The Cutprice Guignol

The Ninth Year: The Haunting of Swill House

Here’s The Thing About Internet Feminism

Let me get this out here, right in the first sentence: I’m a feminist. I believe in the elimination of gender inequality through focusing on the negative effects that gender stereotypes project onto all genders. There are various reasons that my feminism only reared it’s #feministsareugly head within the last year or so, but that’s not what I want to talk about today. I want to talk about feminism on the internet.

With the rise of sites like Twitter and Tumblr, and with the focus and debate raging over feminism that’s taken place over the last eighteen months, feminism has been forced to defend itself. BBut the problem with feminism on social media platforms is that it gets scattered; opinions are vehemently divided over almost every issue, and critics of feminism brandish this lack of unity as proof that the feminist movement may as well not exist. If we can’t even agree with each other, how are we meant to propagate any effective change in the wider world? If we can’t criticise people who openly declare their misandry (and not in the dark-toned jokes so often plucked up by the #feminismisawful hashtag, but those who actually, openly believe that men are inferior and deserve to be oppressed), how can we claim to be fighting for gender equality?

Being a feminist active on social media right now is to spend half your time dancing around a minefield of potential hypocrisy. So many issues who’s context and impact informs so much of the opinions we hold on them rise up and demand attention, while critics demand that feminists present some united front on the issue. Failing that, the front that’s attributed to us is the most controversial or the most synonymous with the misandry that many antifeminists attach to the movement. The waters become muddy with people declaring their agreement or disagreement with the most prominent opinion on the matter, and casual observers or critics are often left with a variety of vastly dissenting opinions that fail to leave any cohesive impression.

I think the size of the current feminist movement and the voracity with which people engage with feminist issues in a positive way is fantastic, heartening stuff. And eliminating those dissenting opinions entirely is surely a bad idea, as it removes the onus of debate from the movement. So here’s a New Year’s resolution for all internet feminists who feel the way I do about the movement. Next time you see an opinion that’s being attributed to feminists-whether it came from feminists or not- that you don’t believe jives with the gender equality feminism should be striving for, say so. Blog about it, tweet it, post it on Tumblr or Facebook. Say that you’re a feminist, and you don’t agree with this opinion. Give your reasons. Don’t silence voices, but try to add yours to them. Call out misandry, hypocrisy, and sexism when you see it, whether it’s within the movement or not. Forcing the feminism movement into one, single-voiced bunch is too simplistic, but providing opinions that challenge popular, seized-upon “proof” of problems in the movement can do nothing but strengthen the feminist cause.

How Do You Solve A Problem Like Katie Hopkins?

You know what Katie Hopkins is? She’s a time toilet. The ex-Apprentice contestant says something offensive, and you disappear down a Facebook/Twitter/Youtube rabbithole for as long as it takes to absorb her irritatingly misinformed opinion. Then she’s gone, fading away into  the mists of offensiveness until she next takes in upon herself to make the nation roll it’s eyes so hard we shift four inches to the left.

Yesterday, it was reported that a Scottish nurse who’d recently returned from travelling to Sierra Leone with a group of healthcare workers from Save the Children had a suspected case of Ebola. The suspicion was confirmed, and she was moved to London for further treatment. Katie Hopkins had these thoughts:

Patently, she’s acting out the colloquial definition of a wanker. And by the end of the day, Twitter was aflame with the Katie Hopkins tweets, some in defense, the rest of us in blinding irritation. Some have accused her of committing a hate crime due to the perceived racism in the Tweet. The furore has been covered in a number of news outlets, including the Independent and the Metro.

Katie Hopkins and her ilk are the mobius strip of awful; they cater to our desire to be outraged just enough to keep themselves in the legal clear. The more people react to her, the more newspapers report on her, the more people want her on their morning shows, the more people find out how she is. So next time she says something offensive, more people react. And so it goes on.

