Post by petrolino on Oct 18, 2019 20:14:04 GMT
Frank Finlay
"I mean, in a sense we're all vampires. We drain energy from other life forms."
'I Hate The White Man' - Roy Harper
Francis Finlay was born in Farnworth, Lancashire. His father was Josiah Finlay, a local butcher. His mother, Margaret Finlay, was a homemaker who worked at a textile factory. The Finlays had come to Bolton from Ireland, seeking work at the local mills.
Frank was educated at St Gregory the Great Catholic School in Bolton, but he struggled with academic studies and left school aged 14. He trained to be a butcher and took position at the family firm. He also became a member of the Farnworth Little Theatre where he gained a reputation for being a perfectionist. Unfortunately, some noted a mental absence during rehearsals, which could make him challenging to direct, though most contended the end results were worth the effort.
'A distaff is a stick or spindle on which wool or flax is wound around to be used for spinning. So what can you do with a distaff?
Well a distaff allows the spinner to essentially have a third hand. The reason for a distaff is to basically hold the fiber that is going to be spun in an orderly fashion and keep the fiber in a safe place. This allows the spinner to easily draw fiber out of the bundle.
The distaff also helps keep the fiber away from areas that can cause problems. If you have ever tried to hold a batt or roving while using a drop spindle, I am sure you have already discovered the joy of having the roving become tangled in the drop spindle.
Some of the other benefits of using a distaff is you can pre-draft some fiber and then wrap the fiber on the distaff. This will allow you to hand spin the fiber for a longer time before needing to pre-draft again.'
Well a distaff allows the spinner to essentially have a third hand. The reason for a distaff is to basically hold the fiber that is going to be spun in an orderly fashion and keep the fiber in a safe place. This allows the spinner to easily draw fiber out of the bundle.
The distaff also helps keep the fiber away from areas that can cause problems. If you have ever tried to hold a batt or roving while using a drop spindle, I am sure you have already discovered the joy of having the roving become tangled in the drop spindle.
Some of the other benefits of using a distaff is you can pre-draft some fiber and then wrap the fiber on the distaff. This will allow you to hand spin the fiber for a longer time before needing to pre-draft again.'
- 'From Sheep To Shawl (Spinning Wool Like It Was 1559)'
Farnworth
Frank Finlay
'Pawnbroker' - Graham Gouldman & John Paul Jones
Finlay was widely recognised as being one of the definitive interpreters of the work of English playwright Arnold Wesker, performing in 'Chicken Soup With Barley' (1958), 'Roots' (1959), 'I'm Talking About Jerusalem' (1960) and 'Chips With Everything' (1962). His work with Wesker prompted a generation of angry young actors to observe him closely. Finlay grew in confidence. He started taking on the classics in the 1960s, moving effortlessly from performing Anton Chekhov and William Shakespeare to George Bernard Shaw and Arthur Miller, from Bertolt Brecht and Sean O'Casey to Alexander Ostrovsky and Eduardo De Filippo.
"The fatherly Frank Finlay was a quietly masterful presence, and one of the finest character actors of his generation. A modest and generous performer, his skills seemed to conquer all genres and all mediums. But while his career was diverse (he appeared in plays by both Trevor Griffiths and Jeffrey Archer) his performances were consistently splendid.
He could suffer quite beautifully, for comic or tragic effect, whether he be Salieri, Casanova or the confused and obsessive paterfamilias of Bouquet of Barbed Wire, the 1976 television serial that made him a household name. He was a key player in the early days of both the English Stage Company at the Royal Court and the National Theatre, and while his film career had its moments (such as Polanski's The Pianist in 2002), the stage and television were much more bountiful places for his talents.
Physically, Finlay wasn't an obvious comic performer; his solemn, worried and conservative looks could have doomed him to a career of police inspectors. But in fact he could be hilarious: as the unsmiling Corporal Hill in Arnold Wesker's Chips With Everything (Royal Court, 1962) he was delicious when promising: “I will tear and mercilessly scratch the scorching daylights out of anyone who smarts the alec with me”, and made his announcement that “I never smile, I never joke” almost a lament.
By contrast, he was the essence of ineptitude as Dogberry in Franco Zeffirelli's carnivalesque Much Ado About Nothing at the Old Vic in 1965. (A BBC studio recording of the play capturing Finlay's performance in all its glory was believed lost, but was recovered in 2010.)"
