Doctor Who Watch #8

Episode Ten – Midnight by RTD OBE

Tricky one, this. Maybe it wouldn’t have seemed as bad if it had followed the episode starring a certain offspring of the Doctor. But it was following a Moffat two-parter. The same Moffat two-parter that I orgasmed over in my blog last week. But follow Forest Of The Dead it did. And it was all the worse for it. How could anything compare to the Moffat episodes? Especially something that was clearly just RTD OBE pissing around; experimenting; going off-piste; making something that doesn’t really fit with Doctor Who just because he wants to ‘try it’ as a writer. The last time that happened, we got Peter Kay in a green fat suit, being a twat and ruining 45 minute of my life.

This was better. Midnight WAS better. It just didn’t… I don’t know. It just left me kind of questioning exactly what the point was.

There were a lot of things to recommend it.

The cast were uniformly brilliant. In any episode, there are normally one or two performances that let the whole side down. Steve Pemberton being a prime example. But everyone was perfect here. Notably the gorgeous Colin Morgan and Lindsey Coulson, with the latter already starting at a distinct disadvantage as her appearance in Bill-spin-off MIT made me sick. But here, she was outstanding as the cunt of the piece.

Lesley Sharp – she of the pretty nose – was an absolute genius for managing to cope with “the hardest thing I’ve ever asked an actor to do” (according to RTD OBE) and her general air of creepiness (coupled with ‘the nose’) was one of the best things about this episode. She just oozed menace. David Tennant – who I rarely single out for praise in these blogs, purely because he’s not Christopher Eccleston – was great. Overly cocky, then totally helpless as he becomes a victim of his own bragging. His face as the others tried to drag him out showed absolute, unequivocal terror. (Reminded me of when Eccleston first came face to face with a Dalek in… erm… Dalek. Maybe that’s why I’m praising Tennant today? Because he came close to aping Eccleston?)

The idea was a good one. I particularly enjoyed the fact that you never discover exactly WHAT had taken over the lovely Ms Sharp (and her nose). It’s spookier that way. Leaves plenty to the imagination.

The distinct lack of Catherine Tate ruined the episode a little bit for me. It was a worrying glimpse into what the future of Doctor Who – after Donna is no longer around – will be like. She is the BEST thing about this new series, and taking her out of the equation was a total disaster. I missed her. I missed her banter with the Doctor, her one-liners, her all-round brilliance… I’m fully aware the story wouldn’t have worked with her there. The whole point was the Doctor being powerless, with no one on his side. But still, RTD… You could have given her a sub-plot.

The ending, however, was the thing that annoyed me the most. This selfish, rule-abiding, trolley-dolly non-character – despite displaying nothing but obnoxiousness through the whole episode – sacrifices herself to save the others. What?! There was NO reason for her to suddenly play the hero. She’d been in the background of the whole episode, doing nothing but being dull and pointless. And then she volunteers for death?! Where did THAT come from?!

It takes an awful lot of bravery and guts and conviction and an absolute, unfaltering belief in what you’re doing is for the greater good to sacrifice yourself like that… She had displayed none of those characteristics in the whole pissing episode! It just seemed like a convenience; an easy way to wrap up an episode, instead of the RIGHT way. A great set-up and a great let down. Not vile enough for me to lump it in with Love & Monsters and The Doctor’s Shit Whore Daughter under the ‘FUCKING AWFUL’ banner. It was extremely watchable. But nothing more, nothing less.

Total Score: SIX out of TEN

Doctor Who Watch #7

Episode Eight/Nine: Silence In The Library/Forest Of The Dead by the God-like Steven Moffat

What an unbelievable pile of shit.

No. Not really. Obviously. It was bloody genius, wasn’t it? How can this man get it SO right with every episode? Now, Mr RTD OBE is great, and has written some wonderful episodes – Boom Town and Doomsday immediately spring to mind. But he’s also been responsible for some rather less sexy pieces – Love & Monsters, that Slitheen two-parter… As much as I love Mr RTD OBE for making Doctor Who the success it is, I cannot wait until 2010, when The Moff takes over as Head Honcho. A whole series from the creative genius that gave us “Are You My Mummy?” and those fabulously macabre Weeping Angels. AND the heartbreakingly perfect Girl In The Fireplace episode. I’m moist just thinking about it. And as long as the Doctor’s Shit Daughter isn’t the new assistant, I’m sure Series Five will be the bestest-est-est ever.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Opening with Colin Salmon’s rich, Barry-White-meets-Richard-Hillman-eque voice, you’re instantly drawn into this story. You instantly know there is something suspect about him. You don’t hire Colin Salmon just to play your every day therapist. Although any tension his character creates is instantly undermined by his name. Doctor Moon. For some reason, this made me giggle. Moon? Bum? Bare backsides being waved out of cars? Mooning? No? Just me? Just me picturing a Doctor with a bum for a head? Yes. Well. Moving on…Doctor Moon. Great name. And Colin Salmon was great as this ambiguous (he turned out to be the good guy, right?!) and peculiar character (for he also turned out to be McAfee Security Center in human form).

