Showing posts with label severely disgruntled...lol disgruntled. Show all posts
Showing posts with label severely disgruntled...lol disgruntled. Show all posts

Wednesday, 29 January 2014

The Blacklist: Five Films I Hate That Everyone Else Loves

When I was a young lass with barely a handful of overreactions and needlessly capitalised opinions to call my own, I had a school teacher who offered me this sage advice when it came to debating: "Don't rant.  When you rant, we stop listening." Which - don't get me wrong - was all well and good within the confines of structured debating competitions largely dominated by chinless male adolescents whose sense of self-importance was directly proportional to how much they wished their voice would just drop already.*  But this is a blog, so sorry Mrs Edwards, I am going to rant my little digital socks off.

In summary, the following films are abominations and deserve to be fire-bombed out of existence.

The Jane Shakespeare Blacklist: Five Films I Utterly Loathe That Everyone Else Inexplicably Loves (and Obviously Contains Spoilers For Those Films)

Now look.  Most of the time, I get by ok despite being an emotionally neutered wasteland of a human being whose ability to respond appropriately to the adult world has been unalterably decimated by years of learning my life lessons from TV. I grew up reading books and then I went to university to read more books and realised that watching shitty children's films on the internet was much quicker and less effort. I feel more strongly about television about than I do about some actual human relationships (when I started watching Orange is the New Black, I genuinely think I was more psyched to spend time with my Netflix account than I was with my first boyfriend). What I'm saying is that I watch a lot of stuff, good and bad, so I don't usually judge others on their choices (in fact I detailed my love of crap TV here). However, there are a few films, just a few, that I loathe and every time I say I loathe them, someone looks at me like I just expressed indifference towards a Youtube video of an ocelot forming an unlikely friendship with a penguin.**  They're both small animals, I get why it's cute, I just...god, don't you people have anything better to do with your lives? You could be writing blogs justifying your deep-seated aggression towards humanity. Anyway, here they are.

5) Titanic

Now this is an obvious choice to kick things off and maybe kind of a cheat because actually there are a lot of people that don't love it. It's just that the people who love it really love it. And I hate those people. I've also never actually seen it all the way through. I just can't. Every time it comes on TV, I think, “This time, this time, I will respond to this film that makes people cry their innards out through their noses.” And every time I have to stop watching because I can feel bile rising in my throat at the first few strains of that Celine Dion wankfestival of over-literal interpretation of the concept of undying love. It brings out the absolute worst in me. It only takes a few minutes and I'm treating human tragedy like it's the funniest thing I've ever seen (cf also: Forrest Gump). Also obligatory mention of get on the fucking door.

4) The Lion King

This is potentially where I lose some friends.  But actually let's be clear.  I do not hate The Lion King.  But I am happily indifferent to The Lion King.  But the world, as always, will not let me be.  "How can you not like The Lion King?" they gasp, as though I have expressed a neutrality towards breathing oxygen, and that incredulity has pushed me dangerously towards hatred.  Easily, is the answer.  Bloody easily.  Anthropomorphism has never been my thing, not ever, and when I watched Bambi as a kid I asked my mum whether Bambi's mum had just been shot and she nodded sadly with soft, compassionate motherly eyes ready to leap to the rescue of my tender psyche and I said "oh ok" and went back to wondering what exactly his dad had been doing all that time.  Nature is not cuddly, it is red in tooth and claw, and it will thank you for showing some respect (I mean you Ang Lee). Also if I want to read Hamlet I will definitely just read Hamlet.  So let me be, in my joyless, loveless bubble.  I'm not telling you not to enjoy it but I will not pretend I enjoy it either.  I am the Andy Murray of film watching, refusing to smile, and winning at Twitter.

3) 500 Days of Summer

I have been told so many times by so many folk that I just didn't "get" this film.  No, you see, it is a deconstruction of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope, the magical quirky girl who pinwheels into the life of the male protagonist and heals his damaged first world soul, it is a warning against projecting unmanageable expectations onto someone.  Is what they say.  Well, no.  Is what I say.  Because a) if that were true, why is the last thing we see in the film Joseph Gordon Levitt hitting on an identical woman (Zooey Deschanel just wasn't the right Manic Pixie Dream Girl! Keep searching, entitled white boy, there's a Manic Pixie Dream Girl out there for you too!) and b) even if the film was pointing out the folly of their relationship, so what?  The idea that putting women on a pedestal ends badly is not a blinding revelation.  I think most of us do not need a film to tell us that you cannot build a lasting relationship on shared love of The Smiths.

It is not a deconstruction of the trope because it does nothing to deconstruct the trope.  The story is still told from the viewpoint of the aforementioned lost boy who pursues a woman because she symbolises a meaningful existence and ultimately 'wins' her, despite her free-wheelin' ways and initial reluctance.  The fact that he loses her again means nothing for, as the film makes clear, he will do this again and again and again.  A deconstruction would tell her story, show her agency and inner life rather than just informing us that she totally has them, and focus on her choices because of what they mean for her, not as and when they affect him.  In the end, it still reinforces the stereotype that women's lives are plot points in men's stories.  No amount of non-linear storytelling and cutesy Expectations v Reality set pieces can disguise that.  It's hollow, it's twee, and it challenges nothing.  Mic drop.

2) Juno

It is not the miracle of central heating or the tender embrace of a lover that keeps me warm at night, it is my hatred of this film.  It nourishes my soul.  It gives me energy.  Why?  Because it's fucking annoying.  Basically.  But oh, such annoyance.  My intolerance of this film is nigh on Biblical.  The smug Dr Seuss dialogue, the lazy mumblecore performances, the appalling manner in which Michael Cera continues to exist, the vicious desperate straining towards being alternative (and yet at the same time so painfully afraid of offending anyone - no it's totally cool that you support abortion! It's just not for our did-we-mention-ADHD-but-not-in-a-way-that-is-ever-really-represented-as-anything-other-than-edearing-in-an-offbeat-way heroine!  Oh, and by the way, all abortion clinic picketers are also quirky and adorable!).  At no point does this film celebrate anything difficult or unusual or uncomfortable (spoilers: the baby ends up with sweetly middle class Jennifer Garner, bad Jason Bateman with his ephebophile tendencies is banished, and Ellen Page goes to the prom with Michael Cera, the poor, poor girl) and it pretends it does because it comes packaged in The Moldy Peaches***, ironic euphemisms for penises, and a fucking hamburger phone.  I really hate that fucking hamburger phone.

1) Love Actually

Ok, this is it.  The big one.  I don't want to overreact here but everyone involved in this film deserves to be put up against a wall and shot.  Even you Colin Firth.  Especially you, for trying to trade off against Darcy goodwill by jumping into a lake.  Every character in it is a borderline horrendous sociopath and every one of its hoard of dead-eyed paycheck-visualising actors has done a better performance than this at some other point in their careers, and for Kris Marshall, it was his mugshot when he was arrested for drunk driving.  This film goes out of its way to tell you that any option - literally any option - is better than just talking to a woman.  Hold up passive aggressive placards about how your entire existence has been destroyed by a woman having the temerity to marry someone else, learn to play the drums, buy a woman on the white slave trade market, decide you have no future together because she committed the heinous crime of electing to look after her brother instead of having sex with you, offer to have her ex boyfriends killed because they called her fat (because no woman of yours will bear the shame of being called fat) but for the sake of all that is holy, do not simply talk to her about your feelings, she will not respond to your simply and sincerely expressed feelings.

Oh Gentle Reader, I cannot truly express to you the depths of my antagonism towards this film.  I hate it with the gnawing, churning, all consuming darkness of a black hole, and were I possessed of ungodly  reality-altering powers, I would rip it out of existence itself and send it spitting and cursing back into the howling chasm from whence it came.  I hate the way, the truly tragic way, it takes actors that I like - Laura Linney! Andrew Lincoln!  forever to me to the most perfectly cast Edgar Linton there ever shall be, decent and strong-jawed and faithful! - and buckles them into this devil spawn of a roller coaster ride to hell.  Oh, I am sorry Linney, Lincoln, Firth, Ejiofor, Freeman and company (Not you, Knightley.  Never you.) but I cannot forgive your presence in this cynical money sink of a film (that does not - has never - really believed that love is, actually, all around but knows that you will believe it for long enough in your wine-addled Yuletide fugue of loneliness and existential despair to rent it off LoveFilm or add to the royalties by watching it on repeat) on the basis of previous and subsequent good form.

And the turtlenecks.  Dear weeping Jesus on a two-wheeled canoe, the fucking turtlenecks.


*I was actually really good at debate.  I once did a public speaking contest where they invented a prize to give me because I had written my speech the day before and not followed any of the rules about structure or having an actual argument but was apparently "utterly charming". But I am fucking charming, so you know.
**Actually that does sound fucking adorable.
***Who I liked before this film, goddammit.


