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!

Six Feet Under finale

I finally watched the finale of Six Feet Under. I’ve been putting it off for as long as I’ve had the DVD boxset for I didn’t want my time with the show to end, but I finally gave in. I’ve had a long love affair with Six Feet Under * and I was more upset to hear that HBO had decided to cancel it than when I heard the same news about The Sopranos and Oz (my two other favourites). HBO makes good television, there’s no denying it, and Six Feet Under was surely its shining star. I don’t even know where to begin with describing it, and I’m sure most of you are familiar with it already. I wager that it’s impossible for anyone to watch Six Feet Under without being affected by at least one storyline or character. I always identified most with Brenda, not because I think I’m particularly like her, but because I always loved how deeply honest she was no matter the consequences. She had that unenviable quality of complete self-destruction that became her undoing time and time again, yet she always embraced it because she knew that that was who she was. She was strong, brave and incredibly bright, yet unfailingly a slave to her ‘condition’. It was a contradiction I couldn’t ever quite fathom.

Anyway…

The finale. I’d heard great things about this episode so I was rather surprised when nothing happened for the longest time. No one seemed to be wrapping up any loose ends, and I certainly wasn’t experiencing the intense emotions that I’d been warned about. In fact, I watched it in three parts because I got a little bored with it twice. And then. Oh my life, and then! I’m not going to go into detail because I’m sure some of you haven’t seen it, but I can’t remember a time I’ve been so overwhelmed by watching something I knew, intellectually, was a made-up story. I sat on the floor in front of my TV like a child and I stared at the screen, and I cried and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And when it was over, I went back and I watched it again and I cried some more. And then I watched it a third time. I remember that M. texted me at some point in the middle of it all, but I was too hysterical to respond to him. It was ingenious television, and I should have seen such an ending coming knowing the show as I do. It was the absolute perfect fit, and undoubtedly the most appropriate way to end its run. What shocked me was its rawness, and its unexpectedness. It’s almost as if they purposely shot a series of mundane story lines for the episode so that viewers would be overwhelmed by the intensity of the last ten minutes. It worked. Oz ended with some sort of metaphorical notion of all the prisoners being evacuated and driving into the distance (to what fate?), and I’m sure that the Sopranos will end with Tony losing his life, but nothing could beat what they did with Six Feet Under. Amazing. Incredibly moving. Breathtaking. I really wouldn’t tell you lies about this. I wish I could see it all for the first time again; hysteria and all. In fact, I’d recommend you watch all five seasons, just so you can really appreciate that finale. Seriously!

–

* Along the same lines, I still can’t bring myself to read Bukowski’s last book with Henry Chinaski because then Mr Chinaski will be gone from my life forever. I can’t be doing with that, for I’m rather in love with the chap; vile and all as he may be.

My four shows

I’ve started to watch way too much television. I’m choosing to blame the people I spend most of my time with (and a torrent-addicted housemate), but I probably have some culpability myself. I have five shows I watch most of the time.

Grey’s Anatomy is set in a hospital and features a cast of people I’ve never heard of before. The characters all sleep with each other (I think) in between saving lives and curing people of all their ills (I think). Every so often, also, their well-placed words of wisdom will turn someone’s life around in ways they never expected – they’re just all-round superstars. The lead character, Meredith Grey, is fiercely annoying and I would quite like to shoot her in the face. I actually hate Grey’s Anatomy, but I still like to watch it. Go figure!

Las Vegas is great craic and is one of my favourite shows at the moment (not least because it’s got the sexiest cast of characters I’ve seen in a long time). More importantly, however, it’s funny, clever and fast-paced. It’s all about security in a Las Vegas casino, I believe, but I really just watch it to look at this beautiful man. It’s certainly not edifying stuff.

Studio 60… stars your man from Friends, Chandler. The story centres on his character, Matt, and another chap, Danny, who are the main writers for a comedy show on some network or other. Studio 60 was created by the same guy who created the West Wing, so the dialogue and acting is snappy and intelligent (there’s a lot of that talking while walking carry-on, which I love). Even Chandler’s really rather good, although the woman he pretends he’s not in love with irritates me.

Heroes is about a group of people from all over the world who discover that they have superpowers (like being able to fly or travel through time), and who have to come together to save the world or something. Frankly, reader(s), I don’t understand a word of it so I can’t really say anymore about what’s going on. The housemate and I watch it wearing permanent frowns on our faces because it just doesn’t make any sense at all. Apparently it will in time, but right now, I just can’t get it. I can’t even remember what half of the characters are called. It’s still good stuff, though.

And… oh, that’s it! Only four! I’m not as far gone as I thought I was. Although, are we still counting Eastenders…?

(Oh, and if you want a recommendation from the above, I’d have to go with ‘Vegas’. It’s silly TV – my favourite kind – very often at its best. But do yourself a favour and try not to get sucked into any of them.)

Germaine Greer needs to lie down

Darn it, I’m still feckin-well addicted to it. Big Brother that is. I’m watching it and I’m reading about it and I never stop talking about it. Oh my, I wish someone would stop me!

I think that I’m done with it all until I see something else that makes me want to rant. Take the following from Germaine Greer, for example. I’ve never known Greer to be so disparaging of strong and intelligent women, but she gets very scathing in this piece. Look at what she says about Shilpa.

There are no good reasons for watching Celebrity Big Brother and very good reasons for not. Not watching will spare you the nerve-fraying annoyingness that is Shilpa Shetty. Everything about her is infuriating: her haughty way of stalking about, her indomitable self-confidence, her chandelier earrings, her leaping eyebrows, her mirthless smile, her putty nose and her eternal bray, “Why does everyone hate me?” Not to mention the crying jags. What no one seems to have quite understood is that Shilpa is a very good actress. Everyone hates her because she wants them to. She also knows that if she infuriates people enough, their innate racism will spew forth.

So she deserves to be racially abused? Is that the implication here?

She is just the girl to raise the pit bull in a dizzy little drip like Danielle and keep her frothing at the mouth long enough for her nascent career as a sweet little Wag to disappear down the drain. When Shilpa is finished with Danielle even Teddy Sheringham will know what a small, dark heart beats within her fetching chest. This explains the slightly cannibal air of self-satisfaction that never abandons Shilpa. She knows what she is doing. She will shred the nerves of all the other women in that house until even Cleo pulls back her frozen lips and shows the fangs behind her witless Mona Lisa smile.

Oh, so it is all her fault then? Mainly for being able to recognise that she’s not a vapid, talentless idiot, you’re saying?

Wha?!

I’m thinking that this piece probably says more about Greer than it does about Shetty. I’ve always had an admiration for Greer (she was one of the most prominent feminists around as I was growing up), but she’s been letting herself down a lot in recent years. She seems bitter and unhappy about something, and she resorts to attacking women who remind her of who she once was in order to express her discontent. Even when she was on CBB herself last year or whenever it was, I watched her thinking that there was something missing. She’s not fair anymore, and I always remember her being very fair.

Shilpa isn’t nasty like she describes, but she is a reminder to frustrated women the world over that they’re not all they want to be. This is clearly what upset the three ‘ladies’ in the Big Brother house, and I can’t help but think that it’s what’s upsetting Greer too. Nay, think of the BB house without Shlipa, I say! She’s not perfect, no doubt, but she’s smart and funny and kind and generous and interesting. I can’t think of another housemate to whom you could attach those adjectives. But perhaps Germaine doesn’t like such qualities in a person, now that she’s lacking in them herself.

It’s a shame, really, because I think Greer could still be a very influential and important person; feminist or otherwise. If only she’d stop being a moron apologist (and something of a moron herself, truth be told) long enough to realise it…