"But was this the most amazing piece of television ever?"
Elsewhere Quote: "Either way, this episode managed to do the impossible -- actually made me want to watch the next series of Torchwood, on purpose." Guess what I'm talking about ...
Utopia.
TV They’re indomitable us fans. Predictable even. Even my shiny new computer with its wizbang fast fax/modem (no really - on dial up it’s still an athlete) can’t access Outpost Gallifrey’s forum very well as it crashes under the weight of three hundred odd visitors. As the Doctor himself once said about opening the heart of the Tardis -- it’s not supposed to do that. It’s not supposed to be filled with such overwhelmingly positive reviews either, but there they all are saying things like “That was absolutely sensational.” and “That was quite simply, the most amazing piece of television ever.” in the very place that only a couple of weeks ago, after The Family of Blood was still filled with those moaning minnies.
But was this the most amazing piece of television ever? What better than The Ascent of Man, Civilisation, Elizabeth R, Pride and Prejudice, Cathy Come Home, the whole of BBC Shakespeare, Network 7, The Sopranos, Shooting The Past (and anything else by Poliakoff), Hill Street Blues, some of Dennis Potter's work, My So-Called Life (I’m bias), Spaced, Monty Python’s Flying Circus before John Cleese couldn’t be arsed with it any more, new Battlestar Galactica, the last five minutes of Blackadder Goes Fourth, the seasons of Buffy not produced by Marti Noxon, Screenwipe, Popworld when it was properly ironic and Trumpton? Probably not. What this most amazing piece of Doctor Who ever?
Oh yes.
It’s a debate that’ll probably rage for years which is good because fans like to have something to chat about. The anti-camp and the people who are really anti-camp will point to the fact that once again Russell T Davies is portraying a far future filled with combustion engines, humans who look like humans marching like an army and can’t get through a script without a bit of the gay agenda stuff. They’ll note the Mad Max fueled Future Kind, introduced with rock music and marching about. There’s the matter of the rocket and the appearance by a Blue Peter award winner (who actually I think was rather good given her age, very Newt from Aliens), of the ’flashbacks’ which to some might make the episode as close to a clip show or a Confidential montage as the series proper has ever got and how in the end it was all forty minutes of build up to the big shock ending that really wasn’t thanks to THE FUCKING S*N.
All or some of which are true. But what Davies has cleverly done is not overload his bases. Perhaps noticing his tendency to pile in a morass of concepts and ideas and plot points, and realising that the most important things in the episode are the reappearance of Captain Jack and The Master and the exposition that accompanies both, he’s degraded the importance of the story itself, making that as simple as possible to let all of those important things breath. The Future Kind are scary buggers -- all you need to know. These are the last of the humans (oh the irony), all you need to know. One needs to escape from the other and take to the stars, again all etc. No wonking great plot to confuse matters, take our attention away from what was in the end a piece about characters. The flashbacks even worked too, simple images to remind the casual viewer of what’s been before (it’s a shame though that they didn’t have some fun with it, dropping in things from adventures we haven’t seen (similar to the second episode of the animated Clerks series) or surealism (like the cheese guy from the Buffy episode Restless). Plus it did again what this new series as always done well -- used icons and mythology of the past in a very new emotional way.
Before typing too far into the territory that requires the kind of paper towel only a fan would require, let’s first of all congratulate Graham Harper on another job well done. Like 42, many of the action scenes, particularly the corridor dashed, only really worked because he gave them some wallop, rapid cutting and whipping the actors into a frenzy. If they think its scary, we do to. John Barrowman gave his best performance ever in this episode and I wonder if Harper’s coaching, some of which was seen in Confidential, helped. It was fun though to see Graham slightly star-struck as he gave direction to Jacobi, all hushed tones and what not. But like Euros Lynn and James Hawes, he’s one of the series greatest assets and I do hope he’ll be back next year.
Speaking of Jacobi, wonderful as usual. The one person to still have any dignity left after Underworld: Evolution, I don’t think I’ve seen Sir Derek give a bad performance and to actually see rather than hear him in Doctor Who once again was a treat. Quite rightly he made us love The Professor, a sort of amalgam of the first three Doctors mixed inevitably with John Smith. If I hadn’t known the outcome thanks to THE PISSING S*N, it would have been a classic misdirection and in fact some miscreant on the O.G. (I see now) did post during the episode wondering if he was indeed some future version of The Doctor. Plaudits too to the only other major player in the episode, Chipo Chung, who underneath the latex had the instant likability only a companion the new series has. Actually, she was a bit of a throwback to the girls that Rose used to bump into like, Gwen from The Unquiet Dead in order to contrast the naughties girl with someone her own age from another time.
The interesting contrast was of course that whereas Rose simply wanted to understand, Martha tries to change Chantho, talking her into not using the verbal speech marks that are one of the cultural quirks of her soon to be dead race. It’s to Freema’s credit that she didn’t get swallowed up in the mess of other stuff happening in the episode and to Russell’s credit that he didn’t drop the focus from her too much, giving her a few good scenes. In his Screen Burn column in The Guardian this week, Charlie Brooker called Tennant the best Doctor ever, and this episode offered further ammunition to support that contention, dropping from comedy to horror in moments, the palpable confusion in the climax when his whole universe turns around in seconds and not even the sonic screwdriver can stop him from feeling impotent.
Right, someone pass me the hanky. I’m going in.
The re-introduction of Captain Jack was nicely handled. John Barrowman in the titles! Dash of the Torchwood theme on the soundtrack! Something of a pisstake though for those us who shouted our way through the bad old days of Torchwood as all of the central mysteries of Harkness in that series, the ambiguities, were dropped out in about thirty seconds of exposition to Martha. How he got from the future to the past, when he landed and how long he was hanging about, why he up sticks to Cardiff. All implied in that series, of course, but to give them all away in this fashion was either genius, an annoyance, or both. His presence didn’t jar too much either -- still the man whose been stuck on Earth all those years waiting, brimming with new excitement because the one person he’s been waiting for has returned.
I can’t wait to see how Chris Chibnall deals with it in the next series of Touchwouldn‘t. No really. If I was him, I’d flip the mystery of the new series to make the Scrappy gang wonder why he’s suddenly in such a good mood -- and I’ll be bound that it’ll be because Captain Jack has a new found sense of purpose, that he wants to be there, after whatever happens in the closing episode. Perhaps too his invincibility will be removed, making him mortal. Either way, this episode managed to do the impossible -- actually made me want to watch the next series of Torchwood, on purpose.. Even though, as I mentioned in my final review for that moribund programme, its cliffhanger ending is being resolved in the mother show entirely, which’ll confuse the hell out of Australian and American viewers were they’re showing on different networks. It’ll be Buffy and Angel all over again.
It’s just very surprising to see this series being quite so bald with its approach to its own mythology. Granted it’s something the new series have done on occasion, but for whole conversations to simply relate to what’s gone before is actually quite refreshing, even if at times, in relation to the hand especially, it’s got the subtlety of a mallet - or the Dalek Human. And the reason for the Doctor to have left Jack behind (he was last referenced in Pudsey Cutaway for goodness sake), was surprisingly touching and understandable. He now represents this anomaly in time and space and as we’ve seen before the Doctor doesn’t really like those despite having been a cause of enough of them. Plus it makes some sense of the fact that the Doctor somehow manages to pitch up in the one place were the Master might be hiding. The goodish Captain is something of a bad penny.
The re-introduction of The Master? That was something else. Unlike the past two series, there’s been a conscious effort to make everything tie together, but the last thing I expected was the mcguffin, the watch from Human Nature to be the means by which he did return. It gives the series a wonderful structure, everything interconnecting, relating to one another. Anyone with a degree in this stuff would knock on about the use of binary opposites within the narrative, the interesting way that the real antagonist wasn't introduced to the very end, the watch and how it's been knawing at The Professor all those years to be opened, drum beats in his head an black contrast to the rather benign dreams that visited John Smith.
To hire Derek Jacobi and John Simm to essay the character, two acting giants is, well, really, really impressive. Then, rightly for each of them to bring their own take, to understand, new regeneration, new man -- frankly there’s no words. It’s Doctor Who as you always hoped it could be, indeed as some of the spin-offs proved it could be done. And with a sample of Anthony Ainley’s trademark laugh as a trigger. Hn-hn-hn-hn-hn-hn. I loved the way the words echoed about The Professors head as he realised that not all was as it seems.
Anyone else notice the consistency of Jacobi’s performance with the android version of the Master in The Scream of the Shalka -- if I could access the forums now I’d imagine the Richard E Grant canonicity debate is already raging. I wonder though what the kids made of it -- how many of them will have understood the magnitude of what this all means both fictionally and in relation to the fan reaction to the series. Did the boxset release at the start of the year help? How many times will we be rewatching the John Smith moment over the next week? About as many times as the last twenty-minutes of The Christmas Invasion probably. Either by mistake or purpose, he managed to capture the manic darkness of the post regeneration Doctor when everything was going a bit wrong and he was laughing in that way that freaked Neil out.