A/N: Bonus Extra Episode of a TV Show I Hate That Everyone Else Loves, Incidentally Also Written by Richard Curtis: Vincent and the Doctor (Doctor Who, Series 5, Episode 10)

Snow Patrol is just the tip of the appallingly twee iceberg here.  No one - no one - can straight-facedly call someone "my friend" in continuous prose and not sound like a twat.  Just - just go and watch it again, and this time listen to the dialogue.  Consider the incredible crassness of the metaphor of Vincent van Gogh being haunted by an "invisible monster" (DEPRESSION THE REAL MONSTER IS DEPRESSION).  And ask yourself whether you actually thought it was good, or whether you just felt like you should because Matt Smith and Bill Nighy compared their bow ties.

(IT'S ABOUT DEPRESSION.)

Sunday, 12 February 2012

The Twilight Experiment: Part 2 - New Moon

Let it never be said that I don't keep my promises, even if it takes a really, really long time. May I present, for your perusal, The Twilight Experiment: Part 2 - New Moon.

As you will see, my thoughts on New Moon were markedly more concise and less coma-inducingly angry than my musings on Twilight. This is because - brace yourselves - I may have sort of enjoyed one or two bits of it a small amount and I'm really really sorry and I promise never to do it again. If it's any consolation, a) all of those bits miraculously coincided with Taylor Lautner taking his shirt off and b) I'm now faced with the worrying notion that I actually only have things to say when howling and weeping with rage. That's right, I can never be happy. The blog demands it of me.

Anyway, New Moon. Here goes.

The main feeling I had while watching this film was confusion. If you recall from last time's ramblings, Bella has a friend called Jacob who is also a werewolf (along with her science teacher, who is a mummy, and her plumber, who is the Thing from the Black Lagoon). What confuses me is this: Jacob is the good guy. The Good Guy. Scratch that, Jacob is the perfect guy. The movie goes out of its way to make him the hero.

Let me 'splain. No, is too long, let me sum up: Edward leaves about fifteen minutes into the film and, while angelic choirs descended from on high to perform a deafening Hallelujah Chorus, I was gloriously, madly happy. As happy as one can be while watching Twilight film. I was mildly disgruntled. Nay, I was downright apathetic.

Jacob actually acts like a teenager. So Bella acts like a teenager. They act like two teenagers who like each other having doofy, awkward, teenage conversations. At no point do either of them act like stalkers, serial killers, the victims of stalkers and serial killers, or, once again, fucking serial killers. And I was confused because I was all "But isn't Edward meant to be super-special and glittery and amazing and don't we all just love the way he passive-agressively threatens to rip his beloved's throat out?" And Stephenie Meyer would say "Yes" and then probably something about Mormons. But the movie says "No! You though that? You fool!" And then I say, "Well, I didn't actually think that, I was being facetious...." and the movie says "Shut up, Jacob is great. Team Jacob." And I say, "Yes, I agree. Jacob is great." And then I stop trying to having an imaginary conversation with fiction and tell you why. Using exclamation marks.

Jacob fixes motorbikes and cars and other things that involve oil!

Jacob is the only person who can cheer Bella up when she goes into a three month depression because her boyfriend dumps her!

Jacob has a smile that makes rainbows melt!

Jacob is concerned for Bella's wellbeing from a respectable distance!

Jacob has abs that just won't quit!

Jacob clearly has feelings for Bella but won't act on them until she has healed from the scars of a mentally abusive relationship found peace within herself!

JACOB IS A GODDAMN WEREWOLF!

Of course, in a series where vampires sparkle, one could predict that they weren't ever going to be proper werewolves that howled at the moon and committed vicious, gruesome murders but actually, they're pretty cool. While the Twilight VampMeyers will forever be the butt of many, many jokes that involve glitter when they turn up at the Vampire Family Reunions, she actually does an alright job with werewolves. Jacob explains (as firelight glints off his eyes, so dark, so mysterious, so brooding, looking into my very soul... sorry) that his tribe (of tastefully handled Native Americans, remember?) have the ability to shape shift into big, fuck-off wolves in order to defend innocents against vampires. I want you all to read that bit in italics again. Defend innocents against vampires. Not in order to hunt down helpless creatures. Not in order to be generally better or stronger or smarter. Not even in order to have awesome werewolf parties. To defend the helpless. Against the creatures are trying to murder humans horribly. Werewolves are the Supermans of the Twilight universe. So WHY, WHY IN HEAVEN'S NAME, ARE THE VAMPIRES THE GOOD GUYS?

URGH.

Anyway, Jacob continues to be everything one could want from a funny, warm werewolf who fixes cars and also has biceps the size of my fist, and Kristen Stewart is very tentatively learning how to convey basic human emotions through things like facial expression and vocal variation and the whole thing is making little Bambi steps towards something not totally awful when BAM. ALICE SHOWS UP. BOO.

And the first thing she does? She's rude to Jacob. Because he's a werewolf. So we can add mythological racism to the list of things I dislike about the Cullens in general.

But then - cue Incoming Teenage Girl alert - OMG OMG OMG Bella and Jacob are totally going to get it on, steamy werewolf make-out sesh in the kitchen, right here right now, off we go – THE PHONE RINGS.

IT'S EDWARD. OF COURSE. DAMN YOU EDWARD CULLEN.

COCKBLOCKING FROM FIVE STATES AWAY.

Not that I care. Stupid movie.

So then we get to grit our teeth through the introduction of Mr Right (On Opposites Day, maybe. Zing.) back into the plot, as Edward pouts, whines and nances his way back onto the screen. Through some hideous plot contrivance, he thinks Bella is dead. So he's going to kill himself. I imagine you're expecting me to make some catty remark about Meyer being egocentric enough to think she can re-write Romeo and Juliet but I won't. Because in the opening scene, Bella and Edward are watching Romeo and Juliet in class. So it's self-referential, see? It's a clever nod. It's not in any way, say, a screamingly lazy and unconvincing rip-off because Meyer can't write for shit, no, not at all.

OH WAIT, IT'S EXACTLY THAT. PUTTING IN A GLANCING REFERENCE TO THE MOST FAMOUS LOVE STORY OF ALL TIME DOES NOT LESSEN THE FACT THAT YOU ARE RIPPING IT OFF WHOLESALE.

My favourite bit - and by 'favourite', I mean, 'sent me into paroxysms of manic laughter while I tried to destroy the laptop I was watching it on by eating it' - is when Edward declares that Romeo and Juliet were "kind of stupid". I'm not actually going to comment on that because it just might make me cry.

So then we get introduced to some famous super-duper vampires called the Volturi because they live in Volterra in Italy and wait – is that...Michael Sheen? What the hell are you doing here? Jeez, I know you like being fabulous, Michael Sheen, but c'mon man. I saw you play Hamlet. Don't do this to me. I thought we were friends.

Edward's suicide plan involves these special vampires and is also - as though I need to say it - fucking stupid. He's going to reveal the existence of vampires to the human race and then the Volturi will have to kill him because they're some kind of vampire police or something, I guess. That's not (really) the stupid part. The stupid part is the manner in which he will reveal himself. He's going to sparkle. In public. With intent.

Now, if I saw a sparkling naked man in the middle of the street, I would probably just think “My, there is a particularly flamboyant gentleman enjoying his day. Be on your way, flamboyant gentleman, and godspeed to you.” I would not think “VAMPIRES ARE REAL.”

So then we get the world's shittiest action sequence, in which the object is not to defuse a bomb or save a small child from a burning building, but to prevent a pale man from stepping into the sunlight. And believe me, it is exactly as insultingly poor as it sounds.

Bella stops him, obviously. Nobody cares. Not a single fuck do I give.

However, they are summoned before the Volturi again under imminent threat of being brutally and satisfyingly slaughtered. I daren't hope. And, sure enough, instead of doing the world a favour and slaughtering Bella, Edward and Alice in a bloody carnage of righteousness, the Volturi let them go because – I cannot even – they vaguely promise to turn Bella into a vampire at some point in the future. And that's it. There's not even a deadline. Just...*shrug* “well, I believe them”, “sure, me too”, “sweet, let's go get tacos”.

Oh, and then we hear the screams of hundreds of innocent tourists being devoured for the Volteri's supper and Bella Swan, role model of a generation, winces. Yeah, you must really feel for all those lives lost. There were children in there. I hate you, Bella Swan. I really hate you.

Back in Forks, some other stuff happens but I don't really have the heart to go into detail. There's a showdown between Jacob and Edward but obviously Edward wins because Meyer is a cruel god and wishes to teach us that sometimes bad stories happen to good characters. Oh yeah, and Edward forces Bella to agree to marry him as the price of vamp-dom. The only other thing I've come across where someone marries their abuser is Atonement. Maybe Ian McKewan should have written Twilight.

Also there's this whole plot I didn't even mention about Victoria, the girl-vampire from the last film, but it's so pointless and stupid, it would just insult you to mention it.

Sigh. Overall New Moon made me pouty and sleepy. It started out so good when it was just me and Jacob - sorry - Bella and Jacob kicking back with motorbikes and cool werewolf stories and for a glorious, shining hour, all was well with the world. But life, my children, is a harsh and unforgiving business, and sometimes facially-inexpressive-yet-ultimately-innocent women do not get to live happily ever after. Sometimes bad men come back and work evil spells that involve transparent plagiarism of the Western literary canon, and good men can do nothing, no matter how bitchin' their wolf transformation powers are. Sometime, sometimes, my loves, we get New Moon.

