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Welcome to Atomic Hobo. To get ad free listening plus bonus episodes, visit patreon.com Atomichobo
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Hi, I'm Rachel Fisher. And I'm Desi Jetekin and we're the host of Hollywood Crime Scene, a true crime podcast that focuses on celebrity crime, infamous crime movies and cases from Los Angeles. From movie, TV and music stars to athletes, as well as the wealthy and politically elite, we cover the seedier side of the lifestyles of the rich and famous. New episodes drop every Tuesday and you can check us out wherever you listen to Podcast
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ACAST helps creators launch, grow and monetize their podcasts everywhere. Acast.com.
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Welcome back to another four minutes of when the Wind Blows. Let's have a quick recap of where we are in the film. In our last four minute segment, Jim is imagining all sorts of horrors. Should the Russians invade, they might kick the door in and shoot us. They might send us to a concentration camp. Of course these are horrors from the Second World War. And even then they are horrors which thankfully never touched Britain. Well, the Germans got as far as the Channel Islands, but obviously not the mainland. So as always, he's reaching back to his experience of the Second World War. But at this point it's not even his own experience he's clutching at it's stories or newsreel or Hollywood films about the war. So Jim, who thinks he's the practical, experienced one here, the one who knows War, who knows the ways of the world. He's actually just floundering around in his imagination. He has no idea what to realistically expect. If he did, then he'd know that an invading army, if such a thing still existed following an all out nuclear war with the Soviets, would most certainly not invade territory at this point when the land is still smouldering and radioactive. So the last thing he has to fear right now is a Russky or a Gulag. No, the thing he has to fear is already in the house. It's already invaded and that's the fallout dust. It is inside the house, it is in his jars of water, it's in his body. The invader is already here. So let's go forward to the next four minutes of the film. Jim and Hilda are milling around the house. They are both still upright, still mobile, still fully dressed, despite of course, starting to feel desperately ill. Well, they're of the wartime generation who wouldn't take to their beds unless they'd been knocked flat by the flu. And whilst Jim wanders around indulging his fears about gigantic Russian soldiers kicking the door down, Hilda, as ever, is being the quietly practical one. She's trying to do some sewing and mending. That's another hangover from the war when people, particularly women on the home front, were taught to make do and mend, as the phrase went. So they are both carrying their wartime knowledge into this Third World war. For Jim it's invaders and concentration camps. For Hilda it's make do and mend. And of course their knowledge and experience is utterly useless now in this nuclear war, all the old rules have been dashed aside. Even the current rules, such as protect and survive are of little use. Nuclear war mocks the concept of rules. That's just one of the reasons why many people thought it was ludicrous for Ronald Reagan in the early 80s to talk of so called limited nuclear war. Because how can you possibly hope to contain, control and limit such a conflict? Do you say 10 megatons each, lads? Then we'll both call it a day and sign a treaty. It's like the old rules in the 18th century of having a duel. There were so many rules involved with duelling, you had to issue your challenge in such a manner and the location had to be agreed upon. Then there were rules for the duel itself. Each man takes ten paces, for example, then turns and fires. And both men are unquestionably gentlemen and their honour is everything. And so you can be quite sure that neither would dream of turning and firing after just nine paces, because even if they won the duel by that cheeky tactic, they would have shredded the reputation. The rules work with things like duelling because gallantry and honour and respect are part of duelling. And you can't apply gallantry and honour and respect or rules to nuclear war. Speaking of limited nuclear war, we see an example of that, I suppose, in the film Fail Safe, where an American bomber heads for its target, Moscow, and having passed the so called fail safe point, cannot be stopped or recalled, even with a direct order from the President. Once you're past that point, you go to your target and you drop your nukes. So Moscow gets nuked and to avoid