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.

BSG: The Lull Before The Storm?

SPOILERS AHOY! for BSG Season 3 (although I'll do my best to keep them to a minimum!)

If Battlestar Galactica happened to be a presiding government, it would have arrived at that difficult mid-term period round about the middle of this current (third) season. So it should come as no surprise that at some point after the almost triple whammy of The Passage, Eye Of Jupiter and Rapture – eps 3.08-3.10 – there is an all too easily discernible slacking off of tension and if the audience were an electorate I imagine there’d be a great deal of voter apathy. What feels like too long a string of ‘quiet’ episodes and even one of the party faithful (me :) ) found himself waiting, like a becalmed mariner, for a breath of wind to stir things up and get things moving again.

At the time of watching through this ‘lull’, I began to wonder if this was some bold experiment on the part of the producers: removing the Cylons from the picture for quite a protracted period, relative to the length of the season, felt as though it must have been intentional, regardless of how successful or, ahem, otherwise the experiment turned out. I’ve since learned that it was down to budgetary constraints, arising from all the moolah they splashed out for the initial run – or should I say, rush - of episodes dealing with the occupation and liberation of New Caprica. That’s what they call in the business ‘a shame’.

Still, money is just part of the framework every show has to work within, so I’m not going to grumble excessively on that score or cite that as an excuse. In fact, I’d rather view the show from within the story, so to speak, than examine ‘external’ factors of the production.

In that respect, taken individually, those episodes still have something to offer. They are, for the most part, worthwhile snapshots of fleet life, exploring some of the socio-political nitty gritty of this ultimate refugee ‘community’ struggling to hold on to some semblance of civilization and at the same time confronted with having to re-examine its values and rules and rebuild a society from the ground up. An especially tall order when there’s no ground, really.

Taken together – and in comparison to the BSG we have come to know – the end result is a show that treads water for a span in the middle. It’s because we know that BSG is so very capable of examining all those social and political – and personal – angles against the backdrop of an actively ongoing story arc. The problem with these ‘snapshots’ is not so much that they are ‘quiet’ but that, together, they are verging on ‘stills’. It’s entirely fair enough and right that the series should take things down a gear from time to time between the points of high tension – I’d be a nervous wreck otherwise – but somewhere along this string of episodes the ongoing narrative drive essentially stalls. It was still compelling viewing for me, but – aside from the fact that I do love even some of the less likeable characters - the compulsion was starting to come more from me than from the show.

Because of their placement – right there in the middle, where the meat of the sandwich should be (and as a vegetarian I don’t use such phrases lightly) - there is a danger of these episodes characterizing the bulk of the season, which would be both a great shame and – thankfully, when I pause for only a second to consider the highlights – which were nothing short of awesome – highly inaccurate. The string, after all, is just four episodes long. Somehow, it just feels longer and by the time we get to Dirty Hands (3.15), where the refinery workers are revolting (insert obligatory gag here), patience has run out to the point where I’m thinking, “Jeez, you people are the last of the human race on the run from certain extinction at the hands of a deadly race of cyborgs and you’re still striking for better working conditions!”

Tip for the future: don’t appoint me as head of any labour conciliation service should any similar situation arise. Just put me in a Raptor with Boomer.

When I last posted here about BSG, I was at the halfway point and, coincidentally, that was where I’d flag the beginning of the go-slow. Also coincidentally, right after they ‘boxed’ D’Anna (Lucy Lawless) – disappointing enough in itself for me! And, as I say, it runs – or crawls – all the way to Maelstrom (3.17).

And interestingly, by the time that one shows up on the radar, we are so acutely conscious of the Cylons’ absence and almost gagging for their return, that we are entirely ready and/or willing to believe in Starbuck’s elusive phantom raider. Even this delusional threat notches up the tension and, as a bonus, served as a reminder of one of the show’s key strengths: its generally authentic feel for the military machine and mind. Every phantom blip - even the idea of a lone raider - is taken seriously. There’s none of that Starfleet complacency here. It’s the kind of response you’d expect from the commander of a US Carrier battle group to a radar image that could be a solitary hostile.

And I like Starbuck, I think Katee Sackhoff does a grand job with the role and her death had real impact. And thank goodness, not before time.

After that, it’s a short hop to the two-part finale – taking a temporary detour back through lull territory in The Son Also Rises – which, as I said in my Oklahoma-vacation ramble, we got to see on the night of broadcast, recorded on TiVo so we could zip easily through each ad break. And, I’m glad to say, zip eagerly we did.

