Minoan Tours & Other Stories

"Where have you been?" everyone will have been wondering in my absence. Of course, I gave fair warning letting folks know there'd be no blogging while I was busy on another ghost writing assignment. And it's only now I realise how long ago that was: heck, I never meant to be quiet for quite that long. Count your blessings, I suppose, is the message there - assuming you have a machine of sufficient computational power. But now I'm back, ready for more meaningless rambling. And I guess the most appropriate way to break back into the blogging habit is with an update as to what I've been up to in the intermission.
It wasn't all down to the blood, sweat, tears and toil of the ghost writing. (For some reason, that always makes me think of Scooby Doo, but the truth of it is nowhere near as glamorous as riding around in the Mystery Machine with a bunch of kids and an old dog.) No, right after I'd polished off the first draft, my wife and I were off on a holiday to Crete.Chose just the right time too, I think: well past the height of the season so not nearly as clogged with tourists as it could have been and (apparently) just before the weather turned. Even then, our excursions to Knossos and the island of Santorini ran into several dozen coach loads and boat loads of tourists respectively. Knossos, as ruins go, was fabulous, nestling in beautiful tree-lined hills, only rendered slightly less fabulous by the efforts of archaeologist, Sir Arthur Evans, who as well as failing to make proper notes as the dig progressed, managed to erect these heavy concrete reconstructions on top of the original delicate alabaster. Way to go, Sir Arthur: next time I see Indiana Jones tearing through an archaeological wonder like a bull in an ancient world china shop, I'll be thinking of you. Santorini (above) was a pretty sort of place, all picturesque houses atop mind-bogglingly high cliffs, but its narrow streets were a little too crowded, especially on a scorching hot day, and sadly spoiled by all the tacky souvenir shops designed to cater for said crowds. Still, I was very glad to have visited, and quietly nesting in amongst all the other shops was the bakery to end all bakeries. I can still see their window display now: a collection of decorative cakes and confections arranged for maximum temptation and torment. Torment, I say, because it's exactly the wrong thing to encounter in a place where you know you're only going to be once. And it's not like they can do mail order. Trust me, these cakes would not travel well. Some time was spent agonising over the choice of what to have, but I was glad in the end of the sugar, especially as, having sensibly made the ascent in the cable car, we'd chosen to walk down the 600-plus steps to the harbour. It was all downhill, how hard could it be? In the suffocating heat, the way paved with the droppings of the 300 donkeys that were one of the alternative modes of transportation on offer, surprisingly exhausting is the answer.
Much of the rest of the holiday was characterised by swimming, great food, good wine and a smattering of Greek dancing. A great week's R&R, in short. The funniest thing we saw (apart from some of the Greek TV I sampled in a spot of channel hopping late one ouzo-fuelled night) - especially for any of you who have seen Roman Holiday - had to be the coin-operated Mouth of Truth (La Bocca della Verità). What it was doing in Crete, I haven't the foggiest. What it was doing in existence, I couldn't even hazard a guess. The saddest thing we saw, though, had to be all the stray/feral cats that populate the streets and dumpsters and scrubland and, well, everywhere really. Actually we saw family pets that were cruelly neglected, so the local attitudes to the homeless cats and dogs certainly came as no surprise, but even if we didn't have two (precious) cats of our own, I'm fairly sure I'd have been angry/upset/horrifed/offended all the same. So, the Cretans were a friendly, hospitable lot but they don't win any points on animal welfare. Never mind your marbles, Greek authorities, something needs to be done for the animals! Of course, being us, we befriended a few of the natives, including a little fellow we called Swipes (pictured below). The hotel manageress did ask us if we'd care to take some of the cats with us, but luggage space was, sadly, limited.Oh and as a parting side note, Heraklion wins the prize for worst airport I've ever had to pass through. A delayed flight and lots of hanging around in the small hours didn't help, it must be said, but it was dreadfully smoky and crowded, and, in marked contrast to Gatwick which, on our outward journey, was patrolled by assault-rifle-toting police officers (our very own far from sublime extreme), security was rubbish (to the ridiculous). So, anyone wishing to infiltrate the UK could do worse than make Crete their starting point. If you don't mind the long waits in a nicotine-fogged atmosphere, you'll be laughing.
Still, despite the ardours of the actual travel (proving once again that, no, it's definitely the destination, not the journey), we returned refreshed and relaxed. Of course it took all of two days (less, I think) for stress levels to jump back up to normal levels, with work stuff and an impending visit from the in-laws. Er, that will read completely the wrong way. My in-laws are in fact lovely. Where the stress arose was trying to juggle spending some quality time with them during their stay, showing them the Cornish sights and what not, with pressing deadlines. Within three days, yours truly needed another holiday. So it goes :)
Since then, the ghost-writing project has been completed, and it's been a case of getting stuck back into some (quite honestly) more fun projects entirely of my own devising. Sparsely peppered with patches of spare time - yes, there's been some, and although the blog did occasionally beckon, there always seemed to be more tempting alternatives.
For one, I foolishly treated myself to an XBox 360 back in September, and although it's a very very poor remedy for my ongoing insomnia, it did at least serve to occupy some of that time that, in an ideal world, I should have spent sleeping. For two, my wife and I finally finished our Babylon 5 marathon (an 'achievement' which will warrant its own blog, no doubt) and resumed our watching of Alias.
We've paid for the latter, as it happens. By which I mean over and above the rather good price for which we picked up the first four seasons on e-bay. I'm all for a series with a lot of WTF? moments, but really it comes down to the tone in which you're prompted to say, WTF? It all started well enough, then some doubts started to creep in early during the second season (composites that would have looked more at home alongside some of B5's worst, plot twists that had gone from al dente to really tough to swallow etc) until gradually it looked like it might be preparing to redeem itself... then, well, WTF?!!! For the first couple of episodes into the third season, I was waiting for everything to be revealed as a virtual reality or perhaps some alternate reality triggered by the assembly of this ancient device the bad guys had worked so hard to piece together over the past two years. Because, as crap as that would have been, it would have been so much better than what we're being presented now. I'm not generally a quitter, but I think we're safe to give up on that one now. As I said when seeking advice from a friend, it's turned into a big pile of Bad Robot guano.
Never mind, there was BSG: Razor to make up for it. Straddling prequel and nostalgia territory, it wasn't amazing, but it actually managed its straddling pretty well, presented a reasonable 'branch' storyline and fed us a little scrap of Starbuck-related foreshadowing. What was more important, was I realised how much I'd missed Battlestar Galactica in general. And since rumour has it the fourth and final season won't be hitting US screens until April of next year, this was an important and very welcome dose of the show to keep us going in the meantime. Also it gave us more of the brilliant Michelle Forbes as Helena Cain, commander of the Pegasus, and threw in a nice human spur for her 'slightly right of Commander Adama' hard-line approach. Unnecessary, perhaps, in the scheme of things, but welcome.
Somewhere in the midst of all that, I've been catching up on Deadwood (Season 2 going on 3, superb) and a few movies, some long-overdue proofreading for a couple of writer friends. And pausing to consider Admiral Cain's hard-line approach myself when a couple of drunken yobs smashed in our car windscreen for no good reason. I say no good reason, but maybe they had one. According to the local paper, they found some worth in smashing ten car windscreens throughout the town on the same night, so we needn't have felt singled out in any way. As crimes go, it wasn't the most traumatic thing that could have happened, for sure, but it does leave you with an unhealthy amount of anger with nowhere to go.
Still, that, I guess is what the XBox is for. The ogres, trolls and goblins on Oblivion are generally better behaved than most of the drunken youths that roam the streets of most towns on a Saturday night and the Covenant and Flood of Halo 3 were more civil, but they make for a fairly satisfying and entirely safe means of venting any destructive urges. Only a shame the 'youths' don't seem to have discovered that alternative...
Never mind, what's done is done, as they say. Which is as good a point as any to say, I'm done too - and conclude this particular ramble. Apart from the Babylon 5 thoughts, that's pretty much everything, up to date. All that's left to say, for now, is that, if anyone happens to be going to Santorini any time in the next few months, could you please, please - pretty please - bring me back a nice cake.