retaliation and escalation into an all out global nuclear war, the American President has to agree to surrender New York to allow the Russians to nuke the city. One for one, you got ours, we get yours, and then we'll call it quits. Part of the horror, of course, in that scenario is the use of honor in that limited nuclear war. The President has to agree. He has to give his word. He has to say to the Russians, yep, send your bombers. We won't shoot them down. Come and hit New York. We will stand down because this is the only way to avoid full nuclear war. So back to the film. As they talk, Hilda is mending a cushion at the kitchen table. And in our previous four minutes, we saw her slap this cushion down onto the table and it released a puff of dust when she dropped it. And now we see that Jem is brushing up debris from the floor and shoveling it into the bin and it too releases a cloud of dust when he drops it. We cringe as we realize they are dredging up and disturbing fallout dust here. To emphasize this, Hilda sits sewing in front of a broken window so we can imagine what is coming in through that hole in the window. We also saw in previous scenes that most of the roof has been blown off and they've also been previously for a walk in their grey, dying garden. So as they sit here sewing and talking and tidying, being what they think is proper and homely and domestic, they are simply hastening their own deaths. You are better off in your own home, says protect and survive. Well, we know there are many, many reasons why that might not be true. And one of them is demonstrated here. What if your home is damaged, your windows gaping, your roof open to the sky? And this is a couple in the lovely English countryside. Always the film is prodding us to imagine what's it like in the cities if this is how things are out in the country. And it makes me so sad that by patiently sitting at home, trying to keep things tidy, trying to mend what's broken, trying to restore order and follow the rules, they are making things worse for themselves. I hope you won't think I'd be disrespectful if I mention here the terrible Grenfell Tower fire, which happened in London in 2017. It was an inferno in a residential tower block and many people died because, as with Jim and Hilda here, they followed the rules. They obeyed the advice from the fire brigade, which was, stay put, stay in your flat. It's designed to be fire resistant, so you're safer there than on the dark, smoky stairwells. Obviously, that wasn't the case, but I feel so helpless on behalf of Jim and Hilda here, because what are they supposed to do? Following the rules, following them to some extent. We know that Jim cut a lot of corners, is helping kill them, but they're simply doing the right thing. But then, if they had abandoned the rules, if they'd fled their house, then, as we see in threads, perhaps they'd have found themselves stuck in a traffic jam somewhere as the bomb drops. And so they would simply die on a bus with strangers far from home. Is that preferable? It seems that whatever they do, they're done for. And maybe it's appropriate that such a law abiding, meek and decent couple like Jim and Hilda are going to die whilst doing the right thing. They might even take some comfort from that. It's interesting that as Hilda sits at the table sewing and Jim goes on about the dreadful things the Russian invaders might do to them, Hilda introduces something nice about the Russians. I saw them dancing on television, she said. They seemed nice. This reminded me of the way that the Soviet Union famously introduced bad news on tv. They would never just butt in with a scary news flash. Instead, the news would be hinted at, suggested, gossiped about, delayed, postponed. And then eventually, as in the case of Chernobyl, for example, it would be announced days later. So a Soviet citizen would get the hint that something momentous and bad had happened. If they turned on the TV and instead of regular programming, there was a Russian ballet playing on a loop. Swan Lake is the cliched one. Rather than face the awful facts a dead leader, a nuclear disaster, a coup, they would let Swan Lake play on and on. Sweet, patriotic Russian music. No commentary required, no need for journalists and TV presenters. Just let the dancers leap and the music play. If Swan Lake was showing, then you could bet something bad was brewing. And I wonder if this had happened in the Soviet Union just before the bomb dropped. As we saw Jim and Hilda pottering around in their cottage before the bomb, getting the house ready, unscrewing the doors, reading the newspaper, frying the sausages. Were there sweet little old Russian ladies feeling anxious that Swan Lake was on tv? Oh, dear, the Russians are dancing again.
