Rose-Tinted, Much?!

Thoroughly enjoyed listening in on this conversation between an old man and his curmudgeonly sidekick, rueing the youth of today and the decline of Britain as a whole:

"This society's going to the dogs. Back in the day, there'd be maybe one or two murders a year. Now you read the papers, and there's murders happening every day. It's a disgrace."


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Doctor Who Watch #13.5

The End Of Time Part One by RTD OBE

Okay, so when writing these reviews I always group the two-parters together. Which is just as well, because as a stand-alone episode, the Christmas special was bizarre and confusing. I enjoyed it, but I have a feeling it will only become watchable once I've seen how it all ends.

There is, however, one thing I can review having only seen half the story.

And that would be...

HOW FUCKING AMAZING WAS SIR BERNARD CRIBBINS?

If the second part of this story consists entirely of Wilf doing his little dance in front of a June Whitfield-laden coach, for a whole 75 minutes, I won't be in the slightest bit disappointed and it will be the best episode of anything, ever.

Wilf for his own spin-off show. The campaign starts here.

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The Touch Of Your Hand Behind The Closed Door...

It's Christmas. Which means only one thing.

Actually, it means MANY things. But most importantly, it means this:

All I needed was the love you gave

All I needed for another day

And all I ever knew

Only you

If Christmas is about one thing, it's about ALF.

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Doctor Who Watch #13

The Waters Of Mars by RTD OBE & Phil Ford

I must confess to getting a tad bored with writing these reviews. I can only sympathise with those who, therefore, end up reading them. Composing these Doctor Who blogs have turned into a bit of a chore. Mainly because watching the last couple of episodes were a bit of a chore. There just didn't seem to be any passion in them, therefore there was no passion when I came to write about them.

The Next Doctor was a bubble-faced fish away from being The Doctor's Daughter. Planet Of The Dead was an entertaining romp, but an agreeable way to spend an hour is not what I look for in an episode of Doctor Who. I look for tears and drama and excitement and heartbreak and Catherine Tate and genius baddies and something, somewhere that rings true with every day life. If I wanted a harmless hour of fun, I'd fuck another puncture into my inflatable sex doll.

Vince. His name is Vince.

No... What I look for in an hour of Doctor Who is something that will stir some emotion in me. Not just a feeling of ambivalence.

So there I was, merrily watching The Waters Of Mars, enjoying many aspects of it and mentally noting them down ready for the chore of writing this blog:

Oooh... Look, there's a fairly attractive young man operating the silly little robot. Must give him a name check.

Jesus - Is this Gadget Gadget Gadget thing for real?! Did RTD OBE learn nothing from the tragic Jar Jar Binks?!

Love the joke of Bowie Base One. (As in Life On Mars. Geddit? Aren't they funny?!)

I was thoroughly enjoying the episode, but still feeling slightly ambivalent towards it; it had stirred nothing in me, other than a quick erection when Roman TwinkyBollocks came on screen. An erection that just as quickly went away when that fucking robot felt then need to say his own name another seven times.

But then something amazing happened: The Doctor walked away.

Up until that point, it had been a typical 'Base Under Siege' story that had been done many times before (Impossible Planet, 42, Doctor's Daughter...) where the Doctor quips his way to victory and saves those who were otherwise destined to die. But this time, he turns and he walks away.

He knows that - no matter how sexy and glorious Lindsay Duncan is - he must let her, and everyone else on that base die.

The scene where he walks away from the base, listening to the chaos via the medium of spacesuit, is heartbreaking. Finally some emotion from these damned 'Specials'. The single droplet landing on Roman's cheek killed me. "Just one drop." It was beautifully done.

And once you got over the fact that her name sounds like someone phlegming up a small hedgehog, the death of Steffi Ehrlich was just as poignant. The moment the water hit her back as she watched videos of her children, and she just sobbed with inevitability... Oh, it was brilliant. Totally brilliant. Not only does Graham Harper remind me of Badger from Wind In The Willows, he also reminds me - at times like these - what a fantastic director he is.

Seriously, though. Badger. Wind In The Willows. No? Just me?

The water-gushing, hosepipe-ban-inducing 'monsters' were eerie and reminded me of the Weeping Angels in just how effective they were as the villains of the piece. Especially the line by Sexy Don Gilet's ex-wife and rake-magnet: "We should like that world." Actually quite spine-tingling. But it was never about the monsters. It was never really about saving the earth.

From the speech about Pompeii to Lindsay Duncan's begging for help, as soon as The Doctor steps into that airlock to walk away, this became more than just another episode. It was amazing in every way - The story, the script, the direction, the acting...

Better known as Robert Lindsay's dry-hump and Ruth Evershed's gun-wielding Diana-obsessed mentalist sister-in-law, Sir Lindsay Duncan was completely perfect in the role of Adelaide and joins Annette Badland and Penelope Wilton in a list of Middle-Aged Doctor Who Guest Stars That I Want To Touch In Bad Ways. (Now there's an idea for a blog!)