Good News Is No News

Those of you with memories that stretch back to December of last year may recall me dropping hints about a ghost writing project, which basically involved me being commissioned to write the first volume in a series of children's books, about which I could reveal very little at the time. Well, a full announcement lingers on the horizon, but for the present, there have been further developments - and I can at least reveal that I've now been commissioned to write the second volume as well! Since I'll be doing my best to complete a couple of other projects alongside, it should make for a 'challenging' deadline, but I get the feeling it's also going to be fun. It will probably mean a couple of lean news months here on my blog, but rest assured that, once I'm given the green light to say more, I'll be plastering it all over here. In neon.

40

Yes, 40. The birthday when, if you get the bumps you'd better go have them checked out immediately. But despite a degree of dread leading up to the occasion, it actually feels pretty good. Good things are happening, there are presents, I'm awarding myself a few days off before getting really really busy, and it's bright and sunny (with intermittent showers). What more could anyone ask for.

Babylon 2.5

As a Christmas present, I bought my wife a complete set of Babylon 5 DVDs, the whole five season arc. I mention this not to boast about my generosity, but only because one of the many advantages of married bliss is that I get to watch these things too - and now that we've reached the halfway point, I thought I should mark the occasion.

Rather like me, it's surprising how old it is now, and there's no denying it has dated, but I'm still enjoying it this time around. It's the CGI, a key part of what helped it stand out in its day, that prohibits it from aging entirely gracefully. Now, it's not glaringly awful or anything, it's just that there's an arcade - or early console - game feel to much of it and now it seems more like an interesting stylistic choice than a limitation of technology. Luckily, the visuals are backed up by some gorgeous design work, with a tremendous amount of inventiveness and creativity on display, and the angel-fish Minbari warships are as beautiful as ever, no matter how much better they might be rendered today. To say nothing of the success of the Shadow vessels that, despite only a relatively few appearances thus far, are already a haunting presence and more than just enemy ships, they make for one of TV sci-fi's more memorable monsters. The thought that has gone into the cultures that built the various ships is all there on the screen.

Storywise, one surprising aspect is how often some crucial arc element has been introduced much earlier than I remembered. Of course, I'm much more conscious of and on the lookout for it all, but it's always nice to encounter some minor detail I'd forgotten. On the other hand, it does reinforce the sense that the show is due to largely run out of story by Season 4. I am hoping though that Season 5 will prove me wrong when we get there - I missed chunks of the final season the last time around, and I'm definitely looking forward to discovering what extras it has in store for me there.

Like Doctor Who, it's ham-strung somewhat by irregulars - and the occasional regular - more wooden than the sets, but the majority of the regular cast range from dependable to outstanding. Commander Sinclair is not as bad as I recalled, but Sheridan is a significantly greater presence on screen and his predecessor is all too easily forgotten - again. Claudia Christian really improves from, I think, TKO (truly awful episode unfortunately not sufficiently redeemed by a very emotional thread for Ivanova) onwards, although much more so when she's serious - she doesn't do goofy well, and I'm fairly sure even the alien for whom she faked an orgasm in Acts Of Sacrifice remained privately unconvinced. Surely the most painful scene in Babylon 5 until Michael York turns up? But Andreas Katsulas, Peter Jurasik and Mira Furlan (and even Bill Mumy and Stephen Furst) bring their respective aliens alive with very human performances. Garibaldi is just a cut-price Bruce Willis, but he has his moments.

At the lowest end of the character spectrum you do get non-personalities like the pilot, Keffer - B5's Alan Carter, I guess - whose appearances are thankfully few and whose entire point of existence is his death at the 'hands' of a Shadow ship. And sadly I find it hard to be at all interested in anything to do with Dr Stephen Franklin. I think they needed a medical officer with a bit of spark and, I don't know, va-va-voom - more of an ER doc, and maybe they would have done if the series hadn't predated ER.

At the time, I also recollect thinking it was a fair depiction of an sf military, but in these days of Battlestar Galactica, that side does lack edge - although to be fair, the show's obvious Lord Of The Rings roots as well as the visuals confirm that what we're being served is a more colourful fantasy treatment. Which is not to say it is all light and fluffy. Far from it. There's the (apparently obligatory) sprinkling of standard Star Trek fare (A Day In The Strife), but even those are usually mitigated to some degree by some strong character thread and a stab at giving the story a fresh twist, and when it gets to the big stuff it delivers in spades. And if individual episodes fail, it's as often down to overambition (GROPOS) as just being plain poor (Comes The Inquisitor). And then you have offerings like Passing Through Gethsemane which, as a sci-fi examination of capital punishment, has two-and-a-half-million tons more to say than New Who's Boom Town. At least.

For me though, the highlight so far has to have been the three-episode sequence, at this the halfway point in the third season, where the station breaks away from Earth. It's as dramatic and loaded with punch the air moments as I remember, and when Delenn comes riding to the rescue, ready to kick ass and send those Earth cruisers packing, that - I'm pretty certain - is when Sheridan finally realises he has the hots for her.

Overall it's the ambition that impresses most. That and the mythology, because no matter how much of it is actually borrowed, it has been moulded here into something new and there's a great sense of a full universe having been created here, with plenty of scope for other adventures and events we haven't seen. A real playground for the imagination - and I like those. It's a singular achievement and for the most part retains that sense of an epic novel - one I've definitely enjoyed 're-reading' so far. But I'll be sure and tell you what I think when I get to the end for a second time.

Sonn Tag

Well, apparently it was back on Tuesday that I was tagged by Stuart - but in my defence, I only found out on Wednesday, and my excuse for the intervening four days is that I've been very busy. Still, the main thing is, I'm making the effort now, when I could be shooting aliens or blogging on topics such as Babylon 5 or my rapidly approaching birthday. Anyway, being as old and out of touch with the younger generations as I am, I'd not heard of tagging before, but this is how it works:

1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write in their own blog about their eight things and include these rules in the post.
4. At the end of your post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

So, here are the best facts I have to offer on a Sunday night:

1. I have a dream of being a stand-up comic, but am far too shy and retiring to ever a) be any good or b) attempt such a thing.

2. Today I went to the local reservoir at Drift (nothing to do with my Doctor Who book of the same name) to feed the swans. There are about eighty of them, along with a couple of dozen geese and a handful of ducks. No matter how often I've seen them, I always find them an amazing sight.

3. I think I'm a mintaholic. I'm very partial to chocolate too, so combinations of the two are a surefire hit: After Eights, Mint Matchmakers, Mint Aeros etc. Mint Wispa was probably the best chocolate bar ever made and I'd like to know a) why they're no longer available and b) why they never made a dark chocolate version.

4. I'm very much a regular at the local harbourside cafe. I like to take some work along there and do some writing of a morning, even though we have just as spectacular a view from our window at home.

5. I'm a vegetarian, but after giving in to a craving for a bacon sandwich last Christmas, I've decided to make that an annual tradition as a concession to the carnivore in me. I'm not kidding, it was the best bacon sandwich in the world ever.

6. I've only ever given up on four books. Generally, I feel this compulsion to finish a book once I've started and will struggle on through many a duff read, no matter how much my senses scream at me to save time and move on to something better. I'm trying to break this habit though. Bad books be warned!

7. I have a compulsion to watch anything starring Jennifer Aniston or Jennifer Love Hewitt. This is not a habit I am making any efforts to break.

8. I'm going to be 40 on Thursday.

Now, I'm in a pickle as to the tagging eight other people's blogs, since Stuart went and tagged most of the folks I know who have blogs, so my best bet is to a) pinch some from his list and b) see if I can add a couple. I'll also follow Stuart's example and not leave a comment on their blogs, because most of the people I know are probably at least as busy as me.