He could suffer quite beautifully, for comic or tragic effect, whether he be Salieri, Casanova or the confused and obsessive paterfamilias of Bouquet of Barbed Wire, the 1976 television serial that made him a household name. He was a key player in the early days of both the English Stage Company at the Royal Court and the National Theatre, and while his film career had its moments (such as Polanski's The Pianist in 2002), the stage and television were much more bountiful places for his talents.
Physically, Finlay wasn't an obvious comic performer; his solemn, worried and conservative looks could have doomed him to a career of police inspectors. But in fact he could be hilarious: as the unsmiling Corporal Hill in Arnold Wesker's Chips With Everything (Royal Court, 1962) he was delicious when promising: “I will tear and mercilessly scratch the scorching daylights out of anyone who smarts the alec with me”, and made his announcement that “I never smile, I never joke” almost a lament.
By contrast, he was the essence of ineptitude as Dogberry in Franco Zeffirelli's carnivalesque Much Ado About Nothing at the Old Vic in 1965. (A BBC studio recording of the play capturing Finlay's performance in all its glory was believed lost, but was recovered in 2010.)"
- Simon Farquhar, The Independent
"1958's Easter march to Aldermaston enjoys landmark status in the annals of peaceful protest. Its filmed record is similarly recalled as a milestone for campaigning documentary. CND emerged from Aldermaston as a campaign uniting disparate wings of the political left with otherwise apolitical concerned citizens. Echoing this, the volunteers responsible for the film, under the Film and Television Committee for Nuclear Disarmament, united different sectors of their industry: from lab technicians processing footage for free, to Contemporary Films, which handled its distribution. The involvement of Free Cinema practitioners Lindsay Anderson and Karel Reisz is noteworthy, but this is not a Free Cinema film. Equally important were the contributions of contemporaries outside that movement (such as the Committee's Secretary Derrick Knight, and Stephen Peet) and others (like Wolfgang Suschitzky) with roots in the older Documentary Movement.
Credited only to the Committee, March to Aldermaston demands appreciation as the product of selfless collaboration. By most accounts, however, Anderson came to dominate the film at the editing stage. The crisp documentary shaped from the miles of raw footage is amazingly coherent. With the crucial addition of Richard Burton sensitively reading Christopher Logue's commentary, it is succinct and moving, never hysterical or sentimental. Courageously, it does not flinch from criticising the Eastern Bloc as harshly as Western politicians. And, in documenting the march's generally middle-class demographics (despite attempts to portray the movement as more broadly-based), it's now a great period piece, awash with cut-glass accents, trad jazz, and sensible hats and coats."
- Patrick Russell, The British Film Institute
Credited only to the Committee, March to Aldermaston demands appreciation as the product of selfless collaboration. By most accounts, however, Anderson came to dominate the film at the editing stage. The crisp documentary shaped from the miles of raw footage is amazingly coherent. With the crucial addition of Richard Burton sensitively reading Christopher Logue's commentary, it is succinct and moving, never hysterical or sentimental. Courageously, it does not flinch from criticising the Eastern Bloc as harshly as Western politicians. And, in documenting the march's generally middle-class demographics (despite attempts to portray the movement as more broadly-based), it's now a great period piece, awash with cut-glass accents, trad jazz, and sensible hats and coats."
- Patrick Russell, The British Film Institute
"In September 1960 Bertrand Russell resigned as president of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. With others, he thought that having produced an educated minority opinion on the subject of nuclear weapons the campaign had served its purpose for the time being. CND estimated the number of Britons who would be killed by a Russian nuclear attack as 23 million immediately, a further 15 million after eight weeks.
Thirty years later when the ministry of defence's own estimates were declassified, CND's figures - persistently rubbished at the time by the government's supporters - were shown to have underestimated the number of deaths by a further 15 million. These losses - 80% of the population - to result from warheads released by seven enemy submarines reaching 56 British cities. The Russians were estimated to have a fleet of over 100 submarines armed with nuclear weapons. There was no doubt that the governments of the day were prepared to sacrifice so many of their people. Still, astonishingly - to me - the public accepted Westminster's insistence on Britain's possession of nuclear weapons and readiness to engage in nuclear warfare.
This left those of us who were convinced that such weapons put the civilian population in unacceptable peril with an obligation to take things further. It was plain that, for us, such weapons served nothing aside from the urge to vengeance, and plainer still that, regardless of the 1952 Washington/Westminster agreement that the United States would come to Britain's "aid against invasion by nuclear,weapons", no American president would risk his country's own destruction for the sake of avenging another's. On top of it was our conviction that the conceivable good brought about by a nuclear war would never equal the harm.
