The Cutprice Guignol

The Ninth Year: The Haunting of Swill House

Category: Television Review

A Wanker’s Literary Reaction: Ash vs Evil Dead

So, I have a somewhat scandalous admission to make: I’m not that huge a fan of the Evil Dead series. I know, I know, I can hear you yelling at me now- “I thought you said you were a fan of horror!”. And I am. It’s just that, for whatever reason, Sam Raimi’s seminal video nasties never quite smashed their way to the same level of obsession that, say Friday the 13th or Nightmare on Elm Street or, um, Final Destination (look, I’m SORRY) did in my head. Which is not to say that I don’t get it- I do. They’re great, and Raimi revolutionised indie horror with his innovative gore and balls-to-the-wall sense of fun. But I was coming to the reboot of this series without too much preciousness about the original movies on my mind, is what I’m saying.

That all said, I was pretty pumped for the premiere of Ash vs Evil Dead this Halloween (which I spent dressed as a genderswapped Beetlejuice or Wednesday Addams, depending what day you found me, so everyone else needs to up their constume game). After the catastrophic TV “re-imagining” of classic horrors like Rosemary’s Baby, this one seemed to have something that set it apart from the pack-namely, the involvement of the original directors and and the always-welcome presence of Bruce Campbell.

And I mean always welcome in the most literal sense possible. If he was to walk through my front door right now, I’d be like “hey, Bruce, let me pour you a glass of brandy and we can talk about setting the wedding date”. Did I mention that I love Bruce Campbell? Because I LOVE Bruce Campbell. He’s the greatest bad actor there ever was, and he’s probably the most iconic part of the original Evil Dead franchise, mainly because he looks like he’s having more fun than perhaps anyone else has ever had in front of camera (except me in my sex tape, but that’s another matter).

I’ll be honest, I’d probably let him finger me even with the chainsaw hand. Is that awful? That’s awful, I’m sorry.

And that’s the one thing that stands out above all else in the season premiere of Ash vs Evil Dead- just how much FUN everyone seems to be having. Utilising as many of the same visual tricks as the original movies (as well as keeping the Deadites looking the same as they always did, thankfully), there’s no part of this episode that didn’t make me grin. From the superbly executed horror sequences (the one in the haunted house that was lit by a spinning torch was legitimately inspired, and really worked) to the dumb humour to the batshit crazy action scenes, this show knows how to balance it’s horror and comedy perfectly. I wrote about Scream Queens a few weeks back, a show which pretty much failed to strike a comfortable balance between the two, and I was struggling to think of a TV show that actually did- until this came along.

COOL

I guess what I like most about it is that it isn’t attempting to come up with gritty new takes on old-school horror. It’s just having fun bringing the goofy, funny, scary, super-violent feel of the original movies to the small screen, with a bit more space to develop characters and plot. While we’ve certainly seen some great horror over the last few years- from Cabin in the Woods to The Babadook to The Visit– it’s been a long time since something with such an obvious B-movie quality has broken through to the mainstream. I’ve missed seeing someone having genuine outright fun with the genre, and in that respect alone, Ash vs Evil Dead has me on board as a viewer, just to see where they can take this next.

American Horror Story, Hotel: Indefensible

Well, that’s it: they’ve fucked it. They’ve gone too far. There’s only one way to describe the premier of American Horror Story’s fifth season, Hotel, and that’s indefensible.

The show had always threatened jumping the shark, but here they’ve less jumped it than nonconsensually sodomized it in a seedy motel room. Series one and two balanced so carefully outrageous camp (Jessica Lange feeding the corpse of her husband to her dogs, a possesed Lily Rabe delightedly choosing a cane with which to beat her asylum-bound charges) and genuine emotional stakes (ugh, the “Never trust a drunk” scene between Jessica Lange and Francis Conroy in season two, basically), but series three and four seemed to throw any kind of semblance of over-arching plot to the wind in favour of…witches? The sentient head of Kathy Bates? Denis O’Hare getting Freaks-ed?

