Take one moderately sized but extremely vocal and passionate crowd, place in a delightfully ramshackle little venue that's roughly the equivalent of The Cluny's gig room (and similarly, has no barrier to speak of), add one Scottish band on fine form (and a pretty darn impressive support) and season with a setlist bristling with intensity. Viola, you have Idlewild's performance at the Plymouth Hippo.
Man, that was tremendous. I probably say this every time, but God, Idlewild are amazing. These guys just continue to blow me away, show after show after show. It's so refreshing to see a band willing to plumb the depths of their back catalogue, altering their sets dramatically night after night, not just replacing one or two but changing over half and mixing everything around. It makes everything fantastically unpredictable and is a great benefit for the insane buggers like myself who take it upon themselves to follow 'em around the bloody country.
And God, what a set. I'd be hard pressed to ask for much better, to be honest. Lots of '100 Broken Windows', many I haven't seen in a while... check this monster out:
Younger Than America
Readers and Writers
You Held The World In Your Arms
Listen To What You've Got
Tell Me Ten Words
Roseability
Too Long Awake
Love Steals Us From Loneliness
The Night Will Bring You Back To Life
A Modern Way of Letting Go
Let Me Sleep (Next To The Mirror)
Live In A Hiding Place
City Hall
Post-Electric
The Bronze Medal
----------------------
Everyone Says You're So Fragile
Blame It On The Obvious Ways
Actually It's Darkness
In Remote Part (with Scottish Fiction at the end!)
I think I nearly gave myself a hernia during 'Fragile' and probably splurged everywhere upon hearing the opening bars of 'Let Me Sleep'. The whole set is just superbly structured too; there's a very nice ebb and flow to it, but it's predominantly heavy. Which, obviously, is awesome.
So, statistically:
Post-Electric Blues: 5
Make Another World: 0 (bit of a shame that, but I didn't notice until well after the end of the gig... which says a lot about a. how good the set was and b. the strength of Idlewild's output)
Warnings/Promises: 3
The Remote Part: 5
100 Broken Windows: 5
Hope Is Important: 1
Captain EP: 0
Got plenty photos (at the front of the stage, on Rod's side); will share those when I get a chance. Oh, and I had a nice chat with Colin at the end and randomly shook Rod's hand. Which was nice.
Back in the hotel now... to bed, in order to waken of the morrow for the first part of my crazy journey home. Yay for replacement bus services!
Saturday, 6 March 2010
To Plymouth, ho(e)!
It's 6.52pm and I am currently sat at my bureau, darling, in the rather plush and old-fashioned Grosevnor Hotel in Plymouth, mere hours away from the beginning of my Somewhat Insane Pursuit Of Idlewild 2010. This is the first of seven shows that I'll be attending in the next two months, which culminate on April 26th with a gig in my home taaawn (Newcastle, in case you weren't aware), so that'll be less of a nightmare to get to. Still, given the band's proclivity for mixing up their setlists on a daily basis, their general awesomeness and my love of visiting new cities, this all adds up to make one delightfully exciting, albeit rather tiring, experience. Of course, this is only a small part of what should probably be referred to as the 2010 leg of my Somewhat Insane, and Never-Ending, Tour of the UK, but that's another story altogether.
Anyhow, I thought I'd catalogue the Idlewild experiences for you all, just in case you were at all curious, or rather, so that I can patter on about the fairly asinine things that have a tendency to excite me when I'm on my travels. The Plymouth train journey (direct from Newcastle, thankfully) has to be the longest I've ever undertaken, clocking in at a whopping seven hours of ass-crease. For the train geeks among you (I know of at least one, don't deny it!) that encompassed (deep breath): Chester-le-Street, Durham, Darlington, York, Leeds, Wakefield Westgate, Sheffield, Chesterfield, Derby, Burton-on-Trent, Birmingham New Street, Cheltenham Spa, Bristol Parkway, Bristol Temple Meads, Taunton, Tiverton Parkway, Exeter St Davids, Newton Abbot, Totnes and Plymouth. Phew. The journey did involve whizzing through Teignmouth, which obviously got this Muse fan a little excited, and despite the fact that there appears to be no mobile internet coverage between Taunton and Newton Abbot, the latter part of the trip was pretty damn beautiful, particularly around Exeter, where the line starts snaking under cliffs and is pretty much on the actual coastline. Very nice, very nice.
To be brutally frank, the journey itself was probably one of the most unforgettable I've ever had, largely thanks to the presence of Diamond (real name Charlotte), the 25 year old lesbian ex-con who sat next to me from Sheffield to Cheltenham and proceeded to talk at me for about ninety minutes on a variety of interesting topics, including bestiality, which she blames 'on the Americans'. She managed to make the Daily Mail readers in the carriage choke on their ham sandwiches by first professing that all women are bi-curious, then animatedly discussing the finer points of lesbian oral and finally, rounding off the whole show with a lovely piece about a guy she knows who apparently 'fucked a turkey before setting it out as Christmas dinner.' Uh-huh. There's also the childhood fantasy about being in the Russian mafia and the tale of the time when she and her 'brethrens' formed an anti-Welsh 'cult' in jail. As you do. Frankly, the girl was batshit crazy, but it certainly made the Midlands part of the journey somewhat entertaining. Hell, you can't help but love people who come out with such corkers as "I'm dodgy but I'm a nice dodge. I don't sell much weed these days. I just want a nice woman. It's harder to find one outside than in jail" and "A lot of riots are gonna happen everyday because we're getting closer to the world of robots." Yeeeeeeeeeeeees.
