Black Pond and I AM

I give this 4/5. It's filmed in a documentary style at times. Then almost as a voyeur on different characters. Interesting. It's such a curious little story. And almost believable, sad, funny, peculiar.

The acting is outstanding in my opinion. And such a believable little story in it's peculiarity. There was a moment that I could have believed it was actually a recounting of a true story. Except I recognised Simon Amstell even though I couldn't think where I knew him from. And also the characters were at times so eccentric so as to be almost cartoon. However, sometimes the weirdest of tings can turn out to be the most realistic.

It was amusing and yet tragic. Each character had real appeal. The poster says haunting. Yes there was a sense of noooooooo, don't do it. I also asked myself the question "did they do it? Did Blake kill their dog? Did Blake kill his wife? Is he mentally unstable to the point of psychopathology?

It's really worth watching in my opinion. Intriguing.

John Clare is not a poet I am familiar with. But then again I am not familiar with many poets. He is quoted several times by Sophie Thompson who is herself a poet. She gave up writing poetry when she got married. There are some odd little conversations and recitals around this matter.

There are many little sub stories that take place, meaning that we get to know more and more about this family through these little and obvious sub-texts. It's as if we a re diverted off for brief moments with each of the main characters. Whilst we are also getting a glimpse into current life for the daughters and their flatmate Tim. I liked the way everything unfolds and there are these pockets of sub story. It was done in such a way that there was the continuing thread of the story but with all these very separate pockets of individuals or couples or even the three-legged dog, Boy, himself.

Directors - Tom Kingsley and Will Sharpe

Cast

Chris Langham

 

Simon Amstell

Amanda Hadingue

 

 

I Am

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
And e'en the dearest--that I loved the best--
Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil'd or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below--above the vaulted sky.

John Clare