In fact, almost every aspect of this two-parter was great. From the Nodes, to the brilliant idea of the Doctor meeting someone from his future that he hasn’t yet encountered. From ‘Proper Dave’ and ‘Other Dave’ (utterly pointless, yet wonderful detail!) right down to Moll Flanders’ unfeasibly big hair. All of it genius.

And spoilers… I mean, who wouldn’t have been tempted to look in Moll Flanders’ diary. Would you like to know your own future? Would you? It’s a major question to tackle. There was so much going on, but every idea, every concept was given just the right amount of screen time. Not too much as to over-egg the point. You went away still thinking about it because not everything was black-and-white. And the best thing is that even now, I’m still thinking about it. Would I have looked in that diary? Would I want to know?

One or two criticisms though.

“Hey, Who Turned Out The Lights?” – It worked for “Are You My Mummy?” but it felt a bit too repetitive this time. A bit like Moffat re-using the idea because it worked so well the first time.

Seemingly killing Donna at the end of the first part… What the fuck are you trying to do to me?! I was beside myself with worry for a whole week, waiting for some kind of get-out clause that made her a bit less dead.

Steve Pemberton. In an episode that immerses you in darkness and shadows and fear and down-right creepiness, to suddenly have him turn round and say “Well, you haven’t signed your release form” in his Pauline from the League Of Gentleman voice… It just totally shatters the illusion. Totally breaks any hold the scene has on you as a viewer. I was just waiting for him to bellow out ‘Hokey Cokey Pig In A Pokey’ or start frigging himself over a biro.

But these were minor quibbles. How churlish of me to even bring them up when everything else in this episode was just so amazing.

Miss Evangelista’s death – and ‘ghosting’ – was particularly poignant.

“Don’t tell the others – they’ll only laugh”

Such tragic last words, made even more upsetting by the fact that ‘the others’ all have to listen to this over and over again, and face up to the fact that they made her feel like crap when she was alive. And Donna’s evident anguish at trying to comfort someone who is – to all intents and purposes – already dead, is totally tear-jerking. I certainly got a bit wet around the tear-ducts.

That’s what I love about Doctor Who. The theme of loss. In amongst all the running and the aliens and the time-travel, it’s the human aspects that I truly love. The goodbyes, the heartbreak, the feelings that we all have to deal with everyday, being played out with brutal honesty in between battles with killer pepperpots and tentacle-faced brain-holders. It’s ridiculous. Doctor Who is as far removed from reality as you can get, yet it feels SO real.

It may be a kids’ show. It may be a kids’ science fiction show. But it can explore love and loss even better than adult dramas, sometimes. I’ve certainly never been affected by a drama in quite the same way as Doctor Who.

And these two episodes were some of the most affecting since the series began.

The whole ‘dream life’ of Donna was hilarious at times (“Oh, you’ve got a little stammer there” and “But I’ve been dieting!” being particular favourites), yet it was also terribly upsetting. Catherine Tate was amazing as her whole life unravelled before her eyes. The husband, her children… All gone.

Moll Flanders’ final farewell... GOD, that was so sad as well. (Am I just a cry-baby? Is this stuff actually moving, or am I just a fucking pansy?!) Here she was, saying goodbye to a man she had clearly loved for a long time, yet for him, he had only just met her. He had no idea who she was. The beginning of his relationship with her was the end of her relationship with him. Such a beautiful idea, wonderfully realised. Her goodbye speech, as she sacrificed herself, made me sob like a little baby.

And there was that frankly, horrible moment where Donna leaves the room just as her ‘husband’ tries to call after her. How different things would have been if she’d noticed him. That’s the tragedy of it all. If she’d only turned round at that split-second, maybe she would have been happy. Maybe her life would have been different, and maybe the fate that awaits her in the coming weeks could have been avoided…

Total Score: TEN out of TEN

Two Nights Of Magic

The one thing about having such a vast back-catalogue of genius songs is that you always come away from a Bruce Springsteen gig wishing he’d sung other songs. I wanted to hear I Wish I Were Blind, which has become a new favourite of mine. Or Paradise. Or Streets Of Philadelphia. Or The River. Or anything that didn’t have the words ‘Girls’ and ‘Summer Clothes’ in. I was disappointed on both counts.