Along with the expected drama of Baltar’s trial, with individuals called upon to re-open all their personal wounds in their quest for justice, we have a return to pace – and those familiar with the series will appreciate fully what that means – and, I think, form as real movement carries us to a great several-pronged climax, rounding off Season 3 in a manner befitting all those expectations set up by that terrific opening half and baiting several hooks for Season 4 with oodles of promise.

At that point, there’s something hypnotic about it again, especially with the surreal touch of Tigh’s musical mystery – shared by three others. (And it’s one we can all relate to – I mean, how often have you had a tune going round and round in your head and you know it, you just know it, but can you think of the title? God, it’s frustrating, ain’t it.) It’s not what they think it means, I’m pretty certain on that score, but the way it plays and builds as an undercurrent throughout is as powerful in its way as anything we’ve seen in the series to date. And although when the revelation hits we’re none the wiser, we’re too busy being struck on all sides (almost the least of which is the return of the Cylons in force) in a grandly orchestrated - in more ways than one – closing sequence and the end result is strangely uplifting as well as more than suitably tense and dramatic.

(And I’ve struggled to be vague there, for those readers who haven’t yet seen it.)

Of course, it’s only been in the aftermath that I’ve had plenty of time to think and I still don’t have any worthy or credible answers. In that sense, there is a niggling concern that the series may have plunged us into some kind of Lost territory, where the explanations for everything are going to have to be really very good indeed. They’ve set themselves a big challenge.

But I’m glad they did and currently I retain more faith in BSG’s ability to deliver on the promise in that season finale. Time – or, more precisely, Season 4 - will tell. The fact is, I’ve forgiven other shows worse than being caught napping for a handful of episodes, and based on the good viewing BSG has given me to date, it’d be niggardly of me to hold them to account for that. However this blog may come across, my impressions of the show remain overwhelmingly positive and unlike Baltar the series is far from being on trial.

I’ll be buying the DVDs, I know that.

There’s every reason to believe there’s a storm coming. And I need to brush up on my knowledge of Jimi Hendrix lyrics.

Vacation, OK

All right, it was better than OK, but like everything it naturally had its ups and downs. Actually, Oklahoma has relatively few, but that's not to say it's landscape is flat and without interest. Indeed, the state can proudly boast 11 distinct bio-zones (a lesson I only learned this time out - ah, if only they'd had three, I might have been able to remember them all) and a diverse range of wildlife. Also, I'm reminded that, prior to my first visit - some two years ago now - a friend assured me that Oklahoma had no mountains, but that simply isn't the case. It just happens that the mountains it has have been around for so long they've been worn down to the level of, well, hills. That first trip, my wife-to-be and I spent some time in the Quartz Mountains, and I was very happy to be able to send that friend a postcard as irrefutible evidence of the existence of Oklahoman mountains. Petty, but fun. And on this occasion we swung by a place by the name of Tiger Mountain - which I'm not even sure qualified as a hill, but it did at least have a ridge or two on the horizon and, more importantly, it was where we met Ginger the Bobcat (pictured left - or, for any of you who happen to be inside the text and looking out, right). She may be too domesticated to count as an example of the diverse Oklahoman wildlife, but she was the star of that particular day and a definite highlight of the trip. But more of her later.

To be fair the trip's only 'lowlights' were owing to the slightly over-booked social calendar, which at times led to a sense of the kind of packed schedule you'd associate more with, well, a working week than a holiday. But that was the nature of the beast: there were just too many people who hadn't seen us for a year and a half and even then we didn't get to see everybody. There was a good plan originally, for an open house party on the first Sunday we were over there, so everyone could come around and see us in one go, thus freeing up plenty of time for pressure-free, open-timetable R&R. But the best laid plans of us and in-laws have much in common with those of men and rodents, and of course not everybody could make it on the day arranged. So we ended up having to fit more people in here and there throughout the two weeks. No sooner had I enjoyed a welcome massage (all professional and above-board, just in case any more sordid-minded readers are looking in :) ) the day after we arrived than I was in need of another one to help me relax all over again. Thankfully, they were all nice people and welcome company. Well, except for the ones who thought it'd be a neat idea to just drop by on our last day there, when I was socialled out and ready to go home and re-establish relations with our kittens (I'll own up to worrying whether they'd even remember us by the time we got back!). Poor timing and not helped by the fact that a certain uncle-in-law insisted on barracking me about this novel he had been writing (30 pages so far, it's a crime mystery but it has no protagonist yet) the way some folks feel the need to say, "I've been having these dreams lately" whenever introduced to analysts at parties.

