How Saxon violence makes this world go round
ON THE BOX
IT seems quaint now to think that only a few short years have passed since there was a video shop at practically every street corner. For many of us, renting out a film was as much part of the weekend experience as a takeaway and a six-pack.
The reason I mention it at all is that the very specific requirements of an old acquaintance came to mind the other day for some reason. Whenever he was sending out his ladyfriend on an errand to organise the night’s viewing, he would always impress upon her that certain strict criteria had to be met.
First, whatever film she picked had to feature a fair amount of what he referred to as ‘cussin’ – bad language – in the script. There also had to be a reasonably high level of ‘kit off’ or, as civilised people like you and I would call it, nudity.
Lastly and most importantly, though, he was particularly insistent on what sort of dress code should prevail when there wasn’t naked flesh on show. Plain and simple, it had to involve ‘suits’. This was his code for saying that any sort of costume or period drama wouldn’t be acceptable.
I’m pretty much with him on that one. Granted, the odd exception comes along every now and then. I’m perfectly happy, for example, to admit that I can fully understand the appeal of something like Downton Abbey.
Generally speaking, though, I don’t like my viewing to involve much pre-20th century stuff. I am a sucker for Sixties period detail: sharp tailoring for the men, mini-skirts for the women, that sort of thing.
Likewise, I have a soft spot for the aesthetic of the Prohibition era: double-breasted suits, spats, deadly weapons concealed in innocuous-looking violin cases. But anything that involves crinoline frocks, medieval tunics or other similarly antiquated garb isn’t likely to be for me.
Which brings us, better late than never, to The Last Kingdom. The first eight-part series, based on Bernard Cornwell’s historical novels about the Saxon era, was broadcast towards the end of 2015. Now it is back for a new ten-part run.
The season finale of the original series featured two highlights that both involved Queen Iseult (Charlie Murphy, best known in these parts for playing gangsters’ moll Siobhan in Love/ Hate). Firstly, she was kind enough to give us a glimpse of her right royal posterior when she got her kit off for a spot of outdoors congress with Uhtred
(Alexander Dreymon), the hero of the piece.
Unfortunately she then managed to get herself decapitated during a blood-spattered battle between the invading Danes and the warriors of Wessex. The second series picks up where the previous one ended in 878AD.
We’re told that the grieving Uhtred has descended into ‘a fog of ale and bosoms’ as he mourns Iseult’s grisly demise. Even though the kingdom of Wessex has managed to rid itself of the Nordic interlopers, King Alfred (David Dawson) wants them kicked out of the rest of England as well.
Addressing his people, he singled out the two principal offenders. ‘There are two Norsemen, Siegfried and Erik,’ he said. ‘Two godless brothers with a voracious appetite for land, silver, slaves and war. I want it known and I want them to know that God, Alfred and the eldermen of Wessex are watching. The day of reckoning will come.’
Needless to say, this was the cue for the spilling of more blood and guts. Even Uhtred seemed to have his mojo back by the time the closing credits rolled.
Incidentally, just a short note on that quote from the king. Even though he does seem to have a fairly high opinion of himself, I took the precaution of insert a conversational comma in between the words ‘God’ and ‘Alfred’ there. I don’t really think he was trying to suggest they were one and the same thing. Then again, a man capable of referring to himself in the third person is most likely capable of anything.