But let’s begin at the beginning. Two Bruce Springsteen concerts at Arsenal Emirates Stadium. Last weekend.


Friday 30th May
Years ago, myself and Jon camped out for two nights at Wembley Arena (during storms which killed several people) to get to the front row of a Bruce Springsteen gig. It was worth it. We were at the front, within licking distance of The Boss, and he was fucking awesome. But I’m old and weary now, and the thought of another two nights in a sleeping bag, making small talk with odd foreigners and Thieving Welsh Bastards (John and Carol – We’d like our programmes back, please) and having to walk to the nearest McDonald’s for a wash of the ol’ coin purse didn’t seem to appeal.

So we turned up at lunchtime on the day of the gig and started queuing, alongside a collection of randoms and inbreds. Particular shout-outs go to Ice Queen In Leather Jacket Who Managed To Push In Front Of Us and Whore With Beardy Boyfriend and Fragile Indian Woman Suffering Much Inner-Turmoil… Bless you all. I’d like to say that mocking you in my own head passed the time nicely. But it didn’t. The queuing lasted for hours and hours and hours and hours. And hours.

And hours.

And then came Bruce. Bruce was my first (music-related) love. The first artist I’ve ever obsessed about. He reminds me of a huge period of my life; the soundtrack to some of the most important events in the history of Jay Bollock. But as with many relationships, it went a bit stale (around about the Devils & Dust period) and I went on to find someone shiny and new to fall for. Someone ‘better’. So I haven’t listened to Bruce much in the past few years. Too busy being in love with Tom McRae, and enjoying brief dalliances with No Angels, The New Pornographers, Shiny Toy Guns and… erm… Minnie Driver.

But you never forget your first love.

And the moment he stepped up on stage, it all came flooding back. The feelings, the memories. THAT feeling of your first love, standing right there in front of you, and it’s like the past five years haven’t happened. Like you never moved on at all. And you find yourself wondering how on earth you ever thought it was possible to replace that love with another.

Of course, I would have been even more pleased to see my first love if he hadn’t opened the show with Tenth Avenue Freeze Out.

He’s played that song at EVERY show I’ve been to! Give me I Wish I Were Blind, you little sod!

The venue was amazing, and a huge improvement on Shit Crystal Palace, to give it its full name. And Bruce owned it; he owned this venue.

Shaking hands with the crowd, posing for photographs on front row mobile phones, skipping merrily up and down the various walkways, picking out requests on huge placards and putting them in his “file” for later on in the show… “Oh, that’s a good one. That’s a good one, I’ll have that. Oh, we don’t know how to play that one. That one’s too hard.”
(He played Point Blank as a request, which has always been a favourite of mine, and was a joy to hear. And Cadillac Ranch, which is always fun)

Every trick in the book was used to whip up excitement, including the old favourite of sliding across the stage on his knees. Except it didn’t feel like a trick; it felt spontaneous and natural. Like a man in his element, having fun. And hey, if the audience like it too, then that’s just a bonus.

Highlights for me included the fact that he played my four favourite songs: The Rising, Born To Run, Dancing In The Dark and Thunder Road.

God, when he started Thunder Road, a shiver went all the way down me and I felt I was going to explode. Explode with what, I don’t know. Tears, joy, sex-wee…? All three? I could feel my eyes welling up. I love that feeling. That is why I spend hours and hours queuing. THAT feeling.

And Born To Run, obviously, went down and absolute storm. It was just the best encore ever. If only he’d left out American Land. Or maybe replaced it with I Wish I Were Blind?!


Saturday 31st May

Yeah… So, I didn’t really want to go back for the second gig. All that queuing, and standing, and singing, and jumping, and travelling had wiped me out. (Journey home on the Friday night was the worst journey I’ve had since the journey back from Blackpool, via Belchy and Nottinghamshirenessland)

Bruce was amazing on Friday, but I was tired and wanted my bed, and just couldn’t face the thought of another day spent queuing. But we had tickets, and there was always the chance that Bruce would change the setlist and sing a different selection of genius songs. So we returned to Arsenal again…Luckily the time passed a lot quicker – maybe it was the fact I was constantly eating that helped to while away the hours – and before I knew it, we were in the Stadium.

Because we’d been the night before, we were less concerned about getting close to the stage. So we positioned ourselves against the back of The Pit, so we had a pretty barrier to lean on. Perfect for my aching, weary, old-man body.

