Bakings is The Bakehouse’s new online literary magazine – poems submitted by invitation alongside recordings of featured poets from previous Bakehouse events. Trawl through the site to find fine poetry from Scotland and beyond alongside film poems and illustrations.
I dispatched my parents to The Tunnel Road Picturedrome to see Bonnie and Clyde. What they found was Gold Diggers of 1933 – a film within a film where Ginger Rogers sang, “We’re in the money.” Clyde sat in the back row: furious they’d killed a man. Bonnie sighed. “If you boys want to talk why don’t you all go outside?” Despite all the chatter in their flea-pit my parents (who were never in any money) stuck with the stalls: watching kids rob banks and healthily shoot at rednecks. Arthur, I thought they’d hate your film but they loved it. That balletic massacre of an ending: how Bonnie and impotent Clyde writhed in orgasmic displeasure as bullets ripped through clothes and flesh. “It was horrible.” said mother, unfazed. On that night screen violence, cocoa and toast brought me closer to Mum and Dad. I’d seen the film yonks before. My audience even younger, than the Barrow gang, with not a bloody-minded oldie in sight.