There were plenty other exciting characters on board too. The child who asked everyone with a laptop if he could 'study the high speed trains' was a little... unusual; the girl who boarded at Bristol wearing a cassette tape as a necklace seemed to think she was in an episode of Skins; Michael, the doddering Train Crew Manager, kept looking down the carriage between Newcastle and Leeds and clearly deciding not to bother checking anyone's tickets, presumably because he couldn't be arsed; the driver kept making the required announcements in the style of Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget; and let's not forget the lovely deaf interpreter for ITV who was on his way to film segments for The Jeremy Kyle Show. Really nice man, very engaging. Shame he couldn't have stayed on longer to experience the joys of Diamond, really.
Still, things have continued to prove eventful, shall we say, upon arrival in this fair city. It's a truth universally acknowledged that where there is a Walkabout, there are wankers and sadly, despite Plymouth being a pretty damn beautiful place, bereft of any trouble at all as far as I can tell, as soon as I walked past it, I got a "eeee look, it's Harry Potter!" You do have to question the mentality of these people when they consider that because a young looking (if I do say so myself) guy has long(ish) hair and glasses, he's the spitting double of a magic-loving character from a children's book. Sigh. Anyhow, that's just about the only negative thing I've encountered here so far (with the possible exception of finding out that I have to get a bus to Tiverton Parkway - which is, actually, just a car park and station in the middle of a field - tomorrow morning due to engineering works); on the whole, Plymouth's a very pretty place. Had myself a walk down the Hoe, admiring the view and that. Gotta say, I'm a sucker for anywhere with a coastline and down here, it's rather amazing. For all it may be a cliche to say it, it's just relaxing... and it has the added bonus of feeling completely safe, unlike some of the places up North. This does seem like a very quiet city, for all it has quite a substantial population; perhaps a potential home when I'm old and worn out (and that's your cue to tell me to stay down here now...)
I shall be heading to The Hippo very shortly, which is the venue for tonight's performance. It's basically the tool shed behind Plymouth Pavillions, which is a mini-arena smack bang in the middle of the city that also happens to double as both an ice rink and a swimming pool. A combination of the three leisure activities would make for a very interesting evening, no doubt. Sadly, the Hippo is not shaped like an actual hippopotamus but given its size, it should make for a pretty damn intimate, and therefore, ace evening. More of that upon my return. Before I skedaddle, however, one final, honourable mention must go to John Sparrow's Newsagents (Jack's dad, you reckon?), a highly classy establishment near the Pavillions, that has the world's largest collection of pornographic magazines for sale and uses an apostrophe for quite literally every plural. Legendary.
Anyhow, I thought I'd catalogue the Idlewild experiences for you all, just in case you were at all curious, or rather, so that I can patter on about the fairly asinine things that have a tendency to excite me when I'm on my travels. The Plymouth train journey (direct from Newcastle, thankfully) has to be the longest I've ever undertaken, clocking in at a whopping seven hours of ass-crease. For the train geeks among you (I know of at least one, don't deny it!) that encompassed (deep breath): Chester-le-Street, Durham, Darlington, York, Leeds, Wakefield Westgate, Sheffield, Chesterfield, Derby, Burton-on-Trent, Birmingham New Street, Cheltenham Spa, Bristol Parkway, Bristol Temple Meads, Taunton, Tiverton Parkway, Exeter St Davids, Newton Abbot, Totnes and Plymouth. Phew. The journey did involve whizzing through Teignmouth, which obviously got this Muse fan a little excited, and despite the fact that there appears to be no mobile internet coverage between Taunton and Newton Abbot, the latter part of the trip was pretty damn beautiful, particularly around Exeter, where the line starts snaking under cliffs and is pretty much on the actual coastline. Very nice, very nice.
To be brutally frank, the journey itself was probably one of the most unforgettable I've ever had, largely thanks to the presence of Diamond (real name Charlotte), the 25 year old lesbian ex-con who sat next to me from Sheffield to Cheltenham and proceeded to talk at me for about ninety minutes on a variety of interesting topics, including bestiality, which she blames 'on the Americans'. She managed to make the Daily Mail readers in the carriage choke on their ham sandwiches by first professing that all women are bi-curious, then animatedly discussing the finer points of lesbian oral and finally, rounding off the whole show with a lovely piece about a guy she knows who apparently 'fucked a turkey before setting it out as Christmas dinner.' Uh-huh. There's also the childhood fantasy about being in the Russian mafia and the tale of the time when she and her 'brethrens' formed an anti-Welsh 'cult' in jail. As you do. Frankly, the girl was batshit crazy, but it certainly made the Midlands part of the journey somewhat entertaining. Hell, you can't help but love people who come out with such corkers as "I'm dodgy but I'm a nice dodge. I don't sell much weed these days. I just want a nice woman. It's harder to find one outside than in jail" and "A lot of riots are gonna happen everyday because we're getting closer to the world of robots." Yeeeeeeeeeeeees.
There were plenty other exciting characters on board too. The child who asked everyone with a laptop if he could 'study the high speed trains' was a little... unusual; the girl who boarded at Bristol wearing a cassette tape as a necklace seemed to think she was in an episode of Skins; Michael, the doddering Train Crew Manager, kept looking down the carriage between Newcastle and Leeds and clearly deciding not to bother checking anyone's tickets, presumably because he couldn't be arsed; the driver kept making the required announcements in the style of Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget; and let's not forget the lovely deaf interpreter for ITV who was on his way to film segments for The Jeremy Kyle Show. Really nice man, very engaging. Shame he couldn't have stayed on longer to experience the joys of Diamond, really.
