THE TERROR ▸ 1.09 the c, the c, the open c

2024-03-19 At opening night for “An Enemy of the People" on Broadway.

CAN - Mighty Girl (aka November)

This is a live version of "November" featured on Can's "Out of Reach" album from the John Peel Show on May 14th, 1975.

This recording is featured on 'The Peel Sessions' (1995).

Michael Hurley - Sweet Lucy

"My commanding officer has some idea that you and I are similar. A shared love of poetry and philosophy. I wonder… if it's something more or not."

"We British don't have these pointless conversations."

Augustin Jordan (César Domboy) in SAS: Rogue Heroes Season 1 Episode 6

to fallen comrades

The eternal question. Is this story good, or am I just tired of thinking about it and want to be done writing it?

At one of her many palaces, Lizzie almost has a quiet moment, watching TV with the dogs when Michael tells her that Eden wants to speak to her. She's like, Him, again? You can really tell when The Crown's writers dislike a historical figure. They dislike Anthony Eden. Though, they're not keen on MacMillan, either. Or the Wicked Thatch of the West. Or Tony Blair. They like John Major, though. They only cast Sick Boy from Trainspotting to play him. At the train station, nerds in duffle coats yell to Eden to fuck his mustache. Still more nerds chase his car as he nears the palace. In his audience with Lizzie, Eden tries to blame doctors concerned for his health for his resignation. She doesn't buy it. As Eden shuffles out of the palace, Michael watches from the billiards room, with his balls out on the table. He's on the phone with Tommy. Michael would rather eat his mustache than give Lizzie the bad news about Eileen and Mike. "I sense trepidation, Michael," says Tommy, who's surrounded by model battlefields and army men. Does Michael want to let Tommy handle it? Let Tommy handle it, Michael. I don't really ship anything on this show, but I kind of ship these two, because Michael wants so much to please Tommy and live up to Tommy's standards, but he wishes that Tommy would just take care of him. Tommy's without his jacket in this scene, so one gets a rare glimpse of Torrens' wrist. Fantastic. On the train from Scotland to England, Michael's tossed back and forth by the motion on the tracks. He even gets his ass kicked by his mode of transport. He tells Lizzie that Eileen's divorcing Mike because he cheated on her, citing Mike's letter "bragging about exploits." "What sort of exploits?" asks Lizzie, and Michael looks like he wants to hurl himself from the train rather than answer. Later, Harold MacMillan's in the can before he presents himself to Lizzie. He's happy to shit-talk Eden to her, but clearly thinking of her rotten marriage, she's like, It takes two to tango, Hal. Back on the Love Boat, that redheaded sailor from earlier changed into his warm weather uniform. He looks cute, but Mike's uniform is just undignified. White shorts? Why not just hose all the men down? Yeah. Okay. Hose the men down.

Madhouse At the End of the Earth

Miraculously, I'm not hung over, but I have the malaise. I have the malaise real bad. There's but one cure for the malaise, and that is watching The Crown, which, as it combines the best of both the respectable historical drama and the juicy soap opera, is the perfect show to watch for a little light distraction after a night spent drinking and crying cos you'll never look like Matthew McConaughey. Though, there was no crying in this case, because I wasn't that drunk. Anyway, it's your problem, now, Dear Reader, because I'm finally gonna do it. I'm gonna talk about The Crown. Which episode of The Crown, Harvey? Glad you asked, Dear Reader. Episode three of season two, "Lisbon". I chose this episode through scientific means. First, I ruled out seasons three through six because Pip Torrens isn't in them, and if I'm going to talk about a show, I'm going to be weird about an old man. Second, I flipped a coin.

Previously, on The Crown! Tired of Shitty Phil's constant dicking around and embarrassing the family, Queen Lizzie takes the advice of her mum, Big Lizzie, and her mum's secret boy-toy, Tommy Lascelles, and sends Shitty Phil to Australia. Unfortunately, Shitty Phil's not alone, having been accompanied by his best friend, Mike the Slut, who has, unbeknownst to Shitty Phil, been writing letters to the other members of their shitty men's-only club about all the extramarital affairs they've been having with strange women in the south Pacific. Mike the Slut's wife, Eileen, got hold of one of letters through Mike's London girlfriend, a waiter at the club, and used it as proof of adultery to sue him for divorce. Now, everyone's shitting themself with worry that the papers will suspect Phil of cheating on Lizzie.

