I made my discovery of Dennis Potter by accident when thirteen (the "cusp" of fourteen. Now I'm all vaginal coming of age story). Thirteen was my weird age of Sweet Valley Twins (not even the "mature" high school version), gorging on the classics, and obsession with Homicide:Life on the Street (when googling myself I'll still find my old teen hyper excited posts about 'Homicide'. It was true love, and makes me shudder what I'd have written about Potter back then, if I'd made a website). I'm not going to say it changed my life (as late as last year I was addicted to Paris Hilton's BFF reality show. Soaps take three episodes to get into. Scientific fact so I'm not responsible. [Ask me about my boy band/chicken pox theory.] That was definitely a soap).
What it did was open my eyes.
You know how an important experience that rocks your world settles on your skin more like a ghost that comes and goes as it will? Not the angel on your shoulder you ignore, nor a diet that you'll drop two days later (diet starts Monday!) but an honest to god experience that makes you gasp and live in the fever that is someone else's life (hell). I didn't turn over any new leaves in my tastes. It could be like an especially painful event that doesn't consciously touch down on the rest of it (I'm great at compartmentalizing). It's hard for anything to be life-affirming when so much of what is in between is meaningless dreck (yeah, I'm including the Paris Hilton in this part of my life). I'm not ever going to forget Dennis Potter. Every once in a while I'll come back to him.
My Potter accident was either Track 29, starring Gary Oldman, or Brimestone and Treacle, with Sting. Gary Oldman was my favorite actor before Andre Braugher (Frank on 'Homicide') was my favorite actor. He got replaced by John Turturro and no mythological creature has yet to sprout back up in his place. Sidetracked again. (I had internet fansites to express my devotion. I wasn't CASUALLY devoted, if that's what you're thinking. "Like you just dropped Paris? Hm?") Anyway, both films are funny and sick as can be and I LOVED them. (Both also have rapist characters named Martin. The rapes are catalysts for awakenings of their victims. I've always wondered about any Martins Potter might've known...)
I'll trace back over how I discovered something important to me, then reassure myself of other avenues I might've taken. The good that almost didn't happen. "I could've found Potter that way if that hadn't happened..." Like someone with a near death experience! Yeah!) The library had copies of The Singing Detective and Pennies from Heaven. One of those great days of chance. I won the lottery in my public library video section.
Dennis Potter had skin problems, not exactly the same as the psoriatic arthritis in The Singing Detective (or maybe it is. My memory isn't the best). At the end of his days, Potter would tape the pen in his hand to write with because they had become no more than claws (needless to say, the man was dedicated to his work. He had nothing else. His wife had already tragically died of cancer). I've my own chronic respiratory problems to deal with (which does make my skin break out and I freak out. I always think of 'Singing' and freak out more and then sing rasp classic songs), and it isn't hard to be taken back into the memories of sickness and hospitals. Reading or watching The Singing Detective can be difficult because those feelings are intense. I'll keep looking at my hands to make sure that I'm still me and not Marlowe. Really, no kidding, it is seeing the world through someone else's eyes (hands), and feeling the illness that comes behind it... It did open my eyes. To the importance of memories, fictions, the day to day... Almost like there really could be an actual "big picture". "How the hell did this happen?" and futilely wishing...
Putting things into perspective doesn't last. Living through something does. Dennis Potter rules my world because he does the latter. "Someone else has it worse" doesn't work. You can't remember pain exactly when the boo boo heals, so even your own pain doesn't always put things into perspective. "At least I have my health." There are such things as heartbreak, and loss, and what you can't get back. Those are the feelings of 'Singing'. That's how you ever know how someone else feels.
I'd recommend watching the tv productions because they are damned great and you get to listen to the music. The music is important in the best singing along to the music that happens to say everything you couldn't say way. (I've tried to get as many as I can to read 'cause I like to read screenplays and plays to see how they did it.)
A few years ago I treated myself to The Collected Dennis Potter dvd set from amazon.co.uk. It cost a pretty pound converted to the dollar (okay, I'd have more money if I didn't need to break the piggy bank for emergencies such as this so often. But I did really need it!). It has more than paid for itself. The set includes: The Singing Detective, Pennies From Heaven, Casanova, Brimstone & Treacle, Vote Vote Vote For Nigel Barton/Stand Up Nigel Barton, Blue Remembered Hills and Mayor Of Casterbridge. These are the tv versions, not the '80s film Brimestone and Treacle (starring Sting as Martin. He was devil as Draco Malfoy pouty sex creep. Fun and very '80s), Pennies from Heaven with Steve Martin (I don't believe I need to say which version I prefer. Bob Hoskins duh), or the ugh remake of The Singing Detective starring Robert Downey Jr (like getting a postcard of emotions ("Wish you were there!") instead of really feeling them like in the Michael Gambon '80s version. The memories and fiction aren't seamless either, I didn't ever jump on that train). Lipstick On Your Collar is on dvd. I bought the pricey vhs tape collection in high school with my babysitting money. I'd upgrade but this one isn't my favorite (don't NEED it). I've not read or seen Karaoke and Cold Lazarus. On paper it sounds similar in some respects to The Singing Detective (looks like I might um need this at some point). I'm definitely not done with Dennis Potter.