Luckily, the very next morning, before our departure, we breakfasted at IHOP (International House Of Pancakes - a house of pancakes! how cool is that! - which was a favourite of mine from previous trips) with mum- & dad-in-law and that made for a really nice note on which to end the holiday. And one much more in tune with the majority of the rest of the vacation. Because in the midst of the social assault course ( ;) ) we managed to squeeze in plenty of holiday-ish pleasures for ourselves, some planned, some unexpected, just as it should be.

Obviously, I needn't dwell on the shopping. Suffice to say there was some and my wife had a few items on her list she was determined to bring back with her - certain supplies that were either cheaper across the pond or quite simply not available here in the UK. And along with the shopping there was, of course, plenty of good eatin. By our presence alone, we probably doubled the state's vegetarian population, but there's no shortage of really wholesome, nutritious food to be had. All of which was just too hard put to compete with all the lovely junk food. Trust me, American restaurants are the place to go if you really want more pounds to your dollar. And these hearty meals can be readily supplemented with varieties of candy bars that can't be had for love nor money in British stores. Reeses Fast Break, I'm looking at you. Well, I'm not really - I don't have any of those left. I'll just have to console myself with the Reeses Peanut Butter Cups we've stocked up on (which I have found here in the UK, but they're not nearly as available as they should be). On top of which, the US diners, restaurants and cafes have for centuries now (two, at least, I'm sure) championed the principle of free refills when it comes to drinks. I love that. UK restaurants take note: import this facet of American culture today!

Friday 16th, two days after our arrival, was especially good for culture. I'd wanted to squeeze in at least one date out at the movies while we were there. There was a large selection to choose from, but not a great deal worth seeing. Luckily - er, for me anyway - 300 was playing. Not a date movie. If there's ever a shortage of red in future motion pictures, this is the one to blame. I thought it was great and can't imagine why the Iranians kicked up such a fuss about it in the press while we were over there. I mean, a) it's a Hollywood fantasy movie based on a comic book and has no basis in history and b) if the Persians really want to hold a grudge, that Xerxes chap shouldn't have attempted to invade Greece in the first place. It was grim, ferocious fun and, apart from a few stylistic touches (naturally) in common with Sin City, I'd not seen anything like it before. All aided and abetted by a truly fierce performance from the lead guy, with a talent for saying "Sparta!" a lot, with a similar kind of relish to that demonstrated by the inhabitants of Gormenghast when invoking the name of their home castle.

Anyway, on the understanding that the next movie we went to would be my wife's choice, we followed that up with dinner at Abuelo's, a classy Mexican restaurant in Bricktown, deep in downtown Oklahoma City, before heading over to the Ford Center (I know, they can't spell centre) for a show. Mum-in-law had won tickets in a competiton on local radio, and she very kindly gave them to us for a night out. (Many thanks.) The show was Cirque Du Soleil: Delirium and was a new experience for yours truly. My wife assures me that previous offerings from this troupe had been much more Cirque, and less Soleil. Where Soleil is, of course, a potent hallucinogen. For my tastes, there was always just too much going on, with weird, wonderful and/or wacky happenings spilling over the stage and onto these huge side screens, across which would flash a host of arty visuals to accompany both the stage acrobatics and the belting but for the most part not very memorable 'songs'. It was tough to focus on any one thing at any one time, so it was easy to miss this detail or that detail in all the colourfully orchestrated chaos. It was all very surreal, but what with the free tickets and all, you'd be hard pressed to find a drug-induced experience any cheaper. As a nice extra touch, the woman from the radio station came over to greet us before the show, and she introduced herself as Jolly, which - in the nature of unlikely names - led to some entertaining conversation.

It was all helped along by the fact that I was excited by the surprise prospect of another concert to come, having spotted in the rolling ads for upcoming events that Evanescence were playing there the next Wednesday. Way-hay! I thought. Surely synchronicity at work. On my first visit, I was treated to a Sarah McLachlan concert (amazing) and so good concerts appeared to be a developing theme for trips to Oklahoma. Still, I'll come back to that, since it's important to establish that the gig was preceded by five days of anticipation and generally 'being looked forward to'.