Twilight made me angry. This just made me sad. And a little bit hungry.

Saturday, 11 February 2012

The Twilight Experiment: Part 1

Twilight, eh? Once it was a time of day, now it's a plague upon the face of humanity. Or is it? (Yes. It is.) I've spent a good few years putting effort into avoiding Twilight. I prided myself on never having read the books or seen the films. It was the one exception to my Can't-Hate-Something-'Less-You've-Seen-It Rule. CHSLYSI for short. But no more.

Because I am so super-devoted to you, and because I have been thinking about monsters a lot, and because my morbid curiosity has grown too strong, I'm caving. Am I going to read the books? Hell no, I'm a busy woman. Plus, I have seen extracts from them and I don't think I could do that to myself. Good god, that sentence structure. I still have nightmares about her misuse of the word “chagrin”. The films, on the other hand – that I can do. As an incentive, I'm not allowed to watch any other films or television until I finish. Pray for me.

So in order to make this bearable, I'm recording my thoughts as I go along. Just for fun, let's count the number of times I say “Wait, what?” or “Jeeeeeez” or TALK IN ANGRY CAPITAL LETTERS. (Spoiler alert: it happens a lot.)

In the interests of full disclosure, I actually know quite a lot about what happens in Twilight already. Partly through osmosis, partly because I've read a lot of angry rants about the series on the internet, partly because I know actual living people who openly admit to enjoying this series (don't worry, they won't be living for long). I'd highly recommend this, in which one poor soul took it upon himself to blog his way through every single chapter of the series from beginning to end. I haven't read the books. I read this. It's good.

So, Twilight. First film. Off we go.


The film starts and I feel vaguely dirty, like I'm watching porn only less fun and with explicitly Mormon overtones. We open with a narration from our mumbly protagonist talking about “dying in the place of someone I love” – cut to a quick deer chase through the woods – “so I couldn't regret the decision to leave home”. Wait, what? (That soon, huh? This is going to go slowly.) Welcome to Non-Sequitur City. Population: umbrellas.

The narrator is, of course, Bella Swan. She arrives in Forks, Washington, and she's kind of depressed. Fair enough. It does look horrible. Like most of America that isn't New York or the Grand Canyon. What? Single Dad Charlie awkwardly tries to reconnect with her. No dice. “I cleared some shelves in the bathroom,” he says desperately. “Thank you,” says estranged daughter Bella, “That was really thoughtful of you because this is hard on both of us and we're going to make as much effort as possible to get along.” Only kidding, she pulls a face and says “Oh right. Only one bathroom.” Hmmm. This better not continue.

Outside, a guy in a wheelchair shows up and some dorky kid with long hair. We find out Charlie has been really looking forward to Bella coming to stay. I like Charlie more and Bella less. The two guys are introduced as Billy, a local Native American (and I'm sure this will be handled tastefully, with tact and dignity and – oh wait, it's Twilight) and his son, Jacob. Wait. Wait. That's Jacob? That's the hot werewolf my friends have been sticking posters up of, in flagrant defiance of the fact they're grown women and this isn't allowed? The hell? Jeez. My expectations of this film dip even lower.

Bella arrives at school, so I'm expecting some kind of dorky-new-kid-montage of her being unpopular but no, people literally start fighting over her. Thank god, for a minute there, I really thought we might have to go through a realistic scenario for a new student. Instead, boys love her, girls are jealous of her – yeah, I can really see why this mumbling, insecure-yet-inexplicably-popular girl has become the role model for tweens everywhere.

In the cafeteria, a bunch of models walks past and Bella is distracted by the sudden switch to slo-mo. New Frenemy Jessica fills us in on them: these are Rosalie, Emmet, Alice and Jasper Cullen (and you thought 'Felicity' was pretentious) and they all live together and also have sex with each other. Slightly Nicer Angela points out they're not actually related, which is how we know she's supposed to be the nice one. No, no, I'm with Jessica on this one. As far as she and Angela know, they're foster siblings. That's weird. Also, they all look way too old for high school. I mean, I know (spoiler alert) they're vampires and probably hundreds of years old anyway, but none of them look like high school students. Wait, what? Why do vampires need to go to high school? They're vampires. I think I'm getting a migraine. Jessica continues to describe them all in slightly bitchy ways. I like you, Jess. Let's be friends.

Anyway, then undead object of slavering adolescent lust Edward walks in and I have to pause the video because I'm laughing so hard. Let me just state here and now that I kind of like Robert Pattinson. He wasn't terrible in Harry Potter and he clearly hates his job in these films, plus the amount of crazy he receives on a daily basis is just sad. He called Stephenie Meyer crazy. He described Edward as “an angry virgin”. That's funny. But good god, he looks terrible. This is the man who we have to believe is the most (literally) supernaturally good-looking being in the whole wide universe. He looks...well, he looks dead. First Jacob, now Edward? Please film, give me some eye candy to help me get through this mess. It's that or strong drink.

I also have to pause the next scene quite a bit because I'm laughing so much. Bella goes to Biology class and – surprise – has to sit next to Edward because Stephenie Meyer is lazy. First he covers his mouth and gags when she comes near and, I must say, I'm also starting to develop something of a gag reflex regarding Bella Swan. Then Bella stares at Edward. Then Edward stares at Bella. Then Bella stares more at Edward. Then Edward stares more at Bella and then I stare incredulously at the shot where the wings of a stuffed owl are positioned directly behind Edward's vampiric shoulders. Because it's like he has wings. You get it, right? Like, angel wings. Because angels are perfect. And Edward is perfect. And he's like an angel. Because he's perfect. And beautiful. Like an angel. Who has wings. Do you want me to go over that again? No? Where are you going?

So Bella mopes about a) the fact that Edward thinks she's so repulsive he won't even come to school anymore and b) the fact that she has no friends. Despite ignoring the palpable efforts of her schoolmates to make friends with her. Hmm.

And then, fifteen minutes in – BAM. It's like another, much better movie has just started. People are running down corridors and doing parkour. Vampire parkour? Could be. Exciting. Also, Emmet the Vampire rides to school on top of the Vampire RV. Emmett might be my favourite character so far.

Sadly, things go back to normal as we then have our first conversation between Bella and Edward. As things go, it's not quite “she doth teach the torches to burn bright”. In fact, Edward stares at her and addresses her with the intensity of gaze and monotony of tone of a serial killer. Bella doesn't mind because the hot guy is talking to her. Wait, what? This is the interaction between the lovers that will define literature for a generation? This? It is also now inescapably noticeable that NEITHER OF THEM EVER VARY THEIR TONE OR FACIAL EXPRESSION. Where's the vodka. This is going to be painful.

Over the course of this conversation, we learn that:

  1. Edward knows a suspicious amount about the national meteorological patterns of the United States. And asks questions like “Do you like rain?”

  2. It takes Bella about half an hour to answer questions like “Do you like rain?”

  3. Edward thinks it is appropriate to back girls into their lockers while making statements like “I'm just trying to figure you out. I find you very hard to read.” Presumably, this is his defence at the restraining order violation hearing as well.

  4. Edward's eyes change colour from black to gold. They both look stupid.

Then that scene that we all know from the trailers happens. In the face of an oncoming truck, Bella channels every silent film heroine ever and stands there dumbly as her demise hurtles towards her on wings of death. No wait, here's her pasty CG-Eyed lover (see what I did there) to pull a Superman and bat that truck away like it ain't no thang. At this point in real life, Bella would probably offer her saviour a thank-you shag, or a least a cheeky blozzer round the back of the bike sheds, and the two would then ignore each other awkwardly for the rest of their time at school. There, I just saved you four books and five movies of diminishing returns. Sadly, Edward just stares at her (again) and runs away. Jasper is kind of cute though. Or maybe my standards are just rapidly declining all round.

ARGH. Why does all Edward's dialogue sound like a cross between an Old West sheriff dismissing a hysterical woman and a mass murderer seducing his next victim? At the hospital, we're introduced to Daddy Cullen (Seriously, a note on the vamp make-up here – I get that they need to be pale and interesting, but these people look unwell. Like a cult of unwell people who all have sex together.) and then Bella confronts Edward about his superpowers.

Bella: So you got over there pretty quick.

Edward: What? No. Girl, you crazy. I was standing next to you the whole time.

Bella: Except for the part where you were totally standing by your car.

Edward: Yer jest confused, little lady. You take a knock to that pretty little head of yours?

Bella: No, you were there! I saw you! And then you pushed the van away, just like in that episode of Superman but Raf can't remember which one it is!

Edward: Weeeeeellp, guess we'll never know. Though if you were to go around spinning crazy talk like that, no-one would believe you.

Bella: I wasn't going to tell anyone.

That there in italics? That's actual dialogue. By the way, I'm not reading into anything here. They play this scene like Edward is threatening her and Bella is scared into submission. But that's just one scene, right? Well, the next scene is him watching her sleep.

Seriously, if this was a horror movie, it could be great. Vampires are nature's stalkers – quick, silent, and they want to devour young flesh. I'd love a twisted, psychological thriller about a girl who falls for a vampire (as a result of reading Twilight, for bonus meta-points), only to realise he has developed a dangerous obsession with her, seeking to control her every action, watching her every minute of the day. Pitting her human courage against his superhuman abilities, she must emerge victorious. The film ends with her staking him through the heart, shouting “THAT WAS FOR THE SISTERHOOD. RAFAELLA OUT, BITCHES.”