Lizzie asks son, Chuck and daughter, Annie if they remember their father, Shitty Phil. They seem to, but she tells the nanny to get out a picture of him just in case. These people are so weird. P.S. Shitty Phil is currently in Antarctica. Drink, for mention of one of the poles. Or, y'know, don't, if you're still dehydrated from last night. Drink some water. As Lizzie explains to Chuck that Phil's touring the British overseas colonies, she's dressed in pink, a fun visual reference to British colonies being traditionally color-coded pink. An ancient servant brings in home movies shot by Phil, sent to the family to prove that he's having wholesome adventures and not cheating on Lizzie every chance he gets. Lizzie's delighted, and can't wait to sit down with the family and watch them. Y'know, that butler's got to be eighty, but he still has it going on. Meanwhile, new royal private secretary, Michael Adeane, chews his mustache with dread as he reads a letter from Eileen's lawyer about her intention to divorce Mike the Slut. Michael Adeane is played by Will Keen, who is a Pisces. As you know, I'm aware of all Pisces' at all times. Adeane sighs and takes off his glasses. What's a royal private secretary to do? We quickly transition to his predecessor, Tommy Lascelles (Pip Torrens!!!) in his study, cleaning his gun when the phone rings. It's not a euphemism. Lascelles was very sporty, apparently, liked riding, shooting and fishing. By Tommy's side is one of the Irish wolfhounds that follow him everywhere in his retirement, The Crown being fond of the use of dogs to illustrate their humans' personalities. Sweet and cozy in his glasses and sweater vest, Tommy answers the phone. Torrens is wearing a wig, but it's one of the best wigs I've ever seen. Only McConaughey's wig in True Detective comes close. Maybe. Adeane's on the other line. "Tommy," he says nervously. Then, he asks what Tommy's wearing. It's The Crown!

In this publicity still for 1968’s Destroy All Monsters, it seems like Godzilla is pausing for a moment to decide which building he’ll demolish first.

Hickey's like, Hodgson, I know you're thinking about eating a guy. Hodgson's like, What? Hickey's like, Who said that? Hickey's like, I guess we could eat from these shitty cans, or we could eat my boyfriend's can. Hodgson's like, What? Hickey's like, I'm pretty sure Goodsir said we should eat Gibson. Meanwhile, Gibson asks Goodsir to check out his totally bitchin scurvy. Tozer watches the entire exchange like, "..." P.S. Hickey murdered two guys, fucked up Irving's corpse and framed innocent people for the murders. Tozer, your boyfriend's a douche bag. In Goodsir's tent, Gibson says he feels like a walking corpse. Goodsir's like, You look like a walking corpse. On the one hand, I have no sympathy for medical professionals who're cruel to their patients. I firmly believe that there's a special place in hell for shitty medical professionals. On the other hand, Goodsir is never more beautiful than when he's cruel, so I forgive him. Boo, Harvey, doesn't he get punished? Well, he kills himself out of despair and is humiliated and defiled after death, so maybe don't get so excited. Except none of that happened, because I drove him to the hospital, and he was fine. If it makes you feel better, I'll ask him politely if he'd like a little spanking. What, poppet, you're not into that? He just told me he's not into that. Sorry. "For what should I prepare?" asks Gibson. "To die," says Goodsir, and lists the agonizing symptoms Gibson will experience. I've been told worse, by less attractive men. Then Hickey comes in, is like, Can we eat Gibson now, or should we reheat him, like leftover pasta? Goodsir inadvertently dooms Gibson by saying that Gibson won't be able to haul the next day. Gibson seems to anticipate his demise, because he holds onto Hickey, doesn't want to let him leave the tent. Gibson's like, Y'know, Goodsir, I don't blame you for being such a cunt to me. Goodsir looks down, aware of his own shittiness. On the one hand, that's evil, Harry, may I call you Harry; don't take out your anger on Gibson. On the other hand, It's okay, my little mourning dove, you're not that good at being mean, anyway. Like, I once had a doctor berate me when I was on the table, ready to be anesthetized. My heart rate went up to 150. And just then, Hickey returns with his knife, and stabs Gibson from behind. Just like he used to fuck Gibson. The last thing Gibson sees in this world is Mr. Goodsir. Goodsir looks at Hickey, less angry than disgusted and sad.