Eddie
Ian
Jonn
Mark C
Mark M
Phil
Richard
Simon BJ

Master Of Disaster

Whotopia. That's what I talked about last time I was on the subject of Doctor Who. After a clutch of brilliant episodes, the future looked bright for the remainder of the series. But, like Utopia, it turned out to be an empty promise, designed to lure us with false hope into the Master's trap. What awaited us at the end of the series was depressingly similar to what awaited humanity at the end of time. In a word, disaster.
The episode Utopia itself was rather, um, magisterial. A somewhat mundane vision of the future, on a world borrowed from the Blake's Seven archives, it was nevertheless elevated to far greater heights by the august presence of Derek Jacobi and his ultimate emergence as the Master. The reveal is deftly handled, with some rare sleight of hand from the pen of Russell T, culminating with the gentle Professor Yana producing a fob watch very like the Doctor's from Human Nature. Everything clicks at that point and Jacobi's transformation into the Master is a bona fide Doctor Who 'moment'. There are other little sprinklings of magic along the way - I especially liked Yana's alien companion, with her constant 'Chan!' and 'Tho!' lending her a touch of almost Farscape-ish alien charm. There were a few 'Huh?' moments: why doesn't the Doctor think anything of the fact that Yana is dressed, well, like a Time Lord? how does Jack's immortality work exactly - he gets shot, falls down dead then recovers, but when it comes to disintegrating radiation, he just bears it like a real trooper and soldiers on regardless? (And hey, it might have been fun to see him repeatedly piecing his atoms back together.) There were absurdities: the 'big' You Are Not Alone = YANA revelation. But none of these marks against managed to define the episode and the impression left at the end is of a bit of a rollercoaster ride, with Jacobi's Master regenerated into a more manic, Energiser-Bunny John Simm and the theft of the Doctor's TARDIS. And even though we know how the Doctor and Co are going to get out of there, the right dramatic buttons have been hit and it's the television equivalent of a Snickers bar. This product may contain nuts, but ultimately it satisfies.
Unfortunately, if we view the episode as the first part of a trilogy, then the law of diminishing returns definitely applies. The rollercoaster is all downhill from there.
The sad truth is that part of the problem lies with John Simm. As I understand it, he is simply following the script, and that sounds credible: I can think of few other showrunners who would cast a class actor like Simm in a killer role like the Master and insist on him playing it up and acting like a pratt, with all the sinister depth of a saucer of milk. And I appreciate that anyone suffering from a lactose intolerance won't quite get the extent of what I'm saying there. Bring back Jacobi, I found myself thinking at more than one point through The Sound Of Drums - and he only got to be the Master for all of five minutes. Credit to John Simm, he had his moments - even if, ironically, I find the specific highlights have been effectively erased from memory by the absurd excesses of Last Of The Time Lords - but they were few and far between and the overall impression is of a wasted opportunity. The phone conversation between the two Time Lords, most notably, was lacking. What we should have had was something of real moment, like the DeNiro/Pacino coffee house scene in Heat, but whatever dialogue skills RTD undoubtedly possesses they were oddly wanting here.
And this, unsurprisingly, plays a key factor in how things regress from there. Naturally, much of this three-parter hangs on the Master. On the up side, the titular sound of drums serves as an effective tension-builder throughout, Alexandra Moen gives us a sympathetic Lucy Saxon, and there is a sense at least that the snapshot of Gallifreyan history is there to serve a vital, intriguing purpose. But in the absence of a central performance that inspires more than disappoints - and with my inability to take giggly spheres seriously, no matter how much they butcher the guest stars - The Sound Of Drums comes across as fairly standard New Who fare - and more particularly, fairly standard penultimate episode of the season New Who fare. Aside from the customary slapdash plotting, there are emerging patterns that set off various alarm bells and warn us to expect the expected. E.g. it all feels a bit like Army Of Ghosts, so expect something like Doomsday. The Paradox Machine, combined with a mass invasion, the 'decimation' of Earth's population and a Doctor subjected to accelerated decrepitude screams of an impending reset switch. Scale and spectacle, cheap and lazy get-out at the end.
But no, I didn't want to believe that. This year, New Who was going to surprise me and do something different.
Hopes were dashed on that score as soon as the series finale kicked off with the caption declaring One Year Later. With that dramatic damp squib looming, I admit I was somewhat disengaged from the action early on, and the sight of the Master dancing in what appeared to be a daily ritual for him only served to further remove me from proceedings. Whereupon all we're left with is purposeless spectacle that struggles to produce anything emotional beyond a dismayed shake of the head or a burst of laughter. And no, not the laugh out loud comedic exchanges between Daleks and Cybermen that helped brighten Doomsday. No, I'm talking laughter at the wrong moments. The desperation in the Master's plan is reflected in the desperation of both the Doctor's failed escape attempt and the Doctor's ultimate plan, and it's further reflected in the show's battle for those precious ratings.
It's a mess. The escape attempt prompted by the Doctor risks the lives of his friends (those that aren't blessed with a Captain Scarlet-level of immortality) to no good purpose - he has no guarantee that the Master won't have one of them killed. Captain Jack Scarlet's immortality is handled as inconsistently as ever. Martha's plan for getting herself taken on board Skybase - beg your pardon, HMS Valiant - is needlessly elaborate. The Toclafane are rubbish and for some reason after they have gone to the trouble of enslaving the population of Earth to build them a mighty fleet of rockets (rockets, on the ground, no less - not the most efficient way of launching an interstellar fleet, I might add) they are seen shooting off into space entirely independent of said rockets. And in the only real surprise this had to throw my way, the Doctor is super-aged into (and apologies, I'm borrowing from someone else here) the bastard offspring of Gollum (Lord Of The Rings) and Dobby (Harry Potter) and kept in a cage like Tweety Pie. But don't worry, he's then transformed into a floaty god by the power of global thought to bring us a message of forgiveness.
Jesus. Well, that's what I thought at that point.
But wait, there's more.
In place of a lever to drag the invaders back from whence they came, Captain Jack triggers this year's reset by pumping lots of lead into the Paradox Machine - but be kind to him, he didn't have a lot else to do this episode. In place of a climactic duel between the Doctor and the Master, we are treated to an unconvincing blubfest. In the face of the Doctor's forgiveness, the Master folds like a wet blanket and, shot by Lucy, dies in the Doctor's arms rather than face an eternity of imprisonment in the Doctor's TARDIS. (And who can blame him - nobody wants a repeat of that aspect of Scream Of The Shalka.) And my mind goes back to the staggeringly superior Human Nature/Family Of Blood, in which the Doctor hands out those cruel and unusual punishments to each and every member of the Family. And in place of any repercussions for the Doctor's God-like arrogance, we're treated to more of the same here - with no-one to echo my thoughts and raise an objection.
Who the hell is this guy to forgive the Master his crimes? No matter that they've by and large been wiped out by a temporal rewind, he's still committed the act of mass mass murder and the people present have borne witness to much during their year in his service. Not to mention that the President of the United States has been disintegrated, the Cabinet eliminated (both of which are brushed aside far too casually for my liking) and the Jones family pressed into servitude. Personally, if I was Francine, I might have aimed my gun at the Doctor.
By this time, I'm in a hurry for the thing to wrap up, but the episode seems determined to drag its heels on its way out. Martha's departure is fair enough and played well for what it's worth, but it lacks the emotional weight of Rose's fate in Doomsday, and before we get there we are forced to endure a really lame scene where Jack drops vital arc information into the conversation as casually as he can manage, to the effect that he used to be known as the Face of Boe and the ultimate effect of his immortality will be that he ends up as a large head in a tank.
High comedy or tragedy, you decide.
Shame he couldn't have let something slip about Utopia or the nature of the 'drums', as neither is adequately explained - although, if we've any optimism left at that stage, we could allow that this is being reserved for the future. When all was done, I struggled to recall some positives, anything I could salvage from this wreck. In the end, I had to settle for Lucy Saxon and her quietly understated presence in the background here - the bruises that spoke volumes and helped mark her out as the most sympathetic character in the whole thing for me. That, and the possibly quite clever last-resort escape for the Master: having her shoot him and later recover his ring from the (for me, unfortunately Xena-esque) funeral pyre. But even the latter has its less than entirely satisfactory side, in that - unlike the reset switch - we were offered no hints that I can recall as to the significance of the Master's ring - and I'm not sure how that fits with Lucy's behaviour. Although it has been pointed out that she could have been hypnotically primed to act in the event of his ultimate defeat. I'll go with that. If only to scrape back whatever I can from the experience. And it will help counter the heavy Flash Gordon vibe I got when the woman reaches in to collect the Master's ring from the ashes.
Sadly, after three years, I begin to get the impression that scale and spectacle are all RTD has to offer for his season finales. And the greater the scale and spectacle, the cheaper and lazier the get-out clause at the end. That, and a surprise intrusion into the TARDIS as a teaser for the Christmas special. This year, in place of Catherine Tate, we get a ship ramming through the TARDIS wall. Some would argue that this was a significant improvement and they might have a case. But to be honest, as soon as I saw the ship, the word Titanic surfaced automatically and needed no confirmation from the Doctor turning over the life belt. So even that came with its element of predictability.
Still, clinging to optimism in the face of a general sinking feeling, all is not lost. This year's season finale has at least helped lower my expectations from their Whotopian high and lower expectations may well be key to enjoyment of whatever New Who comes up with next.

