The Sound of Drums.
TV Bonkers. Absolutely bonkers.
This week, the brilliant TV Cream Times mail out previewed the episode thus:
“Good grief - what to say about this week's episode? If you thought Utopia was verging on fan fiction, this one's through the looking glass and drawing a pen'n'ink picture of itself, all in stipple, with characters' heads floating on some kind of montage-y background. RTD really doesn't hold back here.”
They weren’t wrong. Having spent almost three series being perfectly circumspect about ‘the mythology’, carefully layering in everything on a need to know basis, letting the viewers imagination fill in the gaps, not even bothering to mention the Doctor’s home planet for two years, this was like watching one of those You Tube montages which edit together old episodes to evoke the time war or the eighth Doctor’s regeneration or a Star Wars fan film shot in someone‘s back yard casting the school prom queen as Mara Jade. Except with a much vaster budget and a modicum of taste. They didn’t even bother to redesign the headgear.
You can imagine the glee in Russell’s face as he tapped away until three in the morning wired on caffeine as forty-odd years of watching the show poured through his fingertips, finally letting rip doing absolutely everything that potential novelists at Virgin and BBC books and script writers were told not to do. No resurrecting of old villains, no continuity references and absolutely, definitely no flashbacks to the Doctor’s days at the academy unless we say you can. Perhaps he glanced now and then at Marc Platt’s Lungbarrow, Gary Russell’s Divided Loyalties or Terrance Dicks’s The Eight Doctors trying to decide just how far you can take these things, how acceptable it is to reference The Sea Devils for a family audience now, trying to think of a zeitgeisty equivalent of The Clangers. ‘I know’ he thought ‘Teletubbies’ (at least it wasn’t The Hoobs).
But, and this is important, somehow magically it’s entirely possible that managed to reintroduce all of this mythology and still make it play for fans and non-fans alike. I would imagine if I was ten years old the Gallifrey flashback here would have been like the appearance of the time lords at the close of The War Games, vital elements of the Doctor’s past suddenly made real. And importantly this brought back some of their god-like status after years of fusty pensioners and the glorious Dynasty in space that was the Big Finish spin-off. As the camera panned through these robed figures, they seemed remote and powerful, the poetry of the Doctor’s words as he described the place (which had something of the Tolkien about them) conveying on its people a wizard or even Jedi remoteness. Perhaps, though, like the Doctor’s earlier incarnations in The Brain of Morbius, we’ll never really find out who they are.
Speaking of divided loyalties, the rest of the episode was a bit of a test, since at no point during its forty-five minutes could I actually tell if it was any good. Rather like Torchwood’s episode Cyberwoman you’ve got a horrifying feeling that in the middle of all the brilliance the core was rotten, that actually it was a bit of a flub. During the making of documentary for his film Magnolia there’s a moment filmed during the post-production process in which director Paul Thomas Anderson has his then girlfriend Fiona Apple (yes, the singer) to dance giddly until he pushes her over, at which point she gets up and dances and he pushes her over again. It’s an expression of his attitude to the film, which he feels is eager to please and does so until he nudges it too far the wrong way and he ruins the thing. Apple left him not long afterwards, and although I’m sure it had nothing to do with this incident I can’t help think of it being metaphor for The Sound of Drums too, so exciting, so loud, but just sometimes losing focus.
The prime expression of this problem is John Simm’s the Master. Quite rightly, Davies has noticed the whole point of the character is to be the flip side of the Doctor (he said as much in Doctor Who Confidential) and in this case it’s all about the humour, perhaps deliberately delivering a characterisation which is just a few miles and yards south of the Doctor that appeared in series two, laughing in the face of everything, the smug bastard who was a real turn off for some last year. Davies rational is that since humour is one of the Doctor’s main weapons then when faced with the same weapon they cancel each other out, a kind of sarcastic cold war. And there were some genuinely funny moments -- the aforementioned The Sea Devil’s reference or ‘I’m wearing a gas mask’. But now and then he seemed to go just too far, like the android Data’s emotion chip malfunctioning in Star Trek: Generations, that kind of bizarre madness which is probably ok in context but lacks shade, an underlying psychology.