In the meantime, there was (amongst other things) the party on the Sunday and a visit to the Oklahoma City Zoo. I'd visited there before, and it's an impressive enough zoo - would have been more impressive too, if a great many of the animals hadn't decided it was nap time when we arrived - but they'd developed a whole new Oklahoma Trails exhibit, featuring all the state's 11 bio-zones (see, that's where I learned that lesson). There was still some work to be done, but the majority of the enclosures were really well developed, with overpasses to allow for good visibility and plenty of room for the critters - and more than made up for the fact that it was spring break and the place was filled to overflowing with noisy kids! (Plenty of lion fodder - I know I can't have been the only one thinking that.) Still, for all the zoo's beautiful creatures, it couldn't compete with our 'wildlife' encounter the following day.

For that was when we met Ginger. We'd arranged to head out to Tiger Mountain Ranch for some trail riding - as traditional a part of my Oklahoma visits as concerts, it seems (I've been three times now, so I'm guessing the things I do over there - like, oh, egg and cheese toasters from Sonic or sampling the goods at the local ice cream parlour - can be counted as traditions). It was such a great setting for it too. A spacious lodge on a lake shore, huge amounts of wooded acreage, with tipis in which tourists could sample something of traditional Native American (insert ‘make your reservations’ joke here) and a number of trails of differing levels of difficulty for horseriding. Yes, we were out of practice, so we chickened out and opted for the ‘Easy’ ride. My horse, Marotta, was a fairly passive character but impatient to get on with the ride – but I didn’t take it personally. Rain threatened anyway, so we cut our ride short by ten minutes, only to see the rain just fizzle out and pass on by. Oh well, not to worry, because when we got back, our hostess – the ranch owner, a gal name of Sharon – took us to see her bobcat, Ginger.

She and her husband had found Ginger when she was three months old. She had her own little enclosure out in the yard, but was free to wander about the house. She even indulges in some harmless play with Nugget, the family cat. As we got to step inside and spend some quality time with Ginger, Nugget was also close by, on the outside of the enclosure, taunting Ginger from the other side of the wire fence. Ginger would make these chucking noises, rather like a bark, as she paced around looking for a way to get to Nugget. When she wasn’t being coaxed over for petting by us or coming around to nuzzle into our hands, just the way any domestic cat does.

There was still a hint of the wild animal about her, but she was safe on her own territory and perfectly at ease even with us strangers around. She was great.

We rounded off that day with a visit to a nearby winery, and after more shopping and socializing the following day, it was time to head off for the Evanescence concert in the evening. Cool. I was really psyched to see them.

Unfortunately, we had to first sit through two dismal support bands, both of whom only sounded marginally better when we ducked out for a walk around the hall outside, to stretch our legs, investigate the price of an Evanescence T-shirt (too much!) and, well, to get away from the support bands. The only entertainment to be had from the first band was the sight of their guitarist who seemed to believe he was a marionette and ‘danced’ accordingly, despite some obvious string-related deficiency. He, his hair and his guitar were all over the place and I’m not sure I have the power to describe just how ludicrous he looked. Still, there’s only so much you can get from watching that sort of thing, and the second band didn’t even have that to recommend them.

Then, thankfully, Evanescence showed up. Woo hoo!

Hmm.

Luckily, I still love the band. Don’t get me wrong, I think we got to see a terrific live performance – but none of it made it past the speakers. The volume was racked up so high as drown out Amy Lee’s vocals, such a vital element of the band’s sound, and reduce the music to percussion and so much raucous, distorted noise. These people do sound tests, don’t they? It was suggested to me it could have been down to the venue, but as I said, I’d seen Sarah McLachlan at the same place and her people got it right. Well, phooey. Definitely a letdown, but as I say, my love of the music is still intact – I’ll just be sticking to the studio material in future.

A shame too that the concert was the last major ‘event’ of our holiday, followed only by a scattering of more social engagements, another massage (I needed that!) and more dining, shopping and other miscellaneous activities of that sort. Fortunately, it wasn’t the last word on the entertainment front for us, because on the Sunday nights we got to enjoy the two-part Season 3 finale of Battlestar Galactica. Legitimately, recorded off the TV, complete with ad breaks to fast forward through and everything. Now that was a treat.

But I’ll save that for another time.