Or something. She doesn't have to be called that. She could be called...Bafaella. Or something.

We then have a scene in which Edward listens in on Bella's private conversation, questions her about her movements aggressively, refuses to answer her own questions and concludes by telling her “You don't know anything.” Ring a ding ding, Bella, this one's a keeper.

This is followed by a scene in the cafeteria where Bella's non-vampire friends act like actual teenagers instead of uptight, plaster-of-paris-skinned jerks. And guess what? Bella acts like an actual teenager too. Kristen Stewart is a slightly less horrible actress for a moment. She makes a joke. I smile. It's a beautiful, beautiful moment amidst a sea of horrifying character interactions. Sadly, it doesn't last because Edward comes over and tries to pull his emotional whiplash stuff again. Again, it comes across as a mix between a thirteen-year-old kid painting his bedroom walls black and bawling “Nobody understands me!” and – I cannot stress this enough – a fucking serial killer. “What if I'm not the hero?” he growls. “What if I'm the bad guy?” He's admitting it! Run, Bella, run! You literally have it from his own mouth! What more do you need?! But no, Bella decides this cannot possibly the case because he's too perfect and beautiful and truck-repellant. Sigh. I give up on you, Bella Swan. You're on your own now. You are every blonde woman who walks into every cellar where the scary noise is instead of calling the police. So when Charlie finds your dismembered corpse, don't say I didn't warn you.

This is immediately followed by Bella telling Nice Angela that if she wants to go to the prom with Eric (Eric is a boy who likes Bella, though that doesn't really narrow the field much), she should ask him herself. “You are a strong, independent woman,” Bella tells her. Oh, you think you're so cocking clever, don't you.

Jacob turns up again and Jacob and Bella converse like normal teenagers. Bella says, “What are you stalking me or something?” I'd make a comment here about smug self-awareness not being charming or clever, but that's pretty much what this blog runs on. Anyway, Jacob tells some story about how his tribe (again, I'm sure the real life Quileute Tribe feel nothing but affection towards this suburban housewife pilfering their cultural history for fodder for a sub-par teen romance) are descended from wolves to defend against “the cold ones”. For the first time, I feel like this could be an actually interesting monster story, mainly because I'm going “WEREWOLVES WEREWOLVES WEREWOLVES”. More of this, please.

In a stunning vein (no pun intended) of good fortune, the Good Vampire Film continues with a scene of three Flamboyant Evil Vampires being actual vampires, that is to say ripping out throats and walking cockily. Then we're back to Bella and her terrible life.

She's going prom dress shopping with her friends in a local town called Port Angelos and, no surprises here, is a massive bitch to them. She's not going to the prom because she hates fun but Frenemy Jess has asked her along for her opinion. Instead, Bell stares out the window looking bored and grunts “you look lovely” at each outfit. Well if Jess had wanted that, she would have brought her boyfriend along, AM I RIGHT LADIES? OH SNAP. BRING IT IN.

Anyway, maybe this is meant to show how Bella is mature and beyond such frivolous persuits but given that she's just thinking about a hot guy instead, it's not really working. Speaking of, Edward follows her to Port Angelos: Den of Vice, because that's what you do when you've spoken to someone four times, right? Right? Shit. Bella nearly gets raped because I guess even criminals can't resist her and Big Brave Eddie steps in to rescue her. Edward and Bella have dinner. Bella asks for answers (again). He responds with something like, “Maybe. I don't feel like it. Can I have ice cream?” Edward Cullen: four year old. He does, however, tell Bella the following:

    • I followed you because I feel protective towards you.

    • Other men were thinking bad thoughts about you.

    • I don't have the strength to stay away from you anymore.

Edward Cullen: creepy, victim-blaming stalker


Bella does some googling and figures out he's a vampire, based on the fact that he

    • is super strong

    • is super fast

    • has cold skin

    • never eats or drinks

    • speaks like he's from the past (wait, what? When?)

    • can read minds.

Well Bella must be some kind of Sherlock Holmes or something because if I put those facts together about someone, I'd come up with David Blaine. But whatever, she confronts him and he confesses. And then – oh god, and then. Then he reveals the sparkles. This may be my favourite bit of the entire film, possibly because if I didn't laugh, I would cry. He steps solemnly into the light and, as the light hits, revealing more glitter than a Gay Pride march, he says, “This is the skin of a killer, Bella. THE SPARKLY, FABULOUS SKIN OF A KILLER.” I might have made that last bit up.

He also shows off his vamp abilities, saying this explains why he's been avoiding Bella: her blood smells tasty and he wants to avoid ripping her head off. He also feels the need to add, “As if you could outrun me, as if you could fight me off. Again, this should be the point in the horror movie where Bella starts running, possibly calling “challenge accepted” over her shoulder. We get more lovely, victim-blaming lines like, “I hated you for making me want you so badly. I still don't know if I can control myself.” Is that an elephant in the room? No, it's the metaphor for abstinence. Bells and Eddie decide to get it on anyway, giving my second favourite line of the whole film: “And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.” I'll just type that again. AND SO THE LION FELL IN LOVE WITH THE LAMB.

WHAT? WHAT? Brilliant.

Wait, we don't even get to see them kiss? The only thing this series has going for it is that is caters to the sexuality of teenage girls. And you just panned away from the kiss. Nice going, film-makers.

Edward and Bella show up to school together in a scene straight out of Grease (he even has shades), and then they chat some more about vampires. Edward finds it appropriate to throw casual references to drinking Bella's blood into the conversation. Bella goes for dinner at the Cullen's house, and everything is super awkward in more than the usual sit-com meeting-the-boyfriend's-parents way. Big sister Rosalie hates Bella so is clearly meant to be an antagonist, so naturally I can't help but agree with everything she says (maybe me and Jess can go and hang there sometime). Sister Alice is Manic Pixie Dream Girl of the highest degree, practically cartwheeling through the house in stripy tights bellowing “I'M QUIRKY”. Mummy Esme does precisely nothing. Bro Emmett, I like. We've discussed this. And Jasper just follows Alice around and doesn't speak. Daddy Doctor Carlyle Cullen, we discover, vamped them all when they were dying humans, so let's not dwell on the fact that of all the dying humans he must have seen as a doctor, the ones he necked were attractive teenagers. Edward casually threatens Bella again in conversation, then jumps from tree to tree like a flying squirrel with Bella on his back. But not before telling her to “hold on tight, spider-monkey.” Dude. It's not sexy.

Then we get to hear Edward playing the piano. Jeeeeez. Where's the goddamn plot in this movie? The evil vampires come back. Thank god. Only 70 minutes in. No wait, they're gone again. Instead we get more conversations between Bella and Edward. Jeeeeeeeeeeez. He admits he's been watching her sleep for the past few months. Not cool. They start snogging, and Eddie freaks out and jumps a mile, then blames Bella. That's really not cool.

Eddie formally introduces himself to Charlie and they talk about Bella like she's a three year old going on a playdate. Edward says, “She won't be home too late and I won't give her any sugar because I know how she gets. Also, no cartoons.”

In reality, he's taking her to play vampire baseball. I can't make up my mind as to whether this is really lame or actually kind of cool. Luckily, I don't have to decide because Emmet does a little dance. He is deff my fave Cullen. And then look! Plot shows up! Making an entrance so dramatic it could be the opening to a heavy metal video. Yeah, vampire face-off! Even if the evil vamps are just posing dramatically and the Cullens are just hissing in a way that would be frankly embarrassing if you saw your old seven-year-old cousin doing it while playing “wampires”.

Aaaaand not even that disappointing bit of conflict lasts because they all agree to just play baseball. Lame. Also lame? Vampire innuendo. “I'm the one with the wicked curve ball,” pouts Victoria, the evil-girl-vampire. Your whole existence is based around sucking and exchange of fluids. Do better. Meanwhile Edward and another evil vampire are staring at each other. Edward sure loves to stare.

Plot! James (seriously? James is your best vampire name?) the Evil Vampire wants to track Bella and kill her for some lazy and unconvincing reason, so she has to skip town. I'll say this, the scene where she convinces her dad she doesn't want to live with him is surprisingly emotional – possibly because Charlie is played by a real actor and not the corpse of one being zapped by cattle prods. Emmet jumps on top of cars again. Wheee! Rosalie questions the wisdom of risking everyone else life to save Bella's (at last, some sense) and Daddy Cullen explains why Bella is part of their cult now: “Bella is with Edward, so she is part of this family now. [ominous pause] We take care of our family.” Also when Bella is leaving, Eddie says to her, “Bella, you are my life now.” AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

James comes up with some kind of convoluted plot involving kidnapping Bella's mum only he didn't really and leading Bella to her old ballet studio. Except he's in her old house to make the ruse. Why not just entice her to the house? Probably because a ballet studio looks cooler, that's why. Lots of room for insultingly obvious symbolism with broken mirrors. We get a restatement of Bella's opening voiceover, only now she says she doesn't mind dying because it brought her to Edward. Wait, what? Dum-dum-dum, it's a trap! James basically admits he wants to kill Bella to piss off Edward. I like James.