Next time! So, then, I drive up on the tundra, kick Hickey's ass up and down the shales, then drive Mr. Goodsir and everyone else to the hospital. Pilkington can share the front passenger seat with Goodsir because he's small. Manson sits behind them because he has the longest legs. Mr. Diggle can sit in the middle. Tozer can sit behind me with Mr. Armitage in his lap. Everyone else can take the bus.

Hold Me

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed/ Dear repose for limbs with travel tired

On board the good ship Venus/ By Christ, you should've seen us/ The figurehead was a whore in bed/ Sucking a dead man's penis

And I thought about my friend, Michel/ How they rolled him in linoleum and shot him in the neck/ A bloody halo like a think bubble around his head

Ghost: ... Hold me. John Constantine: Hold you? You poor, dead bastard. Yeah, I'll hold you.

And now, The Terror, episode nine of season one, "The C, the C, the Open C". Didn't you already do this, Harvey? Yeah, but I deleted the post, and I don't remember what it said, and neither do you.

Some guy walks up to the lecture hall where Charles Dickens is whoring himself out because somebody said there'd be champagne, and he was like, Champagne, I'll do it! Was Dickens a drinker? I dunno. Fuck that guy. As Dickens talks up Lady Jane, Lady Jane grabs Sophia's hand, and they clutch each other. Gay. Lady Jane, already in half-mourning, black and electric blue, is like, Well, my husband's probably dead, and I can say that, but you can't, if you try, I'll whip your ass, but there are lots of men who sailed with him who might not be dead? So, give me some money to send some guys to go get them? It's not like the Royal Navy gives a shit! Then, she waves her skirts around, grabs Sophia and kisses her. No, she doesn't. Sophia's like, Shit, I really did send a man to his death because he thought he could get some pussy from me. On the one hand, I mean, yeah, maybe. On the other hand, if Francis was stupid enough to go for that, he deserves what he gets. Unpopular opinion. But if a guy is a good guy, he's not going to do something he knows could get him killed just to extort sex out of some poor woman who's afraid her uncle will die of his own stupidity. There are no heroes here. Rapid transition from Lady Jane's nervous smile to the grimace of a dead man with half of his skull removed. It's Mr. Honey, not Mr. Crispe. I guess Tuunbaq ate his brain, because the top half of his skull doesn't seem to be present in that pile of gore. It's zoologically sound. Walruses will sometimes suck the brains of baby seals out through their noses, pardon my French. That could account for Tuunbaq's illness: if he goes for the brains of his prey, he's eating a shit ton of lead from the British sailors. This also explains Heather's injury. Bobby's like, I was trying to take him somewhere, but I don't know whether or not he was in on the mutiny. Hartnell's like, It doesn't matter, cos he's dead. Anyway, Bobby's spying for Hickey! On the one hand, fuck Bobby. On the other hand, he's probably eighteen at the oldest, so I understand completely. "That won't change what we do for him," says Hartnell, and I feel proud that the historical Tom Hartnell was a Pisces. He was also a tattooed hell-raiser whose parents hoped his brother would set him straight. John Hartnell was buried in Tom Hartnell's shirt. Mr. Blanky's like, Aw, you have PTSD, that is too bad! Though, to be fair, Mr. Blanky's slowly dying of gangrene, so I can't be angry at him. James is like, Francis, there are so many dead guys now!! Nobody cares, because Francis whips off his cap and smooths back his auburn locks with his hand, then strikes a pose in profile, his lovely nose, his sweet chin, his little Cupid's bow mouth. Was there ever a man as sweet as Jared Harris as Francis Crozier? Yes. My one true love, Mr. Goodsir. Goodsir's missing, but as Mr. Bridgens says, Goodsir would never have gone with the mutineers of his own free will. They kidnapped my little dumpling. For that, I will go up on the tundra, and kick Hickey's ass. You can't drive, Harvey, you've been drinking. Don't you know. My car is magic. It knows the way to the tundra. Drunk or sober, I'm kicking Hickey's ass. On the tundra. Be there.

THE TERROR ▸ 1.09 the c, the c, the open c

Clouds Over the Black Sea by Boris Anisfeld, 1900s

Skeleton key, bent and rusted All of your dreams are locked away The hands have stopped… on the timekeeper’s clock And you have got to learn to breathe underwater