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And maybe we might feel resentful. The Soviet authorities have taken something beautiful, Swan Lake, and giving it nasty associations. People might shudder when they see it on tv. Instead of feeling glad or inspired, they have tainted it. Just as everything is about to be tainted by the bomb. These same authorities, the men in charge, the men in uniform, they have allowed everything to be tainted. Look at Jim and Hilda in this scene, doing cosy domestic chores. Jim is sweeping, Hilda is sewing. And yet everything is tainted. There is lethal fallout, dust in the house and the sky glimpsed through the broken window is a murky violet colour. Poison and sickness and ruin are everywhere in the next scene. Wow. Hilda looks dreadful. She is going downhill fast. She is, as usual, standing at the kitchen sink, one of her usual spots. But everything around her is grimy. The sink is piled high with dirty dishes because, of course, there is no running water and you're not supposed to waste it on something as relatively trivial as keeping the kitchen tidy and the dishes clean. Of course, the kitchen is where Hilda would normally restore order to the house. It's the heart of the house for her. The kitchen, specifically the kitchen sink, is where things are made clean and shiny. This is where the kitchen sink is a cliched place for the housewife. Of course, it's where 1980s fairy liquid adverts told women. Now, hands that do dishes can feel soft as your face with mild green Fairy Liquid. That's right, ladies. Adverts were telling us that even scrubbing pots might result in beauty. But Hilda was no feminist. We can bet that she didn't want to be free of the kitchen sink. She was quite content to be there. A bit. And here she is again, one of her favourite spots. But all contentment, of course, is now gone, because she could no longer bring order and sparkle and cleanliness to the house. Everything is filthy and there is no clean running water. We see Hilda lift one of Jim's glass bottles and she despairs that it's empty. This is where he had gathered the rainwater. It's all gone, she tells him. So there we have it. Confirmation of even more danger. Hilda has been washing their dishes in tainted rainwater. She has been plunging her hands into contaminated water and sloshing it over the plates and cups. And then, of course, using that same crockery to eat from. They are ingesting fallout, dust and contamination at a crazy rate, all whilst imagining that they're doing the right thing. They're washing, aren't they? They're being clean. Every school child knows that. You have to wash your hands. This is basic stuff. And they're using rainwater. Natural stuff, no chemicals in that. How can that be the wrong thing to do? Well, no, Hilda, because, as with Swan Lake, everything wholesome and beautiful has been tainted. Ballet now means disaster. Water now means poison. She goes to the fridge and expresses relief that they still have some milk. Milk, always milk, even in threads, the symbol of wholesomeness and routine and domesticity. Bringer of health and completer of tea. Tea without milk. Jim shudders. I can't bear tea without milk. And he chatters on about how posh people take lemon with their tea. As he says this, he's setting the table, laying out the cutlery again. Still domestic routine, the civilised touches, even in the midst of all this horror and ruin. The walls are smeared in soot and the curtains hang in crinkled tatters. Can he see this, you might wonder. But remember, Jim and Hilda are buoyed by the sure and certain knowledge that help is on the way. Any minute now, the civil defence or the police or the fire brigade will turn up to lend a hand. The walls will be cleaned and Hilda will soon make new curtains. There might even be a trip into town to buy some nice new curtain fabric. And won't that be a jolly day out? Any minute now, help will arrive, so the squalor in which they live doesn't distress them as they think it's only temporary. And maybe they even take some pride in it because it takes them back to the Second World War. Look at us. Just like Mother had to do, muddling through once again. It'll take more than a bomb to get us down So I think they almost relish the idea of having their dinner amidst all this ruin. It's almost like an adventure. There'll be some good stories to tell when this is all over and we've got the new curtains up. Yep. For Jim in particular, I think he sees this as if he doesn't confront it too much. He sees it all as a bit of a lark. Yes, as long as he keeps up his jolly facade, he can tell himself and Hilda it's all a bit of a lark. So Jim lays the table, and in the kitchen, Hilda prepares on a camping stove their tiny meal of two fried eggs and some baked beans. Hilda is almost drooping with exhaustion and her eyes are sunken. Jymn prattles on behind her about the bomb which hit them. It was surely Russian, dear, or maybe even an American one going astray. Jymn tells Hilda. They all work the same way, these bombs, so I suppose it hardly matters. They all work due to something called megadeath. That term was coined in the 60s by the political scientist Herman Kahn, who used it to refer to mass deaths from nuclear war. One megadeath would equal 1 million dead. It's a term designed, surely, to distance us from the horror. Saying that America might suffer 50 megadeths is less stark and terrifying than saying 50 million dead people. In assessing this new term megadeth, a syndicated article which appeared across American newspapers in 1975 wrote the if one succumbs in a nuclear strike causing 80 megadeths, one's loss to humanity can be measured as 1/80 millionth of a megadeth, which makes it seem a thoroughly negligible event. In a sense, this is the worst of all the indignities heaped upon us by politicians. Perversion of science. A person's death ought to be an event