The Pausers

I’m a little astounded that, on only my third post since I resumed blogging, I’m not only about to repeat myself but I’m going to talk again about bad acting. But I’m going to do it anyway; astoundanation bedamned. A week or so ago, I posted this entry about Tudors star Jonathon Rhys Myers. I noted that, in his role as an ageing Henry VIII, he’d taken to lowering his voice to a unseemly level and pausing (for God knows what) every couple of words. It was taking approximately twice as long for him to say every sentence as it would take any of the rest of us. It is very possible, of course, they didn’t have enough script so his pausing was strategic, but we all know that’s not true. I’ve just watched the last episode of season four and, thankfully, the last episode ever. So chronically dreadful was Myers’ performance in this episode that I sat on my couch willing with all my might that the King of England, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, Head of the Church Of England¹ would just die already and put us and him out of all our misery.² It was flipping torturous, even if the wonderful Anne Boleyn did make a brief appearance (head reattached). I was embarrassed for him, as I have been frequently during this season. I very much imagine that his colleagues must have been behind the scenes on the set laughing and saying, “What the hell is Jonny at? Do you think he’s having some sort of stroke?!” Horrendous!

I have an acting tip for Mr. Myers right here. When you go to, say, a restaurant, would you order thusly:

I would like the
…
…
Ceasar salad
…
…
but go easy on
…
…
the croutons.

No, no, you fucking wouldn’t. So why is it acceptable to punctuate so absolutely needlessly when you’re pretending to be Henry VIII?! The old charmer sounded like a busy man, to be honest, burning all those heretics and beheading all those traitors, so I’m sure he just spat out whatever it was. Henry VIII was no pauser! You, my friend, sounded like a bollocks.

–
¹ Commander of the Sun, Ruler of the Kingdom of Tortoises, Emperor of all that is Good and Purple… Christ, I thought he was never going to finish.
² He did die eventually by the way. Yes, Henry VIII = dead now and, with any luck, Jonathon Rhys Myers = out of work actor now.

I’m the Doctor, and I just snogged Madame de Pompadour!

It has to be said, I’m fussy about my Doctor Who companions. In fact, I’m probably fussier about my companions than I am about my Doctors.

Historically, the Doctor’s companions have been very hit and miss. Patrick Troughton’s Jamie and Zoe were wonderful; Jon Pertwee and Tom Baker’s Sarah Jane was divine; Baker’s Harry was a joy; but his and and Peter Davison‘s Nyssa and Tegan were dreadful. Etcetera, etcetera.

In the new series, I adored Rose. I thought she was great and I could have watched the natural chemistry between her and David Tennant’s Doctor all day. It was so wonderfully reminiscent of Tom Baker’s Doctor and Romana. It’s no wonder she stayed in the show for so long, for she was both popular and good at what she did.

Martha, bless her, was a disaster. She couldn’t act, she was annoying to watch (I still impersonate her constant breathless panicking for a friend), and for someone who was apparently studying medicine, she was really very stupid. (In real life interviews, it seems the actress who played Martha is, indeed, a bit thick.) Praise the Gods they got rid of her quickly, even if she did have to make several Russell-T-everything-must-be-massive-and-brilliant-Davies reappearances. She’s gone for good now, I think.

Donna was just as you would expect Catherine Tate to be, but it worked. Again, she and David Tennant’s Doctor worked very well together. She was clever and engaging. I wouldn’t have liked her to be any more Catherine Tate but she hit the mark well. She’s a funny woman, really.

But few can match the sheer obnoxiousness of Amy Pond, the companion in the current series. Here she is, travelling with the universe’s most interesting and engaging genius, and she spends her time trying to make out that she’s cleverer than he is. She’s really not. Every line is delivered in a, ‘Yes, I know, you’re boring me now’ attitude and tone of voice when we all know that there’s no way she could know that and she’s just being deeply annoying and arrogant. She was constantly nasty and selfish towards her fiancé for no reason, and (with only a smattering of exceptions) she seems to be completely devoid of human emotion. It’s very hard to watch her and I tend to look away from the screen a lot when she’s on it. If I didn’t think better, I would believe that the production team told her to ‘play it psychopathically’ but that’s surely not how WHO does business. I think she’ll be in it for another series, or we would have heard otherwise by now. It’s a shame, really, for she’s totally ruined this one for me and I’m sure there are plenty out there who could do a much better job.

The Chokers

I love The Tudors. I love the costumes, the pretty people, the scenery, and the over-wrought and oft-ridiculous performances. It’s silly and engaging telly, and I wouldn’t be without it. Plus, I want to sleep with most of the cast.