Hopkins knows how to stoke outrage with finesse. She’s not like Dapper Laughs, who accidentally blunders out stuff which he probably doesn’t realize is as grim as it is.; she’s just close enough to enough people’s real-life opinions that she often gets away with the “telling it like it is” tag, despite the fact that most rational-minded people realize what a tremendously nonsensical twat she is. So how do you solve a problem like Katie Hopkins?

A lot of people have called for her to be banned from a variety of social media outlets, and that’s not the answer. Blocking her opinions entirely confirms  you see that she’s said something stupid, don’t watch it, don’t search for it, don’t click on articles about it. Utterly, utterly ignore it. that she’s significant enough to warrant a reaction, and that just adds to the rolling stone of leathery, platinum moss. It’s confirmed to many people that she’s “too much” when that’s not true; she’s just repugnant and profoundly annoying. I am not offended by Katie Hopkins, I just have no interest in hearing what she’s got to say on anything ever again. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t got the right to say it at all. Professional offense-mongerers live off publicity, as Hopkins well knows. The only way to get her out of the news, off TV, and keep her opinions out of earshot is to cut off that oxygen. Next time you see that she’s said something  stupid, shut it down, ignore it, and encourage other people to do the same if they don’t want to hear anything from her again. Hopkins is on a cliff-edge with her career and her fame; we can provide that nudge and shut her down entirely if we don’t want to listen to her. Do it. Do it for me.

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-

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– 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 Fan? Console Yourself With Sleepy Hollow

So, I’ve been watching Sleepy Hollow recently. I was determined not to like it, as that would mean the consort had been right about a show and I would therefore never trick him into watching something like Suburgatory again (which is, by the way, utter, unparalleled genius).

But Gosh darn, if I didn’t really love Sleepy Hollow. My first attraction to the series was this;

I’d rather not say how long I spent looking for a Tom Mison picture, thanks.

That’s Tom Mison, who plays co-lead Ichabod Crane, a man transported from revolutionary American to modern-day Sleepy Hollow by witchery in order to stop evil. Ridiculous? Utterly. But Tom Mison, who pitches the comic scenes about his change in time-such as soliloquising down the phone about love to a phone operative- perfectly, is perfection. He’s at some times bumbling, at some times swashbuckling, at some times a little bit terse. He also happens to be second only to Norman Reedus in the “Men On TV I Would” list.

Then there’s this;

Well-developed, witty and consequential female characters really do it for me.

This is Nicole Beharie, who plays the police lieutenant who meets Crane soon after he arrives in Sleepy Hollow. Compassionate, intelligent, selfless, brave, and driven, Abbey Mills is one of the finest female characters on TV today and her partnership with Crane- devoid of Mulder-and-Scully style sexual tension, at least so far- is all the better for it. She also happens to be second only to Lauren Cohan in the “Women on TV I Would Do” list. Walking Dead really has the monopoly on impossibly good-looking characters facing an apocalypse.

Along with a cohort of fun regular characters- Lyndie Greenwood as Abbey’s troubled, more ruthless sister Jenny is my favourite, but Orlando Jones as a sceptic-turned-believer police chief is close behind- the duo run around trying to fight off the apocalypse predicted in the Book of Revelations. Occasionally John Noble, esteemed thesp, turns up to make dinner of the scenery and smile in an ambiguous way. And it’s as brilliantly silly as it sounds- the stories are brisk and uncomplicated, with a freak-of-the-week set up featuring some gloriously underused monster (Wendigos, Golems, Green Man etc) with some sensational real effects. It’s bright, delicious, clever fun, with a lightness of touch that stops the show ever getting bogged down in it’s own mythology.

And this got me thinking: why was it I loved this show so much? Then I realised: it’s my replacement Doctor Who. After a season in which I found DW stories too convoluted, found character tension to be forced, found the series dissapearing up it’s own arse, Sleepy Hollow is the embodiment of all the things I love about Doctor Who: the out-of-time man matched with a banterous audience surrogate, fighting monsters every week and leading everything up to a neat series finale. And so, for anyone else who’s soul was troubled by this series of Doctor Who, I cannot recommend Sleepy Hollow enough. Just don’t mess with the Horseman. Any of them.