Yay action! An actual action scene! But James can apparently be beaten by Edward, so maybe he isn't so great. Just as Eddie is gearing up for some slaughter, Carlyle shows up all “no, remember who you are”. Boo. What happened to the “rip him apart and burn the pieces” stuff from earlier? Wait, what? It's ok for Alice/Jasper/Emmet to kill James? Oh right, because then it can be just out of focus enough to keep the PG-13 certificate, while Edward can hold Bella's hand as she haemorrhages in the foreground, and every right thinking person can be royally pissed off that we don't get to see the only cool thing promised in this film. Bella has been bitten by James so she has vampire “venom” in her bloodstream. Eddie volunteers to suck it out but if he doesn't stop, she'll get vamped. Not quite sure where this fits into the abstinence metaphor to be honest. So Edward nearly turns her into a vamp but doesn't because that would be far too interesting. He does this through the power of montage.

Bella wakes up in hospital, where her mum says Edward and his dad went to find her and she fell down two flights of stairs and through a window at her hotel. Yep, because if two men I'd never met before showed up with my daughter suffering severe injuries, I'd automatically believe them too. We learn that of the three evil vamps, one is harmless, James is dead, and Victoria ran off. So she definitely won't be showing up as the villain of future films then. Edward says Bella has to leave Forks and she has a hilariously epic freak out, which is too good not to link (sorry about the quality, only clip I could fine). Also, why are there still 15 minutes of this film left to go?

Oh right, the stupid prom. Well, Jacob shows up (Hi Jacob! Having sat through this movie, I already like you better than anyone else in it!) and says his dad thinks Bella and Edward should break up. Does no-one in Forks have anything better to do than comment on their relationship? There's a moment of Edward/Jacob tension but it's 110 minutes too late to save this movie. Edward finishes off his general d-baggery by lifting Bella over steps like he's her parent, saying “prom is an important rite of passage, I didn't want you missing it” like he's her parent, and pulling her up onto his feet to dance. Like he's her parent. Bella rounds off her general unlikeability by showing up to prom and being snobby about her friends who are daring to have fun and act their age, and not like a married couple from the 19th century. One again, there is another conversation about Bella being vampified and oh, oh, oh, he's gonna do it! Psych. Nope. You have to wait another four films for that.

And we end with a shot of Victoria. At the prom. Why? Who knows? A better is question is: who cares?

So my conclusion on Twilight Part 1 is that it's not terrible, just really really dull. I think the best thing you can say for it is that it has some nice locations, even if the director doesn't know how to frame a shot beyond uncomfortable close-ups of the leads or way-too-wide shots of the forest. There's some goldenly, gloriously bad lines of dialogue, favourite obviously being “This is the skin of a killer, Bella!” *sparkles*. “And then the lion fell in love with the lamb” runs a pretty close second because I commend any young man in his early twenties who can say that without sniggering. But it's all downhill from there. The pacing is terrible – all the plot is in the last twenty minutes of the film and also makes no sense. Stewart and Pattinson are fairly terrible leads, both mumbling, frozen-faced, charisma vacuums, emo-ing and indie-ing their way through a mediocre love story. But what gets me most is that Twilight is frustrating: the rare moments of humour play well, as do those of teenagers being actual teenagers. Unfortunately, everything just collapses under the weight of its own simultaneously under- and over-written ponderousness.

The major problem, of course, is the central relationship. If Meyer had written or been trying to write a study of the way desire is bound up with danger – if Bella had been a heroine with some agency and personality and strength, fighting her own desires for a man she knows will kill her in the end – that might have been compelling. As it is – retrogressive, with unlikeable leads – why should we care?


Wait, what? Count: 7.

Jeeeez count: 3.

CAPSLOCK count: 10.


See you for Part 2: New Moon, and keep watching the skies! Wait, that's not right.

Saturday, 10 September 2011

Time Para-Docs: Doctor Who - 'The Girl Who Waited' Review

(Spoilers for Doctor Who and The Great British Bake-Off. No, seriously.)

First of all, sorry about kicking things off with such an awful pun. After I'm done, I'll get my coat.

So. The Girl Who Waited. Ah. Argh. There was so, so much that was good about this episode and I really wanted to love it. Unfortunately, the payoff just wasn't quite there for me.

The concept is brilliant: through various sci-fi-esque contrivances (in this case, a kind of intergalactic hospice that traps sufferers in a time-expanding/compressing goldfish bowl so their loved ones can observe them) we get 'Rory's Choice: The Revenge'. In the best tradition of British sci-fi, it was surreal, hard-hitting, eccentric and beautifully conceived (aesthetically a cross between Alice in Wonderland and The Prisoner*). I also enjoyed being treated to some more inventive camera-work than we've had in a while (artsy lenswork being something of a feature of the Moffat era); I loved all the sliding fades and woozy split screen in a lovely bit of subtle foreshadowing, though didn't relish the over-reliance on lens flares. (Then again, my favourite piece of camerawork in Who history might well be that sunburst across the lens in 'The Eleventh Hour' at the exact moment the Doctor convinces Amy to trust him for the first time.)

It is becoming something of a truism that both the Doctor-lite and the budget-saving episodes of Who are amongst the best, forcing the writers to sharpen their quills and get back to that old chestnut, narrative. No high-speed chases, no CGI monsters, just a few characters and an inventive concept (hopefully). The Girl Who Waited managed to achieve that rare thing of being both narratively and conceptually satisfying, having the driving force behind the storyline be Amy and Rory's relationship, whilst ensuring that there actually is a decent storyline in the first place. It reminded me a little of the standout episode of Catherine Tate's tenure, Turn Left, which didn't feature the Doctor at all and by pulling back from all the Madcap Space Adventures proved that Tate is a fine actress when she wants to be, and quite capable of bringing a tear to the eye. In a similar way, Karen Gillan (whose acting ability I have cast a few aspersions on in the past) earned my respect with her finely differentiated Old and Young Amys, while Arthur Darvill continues to be rather excellent (and apparently quite a fox in those glasses, for the second time this series).

Bu this is where my criticisms begin, I'm afraid. Narratively and conceptually satisfying it might have been, but emotionally it was not. That last conversation through the TARDIS door between Rory and Old Amy was surely meant to evoke fannish memories of the Doctor and Rose's goodbye - a bold move and one that I'm not sure was wise. For me at least, it reminded me that no matter how much I later griped and whined about RTD's inability to leave Rose alone, I was devastated when she was given such a cruel exit and wept like a child, despite my cynical then-boyfriend muttering under his breath about Philip Pullman rip-offs. When Rose left I cried because - despite having spent the entire series complaining about how cutesy and irritating the whole thing was getting - her emotional payoff was earned. In the space of The Girl Who Waited, there was no way the same level of emotional investment could be demanded and I'm afraid I found the last few minutes of whispered self-sacrificing conversation tiring rather than tear-jerking. This could also be down to the fact that whilst I'm prepared to admit Gillan raised her game this week, she's still not got nearly enough depth or integrity to make me feel for her. Unlike Rose (and let's remember that Billie was never greatest actress either) she also doesn't have the help of two series of solid characterisation behind her.

Moffat's characters serve his plot lines, rather than vice versa. This is not an intrinsically bad thing and it has led to some stunning mindfucks along the way, but it does mean that when we get to emotional episodes like this one, I'm not nearly invested enough in his creations to care. Rory and Amy's relationship has gone all over the shop, seemingly on the whim of whoever was writing that week: first it's Mickey-and-Rose Mk 2, then it's "oh shit, guess I loved him all along", then it's the Greatest Love Story of All Time, then ordinary domestic bliss, then back to Epic Romance again. It's a shame, because I was just beginning to like Amy-and-Rory as a team and I feel this lack of consistency may be fatal to my enjoyment of them. Speaking of inconsistency, much of my praise for Arthur Darvill stems from the fact that the writers clearly can't decide the first thing about his character. First he's wimpy, then he's awesome, then he's snarky, then it all changes again. Forget Time Lord-shooting Astronauts, 'Who is Rory Williams?' is turning out to be the biggest mystery of the series. A prime example this week: the same Rory who did the 'I don't flinch in front of explosions' thing in front of Cybermen in A Good Man Goes to War is apparently not only less helpful than a 60-year-old woman in a fight with some slow-moving robots but actually resorts to smashing a painting over its head like something out of Scooby Doo. Writers: this man does not add up.

And speaking of things not adding up, my maths tells me that for a show called 'Doctor Who', the good Doctor isn't figuring nearly as much in the equation as he should. I know I've said this before so I won't dwell on it too much but Matt Smith is the best actor in the show. Use him. I'm not just talking about the strangely small amount of screen time he seems to be getting either - his presence in the actual story lines is negligible. He seems to be taking a back seat to the adventures of his human companions and I object: it's not the Amy-and-Rory Show, it's not even the River Song Show, as much as I would obviously watch that. My guess (and it's an optimistic one) is that the season finale is going to be so Doctor-and-River-centric (in the vein of last series' finale, which really was about the Doctor saving the day with his timey-wimey, story-spinning cleverness) that they're shifting the focus to Amy and Rory while they can. Well, I hope that's case anyway.