But what in the name of all that is holy is Jonathan Rhys Meyers doing in this last series? Now, he’s an insufferable little prick to watch at the best of times but he’s really pulling out all the stops for series four. In series one to three, his general modus operandi was to SHOUT every single emotion, regardless of what it was, or at whom it was directed. When he wasn’t shouting, he favoured pausing after every two words in a sentence to make his point. He made his point, you could argue, but it wasn’t worth listening to after the second or third round of tedious delivery. He’s a very limited actor, there’s no doubt.

In series four, he’s upped it a notch and has taken to talking in a Very Deep Voice (whilst still shouting and pausing for every line). At first, I thought he probably had a cold on the day of filming so I could let it pass, but as it continued, I realised that he was doing it presumably because his character (Henry VIII) was getting old and he thought this would be the best way to convey his increasing years. It’s so really not. (Oi, director, you’re supposed to know things like this.) I know quite a few aged gentlemen and none of them speak like they’ve just started choking on a piece of toast, so it’s beyond me why he thinks that this is an effective strategy. Frankly, I think that members of the over-paid acting fraternity should know better if I do. I find myself looking at the screen and saying, ‘Clear your throat, man, what the hell’s wrong with you?!’ Or, at the very least, hoping when he started that carry on that someone had the good sense to slap him hard on the back a couple of times to put him out of his misery. Or, you know, his face. Whichever was closest…

Doctor Woefully Awful

It’s not often I break out the old blog these days, although I certainly have a few things in mind that I want to blog about. Let’s start with Saturday night’s Doctor Who. Oh dear God, yes, let’s start there.

I was excited for Doctor Who’s return at the weekend for, with all its faults, it’s a damn good show. And the good outweighs the bad. There’s been lots of coverage, of course, about the new Doctor and about David Tennant‘s departure from the role, but I’m rather more interested in changes in the writing team. Now, all due credit to Russell T Davies (RTD) for resurrecting Who after its 15 year break, but my respect for him largely ends there. RTD cannot write. He’s the head writer of a major television production, and he just cannot write. Something isn’t right. Yes, many will argue that if he’s given the time to think through his stories, and he takes the time to scribe coherent ideas, he’ll manage to come up with the goods. But I disagree. I’ve seldom enjoyed an episode penned by RTD, and Saturday night was no exception. Let’s summarise what happened. We had a wooden companion who we were presumably supposed to like, a handful of vacant and pointless characters who served no purpose other than filling out the numbers, and a sloppy story premise which involved – as it always does in RTD’s episodes – the end of the world. Again. Groan. The first ten minutes were wholly derivative of Midnight (another RTD story), while the remaining 50 were a mix of unimpressive special effects and RTD’s trademark ‘cryptic’ prophecies. There was little discernible story arc and there was even less to engage the viewer and make them care. So the world was going to end again or something. Isn’t it always Russell? The whole thing was just embarrassing. I was bored out of my mind.

One poor episode I could forgive, of course – God knows we’re used to them by now with RTD – but my concern is for David Tennant. He’s been the best Doctor, in my opinion (and he’s had some hard acts to follow) and I feel bad for him that this – this inconsequential, lazy rubbish – will be how he finishes out his days in Who. Tennant acts his little socks off every single time he’s on camera, and he himself must feel dejected that he has this nonsense to work with. I look forward to Steven Moffat taking over the writing team shortly, for he is very talented and he never fails to please, but it will be too late for David Tennant, alas. He’s just going to have to put up with these horrendous stories in the meantime and hope that his fans know that he’s better than them. This fan certainly does.

The Mighty Bore

Oh, my dear Mighty Boosh, how I used to love you and your funny old ways; and now how thoroughly mundane you are.

Step one: Check it out! I’m Vince and I’m whacky!

Step two: Check it out! He’s Howard and he’s anal.

Step three: Check it out! Watch us sing a song you’ve all heard us sing before.

Step four: Check it out! Here’s a cockney geezer.

Step five: Check it out! Now watch us roll our eyes at each other because I’m WHACKY and he’s ANAL!

Step six: Check it out! Here are some bright colours. You always like them.

Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse…

*yawn*

The Boy from Space

Oh sweet baby Jesus and the orphans, I never actually thought I would be thanking Russell Brand for anything but today I am. He’s only just gone and helped me answer a question I’ve been asking for years!

See, every so often, I think about a programme we watched in primary school when I was probably about seven or eight. It was the first sci-fi programme I’d ever seen, and it was on the BBC. I’ve only ever remembered two things about it: (1) it involved two men (spacemen) who had blond hair and who wore blue spacesuits; and (2) it was absolutely terrifying! I’ve never been able to think of the programme’s name, and I’ve never had enough to go on to ask the Internet. Until now.

