Television Review | The Cutprice Guignol

October 13, 2014

Doctor Who: Terrific Adventure Raises Discussion of Inelegant Season

After last week’s fiasco of an episode (divisive though it was, I have yet to meet someone in real life who actually liked Kill the Moon), I was seriously putting off watching this week’s outing, Mummy on the Orient Express. For one, they’d once again added the suffix “In SPACE” to give an otherwise fine story a science-fiction twist (this week, the famous train was thundering through the cosmos despite the fact that everyone on the train was still dressed and acted like they were fro the 1920s). And for another, a big deal had been made of the villain, and that sends warning signals sparkling up and down my cynicism spine, as all the really good monsters have come with no fanfare whatsoever. Eventually, with much wincing and eye-rolling, I sat down to this week’s outing.

And I was pretty pleased with the results. For one thing, that Mummy-

-Was genuinely scary. A great to-do was made (by me, on Twitter) about Doctor Who shifting to a half eight slot because this monster was just SO SCARY, and I’ve got to admit that it really was. A great, shambling, rotting creature that only appeared to those who it was about to kill, allowing them sixty-six seconds after it first materialised till their inevitable death. The idea was cool, as with many Who monsters- but for once it was carried off with style, even managing to stick the landing of actually finding out what the creature was and how to stop it, which has been a continual faltering point for writers this series. I’d put this up there amongst the better monsters of the show so far, and not just because they managed to work in an Empty Child joke (“Are you MY mummy?”) for all the fangirls like me who never got over 2005. If you’re going to do scary, do fucking scary; it seems my angry letters have finally reached the Doctor Who writer’s room.

So, the story was solid and surprisingly focused, proving my point about Clara and THIS Doctor working better when seperated once again. I like both this Doctor and Clara, but on screen together they come across as a stroppy teenager and a patronising parent in any combination almost permanently. Frank Skinner guest-starred, four words that can strike fear into the hearts of any British TV fan, and actually proved himself a surprisingly excellent addition. His mischievous cleverness gelled perfectly with the Doctor’s dour investigation, and Skinner acquitted himself admirably, earning a place amongst the best guest stars of the last few seasons. A grand deal was made of an appearance by singer Foxes, which amounted to a twenty-second background musical noodle. Lovely voice, though.

So ye: this was a great episode. But? The jury is still out on this season. And that’s a problem. We’ve had some blindingly good outings- Listen-some above-average exploits- The Janitor, Time Heist, this- and we’ve had some shockingly atrocious bits of television- Kill the Moon, mostly, but I think Deep Breath still has a lot to answer for regarding the all-over-the-place nature of this series. Part of that has come from the fact that Capaldi and Coleman have a very different chemistry than she did with Matt Smith’s Doctor, in a way that apparently wasn’t really anticipated by the writers or directors. They seem keen to wrap up her relationship with the old Doctor, when the new one needs time to establish himself free of the shackles of his predecessor. Broadly, this season has been a disappointment, as they ignored the opportunity to reboot what was a slightly ailing series at this point (would you rewatch any of Matt Smith’s final series out of choice?) and stuck to their increasingly scattershot guns. Watching this series has increasingly confirmed my suspicion that we need a new showrunner, and we need them soon. There’s no doubt Moffat is a genius of television, but he needs something new to breathe life into. Doctor Who fans have seen all of his occasionally impressive shenanigans, and it feels like time for someone else to have a shot at the wheel. A new day, a new Doctor, and preferably a new behind-the-scenes maven to apply electrodes to the show’s genitals. They’ll have you yet, Moffat.

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September 28, 2014

Doctor Who: Teacher Aides Rude Doctor In School-Save

I think I’ve finally worked out what I like so much about Samuel Anderson. Tonight gave me the chance to get a really good look at him as Danny Pink, and the one thing that struck me about him was his eyes. They’re almost black to look at straight on, and they have a sadness to them that brings a doe-eyed vulnerability to what could be (and indeed has been) a cheesy, cut-out role.

But it wasn’t just his eyes I noticed in this week’s entertaining romp, The Caretaker (and I’m not talking about the head-tilt and slow nod when the camera lingered on his very agreeable buttocks at the end of a scene). It was a fun episode in terms of superficial story, and an insane amount seemed to happen in those three-quarters of an hour- indeed, the first twenty minutes had enough plot and banter to fill out a whole episode satisfactorily. The plot, which involved the Doctor masquerading as a school janitor while he stalked some sort of deadly war machine thing (which looked like a repurposed Ref Bot from Robot Wars, but I digress), was a puff of air, and the real conflict came from the characters.