Suddenly, they weren’t dedicated to creating interesting, thematically coherent stories with plenty of dark horror elements; they wanted to make hyper-camp, unbelievably bad taste exploitation flicks that yeah, did occasionally hit some televisual sweet spot and remain kind of entertaining. Every season, there seemed less and less that was compelling about the show. Sure, there were a few great performances, some good scenes, some great lines, but none of it hung together as anything other than a series of halfway connected vignettes. With a big overhaul in place for their fifth year, I was hoping that they might reclaim some of the decent stuff that had made the first two seasons so compelling.  But with the first episode of season five, Checking In, out this week, I think I may have lost the last vestiges of goodwill I had towards American Horror Story.

I recall when Denis O’Hare got actual acting to do!

Right, let’s get this out of the way. Here are the things I liked about that episode: Kathy Bates’ acting, Sarah Paulson having a legitimately sassy role, the tantalising promise of Evan Peters. There. That’s it. I’m done. Wes Bentley’s performance as the tragic cop who winds up living at the hotel is good, but everything about his crime-scene investigations comes off as cut-price Hannibal (mainly because he reminds me of Chilton a little bit) with elaborate and violent mutliations that serve no actual plot purpose beyond having a guy’s penis glued inside a dead girl’s vagina. And hey, that starts us off on my first major gripe with this episode: the outrageous amounts of sexualised violence.

Look, I have a pretty strong stomach for almost any kind of violence. I watched The Human Centipede 3, for Christ’s sakes. I can appreciate violence when it’s either done well or adds something to the plot; outside of that, I’m not really going to enjoy it, and it’s going to take a lot of convincing for me to believe that it’s necessary. And this episode…yeesh. There were hot blonde teenagers being force-fed in their skivvies, there was a shockingly unsexy soft-porn sequence where a vampiric Lady Gaga (more on her later) and her partner hump then murder an unsuspecting young couple, and there was, of course, the scene where a dope fiend got violently sodomized with a spike.

Honestly, my rule for these kinds of things is that if Se7en wouldn’t do it, there was probably a good fucking reason for that.  And that reason is that showing, in pretty graphic detail, a man getting raped with a giant spike only enlightens the viewers as to what a man getting sodomized with a fucking spike looks like. The scene genuinely upset me, and also made me really angry, because Ryan Murphy and his team have been throwing around sexualised violence a lot in their shows recently, often to no real conclusion. This was just an extension of that in the worst possibe way: we learnt nothing, we were told nothing, and it all seemed like an excuse to show us something “shocking” and “edgy”, trivialising the pretty grotesque act. Do you remember the rape scene in series two, where the camera slowly pans in on Sarah Paulson’s traumatised face, and how impactful that was? Compare it to this scene: vile, exploitative, and simply there to feed the dumb gross-out violence of a certain subset of horror fans (note: this is the second time someone has been bummed to death in this show. Just so we’re keeping count). I hated it. I HATED it.

But let’s focus on some other elements of the show. Firstly, Lady Gaga: if there’s one thing I could say for certain that Lady Gaga has, it’s presence, but for some reason it just didn’t translate on screen. Her line readings veered between terrible and just bearable, but she was a nothing of a character beyond the outrageous outfits and dirty, kinky sex, neither of which she really carries off. Her partner, Matt Bomer, is playing a nineties boyband star- not literally, but take a look at these photos and tell me I’m wrong:

-and he was fine, but in a completely forgettable way. The two of them had a kind of Spike-and-Drusilla vibe, if Joss Whedon had had the bad sense to show the audience the two of them constantly boning. It’s their relationship that makes it interesting, not the constant soft-porny shots of Matt Bomer’s ass. AHS has a long and proud history of showing copious amounts of man-ass, but this was too much, even for me (have you seeeeeen the pictures of Finn Wittrock this season though? Can’t handle that hotness, because at least 30% of my attraction towards this show is the unbelievably gorgeous men).

UGH BRB DYING

More than anything, the show felt like a series of disconnected vignettes. If you’ve had the misfortune of watching Kanye West’s godawful Runaway, then that’s the best point of reference I can find for Checking In. It was dumb, all over the place, with apparently no real urge to go anywhere or do anything or explain any of the reasoning behind it’s often tasteless choices. American Horror Story has always been trashy TV, but this went beyond that and into the realm of exploitation for the sake of exploitation. The whole thing reads like Gaga’s own Bad Romance video: occasionally cool, wierdly headwormy, but ultimately signifying nothing.