“The Old Department” and “The Early Hours” by Louise Macgregor

new bourgeois's avatarnew bourgeois

The Old Department

The floors are cracked and white;
No windows. Corridors are long. Dry.
I can tell, they were handsome once- strong jaws, hairlines hidden under sparks,
Grey scribbled out with dye.
The toe of my pretty leather girl’s shoe catches, and I trip-
My thoughts thrown, I try to remember where I’ve been. An old dream
Beats behind every door and leeching screen.

The Early Hours

Our backs move like fins in shadows,

Half-light growing, birds singing as if they don’t know we’re hunters,

You bite with dry teeth.

I arch against the damp air,

Garrulity unraveling to a small cry

And words to syllables and sounds.

We move to a beat like poetry,

Eyes closed, lost in your cadence, my staccato note.

Louise Macgregor is a freelance pop culture and lifestyle writer with a sideline in poetry and short fiction.  She’s passionate about horror movies, late nights, and her music blog 

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The Cutprice Guignol: A Year’s Review

Well, it’s time: time for the magnificent Guignol to take a look at the highs and lows in this year’s television and film. Be warned of spoilers ahead, because I get excited about stuff and want to tell everyone about everything I’d seen.

Best Movie Performance of the Year: Jake Gyllenhal in Nightcrawler. Somehow managing to scrub his beautiful, deep, expressive eyes completely free of any emotion and it actually worked. Can’t implore anyone enough to go and see this very quiet masterpiece.

Best TV Performance of the Year: There’s a lot of competition in this category as you might imagine given the amount of fucking TV I spend all day every day watching. Special commendations have to go to Gustaf Skarsgard in Vikings (and the whole rest of the leading cast in Vikings, come to think of it), Michelle Gomez (despite the pitiful amount of screentime she got as the Master), and everyone who even considered being in Hannibal, but I’m going to go ahead and throw this one to Finn Wittrock as Dandy in American Horror Story. In a patchy season, the virtual unknown has proved himself with style, claiming some of the best moments of the series as his own as well as bringing an American Psycho-esque depth and neuroses to what is essentially a totally clichéd role.

Best On-Screen Duo of the Year: Nicole Beharie and Tom Mison in Sleepy Hollow. Next.

Accent of the Year: Kathy Bates in American Horror Story with that alleged Baltimore accent. Considering how great her performance is this season, that accent is a testament to good acting overcoming all.

Biggest Film Disappointment of the Year: Godzilla. Probably just missold, if anything, but it wasn’t anything I expected it to be, in a bad way.

Biggest TV Disappointment of the Year: Doctor Who. So much so that me and the consort very nearly never spoke again after the first episode as it so shook the foundations of our relationship. If Doctor Who isn’t good, what can I believe in?

TV Moment of the Year: I’d repressed it till now, but Michael Pitt sawing off his own face under the influence of psychotropic drugs and feeding it to dogs is eternally etched onto my memory. The woozy cinematography and presence of Mads Mikklesen’s terrifying Hannibal Lecter (the only truly great one there’s ever been, in my eyes) served to make this scene the petrifying, distorted crescendo to an already brain-bending series. Ugh. Think I was just a little bit sick into my mouth.

Movie Moment of the Year: There have been a few great ones, but the closing moments of Mockingjay part 1- with Josh Hutchinson’s Peeta battling in a terrified stupor against his bindings while a doubtful, vulnerable Katniss (Jennifer Lawrence) looks on- was ominous, brutal, and utterly brilliant.

Cheering-Out-Loud Moment of the Year: Anything involving Carol (Melissa McBride) in the first episode of The Walking Dead series five. Especially her tear-jerking but not sentimental reunion with Daryl. That woman can kick ass AND rock a pixie haircut: therefore, she’s my idol.

TV Show of the Year: Anyone who’s spoken to me since those manic few days where I marathoned both series will know that I’m going to say Vikings. The plotting is refreshingly simple in an era of Moffatian twists and turns, the performances are affecting, understated and well-earned, the characterisation is consistent and constantly evolving, the story is driven by logical character choices, the battle scenes as good as you’d hope, and it’s shot with audacious beauty and style for a low-budget, History channel drama. And Clive Standen punches someone off a chair! OFF A CHAIR!