Not least because I’m conscious of having ‘gone on for a bit’. You’ll have to excuse me for that. I’ll put it down to the fact that you just don’t tend to walk anywhere in the States. It’s always driving here, driving there. So it’s only natural I suppose, now that we’re back home, I’d feel like having a bit of a ramble.

The main thing is, we had an OK time.

No More Nails

Metaphorical ones. They'd all been bitten down to the quick within the first half-dozen episodes of Battlestar Galactica Season 3. We've reached what must be the halfway mark by now and even if things settled down a bit, with a few 'ordinary' episodes here and there, I find even a standard BSG episode has more than enough to grip me. (Spoilers will undoubtedly follow for BSG Season 3, but I'm going to try to stay brief!) Woo hoo. I love this show.

One of the especially welcome touches in a recent 'ordinary' episode was the flashback to the earlier stages of the settlement of New Caprica. Intercut with uppercuts in the boxing ring, this episode could so easily have been BSG's TKO (a particularly poor B5 episode, the memory of which still causes a shudder or two). But since one of my 'gripes' about Season 2 was the One Year Later... jump to the set-up on New Caprica and the Cylon occupation, this provided some welcome colouring in of the gap. Of course, it had the ambivalent side effect of making me think what a great story that settlement would have made if properly explored and given air to breathe. Maybe just a matter of three episodes? Not too much to ask.

What was a big ask at the time was the dramatic adjustment the viewer was required to make, from military to civvy street (in the mud, no less) - and no, I'm not just talking about Adama's moustache. That said, the opening episodes of Season 3 deliver in spades. I'd mentioned before that this was a series that wasn't afraid to shake up its status quo once in a while, and it certainly managed that. It turned things on their heads to such an extent there was, on top of the customary nail-biting fare, a faint nervousness that things could never be the same again. We were in unknown, as well as occupied, territory, and it made for great, intense and even emotionally draining drama. All thoroughly enjoyable without the Colonel-Tigh-As-Bin-Laden comparisons. A particularly tense moment for me was when Laura Roslin was lined up for a Richard Attenborough Great Escape moment, and there was the sense of a chance, at least, that they might have killed her off.

To a certain extent, the bulk of the survivors (and that's not a reference to Apollo's weight problems) have effectively by now completed a journey back to something like the pre-occupation situation, but that’s a cycle necessary for the continuation of the greater journey and I think it's fair to say that all the characters bear their scars (some highly visible!) and certain relationships have undergone what must be irrevocable changes. First episode after the liberation, members of the Galactica crew - Starbuck included - are seen forming their own kangaroo court, doling out retributive justice as a means of dealing with their personal pain. Yikes. Just the kind of thing you used to get in every generation of Star Trek, eh. On which note, there are continued efforts to acknowledge factors like shortages of resources - food has been the theme in selected episodes of this season - and I've enjoyed the look inside the Cylon base ships, even if it has all had to go 'a bit weird' to show up the differences that set them apart from humans. Life on board seems disjointed, although that may be down to Gaius' disturbed perspective on the universe in general. Messianic complexes aside, the notion of Cylons projecting versions of reality to suit their tastes, the nature of the hybrid hooked into the baseship and the question of the final five Cylon models are the key sources of fascination so far on the Cylon side of things.

Well, those and Lucy Lawless. I've taken a real liking to her character, even over Caprica, who's been with us longer - and it's been interesting to watch her reprising something of her Xena role, championing the ideal of One God over a Greek-style Pantheon. Can't wait till she slays Athena with her chakram. Even if that doesn't happen and even if 'No More Nails' might be a bit of an exaggeration on my part, all this Season has to do is maintain the standard so far on display, and it will be sure to keep me glued.