The other week, I saw an advertisement for an upcoming show of Brand’s, and in the ad, he had a clip of the very show I’m talking about. I recognised it instantly (and screamed a little at the television, I do believe!) and have been searching Google for the programme’s title ever since. I was drawing many blanks – Google can be so vague – until today when I gathered all my googling resources and finally got my answer.

The Boy from Space.

The Boy from Fucking Space, people! Of course! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. Dear reader(s), this finding has delighted me in ways I can’t describe to you! I’ve lost many hours of sleep trying to think of this programme’s name and trying to remember more about it than I do, and now I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I feel like I’ve just split the frickin’ atom!

The Boy from Space!

And look: there’s a whole pile of clips and episodes on YouTube.

Imma gonna watch ‘em all!

Cheers Russell. May I never be scathing about you ever again. Or at least until next week.

Doctor No

Man, I think it’s ruined my week you know. Doctor Who, that is. I’ve been in a constant State of Frown since 8.00 on Saturday evening, so I can’t deny the correlation. Not only was Saturday’s finale painfully dissapointing but, looking back, I now realise that I found the whole series very dull in places. Smith and Jones didn’t thrill me (and certainly didn’t hook me into the new series); The Shakespeare Code was very dull (and I tried to like it by watching it three times); Gridlock was a disgrace; I think I fell asleep during The Lazarus Experiment; I can’t even remember what 42 was about but it had Cindy Beale I think; and until the last five minutes of Utopia, I don’t think I even bothered watching.

Now, I’ll admit that I enjoyed the return of my beloved Daleks immensely, and Human Nature, The Family of Blood and Blink were nothing short of genius, but this series leaves me feeling very sour indeed. My ratio of tedium to genius speaks for itself, and the numerous wasted opportunites for legendary television with the Doctor and the Master are just unforgivable. (And whoever decided to turn the Doctor into Gollum for half an hour should be forced to move to a desert island with nothing but peas to live on.) Part of me even resents The Sound of the Drums now for making me believe the finale was going to be beautifully magical. For it really was as woeful as it could be.

Tennant gets better and better and make no mistake (which is no mean achievement given what he has to work with), although I’d advise him to pick his companions a little more astutely from now on; and it’s always nice to mess around with Captain Jack for a couple of episodes. But all in all, I’m not inclined to be thumbs-up happy at all. I think I even want them to give it up for a little while until it can find its feet again. That’s me saying I’d go without my David for the sake of the people, ye hear?! It must be bad…

[Edit on 04.07.07: what was I saying about picking companions more astutely? Man alive!]

More racism in Big Brother – housemate evicted this time

Hooray for sense prevailing.

Emily Parr has been removed from the Big Brother house for using a racially offensive word to another housemate.

The 19-year-old from Bristol was taken out of the compound at 0330 BST and was forbidden from having any further contact with the 11 other contestants.

This week’s eviction vote has been suspended, in which Emily was nominated along with Shabnam Paryani.

A spokeswoman for Channel 4 said that the decision had been taken because “such behaviour won’t be tolerated”.

Emily said: “Are you pushing it out, you nigger?” to Charley Uchea, while they were dancing in the living room on Wednesday evening.

Good Lord! I’m actually in shock. First, this Ms Parr is from Bristol, a multi-cultural city; and, second, she’s a student at age 19, so we can assume that’s she fairly well educated. Yet she still thinks it’s acceptable to use such words? Officemate and I were discussing it and we wondered if it just ‘slipped out’ because they were fooling around, or if she uses the word ‘nigger’ habitually. Or, indeed, if it just ‘slipped out’ on national television because it is a common word in her lexicon. Regardless, her behaviour is shameful.

The post of my post, however, was to note my appreciation of Channel 4’s quick thinking to evict the offending housemate immediately. This is a contrast to their decision in Celebrity Big Brother, where they allowed racist behaviour to continue over a period of days. I’m trying to believe that Channel 4 and the production company, Endemol, are genuine in their claim that they won’t tolerate such behaviour, but I’m inclined to think that they’re rather more concerned with preserving their ‘reputation’ and not losing their sponsorship again.

We’ll probably never know, and it’s largely academic anyway. And in whatever case, it’s a result for common sense and sensibilities and for that I’m grateful. I’ll bet the Respect task Force think all their Christmases have come at once!

