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Fi (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} darthfi) wrote,@ 2008-12-11 12:53:00 |
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I don't know which I've enjoyed more[1]...
...The Devil's Whore or the Guardian reviews of it.
Lucy Mangan's review of last night's episode includes some fantastic lines:
As the viewing nation rises as one shouting, "Kiss her, Sexby! Smooch on her big time! You've earned it, man!", she asks him, "Can you love a fool?" Not only can he, but he does.
Not to mention:
When Honest John dies and Cromwell announces that he is to crown himself king, Sexby decides this is A Bit Much and returns from exile to kill him. Jumping the gun - as it were - he and Angelica finally have sex, and now that she is a proto-feminist, she gets to go on top and enjoy herself. Splendid. Sexby rides off in the morning to do and die, but thanks to a traitorous accomplice only succeeds at the latter. Cromwell is crowned and dies of natural causes as Angelica gives birth to Sexby's child. She still sees the devil from time to time, but has learned to ignore him gracefully. Breeding will out, you know.
Why do I feel that Mangan was watching this *exactly* the same way as me?
Earlier, on the second episode, Mangan again:
From there it is but a short step to becoming a pistol-wielding lady highwayman and rescuing her old friend Sexby from bandits trying to roast him over an open fire in the woods. You had to make your own entertainment in those days, you know.
And right back at the beginning, seniority won as the superb Nancy Banks-Smith got first crack at it:
Angelica, so posh she doesn't have to show off by spelling Fanshawe Featherstonehaugh, is a royalist, newly married for love to her cousin, but naturally sensual and outspoken.
And for those who want more, there's always Sarah Dempster's Pimping the Devil's Whore (click on her name and you should find the earlier posts.
God, I'd wish they'd live-blogged this. It would have been hysterical.
On the other hand, I haz anm31andy this weekend and we're watching the whole thing.
Live blogging may yet happen.
[1] Even if there are no mountains around Wexford and those dead monks were Franciscans, damnit! And where was Cromwell's murder hole at the back ofWoolworth's Penney's?
...The Devil's Whore or the Guardian reviews of it.
Lucy Mangan's review of last night's episode includes some fantastic lines:
As the viewing nation rises as one shouting, "Kiss her, Sexby! Smooch on her big time! You've earned it, man!", she asks him, "Can you love a fool?" Not only can he, but he does.
Not to mention:
When Honest John dies and Cromwell announces that he is to crown himself king, Sexby decides this is A Bit Much and returns from exile to kill him. Jumping the gun - as it were - he and Angelica finally have sex, and now that she is a proto-feminist, she gets to go on top and enjoy herself. Splendid. Sexby rides off in the morning to do and die, but thanks to a traitorous accomplice only succeeds at the latter. Cromwell is crowned and dies of natural causes as Angelica gives birth to Sexby's child. She still sees the devil from time to time, but has learned to ignore him gracefully. Breeding will out, you know.
Why do I feel that Mangan was watching this *exactly* the same way as me?
Earlier, on the second episode, Mangan again:
From there it is but a short step to becoming a pistol-wielding lady highwayman and rescuing her old friend Sexby from bandits trying to roast him over an open fire in the woods. You had to make your own entertainment in those days, you know.
And right back at the beginning, seniority won as the superb Nancy Banks-Smith got first crack at it:
Angelica, so posh she doesn't have to show off by spelling Fanshawe Featherstonehaugh, is a royalist, newly married for love to her cousin, but naturally sensual and outspoken.
And for those who want more, there's always Sarah Dempster's Pimping the Devil's Whore (click on her name and you should find the earlier posts.
God, I'd wish they'd live-blogged this. It would have been hysterical.
On the other hand, I haz an
m31andy this weekend and we're watching the whole thing. Live blogging may yet happen.
[1] Even if there are no mountains around Wexford and those dead monks were Franciscans, damnit! And where was Cromwell's murder hole at the back of
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