Jamie And The Magic Of Animation

It's true I've been quiet on the subject of Doctor Who lately. Couldn't even be arsed to post any comments about The Runaway Blah, this year's Christmas not-very-special - I preferred The Sarah Jane Adventures. But then, I'd probably have preferred last year's Christmas dinner. Thank goodness (or, rather, thank the very generous person who gave me a copy as a gift) for The Invasion on DVD. "Crikey, DM, that was a real treat!" Penfold would have said, I'm fairly convinced of that.
Until now, my experience of the story had been confined to a) the excellent Ian Marter novelisation, with its gloves-off brutality, spattering of gore and general feeling of a more adult read than your usual Target book and b) the BBC audio. I think I may have had the VHS release at one point, with missing episodes narrated by someone or other (Nicholas Courtney, I'm tempted to say) but (in case it's not obvious) I didn't recall much about it. This, I'm reasonably sure, has more to do with the fact that I hit 40 later this year than anything to do with the story itself.
At 8 episodes, it is undeniably overlong and there's a great deal of runaround. But it's all played with the customary charm of the era, with Troughton in fine form, doing his mix of doddery, gravitas and a bit of a Laurel & Hardy routine as he's chased along an alleyway by a barrage of Cyber blasts. Kevin Stoney is superb as Vaughan, a madman who really gets mad, especially when letting rip at whining thug-hound, Packer. (Packer comes over as a more convincing hardman in the novelisation, but Peter Halliday creates a memorable lieutenant to Vaughan.) It's Vaughan, rather than the Cybermen, who's really in charge. Such that, it's down to the Doctor to defeat him or make him see the error of his ways, from which moment on, the Cybermen can be dealt with by the liberal application of missiles, MOD stock footage and Zoe's mathematics. (She's not just a pretty face. Indeed, at one point, one of the military staff is seen to check out her famously cute butt - a moment that had gone unnoticed on the audio and, I'm fairly sure, in the Ian Marter novelisation.) Personally, I'd perhaps have preferred to see the Doctor rig the Cerebreton Mentor device (what a great name!) for general broadcast and have him wipe out the Cybes with a multi-channel blast of emotion. Or something of that order. Okay, that may have run the risk of having a multitude of insane Cybermen rampaging around, but hey, sequel material right there. I did enjoy the idea of the insane Cyberman and, as usual with a lot of ideas like that, felt they could have done more with it. Just as I loved the whole scenario of having UNIT use a C130 Hercules as their mobile HQ.
Yes, overlong shmoverlong, this is the story Rise Of The Cybermen/Age Of Steel should have been. Um, actually, it *is* this story. Except somehow they lifted all its essential ingredients and made a Cyberpig's ear of it.
The irony with this DVD release is that, with absolutely no disrespect to Pat, Wendy, Fraser or any of those involved in the original, Cosgrove Hall (makers of such classics as Dangermouse and Jamie & The Magic Torch) have done such a fine job of animating the missing episodes that you end up wishing more of the episodes had been missing and needed to be brought to life that way. Partly that's novelty value in evidence, but they're a joy to watch. And I don't get to say that about many black and white cartoons. In any case, I definitely want to see this sort of thing become less of a novelty and have more missing episodes given this very magic treatment.
Lovely stuff. Thanks for that.

Martin Scores Oscar

The Oscars are a funny business. They're often rendered meaningless as any mark of quality by the kinds of movies they're awarded to. And yet, for some reason, it still mattered that Martin Scorsese never got one and now that he has, I feel compelled to commemorate the occasion. I've not seen The Departed yet (largely because, as a remake of Infernal Affairs, a movie I thoroughly enjoyed, I can't imagine the story will hold many surprises for me), but I will get around to it eventually and I'm sure I'll be able to tell then whether it's a Scorsese movie that, remake or no, deserves such special recognition. It can't possibly be better than Goodfellas, obviously. And maybe these Best Picture and Best Director Oscars are just the ones Marty should have won for that movie, slightly overdue. To be honest, it was one of those oversights that was getting to the stage where it didn't matter which movie he won one for. But that's not to take anything away from The Departed or the achievement. Well done, Marty.

Prime Time Eval

Primeval. Like Torchwood but made by ITV. Which is not as damning as it sounds, but then again it doesn't elevate Torchwood in any way either. If we're gonna have kids rescuing cute CGInosaurs, I say bring back Surface damn it!

