Peter O’Toole died today. He was celebrated today for his greatest film role, Lawrence of Arabia. I particularly remember him for his pox ridden Tiberius in the controversial Caligula of 1979. Disgustingly believable.
O’Toole was one of those actors who could switch between character and personality. He was also the kind of guy who grabbed life with a steel-like grip and squeezed every drop out of it. He was a hero, celebrating everything life can offer. A life less ordinary…and a little more coherent than Oliver Reed.
Speaking of ordinary…that’s about all you can say about the English cricket team at the moment. Clarkie’s Aussie team is in the ascendancy and making them look like rank amateurs.
Something else that qualifies as ordinary would be the weather today. It was pretty much grim and grey all day. Apart from shopping first thing and a swim for Mirinda, we basically didn’t leave the house.
We managed to finish Broadchurch (8 episodes could easily have been 6 if they’d cut out the long moments of contemplation and single note piano playing). The end wasn’t as satisfying as it could have been. I thought the acting was very good from most of the cast and I very much enjoyed the Devon locations but, sometimes, the bogeyman should be a little less obvious.