Couple of things jarred - The scene with the Dalek seemed completely pointless and was clearly made on the cheap. Maybe by a Blue Peter competition winner? And also... Sorry, did the Doctor just say: "I loved you for that." What? He can say it to Adelaide, but he can't say it to Rose Tyler, the ACTUAL love of his life? That's just silly.

But it's a little bit naughty of me to even give a shit about that when the rest of the episode was so powerful. And in saving pretty Ms Duncan, and changing the future, The Doctor finally loses it. For five minutes at the end of the episode, he has turned into The Master. He thinks the laws of time and space should be his. It's a genuinely shocking moment when he refers to himself as the "Time Lord Victorious" and talks of saving "some little people"... We share Ms Duncan's disgust, and we know he's gone too far.

Her suicide is the only way this story could have ended, and gives The Doctor the slap around the face he so rightly deserves. T'was sexy to see an Ood appearing at the end of the episode, although I have no idea what he was doing there, other than making my pants wet. Can't wait to see where RTD OBE is taking the Doctor next. Surely it can't be as dark as where he took him in this installment?

Total Score: NINE out of TEN

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Things... #3

THINGS THAT MAKE ME SMILE

SPOOKS

After years of campaigning (by which, I mean, years of ranty blogs lamenting the loss of the finest character of the series) I've finally got my wish: Ruth Evershed has returned to Spooks. Just writing that sentence makes me smile. It's taken three years of desperately hoping, but finally, my wishes have been fulfilled.

Not sure I like the fact that she married someone else - she should have been sat at home, spending every day missing Peter Firth (and his massive one) - but it was so good to see her again. And Harry being responsible for Mr Evershed's death (while Ruth tragically looked on, causing me to well up slightly) means there will be a nice lot of tension between the two characters in episodes to come.

I love Harry and Ruth together. They just work. It's the furtive glances and pauses and subtleness of it all that makes it so believable. 90% of communication is unspoken - It's all in the eyes. That's what makes them so real as a 'couple'. Most programmes would feel the need to have dialogue explaining it - "Yes, there's a crisis going on and I AM trying to stop these terrorists from blowing up the whole world, but by God, I really want to jump your bones" - but for Spooks, a look in the right direction is enough.

"Something wonderful that was never said..."

Best show on TV at the moment.



THINGS THAT MAKE ME FROWN

SPOOKS
They give with one hand, they take with the other. Sexy Malcolm resigned in the first episode. While I'm thankful he didn't die at the hands of the world's softest villian - "Oh, he told a nice little story about a dog, I'll spare his life, go home, put my feet up, maybe listen to some Enya..." - I'm gutted that he's left the series. I hope he'll be back. Maybe it'll take another three years of wishing and hoping and preying. It worked for Ruth Evershed.

That said, his replacement is fit as fuck.

Just thought I'd throw that into the mix. Carry on. As you were.

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A New Chapter

Given that the word 'Binary' in a kids' sci-fi programme has the ability to make me cry like an overly hairy baby, I'm extremely surprised I haven't yet slumped to the floor of my increasingly empty bedroom and wailed about how I'm making the biggest mistake of my life.

It will happen.

I've felt on the verge of tears for the last month. Ever since I handed over a large amount of cash to the pretty Mr Spencer. Ever since it became real. Ever since I made the decision to walk away from everything I've known for the past twenty-five years. At some point, I will cry. This is too big for me not to cry.

So, I'm moving out.

I am renting myself a 'cosy' (estate agent talk for 'kennel-sized') one-bedroom flat nearer work, so that I no longer spend half my free time on a bus; falling asleep, waking up with cramp, murmering "pastry" as I dream my dreamy dreams... The worst was waking up on the bus one morning just in time to witness a large amount of dribble falling from my mouth onto my black t-shirt. The woman opposite looked at me with such revultion.

"And for my next trick, I'm going to shat myself..."

Yeah. She wasn't amused.

But no more embarrassing myself on public transport as a result of my slightly rubbish working hours. Now I get to skip back to my flat (a mere half-mile away) and unwind amongst £210 worth of M&S bedding. Oh yes.

There is a lot to worry about. I worry that I won't be able to pay the rent because I spend all my money on porn. I worry that I'll be lonely, which is hilariously ironic, given that the principle reason behind me getting a place of my own is to combat my current state of loneliness.

(I figure I'll worry less about being single if I have the constant threat of not being able to keep a roof above my head to occupy my mind instead).

I worry that no-one will want to come and visit me. I worry that I'll have another wet dream about being wanked off by a Cat Nun and, therefore, electrocute myself to death on my electric blanket.

I worry about all sorts of things. But chiefly, I'm excited.

This is a new chapter.

I'm not getting any younger, and constantly living in the past is doing me no favours. It's time to move on. And that is terrifying, upsetting and liberating - all in equal measure.

Last weekend, 3am in the morning, walking through the streets of Plumstead with my iPod playing a whole host of happy, little ditties - mainly Run - it hit me. "This is the last time I'm ever going to do this walk. Ever."