Still, things have continued to prove eventful, shall we say, upon arrival in this fair city. It's a truth universally acknowledged that where there is a Walkabout, there are wankers and sadly, despite Plymouth being a pretty damn beautiful place, bereft of any trouble at all as far as I can tell, as soon as I walked past it, I got a "eeee look, it's Harry Potter!" You do have to question the mentality of these people when they consider that because a young looking (if I do say so myself) guy has long(ish) hair and glasses, he's the spitting double of a magic-loving character from a children's book. Sigh. Anyhow, that's just about the only negative thing I've encountered here so far (with the possible exception of finding out that I have to get a bus to Tiverton Parkway - which is, actually, just a car park and station in the middle of a field - tomorrow morning due to engineering works); on the whole, Plymouth's a very pretty place. Had myself a walk down the Hoe, admiring the view and that. Gotta say, I'm a sucker for anywhere with a coastline and down here, it's rather amazing. For all it may be a cliche to say it, it's just relaxing... and it has the added bonus of feeling completely safe, unlike some of the places up North. This does seem like a very quiet city, for all it has quite a substantial population; perhaps a potential home when I'm old and worn out (and that's your cue to tell me to stay down here now...)
I shall be heading to The Hippo very shortly, which is the venue for tonight's performance. It's basically the tool shed behind Plymouth Pavillions, which is a mini-arena smack bang in the middle of the city that also happens to double as both an ice rink and a swimming pool. A combination of the three leisure activities would make for a very interesting evening, no doubt. Sadly, the Hippo is not shaped like an actual hippopotamus but given its size, it should make for a pretty damn intimate, and therefore, ace evening. More of that upon my return. Before I skedaddle, however, one final, honourable mention must go to John Sparrow's Newsagents (Jack's dad, you reckon?), a highly classy establishment near the Pavillions, that has the world's largest collection of pornographic magazines for sale and uses an apostrophe for quite literally every plural. Legendary.
Friday, 5 March 2010
Television review: Lost #606: 'Sundown'
606: 'Sundown'
Wr: Graham Roland & Paul Zbyszewski
Dr: Bobby Roth
Synopsis: Sayid faces a difficult decision, and Claire sends a warning to the temple inhabitants.
Review: It seems that there is a general consensus among many Lostaholics that, so far, the show's sixth and final season is not quite living up to expectations. Forums are abuzz with the notion that something is just 'not quite right', but no one can put their finger on what exactly is missing. Perhaps it's the weight of responsibility that executive producers Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse have given themselves; this being the last gasp, so to speak, we've been promised answers to the substantial volume of questions that have arisen in seasons past, but the first six episodes only really hint at solutions, dripfeeding us all with inferences and, frustratingly, further conundrums. Maybe the time for dicking around is over, and now that we've reached the final stretch, the viewing public need, nay demand, more. But this isn't the only potential explanation. There's another significant feature of the final year that may be the cause of some dissatisfaction: the oblique sideways flashes. It isn't the mind-boggling nature of these that's the problem, though (if anything, the question of what role they play in relation to the show's chronology is actually what makes them worth watching). It's their inherent similarity to what we've seen before. As a friend of mine suggested recently, we've been a bit spoiled with the 'non-linear' strands in the past two seasons: year four had intriguing flash-forwards that required you to piece together the timeline, while year five was just plain barmy, incorproating flashbacks, forwards, through time and all sorts. To go back to the sort of standard stories we were used to in the first three seasons seems almost like a bit of a let down. Of course, things aren't so black and white, since we're beginning to pick up subtle, and rather less than subtle, differences between the lives of the Losties pre-815 crash and post-LA landing, and this gives the narratives some intrigue, but at the end of the day, the majority of the emotional and metaphorical beats, the essence of the stories, are concerned with aspects of the characters that we've explored substantially before: Kate's penchant for running away, Locke refusing to accept his situation, Jack's daddy issues. These feel outmoded, so perhaps it's a case of overt familiarity.
Fortunately, however, this latest episode manages to circumnavigate the problem by only moderately touching on the standard psychological ennui of its chosen flash-sidewaysee. Sayid's struggle with the demons of his past, his attempt to make amends for his role under the Republican Guard, takes something of a back-seat to the establishment of the quite significant differences inherent in this version of events, as well as the interweaving of the lives of the other Oceanic 815 passengers. For all the story explores his willingness to retaliate against those who threaten, and subsequently assault, his brother, more time is spent establishing the changes to his relationship with Nadia (who has somehow ended up with his bro), integrating the dastardly Keimi, who Jarrah murders in a wonderfully intense sequence, dripping with beautifully understated malice, and establishing a connection with Jin at the close of the narrative, which comes completely out of nowhere and generates a considerable number of questions that are guaranteed to have us tuning in for the next instalment. Thankfully, we don't spend too long deliberating over the moral implications of Sayid's willingness to use violence; he simply makes a decision and gets down to business, which prevents the strand from meandering or appearing overly verbose.
It also provides a delectable thematic connection to the on-Island narrative, as the viewer is able to draw quite potent parallels between the two versions of the character. Sayid's actions in 2007 are similarly 'straightforward', if you will, demonstrating little patience with the concept of pontification. Faced with differing perspectives on events, with a similar question of violence versus pacifism, Jarrah chooses the former, murdering both Dogan and Lennon in cold blood, in a sequence that is in direct syntagmatic relation to the slaying of his brother's assailants. It reinforces the inherent complexity of his character, but also creates an interesting dichotomy between understandable violence and unwarranted brutality. While it is up to the viewer to determine whether these measures are ever called for, it is certainly easier to rationalise Sayid's actions in the flash sideways, which is perhaps symptomatic of the question mark that currently hangs, ominously, over the 2007 character's head. Is this the 'real' Sayid, the guy we've come to know and love for the last six seasons? Or is this someone different altogether, tainted and reshaped by Smokie; 'diseased', if you will? Is 'the sickness' something tangible that UnLocke does to people or is it simply how the Others refer to those who have communicated with him and perhaps been mentally influenced by his words? These questions make this entire storyline wonderfully captivating and provide Naveen Andrews with an opportunity to outshine pretty much everyone in the cast; a task to which he rises with great aplomb.