Flood Of Eden

Some might say, you attend an open-air concert in Cornwall in the summer, you get what you ask for. We (myself and a couple of good friends) went to see Peter Gabriel last night at the Eden Project. (Fuzzy mobile phone pic, left!) And yes, it rained. The heavens opened, the skies poured down - but it was far from a washout. It was amazing how quickly we forgot how wet we were getting. Of course, I don't remember exactly when it happened, but it was pretty shortly after the 'man of the hour' took to the stage.

There would be occasional reminders: one bright spark calling out a request for Red Rain, Peter Gabriel responding that "that would be appropriate - if the rain was a bit more red"; the announcement that it was "now officially raining on stage"; and whenever you raised your arms to clap to the beat, the water running down your coat sleeves. But there were times when, either by virtue of the heavens taking a breather or through some benevolent conspiracy of the lighting, the rain would vanish altogether.

It helped that I am in awe of Peter Gabriel. Not only is he a musical craftsman on a par with Kate Bush, he's still very much a showman. This guy once dressed as a flower, and still manages to command my greatest respect. No flowers made it on stage last night, but there were hosts of them, golden or otherwise, all around. Not that they could be seen as daylight steadily drowned.

But if there's one time the British obsession with the weather can be set aside, it's when there's good music and entertainment to be had. The support bands were an eclectic mix, the show actually kicking off with a kids' choir, bless, specially assembled from local schools to commemorate the arrival of Eden's brand new sculpture, the Seed (left) by artist Peter Randall-Page. But they all impressed - kids included - with folkish combo, Show Of Hands, just having the edge over Charlie Winston and his more bluesy beat ensemble.

So all in all, a gradual escalation in the direction of the main event. The set was a great mix - a real Quality Street assortment, if you will - from the man's back catalogue, opening with the powerful The Rhythm Of The Heat and taking us on a journey through familiar favourites - from the thumping I Don't Remember to the gorgeous Family Snapshot - by way of a few almost-forgotten oddities - On The Air and DIY - that for me (not having replaced my earlier Gabriel collection on CD yet) were like rediscovering some curios at the back of a cupboard during a major tidy-up. Of course, we took in inevitable highlights like Steam and the sublime (and at least partially apt) Blood Of Eden, as well as (for the second of three encores) Sledgehammer. Naturally. (While, notable by its absence, it could be said, was Here Comes The Flood. Har har.) But my personal highlight, if I had to pick one, would be when the band had returned to the stage for their first encore. Just as the crowd had finished hollering requests for "Biko!" and "Sledge!", everything quietened down and yours truly shouted out, "Solsbury Hill!" Which was, moments later, exactly what they delivered. Talk about getting what you ask for. :)

And occasionally, in the midst of the music, I had to remind myself to glance around, to take in the unique setting. In front of me, yes, the band (which included bass-maestro Tony Levin and young Melanie Gabriel continuing the family tradition), their shadows cast large on the stage canopy. To my left, silvery lights swaying in the trees high on the embankment, to my right, tints of red and green from the light show trapped in the cells of an enormous bubblewrap Biome. Above us, a huge dome of grey. And it really felt like that: having a wide expanse of ceiling over us. Albeit a leaky one.

Fabulous. Doctor Who never did anything this special in an old quarry. All rounded off with a tremendous buzz as we all headed for the car park.

Imagine my amusement when, attempting to use the word 'rocked' in an SMS this morning, the predictive text turned it into 'soaked'.

Whotopia

Okay, I know next week’s episode of Doctor Who hasn’t arrived yet, but I feel like I’m already there. Three – count ‘em – three *good* episodes in a row. Now, I know we’ve been treated to that kind of hit rate before – last year’s early hat trick of Tooth & Claw, School Reunion, The Girl In The Fireplace - but a) based on this season’s form to date, I never imagined we’d get anything like that this year and b) these were not just *good*, they were *superb*.

Paul Cornell’s Human Nature/Family Of Blood and Steven Moffat’s Blink are different Doctor Who beasts, so I’m not going to choose between them. I’ll just applaud and thank the writers for showing how it’s done. In fact, right there is the strange reason why I held off slightly from blogging about the episodes here: I was wary of getting into the negative aspect of all this, i.e. just how starkly these stories have highlighted the shortcomings of other New Who offerings. Non Who people have had cause to comment to me just how much better these stories have been and – it will come as no surprise to anyone who’s kept up with my views here – I’ve only been able to nod and agree.

But there it is. That’s it. That’s the sum of the negative side, which is just an incidental side-effect of Cornell and Moffat having crafted such gems. Because the conversations that arose from those remarks just had me and the other participants bubbling with enthusiasm and praise - and positivity, both for these stories and for things to come.

The Human Nature/Family Of Blood two-parter was mature, intelligent, involving and hit an impressive range of emotional notes, provoking genuine tears (as well as a few laughs) and rounding itself off with some genuine poetry. All right, it was poetic justice, and there’s a harshness and cruelty to the sentences handed out to the Family by the Doctor, but it’s prompted by an anger that both David Tennant (who does an outstanding job as John Smith) and the writer make us feel – and that is human nature in action. (At the same time, it’s also symptomatic of this Lonely God syndrome of the Doctor’s, and we wait to see if there are any repercussions lying in ambush for him, just over time’s horizon.) The scarecrows were quirkily creepy, despite being introduced in broad daylight, and I think all the cast delivered strong performances, with special mention to Jessica Stevenson for Joan.

Any quibbles were purely that and I just include them here as examples: since the watch was so crucial to the Doctor’s restoration, why didn’t he leave it in Martha’s care instead of having it lying around on his sideboard? And I did wonder whether the whole thing might have been a smidgen better if we had been dropped straight in at the deep end. That is, flashbacks show us how Martha and the Doctor got into the situation, in any case, and for those of us not famliar with the book from which this was adapted, it might have made for a great sit-up and shout, ‘Huh?’ hook to draw us right in. But that’s not a complaint. That’s just a quiet what if, and I doubt it can be heard anyway above the sound of the rapturous applause. Merci beaucoup, Mr Cornell.

And woe to Mr Moffat, who was left in the unenviable position of having to follow that. Luckily though, Steven Moffat has the advantage of being Steven Moffat. Writer of The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances (previous two-part demonstration of how it’s done) and the slightly lesser The Girl In The Fireplace (sigh, all it was missing was that ballroom scene!) which I nevertheless loved.

Blink was clever, witty and creepy, and had its own share of emotion to offer - with more of those genuine tears to compliment the laugh out loud moments. Lots of twisty timey-wimey stuff that neither made my head hurt nor fell apart at a glance (there were questions, yes, but they fall into that same category of minor quibbles as those that occurred during Human Nature), a novel, interesting ‘alien menace’ played with to good effect, and a central character you could immediately fall in love with – just like Sarah Jane Smith. :) Seriously, Carey Mulligan was fab as Sally Sparrow, charismatic and someone you could instantly connect with – instant companion material and exactly what you need in a story that’s going to feature a largely absent Doctor. Peppered with lots of great Moffaty dialogue (‘It’s so ITV’) and brilliance (the Doctor and Martha rushing by on their way to some emergency, armed with bows and arrows) all rounded off with an entirely gratuitous montage of statues designed to freak out a few million kids. Whatever you do, don’t blink, but by all means, clap. Muchos gracias, Senor Moffat.

