Physical Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
Rupert Campbell-Black is borderline, arrogant, obnoxious who won’t play by the rules, by Jove. “The man’s a loose cannon,” taunts jumping instructor Malise Gordon (Rupert Everett), as Rupert (Alex Hassell) soon directs his cannons at a seemingly endless line of grateful locals. By “his cannons” I mean, of course, his penis. Or rather his “want”, because there is no part of the body – or, life – that the Critics can’t reduce to cartoons while pointing and sniffing like a schoolboy. And quite right, too. Who wants the boring truth when you could be playing nude tennis with the MP for Chalford and Bisley (“Tit fault!”)? Anyway, back to Rupert, who, as the aforementioned sports minister and “the most handsome man in England”, is the biggest critic of Jilly Cooper’s 80s transformation.
Rupert has a business head and a body in jodhpurs as he yells “ARE YOU READY FOR ME TO DOWN YOUR THING?” during intercourse. People admire his brutality; the horses are attracted to his carefree way of leisure clothes.
And now the alpha-cad is back, its buttocks rising like bronze worms, unsteady above Rutshire’s sylvan glasses like two happily ever afters.
The last time we saw Rupert he was having a night out with tyrannical producer Cameron Cook (Nafessa Williams), the latter just after Corinium TV boss Tony Baddingham (David Tennant) had been knocked off the couch with a trophy or something. Why? Because Tony realizes he’s dealing with the Venturer’s rival and arch-rival Rupert and slaps him, basically. The solution to this problem? Rupert hides Cameron from Tony in his romantic home in Devon, the perfect place to deal with what we’re unfortunately forced to call “problems”. “Thank you,” said Cameron after talking like this. “So much for where it came from,” laughs Rupert, his oiled thighs glistening in the Silk Cut’s cumulonimbus. And there is. There is hot sex between the stairs. There’s screaming-in-a-full-length-mirror sex. And there’s a little scene where Rupert buries his face in between Cameron’s knockers and starts crying “NYAAAARRR” while shaking his thighs and seeds. It’s quite something.
Buried somewhere within the stumbling forest of limbs is a plot. This is also stupid. We join the shaggers as they prepare for the 1987 general election. Will Rupert stay in office or will Tony and notorious tabloid spoiler Beattie (Annabel Scholey) conspire to frame him as a hitman? And who will win the ongoing battle for the Central South West television license, eh? WHO? WHO?
The drama – big and fun within the ever-present fug of hairspray – is excellent. Everyone involved seems to be having the time of their lives. Not least Aidan Turner as Declan O’Hara’s music publisher. His appearance in the bath as his wife Maud (Victoria Smurfit) brings him to his climax – think of a badger slowly realizing he’s been abandoned. Vesta curry in the oven – will be long in the memory.
Some things happen for no reason at all. A horse dressed in pink walks in front of the camera. There are subtle close-ups of dancing dogs and where twin polo players strip to their underwear and jump, winkies akimbo, into an indoor pool.
Each frame has so much cigarette smoke and 80s romance that it manages to make the discrimination and period look look as small as cod-in-the-bag cod (the last one was shipped here with a dirty box of Micro Chips, according to the label).
The dialogue is, as always, fascinating. There is much to say about Frank Bough. And there’s plenty of winking, winking humor that’s classic about the homophobia and ignorance and fear that once surrounded Aids. Opponents walk a solid tonal line in a fiery fuchsia tutu. That is to say, perfectly.
How good is it to reward knowing how to escape? Ten stars? Ten thousand stars? Competitors are not praised in the world. Instead let’s place one rose between his tireless cheeks and raise a glass of Cinzano to his courage. Bottom up!