I had begun to think of the bomb's apologists as more of a danger to us than the Russians. The pro-bombers were out in force. Witness Viscount (Field Marshal) Montgomery:
"We are basing our plans upon the fact that if we are attacked we use nuclear weapons in our defence. The proviso is that the politicians have to be asked first. That might be a bit awkward, of course, and personally I would use nuclear weapons first and ask afterwards."
Challenged by such seditious nonsense, Russell invited a number of people to form the Committee of 100, that is to say, 100 conspicuous individuals (he hoped) prepared to break the law through acts of peaceful civil disobedience - trespass, obstruction, sit-ins, vigils, etc - and by these acts increase the possibility of a rupture between Westminster and Washington which, if effective, might lead to the withdrawal of the latter's nuclear capability from Britain and its territories. Among the scientists and artists Russell approached, some of the latter were associated with the Royal Court theatre.
The inaugural meeting of the committee was held in October 1960. Lindsay [Anderson, the theatre and film director], Doris Lessing, John Osborne, Arnold Wesker and I were present. John Berger, Robert Bolt, Augustus John and Sir Herbert Read were named as supporters. No scientist of importance attended. Disruption of the trooping of the colour, the establishment of a pirate radio station and the kidnapping of the chancellor of the exchequer were considered as appropriate crimes. After the meeting, John Osborne - whom I met for the first time - Lindsay and I went for a drink. "Would you go to jail for the old boy?" Osborne said. We agreed we would."
Thirty years later when the ministry of defence's own estimates were declassified, CND's figures - persistently rubbished at the time by the government's supporters - were shown to have underestimated the number of deaths by a further 15 million. These losses - 80% of the population - to result from warheads released by seven enemy submarines reaching 56 British cities. The Russians were estimated to have a fleet of over 100 submarines armed with nuclear weapons. There was no doubt that the governments of the day were prepared to sacrifice so many of their people. Still, astonishingly - to me - the public accepted Westminster's insistence on Britain's possession of nuclear weapons and readiness to engage in nuclear warfare.
This left those of us who were convinced that such weapons put the civilian population in unacceptable peril with an obligation to take things further. It was plain that, for us, such weapons served nothing aside from the urge to vengeance, and plainer still that, regardless of the 1952 Washington/Westminster agreement that the United States would come to Britain's "aid against invasion by nuclear,weapons", no American president would risk his country's own destruction for the sake of avenging another's. On top of it was our conviction that the conceivable good brought about by a nuclear war would never equal the harm.
I had begun to think of the bomb's apologists as more of a danger to us than the Russians. The pro-bombers were out in force. Witness Viscount (Field Marshal) Montgomery:
"We are basing our plans upon the fact that if we are attacked we use nuclear weapons in our defence. The proviso is that the politicians have to be asked first. That might be a bit awkward, of course, and personally I would use nuclear weapons first and ask afterwards."
Challenged by such seditious nonsense, Russell invited a number of people to form the Committee of 100, that is to say, 100 conspicuous individuals (he hoped) prepared to break the law through acts of peaceful civil disobedience - trespass, obstruction, sit-ins, vigils, etc - and by these acts increase the possibility of a rupture between Westminster and Washington which, if effective, might lead to the withdrawal of the latter's nuclear capability from Britain and its territories. Among the scientists and artists Russell approached, some of the latter were associated with the Royal Court theatre.
The inaugural meeting of the committee was held in October 1960. Lindsay [Anderson, the theatre and film director], Doris Lessing, John Osborne, Arnold Wesker and I were present. John Berger, Robert Bolt, Augustus John and Sir Herbert Read were named as supporters. No scientist of importance attended. Disruption of the trooping of the colour, the establishment of a pirate radio station and the kidnapping of the chancellor of the exchequer were considered as appropriate crimes. After the meeting, John Osborne - whom I met for the first time - Lindsay and I went for a drink. "Would you go to jail for the old boy?" Osborne said. We agreed we would."
