makes him look good in comparison to the rest of the (straight) meatheads who try to paw you and ask you out.

    I was just talking to a gay male friend whose current BF is still having troubles with his ex-wife, 20 years after the divorce. I know coming out is still tough, but I do feel sorry for the women.

  45. Oh yes. From what I’ve seen they definitely pick a certain type and the women get played. I think a lot of psychotherapists would argue, though, that these sorts of relationships are often very ‘safe’ for a particular type of woman i.e. those who aren’t overly comfortable with intimacy/their own sexuality, so they’re getting something out of it too.
    With the figures of female child sexual abuse standing at 1:3 & the level of denial that kicks in with that kind of trauma, I am not surprised at the number of potential ‘beards’ out there for these guys to choose from.

  46. Now there’s a very creepy concept. Heterosexual paedophiles comprehensively damaging young girls so much that they become the perfect meat for closeted gay men seeking beards.

    Or is it just my issues talking?

  47. Just part of the vicious cycle that makes it such a profitable exercise to be a busy psychotherapist.

  48. Interesting.

    When you give it some thought, the worse a psychotherapist is, the more sessions you need over a longer period of time. If they’re too effective, they’re cutting their own throats.

    Explains much of modern psychotherapy, doesn’t it?

  49. Well, that explains the demographic of personality disorders treating other personality disorders. I think there’s an expectation on both sides that you’ll graduate from T and from the screams and bitching that I’ve seen at support groups over the years I can assure you that sensible folk don’t return to dodgy practitioners.
    I remember reading one research paper on psychology treatments & the need for govt. funding thereof which said 6-18months treatment sees most people recover from anxiety/depression so I think the only ones stuck in therapy forever are the ones with strongly defended psyches who really don’t want to change but who create a lot of chaos in their lives. Even that woman who was the most famously crazed of Freud’s child-sex abuse cases wound up recovering in time from her PTSD so there’s hope for the nuttiest of us, really. I found an article on narrative therapy a while ago that showed that writing about the trauma actually helped to change the wiring of the brain, specifically to restore balance in the hippocampus, the amygdala & the pre-frontal cortex so as psycho-therapy is basically talking it out, it looks like the research backs their claims.

  50. I know you’re right – but sometimes when I read or hear the word “psychotherapy”, Elvis starts singing in my head.

    ‘A little less conversation, a little more action please . . .’

    Can you re-find the narrative therapy article link, though? I’d be most intrigued, because I think you’ve also just explained writer’s group!

  51. I sent the twitter link to Anita H. a few weeks ago so it will be in there, but I don’t know how to go that far back in the annals of twitter and I’m FKD if I know where I originally found the article. It was probably some random search on treatments for PTSD & the new MAC search options shit me to tears so not sure that will be much use.
    it might come up under PTSD/journaling or PTSD/creative writing.
    I’ll try, but I’m not hopeful that the Mac Mountain Lion installation is useful for anything other than stalking gazelle in the savannah.

  52. Mmm . . . gazelle.

  53. Poor gazelles. They’re pretty little things. Or should that be pretty tasty little things?

    I’ve heard it said that the gazelle has no vocal cords, but I don’t know if that’s true as they almost always give a barking honk when David Attenborough sics a cheetah on them. Giraffes are the ones with no vocal cords. I think that’s why David doesn’t often sic anything onto giraffes – it’s not good for ratings if you can’t hear the victim scream.

    The same holds true in dwarf porn. Or so I’ve been told. Hmmmmm…. is there a connection between David Attenborough and dwarf porn? I smell a conspiracy brewing….

  54. I’d Google “david attenborough dwarf porn”, but I’m scared of what I might find. And of contracting some vile digital STD.

    Norton 360 can’t save you from yourself.

  55. Nup. I did some backtracking and I still can’t find it.
    I did however locate a water buffalo and an orangutang which may be useful when it comes time to wash the dishes.
    Well, useful compared to your usual standards of kitchen assistance, anyway.

  56. hehehe.

    When you write “assistance”, I assume you mean the lesser known meaning, “the act of getting underfoot while constantly whining about the ETA of dinner”, Q?

  57. I was thinking of the Smashing of the Plates which serves to reduce the workload of those rostered on washing up duty, but yes, whining counts as the support act for that activity, I’m sure.
    Well, I have been out to Carindale and done the medicare thing that i’ve been putting off since July, or whenever it was that I was whinging to you all about the allergist and his plans to murder me one prawn at a time in the day surgery unit at RBH. There’s been little inspiration to go to Carindale since Darrell Lea got booted out of their little enclave there and then, horror of horrors, went down the gurgler.
    So off I went to medicare and gave them all my bank details – sob – no more cash in hand to wave around at the chocolate shop and JB hi fi- and when the girl apologized for no more Medicare cash I said ‘That’s OK, the main place I’d spend it is Darrell Lea and that’s gone.’
    Turns out that Bulgarian Rock is her favourite too so after we’d sung the Rock Lament she gave me a list of all the known DL outlets in a 10k radius so that I could hunt down the last remaining Rock if it’s left on the shelves. So off I trotted to the newsagent at Cannon Hill Plaza & I have BAD NEWS for you Catty. So take a seat and chug a valium. She has the new product list for stockists and your favourite walnut logs are not on her list of Available Orderable DL Products.
    The coconut ice, rocky road and chocolate peanut brittle fingers have survived the cull, but all the boxed chocolates have gone.
    I did hear a rumour that the DL staff at Carindale are hopeful that their store might be restored once the company has been restructured but at the mo it’s looking like we’ll have to turn to the news-agent type stockists and then wait for them to get their act together to sell products online.
    Anyway – I haz peanut brittle fingers and one of the last ever boxes of soft centres to console me so that’s something.
    Vale Bulgarian Rock & DL Walnut Logs.
    It’s a sad day in chocolate appreciation land.