Doctor Who (ep2) and Life on Mars

All in all, I didn’t dislike last week’s Doctor Who but it certainly didn’t make me jump for joy. I mean, you can’t beat a bit of Shakespeare (even if I could only see the actor’s character from Shameless every time he came on screen), but my enthusiasm pretty much ended there. I’ve concluded two things, thus far: first, I much prefer The Doctor when he’s running around killing things made of metal (formerly tinfoil) and utilising his sonic screwdriver every which way he can; and second, I’m not really warming to Martha, the new assistant, as I hoped I would. See, despite the purists’ protests, I really quite enjoyed the relationship that The Doctor had with Rose. They were very much in love – albeit in his awkward and unaccustomed way – and I miss watching that part of the show. It was funny and very engaging, even if we all knew that nothing was ever going to happen (as if The Doctor would be so crass!). He and Martha don’t have that sort of interaction (not that they would at this early stage, you might argue), and I can’t see it developing between them. (Nay, I would object if it did for it would surely imply that The Doctor is now going to fall in love with everyone who becomes his companion, which would just make an eejit of the whole thing.) I suppose what I mean is that I feel that it’s lost something for me. In short, I do find it edging on dull in parts.

I’ll keep watching of course but it’s missing something for me now, and I’m not terribly bothered whether yer woman Martha’s in it that much or not, and perhaps the less the better for now. What’s this nonsense, though?

I was much more exciting about this week’s finale of Life on Mars, I can tell ya! John Simm has taken his place as my second celebrity boyfriend (after The Doctor for my non-regulars)¹ and Gene Hunt has ascended to my favourite TV character of all time. I largely predicted what would happen in the last fifteen minutes, although not how events unfolded per se. There was a message in there somewhere, I’m sure, about following your heart and always being exactly who you are and want to be, but most of that was lost on me for I was jumping with excitement far too much. We all suspended our disbelief, I wager, when we discovered that jumping off very tall buildings doesn’t break your neck and kill you because, ultimately, it doesn’t really matter. Sam Tyler’s a great big nonce and a fairy and all those other non-PC names he was called by Hunt in the last scene and that’s good enough for me. Fantastic!

I’m not sure I’ll tune in for the Mars sequel, although I might have to for a bit of Gene, but I would watch all of the existing programme again and again. That was a license fee well spent right there.

– — – — –

¹How under God am I going to cope when they’re both in Doctor Who later on this series? I dare say I’m going to have to be hospitalised for a spell!

Doctor Who

I loved it. Oh, I really loved it! Doctor Who that is. It came back to our screens on Saturday night, inciting much excitement in me and Himself. I couldn’t possibly do the whole thing as much justice as prefectford has here, but I’m sure you’ll believe me when I tell you that I was verily pleased. See, I don’t really understand the whole thing so I’m easily satisfied. The Doctor and his companion (Martha) could get up to all sorts and I’d happily watch it and enjoy it. It’s very seldom that I’m able to pick holes in the plot or the ‘science’ and even if I did, I wouldn’t care at all for it’s just darned good telly. But something on Saturday night is really bugging me.

The Doctor and Martha (a trainee medical doctor) hadn’t met at the start of the programme, so neither knew who the other was. The Doctor runs up to Martha on the street one morning, starts to take off his tie and says to her, ‘See you later’. This is their first meeting. Later that day, they come together again when The Doctor’s in hospital pretending to have some ailment or other. She mentions their earlier encounter, but he denies that it happened. We’re not sure why he denies it, but it doesn’t seem important.

As the day’s events unfold, The Doctor and Martha save everyone in the hospital, and quite possibly the whole world I dare say, from rhinoceroses and one of yer women from Dinnerladies. It was all very exciting and The Doctor was wearing my Converse. Afterwards, The Doctor returns Martha to Earth and to her family, but later asks her to come with him as his companion. He explains to her that he’s a time lord and that he can travel in time. She doesn’t believe him, understandably, so he proves it to her. He does this by hopping into the Tardis, presumably travelling back to that morning and running into her in the street ‘again’, before he comes back. He exits the Tardis fixing his tie, and this is all that’s needed to convince her of what he is.

How? I don’t get it. How would this convince her of anything? Himself has explained it to me four times now, but I just can’t get it.

See, here’s what I think. Just say I told one of you that you texted me at 2.00 in the morning, and you denied it because you couldn’t remember or whatnot. Then, later on, if you were trying to convince me that you’re a time traveller and hopped in your Tardis back to the moment I said you texted me, it wouldn’t persuade me either way because such an action wouldn’t change anything for me. I know that you texted me (and Martha knows that she saw The Doctor that morning), so you just seeming to go back in time to that moment doesn’t help me at all because you’re only confirming what I already know.

Does this make sense to anyone but me? It doesn’t add up. Himself is laughing at me for not being able to get it (and he’s just right, for I’m being an eejit), but nonetheless it’s bugging me a little and I felt like recording it.

Anyway, that aside, wonderful stuff. I could just eat up all the days until seven o’clock next Saturday! David Tennant’s my boyfriend, you know. I mean, he has been for a long time but we were just keeping it between us because of the publicity and stuff. We’re telling everyone now, though. He loves me very much. For reals!