Perhaps in the tone meeting Davies mentioned the Joker from Tim Burton’s Batman, that mad flamboyance, the shouting, the opening and closing of the door to see if a victim is still screaming within. If the purpose is to absolutely hate the character, you really do, but it’s a shame that he couldn’t have been more Delgado and less Eric Bloody Roberts (who was mild by comparison). If the shot of Colin Teague trying to direct Simm in Doctor Who Confidential was anything to go by (eye contact? What’s that?) there was little the director could do about it. But then it says a lot about the episode that Teague thought ordering a copy of The Five Doctors would be a perfect introduction to the character and that he ended up watching the rushes. Only now do I too realise that when the Cybermen are on fire in that episode, it’s actually a man being quietly roasted in bacofoil.
Then there was the storytelling, which was a case of if one idea suits, have twenty. From the Master’s mind control to the explaining of who he is and why he’s a menace and the Paradox device to the kidnapping of the Joneses to the Doctor’s premature aging to the invasion of who knows what from where (I’ve a few ideas thanks to the BBC’s press office and their synopsis of next week’s episode -- who needs THE FUNCKING S*N when you’ve got them?) I’ve read Fighting Fantasy novels with more coherence and narrative balance. Actually, this a feature of most of Russell T Davies’ episodes, an explosion of ideas and action and sometimes it really works (Gridlock, Tooth & Claw) and sometimes it really doesn’t (The Long Game).
The Canon Cops too are already all over exactly which year Martha Jones is supposed to be from -- all indications up until now put her pick up as being this year, but suddenly the events in The Runaway Bride are being remember by one and all and this is a president elect which means it has to be 2008? Has someone dropped a year in the writing? As you know, I’m quite happy with this all being a fairy tale so for all we know she is from 2007 but somewhere along the line time changed it to 2008 because it fits better but some might wonder if the writers forgotten about the year-change somewhere along the line.
It’s not too surprising that something fell through the cracks and unfortunately that was giving Jack something to do -- mainly spending the episode following the Doctor and Martha around, getting shot and fessing up to working for Torchwood, not too convincingly suggesting that he’s recreating it in the Doctor’s image (oh yeah, does that include handing a little girl over to fairies and helping the odd suicide -- and what about letting a giant beast from the pit of hell demolish Cardiff -- oh hold one -- the last one I’ll give you). Plus I really hope there’s a rational explanation for why a human woman would be so enamoured of the Master’s plan as to marry him. I was half expecting him to call her the Rani at some point -- in this episode, anything was possible.
But you know what? I loved every minute of it. Despite all of these things, even though it might have been self indulgent, I laughed all of the way through, sometimes with sometimes against what it was trying to do and indeed rather like Torchwood’s episode Cyberwoman never failing to be entertained, which was sort of the point, and the very antithesis of boring. Yes, Simms’ portrayal was noisy but in its own way was a refreshing change from all of the aliens with a heart which have thus far populated the series and yes, genuinely funny in places. The flying aircraft carrier was a startling addition, a Captain Scarlett reference apparently, but also a callback to the kind of space age technology that’s supposed to be knocking around on the planet if the dating of the original series is anything to go by -- we’re supposed to have a fricking space programme by now for goodness sake.
When it wasn’t being quite so incessant, quite so loud there was so much to enjoy, subtle bits of magic. Making the sound of the drums, whatever they are (return of the Cheetah people anyone?) the actual Doctor Who theme is a master stroke, merging the inner and outer diagesis of the series expressed most during the scene in which the Doctor works out that it’s the mobile phones that are the source of the hypnosis. If you listen carefully , as the diagetic ringtone beeps out the rhythm, Murray Gold subtlety layers on the melody non-diagetically as the time lord thinks it through. The session of catching up between the Doctor and the Master having the kind of conversation you really shouldn’t have over the phone but somehow always manage to, was wonderfully played by Simm and especially Tennant, understating his own characterisation to put Simms’ into sharper relief. The Master was resurrected by the time lords to help fight in the time war -- perfect -- mad, but perfect. In the midst of the mayhem it was the character moments that resonated -- like Captain Jack’s realisation that Martha has feelings for his old mate and her voicing of the retcon we’d all expected. ‘You’ve been watching too much television’ he said. Too right.