Scream Queens, or Ryan Murphy Fools Me Again

So, as you may know, I have something of a…troubled relationship with Ryan Murphy. The writer/director/showrunner, along with his oft-partner in crime Brad Falchuk, has produced some of my favourite and some of my least favourite television of the last decade or so. On the one hand, the turgid back end of Nip/Tuck’s run. But the other, the spritely first season of Glee. But then, everything after the first season of Glee. However, American Horror Story. And on and on into oblivion. His TV produce, as far as I’m concerned, is almost astonishingly patchy, but yet I still find myself drawn to whatever new pile of bubblegum poison he’s pumping on to my screen. No matter how ridiculous the concept, how outrageous the casting, how badly I know in my soul it’s going to go wrong, he fools me every time and I come back for more. And that’s how I found myself watching his new show Scream Queens.

Look, there’s a lot I like about Scream Queens. For one, it’s a hearty, unambiguous salute to a specific genre of horror- the teen slasher, which is one of my personal favourites (Friday the 13th REPRESENT). It’s packed full of in-jokes, gloriously violent and horrible deaths, convoluted backstories, and plenty other genre tropes that make me clap my hands together. Plus, there’s the cast, made up of my favourite actors from other Murpchuck shows: Lea Michele from Glee, Emma Roberts from American Horror Story, etc. Plus, there’s Jamie Lee Curtis (basically playing Jane Lynch’s character from Glee, gloriously)!

The plot revolves around a sorority house, led by a sociopathic president (Emma Roberts) who’s intent on keeping her house for the pretty and popular- using deadly means. Initially, the show has it’s charms- the bubblegum world studded with hideous, violent death (spray tan replaced with hydrochloric acid, head-in-the-fryer prank gone wrong, etc) is pretty great, and I actually kind of enjoyed Nick Jonas’ guest turn as the simpering suck-up to the most popular guy in school. The show seems to be having a lot of fun dismantling those cliches, even if it is done with the usual level of sledgehammer subtlety from the team behind this sequence. Skyler Samuels, as pledge Grace Gardner, really reminds me of Jane Levy in Suburgatory, with her laid-back charm that doesn’t slide into gratingly pointed territory, and the almost all-female cast look like they’re having a ball- of course, as anyone who’s even glanced at her work before, Roberts is glorious as the poisonous valley girl, while supporting cast like Abigail Breslin (as one of Roberts’ cohorts) and Lea Michele (as a socially awkward new pledge) fill out the world.

But I’ll tell you the one thing that doesn’t really work about it: the horror. Look, I get that this is a comedy series before a horror series and that’s cool: in fact, I’m hoping the heavily tongue-in-cheek take on horror might get a few more people to seek out the films they’re lampooning and then I’ll have someone to talk to this shit about. But there’s an uneasy balance at work here. The show’s main villain, the Red Devil, has a pretty cool design that suggests someone somewhere was half-taking this seriously-

Ugh, let’s be real, I would probably wear those trousers in real life.

-and it seems at times as if we’re meant to find them scary. The direct horror sequences lurch wierdly between satrical and serious, and it’s not that good. Look at something like Scream, the ultimate meta-horror. Remember that first time you saw the opening sequence and how shit-scary it was? Yeah that’s what Scream Queens needs. It needs someone who isn’t afraid to really twist the knife (if you’ll excuse the pun) and go hard on the horror, partly because it helps make everything else look so starkly, ludicrously great in comparison. Maybe I’m a horror snob (in fact, no damn maybe about it) but, for all it’s good points, Scream Queens just isn’t doing justice to it’s horror icons.

Dammit, I know I’ll probably be watching the rest of the series. He’s done it again. He always does.

Sense8 is Bloody Excellent

Look, let’s get one thing straight: I think Sense8 is a great show. But I’d be doing you a disservice, as a noted cultural critic, by not mentioning Freema Aygeman in it.

Ugh. You might remember Aygeman as Martha Jones from series three of Doctor Who, where she displayed a similairly staggering lack of acting talent. I know some things are down to taste, and some people prefer different acting styles and what have you, but I defy anyone to look me in the eye and tell me this woman can act. She’s an infuriating black hole of talent, a gaping maw of awfulness that threatens to engulf the entire show in it’s wake. She’s stilted, her accent is hilarious, her character impossible to buy into, her chemistry with the cast almost non-existent. It’s genuinely difficult to look at the screen when she’s on it, because she’s that astoundingly, unwatchably terrible. And I can’t pretend that she’s not part of the show. So, fair warning: don’t think I’m giving her a free pass just because she lucked on to Netflix’s most interesting show to date.

