Have Yourself a Merry Little Middoth
Posted by Dirck on 19 December, 2014
I somehow manage to be surprised every time this bit of intelligence presents itself to me– M.R. James’s work was, in the main, writing down of stories he told at Christmas. Because telling skin-looseningly creepy stories is (or was, a century ago) apparently a regular feature of the English yuletide fun.
That’s fine with me, of course. As the burbling I utter through October reveals, I like my creepy just fine. I don’t think I’ll try to start this as a tradition at home just yet (a six-year-old really isn’t equipped to process Oh, Whistle and I’ll Come to You, My Lad, and I’m unwilling to deal with the night-time fallout of proving that), but for what I take to be an adult readership a recent BBC production of one of the the more moral-laden of James’s stories is an excellent installment for the Friday Film Festival.