From a storytelling perspective, it works beautifully too. The script maintains a prominent level of ambiguity throughout, refusing to allow the viewer to be certain as to the motives of the parties involved. In the aftermath of his absolutely stellar fight sequence with Jarrah (which is probably the best of its kind that has ever been presented on the show, choreographed to perfection), we are never quite certain as to what Dogen's aims are, particularly as the accidental 'dropping' of the baseball has clear emotional and psychological significance, apparently prompting a sincere change of heart. Of course, we subsequently realise that he is merely deferring responsibility for Sayid's murder, in a two-header sequence bristling with suspense. O'Quinn and Andrews are absolutely magnificent together, achieving so much with so little. Sayid's own actions are unpredictable too, and it's almost a given at this point that we will be treated to both sides of the coin, so to speak, in relation to any decisions made by UnLocke. This notable lack of transparency enriches the narrative, preventing any obvious inferences and therefore generating significant momentum. The plot moves along at a breakneck, decidedly anxious, pace, despite essentially consisting of a series of minor confrontations and deliberations. And when sundown approaches, and the pay-off is delivered, the script hits home run after home run, providing superlative shock value in Dogen and Lennon's murders, some delightfully frightening sequences as Smokie lays waste to the Temple and its inhabitants (all of which are expertly shot) and a superb final scene, underscored to great effect by 'Catch A Falling Star', in which Kate surveys the wreckage and watches UnLocke gather his troops.
There are many other noteworthy elements within 'Sundown' too. Emile de Ravan continues to make the most of her new-found role as Clairsseau (nope, I can't take credit for that one... see the official Lost audio podcast from a few weeks ago for the reference), creating a thoroughly convincing and decidedly unnerving portrayal of a girl driven to the outskirts of madness by time, loss, isolation and influence. She's great as she strides into the Temple, squaring up to Dogan, and even better in her scenes with Kate in the hole in the ground, delivering each laconic line of dialogue with an eerie assuredness and calm. For all it is a little convenient, the arrival of Sun, Ben, Frank and Ilyana is a much welcome surprise, especially since it seems to herald the connection of a few dots pertaining to the Losties who were previously in 1977; it's good to see Cindy back in play and given a few interesting lines of dialogue (hopefully we'll get to see how she integrated herself into the Others' camp in the weeks to come); there's the interesting suggestion that Dogan is somehow responsible for keeping Dogan out, simply by his very existence; and, of course, Jack's screentime is confined to a brief, dialogue-less cameo in the flash sideways. Marvellous.
If Lost is 'suffering' a little in its sixth season, not seeming quite like its former self, then you certainly wouldn't know it from watching 'Sundown'. This is an absolutely stellar episode, packed to the brim with intrigue, suspense, action and drama, that pays off a number of loose narrative strands, propels the arc plot forward substantially and even provides an engaging, thought-provoking flash sideways to boot. Naveen Andrews is given the opportunity to shine and boy, does he, providing wonderfully understated portrayals of the myriad sides of Sayid's character to which we are treated, all the while keeping the viewer guessing as to what his next move may be. There are a number of genuine shocks in the plot and the production is absolutely flawness, the crew rising admirably to the substantial demands of the script, delivering a brilliantly brutal fight sequence in the teaser and another wonderfully frightening Smoke Monster Attack(TM) in the final act. Honestly, what isn't there to love about 'Sundown'? The fact that it has to come to an end, that's what. 9.5
Wr: Graham Roland & Paul Zbyszewski
Dr: Bobby Roth
Synopsis: Sayid faces a difficult decision, and Claire sends a warning to the temple inhabitants.
Review: It seems that there is a general consensus among many Lostaholics that, so far, the show's sixth and final season is not quite living up to expectations. Forums are abuzz with the notion that something is just 'not quite right', but no one can put their finger on what exactly is missing. Perhaps it's the weight of responsibility that executive producers Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse have given themselves; this being the last gasp, so to speak, we've been promised answers to the substantial volume of questions that have arisen in seasons past, but the first six episodes only really hint at solutions, dripfeeding us all with inferences and, frustratingly, further conundrums. Maybe the time for dicking around is over, and now that we've reached the final stretch, the viewing public need, nay demand, more. But this isn't the only potential explanation. There's another significant feature of the final year that may be the cause of some dissatisfaction: the oblique sideways flashes. It isn't the mind-boggling nature of these that's the problem, though (if anything, the question of what role they play in relation to the show's chronology is actually what makes them worth watching). It's their inherent similarity to what we've seen before. As a friend of mine suggested recently, we've been a bit spoiled with the 'non-linear' strands in the past two seasons: year four had intriguing flash-forwards that required you to piece together the timeline, while year five was just plain barmy, incorproating flashbacks, forwards, through time and all sorts. To go back to the sort of standard stories we were used to in the first three seasons seems almost like a bit of a let down. Of course, things aren't so black and white, since we're beginning to pick up subtle, and rather less than subtle, differences between the lives of the Losties pre-815 crash and post-LA landing, and this gives the narratives some intrigue, but at the end of the day, the majority of the emotional and metaphorical beats, the essence of the stories, are concerned with aspects of the characters that we've explored substantially before: Kate's penchant for running away, Locke refusing to accept his situation, Jack's daddy issues. These feel outmoded, so perhaps it's a case of overt familiarity.
Fortunately, however, this latest episode manages to circumnavigate the problem by only moderately touching on the standard psychological ennui of its chosen flash-sidewaysee. Sayid's struggle with the demons of his past, his attempt to make amends for his role under the Republican Guard, takes something of a back-seat to the establishment of the quite significant differences inherent in this version of events, as well as the interweaving of the lives of the other Oceanic 815 passengers. For all the story explores his willingness to retaliate against those who threaten, and subsequently assault, his brother, more time is spent establishing the changes to his relationship with Nadia (who has somehow ended up with his bro), integrating the dastardly Keimi, who Jarrah murders in a wonderfully intense sequence, dripping with beautifully understated malice, and establishing a connection with Jin at the close of the narrative, which comes completely out of nowhere and generates a considerable number of questions that are guaranteed to have us tuning in for the next instalment. Thankfully, we don't spend too long deliberating over the moral implications of Sayid's willingness to use violence; he simply makes a decision and gets down to business, which prevents the strand from meandering or appearing overly verbose.
