this morning

Early morning flumped in front of the television.
I am watching a Catholic satelite channel called EWTN.
Occasionally I flick up and down to the Protestant channels which have buckets more oomph for your dollar.
The worst Protestant broadcaster is about a hundred times more televisual than the best Catholic one.
I return rather chastened to the channel God watches.
EWTN is showing a most curious film from the 1960s.
It's part of some lost series called Father Peyton's Theatre.
No other television station on the planet earth would dream of broadcasting it now.
I've tuned in late and am rather stunned by the symbolism of this week's episode.
A blonde boy and a blonde girl are wandering through sand dunes searching for meaning.
No really.
They are luminously beautiful children.
The sea is rolling white topped in a glorious sun.
Everything is very Californian.
And maybe a little bit third reich.
And lo!
The kids have come upon two rocking horses on the beach.
They are sitting on them now.
Their faces suffused with joy.
Their hair streaming.
The sea a magnificent mythic backdrop.
Presently the kids get off the horses and stroll back among the sand dunes.
They find Raymond Burr sitting looking out to sea.
The Raymond Burr.
Raymond Burr must have made a killing doing Catholic television films in the 1960s.
A few days ago I was watching this same channel and he showed up as Saint Peter in a most quaint and surrealistic telling of the gospel story.
He must have been doing this sort of stuff before he became famous as the wheelchair bound detective in the old cop show Ironside.
But I digress.
The Californian kids searching for meaning have found Raymond Burr.
He takes their hands.
The three stroll off along the beach.
No words at all.
We are left contemplating the wild mystic ocean.
The ocean of truth?
The credits roll.
Most extraordinary.
I watched this thing with my jaw dropped. I couldn't make up my mind what the hell I'd just seen.
Still the credits rolled.
Names blurring into names.
Aside from the venerable Burr, I didn't recognise any of them. But I could imagine that for each of them working on this film had been a thrill, possibly the thrill of a lifetime.
A final credit appeared.
Typical of the Catholics.
They give a credit to everybody.
The final credit began: Assistant to the Cameraman...
Now this guy hadn't been Assistant Cameraman.
This guy was Assistant to the Cameraman.
An important distinction.
He didn't get to work the apparatus when the main man was chatting to Father Peyton.
What he did get to do was fetch the cameraman's sandwiches.
The Assistant to the Cameraman was George Lucas.