So how did The Master end up here? How did he end up being a time lord again? Will they bother to address such things? Do they need to? I suspect not. As the evil nemesis, he’ll always return somehow and despite the old series meticulous essaying of his passage from Delgado to Ainley via a lump of charcoal, I suspect, like the gap between McGann and Eccleston they’ll leave it up to the fan to decide what they believe. Personally, I have two theories. Either that this is somehow a prequel to the old series and we’re seeing a pre-Delgado version of the character or he’s somehow managed to gain the extra set of lives the time lords frequently offered when they wanted him to do their dirty work -- or he’s stole them. Hold on -- that’s three. But you see what I mean, it’s infectious. In a way I hope they keep the mystery, but, as the Captain Jack conversations prove Russell’s in the mood to call a spade a spade. To be fair, this version of the writer would almost certainly have dropped the Davros when he was doing rewrites on Dalek. Now who needs the hanky?
I’ll leave it to everyone else to comment on such things as costume, set design and music, although I suspect no one will. It’s that kind of episode, the kind in which if everyone’s done their job properly they don’t draw attention to themselves. Sneaking a peak at the trailer for next week’s episode and it looks to be a doozy with John Simm’s big performance layered on top a million miles away from Sam Tyler and anything else he’s done. This has been an amazing series and I can’t imagine it’ll stumble at the last hurdle.
Now, would anyone like to guess how The Doctor returns to 2007/8/whatever year it is?
Kids, eh?
I was awake by eight o’clock yesterday morning as the man from Dell had said that the new computer would be delivered any time between then and five. I was excited. Really excited. Every now and then when I heared a door being slammed I’d run to the window and look out to see if it was my delivery, like a six year old on Christmas Eve looking out for Father Christmas.
Time passed. I watched final episode of The Virgin Queen, the story of Elizabeth I from last year, the one with Mary-Anne Duff not Helen Mirren, the one that no one seemed to watch and which in the end wasn’t all that good. No sign. But it was early.
I checked the delivery details through courier website. It went ‘on deliver’ and 8:32am. So it was on the van. Why wasn’t it here? It was coming from Leyland. I checked Google Maps to see how far away that is. Forty-five minutes. OK, so perhaps he or she or whatever the gender the delivery person had stopped off for breakfast on the way. I had breakfast. Cornflakes. I waited.
I watched Lost In La Mancha, the story of how Terry Gilliam failed to make a film about Don Quixote. It’s one of those documentaries that feels too short, as though you really want to ‘enjoy’ all of the knock backs and mistakes, the arguments, the pain, the failures, but the directors aren’t in the mood to feel the voyeur in you. I ate some lunch. A sandwich. I’m beginning to panic, in that childish way I’m prone to. What if they could’t find the tower block? What if they’d already been and had decided they couldn’t gain entry? What if? What if?
Watch the publicity interview with Gilliam on the dvd in which Mark Kermode asks him some awkward questions about what the documentary says about him. The former Python takes it in good humour and notes that actually this record of his failure to make one version of the film is a great advert for when he wants to remount it and that he’s already in the process of buying back the script from the insurers who took it over when the production went belly-up. I’m starting to feel tired, possibly because I didn’t sleep well the night before. This really was like Christmas, especially since Santa still hadn’t arrived. It was two o’clock.
Watched some deleted scenes and found some of the arguments and pain and a neat sequence in which Gilliam discusses the music for the film and not so neat when he goes to see a bull fight. Eventually, I couldn’t watch any more, I’m both excited and nervous and regressed so far that I’m glad that you’re only getting to hear about it through the filter of these words. I’m not pacing, but I am genuinely wondering if they’d gotten lost or stuck in the floods even though that hadn‘t touched the north west. I’m considering the things I could have done with the day and then realised that actually, sad as it is, I might not have done that many more exciting things than this.
I telephoned the courier, it’s four o’clock. After earlier unsuccesses in attempting to navigate the push button system, this time I get through to an operator. She was irish. I was talking to Ireland. I explained to her about living in a tower block, about the security gate, about previous deliveries from other companies not getting here because the courier couldn’t work out how to get in the building. She smiled (it sounded like she smiled) and said she’d call the driver (wow, that’s good). I’m put on hold. Disconcertingly the hold music is exactly the same as the one used at a call centre I used to work at. I’m still able to sing along two years later and do. The operator returns. ‘He’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.’ ‘Fantastic!’ I say (actually more like shout). ‘Watch out for him.’ She says.
And I did. I actually went down to the road and waited for him. The van arrives and the man steps out, after looking slightly freaked by me looking through the window mouthing a brand name. ‘Dell?’ He opens the van and there under some other boxes is my box, brand name on the side. He tips it up to check that my address is on it. As I go to sign for it on his clipboard, he says, ‘The day I’ve had.’ ‘Really?’ I say. ‘Well I had a load for Morrisons and that took me an hour to drop off -- we’re supposed to be away in fifteen minutes. Then I drove out to some bloke with twelve boxes which I dropped off only to be told that he hadn’t ordered them. Bad day. I’ll be glad to get home.’ ‘Take care’ I say as I take my box from him. ‘Hope you have a better evening.’
I enter the car park of the block, in the front door, up in the lift and home. The computer is set up in about twenty minutes and then as I began to get used to this strange new operating system (‘No, I don’t want to use MSN Messenger etc.’) I start to get a pain my stomach. I haven’t have I?
I eat some chicken soup for tea. Doesn’t help. I start to get a headache. Oh for goodness sake. I’ve been so excited and nervous and stressed out about the whole thing, I’ve given myself a bellyache. I suspect its wind. What am I? Two? It’s only a new computer. I hate computers. I need a lie down.
Which I do. And inevitably, with a gap in the middle where I check my email at about midnight, I sleep like a baby - until eight o’clock this morning having experienced some weird dreams which are just too bizarre or sad or boring to even write here. But I’m back online and even if I miss my old keyboard I’m tapping away and feeling much better.
Kids, eh?
Time passed. I watched final episode of The Virgin Queen, the story of Elizabeth I from last year, the one with Mary-Anne Duff not Helen Mirren, the one that no one seemed to watch and which in the end wasn’t all that good. No sign. But it was early.
I checked the delivery details through courier website. It went ‘on deliver’ and 8:32am. So it was on the van. Why wasn’t it here? It was coming from Leyland. I checked Google Maps to see how far away that is. Forty-five minutes. OK, so perhaps he or she or whatever the gender the delivery person had stopped off for breakfast on the way. I had breakfast. Cornflakes. I waited.
I watched Lost In La Mancha, the story of how Terry Gilliam failed to make a film about Don Quixote. It’s one of those documentaries that feels too short, as though you really want to ‘enjoy’ all of the knock backs and mistakes, the arguments, the pain, the failures, but the directors aren’t in the mood to feel the voyeur in you. I ate some lunch. A sandwich. I’m beginning to panic, in that childish way I’m prone to. What if they could’t find the tower block? What if they’d already been and had decided they couldn’t gain entry? What if? What if?
Watch the publicity interview with Gilliam on the dvd in which Mark Kermode asks him some awkward questions about what the documentary says about him. The former Python takes it in good humour and notes that actually this record of his failure to make one version of the film is a great advert for when he wants to remount it and that he’s already in the process of buying back the script from the insurers who took it over when the production went belly-up. I’m starting to feel tired, possibly because I didn’t sleep well the night before. This really was like Christmas, especially since Santa still hadn’t arrived. It was two o’clock.
Watched some deleted scenes and found some of the arguments and pain and a neat sequence in which Gilliam discusses the music for the film and not so neat when he goes to see a bull fight. Eventually, I couldn’t watch any more, I’m both excited and nervous and regressed so far that I’m glad that you’re only getting to hear about it through the filter of these words. I’m not pacing, but I am genuinely wondering if they’d gotten lost or stuck in the floods even though that hadn‘t touched the north west. I’m considering the things I could have done with the day and then realised that actually, sad as it is, I might not have done that many more exciting things than this.
I telephoned the courier, it’s four o’clock. After earlier unsuccesses in attempting to navigate the push button system, this time I get through to an operator. She was irish. I was talking to Ireland. I explained to her about living in a tower block, about the security gate, about previous deliveries from other companies not getting here because the courier couldn’t work out how to get in the building. She smiled (it sounded like she smiled) and said she’d call the driver (wow, that’s good). I’m put on hold. Disconcertingly the hold music is exactly the same as the one used at a call centre I used to work at. I’m still able to sing along two years later and do. The operator returns. ‘He’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.’ ‘Fantastic!’ I say (actually more like shout). ‘Watch out for him.’ She says.
And I did. I actually went down to the road and waited for him. The van arrives and the man steps out, after looking slightly freaked by me looking through the window mouthing a brand name. ‘Dell?’ He opens the van and there under some other boxes is my box, brand name on the side. He tips it up to check that my address is on it. As I go to sign for it on his clipboard, he says, ‘The day I’ve had.’ ‘Really?’ I say. ‘Well I had a load for Morrisons and that took me an hour to drop off -- we’re supposed to be away in fifteen minutes. Then I drove out to some bloke with twelve boxes which I dropped off only to be told that he hadn’t ordered them. Bad day. I’ll be glad to get home.’ ‘Take care’ I say as I take my box from him. ‘Hope you have a better evening.’
I enter the car park of the block, in the front door, up in the lift and home. The computer is set up in about twenty minutes and then as I began to get used to this strange new operating system (‘No, I don’t want to use MSN Messenger etc.’) I start to get a pain my stomach. I haven’t have I?
I eat some chicken soup for tea. Doesn’t help. I start to get a headache. Oh for goodness sake. I’ve been so excited and nervous and stressed out about the whole thing, I’ve given myself a bellyache. I suspect its wind. What am I? Two? It’s only a new computer. I hate computers. I need a lie down.