But you what I really loved? The cliffhanger. Now I know the unwelcome appearance of "Voodoo Child" by Rogue Traders was a bizarre touch (and some viewers would be forgiven for thinking that Doctor Who Confidential had begun ten minutes early), but that rift in the fabric of space, the millions of space balls (no doubt controlled by the ghosts of Ron Grainer and Delia Derbyshire), the Doctor looking on helpless and old and Martha phasing out at an opportune moment made for an excellent cliffhanger. That crane shot from Martha’s face as she stood up and the cut to the devastation and her dash into the distance and the subtle glance between Jack and the Doctor before hand indicated that something was up, they had a plan, and nothing was as it seemed -- and unlike last week’s cliffhanger in which we all sort of knew how they get out of it, I’ve no idea where this is going. I do suspect though that the paradox device is a big red reset button waiting to happen -- and that Reggie Yates may have something to do with saving the planet…
Ironic title
Film John August addresses the issue of whether your tv spec script can be ripped off by the programme makers: "Put this way, your fallacy is clear — you’re confusing cause and effect. You think their “Favorite Mistake” is similar to yours because they somehow read and stole your idea, when in fact it’s similar because it’s frickin’ Grey’s Anatomy. You followed their conventions. You included their characters. You emulated their show as closely as you could."
"What's next, colonel: the neutron bomb?"
Film Joe Queenan considers the collateral damage in the Die Hard film series in an interesting spin on the kind of articles that tend to fill column inches whenever some new film is released and there's not much else going on:
"Collateral damage is the largely overlooked theme of the entire Die Hard series - the recognition that even though John McClane always gets his man, usually in some spectacularly macabre fashion, he never gets his man until dozens of innocent people have died, until an enormous number of trains, planes, trucks, ships and automobiles have been destroyed, and until he has laid waste to the infrastructure of whatever hapless metropolis in which he is currently operating. McClane's triumphs call to mind the famous words of antiquity's king Pyrrhus, who once quipped, in not so many words, "If victories are going to be this expensive, maybe we should try defeats for a change."I'm always obsessing about these things when I watch films -- when characters obviously haven't paid a taxi fare or take advanatge of people in the service industries and exploding stuff is always the limit. One of these days someone is going to make a film about a bystander in an action film -- perhaps it starts with the finale of a Die Hard-style film then carries on from there, but the main character does not in the end do anything heroic.
"Do carry a Maglite. Just cos."
Music Some Glastonbury tips from a veteran: "Do take tent poles. A little obvious maybe, but trying to erect a hovel out of firewood while 50 hippies laugh at you is a miserable, splintery experience."
I've been camping a few times, usually family holidays and the most dispiriting time was sitting huddled together around an oil lamp at 8pm, the only entertainment being a radio which could only pick up the local radio station which that evening was broadcasting a three hour documentary about Albert Pierpoint, the executioner.
I now can't hear his name without looking back at those good times.
I've been camping a few times, usually family holidays and the most dispiriting time was sitting huddled together around an oil lamp at 8pm, the only entertainment being a radio which could only pick up the local radio station which that evening was broadcasting a three hour documentary about Albert Pierpoint, the executioner.
I now can't hear his name without looking back at those good times.
"We must destroy the pods and reverse the beams before Davros turns the Earth into a Dalek production planet!!!"
TV The old PC game Dalek Attack available for download:
"The premise is a very simple and easy one. You have the evildoer who wants to conquer the world and you, as a good guy, must prevent it. The twist is the typical Dr. Who plot. Davros is trying to turn Earth into a Dalek production planet (destroying humanity as a side effect). In order to stop him you need to run to the police phone booth and travel back in time, to the point when the invasion began and prevent it."
Well, it is the Seventh Doctor. It's particularly amazing that someone thought this release was a good idea nearly five years after the show was canceled. At least it features a version of the diamond logo. All good fun (ish).
"The premise is a very simple and easy one. You have the evildoer who wants to conquer the world and you, as a good guy, must prevent it. The twist is the typical Dr. Who plot. Davros is trying to turn Earth into a Dalek production planet (destroying humanity as a side effect). In order to stop him you need to run to the police phone booth and travel back in time, to the point when the invasion began and prevent it."
Well, it is the Seventh Doctor. It's particularly amazing that someone thought this release was a good idea nearly five years after the show was canceled. At least it features a version of the diamond logo. All good fun (ish).
"Costner’s urine-drinking escapade primes audiences for abundant distasteful behavior down the road."
Film The AV Club's My Year of Flops reaches Waterworld:
"Waterworld immediately throws down the gauntlet by introducing Costner’s mysterious water-drifter urinating, then gulping down his own sweet elixir. It’s possible that there are more off-putting ways to introduce the hero of a giant would-be blockbuster (at the time Waterworld was the most expensive movie ever made), but until some Costner-level auteur of the future develops the testicular fortitude to introduce a hero raping a nun, defecating on an American flag, or attending to painful hemorrhoids, Waterworld’s record for queasiest introduction of a stoic hero appears secure."I was quite forgiving of the film on release simply because it wasn't as awful as we'd been led to believe by the press and the poster, despite the presence of Costner as 'pee-drinking man fish'. It was just so wierd that you couldn't help but enjoy, at least for the first hour or so. But then it drops in a stupid cliche of a finale in which the fishman has to battle crazy Dennis Hopper to save the damson and everything falls apart.