Disparate Entertainments

All work and no blog makes, er, for dull blogs I suppose. Yes, I've been busy. Not the sort of thing I'd often take the trouble to report - mostly because if I'm that busy, I'm generally too busy to report it. But as an excuse for not having blogged for a little while, it serves. Of course, I did post that short story of mine, but that was largely a bit of filler and, apart from a tiny intro paragraph didn't require much other than a quick cut n paste.
Still, it's not all been work here. I've been busy keeping myself entertained as well as productive.
For one, I've just now watched the first episode of the current season of ER. I'm horrified. Not from the harrowing emotional stuff, the trauma of an armed abduction, the operating room gore or the shock ending. No, I'm mortified by the sudden absence of the opening credits and theme. Come on, people, that's part of the weekly viewing pleasure.
Part of the reason I'm late in catching up with this (the 13th!) season is that me and the wife have been enjoying something of an ER marathon over the past few months (Seasons 1-6) and I have to say that even with all the drama of the Season 13 opener I've just seen, it can't match the level of emotional attachment the show commanded back then. So thoroughly involving it was I'm now considering getting a hold of Season 7 on DVD and maybe make my collection cut off point the really really sad one where Mark Green dies. I must be a masochist - I've only just gotten through the season with the departures of Jeannie and Carol and the deaths of Lucy (sniff) and Mark's dad. As at the beginning of last year's season, I find I'm just not as involved with or fond of a lot of the newer characters: I didn't care that much about Sam, Morris I'm thoroughly indifferent to and as for Ray, well, Ray-shmay. There are still those I like and am interested in (Luka, Abbey, Neela, Pratt) and of course we didn't want Jerry to croak, but it will have to pull out all the dramatic stops this year to compensate for all the favourite characters I'm missing these days.
Desperate Housewives has started out well this year and while I found it still retained its sparkle last year, it looks set to re-ignite more of its first-season flames with a mystery that's much better integrated into the Wisteria Lane community. On the surface, it looks fairly straightforward: Bree's married a wife-killer. But you know there has to be more to it than that and I'm looking forward to the show digging deeper and turning up who knows what. Kyle MacLachlan is great as Orson and if not for his dodgy wife-murdering past he'd be the perfect match for Bree. Double the OCD. On top of which we have the fireworks of Gabby's divorce and Susan's thread - with an amnesiac Mike being spoonfed a new version of the truth by evil Edie - is the usual Susan mix of goofy and tragic. (Although you have to wonder if loss of memory is also accompanied by loss of instinct and intuition: newly recovered from coma or no, surely Mike can tell Edie is a witch and Susan is honest, with just a screw or two loose.) Mainly, I think I'll be hoping for a stronger storyline for Lynette this year and watching her kick in the door of the interloping tramp this week was a joy to behold. I'm easily pleased, I guess.
Except, it must be said, that hasn't been the case with books lately. One poor mate of mine has been in the habit the past few years of buying me books for birthday and/or Christmas. Books that have usually been the subject of critical acclaim or come highly recommended by someone. And then I go and find them a bit lacking or not that special or, as in one case, particularly awful. And yet, he's a good mate, because he bought me books this Christmas too and having read one of them so far, I can safely declare it to be 'a good un'. Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (Susannah Clarke) was a book I'd heard good things about, but the weight and size of it were a bit daunting - doesn't anybody write short books these days? Luckily, once I'd dipped into it, I was grabbed. Oddly, in a way, because there's nothing very dramatic in it - indeed, there are a couple of points where it sidesteps some potential dramatic conflict - but it has the sort of rambling brilliance of an English classic, where you're happy to allow it to wander where it will simply because it's just so good. The tone is generally light and entertaining, but there's more than enough shadowy material for contrast and a few moments of genuine creepiness. Wizards and Waterloo, it's a thoroughly novel novel. The one problem I had with it lay with the blasted footnotes. Entertaining as they were in their own way, they were a source of consant interruption to the narrative and a distraction. Probably a necessary one, but there we are. That's just me. I guess I've never been very fond of footnotes in novels ever since battling my way through James Fenimore Cooper's Last Of The Mohicans.
Anyway, I'm following it up with Galactic North, a collection of SF short stories by the usually brilliant Alastair Reynolds (he's not just about the stylish covers, you know). There don't appear to be any footnotes and the stories are kind of long for short stories, but still they're short.
As well as all the reading and watching, we also had the pleasure of going out to a concert recently. Living where we do, we don't often get many 'big names' playing down here and I'm not sure Nerina Pallot qualifies as a 'big name' anyway, but she was great. Songs that I enjoyed well enough on her CD (Fires) really came alive in the relatively small theatre that served as the venue. She's a highly gifted songstress, and she flitted easily from piano to guitar to piano as the mood took her or as it suited the song, injecting such a wealth of passion into every performance, aided only by regular refills of G&T. Yes, I commented afterwards that it should have been billed as Unplugged and Tanked-up. She's quirky and kooky, but very funny with it and the only downside was that when playing her CD a day or so later, I found myself wanting to hear the live versions. Hmm, maybe I'm really not so easy to please.
As if all that fun wasn't enough, I've also been catching up on some movies. Working my way through a list, in fact, that I made last year of Movies I Really Ought To Get Around To Seeing. There were about 50 in all on the list and I believe that was back around September or somewhere like that, and I've now seen 15 of them which isn't bad going. Some failed to live up to expectations, some surpassed and others didn't have any expectations attached at all, managing to surprise or disappoint purely on their own merits. But perhaps more on some of those at a later date.
Meanwhile, in other news, my wife passed her driving test on Monday! Yay! She's been driving for twenty years already, but being from the States she needed to get herself licensed for the UK roads. So I'm going to finish on a self-indulgent "Well done!" to her. After all, these blogs shouldn't be all about me, me, me, should they.