All this and next week, Sir Derek Jacobi. Utopia’s up against it, it must be said. It has the return of Captain Jack, a character much undermined by the fact that, ideally, he should still be dead and undermined even more by his involvement in the awfulness that is Torchwood. And it has to follow this triple whammy. But thanks to that triple whammy, I’m feeling a refreshingly positive buzz and I’m optimistic that, with John Simm – possibly maybe who knows as the Master? – we’re in for a tail end of Season 3 that will leave me wanting more.

And preferably, more like we’ve had these last three weeks. See, I’m relatively easily pleased, after all.

Xenathon

Yet another 'thon' recently completed. This one was six seasons long and took us just under 100 hours. But hey, who's counting. It's not as though you could run this kind of 'thon' any faster. Besides, it comes with a sense of exhiliration rather than exhaustion when you cross the finishing line and there's all this gorgeous scenery along the way. There was some sense of a race to get to the end, but only in that positive way of being in a hurry to watch the next episode and then the next. It's less of a marathon, in fact, more of a fun run.

As cult TV series from the Antipodes go, it's no Farscape, let me say that. Whereas Farscape is pretty much everything New Who should be, Xena: Warrior Princess has a number of qualities in common with Doctor Who, many of which neither show would wish to boast about. There’s the obviously lower budget - almost theatrical - production values, with a frequent am-dram feel to proceedings. A set often looks like a set, for instance, and many a guest role filled by actors somewhat wanting in the acting department. Heck, even the CGI is of the Tesco blue-stripe brand. More effect than special. On the plus side though, those same limitations firmly place the onus on story, script and character(s) for the series to succeed. Whenever those are on form, just as with Doctor Who, the slightly ropier aspects even manage to become part of the appeal.

Still, with those ropey aspects in mind, Xena is not at first glance as clearly head and shoulders above New Who as some other series I've loyally followed and sang the praises of here. It's a spin-off from (what I found to be) a second rate fantasy show with a hero wooden enough to be rolled into Troy and have several Brad Pitts come spilling out to bring the city and one of the truly great mythological stories to an inauspicious end. So I'm obliged to consider what it is about the show that made this a more enjoyable experience - both on this recent rewatch and first time around - than the majority of New Who to date.

There are the trimmings, of course. I love a good martial arts movie and the influences are drawn with verve, style and as much tongue in cheek as kick in head. You don’t need to get as far as the Xena-Callisto ladder fight to know these people have studied their sources. There’s also the cinematography which, while quite ordinary to begin with, later really stands out in a way that has you thinking these people are making an effort. Like many a director on Farscape, you get the impression they’re showing us what they can do, they want to be making movies. See the Native American, I mean, Northern Amazon episodes, for example. And laced through it all, Jo LoDuca’s music invariably hits the mark, with its various ethnic flavours and movie score scale.

And why not be cinematic? After all, Xena has all that eye-catching scenery going for it. By which, I mean the beautiful New Zealand landscape, of course, and not all the girlflesh on display - although let's not pretend that's not a factor. For me, not so much for my wife. But even there, it scores a double whammy, hitting the bull's eye with a single arrow on two target audiences that you'd think would be further apart. But no, it can have its feminist icon cake and eat its leather clad babe fantasy icing. The scantily clad women are all kick-ass heroines, strong, independent laudable feminist icons as well as eye candy for the ogling male. It's like Buffy: The Vampire Slayer for that.

Whereas Buffy had her monster of the week, this show mostly eschews monsters in favour of those hordes of samey warlords and there are, as with all series, poor episodes in the mix, but even most of the weaker ones maintain a certain standard and manage to be entertaining. And although it’s not as consistently sharp the wit occasionally – occasionally – soars to Buffy levels. Watching the series first time around, I encountered only three episodes that were so dreadful as to be cringeworthy. Second time around, Here She Comes…Miss Amphipolis (S2) was better than I recalled and only Lyre, Lyre, Hearts On Fire (S5) and Married With Fishsticks (also S5) (what in TARTARUS were they thinking?) managed to be that bad all over again. Lyre is the second musical episode and opts for the Moulin Rouge approach of having its cast sing existing rock/pop songs with awful results, no matter how obvious it is the cast are enjoying themselves. (N.B. The first of Xena's forays into the musical world, The Bitter Suite, is not likely to be to everyone's taste, but it's ambitiously operatic, courageous and, I think, fabulous.) Fishsticks is just insane, colourful and dreadful.

Still, it only serves to demonstrate that variety is very much the spice of this show. On paper, the series' basic setup would not allow for the same variety of storylines as Doctor Who's famous infinitely flexible format and while many evil warlords blur together in the memory, at its best, the show is persistently inventive within its own framework – not so much pushing the envelope as seeing what it can produce with a little origami. Indeed, by the time we get to the sixth season, there’s a sense that because the producers know this is to be the final season, they’re thinking, “So, what haven’t we done, yet?”

Although they may have already arrived at that stage the season before when they indulge themselves with a little sword-toting Western-style action. Yes, sometimes the boat is pushed so far out it's in danger of sinking halfway across the River Styx because it rarely has the budget for the full trip. But really, you have to laugh. The Western one, Animal Attraction (S5) is not the most successful of episodes, but that week’s particular warlord story plays second fiddle to the witty relationship stuff and the impending revelations about Xena’s pregnancy.

But more than the individual episodes and the sheer – often wacky - variety on offer, it’s the way the series develops, season after season, that is one of the key ingredients that makes it shine.

As far as the story arc goes, the series has in some respects mapped out its path from the word go. By factoring the Greek pantheon so prominently, we’re naturally set on a course for conflict with the gods and the troubled transition to monotheism, with epic battles, betrayal, divine and Satanic intervention, multiple crucifixions, angels, demons, and the shameless taking of liberties at the risk of offending many a faith along the way. But none of this religious rigmarole need get in the way, any more than Lucy’s championing of the Cylon’s One God need interfere with your enjoyment of Battlestar Galactica. Just because the Messianic Eli looks like he stepped out of a portrait of Jesus that used to hang on a Sunday school wall, doesn’t mean you need to take him any more seriously than Farlang, the God of Travellers & Wayfarers in 3^rd Edition Dungeons & Dragons. Actually, if anything, it helps.

But to the show’s credit, for a series with lesbian undertones it plays it surprisingly straight. It’s fantasy, it’s fun, it’s tongue-in-cheek and it’s played with conviction. Something like 99% of the time, I’d say, it strikes the right balance of daft, farcical, serious and heartfelt. It has enough laughs that we never take it too seriously, and yet it’s serious – even deadly serious – enough that we genuinely care about the characters.

And it needs that. The central character is a heroine with an edge. And I’m not just talking about the blade of her sword. Although that does factor in: she’s struggling to throw off and atone for her violent past. But she will resort to violence. Until the world gives it up, neither can she. So she’s not afraid of sticking the knife in, she can’t afford to be. Like the Eccleston Doctor, we have a deeply troubled leather-clad hero who’s seen too much death and been the cause of a great deal of it. We, as an audience, have to forgive her for all that and understand, just as she does, that her recourse to violence is for the Greater Good.

Courtesy of the character progression and Lucy Lawless’ formidable but feminine performance we’re on board with her, and ready to forgive Xena her ‘Sins of the Past’ long before she ever will. It’s curious that just as I never found Eccleston convincing when he tried being goofy, Lucy is never as convincing when she’s going all Three Stooges on us, but she convinces entirely in all other respects. (There’s plenty of comedy she does really well too and when it comes to the doppelganger episodes, she does an exceptional job of differentiating between the various look-alikes for us.) Her character progression is not nearly as full and pronounced as her sidekick’s, but we are treated to great insights along the road, by virtue of many a trip into her past. Where we get to see just how bad Bad Xena could be and just how far she has come.