Which I do. And inevitably, with a gap in the middle where I check my email at about midnight, I sleep like a baby - until eight o’clock this morning having experienced some weird dreams which are just too bizarre or sad or boring to even write here. But I’m back online and even if I miss my old keyboard I’m tapping away and feeling much better.
Kids, eh?
Hooray!
Life Hooray! My new computer has arrived! Boo! I've got tummyache and don't feel very well. Full story tomorrow then ...
No, now look I'm sorry ...
Film In a summer of bloated blockbusters and hardly enticing torture horrors, I haven't been to the cinema much, preferring instead to catch up on all the films I missed in the first seventy-five years of cinema history when I hadn't been born yet. What thirties films lacked in budget they made up for with invention, tight scripts with incisive characterisation.
Largely my abstinance has been critic and word of mouth led with the new Pirates and Spiderman films apparently being particularly avoidable. By rights, I should have missed out Ocean's Thirteen too, but having been the only person who seemed to think Ocean's Twelve a work of genius (outside of the people who made it) I couldn't pass up the chance to fly against the critical tide again.
Ocean's Twelve was roundly regected by critics but the reception for this has been pretty mixed, ranging from Mark Kermode's rant and Peter Bradshaw's one star lambasting in The Guardian to Empire Magazine's four stars. Director Steven Soderbergh's has generally endured this reception of late with writers generally focusing on what a work is not rather than what he's delivered.
Which is a shame because once again, this is an amazing film, ambitious in its narrative, experimental in its use of character, visually and sonically a feast. It's disappointing that even when Soderbergh has succeeded in producing a work of purposeful entertainment and artistic brilliance there's still almost being treated like the hack he certainly isn't.
It's not entirely above reproach. The storyline, another casino heist, does not have the emotional punch of the first and to a degree second films. In addition, anyone paying attention could work out what twists there are in the climax. Although the entire crew is back minus the ladies, not everyone has that much to do with Bernie Mac in particular being particularly hard done by. Now and then it seems just a little bit too pleased with itself, but that smacks of confidence more than anything else.
These do however seem to be effects of parring the story and the requirements of the narrative down to their most basic parts. The film is about the heist and the mechanics of the operation, the opening act of the second film stretched over a couple of hours. It's comedy drama then in its purest form, grabbing the funny where ever possible. It's also clear that Soderbergh and writers Brian Koppelman & David Levien want the audience to be in on those mechanics so that they can feel included rather than excluded from the team.
That means that unlike other sequels which get bogged down in giving everyone their own subplot to keep the stars happy, its able to keep the focus on the goal. In fact, it's quite refreshing to once again see these actors, who've carried films themselves, just popping in for little more than a cameo in order to facilitate a gag. What's wrong with having something that amounts to the Record Breaker's Christmas Special were Roy Castle would be joined by a galaxy of stars during the festive period?
It's one of the first films in years not to waste Al Paccino's devlish personality and here he's in full shit-eating hoo-ahh mode as the villianous casino manager whose at the centre of the trouble. It's equally refreshing to see someone like Ellen Barkin playing this kind of comedy role again. The criticisms were basically in the order of 'How could you treat this older actress in this way, putting her in the sad position of being seduced by this young buck' failing to note how sexy she is and that actually lesser films would have cast a much younger actress in the role.
The young buck by the way is Matt Damon, who I think has finally gotten over the pasting he recieved in Team America: World Police -- in other words I don't have their way of saying his name flashing into my head every time I see him on screen anymore. Everyone in the cast is a natural comedian though, with the double acts of Scott Carn and Casey Affleck, Shaobo Qin and Damon and George Clooney and Brad Pitt all making welcome returns. The latter is perhaps the funniest, time and again the mirth developing from what isn't being said and a mere weary look or tired gesture stealing the show.
Their scenes together are just a couple of the array of very funny moments that litter the film and which, crucially unlike many sequels aren't contingent on you having seen the other two. There are character moments sure with will resonante if you know who they're talking about and why (there are still some hollywood in-jokes which will only work amongst the really clued up amongst us) but in the main the funny is brought without prior knowledge and it's the first time I've laughed out loud at the cinema in ages.
Some complained that in the second film the main gang weren't together nearly enough, blown across the four corners of Europe with the structure of the story being dictated by the scheduling of the cast. If that was still the problem here, it's largely been solved and there's certainly more of a sense of the family again, probably helped by everything taking place in Vegas. Some of my favourite scenes in Twelve were when the cast were in a hotel room or whatever generally improvising with the camera trying to pick up what it can. There's less of that here, with Ocean's team collected across the widescreen in tableau.
In fact, wasn't prepared for how well photographed the piece is, Soderbergh (who operates the camera himself) using a range of pallets, some of which recall the opening film all reds and browns through to other works -- there's even the odd shot which could have dropped in from his low budget experiment Bubble. One amazing shot which pans across a casino floor zooming in and focusing on the faces of each of the team in turn as they communicate to each other with an adjustment of their glasses. There's no doubt that the director is an auteur, all of his films sharing a distinctive look and feel.
The film is also bathed in more of series regular David Holmes music. There's also a pleasing return to the old Hollywood style montage sequences that mix text and images to communicate story points and the passage of time, accompanied by Holmes mix of jazz and blues music. There are moments when the characters return locations from the first film and Holmes quietly underscores the scene with a subtler version of music from Ocean's Eleven, in one scene in particularly almost suggesting a nostalgia for a time when it was easier to see the goal and (without givin too much away) when you knew who your enemies were.
The oddest of the criticism was unsurprisingly from the usually right Mark Kermode who when he wasn't ranting on about the appearance of Julian Sands (who isn't that bad here) took up against the film for being set and about Vegas which he didn't have very many nice things to say about. Whilst its true that this is a pretty good tourist recruitment film for the area, how could this film exist without perpetuating that fantasy? If I was something akin to social realism I'll dodge through a copy of Leaving Las Vegas or Casino(?) or Showgirls(!?!). Some of the most impressive shots are from the sky as we see the new imaginary casino photorealistically inserted into the real Vegas.
The presence of Sands though does indicate one of the more unusual elements of the film, its Britishness. As well as Eddie Izzard there's a startling appearance from Olga Sosnovska who fans of the BBC series Spooks will know as Fiona Carter and is utterly luminous in her small role. Some of the film looks to have been shot in London (and real London not the version that appears in Lost) and there are some unexpected reference to UK pop culture which you can't imagine anyone in the US audience (or anyone else) would get. Perhaps it's as an apology for Don Cheadle's accent which is noticably less mockney this time out but still doesn't sound quite right. Frankly, I'm amazed that his character Basher wasn't outed as being really American, the sound of his voice being an affectation. In Ocean's Fourteen maybe.
Since this has done great business at the box office despite the critics I can't imagine a fourth film hasn't been discussed. Whether the formula can stretch to another installment I'm not sure -- apart from anything else, would all of the cast return? If I had one small criticism, with the exception of Barkin and Sosnovska the film lacked a feminine touch and it would be great to see Roberts and Zeta Jones back next time in bigger roles. There was also an even greater reliance on technology too and perhaps next time the gang could be placed in a position where they have to work completely on their wits to succeed. It'd have to be against a different landscape though. How about Shanghai?
Largely my abstinance has been critic and word of mouth led with the new Pirates and Spiderman films apparently being particularly avoidable. By rights, I should have missed out Ocean's Thirteen too, but having been the only person who seemed to think Ocean's Twelve a work of genius (outside of the people who made it) I couldn't pass up the chance to fly against the critical tide again.
Ocean's Twelve was roundly regected by critics but the reception for this has been pretty mixed, ranging from Mark Kermode's rant and Peter Bradshaw's one star lambasting in The Guardian to Empire Magazine's four stars. Director Steven Soderbergh's has generally endured this reception of late with writers generally focusing on what a work is not rather than what he's delivered.
Which is a shame because once again, this is an amazing film, ambitious in its narrative, experimental in its use of character, visually and sonically a feast. It's disappointing that even when Soderbergh has succeeded in producing a work of purposeful entertainment and artistic brilliance there's still almost being treated like the hack he certainly isn't.
It's not entirely above reproach. The storyline, another casino heist, does not have the emotional punch of the first and to a degree second films. In addition, anyone paying attention could work out what twists there are in the climax. Although the entire crew is back minus the ladies, not everyone has that much to do with Bernie Mac in particular being particularly hard done by. Now and then it seems just a little bit too pleased with itself, but that smacks of confidence more than anything else.
These do however seem to be effects of parring the story and the requirements of the narrative down to their most basic parts. The film is about the heist and the mechanics of the operation, the opening act of the second film stretched over a couple of hours. It's comedy drama then in its purest form, grabbing the funny where ever possible. It's also clear that Soderbergh and writers Brian Koppelman & David Levien want the audience to be in on those mechanics so that they can feel included rather than excluded from the team.
That means that unlike other sequels which get bogged down in giving everyone their own subplot to keep the stars happy, its able to keep the focus on the goal. In fact, it's quite refreshing to once again see these actors, who've carried films themselves, just popping in for little more than a cameo in order to facilitate a gag. What's wrong with having something that amounts to the Record Breaker's Christmas Special were Roy Castle would be joined by a galaxy of stars during the festive period?
It's one of the first films in years not to waste Al Paccino's devlish personality and here he's in full shit-eating hoo-ahh mode as the villianous casino manager whose at the centre of the trouble. It's equally refreshing to see someone like Ellen Barkin playing this kind of comedy role again. The criticisms were basically in the order of 'How could you treat this older actress in this way, putting her in the sad position of being seduced by this young buck' failing to note how sexy she is and that actually lesser films would have cast a much younger actress in the role.