of some note, not a fractional triviality so negligible that it would bore a baseball statistician. So, yes, you could argue the term megadeth depersonalizes and distances the horror. But the opposite side of the coin is you could look at what Stalin said, that one death is a tragedy, a million is a statistic. So maybe 1 million deaths is simply unthinkable, whatever you choose to term it. And that reminds me of what Mick Jackson said about nuclear war needing a visual for vocabulary. Sometimes words just don't cut it. As Jim and Hilda sit down to eat their egg and beans, Hilda refuses the option of an extra helping, saying that she's gone off food, another symptom, of course, of her radiation sickness. She looks Terrible. And she presses her hand against her neck as though she's wracked with aches and pains. And I wonder again why Jim can't see this. But then, of course, perhaps he can. And his strategy is to brazen it out, be cheery and chipper and not dwell on the negative. Because after all, not long now till help arrives. Jymn then mentions another term. Overkill. This was also coined by Herman Kahn. We really will need to include one of his books in our new nuclear book club. Overkill refers to. Well, I suppose you would call it unnecessary deaths. It refers to a nuclear arsenal's ability to kill its enemy's population twice, three times, ten times over. Overkill allows you to destroy them, then, if you wish, destroy their bones, then destroy the dust, then destroy the dust's dust. Obviously, no country needs the capacity to overkill. It's simply there to terrify and intimidate. It's an inevitable consequence of the arms race where one superpower feels the need to always claw their way ahead of the other. As Jim yaps on, he. He fails to notice that Hilda hasn't finished her meal. She scrapes her food away and Jim just keeps gabbing whilst Hilda plods around the kitchen exhausted, muttering that it's such a shame she can't wash up. They're both having two completely different conversations. Jim talking about megadeath and overkill, and Hilda ruining the fact that she can't tidy up and make things clean. They are both having two completely different conversations. Jim just isn't listening to her. Finally, she sobs in frustration and he hugs her. But again, he's not listening. But he'll soon be forced to slow down, shut up and pay attention. Because in the next scene we see that he too is starting to wilt under radiation sickness. His face is pinched and drawn. He's scratching at sores beneath his shirt. He too is exhausted. He sits slumped on the sofa with his mouth hanging open, and he asks Hilda the eternal request of every British person, when you're in distress, or you're weary, or you're upset, please the Hilda put the kettle on. But there will be no comforting cup of tea because there's no water left and the last of the milk has gone off. Hilda has to remind him of these very obvious basic facts. No tea. Okay, coffee then, he suggests. There's still no water, dear, she says, and it's at this moment that Jim finally starts to crack. He gets off the sofa and he staggers towards Hilda and he cries out and he shakes her Black coffee, then. There's still no water, dear. Well, what are we going to drink, eh? Eh? What are we gonna drink for country? Don't shout, dearest. I'm sorry, love. I'm just terribly thirsty. They are both thirsty. So thirsty. And with quiet delight, they remember there is one fruit sweet left, one fruit pastel. That will help with the thirst, won't it? We see the fruit pastel blackcurrant sitting in its tin and its grains of sugar twinkle in the light. It sits there in its tin like a. Like a diamond ring, like a precious thing being presented to them. A single blackcurrant fruit pastel, I suppose, with it sitting there in its tin, gleaming. We're supposed to remember times past when Jim may have presented Hilda with a ring and a box when he proposed to her. And now, with the life having come full circle, look how they've ended up. He is now presenting her with a sparkling precious fruit pastel. And it's no less a symbol of love than the engagement ring he might have given her back in the 40s. And in another gesture of love, they agree to split the fruit pastel between them. Neither will deny the other a last taste of blackcurrant fruit pastel. So they get a knife and they cut it down the middle, again symbolic of their marriage, perhaps symbolizing cutting of the wedding cake. Here they are now, slicing the fruit pastel in half from engagement rings, marriage and wedding cakes to death in this ruined cottage, breathing in contaminated air, but still together till the end and still loving one another. It is just so bloody sad. So that's our four minutes. We're obviously approaching the end of the film and as you can guess, if you haven't seen it or read it before, things are only going to get much, much worse. Before I go, let me thank my newest patron, Mark Bixler, and thank the others, who, over the past couple of weeks have upgraded their Patreon membership so that they can get access to our new nuclear book club, the Doomsday Library. So if you want to join us, please take a look@patreon.com Atomichobo and thank you for listening.
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- [30:29]
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Hi, I'm Rachel Fisher. And I'm Desi Jetekin and we're the host of Hollywood Crime Scene, a true crime podcast that focuses on celebrity crime, infamous crime movies and cases from Los Angeles. From movie, TV and music stars to athletes as well as the wealthy and politically elite, we cover the seedier side of the lifestyles of the rich and famous. New episodes drop every Tuesday and you can check us out wherever you listen to podcasts.
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ACAST helps creators launch, grow and monetize their podcasts everywhere. Acast.com.