Kiefer Sutherland as Alan Turing?

Oh dearest readers, how lapse this Christmas reindeer has been – I did not update when I said I would last time – and now it is December 18th.  I always remember December 18th because when I was 13 I memorised it as Kiefer “The Lost Boys” Sutherland’s birthday.  Therefore, every December 18th since I wake up and the first thought in my head is “How old is Kiefer Sutherland today?”  rather than “Why haven’t I completed my Christmas shopping when I work in Oxford Street?”  Today, Kiefer is 48.  Happy Birthday Kiefer.

Kiefer was born in Paddington in St Mary’s Ospedale.  That is because his father was making The Dirty Dozen here at the time.  Kiefer was not born in Paddington Bear, nor was he anything to do with Paddington Bear, though I think he should have voiced him in the film.  Yesterday I decided to not see Paddington Bear the Movie as I suspected I may not like it, so I went to see The Imitation Game instead which was all fur coat and no knickers (great cast, pretty pretty, oh-so-English sets, and a script that a 14 year old could have wrote) at the Curzon Mayfair.  I like the Curzons but they are ever so smug about their brilliance in the catering department.  “You’ve got time to grab a Berry Bros & Rudd wine before the film starts!”  the screen crows at you, two minutes after you’ve sat through the trailer for Ridley Scott’s new exodus movie (Christian Bale as Moses?  REALLY?)  Well, the screen may as well have shouted ” Look!  Look!  We have the Queen’s personal vintner on tap – they’re in St James’s you know!  This is the fucking Curzon, darling…”  Of course no one did get up to purchase a glass full of Berry Bros brilliance, mainly because they were going back to work (middle aged gents), still had shopping to do (ladies what lunch) and were just over six months pregnant (me).  So we all sat there and wept at the Waitrose ad instead, where an unpopular girl at school bakes gingerbread for a school fair and discovers people like her because they eat her biscuits.  Then we all cried at the trailer for It’s a Wonderful Life and then I looked around and realised no one else was sobbing that it was just me and my pregnancy hormones. And I don’t know why I cried because I don’t even like James Stewart.  Hormones weren’t funny to Alan Turing in the film though, because they tried to give him lots of what appeared to be HRT to stop him feeling gay and he was so upset he killed himself, so that bit wasn’t nice.

Could Kiefer Sutherland have played Alan Turing?  It would certainly have been more entertaining – and I for one would have enjoyed it hugely.  Emilio Estevez could have played Winston Churchill, and Charlie Sheen the Charles Dance, snooty Admiral character at Bletchley who thinks that Alan Turing is a twat.   I think they should let Kiefer Sutherland play Alan Turing as it’s his birthday and it’s only fair.   I mean, if a drunk-driving Canadian TV / film star can’t play a World War II code breaker at Christmas when it’s his birthday, exactly when can he?  He could growl about Bletchley with that strange jowly jaw of his, which I often think he has had some sort of corrective surgery on – either that or so many strippers have sat on his face over the years it’s sort of ironed itself out.  He could fall foul of the dastardly Official Secrets Act and invoke a car chase with M16 around rural Buckinghamshire whilst waving a shooter out of the window and screaming “You’ll never take me alive you goddamnsonofabitch…!”  whilst complaining about cheese rations.  How can I fully express that I feel my life will be incomplete until I see Kiefer Sutherland singing Roll Aht The Barrel whilst dressed in khaki green serge and talking cock-er-nee whilst trying to take some flibbertygibbert over the Siegfried Line?  It’s cinematic genius.  I shall write postcard to Mr R Scott post haste.  That’s Ridley, not Ronnie.  After all if Kiefer was born in St Mary’s, Paddington, he’s practically a died-in-the-wool, strike-a-light-guv’nor cock-er-nee – cor! It’s the Bow Bells! Londoner anyway.  All we have to do to convince audiences he’s a Englishman is coat him in grey rain for 20 years and feed him jam roly poly and bisto until he chubs up like he did in the mid-1990s.  The Brat Pack massacred the Wild West film genre with Young Guns – why not allow them to destroy the war time codebreaker blockbuster as well?  You could even hire Lou Diamond Philips.  It’s a time of year for breaking the rules.  I, for one, have been eating Percy Pig sweets for breakfast.  I like to walk on the wild side.  I may even have hummus as a late night snack.  Although I find it impossible to believe it is actually Christmas as 1. I am not drunk (see gestational state ref above) 2.  they are not yet showing Love Actually on a continuous mump-and-vomit-inducing loop on ITV2  and 3.  No one has been shot on EastEnders this week by Samantha Janus whilst Phil Mitchell runs over a nearby child, screaming.  We bought the festive Radio Times, but it has so many channels, and film watching itineraries and Picks of the Day and Picks of the Week that I can’t actually understand it, and don’t know what’s on.  And no, as you ask, dear Londoners, I have not purchased a ticket to the local pantomime as I don’t believe in pantomime and walking within a five mile radius of one brings me out in hives.

But can we take a moment to return to Paddington?  Not the Paddington of 1966 where the erstwhile Mr Sutherland emerged alongside his twin sister (I was a research-heavy child) but the Bear which has invaded our streets and our psyches and, it appears, that bastion of expensive, Christmas luxury – Selfridges department store.  They have opened an Everyman in the basement of Selfridges.  Do you understand the enormity of what I tell you?  You can go to the shop and see a film three times a day.  And it’s Paddington loopy.  Marmalade jars on every surface, and clay Paddingtons installed on plinths with the particular aim of terrorising the under 4’s. And it’s not just Paddington the movie you can go and see – you can see a whole range of other films, whilst pretending to your spouse that you are in Selfridges buying their Christmas present.  Of course I shall be there  – you’ll spot me, absconding from the office, weeping uncontrollably into my bag of Revels at the latest Tesco commercial and wishing Kiefer Sutherland was playing Moses.

Happy cool Yule to you all and may your festive holly be green, spiky and flushed through with Christmas fayre.  See you on here in 2015!  Happy New Year x x x x x

Please return to The London Bluebird if you enjoyed this.  Or if you enjoy Kiefer Sutherland.  Or a bag of Revels.  Our next update will be on Thursday 8th January and we wish you a happy holiday.  The London Bluebird x x x