The young buck by the way is Matt Damon, who I think has finally gotten over the pasting he recieved in Team America: World Police -- in other words I don't have their way of saying his name flashing into my head every time I see him on screen anymore. Everyone in the cast is a natural comedian though, with the double acts of Scott Carn and Casey Affleck, Shaobo Qin and Damon and George Clooney and Brad Pitt all making welcome returns. The latter is perhaps the funniest, time and again the mirth developing from what isn't being said and a mere weary look or tired gesture stealing the show.
Their scenes together are just a couple of the array of very funny moments that litter the film and which, crucially unlike many sequels aren't contingent on you having seen the other two. There are character moments sure with will resonante if you know who they're talking about and why (there are still some hollywood in-jokes which will only work amongst the really clued up amongst us) but in the main the funny is brought without prior knowledge and it's the first time I've laughed out loud at the cinema in ages.
Some complained that in the second film the main gang weren't together nearly enough, blown across the four corners of Europe with the structure of the story being dictated by the scheduling of the cast. If that was still the problem here, it's largely been solved and there's certainly more of a sense of the family again, probably helped by everything taking place in Vegas. Some of my favourite scenes in Twelve were when the cast were in a hotel room or whatever generally improvising with the camera trying to pick up what it can. There's less of that here, with Ocean's team collected across the widescreen in tableau.
In fact, wasn't prepared for how well photographed the piece is, Soderbergh (who operates the camera himself) using a range of pallets, some of which recall the opening film all reds and browns through to other works -- there's even the odd shot which could have dropped in from his low budget experiment Bubble. One amazing shot which pans across a casino floor zooming in and focusing on the faces of each of the team in turn as they communicate to each other with an adjustment of their glasses. There's no doubt that the director is an auteur, all of his films sharing a distinctive look and feel.
The film is also bathed in more of series regular David Holmes music. There's also a pleasing return to the old Hollywood style montage sequences that mix text and images to communicate story points and the passage of time, accompanied by Holmes mix of jazz and blues music. There are moments when the characters return locations from the first film and Holmes quietly underscores the scene with a subtler version of music from Ocean's Eleven, in one scene in particularly almost suggesting a nostalgia for a time when it was easier to see the goal and (without givin too much away) when you knew who your enemies were.
The oddest of the criticism was unsurprisingly from the usually right Mark Kermode who when he wasn't ranting on about the appearance of Julian Sands (who isn't that bad here) took up against the film for being set and about Vegas which he didn't have very many nice things to say about. Whilst its true that this is a pretty good tourist recruitment film for the area, how could this film exist without perpetuating that fantasy? If I was something akin to social realism I'll dodge through a copy of Leaving Las Vegas or Casino(?) or Showgirls(!?!). Some of the most impressive shots are from the sky as we see the new imaginary casino photorealistically inserted into the real Vegas.
The presence of Sands though does indicate one of the more unusual elements of the film, its Britishness. As well as Eddie Izzard there's a startling appearance from Olga Sosnovska who fans of the BBC series Spooks will know as Fiona Carter and is utterly luminous in her small role. Some of the film looks to have been shot in London (and real London not the version that appears in Lost) and there are some unexpected reference to UK pop culture which you can't imagine anyone in the US audience (or anyone else) would get. Perhaps it's as an apology for Don Cheadle's accent which is noticably less mockney this time out but still doesn't sound quite right. Frankly, I'm amazed that his character Basher wasn't outed as being really American, the sound of his voice being an affectation. In Ocean's Fourteen maybe.
Since this has done great business at the box office despite the critics I can't imagine a fourth film hasn't been discussed. Whether the formula can stretch to another installment I'm not sure -- apart from anything else, would all of the cast return? If I had one small criticism, with the exception of Barkin and Sosnovska the film lacked a feminine touch and it would be great to see Roberts and Zeta Jones back next time in bigger roles. There was also an even greater reliance on technology too and perhaps next time the gang could be placed in a position where they have to work completely on their wits to succeed. It'd have to be against a different landscape though. How about Shanghai?
Not lit
About You've probably noticed that I signed up to Twitter the other week. Then like most people with very simple lives (of late) and little to report realised I don't have much to put there. Being able to text to it from anywhere is pretty exciting stuff but since I'm not up on all that random abreviated lingo it comes out as iliterate lowercase mumbles. So I've decided to totally rip-off twitterlit and actively steal quotes from elsewhere when I haven't anything better to say, except I'll add in the source where possible. Tonight, Oscar Wilde. My new PC comes Friday thank goodness. It's just taken me ten minutes to write this post. That's right ancient laptop, render that character...
"No wonder Jacqueline Hill went on holiday - she probably saw it all coming."
TV I couldn't not share this. I was having a clear out today and found the following. When I first came back to the series in the late nineties, a relative (my auntie) recorded some of the UK Gold broadcasts. Being that kind of person, I put the tapes in proper video boxes and printed up inlays upon which I wrote some mini-reviews.
Eventually, those tapes were packed away (notice not thrown out) but for some unknown reason I kept the inlays along with these initial raw reviews written before I really knew anything about the show -- I don't think I'd even started buying Doctor Who magazine yet. I thought you might find them amusing -- although it's slightly worrying how little my writing style has developed over the years. I won't post them all at once, but here, to begin with, are Billy and Pat. Count how many times you think 'No it doesn't' or 'No it isn't'.
William Hartnell Era
The Plant of the Giants has to rate as one of the dullest hour-ten minutes of anyone's life. God it's Slow. It's annoying. It feels like a thousand years. Oddly enough, the last episode was edited together from two separate episodes - and its still slow. Things aren't helped by the fact that Barbara is reduced to running around like a feckless idiot, just so that Ian can look a bit heroic. It's an example of the schizoid nature of the show that ...
The Dalek Invasion of Earth, although exceeding flabby in places is also unbelievably intelligant at times. Alright, so everything still creaks and the pace is still from snoozeville (heh, heh) but there is some really intelligent character interaction, and genuinely scary moments, especially as the pepperpots fly through London like kings. Susan's leaving scne is also some kind of genius.
The Web Planet is probably one of the slowest, dullest stories Who ever produced. I mean the thing would have seemed long stretched over three episodes, but six!?! Some have tried to excuse it by saying what 'amazing' costume design there is for the period. Yeah - it's amazing the costumer designer managed to keep their job. All this really amounts to is a bunch of guys in fancy dress running around a studio for six weeks. No wonder Jacqueline Hill went on holiday - she probably saw it all coming. When the only exciting thing to happen in a story is one of the monsters bumping into the camera, you really know you're in trouble.
The Space Museum does have a quite good first epsiode, its just a shame that the programme makers forgot about logic, good characterisation and pace. This is the kind of story which probably gave Who a bad name all those years ago, somehow forgetting what the kids tuned in for each week. Only Hartnell seems to be making a good fist of it, as everyone else doesn't seem to care - and why should they when presented with material like this? Imagine you're making for fourth episode of this and you realise you've got six episodes of The Chase coming up - better conserve that energy guys ...
The Gunfighters. My word. Hmm. I'm sorry, but matter what anyone might imply, they must have done some really good drinking at the DW offices in the 60s. I know -- lets do a historical about the gunfight at the OK Coral and somehow shoe-horn the Doctor into the action. And lets build quite good set but shoot it really badly so that the whole thing looks like it was shot in a school hall somewhere. That'll work.
Patrick Troughton Era
Tomb of the Cybermen has a shockingly contemporary script which really sticks out because of its greatness. I mean how often was it that a companion talked about their life before her travels with The Doctor and at a moment which isn't driving the story along? The Cybermen are particularly menacing despite the rudimentary areas of the cast. That'll be a definite classic of the period then.
The Dominators. Yawn. Its stories like this which Who a bad name. Its starts slow and gets slow-er. Lots of bad acting ensues and then the whole thing slows to a halt in a more of boredom. Just awful.
The Krotons just shows how a lot of what's left of the Troughton era really begins to mass into one story in the memory. And which twerp thought that name Gond was a realistic and not funny at all name for an alien. And the confusing storytelling doesn't help. Want a glimpse into hell? Watch this and the Dominators back to back like I did.
The War Games is long, but the pace is quite frenetic and there doesn't seem to be too much padding. What strikes you is how it feels like the culmination of six years worth of build up. It has everything - the historical elements which made the Hartnell shows such a joy and the science fiction elements of the Troughton years. Everyone gets something to do - and if some of the acting is a touch wooden, the scope is a amazing. This is an action adventure movie years before its time, with a stangely more grown up feel than Star Trek was achieving at the exact same time, across the pond. Amazing.
Eventually, those tapes were packed away (notice not thrown out) but for some unknown reason I kept the inlays along with these initial raw reviews written before I really knew anything about the show -- I don't think I'd even started buying Doctor Who magazine yet. I thought you might find them amusing -- although it's slightly worrying how little my writing style has developed over the years. I won't post them all at once, but here, to begin with, are Billy and Pat. Count how many times you think 'No it doesn't' or 'No it isn't'.
William Hartnell Era
The Plant of the Giants has to rate as one of the dullest hour-ten minutes of anyone's life. God it's Slow. It's annoying. It feels like a thousand years. Oddly enough, the last episode was edited together from two separate episodes - and its still slow. Things aren't helped by the fact that Barbara is reduced to running around like a feckless idiot, just so that Ian can look a bit heroic. It's an example of the schizoid nature of the show that ...