It's ridiculous. But that walk; that journey home in the cold, crisp dark of night... I must have done that walk a million times before. Staggering home, pissed as a bastard after a night of drinking games. Walking home with the biggest smile on my face because I'd just been with someone I loved. Walking home with tears streaming down my face because I'd just had my heart a little bit broken by someone I loved. That walk gave me time to reflect, either on the happiness or the heartbreak. Time to reflect on what was to come, or what had just gone.

That walk - for over a decade - was almost always either the beginning or the end to an amazing day/night/weekend. And who the pissing bollocking hell gets sentimental over a walk?!

The same sort of man that cries over the word 'Binary', I guess.

And everything I do, I think: "This is the last time..."

The last-ever walk from Plumstead to Belvedere. Check. The last time I'll spend my weekend cooking in the kitchen while The Parents get 110% under my feet. Check. The last time I'll soak in the bath with my vanilla candles, Enya playing on the iPod and a queue forming outside the door. Check.

Tonight will be the last time my Mum sees me off to work at the front door. Aged 25, and she still waves me off. I should be embarrassed. I'm not. I think I'm going to miss that.

Tomorrow will be my last day in the bedroom that has been my sanctuary for all these years. After I'm gone, Brother Bollock moves in and re-decorates. That room has seen everything. I have so many memories of so many good times, and they all seem to have happened in that room. And usually the sofa-bed was involved! It's breaking my heart leaving all that behind.

I'm not sure what will make me cry. Saying goodbye to the Mother? Probably. Seeing my room without anything of mine left in it? Maybe. Sitting in my new lounge and hearing nothing but silence? Almost certainly.

But everything has its time. And everything ends.

And once I'm done crying, I'll wipe my tears away, dust myself off, stick something uplifiting on the iPod - probably Run (it works for most occasions, happy or sad) - and I'll get started on this new life of mine. No more crying about the past. A new chapter.

Fuck.

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Doctor Who Watch #12

Screened back in April, I never really got round to writing a review of the 2009 Easter Special. Truth be told, I wasn't really paying attention to what was going on. I was rather transfixed by the young gent who was beside me, and we were both pre-occupied with thoughts of the party we were about to attend.

Plus, the moment I saw those ridiculus fly creatures (who made The Hath look top-quality) I pretty much zoned out and started counting down the minutes to the end of the episode, when we could head off, get pissed and sing badly at people I'd never met before.

Oh, and what a brilliant night it was...

But anyway, David Tennant's final three episodes are very nearly upon us and I know I'll be wanting to wax lyrical about them as soon as they've popped up on the telebox. Especially as I'm expecting nothing but brilliance. Tear-jerking brilliance.

(Don't disappoint me RTD OBE)

So with that in mind, I just felt I should go back and revisit this episode, paying full attention to the "plot" and not being distracted by my wandering, lustful gazes. I have OCD. There's no way I could have left an episode un-reviewed.

(I fully expect me to go back to Chris Eccleston's series and start reviewing them, such is my overbearing urge for order and completeism)



Planet Of The Dead by RTD OBE & Gareth Roberts

A second viewing served this episode rather well, actually. It was in no way as bad as I assumed it was back in April. There was much to praise in it.

1 - Psychoville's Tea-Leaf and the Nathan bloke provided adequate perving opportunities. Hell, even The Doctor's Daughter was worth watching for the gorgeous Joe Dempsie. (ONLY for Joe Dempsie, actually)

2 - Michelle Ryan (and her Horse-Face) made quite an enjoyable companion. Especially her overreaction when she realised she had bits of "dead people" in her hair. Although I still sat there with an overbearing urge to shout: "You're not my Muvva" at the screen. And the chemistry between Christina and Mr Tennant was even more unconvincing than that of her EastEnders character and Leslie Grantham when they did a sex together.

RTD OBE's obsession with the Doctor kissing his companions, no matter how irrelevant to the situation and dialogue, is becoming somewhat of an annoyance. Although I'll withdraw that comment if he gets off with Wilf in the Christmas specials.

3 - Lee "Sweaty Bollocks" Evans had some great exchanges with the Doctor ("Before I die of old age, which in my case would be an achievement, so well done on that...") and was generally amusing throughout the whole piece. But nowhere near as amusing as he and RTD OBE thought he was. The only bit that caught me off-guard was when Captain Ladysmith Black-Mambambo pulled a gun on him. Brilliant, because we love the Doctor. That's the point. But would you put the whole world in danger just because of that loyalty; that love? It would have been a great dilemma and the basis for a great moral debate, but it was quickly brushed aside by the Doctor saving the day. No time to explore the issue further, which was a shame.

The problem with this episode is no matter how many small guffaws Malcolm raises, or however pretty Tea-Leaf is, or however stunning the scenery... The best bit without a shadow of a doubt is the 'teaser' of: "He will knock four times"

Essentially, the best bit of the episode was a paragraph of dialogue hinting at events of the next episode. "Your song must end".

They should have just shown that clip as a trailer on BBC1 and saved everyone the bother of getting sand in their shoes.

A fun, enjoyable, amusing way to spend an hour. But, by Christ, nowhere near as good as I'm expecting the next three episodes to be.

Total Score: SIX out of TEN



"He will knock four times..."

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