Unfortunately, the back of The Pit seemed to attract a whole host of dickheads. There was the Oxbridge Tit In His Tweed Blazer, Dancing With His Ugly Girlfriend In The Same Way That You Might Swing A Dead Cat Around. That’s his name. Check his birth certificate, that’s what it says. And if birth certificates listed hobbies and interests, his would say: “Invading people’s personal space with my fucking stupid dancing”.

I hated him. I hope he dies.

Elsewhere, we had Vernon. Well, that might not be his name. But I feel it suits him. Vernon. A cross between Gollum and the piss-sodden tramp who likes to yell 'CUNT' at old ladies on the bus from Bromley every morning. Bouncing around like a partially-crippled Tigger, conducting everyone in having a good time. As if he needed to encourage enthusiasm for Bruce from the already delirious crowd. A fascinating little creature, fuelled by a clear passion for Stella Artois. If I hadn’t been trying to enjoy a Springsteen concert, I could have watched the little fucktard all day.

There was also a group of alcohol-soaked cave-dwellers who took to throwing each other up in the air during the climax of any given song. And growling every time someone came close to beer glasses they were collecting in the middle of the floor. Thugs, the lot of them. And Chief Cave-Dwelling Thug obviously had an unhealthy obsession with the song Jersey Girl, as he kept yelling it out at Bruce, no doubt expecting Bruce to say:

“Oh, hark… Hear how those dulcet tones politely request a song from my back-catalogue. He has asked so nicely that we simply must play it for him".

Fifty-three times Chief Cave-Dwelling Thug shouted out ‘Jersey Girl’ at Bruce. Mainly during the quiet songs, or softer moments.

Bruce paid tribute to Danny Federici, the E-Street Band member who died of cancer in April. It was a poignant and moving tribute.

And halfway through…“JERSEY GIRL!!!”

There’s a time and a place to yell out a request. That very much was not it. What a colossal berk.

Other than these slight distractions, it was another good show by Bruce. I’m On Fire and Long Walk Home being particular favourites. The songs from his last album, Magic, work really well live. Even Girls In Their Summer Clothes. At a push.

The setlist, and the atmosphere, on the second night was a bit of a letdown. To be honest, I could have done without seeing him the second night. Not only would it have saved a bit of money, but it would have saved my poor, numb bot-bot from another day of queuing. But it was Bruce. And he was my first love. And sometimes, it’s just nice to take a walk down memory lane…

I Wish I Were Blind

The music plays, you take his hand,

I watch how you touch him as you start to dance,

And I wish I were blind,

When I see you with your man.


That is all.

Doctor Who Watch #6

Episode Seven: The Unicorn And The Wasp by Gareth 'Beardy Genius' Roberts

Episode Six nearly ruined my love for Doctor Who. Episode Six nearly made me want to give up television as a whole. And my eyesight.

After that heinous mess, they were going to have to wheel out something pretty special to make it up to me. Episode Seven was indeed something pretty special. Episode Seven was, in fact, one of the finest episodes ever committed to screen. The most enjoyable 45 minutes I've had in recent memory. (With my penis still in my pants, anyway)

A genuine murder-mystery, shot in the style of a murder-mystery... Like Poirot, with added Giant Wasp. A wonderful play on the whole 'Whodunnit' thing, but without making it too much of a spoof; without making it too knowing; without too much looking-at-the-camera-and-winking.

Loved the fact that it wasn't the Butler wot dunnit. Father Golightly was eventually unmasked as the giant wasp. I hate wasps. Well, I'm ALLERGIC to them, actually. Couldn't they have made it a nice butterfly or something?!

It was a genuinely intriguing mystery, with Agatha Christie's real-life disappearance nicely woven into the tale. It was also hilarious. Genuinely laugh-out-loud hilarious. I particularly enjoyed this exchange...

Rosemary And/Or Thyme: Lady Bummington-BumBum had her pearls stolen from right under her nose.
Donna: Funny place to wear pearls.

Ah, Donna... How I love thee. How can anyone possibly be excited by the return of Rose when we already have a companion so brilliant, so funny, so three-dimensional, so human, so perfect as Miss Noble?

She spent the whole of this episode, as always, stealing every scene she was in. Including my favourite EVER scene from Doctor Who. The wonderfully comic poisoning of the Doctor, where she just couldn't work out what the Doctor needed to devour in order to stop the poison taking effect.

"Harvey Wallbanger?!"
"A song?!"

I love her. While some of the episodes have been a bit smelly (Partners In Crime) and some of them have outright STUNK (Doctor's Shit Daughter - as if I needed to make that clear), the one thing that has made this series my favourite so far has been the sheer wonderfulness of Catherine Tate. Long may she reign.

Total Score: TEN out of TEN