"If you're fond of sand dunes and salty air..."
Commerce I popped into Marks & Spencer today to pick up a copy of their new catalogue.
As I traveled down the escalator towards the exit, I begin to whistle. I’m not sure what it is I’m whistling but it sounds familiar. I think about it for a moment and I realise it’s At The River by Groove Armada. I further realise that it’s the music the shop’s using in their food campaign, the one with Dervla Kerwin in which she makes things like strawberries and chopped onions seem sexy.
So I’m in a Marks & Spencer store whistling the soundtrack of their ad campaign.
It seems that none of us, now, are immune to brand penetration.
Luckily, Groove Armarda aren’t too enamored with the campaign as this interview explains:
As I traveled down the escalator towards the exit, I begin to whistle. I’m not sure what it is I’m whistling but it sounds familiar. I think about it for a moment and I realise it’s At The River by Groove Armada. I further realise that it’s the music the shop’s using in their food campaign, the one with Dervla Kerwin in which she makes things like strawberries and chopped onions seem sexy.
So I’m in a Marks & Spencer store whistling the soundtrack of their ad campaign.
It seems that none of us, now, are immune to brand penetration.
Luckily, Groove Armarda aren’t too enamored with the campaign as this interview explains:
Are you still using your music on a lot of TV ads and programs?Yes, but do you find yourself whistling it in the food department?
Yep. We did a big commercial for Renault with I See You Baby and made a lot of dough. It was a really good ad and kept our profile out there in a weird way. We've just done a thing with (British department store) Marks and Spencer using At the River. I really regret that. The offer came when I didn't think we were going to make another record and, like everyone else, I've got to feed my family. You've got to make hay while the sun shines and this ad could set me up for a year.
What's so wrong with it?
I hate it. It's a food ad. It's terrible. It's pouring sauce over fish with At the River over the background. It's killed it for me.
"David has got his face on some pants but I haven’t."
TV Freema talks to The Metro and frankly if you don't love her already:
"I went to a Star Trek convention years ago because I was really into Star Trek: The Next Generation. I watched Deep Space Nine too, so I understand wanting to see the other side of the programme you enjoy and meet the actors. We’re a real sci-fi household. We’re all into Heroes now but we’ll watch anything – Sliders, Stargate."
Name-checking Sliders? One of us, one of us, one of us ...
"I went to a Star Trek convention years ago because I was really into Star Trek: The Next Generation. I watched Deep Space Nine too, so I understand wanting to see the other side of the programme you enjoy and meet the actors. We’re a real sci-fi household. We’re all into Heroes now but we’ll watch anything – Sliders, Stargate."
Name-checking Sliders? One of us, one of us, one of us ...
Trying to borrow a fiver off...
Radio The Creamguide 24 live: Radio 2 Ian Jones listens to BBC Radio Two for twenty-four hours: "Well, I'm really feeling the strain now. I can't really concentrate on what I'm hearing at all. As slick and agreeable as Ken is, his choice of music is really uninspiring. In fact, there's been loads of this kind of stuff during the last 24 hours: plastic soul, to coin a phrase. This week's playlist includes Simon Webbe, The Bees and Andrea Corr, none of which are blinding. Where are the hits?!"
You've had ...
TV In a surprising move, I’m about to recommend a new ITV drama, something I don’t think I’ve been able to do since, well I don’t actually remember the last time I’ve even mentioned ITV on here. Writer Charlie Martin’s The Time Of Your Life (Mondays, 9pm) expands from a relatively simple premise -- Kate now aged thirty-five awakens from an eighteen year coma and has to come to terms with how the world has changed whilst she slept. It sounds like the kind of concept that would be rocket fuel for one of the US tv movies that appear in the afternoons on Channel Five, but what elevates the material is that Martin has placed Kate within an ensemble of her old school friends all grown up and her parents and all are rocked by her re-emergence and begin to question the lives they’ve led themselves in the intervening years.
To a degree this is an ensemble show in the style of Cold Feet, lots of friends of a certain age dealing with life’s problems; but Kate’s story undercuts the potential clichés. In the opening and closing voice over she talks about high school films, listing all of the tropes of the genre, of people meeting and revealing their occupations and in the end dancing together to whichever old song is being plugged on the soundtrack. But this story is also told with that exact formula, the opening twenty minutes in particular mirroring The Big Chill, each of the characters being contacted by phone except in this case the person who’s drawing them together has woken up rather than died.
