THE LAST WORD: CLOUD CONTROL
Illustration by Ryan Thomas
In Michael Powell’s autobiography, A Life in Movies, there’s a memorable passage describing Erwin Hillier, the lighting cameraman on A Canterbury Tale: ‘He never let me down. The only thing he was bit loony about was clouds in the sky. He detested a clear sky. (…) “Meekee, Meekee, please wait another few minutes”, he would plead. “There is a little cloud over there and it is coming our way, I’m sure it is”. “Oh, for God’s sake, Erwin! It won’t make the slightest difference to the actors’ performance”. “Meekee, Meekee, please just five more minutes, please!”’
Reading this had a double affect on me. Obviously I was gripped by an urge to watch the film again, less obviously I was compelled to preface all my conversations with bursts of ‘Mickee, Mickee’. Luckily, this only lasted the weekend.
When I sat down with A Canterbury Tale, Erwin’s clouds turned out to be everything you’d expect: triumphant, majestic, the billowing equivalent of the stirring racket in the church bells scene.
Watching the skies in A Canterbury Tale also brought home to me how perverse it is of my memory to insist that there is something festive about the film. All the action takes place in bright summer light but for me it will always belong to that period leading up to Christmas when the school holidays kicked in and the Radio & TV Times appeared in the lounge. These novelties were subjected to much scribbling as my sister and I attempted to corral the contents into ideal viewing schedules. Despite these efforts, strange and mysterious bits of the past would keep slipping through the gaps between the BMXs and Superman. Hell Drivers, Bringing up Baby, The Four Feathers, all topped off with a dose of Charlie Chan at teatime. The best thing was that the cold and dark outside made it guilt-free viewing. There was none of that creeping summer holiday remorse, spoiling it like the impenetrable blocks of sunlight that spread across the telly in the afternoon.
This year I’ll be exploiting the cold weather in other ways. A few months ago, I cut out the Joy Division fashion page, one of the highlights of The Guardian’s ten-week campaign to squeeze every drop of copy out of the appearance of Control. I’m now hoping that some frosty breathing will help make my epaulettes and skinny tie a bit more, er, atmospheric. I’m also pretty proud to have unearthed the only Joy Division-related phenomenon that The Guardian missed – Ian Curtiscise dance classes starting in January. Apparently, it’s guaranteed to shift your turkey wings within two weeks. Like it says on the pamphlet – ‘What are your elbows? Springs of steel!’
CJ Magnet