Danny Pink was put at the front of this episode, and it paid off. I’m swiftly falling in love with this character and the performance, and I really can’t stress enough just how lucky the creator’s got with Samuel Anderson- he’s likeable without being a pushover, and treats Clara, now his girlfriend, well without unquestioningly allowing her to put herself in danger. He’s placed at odds with the Doctor throughout the episode, and Clara finds herself trapped between the two men she loves in very different ways. The Doctor hates Danny because Danny is a soldier, and Danny hates the Doctor because the Doctor is an officer. This idea- of the Doctor being a very different kind of war-mongerer-is one that is given the proper dramatic weight that it deserves, and the nasty, scratchy atmosphere between the two adds a vital layer to what could have been a throwaway episode. I could have done without Danny front-flipping over the alien war machine at the climax of the plot, but we all knew he was going to save the day somehow, and this at least looked fucking excellent. A quip-tacular Doctor sealed the deal, with Peter Capaldi never funnier that when he’s harried.

A few seeds were sown for later episodes as well, which I enjoyed in so much as I enjoy someone repeatedly pinching me so they can inform me that I’m about to get hit by a train. Sure, I appreciate it and am broadly glad that it’s there, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t roll my eyes a tiny bit an wish for just one, straight episode. We were formally introduced to Courtney Woods, the schoolgirl at Clara’s classes who very clearly has something to do with a bigger arc because MOFFAT (I think she’s the younger version of the next assistant, because that’s the kind of shit he just loves to pull). And, more thrillingly, we saw a virtual Thick of It reunion as Chris Addison rolled up at the end of the episode to introduce a hapless policeman, who bought it at the hands of evil war machine thing earlier in the episode and was promptly forgotten about, into the afterlife. I couldn’t here much over my boyfriend’s excited mewing (like a six foot kitten, he was), but I imagine the message boards are already exploding with theories regarding his cameo. I certainly am.

Overall, the episode was a good ‘un. It was slightly forgettable, in the sense that I will not remember the story at all, but had enough great moments that will stick in my brain- the flicker of sadness over the Doctor’s face as Clara announces that she’s in love with Danny, for example. It was an episode of stellar performances, and credit must go to Samuel Anderson, who is exquisitely excellent and one of the most instantly likeable and original introductions to the series in years, for his continually stellar work. How long till you kill him off, then? I’ll have you yet, Moffar.

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September 24, 2014

Doctor Who: Totally Awesome Robbery, Director Imitates Soderbergh

There was a bank heist. In space. You see, the characters of the show were in space. And they were there to carry out a bank heist. Hence: Space bank heist. I’m not sure if you’re following me here, but the events of this weeks episode revolved around a bank heist- following me?- but it was in space.

I was pretty taken with the concept behind this week’s episode alone, and, after the belter that was Listen last week, I was hoping for something that held onto the dark tone while still carrying through a tight, well-constructed plot. Time Heist did a pretty good job fulfilling both roles.

I was expecting far more of a caper than we actually got, and it did deliver on some capery aspects- the demure British bitch stock character played magnificently by Keeley Hawes made sure of that. But it was actually a pretty interesting episode aside from the premise alone- the alien that featured was legitimatley excellent, a creature that detected guilt and proceeded to literally turn your mind to soup TILL YOUR SKULL CAVED IN AND YOUR BRAIN LEAKED OUT OF YOUR EYES. It was a nifty idea, and one that was shown in gratifyingly edifying detail for a Saturday night teatime show. See, this for me is where Doctor Who provides a genuine public service- introducing children to the brilliance and subtlety that makes up really good horror. Being frightened of a TV show or a movie or an audiobook (damn you, Anthony Horowitz’s Granny) but still thoroughly enjoying them when you’re a kid leads you to binge on Joe Hill, Stephen King, Lovejoy, Ramsay, et al in your teenage years, then drops you into the deep end of great horror movies as you blossom into gory adulthood. More horror fans mean more horror movies and books made by people who understand the genre and want to create something new, which I will consume and go on about while drunk for the following eight months. Ergo, Doctor Who has played into my hands once again. The prosthetics on the creature gave in a menacing presence, and the concept was cool enough that even the slightly cheesy ending didn’t undermine how cool it was. I give it a season till we reach it’s tenth episode.