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Underrated Sitcoms to Waste Your Summer With

The sitcom is a very specific breed of TV show; there’s a balance between the witty and mawkish, as groups of friends and/or family go through continually contrived ups and downs. But it’s the televisual equivalent of someone handing you a steaming mug of tea and telling you not worry because they’ve already got dinner in the oven. They’re easy, they’re familiar, and occasionally they offer a gateway to a very specific kind of TV-watching comfort. So today I’m taking a break from Fifty Shades of Grey, and taking a look at the most underrated sitcoms of the last ten years. Prepare to have your summer wasted.

1. Happy Endings

This was a show I caught ten minutes of once, then avoided like the plague until a distant crush on Zachary Knighton pulled me back in. And I realized why I didn’t like it the first time round; Happy Endings has a spiky, difficult, sour edge. It doesn’t welcome you in; it subverts all the sitcom tropes you expected it to abide by, and has it’s own rhythm and chemistry the likes of which I haven’t seen before or since. Centred around six friends living in Chicago, it sounds like you’ve seen it all before, but relentlessly sharp humour, manic, try-anything energy, and a fantastic leading cast (Adam Pally as Max is the queen of my heart) make this a cancellation to weep over.

2. Suburgatory

I rolled my eyes so hard when I heard the premise for this my eyes almost vanished into my skull. Teenage girl gets moved to the suburbs by uptight single dad? Kill me. But this is probably my favourites on this list. The chemistry between leads Jeremy Sisto and Jane Levy is comfortable and warm, thrown completely at odds against the sharp-edged, synthetic world of Chatswin. It’s packed with fabulous supporting characters- where to start? Perhaps with Ana Gatseyer and Chris Parnell as the day-glo sinister Shays? Maybe Alan Tudyk’s repressed, unstable dentist? Cheryl Hines warm-hearted walking hair extension? Or, as we should all agree, Charly Chaikin’s terrifying Dalia, a automaton Barbie doll who’s some mix of human and horrifying? Amongst all the batshit crazy stuff, there’s a powerful emotional core at play here, with a perfectly plotted arc revolving around parenthood that packs some genuinely surprising emotional punch. Fuck it, here’s Ana Gatseyer singing Barracuda:

3. Viscious

Did you really, truly think you were getting through this without a British sitcom? You poor fool. Anyway, Viscious is my guilty pleasure- Derek Jacobi and Ian McKellen as an elderly bickering gay couple, with the voice of my dreams Frances de la Tour as their long-time friend and neighbour, Violet. Throw in my new TV chrush Iwan Rheon- have you seen his weird handsome face? Have you?- and you’ve got the recipe for an unchallenging but occasionally hilarious show. Yeah, it’s old-fashioned, but in that nice warm, fuzzy way British sitcoms from the seventies are- with canned laughter, racy jokes, and real effort put in to developing the leading pair. Best served with wine.

A Wanker’s Literary Reaction: The Flash

“MY NAME IS BARRY ALLEN, AND I’M THE FASTEST MAN ALIVE!” bellows Grant Gustin cheerily over the opening credits of The Flash, a hectic series of primary-coloured blobs with happy/frowny faces whose entire first season arc was scribbled on the back on a napkin and the lost down the back of a cab seat.

The first time I saw Grant Gustin, he was playing Sebastian, a sexy, charming, devious gay guy trying to hook up with Chis Colfer’s boyfriend in Glee, of all places. For some reason, his most memorable moments on the show came during this amazing performance of Uptown Girl-

(for reference, Grant Gustin in the one standing next to a pillar with a vase thing on it at 8 seconds in, and also the only one from this show whose career hasn’t been permanently derailed by it)