The Dalek Invasion of Earth, although exceeding flabby in places is also unbelievably intelligant at times. Alright, so everything still creaks and the pace is still from snoozeville (heh, heh) but there is some really intelligent character interaction, and genuinely scary moments, especially as the pepperpots fly through London like kings. Susan's leaving scne is also some kind of genius.
The Web Planet is probably one of the slowest, dullest stories Who ever produced. I mean the thing would have seemed long stretched over three episodes, but six!?! Some have tried to excuse it by saying what 'amazing' costume design there is for the period. Yeah - it's amazing the costumer designer managed to keep their job. All this really amounts to is a bunch of guys in fancy dress running around a studio for six weeks. No wonder Jacqueline Hill went on holiday - she probably saw it all coming. When the only exciting thing to happen in a story is one of the monsters bumping into the camera, you really know you're in trouble.
The Space Museum does have a quite good first epsiode, its just a shame that the programme makers forgot about logic, good characterisation and pace. This is the kind of story which probably gave Who a bad name all those years ago, somehow forgetting what the kids tuned in for each week. Only Hartnell seems to be making a good fist of it, as everyone else doesn't seem to care - and why should they when presented with material like this? Imagine you're making for fourth episode of this and you realise you've got six episodes of The Chase coming up - better conserve that energy guys ...
The Gunfighters. My word. Hmm. I'm sorry, but matter what anyone might imply, they must have done some really good drinking at the DW offices in the 60s. I know -- lets do a historical about the gunfight at the OK Coral and somehow shoe-horn the Doctor into the action. And lets build quite good set but shoot it really badly so that the whole thing looks like it was shot in a school hall somewhere. That'll work.
Patrick Troughton Era
Tomb of the Cybermen has a shockingly contemporary script which really sticks out because of its greatness. I mean how often was it that a companion talked about their life before her travels with The Doctor and at a moment which isn't driving the story along? The Cybermen are particularly menacing despite the rudimentary areas of the cast. That'll be a definite classic of the period then.
The Dominators. Yawn. Its stories like this which Who a bad name. Its starts slow and gets slow-er. Lots of bad acting ensues and then the whole thing slows to a halt in a more of boredom. Just awful.
The Krotons just shows how a lot of what's left of the Troughton era really begins to mass into one story in the memory. And which twerp thought that name Gond was a realistic and not funny at all name for an alien. And the confusing storytelling doesn't help. Want a glimpse into hell? Watch this and the Dominators back to back like I did.
The War Games is long, but the pace is quite frenetic and there doesn't seem to be too much padding. What strikes you is how it feels like the culmination of six years worth of build up. It has everything - the historical elements which made the Hartnell shows such a joy and the science fiction elements of the Troughton years. Everyone gets something to do - and if some of the acting is a touch wooden, the scope is a amazing. This is an action adventure movie years before its time, with a stangely more grown up feel than Star Trek was achieving at the exact same time, across the pond. Amazing.
Dell(icious)
Life I went ahead and ordered a Dell desktop through their website -- thanks though to Annette for her reassurance that they're good machines and I haven't selected the anti-virus software pre-install because I'd heard their options were pretty tempramental. It's the most I've ever spent on a computer and a chunk out of my savings but I spend so much time online and writing and doing everything else that it seems like a wise investment -- this laptop is ok for simple posts like this one but whenever I ask it do something complicated, like having two copies of Firefox open or god forbid Outlook Express it just sort of ... stops.
I spent the morning in town using a better computer somewhere to complete another job application form. It's the second submitted within the week and although it's for more part time work it is more hours and the experience will be helpful. Assuming I even get an interview. This form was quite well designed, asking specific questions about experience rather than simply offering an empty page to fill. It is difficult though to answer questions such as 'What is you're greatest achievement in your chosen field?' when you haven't quite chosen a field yet. I resorted to the X Factor approach or providing a story -- first person in family to get a degree, five year plan to return to do a postgraduate course etc. It certainly still feels like my biggest achievement, the thing I'm most proud of.
The Guardian this morning included a pull out souvenir of important covers from their history, including 12 September 2001 when the paper simply printed a photograph of the World Trade Center in flames, an images on that occasion saying more than words could. It was exactly this paper that I mentioned in this blog post all those years ago and having read hundreds of editions since this is the only cover I could actually remember without this kind of reminder.
I spent the morning in town using a better computer somewhere to complete another job application form. It's the second submitted within the week and although it's for more part time work it is more hours and the experience will be helpful. Assuming I even get an interview. This form was quite well designed, asking specific questions about experience rather than simply offering an empty page to fill. It is difficult though to answer questions such as 'What is you're greatest achievement in your chosen field?' when you haven't quite chosen a field yet. I resorted to the X Factor approach or providing a story -- first person in family to get a degree, five year plan to return to do a postgraduate course etc. It certainly still feels like my biggest achievement, the thing I'm most proud of.
The Guardian this morning included a pull out souvenir of important covers from their history, including 12 September 2001 when the paper simply printed a photograph of the World Trade Center in flames, an images on that occasion saying more than words could. It was exactly this paper that I mentioned in this blog post all those years ago and having read hundreds of editions since this is the only cover I could actually remember without this kind of reminder.
Rambling
Elsewhere It's been a very wierd weekend, which probably accounts for this rambling review of last night's amazing Doctor Who and only being able to handle a half hour of Hamlet.
14 Nicholas Farrell
Hamlet played by Nicholas Farrell
Directed by Natalia Orlova
Produced as part of the BBC's Shakespeare: The Animated Tales project, this Hamlet manages to lucidly abbreviate the story to just over twenty-five minutes employing voiceover and impressionistic imagary from the Russian animators of Christmas films who use paint on glass to create the world. Bravely, screenwriter Leon Garfield only layers in narration when absolutely necessary -- to explain the prince's tooing and froing between Denmark and England, relying instead on Shakespeare's verse where possible.
There is some creative license. In the opening narration, Michael Kitchen's delicious tones, after noting that 'Something was rotten in the state of Denmark' goes on to imply that there are already whispers in court regarding Hamlet Snr's death, that perhaps he was poisoned, a fact that in the play only Hamlet and perhaps Horatio is privy to. It's pretty unequical as to the Dane's state of mind on hearing the news: '(Hamlet) hides his terrible knowledge under a cloak of madness'. It seems pointless to list the cuts because there are so many, but it's interesting to note that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern don't survive (simply referred to as 'spies' when necessary) but the Gravedigger still manages to enjoy a few jokes.
With little time to create a pschological coherance it's perhaps understandable that the performances whilst distinctive don't leave as much of a mark as the mystical images. That said, Nicholas Farrell's Hamlet perfectly carries some of the narrative burden even if there's little time to establish much of the humour inherent in the character on the page -- but its telling that he only really flies when interacting with others, Tilda Swinton's etherial Ophelia or Dorien Thomas's rather stolid Horatio (Farrell would later appear in Banagh's Hamlet film is Horatio).
It is the first time I've seen the same actor doubling the two older brothers, Claudius and Hamlet although the irony is lost of course because the character designs are so different, the former reminiscent of The Walker Art Gallery's portrait of Henry VIII. Claudius is perhaps the most memorable of characters with Hamlet perhaps being a touch too much like a yokel -- but is long golden locks do contrast nicely against the stone grey back drops and the crashing of the sea that buffets the castle.
Overall then, it's a treat, the kind of pleasure which is best enjoyed in the evening with a cup of coffee and some rice pudding, feet up next to a radiator and I wish that the funds had been available to animate the whole play in this style. The most effective moments are when the visuals and sounds take flight, as in the terrifying appearance of the ghost, with actor Joseph Shrapnel's booming voice relating the terrible deed as he floats stately across the battlements. But the most emotional scene is reserved for Ophelia's decent into real madness and her sucide, her songs echoing about the halls of Elsnore, her figure decending into a ghost like state before disappearing into the garden, her drowing signalled by the disturbance of a crane.
All the small things
See, this is what happens when you, y'know ...
Top Twenty by audience
1. 7.9 (36.8%) - Any Dream Will Do (22:00) BBC1
2. 6.6 (33.9%) - Any Dream Will Do (20:00) BBC1
3. 6.1 (36.8%) - Doctor Who (19:00) BBC1
Top Twenty by Share
1. 7.9 (36.8%) - Any Dream Will Do (22:00) BBC1
2. 6.1 (36.8%) - Doctor Who (19:00) BBC1
3. 6.6 (33.9%) - Any Dream Will Do (20:00) BBC1
Warm day outside so viewership down across the board -- not a failure by any means, especially since the channel gained three million in time for the show starting. It'll add at least a million through timeshifts and I think the BBC showing tonight will be popular too.
Top Twenty by audience
1. 7.9 (36.8%) - Any Dream Will Do (22:00) BBC1
2. 6.6 (33.9%) - Any Dream Will Do (20:00) BBC1
3. 6.1 (36.8%) - Doctor Who (19:00) BBC1
Top Twenty by Share
1. 7.9 (36.8%) - Any Dream Will Do (22:00) BBC1
2. 6.1 (36.8%) - Doctor Who (19:00) BBC1
3. 6.6 (33.9%) - Any Dream Will Do (20:00) BBC1
Warm day outside so viewership down across the board -- not a failure by any means, especially since the channel gained three million in time for the show starting. It'll add at least a million through timeshifts and I think the BBC showing tonight will be popular too.