Runner-Up: Logically, Hannibal, because it’s beautiful, utterly original, and will lodge itself under your skin in ways you won’t always like. And I say this as someone who’s watched and enjoyed seven Saw films: it’s really fucking brutal.

Movie of the Year: Nightcrawler. It won’t get any Oscars, but that’s probably just a statement as to how original, dark, and adult this psycho-thriller is.

Runner-Up: The Double, Richard Ayoade’s superd follow-up to Submarine. Jesse Eisenberg proved himself as a truly diverse actor taking on the two lead roles in a psychedelic, sci-fi noir thriller that was unafraid of having a sense of humour. Think Gilliam, but British.

Music Moment of the Year: Jessica Lange out-Bowieing Bowie with an entirely anachronistic performance of Life on Mars in AHS. Why not?

Fifty Shades of Grey: Chapter Seven

Well, I’m bored, finished work, and currently trying to find excuses not to clean my flat. YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS: it’s Fifty Shades post meridian. Before I begin, though, I’d like to draw your attention to this. ‘Kay? ‘Kay. As your reward: recap time!

We left Ana and Christian just as Christian revealed his playroom to our snoozey Mary Sue. Ana opens the chapter by describing literally everything about the room, right down to the smell (disappointingly, it’s not the scent of banana condoms mixed with vaginal secretions, sweat, and Grey’s ego), even drawing our attention to a large wooden cross with restraining cuffs on each end. Let it be known that when the movie comes out, I’m going to overdub this scene with this music, because I find it intrinsically hilarious and…well, just picture it.

DO DO DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DOOO-DOOOOO

Ana also mentions that there’s a mattress covered in red leather, which I find pretty offputting. In theory (by which I mean in porn), this is “sexy”, but in practice, you’d just be ripping layers of your skin off every time you went to change positions, earning yourself a tremendous burn and stinky leather in the process. Wouldn’t this also be insanely expensive? I’ve never come across red leather bedding in any form, and even for a gazillionaire like Christian it seems like a pointlessly extravagant purchase.

If you don't like the Muppets, there's something intrinsically wrong with you as a person.

If you don’t like the Muppets, there’s something intrinsically wrong with you as a person.

Ana asks Christian about the room, who he uses it with, and why he brought her heOH GOD MY CAT IS ABOUT TO BE SICK ON MY BED, FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK-

Right, anyway, Christian says he brought her to the playroom because, after expressing physical interest in her and kissing her passionately, he apparently wants to have sex with her now? Look, I know that Ana is meant to be a beautiful, pure untouched virgin, but one minute she’s basically fully understanding what the playroom is for- and bear in mind that many sexually active people go through their whole lives without encountering BDSM of this intensity-and the next she’s surprised that this guy who has basically outrightly said he wants to fuck her wants to fuck her?

Fuck it. I'm out.

Fuck it. I’m out.

The next passage seriously annoys me. In it, Christian explains that he is a dominant and that this room is used to both punish and reward his (consenting) submissives. Suddenly, Ana is all “HE’S DANGEROUS FOR MY HEALTH” and “KATE WAS RIGHT ABOUT HIM” and so forth. Look, of all the fucking creepy shit he’s done so far-which, to recount, includes taking her away from a party, back to his hotel room, undressing her, and sleeping next to her without her consent-having a torture room full of kinky BDSM gear and being comfortable calmly explaining it ISN’T THAT FUCKING DANGEROUS.

This passage happens;

“This is what I cannot reconcile. Kind, caring Christian who rescues me from inebriation and holds me gently while I’m throwing up into the azaleas, and the monster who possesses whips and chains in a special room”.

For the last time: being into BDSM doesn’t make you a monster. Having a room dedicated to BDSM seems pretty sensible. “Rescuing” someone from inebriation is a dick move. I’m drunk right now, and the only thing rescuing me from inebriation is my cat and that’s only because she’s wanting fed. Ana is tremendously confused about what makes a “monster”.

Christian leads her downstairs to get something to eat, despite the fact the seeing his pain dungeon torture leather basement has made her lose her appetite. Once again, we’re pulling on the Ana-is-an-untouched-virgin trope here, but is exposing someone to your sexual desire really that awful? I mean, I’ve encountered my fair share of bizarre sexual stuff, and-aside from one experience where someone else’s period started at a tremendously inopportune moment- the worst I’ve done is say “hey, look, this really isn’t for me”. If Ana is having such an obviously visceral reaction to Christian’s home porn set, why the fuck doesn’t she just politely leave?

Ana eats some grapes after Christian starts haranguing her over whether she likes cheese or not (no, seriously) and that’s that. They discuss his history with BDSM, another one of those scenes which will play out much better in the film (which I will be paying money to see, then reviewing on this blog as a grand finale to these recaps if I can be fucked). Christian takes her to the office, and shows her the contract she’d have to sign if she were his submissive; one of the clauses involves clothing.

Happy E

Happy E

“I want you dressed well. I’m sure your salary, when you do get a job, won’t cover the kind of clothes I’d like you to wear”.

Prrrrrrrick.

The other parts of the contract (OOH ALL THIS TALK OF LEGAL NEGOTIATION IS MAKING ME WANT TO PUT MY DOWN MY TROUSERS) deal with his hard limits, which rule out almost all the fun stuff. What’s the point of sex without a little fire-play? When Christian asks Ana if there’s anything she’d like to add, she reveals that she’s never actually had sex before. Aaand….that’s the cliffhanger to end this chapter on. Ballin’.

 

Did you know I also recap Doctor Who on this blog? You should totally read  my award-winning* reviews! *Only awards one are given in little ceremony to myself in the mirror before I go to bed.

Did you know I also recap Doctor Who on this blog? You should totally read my award-winning* reviews!
*Only awards one are given in little ceremony to myself in the mirror before I go to bed.

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.

An Ode to Frasier: Must-See Episodes

So it’s come to this: an passionate soliloquy to my favourite show of all time. I watched Frasier over the summer of last year in a heat haze of hard work, sporadic depression, alcohol, cigarettes, and one very posh flat. I don’t hesitate in saying that this show changed my life. Underneath all that fabulously pretentious and sly humour lies a brilliantly clever, humane heart that delivers beautiful, sometimes painful truths wrapped up in twenty minutes of comic television. It’s utterly timeless, as close to flawless as makes no difference, and an absolute must-see for anyone, anywhere. Below, I’ve hunted out my favourite episodes from every season (and believe me, it was a battle of wills choosing the best), with links so you can enjoy them too. Please read, watch, and enjoy as much as I do. Forever and ever. Amen.

Season 1- My Coffee With Niles

A brilliant bottle episode that hinges around Frasier and his neurotic brother Niles talking about Frasier’s life since he moved from Boston (read: Cheers) to Seattle, My Coffee with Niles is as much a farcical, supporting-character peppered comedy of errors as it is a meditation on happiness. Co-opting on the amazing chemistry between Niles and Frasier, it’s centred, smart, and was the perfect way to end the stellar first season. A little melancholic without getting bogged down in schmaltz, this is a centrepiece for what the show is really about.

Season 2- The Innkeepers

I think Frasier gets written off as a show for uppity people, because it spends some much time lingering on the prententiousness of it’s lead characters. But it also spends a delicious amount of time undercutting and undermining everything they do. In this positively Shakesperean farce, Frasier and Niles buy a restaurant and everything goes predictably tits up in a barrage of quotable lines (“I’m not asking you to do anything that you wouldn’t do in your own home; now, Niles, kill five eels!”) and brilliant physical comedy. One of the most outrightly humourous episodes of the series’ run, this is an episode I show to anyone I want to like the show and it hasn’t failed me yet.

Season 3-Moon Dance

A long-running thread in the show is Nile’s obsession with his father’s physical therapist Daphne and in this episode, the first Kelsey Grammar (who plays Frasier) ever directed, things come to a quiet, understated head (not that I’d know anything about quiet, understated head, but still). It’s lusciously shot, terribly romantic, and gives David Hyde Pierce as Niles and Janes Leeves as Daphne a chance to really get their teeth into that taunting chemistry.

Season 4-The Unnatural

Well, I couldn’t write a list of this nature and not include a great episode for Bulldog, the mysoginstic, creepy, innapropriate, arrogant, and utterly brilliant sports newscaster from Frasier’s radio station. Played by Dan Butler (who-and let me finish- is a Shakespearean actor by profession), this isn’t just a great episode for him, but an interesting meditation on fatherhood as Frasier faces letting his son down for the first time. With lots of great bits for John Mahoney’s curmudgeonly Martin (HOW DID HE NOT GET AN EMMY? FUCKING HOW?), it’s a sweet, carefully pitched episode (excuse the pun) that’s not short on the blisteringly quick humour you’ll be used to at this point.

Season 5- The Gift Horse

This is one of my solid favourite episodes, purely because it does that fantastic ermotional bait-and-switch that Frasier has just got down better than any other sitcom ever has. What starts out as a quick-fire, throwaway episode about the rivalry between Frasier and Niles for their father’s affection ends in a poignant gut-punch that’s sold by one of John Mahoney’s most affecting performances. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, it’ll change your life.

Season 6- Three Valentines

The Valentine’s Day episodes on Frasier are traditionally a high point, but this remains one of their most ambitious and effective. Split into three parts- each one following the Valentine’s day of the main characters- it kicks off with a hilarious, almost-silent physicla comedy sequence that’s worth watching in and of itself thanks to David Hyde Pierce’s amazing blundering. What follows- Frasier’s panicky misinterpretation of what could or could not be a date and Martin and Daphne having what’s meant to be a nice dinner- is just as funny, proving that the show understood it’s performers and knew how to get the very best out of them, comedically speaking.

Season 7- RDWRER

A Christmas/New Year’s episode this time around, with Frasier, Niles and Martin ending up stuck in a Winnebago on a cross-country tour as the bells chime. The exploration of the father/sons relationship is one of the consistently strongest point on Frasier, and RDWRER is one of their finest episodes in that vein. Blisteringly sharp, with a warm but not soft emotional core, this is how you do family comedy on television. Take note, literally everyone ever.

Season 8- And The Dish Ran Away With the Spoon, Parts 1 and 2

Am I cheating by putting a two-parter in this list? Get used to it. In the aftermath of a Very Important Event which I won’t ruin for those who haven’t seen the series and have somehow avoided spoilers for more than twenty years, the Crane family and friends attempt to collect themselves and deal with the painful, sad, but ultimately hopeful aftermath. Can we just all give Jane Leeves a collective hug for her performance here? Frasier and Martin take a backseat in the best possible way as Niles and Daphne take centre stage, to great effect.

Season 9- Don Juan in Hell, parts 1 and 2

See, I told you you’d have to get used to it. This, the climax to a season-long arc that had Frasier questioning himself, is basically a self-indulgent excuse to climb inside the head of one of the most engaging lead characters on TV. Frasier locks himself up in a cabin, and has a chat with all the significant women from his past (including the amazing Lilith) in what has to be one of the most meta episodes ever created before meta was even a thing.
Season 10-rooms with a View
When one of the Crane clan has to face a life-changing operation, the rest of the family flocks down to support them, and find themselves relieving their significant hospital-related memories. Does that sound ridiculous? Good, then at least this is going to outdo your expectations. By turns heartbreaking and heartwarming, it’s an episode that refuses to wallow in it’s tragedy and fights through to a sweet and well-earned climax. John Mahoney kills it when he’s not even facing the camera in what has to be one of the saddest moments of the series run.
Season 11- Goodnight, Seattle parts 1 and 2
What else could be here except the finale? It’s one of the finer TV finales to ever grace the small screen; I touched on it in my How I Met Your Mother rant, but that doesn’t do it justice. It offers no real answers, but promises that whatever these characters will do once the cameras switch off for the last time they will be happy. And that’s all you want from them at this point. 

Doctor Who: Tantalising Adventures Really Defined by Incoming Sequel

Hey, so, after the crapstorm that was last week’s episode, and a week where I speculated in dramatically wrong ways about what would happen in the Doctor Who season eight finale, I’ve come across something sorely missing in the last ten weeks: an episode that I loved almost unconditionally.

I think it’s telling that, for the first time this series, me and the Consort finished watching Dark Water and immediatley negotiated more episodes to watch. It was an outing that reminded us of Doctor Who at it’s best, and made us want to go back and wallow in the triumphs of yesteryear (we matched it with the Lake Silencio two-parter, and the Bad Wolf finale for season one, both of which are always better than you remember). This episode was tantalising, and wasn’t enough on it’s own. That’s a good sign.

I really thought Dark Water was a belter of an episode, the best and most true to form of the series so far (Listen was magnificent, but it didn’t have the fun or breakneck pace of this one). Early in the episode, Danny is killed, and Clara and the Doctor go to find him (incidentally, Jenna Coleman’s performance throughout this entire segment was jaw-dropping, award-winning stuff, particularly the scene where she explained the real tragedy of his death lay in the mundanity of it all), leaving Danny Pink in Heaven/Hell/The Nethesphere with Chris Addison as his poison-tongued tour guide. This segment had some of the best writing all season going for it, with Chris Addison’s description of our understanding of the afterlife being a particular highlight. And the offscreen screaming as Chris Addison winced that they had “left their body to science”? Masterful.

A big shout out to Rachel Talalay, one of the distressingly few female writers or directors to grave Moffat’s run of Who, as she did a cracking job on the direction. Her close-up, tight shots on Danny and Clara as they have their last conversation were heartbreaking, but not as gutting as the cut between soldier Danny realising he’d killed a child, and afterlife Danny realising he was going to meet him. C’mere, Samuel Anderson, let me buy you all the drinks for saving the series.

And then, of course, there was Missy. I’m going to put a big fat SPOILER ALERT here, which I rarely do as I assume most people coming here have already seen the episode, but the reveal of Missy’s identity was so good I don’t want it ruined for anyone here. Go away. Come back. Watched it? Are you sure? Certain? One hundred percent? Okay.

HOLY SHIT IT WAS THE MASTER! I do not exaggerate in the least when I say that I threw a bottle of juice against the opposite wall in excitement when she announced her identity. Like most two-parters though, the success of this episode will rest on how well they pull of the actual finale. Either way, Michelle Gomez is a saccharine delight and a worthy successor to the formidable John Simm. And surely we’ll be seeing more of her after this season ends, because you don’t bring the Master back as a woman then only give us one episode of her. Everything comes down to next week, and I’m hoping they do well because this episode was teeming with brilliant lines, scenes, and ideas-more than I can even touch on here- and I want it to remain as good as I think it is now.

But. Well, there’s always a but, isn’t there? This isn’t really a criticism of the episode, but you’ll have noticed that I haven’t been talking a whole lot about the Doctor. And there’s a reason for that. It suddenly struck me, in the middle of the night, which is when I write these reviews in my head and mentally paste them into the blog in the morning, that the problem is not with Peter Capaldi. Peter Capaldi is doing an excellent job playing the role he’s been given, but the problem is that role isn’t the Doctor. It’s leaning towards the sociopathic otherness of Moffat’s Sherlock, stripped down of much of his humanity and warmth. Watching Chris Ecclestone’s Doctor again, it’s so clear that a “dark” Doctor doesn’t have to be the aloof, trickster, testing personality that Capaldi’s playing to perfection right now- he is still the same man at heart(s), and doesn’t want to torture, tease, and even kill those who he comes into contact with. Anyone else of the same page here? Either way, I think that Moffat needs to hand over the reins to someone else and focus his attention on Sherlock, as it seems to be where his mind is at right now anyway. I’ll have you yet, Moffat. But if you can pull of next week, I’ll call off the hordes.