– So whenever  I see him wander, often apparently lost, on to screen as Barry Allen/The Flash my mind immediately shouts a line from that song at me. But that’s not to say Gustin (UPTOOOWN GIIIRL) isn’t kind of brilliant- he’s the epitome of bumbling charm, being a nice guy without being a Nice Guy (the kind who mope and frown because they’ve been “friendzoned”). The Flash- a super-fast superhero alter-ego of Barry’s who fights crime created after an accident- is essentially just an endearingly serious and shouty version of Barry, who’s just yer normal everyday forensic investigator with a face as cute as a puppy made of ice cream. He’s the centre of what is probably my favourite superhero show on television right now, which is saying kind of a lot because superhero movies and TV shows are beyond played out for me right now. Sure, I gave Arrow (The Flash’ mother series) and Agents of S.H.I.T.E a go, and sure, a picture of Stephen Amell holding a baby made my womanhood explode like a nuclear weapon. But Gustin (SHE’S BEEN LIVIN’ IN HER WHITE BREAD WORLD)- and his show, by extension- have an old-school, Gerry Anderson charm in the simplicity of both character and plot that sets them apart from the overly slick antics of The Avengers or-God forbid- Gotham.

The supporting cast- including That Guy Who Played JD’s Brother in Scrubs, Gruff Detective Father Figure, Gruff Detective Father Figure’s Intelligent and Beautiful Daughter, and the one nerdy guy on TV who’s somehow not an unbelievably annoying exaggeration of the worst parts of myself- are superb, and the simple backstory (big explosion, boom, megapowers) allows loads of time to fill in the universe around Gustin (AS LONG AS ANYONE WITH HOT BLOOD CA-AN). The villains are my favourite part of the show, by far. Plucked seemingly verbatim from the comics, they wear giant goggles, have guns that shoot ice, deliver terrible quips as they wreak havoc, and generally stalk around the place looking like they’re actually enjoying ruining countless lives because no-one has bothered to stop them yet. Give me bad guys who look like they’re having more fun than I did the whole of last weekend, and you’ve got me hooked.

I like that kind of brazen simplicity- I don’t need things to make sense when they’re fun. Sure, if you want to go hardcore on serious backstory, be my guest, but superhero shows that don’t work a healthy dollop of self-awareness into the mix are just throwing all their potential to the winds as far as I’m concerned. Go kick around the back entrance of the Game of Throne’s writers room if you want some serious work, I’m pretty sure they have a terrifying sweatshop of writers just attempting to keep up with how many characters are in the damn show.

I don’t demand high levels of camp from every series I watch, but that’s not to say I don’t miss it from time to time. If there’s one good thing that Gustin (AND NOW SHE’S LOOKIN’ FOR A DOWN-TOOOOWN MAN) has brought over from his time at Glee, it’s a bit of silliness. Everyone on screen during every episode of The Flash looks like they’re having a whale of a time, and it shines through every frame to turn Barry Allen’s antics into something really quite charming. Hard to fault? Probably not. Hard to dislike? Completely.

Hemlock Grove: A Wanker’s Literary Reaction

Yup, I’m combining blog series. Deal with it. Look, in theory I LOVE Eli Roth. To be honest, I find him as a person tremendously interesting- he’s spent decades immersed passionately in the horror genre, getting dirt under his nails and blood on his shoes in the name of making better horror movies. Which would be brilliant if the horror movies he made were actually any good. I feel horrible saying this because he’s clearly deeply knowledgeable and passionate about a genre that I consider the greatest one out there, but his films straddle an awkward boundary of wanting to pay homage to the classics while still making an original story with Roth’s stamp all over it. It seems to be a case of having a director so totally surrounded by a certain type of film that he, subconsciously or consciously, peppers his films with far too many genre clichés to truly separate his own work from that of his predecessors. Add to that the images of sexualised dead bodies in Hostel- which I find utterly, unforgivably grim no matter the gender or situation-and you’ve got a man who I love almost entirely outside of his films. But not, perhaps, outside of his TV shows. I’m taking a look at his Netflix series Hemlock Grove for the first time, and this blog post will serve to document my honest reaction accordingly. I’m also drinking every time I see nipples, a murder, or nipples AND a murder in the same scene.

Seriously though, nipples AND blood in the opening scene.

Seriously though, nipples AND blood in the opening scene.

