Key Largo (1948)

Director John Huston with Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Edward G Robinson

Not wise-cracking characters along the lines of “The Big Sleep” as I was expecting: Bogart was polite and self-effacing, and Bacall was a domesticated widow with a bit of a temper. Only Robinson played true to form: the embodiment of every unhinged bad guy from Nero onwards. The film was adapted from a play – which was obvious from its uneasy juxtaposition of a hostage-scenario-in-a-hurricane with wordy disillusionment at the way the post-war world had turned out. Despite all the death and destruction, pre-war gangsters like Rocco were still around, still thriving, and looking to pull the strings of politicians. Just like Odysseus though, the hero rediscovered his sense of honour and wiped out the baddies single-handedly in yet another shoot-out.

And it worked, despite the well-worn path to the final credits. I was intrigued enough by the characters and the action to be hooked; the pace was tense, and the sense of disenchantment gave it a greater depth than a standard film noir.

Following (1999)

Director Christopher Nolan with Jeremy Theobald

Short, shoe-string, B&W and twisty. Typical Nolan non-linear narrative (you had to check the haircut) and very well-crafted. A young man spirals into gangland nastiness while looking for material for his book. I could be sniffy about plot holes, but while I was watching I was gripped and didn’t care. It unlocked a sense of nostalgia too: remembering when CDs were the norm – never mind worth stealing – and credit cards had to be ironed under carbon paper slips and signed.

The Return

Director Uberto Pasolini with Ralph Fiennes and Juliette Binoche

Odysseus’s return to Ithaca after 20 years away, a broken man washed up on a mismanaged island. Fiennes and Binoche were brilliant, making scenes their own. Other parts though were underwritten and would have been more at home in a film with special effects by Ray Harryhausen. It was strong on the long-lasting horrors of war – for Odysseus, who lost all the men under his command, and for Penelope, abandoned and fearful of the atrocities that her husband might have been involved in. Of course, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do and so there was a shoot-out – just like any western or gangster film. Except that Homer got there first, and we’ve been reading and watching that story ever since.

Postscript: I suddenly remembered life after the warrior’s return in One Fine Day. I can’t imagine Odysseus pitching into the washing-up, and he certainly wouldn’t have had a “servant problem”!

Worth Valley

Each time the train stops at Keighley and I notice the platform for the Worth Valley Railway I think that one day I will travel on it. Today was that day.

I set off disproportionally early to be on time for the 11 a.m. steam train from Keighley to Oxenhope – but it meant I could have a second (and totally unnecessary) breakfast in Leeds. At first I thought the steam locomotive at Keighley rather puny – until I realised that I am used to the big engines that occasionally still go up the main line to Carlisle. This one was pulling a few carriages up a short valley: it really didn’t need to be the Flying Scotsman. The average age of the passengers was rather lower than I am used to, and excitement levels were high amongst the under-7s and over-70s. The well-stuffed seats combined a fusty smell with discomfort, which, together with door handles only on the outside, took me back a few decades.

I hadn’t done much planning – a mixture of carelessness and a wish to give serendipity a chance – so it occurred to me too late that I could have had a good walk from Oxenhope to Oakworth if only I had worn my boots. Instead, I simply returned to Haworth from Oxenhope (locomotive going backwards) and went up the hill for a coffee. I then followed part of The Railway Children Walk to Oakworth, which was the station for the film – passing over the tunnel where the schoolboy broke his leg. Lots of memories of Bernard Cribbens at the level crossing and “Daddy, my Daddy” on the platform. The advertisements on the platform amused me enormously and set me thinking of “Murder Must Advertise” and the slogans that the copywriters came up with. Melox is definitely my favourite. I also realised how industrial the valley had been (wool, textiles, coal): stations had their goods platforms, and Oakthorpe had a crane for unloading stone.

I then caught the train as far as Ingrow to look at the locomotive and carriage museums -unexpectedly interesting, comparing the varieties of third-class and first-class comfort over the years, looking wistfully at maps of old cross-Pennine railway lines. Then back to Keighley, which left me time for a very late (and by now totally necessary) lunch in Leeds.

Slagheaps

Who would have thought slagheaps could be so interesting? From the train I’ve often noticed what I thought of (but without really thinking) as a broken wall – but it’s actually a line of slag heaps.

There was once an ironworks nearby, using limestone from local quarries to smelt iron ore from Furness, and the red-hot waste was taken along a single-track railway line and dumped in a long line beside the estuary. The works have been closed for a century and the slagheaps have become part of the landscape, protecting the low-lying land and providing a home to limestone-loving plants. I knew nothing about this, so it was all fascinating. I added even more to my mental maps by seeing the stock car track that I’d sometimes hear as I cycled that way. From the noise I’d imagined it was something on the lines of a speedway – but, no, it’s just an oversized Scalextric track.

Warcop

Bus to Warcop on this blisteringly hot day. The plan was to follow the Pennine Journey path to Brough and back to Kirkby Stephen, but progress was inevitably slow. At Little Musgrave we changed to a more direct route – the right decision. I’m disappointed that I didn’t spot the disused railway line over Scandal Beck, but I was restored by seeing children swimming in the river with obvious pleasure. I felt very envious!

It was a day for seeking shade: I liked the silhouette of sheep’s ears as they sheltered under a tree. The cricketers at Kirkby Stephen had no such luxury.