The story itself was pretty paper-thin, but interesting, mainly thanks to a fascinating supporting cast. This takeaway-carton companions thing is one that can either work spectacularly (Sally Sparrow in Blink, Madame de Pompadour in Girl in the Fireplace) or terribly (Tim McInnery in that Ood episode that I hate, Kylie Minogue aboard the Titanic), but here they allowed just enough characterisation that their fates actually came to mean something, making the heist more about just some ingenious Doctor scheme taken out of curiosity. It was a pretty non-descript episode for Clara, who got to run around scary corridors for a bit, which was pretty disappointing. Next week’s fiasco looks like it involves Danny Pink in some way, which delights me, as I’ve developed a life-threatening crush on Samuel Anderson that can only be treated by regular doses of his lovely facial features, and presumably some extra Clara as they are clearly doing the horizontal shoe shuffle.

Overall, this episode was a good one. Following from a stunning episode like Listen is always a tricky one, but Time Heist had enough Ocean’s Eleven-y fun with the premise while indulging in a lot of curious sci-fi ideas and scary moments. On a scale of the whole eight seasons, Time Heist probably wouldn’t rate particularly highly. In terms of this season, however, it’s far and away the next best episode of the season after Listen, and has thrown into sharp relief just how mediocre-at-best the start of series eight was. After a wibbly beginning, things are on the up- they better keep in that way. I’ll have you yet, Moffat.

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September 16, 2014

Doctor Who: Terrific Acting, Radical Developments, Intrinsically Sensational

It’s taken me this long to get this review up because my mind is still boggled. Some of thay bogglation comes from a return to uni (I got asked twice how I as enjoying my first week in university, and gave directions to a first year who was at least five years older than me. It’s all wrong, so very wrong) and a majestic thrity-hour streak of sleeplessness, but the majority of it comes from this week’s episode of Doctor Who, Listen.

I’ve long considered Doctor Who to have two main stories running parallel to each other at all times. One story, which is usually the dominant one, is just the plot of the episode- the first, second, and third act of a usually self-contained script. The second is a larger plot by scale, but not by screentime- it’s the overarching mythology of Doctor Who, the thread that ties together decades of TV into a cohesive, singular character. It’s the Doctor’s story.

Listen, an episode that re-established Steven Moffat as the television genius that I’ve been missing in the last few years (yes, I didn’t like the last season of Sherlock. Handle it), was an exploration of the latter. Frankly, the story itself- the Doctor obsessively trying to catch a creature he has theorised that can hide from everyone- is no great shakes, though it provides some properly creepy moments. The b-plot, concerning Clara going on a date with Danny Pink, was irritating in so much as it forced conflict with some obviously provocative lines about his ex-soldiership, but tied in nicely with the main story that implies that Pink and Clara will do the familial nasty and pop out some sprogs later down the line (I also watched Samuel Anderson, who plays Pink, behind the scenes of the show, and can confirm that his engaging enthusiasm isn’t just in that character. Seriously, he might be one of the most likeable actors on TV, both on and off screen). It’s hard to explain the central plot as it was scattered across a number of places and times, basically following the Doctor’s obsessive search for something that may or may not exist. It’s a cool theory, and one that lets Capaldi take a microscope to the iconic role to great effect. In my mind, at least, he IS the Doctor now. Clara had a good run too, as Coleman is totally engaging and brings so much to the table as an assistant and as a character in her own right.

The story is really there to let us examine the Doctor a little more closely. He doesn’t even start the episode off with Clara, the pre-credits cold open featuring a monologue from a lonely Doctor who later refuses to reveal how long he’s been travelling alone for. Here, he’s mad in a way that he hasn’t been in a long time- not the David Tennant overworking brain, or Matt Smith mania, but obsessive and, possibly, wrong. But by far the most interesting part of his plot- and the most interesting part of the series so far- features the Tardis crash-landing in a barn. Clara steps out and hears a child crying, and goes to comfort him. It’s then revealed that the child is, in fact, the Doctor, as Clara delivers a speech to him that echoes exactly a speech given by the Doctor to a terrified child earlier in the episode. I imagine that, like me, a thousand Whovians exploded simultaneously-I properly, with no hint of irony, gasped- but it was more than just shallow fanservice or Steven Moffat deliberately picking the path of most resistance, which is how I’ve often felt about big reveals like this. This was organic, genuinely shocking, and rendered the whole episode more meaningful. They had successfully managed to move the much larger plot along without completely losing the story in the mix, pulling in events from Day of the Doctor an the rebirth of Gallifrey in a way that gave us a deeper look into the current Doctor, while setting up longer strands for Clara and Danny Pink in the future.