Look, I’ll be honest: this isn’t a GOOD show. Not by a stretch, But that doesn’t mean that it’s not buggeringly good fun. Imagine if Twilight had actually had a sense of humour and a bit of self-awareness; this is what you’d be looking at. With Peter Rumaneck, troubled Romany He’s-DEFINITELY-Not-A-Werewolf who moves to the town of Hemlock Grove with his mother, swaggering about with the kind of easy, sexy charm that the aforementioned young adult series could have done with in spades. Though he’s placed up against an interminably awful love interest-who, within moments on appearing on screen, announces “I’M A NOVELIST”, a move which simultaneously makes me want to punch myself in the face and reminds me that I have that planning for my book to do- he manages to sparkle on-screen in an entirely non-Edward like way. Imagine if Twilight was told from Edward’s point of view- some weird girl turns up and starts obsessing over him, and he’s just trying to get on with his life- and you’ve got the gist and thrust of this character. The script also has great fun with his settling into the discomforting elements of the town, such as when he’s apparently the only one to notice a shuffling, groaning woman with light pouring out of her face wandering down the school corridor as lights flicker ominously above.

What I like most about the series, though, is the Godfreys. An old-money family with some dark secrets and a seriously nice house, we meet the fabulous Famke Jamsen early on as the matriarch of the tribe, a brilliantly awful cow who brings just the right level of pissed-off repression to the role. Then you’ve got Roman, the seventeen-year-old tearaway, a man so beautiful that I don’t think I’m bisexual any more. Seriously, the first time he came on-screen-

LOUISE - WIN_20141217_001216

– my jaw actually fell off. A bit of research reveals that he’s Bill Skarsgard, marking the third series that’s secretly dominated by an incandescent performance from that family (Alexander Skarsgard in True Blood, Gustaf Skarsgard in Vikings, Bill Skasgard in This Show Which I Will Only Remember Because He’s Super Fucking Hot). It helps, too, that they’ve given him plenty of fun to have with the role, hissing “Do the fields need tiiiiilled?” when he’s woken up too early for his liking. He’s one of those people for whom serious material would be too easy, so they’ve handed him a cornucopia of weirdness and fun to the already tongue-in-cheek show.

The direction- courtesy of Eli Roth, at least in the first episode- is occasionally inspired (such as the found footage-y sequence of a young girl fleeing from an unknown monster) but sensibly takes a back seat to scene-setting and exploring the fabulous possibilities the series’ hometown has to offer. The centrepiece direction sequence for the first episode is undoubtedly a flashback to Roman’s childhood, which is filmed like a B-movie-right down to Famke Jansen’s hand languidly dangling a glass of wine over the edge of a seat-and proves that Eli Roth’s admirable horror knowledge can work beautifully if it’s deployed in the right way.

Based on this first episode, I will be watching the rest of the series. It’s not the best thing on TV in a technical sense, but it’s certainly got it’s charm. The writing is solid and brought to life by some enthusiastic performances from the cast, and everyone seems to be going at the campier elements hell for leather. If American Horror Story ever needed a campier, more teen-friendly spin-off then this is it. That said, I am now pretty drunk so don’t take my word for anything.

Doctor Who: Timorous Adventure Reflects Directly Improving Series

Well, this is it: the end to one of the most dissapointing series of television I’ve ever been privy too. Yes, season eight of Doctor Who had a tantalising amount of promise, and delivered in a slim ratio of episodes- but more often than not, was churning out one-shotters than landed somewhere between mediocre and actively violating. We’ve swung from the dizzying highs of Listen, to the dismal lows of Deep Breath and- whisper it- Kill the Moon. But with a solid first half of a finale under our belt from last week, we swing into action for the last time until the Christmas special with Death in Heaven, with a major metropolitan centre overrun with cybermen (for, by my count, the third time), and the soaringly glorious return of The Master, as Missy. Ready to crack on?

danny-pink

I said last week that the success of Dark Water really rested on how good this follow up was- if this hour-long special really cocked it up, the impact and power of that first half evaporates into nothing. Until this episode was broadcast, Dark Water hung in an odd kind of halfway house, wherein it had been broadcast and seen and critiqued, but no-one could really give a definitive opinion on it yet. And now we can.

I don’t think Death in Heaven was as good as last week’s outing. I think there were some spectacular high points to the episode, though, and those do not deserve to be buried underneath the niggling problems that arose. Firstly, let’s talk about those performances. It came down to a central four: Clara, Danny, the Doctor, and Missy. Right off the bat, let’s talk about Michelle Gomez: I imagine one of the most offputting things about bringing the Master back was that John Simm was devastatingly good in his take on the character, a psycopathic, charming, charismatic, slightly saucy nemesis that had an unassailable hold on our lead character. But Gomez sold it with style, more than living up to the mantle of the character and practically leaving me swooning over her best moments. She was magnetic, brilliant, and any number of synonyms for greatness that define how good that performance was. She was magnificent.