Complaints over. As I said, it was brilliant concept, beautifully shot with some very good acting but the payoff just wasn't quite there for me. However, I could just be developing into exactly the sort of crusty Whovian whose favourite thing is needless criticism rather than brown paper packages tied up with string theory, as it seemed like a lot of people really did enjoy this episode. Once again I have high hopes for next week's episode 'The God Complex'. I'm getting a very 'British Horror' vibe from the trailer, what with the M.C. Escher creepy hotel, the specially tailored Room 101 horrors and the return of the Weeping Angels. And David Walliams. And...a minotaur. Well, of course. Perhaps it's best to remember that it's written by Toby 'Being Human' Whithouse, the man who gave us 'School Reunion' and busty fish outing 'The Vampires of Venice', so maybe I won't hope for something too classy. Then again, perhaps a proper good romp (I still haven't forgiven you, Stephen Thompson) is exactly what the show needs right now.
...

To add to my televisual disgruntlement (is that a word? well, it is now), the hallowed Paul and Mary have just made the disastrous decision to get rid of dreamy Rob and brilliant Jason on The Great British Bake-Off. Rob I can understand (although I'm sorry to see him go), as he really did contribute nothing to the world of baking other than hair that had enough product in it to defy gravity but Jason? Jason was great - not just at baking but at his weird pseudo-metaphysical commentary on himself: "Sometimes I think I've got what it takes, and other times I don't. But I hope I've got what it takes."

Ah well. Jason, Rob, we'll miss you. But not half as much as the producers will when they realise their viewing figures have halved without you.


*I have since found out that the episode was, in fact, directed by the same guy who did the unsuccessful 2009 reboot of The Prisoner. Oh, the cleverness of me.

Sunday, 4 September 2011

Making House Calls: Doctor Who - 'Let's Kill Hitler' and 'Night Terrors' Review

Oh mes enfants, it has been a while. I do apologise. But sure as autumn follows summer, sure as rain follows sun, the good Doctor is back on our screens and where he goes, the blog must follow. So, to kick things off again, a two-part review of the series opener 'Let's Kill Hitler' (Stephen Moffat) and this week's 'Night Terrors' (Mark Gatiss).

I was initially a little wary about reviewing them together; the task of trying to shoe-horn the revelations and plot-furthering of the main story arc of the former with the stand alone simplicity of the latter into one review was not an enticing one. In the event, I needn't have worried because what has emerged is something really rather interesting: Moffat, patron saint of the understated gothic-light urban-fairytale NuWho has produced an episode that put me very much in mind of an RTD finale and Gatiss, who has never quite managed to produce an episode of Who that wasn't an RTD-style shiny plastic toy, delivered what was, essentially, a Stephen Moffat episode. I also preferred it and I'm pretty certain me preferring a Gatiss episode to a Moffat episode is one of the signs of a forthcoming apocalypse, so next week I'll be writing the blog from an underground bunker surrounded by tinned food and blankets. Better to be prepared.

'Let's Kill Hitler' had all the ingredients of an episode I should have loved: River-centric, timey-wimey, snidey tongue-in-cheek about a famous dictator, great Rory lines, Matt Smith getting to be portentous and do Proper Acting, not too much Amy. But it just - well - gah. It just didn't work for me. Whereas the mid-series finale 'A Good Man Goes to War' was admittedly ridiculous, it was stylishly and entertainingly ridiculous, with its opening sequence of Rory's long overdue transformation into a badass, Victorian lesbian lizards and the Doctor's gleeful reveal from under the monk's hood, plus, of course, that preposterous piece of information about River Song's parentage. In contrast, I felt the pace of LKH smattered along somewhat awkwardly, lurching from banter to banter to heart-wringing death scenes all the while trying desperately to maintain the effortless cool of previous Moffat outings. Bute surely we can turn to that other staple of a grandiose Moffat episode, the resolution of a carefully plotted mystery?

Well, for an episode that was based around giving long-awaited answers, LKH seemed to be short on the actual revelations. I don't want to boast (well obviously I do) but either I'm getting smarter or the writers are getting lazy, because I saw every single twist in that episode coming from a mile off - I twigged that 'Mels' was River before she even opened her mouth because really, it's a series opener that's reunited Amy, Rory and the Doctor and a mysterious and exotic looking woman comes careering up in a fast car, plus we know River can regenerate. It's not exactly TARDIS rocket science. I guessed River would start trying to kill him. I guessed she would use up all her regenerations in saving him. I even guessed the lipstick was poisoned. (On a side note, I also totally guessed that Anton Lesser was the spy in The Hour.) Most likely is just that I've watched so much TV I can now smell clue-signposting a mile away. Or it could just be that there was nothing new in Let's Kill Hitler - it was simply a realisation of every piece of information that has been given away or hinted at so far. Let's review: at the end of last series we knew that Baby Melody had been stolen away to become programmed and trained as the incredibly strong six-year-old who busted out of the Astronaut suit in Day of the Moon and then promptly regenerated. We also knew that she would turn out to be ultimately good (and awesome) in the form of River Song. So - feel free to disagree - I feel a little cheated by an episode that does nothing more than say "Yes. That is correct. By the way, she was an annoying teenager for a bit in the middle as well." It was, I suppose, a necessary episode but I didn't think it was a particularly fun one.

However, despite my misgivings, Moffat has a particularly irrepressible genius and his talent at writing funny, sexy, sparkling Who shone through on several occasions: the whole Doctor/River battle of wits was beautifully executed (all that practice writing Sherlock is paying off, I see), and Rory just ran away with the best lines ("Get in the cupboard, Hitler.") Plus, I'm really starting to appreciate Rory and Amy's dynamic now that they're being allowed to function as a unit - Amy-and-Rory is much more fun than Just Amy. And Just Rory, come to think of it. I'd love to see more of that, and less of that self-aggrandising 'THIS IS EPIC' stuff. Although let's address one thing: Moffat has certainly beaten his record on the sheer amount amount of genderfail he managed to cram into 45 minutes. Off the top of my head, there was Mels' "I'm concentrating on a dress size", River running off to weigh herself as soon as she regenerated, the "I'm going shopping", the "plus, she's a woman", not to mention making River's whole career all about the Doctor. Not cool, and so very 90s sitcom.

So, Moffat, I'll cut you a deal. Let's just wrap up this whole Dead Doctor thing with whatever timey-wimey alternate-time-stream-River, Flesh avatar, Silence-involved solution you have up your sleeve, we'll all pat you on the back and say how clever you are and the whole thing can be better best forgotten, left to gather dust in the vaults of Who-lore. Then you'll go back to producing a series of finely-crafted individual gems of episodes with an intriguing but not overly intrusive series arc, and we'll say no more about it. Sound good? Great.

Gatiss' 'Night Terrors' was an altogether different beast and, as previously stated, far more enjoyable. Seeing as I'm now seriously behind with my Who homework, I'll be brief. I loved the theme of children's nightmares, plus all the opportunities for tongue-in-cheek, breaking-the-fourth-wall humour about the scariest place in the universe being a child's bedroom. Or, y'know, behind the sofa. Maybe after watching something on TV, say. For example, the adventures of a 900-year-old alien and his travelling companions. But that's just silly now.

Fine, so it didn't go that meta, but it was enough to tick my meta-lovin' boxes. With a little more hindsight, I can say that perhaps the episode wasn't stellar, merely solid, but I still got more viewing pleasure out of it that Moffat's. Viewing pleasure is something that Gatiss understands, a man self-confessedly raised by television: as a writer he's an expert on combining the creepy and the funny to create something blackly, rather than bleakly, comic. I hugely enjoyed his 'Crooked House' series (three horror stories set in the same house through time with an over-arching narrative in the present day to tie it all together), League of Gentlemen is unparalleled in its niche, and his episode of Sherlock was just about the best of the three. But famously he's never really written a good episode of Doctor Who. Until now, I say. (Actually, way back in Series 1 and 2 of NuWho, I quite liked 'The Unquiet Dead' and 'The Idiot's Lantern' but shh, don't tell anyone.) 'Night Terrors' was a sweet little vignette in Who-lore and a welcome break in the ongoing tsunami of the whole Dead Doctor saga. It won't win any awards but it was funny, genuinely touching (I admit, I shed a little tear) and just creepy enough to keep it in the territory of the Who we know and love.

So yeah, it did sort of seem to be crafted out of the leftover bits from 'The Empty Child', 'Fear Her' and every RTD-era story set in yet another council block but hey, Moffat's been borrowing from his own story lines so much that the whole structural integrity of the show has been compromised, so I'll overlook this. And like I said, a good episode, not a great one but with enough real heart to it that I enjoyed it more than Moffat's showing off.