As for her famous sidekick, Gabrielle is ultimately much more than that. Yes, and not just in terms of their ‘special relationship’, I mean. Her journey is something incredible to behold and I enjoy the fact that the contrast is always – well, up to Season 6 anyway – there to see in each episode’s opening titles. Renee O’Connor is always credited alongside a portrait of the original klutzy but intrepid and faintly frumpy farmgirl, while her character undergoes many a transformation as part of her natural growth while following Xena’s path and attempting to find her own. (It’s good to watch Renee grow as an actress too, hand in hand with the role.) She looks up to Xena from the start, wants to be like her, but in following those aspirations, she completes a journey that will make her a heroine in her own right. Setting out as an aspiring bard - with a definite gift of the Gab – becoming an Amazon is just one step along her journey, through the rejection of violence and the embracing of pacifism, that is doomed to culminate in an amazing explosion of bloodthirsty rage. Her friendship with Xena goes through the mill as well but she emerges at the end as a warrior princess of her own making, rather than merely in Xena’s image.

It’s like a companion might have grown sufficiently in the Doctor’s company to take his place in the universe as one hypothetical conclusion of the last Doctor Who episode ever.

Similar growth is afforded other recurring characters, most notably Callisto. She’s not quite a Scorpius, but Hudson Leick is delightfully psychotic as the villainess who Xena created. She’s key to Xena’s character progression, as Xena learns that, while accepting responsibility for setting Callisto on her bloody path, she cannot be held accountable for every one of Callisto’s murderous deeds. But more than that, Callisto is granted her own chance to grow, after a steady descent of increasingly twisted spirals, ascension to maniacal Godhood and ultimately a redemption that others – Gabrielle in particular – have a hard time accepting. There are a few gaps in the Callisto arc to be filled, but as those took place in the course of a few crossover episodes with the parent series, those will require getting a hold of some Hercules: The Legendary Journeys. But I figure it will be worth enduring small doses of Kevin Sorbo, because as villains go, Callisto is a joy to watch.

In contrast, the development granted Livia/Eve, as Xena’s daughter, seems to be resolved too quickly. As is often the case, she’s just far more interesting as a villain, and Livia’s epiphany and setting out on the road as a follower of Eli is a little too fast to be entirely satisfactory. But once the decision had been taken to end the series, clearly some resolution for her had to be found.

And of course, we couldn’t overlook Joxer (The Mighty). He starts out as a joke, but a brilliant one and it’s clear that Ted Raimi loves the character. And who could not. Through his touching and unrequited (at least, not in that way) love for Gabrielle and his own heroic journey, we get to know him as far more than a one-trick pony or running gag that keeps tripping over himself. The resolution found for his character comes as a shock (first time around!), but is surprisingly fitting and genuinely affecting.

Kevin Smith as Ares, although his character doesn’t enjoy as great a development as some – various ‘future’ episodes prove to us he’ll always basically be the same, he can’t help himself – is brilliant. Alexandra Tydings plays a wonderfully Clueless style Aphrodite. Karl Urban makes for a mean Caesar and Marton Csokas is a good match for Xena as Borias. And Paris Jefferson as Athena is also worth a mention for making a mark, even though she doesn’t feature in many episodes at all.

But just as with Farscape, there’s too much that could be said about this series. And I think the best answer to any questions about the show’s appeal comes in the way they rounded the whole series off. For one thing, all those people who clearly wanted to be making movies were given the opportunity to make one, albeit in two parts. In the two-episode finale, the production values are upped considerably and the team get to show off all their strengths. Except one: there isn’t a great deal of comedy in evidence. But it’s epic, it’s truly cinematic and it’s a journey right to the source, both in terms of Xena being called back to answer for an episode from her past and in terms of really getting to grips with one of those martial arts movies they’d been acknowledging all along. But it’s not just a spectacular closure, it’s one that the series and the characters deserved.

I’d be tempted to say, if you only ever watched one Xena story, watch that one. But at the same time, I don’t know if it would have the same impact if you hadn’t been on the journey all the way. There are probably episodes you could skip (most of the clip shows, for instance, inventive though they can be with their framing) and some you should (Married With Fishsticks, shudder) but the vast majority make it very worthwhile. Although be sure to go for the Region 1 DVDs, as they're much more nicely packaged and presented - and they have all the episodes in the right order.

Take it from me. It’s a journey I’ve happily taken twice now. Xena and Gabrielle, so good they had stellar bodies named after them. Well, for a while. Never mind, Callisto's still out there.