 

Delicious.

Delicious.

Jenna Coleman, too, did very well it what would essentially prove to be her send-off episode. Like last week, it was her interaction with Danny that served as the emotional core of the adventure, landing just short of schmaltzy and remaining tremendously affecting throughout. She became the first assistant to make an active decision to let the Doctor go, as opposed to being taken from him or having him taken from her, which gave her a pleasing bit of agency. Did anyone else get the feeling that we’ve still got a lot of questions about Clara that need to be answered, though? The most pressing one for me is where the knock-off Dannys (Dannies?) we saw earlier in the series came from, and I’d still really like to know about the whole being-scattered-throughout-the-Doctors-timestream while we’re on the subject. Samuel Anderson was sensational, as ever, despite the fact that I’m furious to see one of the most succintly drawn, consistently performed characters leave the show after only a handful of really meaty episodes. I would have loved to have had more time to really get under his skin and enjoy that performance a little londer. Capaldi had a blinder too, with his climatic scene- discovering that Missy had lied to him about the location of Gallifrey- carried out in silenced audio but with maximum pathos. It was stark, dramatic, and a centrepiece for this incarnation.

And while we’re on the good stuff, let’s mention Rachel Talalay’s direction, which was brilliant, how excellent the cybermen looked, a beautiful nod to the Brigadier, and what was broadly a pretty solid script when it came to the talky scenes. But I’m sure you can see where this is going, and I won’t keep you waiting much longer; I was pretty underwhelmed by the series finale.

So many interesting points were brought up in last week’s episode that seemed to be muted or ignored here. Danny meeting the child he killed, only to choose to send him back to the land of the living to Clara at the end of the episode, made sense, but could have used a bit of fleshing out. And when you consider the hour-long runtime, surely they could have cut silly little scenes, like the one where the Doctor is declared President of Earth (which bore no relevance to the plot that I could fathom), to make room for some building-up there. I was also seriously disappointed by the lack of Missy in the episode; sure, she was there, and she did wonderfully when given the screentime, but the script was far more interested in the dull rehashing of Army of the Dead from series two than it was with their reincarnation of the Master. In my eyes, at least, that’s a mistake. I’m dissapointed to assume that this is the last we’ll be seeing of Michelle Gomez’ incarnation of the Master, as she barely got time to inhabit the character before she was snatched offscreen by the Brig.

Ah, Jenna, you were tremendous, talented, and tiny. My sexy Bambi.

Ah, Jenna, you were tremendous, talented, and tiny. My sexy Bambi.

There was also the problem of the cybermen themselves, as they’ve now been given the ability to fly (because SHUT UP), and appeared to fly about using fart power which was upsettingly hilarious. On that point, why would UNIT assume that, after finding out the cybermen could fly, the safest place for the Doc was in an aeroplane? It all smelled like a spurious excuse to have a slightly shite scene of the metal men tearing the plane apart, and killing off tertiary characters who’d been given enough screentime to lead me to believe we were supposed to care about them. Speaking of which, say farewell to Oswin, who bought it by being a huge idiot in front of Missy in a stupid, stupid sequence that I can’t even be bothered touching on.

Broadly, I’d say Death in Heaven reflected the quality of the series overall. It hit some strong emotional notes, but too often was focused on creating glam action sequences and MAKING A POINT than it was about telling a really good story.  I’ve been on a rollercoaster with series 8, sometimes magnificent, sometimes getting stuck upside-down in a loop-the-loop for half an hour and making me feel a bit sick. But with a new dawn and new plot points to chase for Capaldi’s Doctor, cut loose and on his own, I’m confident that what we saw this year was simply the teething stage for a character who’s going to make us forget Into the Dalek ever existed. Death in Heaven wasn’t a goodbye, despite what it looked like: it was a big, brash hello to Capaldi’s solo Doctor, cut free of any Matt-Smith related trappings (sorry, Clara, Oswin, etc) and given a chance to shine on his own. I want this series to be wonderful again, and, given some time to recharge, re-evaluate, and re-assistant, I think it will be.