It's About Time

It's been a quiet month. That's to say, it's been a busy one and so it's been quiet here. One of the things I did very early in the year - or it might have been late last year, I can't quite remember! - was enter a short story competition (sponsored by Virgin Trains). Basically, it had to be "about time" and no more than 500 words. It didn't have to feature a train, but it just so happened mine did. Mine didn't win, hence it's ending up here. It does have the advantage of being very short, so won't even take up your lunch hour. :) Enjoy.

Tunnel Vision

Clackety-clack. Tickety-tock. Tockety-tick. The rhythm of the train is like a runaway clock.
The miles race by, but the journey drags.
Our passenger wonders whether he wouldn’t prefer it to drag some more. Two hours to go plus another hour before the interview, and he’s already nervous. Ridiculous. He should be using the time to do something worthwhile – or at least distracting – like read. Or brush up on the job particulars – again.
He turns his face to the window and tries to lose himself in the countryside. But for the present there’s only a rushing wall of trees and shrubs.
Suddenly, with a roar, that’s gone too. Swallowed up by a tunnel.
Black after black streams past. The interior – his fellow travelers (although nothing to do with him), the few empty seats – projected on the dark screen like a phantom movie. In the midst of it all, a close-up of his own face.
A reflection. His eyes full of questions about where he is going.
His whole life flashes before him. A quick-fire flicker of possibilities.
The interview. A handshake, a welcome on board. Spreading the news. More handshakes, pats on the back, learning to like it, the celebrations. Hugs and kisses goodbye. The move, the stress, the big adventure. The scary first day, finding his way around, introductions, more handshakes.
Then it happens.
A chance meeting. Eyes search each other. Is she a colleague or a client? Impossible to say. She’s just a shadow. A shadow to share his life with. Marriage – months, a year maybe down the line. Two children, a boy and a girl. They’re all grown up now. Had job interviews of their own – done really well for themselves. She even has a family of her own now.
Grandchildren. Who’d have thought.
As he stares at the speeding yet still darkness outside, he has the odd sensation that the train is heading in the opposite direction. And he remembers experiencing that same thing on a journey many years before. On most of his journeys, in fact.
Briefly, he locks eyes with his reflection. His hair seems white, the lines on his face are etched more deeply than he had ever imagined and his gaze is full of questions about where he has been.
Daylight erupts out of nowhere. They’re back to the rush of trees and shrubs. A blur of green.
He’s on his way home now. The interview a mere memory and often not even that. His back is to the engine and he wonders when looking forward became looking back. He can only blame it on a trick of the tunnel. The Twilight Zone.
He listens to the rhythm of the tracks.
Clunk-clack-clack. Tock-tick-tock. Tock-tick.
Slowing down. Must be approaching a station.
But it’s not his, not yet.
He digs into his bag for a book to read or a crossword to solve. Some way to fill the remainder of the journey.
Something worthwhile, or at least a distraction.

SAF

Amazon Shorts

Prefect SlogHappy New Year to one and all. Meanwhile, as of December last, a selection of short stories of mine have been made available as Amazon Shorts. Which are kind of like Bermuda Shorts, but available electronically. But no, seriously, for a mere $0.49 anybody resident in the US can read and enjoy the stories to their heart's content - and they'll be available online for the next six months. I'm hopeful that if the whole Amazon Shorts programme is a success, the other Amazon sites - like Amazon.co.uk, for example - will adopt similar programmes. For now though, it'll be a reasonable outlet for me to promote a few original (and totally non-Doctor Who) writings and, who knows, help raise my profile a little. Added to which, I'm married to an American, so if nothing else I should have a few US friends and relations who should be taking advantage of this golden opportunity to read my stuff at the earliest opportunity! :) For now, all UK readers can do is take a look at the tantalising blurbs on the US Amazon site and see what a nice job they've done on the 'covers'. Have fun!