- Christopher Logue, 'Prince Charming'
With Tom Courtenay in 'Private Potter' (1962) - Finlay would lend additional support to Courtenay in 'The Loneliness Of The Long Distance Runner' (1962)
Burning through Laurence Olivier in 'Othello' (1965)
Sparring with John Neville in 'A Study In Terror' (1965)
With Suzanne Leigh in 'The Deadly Bees' (1966)
Striking a 'Twisted Nerve' (1968)
'Almost Independence Day' - Van Morrison
In the 1970s, Finlay portrayed marxists, communists and fascists on stage and screen; dangerous intellectuals and deluded madmen, stationed at the extremities of thought. He acted in 'After Haggerty' (1970) by David Mercer, then in 'The Party' (1973) by Mancunian catholic Trevor Griffiths, who was said to have based Finlay's character Malcolm Sloman on Mercer. As mounting criticism of Finlay's artistic choices built, all the while fuelled by conservative tabloids, Finlay continued undeterred by accepting ever-more controversial projects. He starred in Dennis Potter's first television serial 'Casanova' (1971), having headlined Potter's play 'Son Of Man' (1969) on stage (Finlay's friend and fellow theatre actor Colin Blakely played the lead role on tv); both of these Potter works were virulently attacked by moral campaigner Mary Whitehouse on the grounds of blasphemy, indecency and perversion. Far from cowering, or withering while under assault, Finlay upped the ante, taking on a risky role in the landmark television production 'Bouqet Of Barbed Wire' (1976), an adaptation of a 1969 novel by Andrea Newman. The following year, he reteamed with 'Boutique' co-star Susan Penhaligon to make Philip Saville's television piece 'Count Dracula' (1977), based upon a 1897 novel by Bram Stoker.
"As an actor, there was something sinister and sepulchral about Frank Finlay. He was able to imply depths of feeling by doing very little. And his distinctive voice had an in-built echo, so that he sounded as though he was speaking inside a dark, dank cave.
Although he was a devout Catholic, he rarely played good people. His luxuriant mane of black hair (turning grey and, later, white) complemented a skull-like appearance with still, sunken eyes and prominent cheekbones. On television he played Jean Valjean in a BBC mini-series of Les Miserables, Adolf Hitler, Casanova and, most famously, an incestuously obsessive father in Andrea Newman’s television drama, Bouquet of Barbed Wire. The latter series, produced by London Weekend Television in 1976, starring Susan Penhaligon as his daughter, Sheila Allen as his wife and James Aubrey as his American teacher son-in-law, made Finlay a household name after years of toil.
He was closely involved in the early days of two major theatrical enterprises of the last century, the English Stage Company at the Royal Court, and the National Theatre. At the Court he forged an enduring friendship and stage collaboration with Joan Plowright in the Wesker Trilogy, and then joined Plowright’s husband, Laurence Olivier, in the new National Theatre at Chichester and the Old Vic.
Together with Plowright and other Royal Court personnel – the actors Robert Stephens and Colin Blakely, the directors John Dexter and William Gaskill – he represented a key creative surge in Olivier’s project. He played the Gravedigger in the opening NT production of Hamlet (starring Peter O’Toole) at the Old Vic in 1963, followed by a string of leading roles, notably Iago to Olivier’s Othello.
Olivier, who had been talked into playing Othello by his literary manager, Kenneth Tynan, said that he did not want “a witty, Machiavellian Iago. I want a solid, honest-to-God NCO.” He got that to such an extent that Finlay, at that time an inexperienced Shakespearean, veered between dull and shaky in one of the longest roles in the canon (after Hamlet). But he improved immeasurably over the play’s run: with his director, Dexter, he had decided that Iago had been impotent for years; hence his loathing for the pantherine sexuality of the general who had done him out of a job, and his brutally callous alienation from Joyce Redman’s Emilia. The resulting film, directed by Stuart Burge, showed him at his best – phlegmatic, malignant and manipulative – and he, Olivier, Redman and Maggie Smith as Desdemona all received Oscar nominations.
In some ways Finlay was difficult to fathom as an actor. When he was cast as Lopakhin in an all-star production of The Cherry Orchard at the Haymarket theatre in London in 1983, the director Lindsay Anderson was flummoxed in rehearsals by his impassive visage, wondering in his diaries if he was “closed” or merely stupid. But the performance, in the end, was superb. Finlay’s acting was not spine-tingling, but he was highly effective and always, in his own surly way, imposing."
- Michael Coveney, The Guardian
Keeping the peace in 'Assault' (1971)
Lancashire Hot Pot laced with Irish Stew : Frank Finlay & Albert Finney in 'Gumshoe' (1971)
Neda Arneric threatens to give him the 'Shaft In Africa' (1973)
Sipping the velvet with Susan Penhaligon in 'Bouquet Of Barbed Wire' (1976)
The fangs have it : Frank Finlay uncovers Susan Penhaligon's sinister secret in 'Count Dracula' (1977)
'Snake Eyes' - John Paul Jones
but yes - it certainly caught the nation's fancy in a big way,,, and it certainly made the most of his "silver fox" allure. 