If it sounds like I've done a 180 degree turn on Moffat, I really haven't. I still think he's a fundamentally better writer than Russell T Davies and his ideas for the show are more exciting and genuinely ambitious. But he's also fallen prey to his own ego. There's a danger in being the kid that watched the show when he was seven and said "I'm going to run that when I grow up": on some level, he's still the child playing with his action figures in his bedroom. Sadly, action figures aren't believable, engaging characters and the convoluted sagas that seven year olds spin to amuse themselves are not gripping plots. It's not the end of the world for the show and it certainly isn't OMG RUINED FOREVER, but the skeptical reserve I expressed way back at the start of the series is still skeptical and reserved. I've got four more episodes to be impressed in and I really want to be.

In my opinion, then, the series resumes a little lost and a little misogynistic. My diagnosis: there's still light at the end of the time vortex.

Wednesday, 18 May 2011

The F Word and The R Word

If you have ever met me, even for the briefest of brief encounters, I have probably mentioned feminism, being a feminist or women's rights in some form. I make no bones about it. I'm a feminist and I'm proud of being a feminist.

I also think that everyone who doesn't actively oppose gender equality is a feminist. If you think that men and women are equal, then you're a feminist. Now, few terms are more loaded than "feminist" and few single words have had so much written about what exactly they mean, so I'll try and keep my two cents brief. As an English student, I tend to approach things from the point of view of what I can analyse in the way of semantics and phrasing because I feel that's where I'm best qualified to comment. It's also because I think the way we make our arguments and the words we use to express our views are hugely important and often indicative of the biases that shape them. For example, I try and discourage my sister from using the word "gay" as a derogatory term - I know she isn't homophobic, but the appropriation of the word as a negative descriptor certainly began that way. A better example might be David Cameron's repeated recent use of the hilarious* Michael Winner catchphrase "Calm down dear" to a female MP during PMQ. That the phrase is a well-known line from an advert is irrelevant (and it's not like Michael Winner is a poster boy for gender equality anyway) - it is a phrase that would not roll off the tongue of a man who sees an equal opponent, rather than a female opponent.

In fact, our current government seems to have something of a history of gaffes regarding public statement concerning women. We had the Minister of Universities and Science David Willetts' remarks that feminism was the primary cause of unemployment for working class males and lack of social mobility. I expressed some strongly-worded discomfiture over this and was told by several people that I was making a fuss over nothing and he wasn't being sexist, just stating a fact. I found it very telling that Willetts didn't cite 'a growing percentage of women in the workplace' or even 'greater opportunities for women'. Whilst hardly better, they would certainly be closer to 'stating a fact'; it would be untrue to say that a growing number of women in the workplace won't have consequences elsewhere (although I still disagreed with the point Willetts was making - social mobility is surely the responsibility of the education system, which is the responsibility of the government). Instead, Willetts specifically blamed 'feminism', implying a negative causal relationship between the women's rights movement and unemployment. The words you choose - they matter.

Then came the above David Cameron Winnergate Scandal. Believe it or not, I was not amongst those screaming in instant outrage for Cameron to step down, although I do think he should have apologised and next time I hope he thinks twice about how he addresses a fellow MP. It merely confirmed my suspicions that, in many respects, Cameron and his government are nowhere near as progressive as we are led to believe. Eton Boy who moves in mainly male circles addresses a woman in a patronising way. And the Titanic sunk. More at 11. But again - the words. They matter.

The most recent of such incidents is Ken Clarke (the Justice Minister) who, in a radio interview, committed (as I see it) two different faux pas. Firstly, he confused statutory rape with date rape, saying "That includes date rape, 17-year-olds having intercourse with 15-year-olds." To clarify: statutory rape is where one or both partners are under 16. Date rape is a much more nebulous term, where a woman is sexually assaulted by an acquaintance, although not always someone she's dating - a friend, a co-worker, a teacher. It is thought to be the most prevalent form of rape and also the most unreported, especially on college and university campuses. The vast majority of rapes (84%, according to recent statistics) are committed by someone the victim knows, putting them either in the 'date rape' category or the 'domestic rape' category (rape by a spouse or partner). Now, whilst one would expect the Justice Minister to know the difference, I also know that Ken Clarke was a serving QC so I expect he does, in fact, know and simply got confused. To err is human, etc. No need for anyone to resign here.

However, he then went on to make a much more serious implication with his choice of language, stating, "A serious rape, with violence and an unwilling woman, the tariff is much longer than that [of statutory rape]." Asked whether he thought "date rape" counted as "serious rape", he said, "Date rape can be as serious as the worst rapes, but date rapes, in my very old experience of being in trials, vary extraordinarily one from another and in the end the judge has to decide on the circumstances." Clarke is making a clear distinction between different forms of rape: some is "serious rape", therefore other forms of rape aren't. The very phrase is an oxymoron - we would never say "serious murder" because it's ingrained into us that the consequence of murder (death) is bad. So why don't we feel the same about rape? Perhaps because as a society we have not fully grasped that rape is not a crime of passion or lust - rape has nothing to do with sex at all, in fact - rape is crime of violence. It is about humiliating and degrading the victim and proving the attacker has power over them. I believe this is true of all rape, of all forced intercourse, all intercourse without the consent of either party. I don't think there are any date rape victims out there now who would thank Clarke for implying that their harrowing experience is lesser than someone else's harrowing experience because of where it took place and who did it. And when we consider that date rape is the most prevalent form of rape, that every day women are raped by people they know, these comments become even more unacceptable.

I acknowledge that Clarke was making his suggestions about lesser sentences for rapists pleading guilty as a way of increasing conviction rates but it's a seriously skewed vision of how to do so. We badly need reform in the way rape trials are conducted, with the victim's sexual histories and wardrobe choices frequently dwelt upon. We need to create a climate in which rape is universally condemned, in which victims are entirely free from blame and feel safe to come forward and report their attackers, secure that they will be believed and the rapist rightfully punished. Rape is the only crime where it's acceptable to blame the victim, partially or wholly, for what has happened to them and if you think 'no-one thinks that any more', let me assure you, this attitude is still alive and well, often in the very law enforcement services that are supposed to protect the victims. So much of this starts with the language we use. Get rid of the term 'date rape'; it's vague and misleading and encourages the idea that the victim was somehow complicit with the attacker. Don't talk about "serious rape" as only one form of rape; this country doesn't take the most prevalent form of rape seriously enough already. The words. They matter. Obviously, this is a huge and complex issue and one I will attempt to cover in more depth soon, regarding the upcoming Oxford SlutWalk (hugely in favour, by the way).

To come full circle, I'd like to return to the word "feminist". As I stated initially, I believe that anyone who believes in gender equality (i.e. most people) is a feminist. For me, it's not a political position but a description of my beliefs. The word has fallen prey to identity politics and negative stereotyping - so many women disassociate themselves from the word because it brings to mind the image of the man-hating, bra-burning, strident, humourless cartoon feminist. I have to say, I've never met a feminist who even remotely resembles this description. I'm sure they exist, just as any group built around beliefs has its extremists. I'm pretty sure no-one reading this would subscribe to the old 'all Muslims are terrorists' line, or even 'all animal rights activists are violent', yet somehow feminism winds up as the movement being defined by its most unstable members. And I do use the word unstable advisedly: I have read the arguments of women unable to get past their hatred, who claim all male-instigated sex is rape or that all men should be raped to give them 'a taste of their own medicine' and it appalls me. Progress never came from hatred, and the vast majority of people understand this.

I usually try and consider my language very carefully when debating gender and other political issues. Nothing makes my heart sink quicker than a well-intentioned feminist/socialist/lefty knee-jerk reaction, ranting about how "omg men all just suck!" and "Typical bloody Tory demeaning women!" and (this one is real) how we should "put Dave Willetts up on a podium and throw rocks at him". At the end of the day, ranting might be fun but it doesn't help. In fact, it just makes it easier for people to dismiss you as an ignorant brat looking for an excuse to complain and believe me, I've learnt this the hard way. So in general, I try and keep a lid on my rage and use measured language and tight arguments that address all areas of the issue. Of course, a lot of the time I fail but I am only human, and a 20 year old human at that who studies English, not politics or gender studies or economics. And do I wish I could get mad? Sure. But that's a rant for another time.

I believe in a dialogue between the sexes. I believe that we'll start being proud of describing ourselves as feminists when it feels inclusive, when both genders start to examine what it means to be male or female in the 21st century. After all, if we're going to reconstruct our expectations of what it means to be a woman, we need to readjust our expectations of what it means to be a man accordingly. I don't think we can ever live in a truly gender-neutral society (gender differences are to be celebrated, variety being the spice of life an' all) but I do believe it is possible to rid ourselves of gender prejudices. My personal feminist philosophy is that there is room for both the thinkers and the doers. We can take direct action (try and get real social inequalities dealt with - such as the way rape trials are conducted) and we can work on educating ourselves and our children, trying to change attitudes (opening up dialogues and debate).

For me, saying "I'm a feminist" is like saying "I have brown hair". It's just a description, a shorthand. The movement has become divisive and factionalised over the years, as with any complicated or sensitive cause, and it's easy to forget the very essence of feminism: that women and men are equal, and deserve equal rights and opportunities. It's also about choice - wanting to live in a world where a man or a woman can choose to have a career, choose to raise a family, choose to walk on the moon and there's no societal pressure or stigma attached to their choice. If all the people who have ever said "well, I believe in equal rights but I'm not a feminist" stood up and proudly declared "I am a feminist", we could bring the movement back to these two basic tenets and restore the word's positive political power. "Feminism" not only describes my beliefs but the will to do something about them.

