A Damn Fine Cup of Culture

Welcome to Six Damn Fine Degrees. These instalments will be inspired by the idea of six degrees of separation in the loosest sense. The only rule: it connects – in some way – to the previous instalment. So come join us on our weekly foray into interconnectedness!

I’ll freely admit to it: sometimes when I follow Julie in our ongoing associative chain, it can feel quite daunting – the reason being that Julie is just such a treasure house of knowledge when it comes to cinema. Not that I’m a slouch in this department, or at least that’s what our yearly results at the best local cinema quiz suggest – but it doesn’t compare to Julie. Because Julie reads so goddamn much about films, actors, directors, studios. And here I am, an avid reader who, nonetheless, barely ever reads any non-fiction books. I have some memoirs of directors and actors standing in my bookshelf, but if push comes to shove, I’ll grab a novel over anything that looks like it comes from the Land of Non-Fiction. So, if Julie goes before me in our Six Damn Fine Degrees series (which is soon approaching its 300^th instalment! how crazy is that??), I know that I’m following our resident professor of filmology and filmography, the woman who knows why Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon is a pack of porkies. She’s the one who can write a post such as last week’s about screen icon Elizabeth Taylor and how her private life, her public persona and her work in cinema formed a very particular blend.

I’m the guy who can take one of Julie’s well-read, heartfelt posts about actor John Garfield and, going from the sublime to the ridiculous, follows up with a post about a certain orange, lasagna-loving fat cat.