Moviethon

At some point last year, I came across a list of 50 Movies To See Before You Die, as compiled by film 'experts' on behalf of Film Four. Prompted, rather than inspired, by this - because the list wasn't all that inspiring for the most part and I'm reasonably sure some of the films cited were better postponed until after I'd snuffed it - I gave some thought and consideration to some of the movies that I ought to get around to seeing before alcohol means nothing more to me than a preservative. Some were relatively recent, some were older, reputed classics, while a few were then up and coming. Given that I used to make a point of going to the cinema once a week, minimum, I'd been conscious for some while that, in my quest to keep up to date with various TV series, I'd forgotten about these other pleasures called 'films'. So I went ahead and compiled my personal list of 50, consulting a few mailing list friends for a recommendation or ten. Now, clearly, I wasn't going to be able to pull a Cool Hand Luke and manage all 50 at one sitting, and part of me even imagined I was in for some Starship Enterprise-scale five year mission or something. But here we are, no more than a handful of months down the road and I find I'm past the halfway point. Woohoo!
So, by way of marking the occasion, I thought it'd be fun to air my thoughts in brief on each of the fillums I've seen so far. I've managed to watch other movies along the way that weren't on the list, so I feel confident I've redressed the TV/Movie balance pretty well. But for now and without further ado, here are my reviews of the list-ed movies in their respective nutshells:
All About Eve
One of those movies I didn't really know what to expect when I sat down to watch, but then this captivating story emerged. Less about Eve, more about Bette Davis who spits venom in a way that would put most serpents to shame. Also numerous points go to Anne Baxter for her Eve. There's as much a sense of her duping the audience, even when we know there is definitely something about her.
Breakfast At Tiffany's
Surprisingly charming for a movie with George Peppard in it. Probably owes a lot to Audrey Hepburn in that respect. Never quite up to the promise in that beautiful opening scene where Holly Golightly nibbles on her eponymous takeaway breakfast outside Tiffany's window, but things get tense when Cat is abandoned. Warning: you'll never get Moon bloody River out of your head. Except when that song by Deep Blue Something breaks in.
Bride Of Frankenstein
Much funnier than probably intended, I thought. (Although, see Gods And Monsters.) Perhaps I should have watched it late at night to help capture the classic horror atmosphere, but it wasn’t the classic I’d been led to believe. The genetically modified Lilliputians were just too bizarre – what were they thinking? – and the fact that Elsa Lanchester, the eponymous Bride, appears only minutes before the end, I felt, was a shame. Plenty of laughs though.
Buffy The Musical (Once More With Feeling.) Not technically a movie, I know, but it was as much on my must-get-around-to-seeing list as a lot of the other titles and now that I have I kind of wish it was a film. For all those folks too quick to bandy around the word 'genius', check this out for a good definition.
City Of God
City of Oh My God, more like. Brazilian Goodfellas, I’ve heard it called, but frankly the 'Goodfellas' were a civilised, friendly bunch. A brilliant look into a very scary world and it’s put me right off ever going to Buenos Aires.
Constant Gardener
Not a heck of a lot of gardening in evidence, but no disappointment arising from that. Slow, but compelling and tense in all the right places. Definitely a pessimistic air about it from the get go, so luckily I wasn't expecting a happy ending. Scary too, in a way that only Africa - and, apparently, Buenos Aires! - can be.
Crash
Hmm. Not as good as it was cracked up to be. A patchy anthology, really, which serves to illustrate that everyone in LA is highly strung. Helped by some powerful performances and potent use of soundtrack to underscore some genuine 'moments'.
Derailed
Decent enough thriller, except I guessed the twist. Still, since it does feature Jennifer Aniston, it could be argued I didn't watch it for that.
Fortune Cookie
Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon. Billy Wilder. Nuff said, really. Boom Boom Jackson is the most naive, upstanding football player ever, but that's an important contrast to all the wonderful cynicism on display through the rest of it.
Get Carter
Very much a film of its time, but just gripping enough to keep me with it. Nasty and rough around the edges, in ways only a British gangster movie can be and it comes as little surprise that pretty much everyone Caine meets ends up on his hit list. Still, there's something refreshingly straightforward and un-Guy Ritchie about it and something fitting about the fact that Caine's avenging 'angel' (yeah, right!) gets to enjoy his revenge for all of a few seconds.
Girl, Interrupted
Angelina Jolie. Pah! I'm not a fan, especially after all she's done to Jennifer Aniston. She's good in this, but it's easy to see why her performance attracted so much attention - she's playing the more outrageous, further-off-her-trolley character. Winona's quieter, understated performance is, for my money, just as solid. She really should do more acting. She's far better at moody, sullen and pissed off with the world than she is at shoplifting.
Gods And Monsters
Sometimes all you need is a simple story and two great actors. One of those plays in movie-form, Ian McKellen and Brendan Fraser really sell this curious love story. Also gave me some cause to rethink my take on Bride Of Frankenstein and if I get to watch that again, I'll be sure to watch it as a comedy. The ending doesn't come as anything but expected, but sometimes it really is the journey and not the destination.
Good Night, And Good Luck
Excellent. Not the paciest of Clooney movies, but the best I’ve seen. Compelling stuff and wonderfully reflective of two periods: then and now. History, contemporary relevance and a rash of great performances. David Strathairn, chief among them.
House Of Mirth
That title’s meant to be ironic, don’t you think. God, this was achingly slow. Thank heavens I watched it lying on the couch. Beautiful sense of period and Gillian Anderson is just as eye-compelling as ever, but I ended up watching it with a similar detachment to that displayed by most of the characters. See Age Of Innocence for some jollier Edith Wharton.
Il Postino
Beautiful, touching, gently humorous, sad. Slow, perhaps, but not in a plodding postman sort of way, more like a stroll where you're enjoying the scenery and the company.
Infernal Affairs
Haven't seen a decent modern-setting Oriental movie for ages. This was the goods, though. Slower and it's no Hard Boiled on the gun play front, but it has style, grace, top cinematography and a nice tense, undercover cop, undercover bad guy story. Obviously, I need to get around to seeing Scorsese's The Departed, for comparison.
La Belle Et Le Bete
Lovely. The film equivalent of a yard of lace. Exquisite, if a little too short.
Lord Jim
What? A halfway decent film adaptation of a Joseph Conrad book? Never. Well, like most adaptations of novels, you have to squint and look on the film as something in its own right, and as such. Peter O'Toole makes for a charismatic and sympathetic lead, but it goes for epic style at the expense of more detailed portraits of some of the characters.
Memento
Clever, and not in a way that causes it to disappear up its own arse. In reverse. Mike from Neighbours plays it brilliantly and I've always liked seeing Joe Pantoliano crop up in things since Midnight Run.
Pan’s Labyrinth
Brutality and Fairy Tales, who'd have thought? Well, the Brothers Grimm, of course. Reality and fantasy masterfully interwoven, persuades an adult audience it can pass as easily between the two as a child. Imaginative creatures, with one monster almost but not quite as nightmarish as its real world Spanish Civil War counterpart.
Paperhouse
Dated and what's wrong with Glenn Headly's voice (guess that's a product of knowing her as ER's Abbey Keaton), but I could see where it got its reputation. Who'd have thought you could get a film like this from the writer of the Doctor Who TV Movie? The creepy parts are really good and the set design for the paper house itself is great.
Pi
a) Solve pi beyond a few billion digits or b) work out why this film is highly rated by anyone. Tough choice, but I'd sooner go for a). Purposelessly weird, striving to make up for lack of story with pretentious camera work and the mystique of monochrome. The basic message for the 'hero' is 'Stop worrying about the meaning of life, just get on and enjoy the patterns in the leaves'. It’s such a simple answer, you wish he'd get there sooner.
Seven Swords
Not in the same league as The Seven Samurai or other more recent Oriental offerings, but stylish in its own way and I liked the attempt to characterise the swords themselves as well as the warriors who wielded them.
Spirited Away
Completely, colourfully mad, but equally wonderful. Best pay attention though. My wife walked in halfway through and I had to explain why the boy was a dragon, where the pigs came from, and all about the mouse, the giant baby and the bouncing heads. Difficult to encapsulate in a few words. Still, despite my poor explanations, she stayed and watched to the end.
Syriana
Interesting, powerfully played and sadly likely to be topical for some time to come. It's slow and demands patience and attention and is occasionally guilty of assuming its audience knows exactly how the oil world works. A little like the West Wing sometimes assumes we know what everyone's talking about, but less accessible. Warning: horrible torture scene at which I'm still cringing.
Them!
They! were a bit disappointing. The giant ants were done fairly well for a B movie of its time, but I'd have liked to have seen more of the insectoid communists rampaging through the city, wreaking havoc on model cars and such. I guess I got a different impression from a poster or something. The initial stages, in the desert, are tense, but the "excitement" peters out fairly shortly and there are fewer laughs than you'd expect from this type of movie.
The Third Man
Perennially, my sister would look at me in disbelief and horror and ask, "You haven't seen The Third Man??!" and I couldn't believe it either. Finally, I have. Terrific stuff and this, even when I know who the 'Third Man' is, so there's no twist to speak of and I even guessed where the whole thing was ultimately leading. Still, worth it for the brilliant use of the cat in revealing the presence of Harry Lime and for Orson Welles proclamation about the cuckoo clock. Warning: another movie that will leave a tune in your head for days!
Touch Of Evil
Charlton Heston as God, I can buy, but as a Mexican, no. That aside, this is close to the classic I was led to believe it was. An outstanding tracking shot following the bomb in the trunk of the car. Orson is superb and it’s stark and brutal without being overtly so. Genuinely tense, with plenty of real menace where it needs to be. Aptly titled.
Traffic
Smart and sophisticated and the use of three tints to differentiate sections of the story is effective and not nearly as gimmicky as it might sound. Loaded with great performances that don't feel like performances. Catherine Zeta Jones is good. There are better people in it, but it's the sort of thing you don't get to say very often.
Un Couer En Hiver
Hmm. One of those slow meandering love stories where not much happens. Rather like Lost In Translation, I couldn’t see how it was so highly rated. It’s played well, but apart from feasting my eyes on Emanuelle Beart, I didn’t get much out of it. For one thing, the lead guy stretches credibility when Emannuelle Beart offers him sex and he turns her down. Nobody told me it was an out and out fantasy.
Vidocq
I’m trying to think of a movie quite like this, and failing. It’s spectacular, dark and horrific with a neat twisty sort of detective story and more than a dash of fantasy thrown in. Gorgeous imagery – well, apart from the bloody bits – and a mystery worth following to the end. Plus Martial Arts. I guess it reminds me a little of Brotherhood Of The Wolf, it has that homogenous feel to it. Visuals that linger in the mind longer than the story, but prompted an interest in the man behind the fiction.
What's Eating Gilbert Grape?
Quirky small town story, with about the right mix of humour and tragedy, made less ordinary by some great performances. The answer to the titular question is simply that Gilbert lives in a town where life is so dull, he even feels himself attracted to Juliette Lewis. Gods, I'd rather be eaten.
Wings Of Desire
Visual poetry, apparently, and has much the same effect in me as poetry in general on me. Would have gone whoosh! right over my head, but whooshing is a concept foreign to this film. Something powerful about the scene in the library, with all the angels gathered around, and the idea of Columbo as a retired angel is irresistible, but by and large it all went plodding over my head. Not my cup of wasser at all.

And there we are. Brief as I tried to be, it's made for a lengthy blog. But to make up for that, I'm sure it'll be a little while before I get around to seeing all the remaining movies and - if only because I'm well past halfway through the 50 - I'll be almost certain to be briefer next time round. :)

Doctor Who: As Rubbish As It's Always Been

Well, just as two TARDISes can't occupy the same space without the danger of recursive occlusion, Doctor Who and Eurovision apparently can't share the same Saturday night without fear of a ratings implosion. So we're being treated to a mid-season break and as much as I found myself thoroughly unmotivated to blog about New Who while it was on, this (actually welcome) breather does afford an opportunity to reflect on the third season so far. And it'll save me the job of a full season overview come the end. For which, courtesy of the trailer that followed last Saturday's Lazy Arse Experiment, I have higher hopes. Even if, by the time we get there, I find I can't be bothered to review individual episodes, I'll be sure to let you know if those hopes are dashed!