SERIES 8: AN OVERVIEW

I feel like this Peter Capaldi gif will be coming in very handy for these recaps.

How did this get here?

Episodes rated, from worst to best: Kill the Moon, Deep Breath, In the Forest of the Night, Into the Dalek, Death in Heaven, Flatline, The Caretaker, Robot of Sherwood, Time Heist, Mummy on the Orient Express, Dark Water, Listen

Best Moment: Danny’s final “I love you” to Clara in Dark Water. Heart-explodingly poignant.

Worst Moment: “I HAVE A DUTY OF CARE”. THEN DON’T TAKE YOUR STUDENTS TO THE MOON.

In A Sentence: Even it’s staggering highs couldn’t obliterate the cringing lows, but cherry-pick Capaldi’s wobbly first series and you’re left with some great television.

Out of Ten: Six.

Doctor Who: Tiny Alien Regulates Destruction of Insubstantial Scribbles

I’d like to draw your attention to this. A dear friend of mine and long-time reader of my Fifty Shades of Grey recaps (so she politely claims in my presence, anyway) is currently fundraising for a trip to Ecuador where she’ll teach English to kids, and you should give her all your money because she’s excellent and because if you don’t I’ll think worse of you. But seriously, it’s a trip to give a all-round top-notch human female a chance to do real good, and any donations would be amazing. ‘Kay? ‘Kay.On with the review!

This week’s Doctor Who, Flatline, was a very solid episode. I’ve been saying for weeks now that this Doctor and Clara just don’t match up, and splitting them up- as they did here, with the Doctor trapped inside a miniature Tardis and Clara assuming his role as the roving, innovating saviour of the day- gave the episode a brisk, fun energy that’s been missing in Clara’s storylines of late. A huge shout out to Jenna Coleman in this episode, too, who did a trememdous job reminding us why she’s one of the finest assistants to ever grace the show’s writer’s room. Here, she took on the role of the Doctor- Matt Smith’s Doctor, specifically- which allowed her some great interactions with a very solid supporting cast.

Once again, the monsters this week- two-dimensional creatures who sucked unsuspecting victims into walls and floors and suchlike- were good, but basically irrelevant. Den of Geek pointed out in their review that the monsters for this series are increasingly becoming a framing device for the thematic elements of the show, often with great effect- Listen- but this often strips them of any real menace. I couldn’t help the nagging feeling that these creatures might have been all the more chilling in the hands of a different writer, a different showrunner, and a different director. Were they competent? Yes. But they weren’t scary, and they should have been.

Flatline was big on cool special effects- a moment where a train was absorbed into a wall, leaving nothing but the careful outline behind, was excellent- and fun sight gags, like the Doctor’s full-size hand reaching out of a miniature Tardis to give Clara some deus ex machina device to save the day. Aside from being terrifically short on Danny Pink (next week’s episode, which I am insanely pumped for, seems to feature him heavily), it was a strong entry into a patchy series.

There’s something I have to admit, though. For the first time ever, I’m not excited about watching Doctor Who. I watch these episodes because I’m waiting for something to draw me back in, to excite me enough that I find myself hunched over iPlayer waiting for the next episode to come on. Listen almost did it, but was followed by a bunch of episodes that were competent but not compelling. For me, at least, this isn’t must-see television. This is television that’s static. It’s stuck in this endless loop of cleverness and cool themes that were brought up years ago and still fail to be resolved; cleverness is a brilliant thing in a TV show, but it has to be backed up by the substance to warrant it.  Compare Moffat’s masterpiece Blink-which had a strong emotional throughline as well as a fiendishly clever plot- to this series. Nothing has roared through the screen in a trail-blazing mass of unforgettable television; everything is a whimper, not a bang. And this saddens me, because I feel like I’ve grown out of Doctor Who, maybe for good. Of course there will always be a place in my heart for the time-travelling madman, but these episodes aren’t rollicking or exciting or moving or stunning me the same way they used to. Frankly, there’s much better things to be watching at the moment (Vikings and American Horror Story, off the top of my head), and that’s bad when your show has such an original idea with seemingly endless plot possibilities. Is it salvageble? Probably, but it’s going to take big changes to make it so.

I’m far too sad to have Moffat yet. Someone get me a drink.

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-

mummy-on-the-orient-express

-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.