The news that the 12th incarnation of Doctor Who - the BBC's flagship sci-fi series, and a sacred pop culture cow to some - has been announced, and it is Peter Capaldi, that sweary Scot from that poli-sci show - is a bit of a let down. If one considers that Britain's leading TV/film icons of serial success - James Bond, the Doctor, Harry Potter, Sherlock Holmes, Poirot, Robin Hood - are white males - it might have been hoped that, this not being 1963, but rather fifty years later, the Beeb might have actually made the good Doctor a woman, or someone of Black, or Asian - or Other - descent. It might have actually been thrilling to ask that chap from The Marigold Hotel, for instance - or Gillian Anderson. Of course, Idris Elba would have been great - but he was likely busy, given he will win the Oscar this year for playing Mandela. Capaldi is a brilliant comedic actor of extraordinary timing and energy. His Doctor Who will be fun and thrilling. What he won't be is much of a new thing in the universe.
THAT HANDSOME MAN A PERSONAL BRIEF REVIEW BY TODD SWIFT I could lie and claim Larkin, Yeats , or Dylan Thomas most excited me as a young poet, or even Pound or FT Prince - but the truth be told, it was Thom Gunn I first and most loved when I was young. Precisely, I fell in love with his first two collections, written under a formalist, Elizabethan ( Fulke Greville mainly), Yvor Winters triad of influences - uniquely fused with an interest in homerotica, pop culture ( Brando, Elvis , motorcycles). His best poem 'On The Move' is oddly presented here without the quote that began it usually - Man, you gotta go - which I loved. Gunn was - and remains - so thrilling, to me at least, because so odd. His elegance, poise, and intelligence is all about display, about surface - but the surface of a panther, who ripples with strength beneath the skin. With Gunn, you dressed to have sex. Or so I thought. Because I was queer (I maintain the right to lay claim to that
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