Reading all that back, it is a miracle that this episode didn’t get overwhelmed in it’s own substance. I can honestly say, though, that Listen ranks among the best episodes of the new series, taking my worry about a running of steam and pissing them to the four winds with glee. You know what, Moffat? I won’t have you, yet. Congratulations.

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September 7, 2014

Doctor Who: Tosh and Rambunctious Dithering In South

My dad grew up with Doctor Who in much the same way I have. He kept up with a few episodes of the new series, and we were discussing the newest season in Skype last week. I had my pouty face on because I hadn’t enjoyed the last couple of episodes-too serious, too clunky, not quite Doctor Who enough. Me and my father came to the conclusion that the problem with those episodes (and some episodes of the previous series) was that the creators had forgotten their roots- Doctor Who was created, after all, as a children’s television show that taught unsuspecting kids about history. It was always a little bit naff and a little bit silly- which is not to say it couldn’t be scary, funny, and emotionally resonant at the same time, but, ultimately, this is Saturday night family TV and the show is best when it remembers that.

I felt like this point had been vindicated with last night’s episode Robot of Sherwood (it’s always fun to see a historical episode that isn’t set in Victorian London, though it was clear that the cast and crew had just sidled over to the few remaining sets from the BBC’s ill-advised Robin Hood redo a few years ago while no-one was looking). It was terrible on surface level, but actually pretty carefully constructed on closer inspection. It followed the story of the Doctor and Clara foiling a plan by the evil Sheriff of Nottingham with the help of Robin Hood- despite the fact the Doctor is convinced that the entire legend of Robin Hood is just a legend.

It seems like someone had just bothered watching The Thick of It for the first time, after having the DVDs gathering dust in the writer’s room for six months, and realised that this Peter Capaldi guy is pretty funny when you put him in conflict with someone else, whether he’s swordfighting with a spoon or engaging in a three-way archery contest. The Doctor really developed for me in this episode, becoming, like a pokemon in cool shoes, the next stage of his evolution- the funny Doctor. The script split him and Clara up for much of the running time, leaving him bickering with Robin Hood and leading peasants in rebellion against evil robot knights. I mean, just read that sentence back- that’s what I come to Doctor Who for, that zenith of nonsense and fun.

Splitting Clara off from the Doc proved a good plan too, as her level and type of energy was matched by the numerous periphery characters in almost every scene instead of clashing with that sour energy that Capaldi puts out. Ben Elton, as the sleazy Sheriff, was brilliant and a little bit sexy (I’ve still got a hangover crush from Primeval), and the merry men were appropriately merry and manly. The episode broadly tied in to the plot established in the first episode about robots trying to rebuild themselves and return to the promised land (a plot I assume will culminate with the cybermen, who we know will appear in the finale with Missy), but was basically just an audaciously plotted, utterly ridiculous slice of family TV. I was willing to forgive some of the silly plot wobbles (like the golden arrow being shot into the spaceship) because Robot of Sherwood never set itself up as a fiendish masterpiece. It came in with a party hat on squint and a bottle of cheap wine in it’s hand looking to have fun.

I’ve long been a supporter of the art of TV that’s simply fun, and here was an episode that provided me with a score of reasons why. I’m not claiming this was any great shakes at theme, or emotional depth, or fascinating ideas- I’m saying this was an episode of TV that succeeded in entertaining me for fifty minutes, the very reason I fell in love with the show in the first place. Welcome back, Doctor Who.

That theme song is still the root cause for all evil in the world, though. I’ll have you yet, Moffat.

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August 24, 2014

Doctor Who: Tertiary Aliens Rapidly Devolve Interesting Story

Do you know how long I’ve waited? After a bland Christmas special (which was somewhat of a misnomer) and the promise of a new, darker, older, more Scottish Doctor, eight months sailed by in an agonising trill of teasers and Coleman. By the time last night came around, I was practically sick with excitement- here, we had the introduction of a potentially game-changing Doctor, handled by one of the most experienced and competent showrunners in the industry. This, as I declared several minutes before starting the episode, could not go wrong.