It also provides a delectable thematic connection to the on-Island narrative, as the viewer is able to draw quite potent parallels between the two versions of the character. Sayid's actions in 2007 are similarly 'straightforward', if you will, demonstrating little patience with the concept of pontification. Faced with differing perspectives on events, with a similar question of violence versus pacifism, Jarrah chooses the former, murdering both Dogan and Lennon in cold blood, in a sequence that is in direct syntagmatic relation to the slaying of his brother's assailants. It reinforces the inherent complexity of his character, but also creates an interesting dichotomy between understandable violence and unwarranted brutality. While it is up to the viewer to determine whether these measures are ever called for, it is certainly easier to rationalise Sayid's actions in the flash sideways, which is perhaps symptomatic of the question mark that currently hangs, ominously, over the 2007 character's head. Is this the 'real' Sayid, the guy we've come to know and love for the last six seasons? Or is this someone different altogether, tainted and reshaped by Smokie; 'diseased', if you will? Is 'the sickness' something tangible that UnLocke does to people or is it simply how the Others refer to those who have communicated with him and perhaps been mentally influenced by his words? These questions make this entire storyline wonderfully captivating and provide Naveen Andrews with an opportunity to outshine pretty much everyone in the cast; a task to which he rises with great aplomb.
From a storytelling perspective, it works beautifully too. The script maintains a prominent level of ambiguity throughout, refusing to allow the viewer to be certain as to the motives of the parties involved. In the aftermath of his absolutely stellar fight sequence with Jarrah (which is probably the best of its kind that has ever been presented on the show, choreographed to perfection), we are never quite certain as to what Dogen's aims are, particularly as the accidental 'dropping' of the baseball has clear emotional and psychological significance, apparently prompting a sincere change of heart. Of course, we subsequently realise that he is merely deferring responsibility for Sayid's murder, in a two-header sequence bristling with suspense. O'Quinn and Andrews are absolutely magnificent together, achieving so much with so little. Sayid's own actions are unpredictable too, and it's almost a given at this point that we will be treated to both sides of the coin, so to speak, in relation to any decisions made by UnLocke. This notable lack of transparency enriches the narrative, preventing any obvious inferences and therefore generating significant momentum. The plot moves along at a breakneck, decidedly anxious, pace, despite essentially consisting of a series of minor confrontations and deliberations. And when sundown approaches, and the pay-off is delivered, the script hits home run after home run, providing superlative shock value in Dogen and Lennon's murders, some delightfully frightening sequences as Smokie lays waste to the Temple and its inhabitants (all of which are expertly shot) and a superb final scene, underscored to great effect by 'Catch A Falling Star', in which Kate surveys the wreckage and watches UnLocke gather his troops.
There are many other noteworthy elements within 'Sundown' too. Emile de Ravan continues to make the most of her new-found role as Clairsseau (nope, I can't take credit for that one... see the official Lost audio podcast from a few weeks ago for the reference), creating a thoroughly convincing and decidedly unnerving portrayal of a girl driven to the outskirts of madness by time, loss, isolation and influence. She's great as she strides into the Temple, squaring up to Dogan, and even better in her scenes with Kate in the hole in the ground, delivering each laconic line of dialogue with an eerie assuredness and calm. For all it is a little convenient, the arrival of Sun, Ben, Frank and Ilyana is a much welcome surprise, especially since it seems to herald the connection of a few dots pertaining to the Losties who were previously in 1977; it's good to see Cindy back in play and given a few interesting lines of dialogue (hopefully we'll get to see how she integrated herself into the Others' camp in the weeks to come); there's the interesting suggestion that Dogan is somehow responsible for keeping Dogan out, simply by his very existence; and, of course, Jack's screentime is confined to a brief, dialogue-less cameo in the flash sideways. Marvellous.
If Lost is 'suffering' a little in its sixth season, not seeming quite like its former self, then you certainly wouldn't know it from watching 'Sundown'. This is an absolutely stellar episode, packed to the brim with intrigue, suspense, action and drama, that pays off a number of loose narrative strands, propels the arc plot forward substantially and even provides an engaging, thought-provoking flash sideways to boot. Naveen Andrews is given the opportunity to shine and boy, does he, providing wonderfully understated portrayals of the myriad sides of Sayid's character to which we are treated, all the while keeping the viewer guessing as to what his next move may be. There are a number of genuine shocks in the plot and the production is absolutely flawness, the crew rising admirably to the substantial demands of the script, delivering a brilliantly brutal fight sequence in the teaser and another wonderfully frightening Smoke Monster Attack(TM) in the final act. Honestly, what isn't there to love about 'Sundown'? The fact that it has to come to an end, that's what. 9.5
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
Television review: 24 #810: '1am - 2am'
#810: '1am - 2am'
Wr: Manny Coto & Brannon Braga
Dr: Brad Turner
Synopsis: Jack prepares to go to Farhad Hassan's last known location to rescue him and stop an impending terrorist attack on New York City. His other endgame is to clear Renee from taking the fall if the operation fails. President Taylor warns President Omar Hassan that if the attack is successful, she will have no choice but to declare war on his country. Cole and Dana have to figure out how to solve the aftermath of the confrontation with Kevin and Nick.