Not content with this, Martin also introduces a cross genre element in the form of the mystery surrounding why Kate fell into the coma in the first place and the circumstances surrounding the death of the man she was with that night. If anyone knows the real truth they’re not saying and now and then Kate receives flashbacks to a night that she’s largely blocked from her memory and as she revisits the scene of her accident, you can tell the games afoot and that this bit of detection on her part is going to form one of the backbones of the series, hopefully bringing the audience back each week as more is revealed, Lost-style.
It’s been well cast too with actors that seem familiar from elsewhere but without the expected ‘star’ to overshadow anyone, most recognisable faces are probably Olivia Colman (Peep Show, Look Around You), Mark Bazeley (who played Alistair Campbell in The Queen),
Jemima Rooper (As If, erm Hex, Sinchronicity) and Geraladine James (everything ever made it seems). The key casting is probably the relatively unknown Genevieve O'Reilly as Kate and she’s amazing, convincingly suggesting a late teen trapped in a much older body without it becoming a goofy parody, remembering that eighteen is at the cusp of adulthood and for some people the moment that they mature.
According to this week’s Radio Times, episode two picks up the momentum drawing the viewer in further and I can’t wait. As my Primevil experience showed, I have a very low tolerance for series with poor first episodes and it’s refreshing to watching something and be hooked straight away. I love Steven Polikoff’s late work, especially Shooting The Past and Gideon's Daughter, and this often has the feel of an even more mainstream version of that with its sometimes impressionistic visuals evoking Kate’s coma memories. There was a lovely moment too which also reminded me of Perfect Strangers, where most of the cast had gathered in a stairwell just after Kate had come out of her coma -- she looks down and them, they look up at her and she asks:
‘Who the fuck are you?’
To a degree this is an ensemble show in the style of Cold Feet, lots of friends of a certain age dealing with life’s problems; but Kate’s story undercuts the potential clichés. In the opening and closing voice over she talks about high school films, listing all of the tropes of the genre, of people meeting and revealing their occupations and in the end dancing together to whichever old song is being plugged on the soundtrack. But this story is also told with that exact formula, the opening twenty minutes in particular mirroring The Big Chill, each of the characters being contacted by phone except in this case the person who’s drawing them together has woken up rather than died.
Not content with this, Martin also introduces a cross genre element in the form of the mystery surrounding why Kate fell into the coma in the first place and the circumstances surrounding the death of the man she was with that night. If anyone knows the real truth they’re not saying and now and then Kate receives flashbacks to a night that she’s largely blocked from her memory and as she revisits the scene of her accident, you can tell the games afoot and that this bit of detection on her part is going to form one of the backbones of the series, hopefully bringing the audience back each week as more is revealed, Lost-style.
It’s been well cast too with actors that seem familiar from elsewhere but without the expected ‘star’ to overshadow anyone, most recognisable faces are probably Olivia Colman (Peep Show, Look Around You), Mark Bazeley (who played Alistair Campbell in The Queen),
Jemima Rooper (As If, erm Hex, Sinchronicity) and Geraladine James (everything ever made it seems). The key casting is probably the relatively unknown Genevieve O'Reilly as Kate and she’s amazing, convincingly suggesting a late teen trapped in a much older body without it becoming a goofy parody, remembering that eighteen is at the cusp of adulthood and for some people the moment that they mature.
According to this week’s Radio Times, episode two picks up the momentum drawing the viewer in further and I can’t wait. As my Primevil experience showed, I have a very low tolerance for series with poor first episodes and it’s refreshing to watching something and be hooked straight away. I love Steven Polikoff’s late work, especially Shooting The Past and Gideon's Daughter, and this often has the feel of an even more mainstream version of that with its sometimes impressionistic visuals evoking Kate’s coma memories. There was a lovely moment too which also reminded me of Perfect Strangers, where most of the cast had gathered in a stairwell just after Kate had come out of her coma -- she looks down and them, they look up at her and she asks:
‘Who the fuck are you?’
"Billions of people walking around like Happy Meals with legs...."