As I’m sure you can guess, it swiftly did. The episode wasn’t a complete write-off, to be fair- I chuckled at a few of the less ham-fisted jokes, and appreciated a magnificent Matt Smith cameo that only made me pine for him more- but overall, I was left, not just dissapointed, but fuming by the Doctor Who season eight opener, Deep Breath. Indulge me for a moment, would you?

Infuriation Point 1: The Plot was Sloppy

Let’s cast our eye back over some wonderful DW episodes of yesteryear- Blink, The Empty Child two-parter, The God Complex. These are all episodes that are utterly airtight. You can watch these and watch these and watch these and not find one slip-up in the writing, one loophole that the characters presumably missed. Within half an hour of Deep Breath ending, me and the Consort had successfully picked obvious holes all over the plot (for example, the title was taken from the idea that the villains were unable to sense living creatures of they were holding their breath. So the central characters just stood very, very still at a climatic moment, holding their breath and waiting for the Doctor to come through, instead of running as far away from the monsters as they could while they were under their radar, which has been established as possible earlier in the episode). The episode would have made a very passable forty-minute mid-series romp, but it flagged hugely in it’s almost eighty-minute runtime. I don’t want to pick holes in Doctor Who, but if the writing is as slapdash as this was, I have to. Moffat has written some of the hands-down best episodes of the series ever, but that doesn’t give him a free pass to oversee episodes that both a) pointlessly reuse pretty good villains from six years ago that everyone sort of forgot about or b) contain a plot with the structural integrity of a skyscraper made of trifle.

Infuriation Point 2: Strax, Vastra, Jenny

I discussed in a review for The Crimson Horror last season that Strax, Madame Vastra, and Jenny were great characters who would, in the great Doctor Who tradition, be overused until we were sick of the sight of them (see: The Ood, The Daleks, Martha, etc). And I’ve been proved right against my will here, as they twirled into a room in tight leather brandishing swords and suspended by ribbons without a hint of a tongue anywhere near a cheek. Vastra came off as kind of patronising, and the heeeeee-larious Sontarans-don’t-get-people-LOL jokes are getting pretty boring. More to the point, I would have much preferred Capaldi’s opening episode to be about him and Clara, as opposed to wasting scenes with Clara nipping at tertiary characters.

Infuriation Point 3: Capaldi

Right, let’s be clear here: I thought Peter Capaldi was EXCELLENT in this episode. He was funny, charming, and extremely likeable. And my gripe with this new Doctor might be just mine, but it’s this: he didn’t seem like the Doctor. He didn’t have that mania or that sense of two thousand years of history or that ability to make it look as if his brain was about to burst with thought even when he was saying nothing at all. Whether or not this was a stylistic choice to depict his confusion after regeneration I don’t know, but I’ll be keen to see if this changes as the series goes on. I wonder, too, if the fact that every other Doctor I’ve seen I’ve been coming to with next to no prior knowledge of, while Capaldi inhabited one of the most iconic comedy roles of the decade has something to do with my inability to see him as a timelord. I did catch myself willing him on to declare something the “FUCKING OMNISHAMBLES” more than once.

Miscellaneous

Ben Wheately, an indie film director who helmed this episode, managed to make it look actively sloppy a few times. I didn’t like the utterly pointless re-use of old villains, especially not when you have a brand-new Doctor to play with. The ending suggested a rehash of the dreaded River Song plot, which I am minus okay with. There was no mention of Gallifrey, despite the fact they brought it back in the 50th Anniversary Special to great fanfare. The Scottish jokes (“You all sound ENGLISH!”) were pointless and, frankly, can we keep the independence campaign out of a kid’s teatime show?

With all that said, there was a lot to recommend to this seventy-six minutes of television. A nod to the Doctor’s moral ambiguity with a jumped/pushed question mark, a few meta nods to the fact that Peter Capaldi was in the series before, and some musing on the nature of the Doctor’s relationship with Clara (which apparently a lot of people hated but I utterly adored) that was pulled off with tenderness and subtlety. There’s enough here to go on to tempt me back, dammit, and it looks like, as Capaldi, Clara and the new improved Tardis, I’ll be back next week.