Review: I do enjoy a healthy slice of constructive criticism every now and again, so I was most delighted last week when a gentleman (actually, that's a presumption on my part) by the name of HTEflseGODS took it upon himself to compose a 'review' of 24's '12am - 1am' that consisted entirely of a series of observations on my analysis of the episode. Mr. Gods suggested that perhaps I was only 'just now figuring... out' that the show 'is so mindless' and that as a result, I should stop watching 'b/cuz [sic] (I'll) just end up going bats**t'. An astute piece of psychoanalysis there, I'm sure you'll agree. However, this wasn't all. Not by a long shot. While acknowledging that 'they go off on some of the most rediculouse [sic] side stories ever', HTE, if I may call him that, argued that this is 'the fun of the show' and that I should simply 'take it for what it is' ('mindless fun dressed up as intellagent [sic] espianoge [sic] action', in case you were wondering). Gods believes that I should not take anything that 24 throws up 'too seriously' because, well, at the end of the day, 'the clock is counting 4 [me] too' and presumably, by composing a review that's significantly critical of the subject matter, I am exponentially reducing my life span. It's all the stress and the strain on my psyche, you see. What I need to do is switch off, let it all wash over me, 'enjoy the ride', so to speak, and, to quote Gods again, 'stop the endless ranting', if for no other reason than as he so eloquently points out, 'nobody reads that' anyway.
And he's probably right. Who in their right mind wants to sit and pore through a right load of old whinging, eh? Who really wants to read a review that actually picks apart the minutiae of the episode and challenges the quality of the production? Who's bothered if the critic actually uses the full range of marks and delivers scores that are representative of their opinions? Certainly no self-respecting reader that I can think of, that's for sure. No, what we want, nay what we need, is for everyone to have a good chuckle about how daft television shows are, to excuse the lazy writing, poor plotting and wanting production because that's 'the fun of it' isn't it... that way, we'll live in a land of comfortable 9.5s where everything is hunky-dory and everyone is footloose, fancy-free and happy as a pig in shit. Or something. I really don't want to be the one to hinder the onset of this incandescent utopia so, with that in mind, I'm going to take Mr. Gods's sage advice and turn off my hypercritical and over-cynical mental faculties for this one. Yup, it's your lucky day '1am - 2am', because screenagedkicks is ready to sit back, relax and let your crap wash right over him.
Except it doesn't quite turn out that way. As if in defiance of my determination to simply become a mindless automaton for a week, 24 actually went and did the unthinkable with the tenth hour of its eighth season and delivered something genuinely good. Not 'turn off your brain good' (if ever there were such a thing), you understand, but critically good, measuring up to the sort of standards that we have justifiably come to expect from the programme after many years of solid writing and production. Braga and Coto's script defies all the odds and manages to create a substantially engaging hour of entertainment, keeping suspense levels high by maintaining a healthy pace and steady momentum to that most important of storylines: the core terrorist threat. Yes, would you believe it, '1am - 2am' actually spends a large amount of time dealing with the small matter of The Rod Stewart Affair, and allows most of the extraneous narratives to have a sit down on the sidewalk and ruminate over their general rubbishness. In fact, what's even more impressive is that the Rod Stewarts barely feature in the episode at all, save for a cameo appearance (support slot? To continue the pun... type... thing? No?) while Marcos is calling his dear, sweet, innocent mother (nice scene by the way, grounding events in a solid emotional base); instead, the writers manufacture tension from a perfectly logical off-shoot of the terrorist activity, taking the time to delineate consequence and demonstrate how the IKK rebels' 'plans' are loosely woven together and highly organic.
This sets the arc story at a distinct advantage; without a set of 'rules' (peeling away the layers to reveal plan-upon-counterplan-upon-counterplan, all concocted by shady businessmen), there is the sense that the narrative could essentially go anywhere, making its teleology decidedly unpredictable. This is exactly the sort of format that 24 should be adopting, since in a show with a 'real time' backbone, significant foreshadowing often feels like unnecessarily premature revelation. Furthermore, it proves that the drive does not always have to be towards the actualisation or heroic prevention of the proposed threat; it can be just as successful (if not more so) when it is a self-contained tangent, a small piece of a far larger mosaic. CTU's duplicitous attempt to capture one of the operatives for interrogation by lying about Farhad's status and leaking it to the press (all Jack's idea, note, and one that, as well as making perfect sense, has rarely been done in the show in the past... we'll just forget about the 'Palmer survived' thang in late season one, shall we?) makes for wonderfully dramatic viewing, and while it is arguably a foregone conclusion that Marcos will not detonate the bomb when Jack Bauer's in the general vicinity, Braga and Coto circumnavigate the problem of assurity by having the young, inexperienced and distinctly nervous Owen be the one to accompany him to the treacherous Hassan. We experience events predominantly through his perspective, and his jittery uncertainty transposes onto the viewer, such that we're frightened by the instability of the whole situation. Owen's mid-card status also renders him expendable, so the possibility of an untimely death and early grave is always on the cards, adding just that extra nugget of tension to proceedings.
Farhad's final twenty minutes on Earth are also notably well handled, largely because, by virtue of the juxtaposition between scripted events and the ever ticking clock, the viewer is constantly aware that 'time is running out', so to speak, that the window of opportunity for CTU to rescue the man is narrowing by the second. Importantly, the outcome is never telegraphed. It really feels, at every point until Farhad gets up and runs (not objectionable in itself due to the proximity of the shooter, but did he really have to do it so blatantly? Why not just wave your arms around and shout, "I'm here!" too?), like the narrative could go either way, which is certainly encouraging. It is also a rather interesting idea to have the members of Farhad's 'posse', so to speak, be members of Omar's trusted elite. While this ties in with his suspicions in the wake of his brother's betrayal, it also provides the opportunity to explore some suitably murky political ground, and Coto and Braga rise to the challenge exceptionally well. For all its relative brevity, the sequence between Taylor and Hassan is simply superb, a wonderfully executed scene in all its aspects. The discussion that they have is distinctly realistic and works well to sell the roles themselves, while the dilemma that it postulates enriches the substance of the narrative, since it's brilliantly oblique and without any evident 'right' or 'wrong' resolution. Everything is excellently shot too, and wonderfully soundtracked (Sean Callery, ye be a genius), to convey the right level of gravitas and give a simple set of impassioned talking points real weight and foreboding.
