A little bit of Brett

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So, I feel like I haven’t been giving Jeremy Brett his due, recently, with all the Basil Rathbone I’ve been posting. So here’s a little bit of Brett for you all! It’s non-Holmesian, that’s for another time.

Jeremy Brett once said, “I would love to do some comedy. To make people laugh is the greatest gift of all.” I believe Brett had that gift, so I thought I’d post some pictures that prove it.

Eliza Doolittle: Here! What are you sniggering at?
Freddy Eynsford-Hill: The new small talk, you do it so awfully well.
His laugh in this scene kills me every time.

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Happy Early Birthday Basil Rathbone

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Just to answer any question that may have arisen from my title, I’m not going to be available to post on June 13th (Basil’s actual birthday) so I have to do it early.

It’s hard to believe that this is only the second of Basil’s birthdays that I’ve celebrated. It seems, somehow, that I’ve always know him. This poem that you are about to read was written only a few months after I had first “met” him, so it’s a bit more gushing than I would write it now, but hey, give me a break, I was fourteen.

Basil

By R. Noel Landis

The eyes,

Blue to those you knew

And knew you,

But black to those of us who’ve only guessed

At what you were really like.

Soft and dreamy

But hidden deep inside

Is love, kindness, and a hint of roguish playfulness,

Enrapturing and beating down

The unsuspecting girl

Who falls into your clutches

As the villain or the madman.

Lifting up and pulling in

The poor and needy lady

Or the high and lofty woman

As hero and as lover.

The voice,

Deep and subtly rich,

Sweet in overflowing character

And letting our spirits soar.

We cannot think of anything else,

Not wanting to miss a single word.

If only we could have really heard you

And not have had to rely

On what you left behind.

Little heard laughter,

How we wish to hear it more,

Cheering over victory,

Or quiet simple pleasures.

The mouth,

Like no other

As it shapes its words of hatred or of love.

Small and finely turned up at the corners,

With the personality of life itself.

It catches the eyes,

Framed by the usual mustache.

We peer blissfully

Trying not to overlook its smooth movement,

Sole in its matchless perfection.

The hands,

Gentle, tender, and smooth,

But strong and very firm.

Stroking heads, shaking hands,

Touching keys, holding cigarettes and pipes.

We watch and peer,

Looking eagerly at every touch.

Unmistakable in their movement,

Catching eyes and drawing attention.

They say so much with every motion.

Swift but careful,

Calm but eager,

Leading women across the floor,

Meticulously searching the crime scene,

Grasping knives and guns with intent to kill,

Holding children’s hands.

The whole of you,

Towering over some

But eye to eye with others.

Enchanting us in every movement,

Every bit of you unique,

We cannot take our eyes away

For fear of missing something.

Born in South Africa

Yet British through and through,

Faithful husband

Loving father

Patriotic countryman

Excelling actor.

We lost something that day

July 21, 1967,

75 years after that wonderful day

June 13, 1892.

We miss you,

Even though you left us before we knew you

We have come to know you by what you left behind.

This is my favorite picture of Basil Rathbone – and no, friends, this wasn’t posed, this wasn’t part of the movie, this was pure Basil.