But hang on: did I spot some Daleks “done in a new way” (floating Dalek eyes???!?!??!??!?!) yet again in next week’s teaser? I’ll have you yet, Moffat.

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August 12, 2014

A Wanker’s Literary Reaction: Smash

I came home from a night out a few weeks ago, drunk, suffering from what my social group colorfully refers to as the “drunchies”. On the way home, I had picked up a tactical loaf of bread, some cheese, and some delicious pickle. Sloppy, drunk, fancy cheese on toast was on, son. I got home, assembled my pieces of toast with magnificent stacks of cheese, lashings of pickle, a positive monument to all things good. I whacked it in the grill and promptly forgot about it. By the time I remembered, my towering temple of dairy was black and my toast was cinders. It was heartbreaking. Seeing something with so much potential, so many chances and possibilities to be great, is never right. And that brings me neatly onto my topic of the day- Smash.

Smash was pitched to me as a kind of West-Wing-On-Broadway affair, a behind-the-scenes dramedy about putting on a Broadway show. A kind of grown-up Glee with bonafide stars and original songs. It sounded like the perfect show for me.

And I’ll give it it’s due; I watched both series. But I don’t think I’ve even got space in this review to tell you everything that was wrong about this show. And I have an unlimited wordcount. The whole thing reeks of unrealized potential. Take Jack Davenport, playing wankery director Derek, a man a penchant for sleeping with his leading ladies. Cliché as fuck, certainly, but possibly offering a chance to explore the people behind the people. As it was, Davenport swaggered around dreaming of his bit part in Pirates of the Caribbean.

And he was probably the best character in the show. Anjelica Houston, Tom Borle, the magnificent Broadway actress Megan Hilty….carried to the four winds by a rearing, tri-headed beast of bad writing, no characterization, and unenthusiastic performances. Of course, credit must go to leading lady Katherine MacPhee. An American Idol contestant, she can sort of sing if you squint your ears a bit, but sadly often resembles a child’s crude drawing of happy/sad faces sellotaped onto a bollard. Chick can’t act.

Many of the writers spoke out about the apparently tyrannical rule of showrunner and creator Theresa Rebeck, claiming she was insistent on carrying dull, unimportant storylines to their sorry conclusion despite attempts at intervention. This theory would hold up better had she not been replaced in the second series, which promptly proved itself to be more boring than the first and, disquietingly, apparently co-opting on a real-life tragedy. The first series at least succeeded in inflating the camp (often with a laborious foot-pump, but still) to an enjoyable level on occasion, but the second became a stream of non-sensical plots and characters who were surely the last, festering pieces of shit to be picked off the wall.

The show did occasionally prove itself brilliant to Broadway nerds like me (hashtag watchedthetonyawards) particularly with the staged song numbers like the one below.

That’s Megan Hilty singing as Marilyn Monroe on the set of Some Like It Hot.

And that’s what made it even more frustrating. In different hands, with different writers and a rejigged cast, this could have been a catty, clever, campy jewel. The Smash we’re left with is a desolate wasteland of humorless, questionable, often dull television. But on the horizon, there are distant sparkles of West End glitter. And the perfect slice of cheese on toast.

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April 3, 2014

How They Ruined How I Met Your Mother

I’ve been watching CBS sitcom How I Met Your Mother for more than five years now; what started off as a slightly clever dramady turned into one of the sitcom mainstays of American television, running for nine years as it followed the story of five friends trying to make it in New York. No, not friends-don’t mention Friends. The people behind this show have never heard of Friends. They didn’t know what that show was about, though maybe they caught a few episodes when the TV was on in the background. But HIMYM is nothing like Friends, when you think about it-for a start, there were SIX people on Friends. They could go on, but there’s no need, as there is literally not one similarity between their original creation and Friends. Not one.

Either way, the show came to an end on Monday night after nine seasons and many ups and downs-both in the lives of the central characters and the quality of the show. But I stuck with it and it became a regular in my weekly viewing-funny, occasionally sad, a little surreal and ultimately predictable. Told in a framing device where the central character recounts the story of how he met his children’s mother to his bemused offspring, it played off fore-knowledge, flashback and unreliable narration for pathos. And after watching the finale, it’s safe to say I’m furious with how the show chose to throw nine years back in it’s audience’s face while prancing around blowing raspberries and stealing their cigarettes.