He wasn't sure.
Life To offer something of a clue to my vocation, I only work nine months of the year. I get paid for the twelve which is a double edged sword for various reasons. Look it's complicated. Anyway, so all you need to know is at this time of year we have a last day of work and as far as we knew it was tomorrow.
Then we got to work today and found out that as far as people who aren't us knew it was last week. Which meant we'd turned up without actually needing to. I have done this before -- misread a rota, misunderstood a shift swap and there I am in a manager's office looking foolish. At least on this occasion everyone was there and no one could really decide who was right.
Half an hour after reaching work I'm walking away again. The feeling is not unlike one of those days as school when you'd arrive and the heating was broken or the toilets had frozen over or the teachers were on strike and you were sent home. It didn't seem right -- I felt like I was skiving. I still feel like I should be going to work tomorrow. I had nothing planned for this weekend. I didn't really get the time back either because I didn't know what do with it so couldn't use it to the best advantage. What to do...
I went to John Lewis to ask about one of their bargain computers. I'd called them yesterday and they'd said there was a £250 Hewlett Packard desktop pc on display in the Liverpool shop. Inevitably they had some in stock but no demonstration models and the salesman who served me was really helpful but couldn't tell me much about it, other than that it was fast enough to run Vista. He didn't even really know how fast the chip inside was. I told him I already had a 1.6 giger and he said it might be the same. He wasn't sure.
Anyone ever order a computer from Dell? How did that go?
Then we got to work today and found out that as far as people who aren't us knew it was last week. Which meant we'd turned up without actually needing to. I have done this before -- misread a rota, misunderstood a shift swap and there I am in a manager's office looking foolish. At least on this occasion everyone was there and no one could really decide who was right.
Half an hour after reaching work I'm walking away again. The feeling is not unlike one of those days as school when you'd arrive and the heating was broken or the toilets had frozen over or the teachers were on strike and you were sent home. It didn't seem right -- I felt like I was skiving. I still feel like I should be going to work tomorrow. I had nothing planned for this weekend. I didn't really get the time back either because I didn't know what do with it so couldn't use it to the best advantage. What to do...
I went to John Lewis to ask about one of their bargain computers. I'd called them yesterday and they'd said there was a £250 Hewlett Packard desktop pc on display in the Liverpool shop. Inevitably they had some in stock but no demonstration models and the salesman who served me was really helpful but couldn't tell me much about it, other than that it was fast enough to run Vista. He didn't even really know how fast the chip inside was. I told him I already had a 1.6 giger and he said it might be the same. He wasn't sure.
Anyone ever order a computer from Dell? How did that go?
Blink.
TV Sorry Mr Tennant, I don't actually have first memory of Doctor Who. Actually I generally draw a blank on whole sections of my childhood and I have a horrible feeling that like the shadows that follow Jim Carrey about during the eternal sunshine of his spotless mind every now and then whole decades are doomed to become blurry, only memorable through the application of my videos of the 'I Love...' series of the early naughties. Who knows, in about ten years time I might look back at this review and ponder exactly where it came from.
What I can say is that somewhere along the line, I drifted from reading Topsy & Tim books, Grimm's Fairy Tales and a book of Greek legends to John Masefield and C S Lewis and then on to Doctor Who (and then to He-Man and Transformers and Star Trek and then back to Doctor Who when I matured) but that I didn't see a difference between them. They were all fantasies firing the imagination of the younger version of me in different yet similar ways.
If I did have to really strain my brain, I do remember a POV shot of Leela with a knife prowling through corridors only to fall over K9 at some point, but I don't even know if that was in an episode or something I dreamed. There's a miasmatic process I think that happens where your childhood memories of watching stories somehow become mingled with watching the UK Gold repeats, where the vividity of the original happening becomes mixed with the later viewings. Did I really see Tom Baker regenerating under a pylon all those years ago or just assume I did?
But something else that happens is that you begin to take these things too seriously. If you're so inclined (and most of the people reading this will be) somewhere along the line the fantasy begins to break down and you can see those sets and special effects and production problems and you stop being able to take some of the scary bits seriously. Paradoxically though a percentage of those people (probably the one wondering where this is leading and whether I'll be offering an opinion of tonight's episode any time soon) find another way of taking it seriously, carefully putting them all into a continuity, rigidifying the continuity and searching for inconsistencies.
I used to be like that. I'd wonder why after all of these alien invasions there are still people living in the south-east of England let alone the capital; the chance of mortality must be miles higher than the national average. If it was a rational Whoniverse, the top story on BBC Breakfast (because it's always some kind of Daily Mail-friendly shock statistic) would be 'People in London are 30% more likely to die from an alien invasion than people in the north. In Wales the percentage is greatly reduced and Scotland, apart from a minor incident, is unaffected'. I'd rip my hair out about UNIT continuity and the fact that Britney Spear's single 'Toxic' survived eons longer than her actual pop career and that Shane Ward was only releasing (his surely brief) greatest hits album in 2012.
But somewhere in the middle of the past fortnight's triumphant story, somewhere in the middle of the flash forward to John Smith's potential life I remembered. It is a fairy tale. It is all a fairy tale. A wonderful, magnificent fairytale. It's also, myths and legends and half remembered anecdotes. It doesn't need to be consistent. There doesn't need to be some great continuity because there isn't supposed to be. And it knows. Time and again, in the new series and the old series and the spin-offs between all of this has been referred to. And if you you keep this in mind, the subject of whether two versions of Human Nature can exist in the same canon and this week how two different Sally Sparrows can help the Doctor disappear. It's just the same story being told in range different of ways.
It also means that you don't get yourself in the kind of twist that a correspondent gets himself into in SFX magazine this month trying to work out how Martha can come from a future that doesn't exist yet forgets that the series is about a man who flies through time and space in a police box as if that's acceptable. Isn't it interesting that people will do this but they don't sit around debunking the magic beans in Jack and the Beanstalk or what Rapunzel does when she needs to spend a penny.
Why not treat Doctor Who the same way? Tonight's episode Blink is tied up using what I think some people call a predestination paradox. Sally gave the Doctor a list of the dvds she once owned, a transcript for a conversation and other related gubbins for an adventure he hasn't had yet and which he'll need in order to bring himself home -- but which he wouldn't know that he needed until she gave them to him. Within the episode the explanation given is that essentially time is complicated (basically the explanation I was giving for years when I was taking this stuff seriously) its all 'big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff ' or whatever. But the better explanation is -- it's a fantastic, epic idea and caps off a really entertaining episode in the same way that a princess kissing a frog turns him into a human. With a bit of the Back to the Future theme on the soundtrack. In other words, Mr Paul Cornell, I'm with you. There is no canon. And I love that you managed to post that blog entry without actually mentioning what probably caused it -- Human Nature redux.
Which is all why my fanboy glow (or whatever Sean Alexander called it) has returned. Why I can deal with the appearance of another army of marching whatevers and the repeated appearance of mind control. They're for the kids. Everything else, the big huge, as Steven Moffat said in tonight's Doctor Who Confidential, movie sized fairytale concepts are for the rest of us, and if the two can fit together as has happened this past three weeks, so much the better. Plus in Blink the weeping angels marched off camera and somehow managed to be even more terrifying -- the illusion of movement created through editing and repositioning of statues, mimicking the blinking of the eye. Hitchcock used similar techniques throughout his career, where its what the mind thinks its seeing that terrifies -- everyone thinks they see Janet Leigh being stabbed in the shower scene in Psycho and at no point to you actually see the knife puncturing the skin.
Of course it also helps that we've had such a good run of episodes ... about the only duff chapter we've had this year was the one where I had my wobble, Evolution of the Daleks and I think that was probably because of the half-decent build up. Blink continued that run in fine style with its Primer-style time travel escapades, wonderful script which was an excellent cross between The Twilight Zone and those chilling Christmas ghost stories and intelligent dialogue and characterisation. I think this is the first story to be script edited by Gary Russell and it was impeccably paced, every scene dragging the plot forward. Certainly it's not a new concept (it's unfortunate that the BBC decided to show Frequency recently which did some of the same things) but like the other shows this series without really new ideas, it presented itself with such panache and punch it didn't matter. Once again we received a climax outside of the main narrative designed to scare the bejesus out of kids. Although I also think that having kids not being able to take their eyes of public art is also an amazing way of introducing them to a bit of culture.
Overall, director Hettie MacDonald brought a visual palette to the episode very unlike the house style we've come to expect which made it look totally unlike an episode of nu-Who which is probably what made it even more special. As well as the Hitchcockian editing style, there were transitions, crane shots, push ins, everything looked like it was location (which is also a complement to the lighting team who worked on the house interiors) and the contemporary scenes all looked like they were happening now, unlike most episodes which seem to be happening in a Whoniverse version of now for the first time since the seventies, scuzzy and dark and not afraid to be grimy in places. If Murray Gold's music now and then seemed to have intruded from his score for Rose and Moffat's own sitcom Joking Apart it somehow never worked against the visuals even though they were cry out for a bit of the Bernard Hermanns.
