The League of the
Red Flower
We came, we saw, we mocked endlessly.
 
 
It was only a movie, they said.  No big deal, right?  So the BBC and Arts & Entertainment network took a few liberties with the original plot in their new TV movie series The Scarlet Pimpernel . . . so what?  Everybody does it, why not they?  Surely it wasn't anything to get all worked up over.
And yet we begged to differ.
And when no one would listen to our begging, we insisted to differ.
It wasn't just a few liberties to us . . . it was an abomination against the entire ideal of Pimpernel.  It was a disgrace to its title and an indignancy against the Baroness herself.  And something had to be done about it.
But what was there to be done?  The awful thing had already been produced, it was far too late to stop it . . . and we even heard of new movies in the works, which would continue the disgrace.  What could we do, we who were only a handful in  the midst of the multitudes?
We could complain our heads off, that's what we could do.
And we did.  It began with a few emails, rantings over the horrible inconsistencies and just all around indecency of the entire film, and grew to become a mailing list.
Once it was pointed out that the movie was so bad it didn't even deserve the honor conferred upon it by its title, we even renamed it:  The Red Flower, also known as The Slightly Ruddy-Hued Weed.
And yet there were those who still could not see, those who were blinded by A&E's good name and their own sad ignorance.  There were those who became bewitched by it and devoted themselves heart and soul to its continuation.
Obviously, more drastic measures were required.
And so was formed the League of the Red Flower, crusading to expose Pimpernel
    impostors everywhere, and to fight for their eternal obliteration.
Its members remain secret to the world, known only by these obscure titles:
 
 
Citoyenne Hornball, in memory of the portrayal of the film's Chauvelin.
Lil Dewhurst, commenting on the inordinate height deficiency of Lord Tony.
Granite Face Ffoulkesy, reminding one of Sir Andrew's amazing lack of emotion.
Kewpie-Doll-St. Just, the origin of which is obvious.
 
 
And as for the group's leader?  The mysterious Red Flower?  Who is he?  Or she?  Or is there such a being at all in the world at all?
We shall never know.  Or shall we . . .