I’ll try to avoid spoilers here, but suffice to say the show indulged in a spectacular amount of flashforwards for it’s final hour-and in doing so managed to undermine the relationships they spent so long building, both this season and for nine years. Much of the show revolved around main character Ted’s relationship with (female) Robin-we knew from the off that she was not the mother, but Ted frequently found himself drifting back into the fantasy that she might be The One. Eventually, he began to slowly, painfully let go of that belief and open himself to someone different-someone, probably, better. A brave and interesting way to handle a will they/won’t they, it was believable and felt like an earned growth of character as he finally let her go for the last time.

I think what makes a great sitcom finale is the idea that life goes on. Friends and Frasier did it best; you got the sense that everyone’s lives were going to continue, but you just wouldn’t watch them living them any more. How I Met Your Mother lay everything out with no room for argument-here is exactly what happened to everyone for the rest of their lives. If you don’t like it-tough. There’s no room for speculation. If we want to repeal character development, major relationships, and key plot points, we will. There was a distinct feeling on the ending being decided on years in advance-and it was, with some character’s reactions having to be recorded within the first few years of the show’s inception- and the writers found themselves stuck with it, attempting to steer the careering plot lorry away from the edge of a cliff they knew they couldn’t avoid.

Some people have argued that by making unexpected (and unpopular) choices, the writers have moved HIMYM towards some semblance of reality. What they forgot was that we don’t come here for reality-we come here for glossy fiction. You can’t feed us exotic eclairs for almost nine years then act surprised when we spit out soggy toast and margarine-nine seasons of charming, witty fiction matched with an hour of sad, depressing, unlikely and unguessable stabs at reality left many viewers (including me) feeling cheated. The finale was not the ending to the show I’d been watching for five years-so I’ve decided to erase the ending from my memory and enjoy it at it’s-entirely unrealistic-best.

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February 24, 2014

A Wanker’s Literary Reaction: Girls

Now, let’s get this straight. Girls is by no means an awful show. In fact, it’s one of the more entertaining comedies to come out of America in the last three years. At no point during my binge-watching of this polarizing sitcom was I actively not enjoying the brainchild of the supremely talented Lena Dunham, and what follows is mainly a reaction to the astonishingly passionate reception the show’s garnered over it’s three-season run. point-by-point, shall we?

It’s Derivative as Shit

Now, literally any show that follows the lives of twenty-somethings in New York can be considered original. That’s just a fact. With the existence of Friends, Will & Grace, Gossip Girl, How I Met Your Mother, 2 Broke Girls, etc etc ad finitum, no show is going to truly break new ground with this premise as it’s been gone over a thousand times in a thousand different ways by a thousand different people. That’s not to say that’s a bad thing, necessarily- New York holds a certain allure to film and television that almost no other city holds. That’s not my issue, though-my issue is the fact that Girls is Sex and The City.

The first episode shows one of the lead characters with a poster for the SATC movie on her wall; this pale nudge-nudge attempt to deflect attention from the almost unbelievable amount of crap these shows have in common. Like Carrie, lead character Hannah (played by Dunham) is a writer with a chequered sexual history and a gay best friend. The other three girls fall more or less into their respective roles- uptight Marnie works at an art gallery and describes herself as a serial dater (Charlotte), Soshanna is an ambitious and romantically reticent with a brilliantly logical mind (Miranda), and Jessa is promiscuous, straight-talking sexual free spirit (Samantha). Now, just one of these similarities you might have gotten away with- you have to consider the us of archetypes, after all-but there are various other plot points peppered throughout the series that stuck in my proverbial craw- one character dating an older, aloof artist who’s really kind of a dick, the destructive on/off relationship between the lead character and a man with a compelling nose, and the issue-of-the-week episodes (abortion, STDs, break-ups, etc) make the whole suspicious similarity thing a bit too, I don’t know, fucking clear to anyone with a mind. Now, I’m not defending SATC here-a 7/10 show at it’s best- but credit where credit’s due, Dunham. Subconsciously or consciously, you’ve created a Muppet-Babies version of Michael Patrick King’s adored series, but with nudity squared. And that brings me too…

The Nudity is Not Groundbreaking

Now, we’re comfortably past the point where seeing tits on TV leaves everyone clutching their pearls and swooning into the nearest mantlepiece, so it’s not the mere act of nudity that’s been deemed “groundbreaking” in Girls. No, it’s that we see Lena Dunham-a basically normal-looking woman-with her clothes off! Now, I’m all for trying to break down the destructive image that media presents of people at every juncture, and showing a normal person naked without trying to smooth out all the jiggly bits is undoubtedly a damn good thing to do (and a brave choice for Dunham). But the whole furore about it is undermined by the fact that every single other character on the show-man or woman-is inestimably buff, well-groomed, and up to the physical standards we’ve come to expect from people we deem worthy to point a camera at. With numerous accusations of black tokenism in the show, I’m surprised no-one has brought up the other blatant token in the show; the token normal.