The other reason I'm warming again to new Doctor Who is the approach to performances or more particularly the fact that in the main unlike the old series, most of the characters act like human beings. Given the material and the fact they you're in Doctor Who, the temptation for most actors must be to go large (see Torchwood). But Carey Mulligan's perfectly measured work expertly carried the episode and actually at no point did you feel the absence of the Doctor which is no mean feat in a series which is supposed to be about him. Sure, the script had something to do with that ... and indeed now and then, perhaps intentionally you saw in her flashes of his questing approach to a problem ... but Mulligan had an instant likeability and grace (I know, I'm gushing). But that empathy spread across what was a surprisingly small cast with even a small character like Larry Nightingale given weight because of Finlay Robertson's charisma. How can I dislike any show that week in and out casts so well?
I would imagine, like those of you I mentioned in the brackets earlier who where waiting for me to get around to reviewing the episode, there'll be some wondering why they're watching the story of a cute middle class girl for so longer before David Tennant arrives in person but more fool them. The rest of us are enjoying this spectacular format bender which if it had been a US show would have been presumed to be a backdoor pilot ... in much the same way that Assignment: Earth showcased a new format that didn't fly in classic Star Trek. But unlike the Gary Seven character in that thing, I'd love to see the further adventures of Sally Sparrow (the best companion The Doctor never had) and her best friend's brother, perhaps searching for the fate of all the people whose cars ended up in the police store, especially if it was as well crafted as this, and I don't think it would be too ITV. Any chance of an Easter special where they meet up with Elton and his paving slab and they go on an adventure together?
So yes, in short (or in this case long) as if it wasn't apparent already I'm back. One of the themes of Blink was that it doesn't matter when you live your life, so long as you do something with it. Even the Doctor and Martha seemed to settle down whilst trapped in the past City on the Edge of Forever-style ('I'm working in a shop to support 'im...') living their lives until they could be saved. That's a great philosophy and I can't think of anything better than spending some of my life watching and loving this new series of Doctor Who. And unlike the seventies, when I do start to forget the details I'll have the dvds to remind me of what I've forgotten. Unlike half the people speaking on Confidential tonight whose first memories of the series have apparently been wiped from the BBC archives...
Next week: Captain Jack's back and I can't wait to hear how they're going to explain what he's been doing to a family audience.
Sorry explain to a family audience what he's been doing.
All in the eyes.
Art So yes, I visited Sudley House in Liverpool on Tuesday as I continue to work my way through the Public Art Collections in North West England book. Its recently re-opened after a couple of years of restoration, renovation and redevelopment and unlike most of these visits I managed to be there and back in a morning.
It helped that it was within walking distance, about half an hour away from home – well actually longer since I somehow managed to get lost in Sefton Park on the way (which considering I’ve been living next to it for over fifteen years is something only I could do).
You can read about some of the history of the house at the National Museums Liverpool website. It’s the only surviving merchants house from the period with most of its original features and art collection intact. The building is now straddles the formats of a National Trust style recreation of the period on the ground floor and an exhibition space on the floor above.
Downstairs, even with the replacement furniture (the originals were apparently sold off in the 1940s) you can definitely get a flavour of what it must have been like for the Holt family in this time when people entertained themselves and visitors. You could imagine them idyllically collecting in the Morning Room, the view of the grounds through the window. About the only thing which spoils the illusion are the slightly incongruous but undoubtedly educational plasma screens in some of the rooms featuring actors playing members of the family and their help.
It has to be said that George Holt had an eye for the ladies since most of the paintings in the collection are of the fairer sex, either members of his family or in works illustrating myths and literature. ‘In A Convent Garden’ by George Dunlip Leslie is a love picture of what looks like a society girl hiding below a low wall with a lute out of the way of a Mother Superior. Also striking is ‘A Girl With A Basket of Apples’ from Hugues Merle, a woman with an angular face but bottomless eyes following you about the room.
The pearls of the collection and the discovery for me is the work of the interestingly named John Melhuish Strudwick a follower of the Pre-Raphaelite painter Edward Burne-Jones. Frankly that’s a bit like saying Oasis sound like The Beatles but glancing at 'O Swallow, Swallow' for the first time before glancing at the provided information sheets I thought it was Burne-Jones, so close in aspect is it to a work at Leeds Art Gallery (I’m learning to speak Edwardian). I suppose what divorces the styles of the two painters are the faces – even though Burne-Jones painted stylised figures there was always a glimpse of humanity in the eyes – whereas these Strudwicks all have a slightly vacant expression.
Upstairs in Sudley is now split into three main areas. As education room featuring a collection of period children’s toys, a neat display of women’s costumes that would have been worn by Holt’s contemporaries and a temporary exhibition space, currently showing images of the interiors of lost Victorian and Edwardian mansions from throughout the local area. For some this will be an exciting way to compare the interior designs of the past with the present. But for me it was an eye opening exercise as I saw a range of painting which now deck the walls of the Walker and Lady Lever Art Galleries within their original domestic setting. Imagine having Adam and Eve at ‘The Tree of Forgiveness’ looking down on you as you munch through your breakfast.
It helped that it was within walking distance, about half an hour away from home – well actually longer since I somehow managed to get lost in Sefton Park on the way (which considering I’ve been living next to it for over fifteen years is something only I could do).
You can read about some of the history of the house at the National Museums Liverpool website. It’s the only surviving merchants house from the period with most of its original features and art collection intact. The building is now straddles the formats of a National Trust style recreation of the period on the ground floor and an exhibition space on the floor above.
Downstairs, even with the replacement furniture (the originals were apparently sold off in the 1940s) you can definitely get a flavour of what it must have been like for the Holt family in this time when people entertained themselves and visitors. You could imagine them idyllically collecting in the Morning Room, the view of the grounds through the window. About the only thing which spoils the illusion are the slightly incongruous but undoubtedly educational plasma screens in some of the rooms featuring actors playing members of the family and their help.
It has to be said that George Holt had an eye for the ladies since most of the paintings in the collection are of the fairer sex, either members of his family or in works illustrating myths and literature. ‘In A Convent Garden’ by George Dunlip Leslie is a love picture of what looks like a society girl hiding below a low wall with a lute out of the way of a Mother Superior. Also striking is ‘A Girl With A Basket of Apples’ from Hugues Merle, a woman with an angular face but bottomless eyes following you about the room.
The pearls of the collection and the discovery for me is the work of the interestingly named John Melhuish Strudwick a follower of the Pre-Raphaelite painter Edward Burne-Jones. Frankly that’s a bit like saying Oasis sound like The Beatles but glancing at 'O Swallow, Swallow' for the first time before glancing at the provided information sheets I thought it was Burne-Jones, so close in aspect is it to a work at Leeds Art Gallery (I’m learning to speak Edwardian). I suppose what divorces the styles of the two painters are the faces – even though Burne-Jones painted stylised figures there was always a glimpse of humanity in the eyes – whereas these Strudwicks all have a slightly vacant expression.
Upstairs in Sudley is now split into three main areas. As education room featuring a collection of period children’s toys, a neat display of women’s costumes that would have been worn by Holt’s contemporaries and a temporary exhibition space, currently showing images of the interiors of lost Victorian and Edwardian mansions from throughout the local area. For some this will be an exciting way to compare the interior designs of the past with the present. But for me it was an eye opening exercise as I saw a range of painting which now deck the walls of the Walker and Lady Lever Art Galleries within their original domestic setting. Imagine having Adam and Eve at ‘The Tree of Forgiveness’ looking down on you as you munch through your breakfast.
"I can't believe it's not Doctor Who..."
Elsewhere Yes, it's at the Hamlet blog again, this time a review, my thirteenth production, unlucky for some etc. In other news, I have resolved to buy a new desktop computer using some of my savings. Any recommendations? Are the cheap(ish) Dells any good?
13 Derek Jacobi
Hamlet played by Derek Jacobi
Directed by Rodney Bennett
I knew when I began this process that there would be certain 'tentpole' productions, so renowned that I'd want to save them and relish them. The BBC Shakespeare Hamlet is one such presentation with its central performance from Derek Jacobi, Patrick Stewart's Claudius and Claire Bloom's Gertrude. But for this fanboy there's an extra level of interest because glancing through the cast list beforehand it would be quite easy to say 'I can't believe it's not Doctor Who'.
In casting terms that means Geoffrey Beavers who played the Doctor's nemesis The Master during the eighties, Lalla Ward (Ophelia), who famously companioned Tom Baker's timelord as Romana (before marrying him in real life) and Jacobi who would later go on to play a version of the Doctor on an audio cd (Deadline), The Master in an animated story for the BBC website (The Scream of the Shalka) and is soon to appear in an episode of the new television series (Utopia).
But a range of actors who filled bit part roles in Hamlet would go on to do the same in Who. Geoffrey Bateman (Guildenstern) played Dymond in The Nightmare of Eden), Emrys James (First Player) was Aukon in State of Decay, Peter Burroughs (Player) was the Jester in The King's Demons, Peter Benson (Second Gravedigger) essayed the role of Bor in Terminus, Stuart Fell (Player) has been a whole vast range of different characters including Alpha Centuri in The Curse of Peladon and Reginald Jessop (Messenger) was type cast as a Servant in a number of episodes.
That connection continues behind the camera as the production is kinetically directed by Rodney Bennett who helmed a range of stories for that series in the same period (The Ark in Space, The Sontaran Experiment and The Masque of Mandragora), the fights were co-ordinated by B.H. Barry (The Mind Robber and Four To Doomsday) and the vision mixed by Shirley Coward (The Tenth Planet and Remembrance of the Daleks). The music too is supplied by that series' main composer during the Baker era, Dudley Simpson and indeed one of the few distractions is when Simpson's familiar brass section clashes in between acts or scenes, so redolant of a cliff hanger or the attack of a Wyrrrn.