So own the word "feminist" and be proud of it whoever you are because, in the end, it's really only a by-word for the beliefs you likely already hold. I'd even go so far as to say that, in the end, feminism is only common sense. And if you're not ready to order your 'This is what a feminist looks like' t-shirt quite yet, then at least consider the mantra I've been repeating this whole time: the words you use when discussing gender, class, race, politics matter hugely. Choose them wisely.

*Sarcasm.

Saturday, 7 May 2011

I Feel Like a Pair of Curtains: Doctor Who - 'The Curse of the Black Spot' Review

As you can see, I'm already running out of Doctor-related material for my titles.

Okay. Well. Firstly, let me just say, Saturday was a bit of a meh day. Not a bad day, just sort of...meh. So I was faintly amused by the irony of being served up a Doctor Who episode that was also not bad, just...meh.

I suppose it's good for me to be occasionally reminded that this show is really for kids, it helps me not to devolve fully into one of those fans who gets in a lather because OMG NEW DAVROS ISN'T RIGHT and DOCTOR WHO IS THE NAME OF THE SHOW, THE DOCTOR IS THE NAME OF THE CHARACTER. Actually, fun fact about that: I refer to the character as 'Doctor Who' initially when talking to non-fans (or 'Normies' as I like to call them) and then subtly slip into calling him 'The Doctor'. This has a dual effect: a) I don't sound like an anally retentive freak who makes sure to get these things right, yet b) more importantly, the correct name just might subconsciously filter through their layers of Doctor Who-indifferent neurones and I won't have to restrain myself from correcting them in future by biting my tongue so hard I draw blood.

But even so, that episode was kind of lame. I mean it was, right? Come on now, that was exactly the kind of thing I'd expect from RTD circa Season 4 (Reboot not Original Series) *snort, push glasses back up nose*. No, but seriously. It probably wouldn't have felt so formulaic if it hadn't come straight after a particularly head-twisty Moffat Special and according to my sources (Wikipedia) it was supposed to air much later in the series, presumably by which time we'd be all settled in and a silly old romp about space pirates and Lily Cole wouldn't go amiss. But after that series opener, even with all its problems, it just felt a little weak and lacking in - there's that word again - scale. I mean, objectively speaking, it wasn't terrible. Nowhere near as disappointing as, say, The Unicorn and The Wasp (Agatha Christie, monster was a giant wasp, remember it? yeah, thought not) or Daleks in Manhattan (still my least favourite NuWho episode ever) or that weird Christmas special with Kylie Minogue. I mean, what even was that? Jesus. But I digress.

We should, perhaps, take my disappointment as a positive thing. In a latter day, I might have watched the episode, not enjoyed it, shrugged and gone "eh". The fact that I feel let down is surely an indication of a higher standard overall and that the show's really moved beyond the TARDIS-shows-up-at-a-historical-location, historical-locals-fear-supernatural-occurances, Doctor-divines-supernatural-occurances-are-aliens-in-some-form, Doctor-fixes-aliens, everybody-hugs formula. Plus, we all know that the best bits about historical episodes are those nerdy, facetious little anachronistic jokes like the recurring 'Celtic' thing in the Pompeii episode and Shakespeare asking if "To be or not to be" was "a bit flowery", and a non-specific 18th century sailing vessel doesn't really have enough that's instantly recognisable about it to make those kind of gags. You know, the ones that elicit a wry chuckle from you and make a whistling sound as they fly way over the head of your eight-year-old cousin.

To be fair, we did get "Yo ho ho! ...or does nobody actually say that?" but I'm not even going to pretend that was funny. And that was the main problem with this episode for me: the writing. Not the premise, because I like pirates as much as the next girl who was pushed off the Cliff of Sexual Awakening by Johnny Depp, and I like the idea of the siren and it all looked kind of cool I guess, but the plot and the dialogue were just poor. I mean, everyone just turned into an idiot. These capable, reliable characters who we have seen get through much worse just turned into total fucking morons as soon as they set foot on that boat. The Doctor left the TARDIS as it was dematerialising. Last time that happened, it was a HUGE DEAL. We had a whole episode with James Corden in it as a result. There wasn't even anything to suggest staying inside it might have been, I dunno, life-threatening or even mildly perilous. Amy regressed from 'head strong' right back to 'bitch who doesn't listen to anyone even when they clearly know better' with her swash-buckling routine, ignoring the desperate cries of men telling her that she could literally kill them all leading to the old "yeah, you better run" routine, which is rarely funny and, as in this case, often makes an annoying character more annoying. It's also a disservice to Amy as a character because, yeah, she's a bit arrogant and feisty and whatnot but she's not - as I said - a total fucking idiot who seriously believes that a ship full of experienced pirates are seriously going to be put off by a girl with the physique of a baby giraffe brandishing a sword like it's going to bite her hand off. Wouldn't it have been a million times more endearing and cool if she or Rory or, say, the Doctor, whose job it kind of is to figure this stuff out, had sized up the situation and realised that their reactions were disproportionate and they could use this to their advantage? Or something. But hey, what do I know? I guess it's just a good thing River and Canton didn't show up the participate in the fuckwittery or I would have had to do a particularly violent mime of punching Stephen Moffat in the head. yeah, you better run. (See? Annoying.)

Plus Amy's "Saving your life, okay with that are you?" line was just pure cringe. To be fair, it wasn't just Karen Gillan phoning in her performance. Everyone was doing it, even (*gasp*) the hallowed Matt Smith, Who Can Do No Wrong. I know the dialogue was, to borrow a vulgarity, gash but for some reason I just though the acting turned out really wooden and sucky as well. The whole thing was both slowly and clunkily paced for the first half hour, then the last fifteen minutes lurched wildly into a totally different tone that destroyed any maritime creepiness we might have been enjoying. Jeez, you know what? I'm just going to get it all out now. Take a deep breath.

Hugh Bonneville was barely trying, his character was a jerkass that somehow got redemption he didn't really deserve (he let his son die for money) and can somehow fly the freakin' TARDIS (seriously, can everyone do this now?)/any random spaceship because "a ship is a ship" (yeah...no) and the Doctor is all cool with this. Speaking of the son and most of the other 'deaths', they pretty much all could have been prevented by someone just grabbing the person reaching for Lily Cole's boobs and hauling them below decks. We saw them do it for Rory. They couldn't do the same for the other guys because of what? Plot Induced Paralysis? Yeah, pretty much. The technobabble about the ship occupying the same space as the other ship was the worst kind because it had no seeming internal logic to it - I followed the entirety of The Impossible Astronaut/Day of the Moon but was shaking my head over that. Despite their weirdly big amount of screen time, the crew characters were underdeveloped, your standard Gruff Sceptics and Self-Interested Human Bastards, and had no apparent reaction to being stuck forever in another dimension hundreds of years in their future trying to adjust to potentially insanity-inducing concepts like 'space travel' with nothing more than a goofy smile and a "huyuk, cool dude".

Okay, you know what? I didn't like this episode. I'm done trying to be fair. It was a poor job all round and it really doesn't surprise me to learn that it was written by the same guy that wrote The Blind Banker, the second (and worst) episode of Sherlock (also written and exec'ed by Stephen Moffat), once again full of usually capable characters having fits of Idiot Disease because the plot required it and a ton of lazy Chinese stereotypes that really shouldn't be allowed anymore. Anyway, I checked out this guy's credits (Stephen Thompson, if you want to know you to address the angry letters to) and it looks like he's still pretty young, lots of plaudits as a playwright but relatively little experience doing screenplays. The two are very different disciplines. To go from no experience in that field to big, high profile stuff like Sherlock and Doctor Who is probably inadvisable. While I love that Moffat has clearly found a new BFF, maybe he should read the scripts they churn out before he lets them air their stuff on primetime TV.

Despite my ranting, I still stand by my opinion that it wasn't a bad episode, per se, just kind of lazy. Overly reliant on cliches, characters acting out of character because the plot demanded it, and, worst of all, it just didn't feel like an episode of Doctor Who. Not the Doctor Who we've gotten used to anyway. I strongly suspect Thompson isn't really a fan of the show - in fact, I'd be surprised if he'd ever watched it before of his own volition, apart from maybe a marathon with last season's box set when he got the gig. It was like someone trying to prove there was a formula for Doctor Who - like someone who'd never seen the show before went "I know how this works, it's easy, look". So for me, this episode actually proved something great about Doctor Who: when the whole of time and space is your playground, there are n excuses for lazy writing.

I kind of don't know what to think about next week now. The opener was too complicated, this week was too simple. Third time lucky? Let's hope. It certainly looks intriguing, and Neil Gaiman is a fantastic writer (yes, screenwriter too), already possessing the Children's Gothic sensibility of last series. I daren't hope but Neil - I'm counting on you. For the love of Gallifrey, please don't let me down.

NB Just realised that the only 'clunker' (in my opinion) of last series (Daleks in WW2, Spitfires in space, exploding robot human...yeah, that one) was also the third episode. Maybe the slot's just cursed. I feel better now.