TV James (Spike from Buffy, Braniac from Smallville) Marsters to appear in Torchwood: "Torchwood - an anagram of Doctor Who - is a secret task force that deals with alien encounters. John Barrowman plays mysterious multi-sexual time agent Captain Jack Harkness, who leads the Cardiff-based team. Series creator Russell T Davies, winner of the 2006 BAFTA Dennis Potter Award for Outstanding Writing for Television, has also written Casanova, Dr Who and Queer As Folk." [via]
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TV This week's figures are a bit misleading. Here are the top threes.
Top Twenty by Audience
1 …. 8.9 (40.9%) …. Britain's Got Talent (19:45) ITV
2 …. 7.3 (36.9%) …. Doctor Who (19:15) BBC1
3 …. 5.1 (23.5%) …. Jekyll (21:00) BBC1
Top Twenty by share
1 …. 8.9 (40.9%) …. Britain's Got Talent (19:45) ITV
2 …. 1.2 (38.2%) …. Breakfast (06:00) BBC1
3 …. 7.3 (36.9%) …. Doctor Who (19:15) BBC1
It's almost as though people drifted away from Doctor Who in the last fifteen minutes to see the talent contest, missing one of the biggest reveals in the series history. But if you look at the splits:
Time.........BBC1................ITV1
19:15 …. 6.8 (35.8%) …. 3.9 (20.6%)
19:30 …. 7.3 (37.6%) …. 4.1 (21.1%)
19:45 …. 7.7 (37.2%) …. 6.4 (30.8%)
20:00 …. 4.9 (23.5%) …. 8.6 (41.1%)
20:15 …. 4.5 (20.8%) …. 9.1 (42.4%)
20:30 …. 4.7 (21.4%) …. 9.7 (43.7%)
20:45 …. 5.2 (23.1%) …. 9.6 (42.7%)
21:00 …. 4.4 (19.7%) …. 9.9 (44.1%)
The attrition didn't start until the show was over -- you can actually see a million people turning over at eight o'clock. So congratulations to 'us' for such a great rating this late in the series and winning in the timeslot again, but credit where it's due to ITV1 for managing to pull in nearly 10 million people on a Saturday night in this day and age, something I'm not sure has happened since Rose. It's remarkable that Breakfast managed to beat us in the share demonstrating the idiosyncrasies of that figure and that Jekyll did so well -- great opening episode by the way. Congratulations again, Mr Moffat.
Top Twenty by Audience
1 …. 8.9 (40.9%) …. Britain's Got Talent (19:45) ITV
2 …. 7.3 (36.9%) …. Doctor Who (19:15) BBC1
3 …. 5.1 (23.5%) …. Jekyll (21:00) BBC1
Top Twenty by share
1 …. 8.9 (40.9%) …. Britain's Got Talent (19:45) ITV
2 …. 1.2 (38.2%) …. Breakfast (06:00) BBC1
3 …. 7.3 (36.9%) …. Doctor Who (19:15) BBC1
It's almost as though people drifted away from Doctor Who in the last fifteen minutes to see the talent contest, missing one of the biggest reveals in the series history. But if you look at the splits:
Time.........BBC1................ITV1
19:15 …. 6.8 (35.8%) …. 3.9 (20.6%)
19:30 …. 7.3 (37.6%) …. 4.1 (21.1%)
19:45 …. 7.7 (37.2%) …. 6.4 (30.8%)
20:00 …. 4.9 (23.5%) …. 8.6 (41.1%)
20:15 …. 4.5 (20.8%) …. 9.1 (42.4%)
20:30 …. 4.7 (21.4%) …. 9.7 (43.7%)
20:45 …. 5.2 (23.1%) …. 9.6 (42.7%)
21:00 …. 4.4 (19.7%) …. 9.9 (44.1%)
The attrition didn't start until the show was over -- you can actually see a million people turning over at eight o'clock. So congratulations to 'us' for such a great rating this late in the series and winning in the timeslot again, but credit where it's due to ITV1 for managing to pull in nearly 10 million people on a Saturday night in this day and age, something I'm not sure has happened since Rose. It's remarkable that Breakfast managed to beat us in the share demonstrating the idiosyncrasies of that figure and that Jekyll did so well -- great opening episode by the way. Congratulations again, Mr Moffat.
*lol*
Commerce My new PC doesn't have a PS2 socket, but I've managed to buy a converter from ebay so that I can use my old keyboard. I've just had a confirmation email from the seller and it's just amazing:
"Hello,I am happy now, Candy.
Thank you for your purchase and we are very appreciate your quick payment.
I will send it to you asap.
usually it will take for somedays for deliver.
If there is any problems,pls contact us freely.
Be Happy everyday!
Candy"
"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...
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