This is a wonderful production. Tied though it is to the BBC drama department's idiom of the time, all studio bound, multi-camera setups shot on video, it straddles the divide between pure theatre and television and is one of the jewels in the BBC Shakespeare series, so traditional in many ways but radical in others. Perhaps acknowledging the limitations of the medium, Bennett favours performances over setting, a decision that pays dividends.
Series producer Cedric Messina's hope was that the big roles should be played by renowned actors and Jacobi certainly fitted the bill, having seen him in a famous 1977 West End production (more on which at a later date). At the planned time of taping, Jacobi was contracted to play Richard II on stage, so Messina waited until he would be free and thank goodness he did -- this recording captures one of the best characterisations of the role I've ever seen.
I don't I've seen Jacobi give a poor performance -- even in Evolution: Underworld he managed to keep his dignity. What makes this so special is that the actor absolutely understands the range of emotions that Hamlet is dragged through and is able to successfully layer in the sheer frustration of not being able to carry out his dead father's wishes either because of the situation or his own falabilities. Watch his face during The Mousetrap as he realises that his uncle hasn't reacted to the mime of the death of Gonzago and that he'll actually have to talk him through the deed, hammering home the message that he knows of the murder.
He's so very vulnerable too, slightly nervous, never entirely sure of his actions even when he's addressing the audience during soliloques; rather like other fourth wall breakers in such films as High Fidelity, Alfie or Ferris Bueller's Day Off, there's a bond of trust between him and us as he imparts his feelings -- a connection which isn't granted to Claudius when he too sits alone and faces the emotional consequences of his actions (Stewart looks away from the lense even in close up). Only towards the end does Hamlet's loyaly really shift to his good friend Horatio, loyally played by Robert Swann with just a hint of homo-erotic tension.
It's also a very droll turn as Jacobi mines the seam of black comedy that Shakespeare has threaded through the dialogue that I've seen so few other actors take advantage of. Some moments are laugh out loud funny, such as his treatment of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, here portayed as nothing more than acquantances suddenly dropping in unannounced rather like that email you sometimes get from someone you hardly knew at school who's signed up to Friends Reunited.
Some of this is made possible because of the choice to use a near complete text, allowing the actors the space to provide a more complete pschological arc for their characters. In this reading Claudius becomes a full blooded antagonist with almost as much screen time as Hamlet, Stewart relishing the opportunity to show both sides of the character, the public statesman who is privately guilt ridden. That tension is particularly clear in his dealings with a grief stricken Laertes (David Robb), nervously turning parental and sibling loss to his advantage.
There's certainly a grey area as to who the audience should be sympathising with. Although Claudius's murder of Hamlet Snr is inconscionable there's an inferance that he took the action for the good of the country to help the peace process with Fortinbras who to my understanding lost part of his kingdom in a previous war. To an extent it's almost as though Hamlet isn't seeing the bigger picture, putting his own revenge plot ahead of the country's needs, Denmark's strength. This production makes plain that if Hamlet Snr hadn't visited his son the stable status quo would have continued -- it's Hamlet Jnr's plans which lead to the death of a family and the downfall of the kingdom. Comedy, tragedy, irony.
It's no pleasure though to report that I don't think Lalla Ward's Ophelia really works. Perhaps it's because her noble Romana in Doctor Who is so effective that here she seems defeated by the text, never once coming across as really being Laertes sister or in love with Hamlet. Only later, during the descent into madness does the performance gain power but even then it's a forced mess of histrionics. Claire Bloom's Gertrude, by contrast, exudes nobility and a surprising eroticism (frankly she's a babe). Throughout there's an implication that her marriage with old Hamlet was rather boring one and her shift to his brother not too difficult a choice and indeed that the bond with her son was broken long before his father's death.
As Susan Willis notes in her wonderful book, The BBC Shakespeare Plays: Making The Canon, from an initial push to produce backdrops that attempt to create a realistic period setting for each of the plays, as the productions drifted onward, taste shifted from representation to abstract with Don Homfray's designs for Hamlet being one of the first experiments. The exteriors then occur in a large empty studio, a grey void ringed with flooring at a slight incline, filled with mist for the battlement scenes, the sounds of the sea for the departing of Laertes and soil and a grave for Ophelia's funeral (which includes the sight of poor Lalla wrapped in drapes lying actually in the grave with mud dropped on top of her).
The interiors are even more experimental. Partitians have been painted with columns and vistas, bookshelves and libraries, paintings and wardrobes but they're generally used without regard for what's on them. During the scene when Claudius and Polonius spy on Hamlet's disposition with Ophelia they hide behind a wall with a landscape painted on to imply the view from the palace and Hamlet opens up the wall to see if he can find them hiding. It's the representation of a palace without regard for its geography which is by turns confusing and exhilirating and could be interpreted as an example of Hamlet losing his grip on reality, of the details of his surroundings losing their importance in comparison to his cause.
Having bought the boxset, I'm slowly working my way through all of these BBC Shakespeare 'performances', geekily in production order minus the histories which I'm going to watch together at the end. Some have been better than others but I wouldn't describe any of them as awful. Inevitably I've loved the Measure for Measure and the As You Like It is far from the disaster its reputation suggests (with it just see a young Helen Mirren and an old David Prowse acting in the same scene). If the Romeo and Juliet shows signs of early nerves, Twelfth Night is a lovely romp and The Tempest has real power. But I think this Hamlet almost towers above them all and will be hard to beat.
[Updated 07/12/2012! BBC Worldwide has now made this Hamlet available to watch on YouTube.]
"I can't believe it's not Doctor Who..."
TV As they say on ebay, Doctor Who interest. Just thought you might like to read this review I've posted elsewhere of Utopia's Derek Jacobi in the 1980 BBC Shakespeare production of Hamlet. Warning -- contains paragraphs of stunning geekery as I list all of the actors and crew members who've ever had anything to do with the series.
Lost
Life Snazzle-razzle-rick rastedly. I visited Sudley House, the merchant house in Liverpool this morning and although I was going to surprise you with a review this ancient computer of mine crashed towards the end of the writing and since I'm stuck using wordpad which I'd forgotten doesn't have an autosave feature I lost the whole thing. I really need to get a new computer. Really, really.
The debate about the Olympic logo rattles on. It does indeed look like Lisa Simpson doing something unmentionable to some bloke and as Tom notes the cover of an old NOW album. This Tiswas comparison isn't that far off the mark either. As soon as a I saw the apparently 'better' moving version it reminded me of the opening title sequence of Going Live echoed by someone in this amusing Metafilter thread -- that's having to be edited too because it could cause epilepsy.
It's very easy to criticise something that's obviously taken months to design and been through countless consultations, but reading the defensive retoric of the likes of Seb Coe there's a definite element of emperor's new clothes at work, of a gulf between what the Olympic Committee are saying is implied by the image and the reality. If you're older than a young person you have to be careful when you're trying to suggest what might inspire a young person. Considering how dated the thing looks it seem apt to mention David Owen's rap during a general election in the eighties.
This won't go away. Over the next five years I would expect that it'll be redesigned again when it's shown not to be having the desired effect, or relegated during ad campaigns for something far simpler, font based and future proof. Like the dome, so far the London Olympics has lacked a single clear voice and message, too many people with their own ideas all being listened to and agreed with at the same time. There is the potential that everything will be sorted out by 2012 and it'll be a massive success, but it's going to take a few changes and less egos in suits for that to happen.
The debate about the Olympic logo rattles on. It does indeed look like Lisa Simpson doing something unmentionable to some bloke and as Tom notes the cover of an old NOW album. This Tiswas comparison isn't that far off the mark either. As soon as a I saw the apparently 'better' moving version it reminded me of the opening title sequence of Going Live echoed by someone in this amusing Metafilter thread -- that's having to be edited too because it could cause epilepsy.
It's very easy to criticise something that's obviously taken months to design and been through countless consultations, but reading the defensive retoric of the likes of Seb Coe there's a definite element of emperor's new clothes at work, of a gulf between what the Olympic Committee are saying is implied by the image and the reality. If you're older than a young person you have to be careful when you're trying to suggest what might inspire a young person. Considering how dated the thing looks it seem apt to mention David Owen's rap during a general election in the eighties.
This won't go away. Over the next five years I would expect that it'll be redesigned again when it's shown not to be having the desired effect, or relegated during ad campaigns for something far simpler, font based and future proof. Like the dome, so far the London Olympics has lacked a single clear voice and message, too many people with their own ideas all being listened to and agreed with at the same time. There is the potential that everything will be sorted out by 2012 and it'll be a massive success, but it's going to take a few changes and less egos in suits for that to happen.
Scenarios
Jobs I've just read this. Any ideas what exactly this job, with a title of 'researcher' actually entails (other than, cough, research)?:
"As part of the RRT, you will support and exploit synergies [...] gathering scenarios and use cases from projects, liaising with other national and international repositories activities, synthesizing project and programme outcomes, and engaging with interoperability standards activity and repository architectures. Some travel is envisaged."Is this a case of if you can understand the job description you're half way there?
Undead
Life So I'm back in a holding pattern, keeping myself active whilst I look for some extra work during the week which is why the Hamlet blog is busy of late -- I'm trying to keep my brain active. Plus and feel free to hurl suggestions (or insults) but something at the back of my mind suggests there might be a book in that there weblog (even though I haven't the first idea of what to do about it or who to talk to).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)