Meanwhile, Season 3, thus far has failed to spark much enthusiasm on my part, it must be said. As noted, I haven't even been inspired to air my opinions here. Possibly because I was always raised with the idea that it was impolite to yawn in public.

Maybe it's just some of the show's laziness rubbing off. Because if there's one word that has characterised this series so far, lazy is it. It's as though the producers, revelling in DW's rediscovered popularity, are far too content with the status quo. Appropriate enough, I suppose, given their apparent aim to demonstrate just how many hits you can produce with the same three chords. There's still the famous Doctor Who variety, but it feels as though it's been so heavily branded that, no matter how diverse the locations visited or the genres being revisited, there's an underlying - and underwhelming - sense of sameness and predictability to proceedings.

It's getting old. Rusty, you might even say.

It says something, I think, that Smith And Jones, the season opener, so far rates as this year's highpoint. And I wonder now whether that has more to do with the fact that it surfed in on a wave of New-Season optimism, a sort of post-Runaway Bride notion that anything had to be an improvement, than any actual upturn in the quality of product. But let's hold on to that initial positive impression for the time being. Despite its share of flaws and plot holes, it had a certain vitality and, at the time I did feel that there was something of a regeneration in evidence. New companion, new beginning and - in some respects - better than Rose.

Then along came The Shakespeare Code. The first of this year's stories to feel like a shopping list. Shakespeare, three witches, Doctor Who - tick all the ingredients and you get exactly the recipe you expect. Gorgeous CGI backdrops come to the foreground because, despite a degree of colour and sparkle to the dialogue, the rest is just a predictable 'Shakespeare For Dummies' exercise, peppered with tired quote-dropping, the 'surprise' revelation that the witches are aliens and the tried and tested final act of having a bunch of CGI aliens swirl pointlessly around flexing their pixels, until they can be banished back to their abyssal dimension by the recitation of the worst hidden code in any text by anyone ever. God forgive you, Dan Brown, if Da Vinci's Code is as feeble as Shakespeare's.

Next, Gridlock. The plot engine splutters in its efforts to keep the anti-grav VW camper story afloat, coughing out fumes that smell distinctly of that old McCoy classic, Paradise Towers. Contrivances are built into the dialogue to attempt to hold the entire dumb scenario together, but even a dose of the Macra can't save it. But never mind, it has oodles of CGI spectacle and an emotive bit with a hymn, presumably to inspire us all to pray for something better.

For those that did, you got Daleks In Manhattan and Evolution Of The Daleks. DIM/Evolution. Says it all, really. For one, if you're going to have Daleks In Manhattan, you need to produce something that equals everything that title conjures. For another, if the Daleks are going to evolve, should it really be into spats-sporting sub-Jagaroth headed hoodlums with no talent for acting? Once again, some gorgeous CGI backdrops are the best thing about it and amid the feast of things that are wrong with this two-parter, it also manages to be slow. To say nothing of the gamma ray-lightning hybrid that proves so crucial to the 'plot' resolution. Dreadful. When we could have had Daleks doing great Busby Berkeley dance numbers, damn it. (Even with fountains and a spot of synchronised swimming, why not - the Daleks seemed to fare okay under water in The Dalek Invasion Of Earth.)

Still, likely to be more memorable than, um, er, The Lazarus Experiment. Doctor Who By Numbers, with the limited palette and brushes the BBC can afford once they've spent out on a CGI monster worthy of some ropey old video game. The Scorpion King from The Mummy Returns lives again. A non-event, but for the Mr Saxon arc elements which were clearly more important than any story it might have offered.

And that, for me, sheds a little light on the nature of the problem. Instead of a story, more often than not, we're getting a synopsis that happened to make it all the way to the production stage. There's so much emphasis on pace, a plot is rarely given enough time to breathe and grow into a story. No, it has to keep swimming in order to stay alive - like a shark, except it's apparently just as easy to jump while it's so constantly on the move ;). It's like, oh, what if the Doctor and Martha went to [this place] or we did a story where [this was the basic setup], and this happens, that happens, oh and the Doctor sorts it out somehow. I know it's a bit patchy, but as long as it's got pace and lots of spectacle and a good CGI monster to thrash around a bit at the end before being defeated, we don't need to worry about minor considerations like story development, internal plot consistency, that sort of thing. And anyway, we have an army of fans standing by with the Plot Polyfilla to cover over our mistakes and omissions. Slap. Dash.

In fact, more mystifying than where Doctor Who might have gone wrong - hardly a mystery, since its flaws seem so glaringly obvious from where I'm sitting on a Saturday night - have been the defences put forward by some fans. Among them, in essence, the header for this blog. Yes, it's a cynical paraphrasing on my part, but when criticisms have been levelled at any of the New Who offerings, folks have argued that, well, it was no worse than, say, The Underwater Menace (random example picked to protect the innocent), or whatever. And maybe it's just me, but as arguments go, it's flimsier than a lot of New Who plots.

As far as I can understand it - which is not very far, I'll grant you - what I'm being told is that current Who is no worse than a 30-40 year old TV show. Hmm. Further, if you can forgive the flaws in Timelash, then you can certainly forgive those in Boomtown. Well, I don't forgive either, but I just chose two examples of the worst of each. For one, there's such a vast gap in terms of production and TV has moved on in such leaps and bounds, that I don't think it's valid to compare old with new. But perhaps more importantly, I don't know what it proves, other than the above contention that 'Doctor Who is as rubbish as it's always been'. Whereas I don't see it as unreasonable to expect a modern resurrection of an old show to have raised its standards in line with the modern competition, as opposed to - apparently - settling for being (as the Talking Heads used to say) the 'same as it ever was'.

Not only is there a capacity to forgive an older show certain deficiencies, because it's quite possible to allow for the advances in TV we've seen in the meantime - and, certainly in the case of some of the very early episodes, Doctor Who comes across as more of an am-dram theatrical production (The Keys Of Marinus?) that happens to be on this new-fangled marvel they call 'television', than a full-blown modern TV production that's attempting to be some sort of mini action movie (Rise Of The Cybermen, I'm - reluctantly - looking at you). Doctor Who writers in the past had to contend with the artificial - and characteristic - 25-minute cliffhanger-required episode format. Modern Who writers only have to contend with the - pretty much industry standard - 45 minute episode. If comparisons are to be made, then far fairer to compare with other more recent shows that have had access to all the same tools and resources. Of course, then New Who runs the risk of looking shoddy and at least as am-dram as its 'illustrious ancestor'. (And yes, I only use that phrase to aggravate those fans with Rose-tinted specs. ;) ) But if you're set on playing in the major leagues, then you'd best field a professional team. And the thing is, the people behind New Who are professionals - skilled, talented, qualified etc - but, as I've discussed previously here, I don't see the same evidence of care in the 'finished' product as I do in many other shows.

What they have on their side - in abundance - is the BBC publicity machine. I don't recall a time when Doctor Who ever had the support and publicity it has now. Yes, the New Series' initial popularity seemed to justify some spinoffery, but we now have Totally Doctor Who, Torch(yawn)wood, Confidential and a glut of Radio Times covers, to say nothing of the piles of high-profile merchandising. And now we also have the show receiving special treatment, getting a nudge back in the schedules because the BBC have noticed a drop in the ratings whenever they show it at an earlier time.

We know it's the BBC's flagship show, and that's great. But honestly, it's everything you'd expect of a British-built flagship. Paper thin hull, susceptible to the simplest of attacks and about as capable of ruling the waves as a lone gunman on a surfboard. If only they built their flagships like they used to, with a bit of weight and substance, care and craftsmanship - as well as the go-faster stripes and all the advanced technology - they'd be a far more formidable prospect in the face of the modern competition. And the BBC might not be so afraid of it sinking.