It’s Also Just Not that Groundbreaking

Many people have commented on the realistic depictions of post-college, pre-family life-the disappointment, the financial difficulty, the fallible but hilarious female leads. But you know what? I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen women struggling, being unglamorous and still remaining stonkingly funny at the same time in Spaced, Black Books, Fawlty Towers. I’ve seen life as a young adult in Fresh Meat, Coupling and Peep Show (interestingly, all British shows). I don’t find Dunham’s creation to be anything new- a decent riff on an old theme, no doubt, but by no means nobly breaking down barriers for realistic, less-than-perfect women in comedy or the brutal realities of real life as a young adult.

And the presentation of characters who are often unlikable and make bad choices in almost every fucking episode (revving up for a rant here) is nothing new, either; in fact, it’s far easier to create unlikable characters who we cringe at than it is to create bastards we really relate to. Maybe my vision on Girls is somewhat blurry because I’ve never been a young adult striking out on my own in New York City for the first time, but that shouldn’t be a problem-characters and situations can transcend, and in Girls they simply don’t. It’s like watching a life I don’t want to lead starring people I don’t want to be doing things I don’t want to do.

Other than that, decent stuff.

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January 24, 2014

It’s Always Sick in Philadelphia

A good orgasm is like a good orgasm. The physical reaction can’t be recreated in any other way (except maybe eating prawn cocktail crisps) and are vitally individual to each person. There are some experiences and events that are simply incomparable to anything else, and there are so few things that aren’t moderately universal. With literally everything shared online, next no to phenomenon, cultural, social, or otherwise, is individual to any one group any more. One of the most important parts of a person, in my eyes, is the little things that are solely theirs; and by far the one I value most in a sense of humour. And I believe I may have found the people with possibly the most wildly creative, surreal and, most importantly, one-of-a-kind sense of humour in the world: Kaitlin Olson, Charlie Day, Rob McElhenny and Glenn Howerton, also known as the main cast and creators of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

A basic sitcom premise-four friends own and work in a bar in Philly-quickly evolved into being one of the most shockingly unpleasant and consistently hilarious shows on television. The real genius lies in the characters- selfish and shrill Dee, insurmountably disturbed but cheek-tuggingly cute Charlie, half-manipulative, half-blindingly thick Mac, and psychopath Dennis. Many, many shows have tried to create something dark and edgy and boundary-pushing (the only one that has succeeded on this level, and for the same reason, is League of Gentlemen), but their first mistake is making the characters even vaguely likable. While most sitcoms will try to deal with innocent-ish characters battered by a bizarre and incomprehensible world, It’s Always Sunny presents a world that’s constantly horrified and confused by the gang’s exploits.

While similair things have been attempted in sketch shows, these characters work on a long-term basis (nine seasons, no less) because we know what awful, awful people they are. We know the lengths they’ll go to, and we’ve seen them go further-and this works on the double stakes of managing to slightly ground the majority on the wild exploits they wind up on (highlights include: performing an impromptu and highly destructive Extreme Home Makeover on a bewildered Spanish family, kidnapping and torturing a reviewer who fails to heap praise on the bar, applying boot polish to a baby in order for it to have an illustrious career as a latino child actor) because that’s the kind of terrible, terrible people their characters are. They make me want to kill myself in a wonderful way.

When it comes down to it, though, it’s just a funny show. Not since I discovered Community and heard Angela Bisset deliver the line “white-ass cracker bitch” in AHS have I laughed so hard at the wonderfully engrossing world they’ve created in Philadelphia (like all great comedies, the cast of supporting characters are genius creations-look out for the stomach-churning MacPoyle family). Yes, it’s sick, surreal, horrible and shouty, but it’s also one of the most consistently well-written, well-performed and tight half-hours of comedy you’ll find anywhere in the world right now. Cheers to that.

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Category: Television Review