Of course, this being 24, not everything in '1am - 2am' is quite so pleasantly surprising. No, there are elements of the episode that I would perhaps have described, in weeks past, as being somewhat lacking; in fact, I probably would have lambasted their patently ridiculous and pathetic nature... but no more! Mr. Gods has made me see the light and now I love every one of these kooky fun-fests... so much so, in fact, that I just can't wait to see more in the hours to come. Hunchback Hastings and his battle of wills with I-Don't-Get-My-Way-So-I'll-Throw-A-Hissyfit-And-Maybe-Break-A-Telephone-Or-Two (or Wah Wah for short)-Weiss? It doesn't matter if Weiss cares about this whole thing far more than he should... I just can't get enough of their woodenness! Seriously, that hammy delivery, those weird pensive pauses and smirks that Williamson does... the stuff of dreams, man. Hell, they make me feel better about my own lacklustre acting skills. And when Hastings utters the immortal line, 'you wanna replace me as head of CTU?', it just fills me with an overwhelming sense of delight at the possibility that we might have another revolving door of bureaucrats who do their absolute best to hinder everything beneficial that happens within the investigation. These writers are too good to us, really.
They do give us more extraneous interpersonal gumf, after all. Honestly, I find myself having to contain my excitement at all of this, just in case the sort of hyperactive gleeful gesticulation that it is known to induce actually causes me to have a hernia. I don't know about you, but whenever Hassan's daughter appears on screen, running after her potentially dastardly boyfriend (oh yeah, don't tell me you haven't clocked those dodgy looks that Tarin keeps shooting everyone - the guys in the car especially - and honestly, where else is this story going to go? We're probably due a predictable mole around about now anyway), I find myself thinking that this is the sort of thing I want to see on my TV screen, wishing that more programmes could feature such riveting and potentially revolutionary storylines... and sparkling dialogue, for that matter. 'This is such a terrible situation and yet I've never felt so happy'? That's deep, man. That's the sort of thing that stays with you, that touches the very depths of your soul. That's the stuff Emmys are made of. All of this makes me care so much about these characters; almost as much, in fact, as I care about Cole and Dana, whose initiation of Kevin's Voyage to the Bottom of the Swamp might be 'rediculouse', in Gods's words, but by golly, was it heart wrenching. Katie Sackhoff's wistful, 'complex' gaze, her tears, Freddie Prinze Jnr.'s confusion and his... um... confusion. Man, I was choking up. It's just a shame that the writers spend so little time on them this week; the show could do with more drama that's completely unrelated to any of the central motifs. Still, at least it doesn't seem like it's going to go away any time soon. Yup, we really can all sleep soundly at night knowing that we're gonna get to see the fall-out of this water cooler-worthy storyline. What else? Oh yes, there's the possibility that Jack and Renee are gonna get it awn which gets my vote frankly, since the very definition of 'fun', in my book, is knowing someone for a day and a half and then agreeing to spend all your time with them romantically. The rather spurious technology's also good for a laugh (bring up the hospital security feed instaneously, acquiring results of facial recognition within seconds, remotely disarming the bomb from a ludicrous amount of miles away) and how about that Cisco product placement, huh? 'The telepresence conference is about to begin'... in the 'Cisco Telepresence Suite'! Oh 24, you are such a cad, but we love you for it.
You know Mr. Gods, I think that's much better. Having embraced your philosophy and allowed myself to bypass everything that it's in the very fibre of my being to criticise, it really has improved both my state of mind and my enjoyment of writing this review. Granted, a significant proportion of '1am - 2am' is a decided improvement on weeks past anyway, featuring a much welcome focus on the terrorist threat and generating a substantial amount of suspense, but those parts that are extraneous, I no longer feel inclined to whine about. Nope, I don't feel even the slightest bit frustrated at the fact that 24 is able to provide us with far better, as it has done in the past. I'm quite happy to coast along with you on auto-pilot, letting everything go in one ear and out the other, never objecting that perhaps, just perhaps, we deserve better. As that wise scholar Andrew W.K. once said, 'we want fun', after all. Thanks ever so much 24 for giving it to us. 10*
* 7.8 really. Couldn't keep up the facade any longer.
Wr: Manny Coto & Brannon Braga
Dr: Brad Turner
Synopsis: Jack prepares to go to Farhad Hassan's last known location to rescue him and stop an impending terrorist attack on New York City. His other endgame is to clear Renee from taking the fall if the operation fails. President Taylor warns President Omar Hassan that if the attack is successful, she will have no choice but to declare war on his country. Cole and Dana have to figure out how to solve the aftermath of the confrontation with Kevin and Nick.
Review: I do enjoy a healthy slice of constructive criticism every now and again, so I was most delighted last week when a gentleman (actually, that's a presumption on my part) by the name of HTEflseGODS took it upon himself to compose a 'review' of 24's '12am - 1am' that consisted entirely of a series of observations on my analysis of the episode. Mr. Gods suggested that perhaps I was only 'just now figuring... out' that the show 'is so mindless' and that as a result, I should stop watching 'b/cuz [sic] (I'll) just end up going bats**t'. An astute piece of psychoanalysis there, I'm sure you'll agree. However, this wasn't all. Not by a long shot. While acknowledging that 'they go off on some of the most rediculouse [sic] side stories ever', HTE, if I may call him that, argued that this is 'the fun of the show' and that I should simply 'take it for what it is' ('mindless fun dressed up as intellagent [sic] espianoge [sic] action', in case you were wondering). Gods believes that I should not take anything that 24 throws up 'too seriously' because, well, at the end of the day, 'the clock is counting 4 [me] too' and presumably, by composing a review that's significantly critical of the subject matter, I am exponentially reducing my life span. It's all the stress and the strain on my psyche, you see. What I need to do is switch off, let it all wash over me, 'enjoy the ride', so to speak, and, to quote Gods again, 'stop the endless ranting', if for no other reason than as he so eloquently points out, 'nobody reads that' anyway.