  58. I just checked the Darrell Lea online store, and they have both ginger and peanut brittle fingers. But there was no trace of any walnut logs. Bastards. Bastards, Bastards, BASTARDS! I’m going to the sulking corner. Call me when the bastards bring back my logs.

  59. I’m very sorry for both of you, in this your hour of great loss. Your pain is my pain. But I must admit to a smug satisfaction at my own low tastes . . . the day Cadbury goes off the shelf will be a cold one in Hell. Hopefully.

  60. Nothing is safe nor sacred, MM. I’m still sulking at the loss of pollywaffles.
    And look how difficult it is to get Bertie Beetles.
    Well, I am off to lunch with a friend & then the osteopath is due to restore order in my spine. He usually discourages faffing at the internet for 24hrs after a bone crunching session so if I’m quiet the next day or so, that’s why. Can’t wait to see him,have been feeling very decrepit and cranky since the weekend.
    More room for you on the sulking couch though Catty. I bought some darrell lea soft centres yesterday so in my absence by all means, hand them around.

  61. Next day or so? I’ll be seeing you tomorrow!

    Oops, sorry Catty. Here, have all the soft centres to take into the sulking corner and I’ll bring you back some sushi later.

  62. Yes, but I can slouch in my padded cell while we eat sushi and DL soft centres. Sitting upright at the ‘puter after a session at the osteo is never a good idea.

  63. So you two are having a party without me, but with DL soft centres? *pout*

    I’m taking the vodka into the sulking corner. *flounce*

  64. hehehe. I can’t help thinking of Drag Queen Training School.

    “All together now, girls. And pout and flounce, and pout… Miss Demeanour! Do you call that a flounce, you big girl’s blouse? One more time, from the top.”

  65. Take comfort, Catty, I’ve eaten all of the soft centres except the coffee creams.
    Yurk. You’re all welcome to them. Other than that my supplies are down to nougats, caramels and nutty things. And I’ve still got my sack of peanut brittle practically untouched.
    Feeling much better after the osteo but probably should have a hot bath and then sit still and rest like a good girl.
    coffee cream, anyone?

  66. Mmm… Sara Lee’s new icecream, Caramel and Peanut Brittle.

    How good is it? It’s a big call, but let’s just say I’m no longer upset that I can’t get Hoboken Crunch up here.

  67. Save the coffee creams for Mayhem. I’m busy with the bags of raspberry bullets in white chocolate that the Boss brought home from his Saturday jobsite. I love his job.

  68. Hmmm . . . suspiciously chewy. He’s not trying to keep your jaws busy for a reason, is he?

  69. Absolutely. But his attempts at shutting me up have failed. I have extremely poor table manners, so I’m used to talking with my mouth full. Poor Boss. Heh heh heh….

  70. It had never occurred to me that anyone would want to shut Catty up.
    Given the way that these conversations generally run straight downhill to the gutter, I thought that was a reference to keeping the muscles of her jaw toned and supple.
    Never mind me. As you were, carry on.

  71. I was in the gutter with you, Q.

    Funny, it’s not like Catty to take the higher plane. Perhaps the school holidays is turning her into Mary Poppins? In which case, careful with your brolly in high winds, Catty dear.

  72. I think Mel beat her to it a few weeks ago in that last gale.
    In fact, I’m sure I heard her on twitter singing something about a Spoonful of Sugar last Sunday. Unless of course I was just tripping after the cupful of it I had on that hungarian star donut at the local markets.

  73. Oh. My not-bad. Sorry, ladies, it’s all this exposure to Dr Seuss – we’ve watched The Lorax twice today.

    I did see something interesting, though:

    Now isn’t that good news! I wonder if I can nag IGA into insisting that the Quinns bring back walnut logs and bulgarian rock?

  74. Bless you for a good chocolate-seeking soul, Catty.
    There’s a few IGA’s here on the south-side so I’ll pin my hopes on them.
    Ironically one of them is directly across the road from the pet-food store so maybe I should ask the new owners to save me the trouble of crossing the road and put it on the shelves beside the Royal Canon Feline Tooth diet.

  75. Simply solved, Quokka. Send your dog across the street to fetch some for you. If Lassie can do it, so can your doggie. Don’t send your cats, though. They’ll almost certainly eat it all themselves before they leave the shop, and then puke it all up on your duvet when you get them home.

  76. I ate chocolate yesterday that I didn’t want, Catty. I ate it for you. Does that mean that it’s already attached to your thighs? If so, sorry – I’ll be doing walking today that I’ll dedicate to you as well.

    Exercise should work like rosaries.

  77. Chocolate that you didn’t want? Wha……? Oh, I get it, you’re being funny! Hee hee hee! You had me going there for a minute.

  78. No, I’ve been off chocolate lately. Next to go will be my will to live, I suppose. I’ll miss chocolate more.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: