David Tennant, eh? Blink and you'd have still seen him. For ages. Even narcolepsy wouldn't have blanked him out. He's been on TV more than John Barrowman for once, which is in itself a miracle. Still, no-one watched his Hamlet on Boxing Day, so the UK yule wasn't an entirely Tennant-based affair. Five hours of Shakespeare was probably not ideal viewing in the family-wrecked aftermath of Christmas.
And there was the little matter of Doctor Who, regenerating from Tennant to Matt Smith on New Years Day after a Christmas Day special. This would have been an unfathomable piece of scheduling for the series in any era other than the Dalek mania of 1964-66, and attests to a transformation in the fortunes of this series, from the cult hit of the seventies to the incongruous mess of the eighties, and then its miraculous mainstream rebirth in 2005. Naturally, Doctor Who fans being what they are, they all love it so much they hate it, but their small-minded whinnying can't diminish the amazing feat this has been and Russell T. Davies's overwhelming success at achieving the impossible: resurrecting a much-loved but dead series, reworking the emphasis so that it worked in a more human and mainstream way (if only his old companions had anywhere near the journey of Rose or Donna I doubt it would have been cancelled in the first place...) and making the most of the budget to create the best visuals they could afford. Anyone who thinks this was easy or that anyone could have done it better are either hopelessly naive or pointlessly cruel. Moffat is, of course, the flavour of the month with the fans (till his series starts, and then all the grumbling begins again) but he's hardly had an illustrious history of TV success behind him, and though he is brilliant and I am terribly excited by his arrival as show-runner, he's lead a lot of series to cancellation down the years.
I have to say, I wasn't mad about the Christmas episode, it felt unstructured and lacked a compulsive narrative. I've not been keen on the fancy-gizmo-on-Earth stories (be it Sontarans, Cybermen or bad CGI Mark Gatiss) and this just felt like another of those. Yet the second episode was tremendous, most particularly for the performances by Bernard Cribbins and Tennant. I loved all the nods to previous regenerations (Davisons's crashing spaceship, Pertwee's radiation sickness, Tom Baker's Watcher, Troughton's trial by Time Lords), the 'fuck it' moment when he resigns himself to dying and goes and breaks the laws of time in small ways to say goodbye to all of his friends, and the lump-in-throat moment when he shut the Tardis door behind him and was all alone. And I got very excited to see Matt Smith, who just looks the part.
Davies has given us five years of brilliantly fun, exciting, entertaining and sometimes extremely moving TV in a format (saturday night family telly) and show everyone thought was dead. It could have missed the point, like the terrible McGann TV Movie, and turned Doctor Who into yet another witless sci-fi series, but instead it's returned with all of the charm, fun and excitement of the old series, and a whole load of new emotional, human stories to ground the entire thing, which it had really needed all along. And now onto Steven Moffat, who might turn out to be the Philip Hinchcliffe/Robert Holmes from Tom Baker's gothic, horrifying early years, to Davies's Barry Letts/Terrance Dicks from Jon Pertwee's earth-bound era. Or he might just be Al Gore to Davies's Clinton... I'm hoping the former. I think the next season is going to be really special.
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Showing posts with label cult. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cult. Show all posts
Sunday, 3 January 2010
Sunday, 15 November 2009
28 Days Water
The much-trailed penultimate David Tennant/Russell T Davis Doctor Who story, The Waters of Mars, was finally broadcast this evening, and reminded me of all of the reasons I've enjoyed RTD's reboot of the show.
There was a really gripping story, something Davies is repeatedly underestimated for considering his extensive plotting and rewriting of not just his but all the other writers stories bar Moffat's, emotional engagement in the form of Lindsay Duncan, some absolutely horrible monsters and a great psychological twist at the end - this time with the lonely Doctor (last of the Time Lords, travelling alone) going power mad, and prompting a bleak and abrupt suicide. Loved all the Logopolis (Tom Baker's brilliant final story)-style foreshadowing at the end too, with the Cloister Bell and the Ood watcher... One of the things I've liked most about RTD's tenure as chief writer has been his exploration of new angles on existing themes, and this story finally saw the dark underside of the almost religious and magical overtones he's given the Doctor in previous stories, especially The Sound of Drums. He's not seen individual stories as islands but has been happy to explore and review the human (and alien) consequences of moral choices made throughout the series. This was always the weakness of old Who. Much as individual stories were awesome, the resetting between stories was unnecessary and ultimately hindered audience connection with the characters.
Everyone is very excited about Moffat's reinvention of the franchise, but I'm a little worried. What RTD has done is broad brush humour, warmth, adventure and razzle-dazzle. Great as Moffat's stories have been they have been tonally very similar (dark, intense, complicated) and I doubt a whole run of stories like that would keep the audience the current series has gathered to it. I'm not a fan of the 'dark version', that film reboot style so popular with film-makers during the Bush era. I'm more a new Star Trek kinda guy - warm, witty reboots which capture the fun of a franchise and don't try to turn The Muppets into Hamlet. There's a place for the dark version, but not every Saturday teatime there ain't. Doctor Who is best when it's fun and scary, and The Waters of Mars was a great example of that. As soon as it gets a bit Christopher Nolan I'm outta here.
There was a really gripping story, something Davies is repeatedly underestimated for considering his extensive plotting and rewriting of not just his but all the other writers stories bar Moffat's, emotional engagement in the form of Lindsay Duncan, some absolutely horrible monsters and a great psychological twist at the end - this time with the lonely Doctor (last of the Time Lords, travelling alone) going power mad, and prompting a bleak and abrupt suicide. Loved all the Logopolis (Tom Baker's brilliant final story)-style foreshadowing at the end too, with the Cloister Bell and the Ood watcher... One of the things I've liked most about RTD's tenure as chief writer has been his exploration of new angles on existing themes, and this story finally saw the dark underside of the almost religious and magical overtones he's given the Doctor in previous stories, especially The Sound of Drums. He's not seen individual stories as islands but has been happy to explore and review the human (and alien) consequences of moral choices made throughout the series. This was always the weakness of old Who. Much as individual stories were awesome, the resetting between stories was unnecessary and ultimately hindered audience connection with the characters.
Everyone is very excited about Moffat's reinvention of the franchise, but I'm a little worried. What RTD has done is broad brush humour, warmth, adventure and razzle-dazzle. Great as Moffat's stories have been they have been tonally very similar (dark, intense, complicated) and I doubt a whole run of stories like that would keep the audience the current series has gathered to it. I'm not a fan of the 'dark version', that film reboot style so popular with film-makers during the Bush era. I'm more a new Star Trek kinda guy - warm, witty reboots which capture the fun of a franchise and don't try to turn The Muppets into Hamlet. There's a place for the dark version, but not every Saturday teatime there ain't. Doctor Who is best when it's fun and scary, and The Waters of Mars was a great example of that. As soon as it gets a bit Christopher Nolan I'm outta here.
Sunday, 23 August 2009
Wood Torched
I stopped watching Torchwood at the end of the first season, after my toes couldn't take the curling any more. Their stupid, kid's TV set base, their sudden showy bouts of alien sex for no reason, the archly constructed set of characters, and more than anything, the terrible stories – especially the fucking cyberwoman in her fucking cyberbra – took away so much from the newly revived and wonderful Doctor Who that it was better to pretend it wasn't there than engage with it and have it undermine the fun of my favourite TV show. Instead I discovered the joys of The Sarah Jane Adventures, which instead of attempting to make Buffy in Holby was a really great homage to old Doctor Who - quirky, shambolic and occasionally bloody scary, with the odd classic story to warm the cockles.
So, I didn't watch series two of Torchwood or their recent BBC1 mini-series Children of Earth. But it was only when people started to say the magic word Quatermass that I began to get interested in CoE. BBC3 have just repeated the five episodes, and I thought I'd give it a go. And I have to take my hat off to them, never have I seen a programme so improved. The story was brilliant – paedophile junkie aliens demand a tenth of the kids from the planet to incubate chemicals that feel good as the Barry White alien creature gasps orgasmically, and the government weasles its way from spin to Nazism over the curse of the tale (even with the wonderful Peter Capaldi doing a Goebbles and killing his own kids). All the moral dilemma stuff was pushed way beyond the usual TV or movie plots, with Jack topping and tailing the story by handing over a trial run of the kids in the sixties, and then blowing his own grandson up to stop them. The morality was quite revolting and brilliantly explored.
And along the way they've ditched the things that have held this series back. With boring Tosh and sleazy Owen already dispatched, this time it was the turn of Ianto, the man who put the wood into Torchwood, to cop it, and not before time. And they've blown their base up too. In fact, the series ends with the terrific Gwen Cooper beig the only surviving member of Torchwood left on Earth, after Jack understandably jets off for a bit of R&R among the stars.
Jack, of course, remains the weak link. A totally charming character when sweeping Rose Tyler off her feet in 1940s London, renegade Time Agent Jack Harkness has outstayed his welcome on an epic scale - across six series of two TV shows this character has roamed, getting progressively less interesting and sympathetic as each year passes. His costume is as irritating as Colin Baker's terrible outfit, and there's a heartbreaking moment in CoE when Jack has lost his clothes and is finally in civvies, and then stupid fucking Ianto goes and buys him another set of RAF surplus, which was the final nail in the Welshman's coffin for me. Throw the baby out with the bathwater, please!
Russell T. Davies has taken a stupid amount of stick from wanky 'fans' (ie, people who hate Doctor Who but know all about it) who don't seem to appreciate what he's done in bringing back a totally moribund format and making it viable and more popular than ever before. For me, Torchwood has been his big misfire, and The Sarah Jane Adventures his secret triumph. But CoE finally showed what this odd adult sci-fi show could be - not a slash porn version of Doctor Who but a show that takes the legacy of British sci-fi legends John Wyndham and Nigel Kneale and brings it up to date, as he had done in The Second Coming, which was probably the closest thing to CoE he has written thus far.
I didn't want to like it, but there we go, we can't always get what we want. Yes, it's still saddled with the ham, but at least the dead wood had gone, and it thoroughly deserved to be the massive ratings hit it was. I do hope they make some more in this vein, and wave goodbye to the gimmicks which had sat on the series and slowly killed it before our eyes.
So, I didn't watch series two of Torchwood or their recent BBC1 mini-series Children of Earth. But it was only when people started to say the magic word Quatermass that I began to get interested in CoE. BBC3 have just repeated the five episodes, and I thought I'd give it a go. And I have to take my hat off to them, never have I seen a programme so improved. The story was brilliant – paedophile junkie aliens demand a tenth of the kids from the planet to incubate chemicals that feel good as the Barry White alien creature gasps orgasmically, and the government weasles its way from spin to Nazism over the curse of the tale (even with the wonderful Peter Capaldi doing a Goebbles and killing his own kids). All the moral dilemma stuff was pushed way beyond the usual TV or movie plots, with Jack topping and tailing the story by handing over a trial run of the kids in the sixties, and then blowing his own grandson up to stop them. The morality was quite revolting and brilliantly explored.
And along the way they've ditched the things that have held this series back. With boring Tosh and sleazy Owen already dispatched, this time it was the turn of Ianto, the man who put the wood into Torchwood, to cop it, and not before time. And they've blown their base up too. In fact, the series ends with the terrific Gwen Cooper beig the only surviving member of Torchwood left on Earth, after Jack understandably jets off for a bit of R&R among the stars.
Jack, of course, remains the weak link. A totally charming character when sweeping Rose Tyler off her feet in 1940s London, renegade Time Agent Jack Harkness has outstayed his welcome on an epic scale - across six series of two TV shows this character has roamed, getting progressively less interesting and sympathetic as each year passes. His costume is as irritating as Colin Baker's terrible outfit, and there's a heartbreaking moment in CoE when Jack has lost his clothes and is finally in civvies, and then stupid fucking Ianto goes and buys him another set of RAF surplus, which was the final nail in the Welshman's coffin for me. Throw the baby out with the bathwater, please!
Russell T. Davies has taken a stupid amount of stick from wanky 'fans' (ie, people who hate Doctor Who but know all about it) who don't seem to appreciate what he's done in bringing back a totally moribund format and making it viable and more popular than ever before. For me, Torchwood has been his big misfire, and The Sarah Jane Adventures his secret triumph. But CoE finally showed what this odd adult sci-fi show could be - not a slash porn version of Doctor Who but a show that takes the legacy of British sci-fi legends John Wyndham and Nigel Kneale and brings it up to date, as he had done in The Second Coming, which was probably the closest thing to CoE he has written thus far.
I didn't want to like it, but there we go, we can't always get what we want. Yes, it's still saddled with the ham, but at least the dead wood had gone, and it thoroughly deserved to be the massive ratings hit it was. I do hope they make some more in this vein, and wave goodbye to the gimmicks which had sat on the series and slowly killed it before our eyes.
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Maximum Power!
Last weekend I was cat-sitting for my middle brother and discovered he had three series of Blake's 7 hidden on his bookshelf. I had seen series 1 and 2 in the last five years, but hadn't seen series 3 since it was last repeated in the eighties, so I gave that a go. And I have to say, I still bloody loved it.
I wasn't so much of a fan of the original line-up. Flicky Jenna, boring Gan and vain thesp Blake were better off dead in my book. And one big criticism of series 3 by fans is that it had lost its sense of quest: Blake was always trying to ferment revolution in the first two, and Avon had gone Blake crazy by the 4th, but in the third our anti-heroes seemed happy to potter about playing board games and get tricked into handing the Liberator over to the federation every other story. The thing is, I always thought the quest was a bit boring. I prefered them when they were just arsing about being sneered at by Avon (Paul Darrow doing a similar trick to his peer Tom Baker of delivering his lines quickly and in a monotone so that you always felt you were watching someone a bit other-worldly).
The big treat this season was the arrival of Someone Who Could Really Act. Josette Simon's many glittering post-Blake credits attest to her versatility, but I'm glad the BBC got to her first. Dayna, introduced in the first story of the season, hiding out with her medallion-man dad on a rough old planet covered in horse-riding barbarians, is a deadly weapons expert. Well, she was in this and about two other of the stories this season when they remembered it. But no matter what she was given, Josette was as dignifed as it was possible to be when playing a harp in a dream sequence, arguing with Servalan about who looks best in an assymetric toga or snogging both Avon and Tarrant. Both Dayna and Josette's talents were squandered, but even so it was great having her being sarky and stunningly beautiful on the Liberator – especially when intelligent, strong black women characters were virtually unknown on British telly.
But the next story introduces us to Tarrant, Somone With A Silly Voice. That was Stephen Pacey's big problem, really. Introduced as an alpha-male Blake-a-like, seemingly a Federation trooper till revealed as a naughty bandit, Tarrant spoke like someone taking the piss out of macho men on television. But, unlike Dayna, he gets loads to do. He's always teleporting down and shooting stuff, or arguing with Avon. But he never does anything remotely interesting. Even when, in the penultimate episode of this season, he turns up in a wig as his own brother engaged in a duel to the death with an android, you end up caring more about the brother than you do about Tarrant.
Cally gets tons to do. Like Tarrant, haunted Jan Leeming-lookalike and telepath Cally gets to play her own sibling in a particularly dull story, and then gets possessed in a totally bonkers episode where she ends up dolled up like Florence and the Machine and gets the rest of the crew to do magic tricks and sing. And she also snogs Avon, who is doing rather well out of the ladies this series considering he looks like Blackadder II. Cally also seems to teleport down everywhere despite the fact she's rubbish while trained warrior Dayna is left behind to push buttons and invent bombs she hides in her own mouth (bizarrely).
Vila. Now there was a man after my own heart. Coward, joker, dreamer and utter failure, Vila didn't get to do much ths series other than moan at Orac and Zen, drink green liquid and - oh yes - become leader of the world in one of the best ever stories, City at the Edge of the World. That was the things about series 3 - there wasn't much point, but some of the stories were fantastic. It's tremendously good fun. Well, apart from Volcano, which makes absolutely no sense and has an overuse of terrible stock footage, and Moloch, which has such a spectacularly bad ending that you almost feel dirty for having watched it.
But Avon and Servalan really dominate the season. Avon is rather passive, considering the weakness of the Federation at the start of the season following the intergalactic war, so Servalan does all of the chasing. And she crops up in almost every story, slinking about in her ugly dead baby crocodile spaceship and trying to get her hands on the Liberator. And you can see why - it's bloody cool. Zen is up there with K9 for me as most lamented childhood loss. Considering she's so powerful, Servalan shows she's a very hands-on kinda manager. She's always hiding behind the next door or chained to the wall round the corner. But you get some sense of her importance in the brilliant Rumours of Death, set in a stately home on earth she's had reconstructed, where hoards of guards are protecting her from the rebels. Avon is understandably annoyed that the one woman he ever loved - Anna Grant - turned out to be the Federation's best agent. Still, they get to snog, and he also snogs Servalan twice, turning him into the unlikeliest sex object in the universe. Amazing what a bit of black leather will do.
The finale, Terminal, is bloody brilliant. Very subdued and atmospheric. Avon off on a mysterious mission, thinks he's found Blake, oops, no, it's Servalan again, natch. The Liberator takes a bath in some corrosive fungi which basically covers the whole ship with snot and kills it. And when Servalan finally gets her manicured nails on it the whole thing immediately blows up around her. What an ending! And what a fun series. I haven't even got round to the giant brain or the fetuses. This was made at the same time as Tom Baker was having a high old time with his Mrs, Lalla Ward, on the budget and strike-hit fag end of his residency in the Tardis, and it shows - there's the same degree of shambolic production values and plotting-by-numbers going on by both Douglas Adams at Doctor Who and Chris Boucher at Blake's 7. But in the end, both of them turned out some glorious stuff, hugely entertaining successes and failures that lit up my childhood and made me the nerdy telly addict I am today. Thank god my brother had the boxed set. Now I want season 4!
I wasn't so much of a fan of the original line-up. Flicky Jenna, boring Gan and vain thesp Blake were better off dead in my book. And one big criticism of series 3 by fans is that it had lost its sense of quest: Blake was always trying to ferment revolution in the first two, and Avon had gone Blake crazy by the 4th, but in the third our anti-heroes seemed happy to potter about playing board games and get tricked into handing the Liberator over to the federation every other story. The thing is, I always thought the quest was a bit boring. I prefered them when they were just arsing about being sneered at by Avon (Paul Darrow doing a similar trick to his peer Tom Baker of delivering his lines quickly and in a monotone so that you always felt you were watching someone a bit other-worldly).
The big treat this season was the arrival of Someone Who Could Really Act. Josette Simon's many glittering post-Blake credits attest to her versatility, but I'm glad the BBC got to her first. Dayna, introduced in the first story of the season, hiding out with her medallion-man dad on a rough old planet covered in horse-riding barbarians, is a deadly weapons expert. Well, she was in this and about two other of the stories this season when they remembered it. But no matter what she was given, Josette was as dignifed as it was possible to be when playing a harp in a dream sequence, arguing with Servalan about who looks best in an assymetric toga or snogging both Avon and Tarrant. Both Dayna and Josette's talents were squandered, but even so it was great having her being sarky and stunningly beautiful on the Liberator – especially when intelligent, strong black women characters were virtually unknown on British telly.
But the next story introduces us to Tarrant, Somone With A Silly Voice. That was Stephen Pacey's big problem, really. Introduced as an alpha-male Blake-a-like, seemingly a Federation trooper till revealed as a naughty bandit, Tarrant spoke like someone taking the piss out of macho men on television. But, unlike Dayna, he gets loads to do. He's always teleporting down and shooting stuff, or arguing with Avon. But he never does anything remotely interesting. Even when, in the penultimate episode of this season, he turns up in a wig as his own brother engaged in a duel to the death with an android, you end up caring more about the brother than you do about Tarrant.
Cally gets tons to do. Like Tarrant, haunted Jan Leeming-lookalike and telepath Cally gets to play her own sibling in a particularly dull story, and then gets possessed in a totally bonkers episode where she ends up dolled up like Florence and the Machine and gets the rest of the crew to do magic tricks and sing. And she also snogs Avon, who is doing rather well out of the ladies this series considering he looks like Blackadder II. Cally also seems to teleport down everywhere despite the fact she's rubbish while trained warrior Dayna is left behind to push buttons and invent bombs she hides in her own mouth (bizarrely).
Vila. Now there was a man after my own heart. Coward, joker, dreamer and utter failure, Vila didn't get to do much ths series other than moan at Orac and Zen, drink green liquid and - oh yes - become leader of the world in one of the best ever stories, City at the Edge of the World. That was the things about series 3 - there wasn't much point, but some of the stories were fantastic. It's tremendously good fun. Well, apart from Volcano, which makes absolutely no sense and has an overuse of terrible stock footage, and Moloch, which has such a spectacularly bad ending that you almost feel dirty for having watched it.
But Avon and Servalan really dominate the season. Avon is rather passive, considering the weakness of the Federation at the start of the season following the intergalactic war, so Servalan does all of the chasing. And she crops up in almost every story, slinking about in her ugly dead baby crocodile spaceship and trying to get her hands on the Liberator. And you can see why - it's bloody cool. Zen is up there with K9 for me as most lamented childhood loss. Considering she's so powerful, Servalan shows she's a very hands-on kinda manager. She's always hiding behind the next door or chained to the wall round the corner. But you get some sense of her importance in the brilliant Rumours of Death, set in a stately home on earth she's had reconstructed, where hoards of guards are protecting her from the rebels. Avon is understandably annoyed that the one woman he ever loved - Anna Grant - turned out to be the Federation's best agent. Still, they get to snog, and he also snogs Servalan twice, turning him into the unlikeliest sex object in the universe. Amazing what a bit of black leather will do.
The finale, Terminal, is bloody brilliant. Very subdued and atmospheric. Avon off on a mysterious mission, thinks he's found Blake, oops, no, it's Servalan again, natch. The Liberator takes a bath in some corrosive fungi which basically covers the whole ship with snot and kills it. And when Servalan finally gets her manicured nails on it the whole thing immediately blows up around her. What an ending! And what a fun series. I haven't even got round to the giant brain or the fetuses. This was made at the same time as Tom Baker was having a high old time with his Mrs, Lalla Ward, on the budget and strike-hit fag end of his residency in the Tardis, and it shows - there's the same degree of shambolic production values and plotting-by-numbers going on by both Douglas Adams at Doctor Who and Chris Boucher at Blake's 7. But in the end, both of them turned out some glorious stuff, hugely entertaining successes and failures that lit up my childhood and made me the nerdy telly addict I am today. Thank god my brother had the boxed set. Now I want season 4!
Sunday, 26 April 2009
Forget Mexican Swine Flu...
I definitely don't want what they had in Primeval last night. In an episode reminiscent of The Silurians, one of the very best Jon Pertwee Doctor Who stories, a prehistoric fungus spreads through London creating panic. Even the famous railway station scene, that disaster-movie classic setting, is recreated at beautiful St Pancras.
I particularly liked the stupid personification of the fungi as a Marvel Comics-type Thing. If I have one criticism of the revived Doctor Who it has been the relative lack of traditional monster fare. I want more exploding fungal bogey-men on telly. Preferably during Loose Women.
With those scary stories of swine flu all over the media, this episode was oddly more topical than a cheeseball teatime sci-fi show about dinosaurs probably should be. But then I'm easily carried away. I remember after I saw Shaun of the Dead I caught sight of my eyes, red with conjunctivitis, and went to bed thinking there were zombies banging at the window all night.
I particularly liked the stupid personification of the fungi as a Marvel Comics-type Thing. If I have one criticism of the revived Doctor Who it has been the relative lack of traditional monster fare. I want more exploding fungal bogey-men on telly. Preferably during Loose Women.
With those scary stories of swine flu all over the media, this episode was oddly more topical than a cheeseball teatime sci-fi show about dinosaurs probably should be. But then I'm easily carried away. I remember after I saw Shaun of the Dead I caught sight of my eyes, red with conjunctivitis, and went to bed thinking there were zombies banging at the window all night.
Monday, 20 April 2009
Grace Jones is a lesbian?
There's always been somewhat of a whiff of Adam and Joe's The 1980s House about Ashes to Ashes. The new series opened with a triptych of Thatcherite imagery: a Rio-fuelled car chase, the Taskforce setting sail for the South Atlantic and a Stephen Milligan-inspired auto-erotic asphyxiation. Even Maggie's mantra of 'one of us' (stolen from ABBA, but she was like that) was very much in evidence, as our trusty team of figments of Alex Drake's fading imagination act exacty as you would imagine to solve the mystery death of a fellow copper. You have to hand it to Alex, her memory of the 80s is pretty fantastic, considering this entire world has been dreamt up by her while in a coma. If it was me, it would just consist of white MFI furniture, Max Headroom and crunchy perms.
There were some lazy touches (the photocopier hadn't been the same since that bird from accounts photocopied her arse at the Christmas party, apparently, and important clues can be discovered by rubbing a pencil over a notepad - presumably an in-joke, but even so), the sort of thing that could easily undermine the entire series if it was left unchecked. But the plot was enjoyably twisty, with some very bleak little glimpses into Alex's nightmare world, where she's being actively pursued by the present in a way that Sam Tyler never had to deal with. The big problem for Ashes to Ashes has been that the idea was so perfectly encapsulated in Life on Mars that just rehashing the same ground with a woman in the 80s isn't really enough. They look like they're trying to address that by cranking up the differences, with her world being invaded by this ghost from the future. Might not be all that easy to pull off.
Particularly lovely to hear Philip Glenister again sans Amerian accent. Gene Hunt. Like the rest of the programme, it shouldn't work. Yet he's such a sexy character, mainly because of Glenister's maudlin performance, a darkness he didn't need to give him. In Life on Mars it served as a counterweight to Sam's bleak and confused visions. In Ashes to Ashes up against cocky postmodern Alex he's the more sad, and we just don't know why. And I'm not sure I want to.
There were some lazy touches (the photocopier hadn't been the same since that bird from accounts photocopied her arse at the Christmas party, apparently, and important clues can be discovered by rubbing a pencil over a notepad - presumably an in-joke, but even so), the sort of thing that could easily undermine the entire series if it was left unchecked. But the plot was enjoyably twisty, with some very bleak little glimpses into Alex's nightmare world, where she's being actively pursued by the present in a way that Sam Tyler never had to deal with. The big problem for Ashes to Ashes has been that the idea was so perfectly encapsulated in Life on Mars that just rehashing the same ground with a woman in the 80s isn't really enough. They look like they're trying to address that by cranking up the differences, with her world being invaded by this ghost from the future. Might not be all that easy to pull off.
Particularly lovely to hear Philip Glenister again sans Amerian accent. Gene Hunt. Like the rest of the programme, it shouldn't work. Yet he's such a sexy character, mainly because of Glenister's maudlin performance, a darkness he didn't need to give him. In Life on Mars it served as a counterweight to Sam's bleak and confused visions. In Ashes to Ashes up against cocky postmodern Alex he's the more sad, and we just don't know why. And I'm not sure I want to.
Sunday, 19 April 2009
Tyrannosaurus rocks
My word. After the dog's dinner of last week, Primeval was fantastic this Saturday. The crazy conspiracy stuff finally worked, the loss of poor old Cutter wasn't felt at all, sexy Jason Flemyng (be still my raging hormones) made his comeback, and they had their Best Dinosaur Ever - a bloody beautifully realised T-Rex - rampaging all round an airport and eating stupid journos. Yay! They even gave a point to Ben Miller's character for once.
This dedicated fan of schlocky telly sci-fi has given Primeval three series of last chances, and they've finally delivered with something dumb, fun and properly exciting. Re-enacting the Jurassic Park T-Rex-eye-through-car-window thing with a jumbo jet was a lovely touch, just the kind of silly one-upmanship that Hollywood blockbusters do so well. They finally seem to be enjoying the potential of the series. It'll obviously now be cancelled.
This dedicated fan of schlocky telly sci-fi has given Primeval three series of last chances, and they've finally delivered with something dumb, fun and properly exciting. Re-enacting the Jurassic Park T-Rex-eye-through-car-window thing with a jumbo jet was a lovely touch, just the kind of silly one-upmanship that Hollywood blockbusters do so well. They finally seem to be enjoying the potential of the series. It'll obviously now be cancelled.
Monday, 13 April 2009
Spare us the Cutter
So, confused, moralising, shark-eyed Cutter is dead, in an episode which appropriately catalogued (and, I hope, contained) all of the major faults with Primeval: it was a sprawling, unfocussed mess set entirely in brightly-lit unatmospheric public buildings which lack a sense of claustrophobia; the comedy was forced and cheap; changes of tone were handled as deftly as a piano moved by chimps; Becker; all attempts at introducing X-Files-style conspiracies were embarrassing; Becker again; and criminally wasting evil Helen who could be way more exciting than the female Dennis Hopper she's become.
I just hope that with Cutter went all of the clutter of previous seasons. All I want is scary dino sci fi trash with the odd cute bloke to swoon over – like last week. Stop making it look so hard.
I just hope that with Cutter went all of the clutter of previous seasons. All I want is scary dino sci fi trash with the odd cute bloke to swoon over – like last week. Stop making it look so hard.
Waiting for Goddard
Good to see Jim Bergerac's arch-nemesis, aristo jewel-thief Phillipa Vale, alive and well in Doctor Who. Sadly she's regenerated from 'bubbly' Give Us A Clue stalwalt Liza Goddard. Not sure that dry bleached perm would have survived the alien desert.
Sunday, 5 April 2009
Blinking 'eck
Doctor Who cast a long shadow over Primeval this week. In a good way. Clearly they've realised there's been a lack of atmosphere and suspense in the series up till now, and attempts are being made to spook it up a bit. Hence, mythical beasts from the past, supernatural overtones and horror movie devices. Haunted house: check. Spooky girl in a red coat: check. Kids disappearing years ago: check. Hapless comic relief guy: check.
There were loads of things I liked about this episode, in fact it may be my favourite so far. Firstly, they kept the dull characters out of it and focussed on the freakishly made-over Abby, dappy Connor and Claudia Brown or whatever the fuck she's called these days. Secondly they did the excellent genre trick of stealing from the best, so there were tons of parallels with Stephen Moffatt's Doctor Who stories, especially the blood-curdling Blink, as well as with Stephen King. Thirdly, they kept the story small and claustrophobic rather than the old Primeval 'let a Mammoth loose on the M1' tactic. On the downside there's now so many regular characters that it's turning into cretaceous Crossroads. I'm hoping this means there will be a bloodbath of the boring before the end of the series.
And suddenly I have a whole new reason to watch. Oh yes. Detective Danny Quinn, played by the stupendously sexy Jason Flemyng. I mean, really. Proper acting and everything. Which it bloody well needs to compensate for Becker: Vin Diesel played by Jimmy Carr. Not that Flemyng needs to act to keep me watching. He just needs to frown, wiggle those hyper-mobile eyebrows and say absolutely anything with that syrup-over-sandpaper voice of his. Swoon.
There were loads of things I liked about this episode, in fact it may be my favourite so far. Firstly, they kept the dull characters out of it and focussed on the freakishly made-over Abby, dappy Connor and Claudia Brown or whatever the fuck she's called these days. Secondly they did the excellent genre trick of stealing from the best, so there were tons of parallels with Stephen Moffatt's Doctor Who stories, especially the blood-curdling Blink, as well as with Stephen King. Thirdly, they kept the story small and claustrophobic rather than the old Primeval 'let a Mammoth loose on the M1' tactic. On the downside there's now so many regular characters that it's turning into cretaceous Crossroads. I'm hoping this means there will be a bloodbath of the boring before the end of the series.
And suddenly I have a whole new reason to watch. Oh yes. Detective Danny Quinn, played by the stupendously sexy Jason Flemyng. I mean, really. Proper acting and everything. Which it bloody well needs to compensate for Becker: Vin Diesel played by Jimmy Carr. Not that Flemyng needs to act to keep me watching. He just needs to frown, wiggle those hyper-mobile eyebrows and say absolutely anything with that syrup-over-sandpaper voice of his. Swoon.
Monday, 30 March 2009
Fuck off, The Wire
'It's so clever, it's so complex, it's so grown-up.'
It's for people who are too pretentious to watch actual telly. Let's not forget, Buffy was doing this shit - with laughs to boot - before DVD boxed sets even existed.
It's for people who are too pretentious to watch actual telly. Let's not forget, Buffy was doing this shit - with laughs to boot - before DVD boxed sets even existed.
Saturday, 28 March 2009
Being even more Human
So, there's just been the 'making of' documentary, Being Human: Unearthed, and now they're repeating the first three episodes, for 'tis BBC3's Being Human night.
I was worried when Being Human and Red Riding both finished earlier this month. What would replace them in my affections? Ten Years Younger with Myleene Klass and Moving Wallpaper? Not quite. But luckily for me, as it was made by cash-strapped BBC3, Being Human will be repeated every month for the rest of that channel's existence, and I'll keep stumbling across little gems like: 'A-positive: a bit Jacob's Creeky for my taste...' as I surf about looking for something that doesn't make me feel violent.
Being Human has a remarkably good cast. And I'm not just saying that cos I fancy Russell Tovey. After all, I'm more of a Gilbert kinda guy. I actually bumped into one of the actors, the woman who plays Nina, at a play recently. She was, in the words of a work friend, almost medically short. It must be the oddest thing for actors, getting involved in 'cult telly'. The obsessiveness of geeks (like me) and the cynicism of TV companies means that the acting is the least of their priorities: there's DVD commentaries, interactive online episodes, idents and behind the scenes documentaries to record before they even get to conventions in the Ramada in Hemel Hempstead and SFX interviews for the rest of their lives.
I was worried when Being Human and Red Riding both finished earlier this month. What would replace them in my affections? Ten Years Younger with Myleene Klass and Moving Wallpaper? Not quite. But luckily for me, as it was made by cash-strapped BBC3, Being Human will be repeated every month for the rest of that channel's existence, and I'll keep stumbling across little gems like: 'A-positive: a bit Jacob's Creeky for my taste...' as I surf about looking for something that doesn't make me feel violent.
Being Human has a remarkably good cast. And I'm not just saying that cos I fancy Russell Tovey. After all, I'm more of a Gilbert kinda guy. I actually bumped into one of the actors, the woman who plays Nina, at a play recently. She was, in the words of a work friend, almost medically short. It must be the oddest thing for actors, getting involved in 'cult telly'. The obsessiveness of geeks (like me) and the cynicism of TV companies means that the acting is the least of their priorities: there's DVD commentaries, interactive online episodes, idents and behind the scenes documentaries to record before they even get to conventions in the Ramada in Hemel Hempstead and SFX interviews for the rest of their lives.
Primeval goes rogue
I happen to love Primeval. I know, I know, it's like admitting to a sexual fetish for John McCririck. Last year it rebooted itself by jumping through an anomaly into a completely different version of Earth, seemingly so that all the characters could just be a bit cooler. This year it's started merging Egyptology with dinosaurs, which has set off my StargateSense (basically inducing nausea and shaking).
Abby appears to have got the London Look from Rimmell, sleeping in more black eye shadow than Rameses himself, but let's hope Connor can shake off both his Pete Doherty wardrobe and the slight whiff that's followed him of being a young Neil Morrissey. Still, they've introduced a couple of newbies to sex it up: Sarah Page and Captain Becker: a pair of svelte, pouty and highly unlikely types. So far she's acted him off the screen. Here's hoping he improves or gets eaten by a gorgonopsid.
No doubt about it, this season looks way more ambitious than previous ones: more action and adventure, a bit of Indiana Jones and Unit from Dr Who thrown in, neither of which are bad things in my book. And this episode was much less reliant on Nick's moralising and pining for Claudia Brown than the last season, which it bloody well needed to be. We want an hour of dinosaurs eating children and stamping on Renault Clios, not Nick Cutter furrowing his brow and being tortured about plot twists from two seasons ago.
Of course, it needs lots more of mad, evil Helen, the Servalan du jour with her heaving bosom and prehistoric grooming regime, to assure my full engagement. Sure, it's not The Wire, but if it were I probably wouldn't be watching it...
Abby appears to have got the London Look from Rimmell, sleeping in more black eye shadow than Rameses himself, but let's hope Connor can shake off both his Pete Doherty wardrobe and the slight whiff that's followed him of being a young Neil Morrissey. Still, they've introduced a couple of newbies to sex it up: Sarah Page and Captain Becker: a pair of svelte, pouty and highly unlikely types. So far she's acted him off the screen. Here's hoping he improves or gets eaten by a gorgonopsid.
No doubt about it, this season looks way more ambitious than previous ones: more action and adventure, a bit of Indiana Jones and Unit from Dr Who thrown in, neither of which are bad things in my book. And this episode was much less reliant on Nick's moralising and pining for Claudia Brown than the last season, which it bloody well needed to be. We want an hour of dinosaurs eating children and stamping on Renault Clios, not Nick Cutter furrowing his brow and being tortured about plot twists from two seasons ago.
Of course, it needs lots more of mad, evil Helen, the Servalan du jour with her heaving bosom and prehistoric grooming regime, to assure my full engagement. Sure, it's not The Wire, but if it were I probably wouldn't be watching it...
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