And he's probably right. Who in their right mind wants to sit and pore through a right load of old whinging, eh? Who really wants to read a review that actually picks apart the minutiae of the episode and challenges the quality of the production? Who's bothered if the critic actually uses the full range of marks and delivers scores that are representative of their opinions? Certainly no self-respecting reader that I can think of, that's for sure. No, what we want, nay what we need, is for everyone to have a good chuckle about how daft television shows are, to excuse the lazy writing, poor plotting and wanting production because that's 'the fun of it' isn't it... that way, we'll live in a land of comfortable 9.5s where everything is hunky-dory and everyone is footloose, fancy-free and happy as a pig in shit. Or something. I really don't want to be the one to hinder the onset of this incandescent utopia so, with that in mind, I'm going to take Mr. Gods's sage advice and turn off my hypercritical and over-cynical mental faculties for this one. Yup, it's your lucky day '1am - 2am', because screenagedkicks is ready to sit back, relax and let your crap wash right over him.
Except it doesn't quite turn out that way. As if in defiance of my determination to simply become a mindless automaton for a week, 24 actually went and did the unthinkable with the tenth hour of its eighth season and delivered something genuinely good. Not 'turn off your brain good' (if ever there were such a thing), you understand, but critically good, measuring up to the sort of standards that we have justifiably come to expect from the programme after many years of solid writing and production. Braga and Coto's script defies all the odds and manages to create a substantially engaging hour of entertainment, keeping suspense levels high by maintaining a healthy pace and steady momentum to that most important of storylines: the core terrorist threat. Yes, would you believe it, '1am - 2am' actually spends a large amount of time dealing with the small matter of The Rod Stewart Affair, and allows most of the extraneous narratives to have a sit down on the sidewalk and ruminate over their general rubbishness. In fact, what's even more impressive is that the Rod Stewarts barely feature in the episode at all, save for a cameo appearance (support slot? To continue the pun... type... thing? No?) while Marcos is calling his dear, sweet, innocent mother (nice scene by the way, grounding events in a solid emotional base); instead, the writers manufacture tension from a perfectly logical off-shoot of the terrorist activity, taking the time to delineate consequence and demonstrate how the IKK rebels' 'plans' are loosely woven together and highly organic.
This sets the arc story at a distinct advantage; without a set of 'rules' (peeling away the layers to reveal plan-upon-counterplan-upon-counterplan, all concocted by shady businessmen), there is the sense that the narrative could essentially go anywhere, making its teleology decidedly unpredictable. This is exactly the sort of format that 24 should be adopting, since in a show with a 'real time' backbone, significant foreshadowing often feels like unnecessarily premature revelation. Furthermore, it proves that the drive does not always have to be towards the actualisation or heroic prevention of the proposed threat; it can be just as successful (if not more so) when it is a self-contained tangent, a small piece of a far larger mosaic. CTU's duplicitous attempt to capture one of the operatives for interrogation by lying about Farhad's status and leaking it to the press (all Jack's idea, note, and one that, as well as making perfect sense, has rarely been done in the show in the past... we'll just forget about the 'Palmer survived' thang in late season one, shall we?) makes for wonderfully dramatic viewing, and while it is arguably a foregone conclusion that Marcos will not detonate the bomb when Jack Bauer's in the general vicinity, Braga and Coto circumnavigate the problem of assurity by having the young, inexperienced and distinctly nervous Owen be the one to accompany him to the treacherous Hassan. We experience events predominantly through his perspective, and his jittery uncertainty transposes onto the viewer, such that we're frightened by the instability of the whole situation. Owen's mid-card status also renders him expendable, so the possibility of an untimely death and early grave is always on the cards, adding just that extra nugget of tension to proceedings.
Farhad's final twenty minutes on Earth are also notably well handled, largely because, by virtue of the juxtaposition between scripted events and the ever ticking clock, the viewer is constantly aware that 'time is running out', so to speak, that the window of opportunity for CTU to rescue the man is narrowing by the second. Importantly, the outcome is never telegraphed. It really feels, at every point until Farhad gets up and runs (not objectionable in itself due to the proximity of the shooter, but did he really have to do it so blatantly? Why not just wave your arms around and shout, "I'm here!" too?), like the narrative could go either way, which is certainly encouraging. It is also a rather interesting idea to have the members of Farhad's 'posse', so to speak, be members of Omar's trusted elite. While this ties in with his suspicions in the wake of his brother's betrayal, it also provides the opportunity to explore some suitably murky political ground, and Coto and Braga rise to the challenge exceptionally well. For all its relative brevity, the sequence between Taylor and Hassan is simply superb, a wonderfully executed scene in all its aspects. The discussion that they have is distinctly realistic and works well to sell the roles themselves, while the dilemma that it postulates enriches the substance of the narrative, since it's brilliantly oblique and without any evident 'right' or 'wrong' resolution. Everything is excellently shot too, and wonderfully soundtracked (Sean Callery, ye be a genius), to convey the right level of gravitas and give a simple set of impassioned talking points real weight and foreboding.
Of course, this being 24, not everything in '1am - 2am' is quite so pleasantly surprising. No, there are elements of the episode that I would perhaps have described, in weeks past, as being somewhat lacking; in fact, I probably would have lambasted their patently ridiculous and pathetic nature... but no more! Mr. Gods has made me see the light and now I love every one of these kooky fun-fests... so much so, in fact, that I just can't wait to see more in the hours to come. Hunchback Hastings and his battle of wills with I-Don't-Get-My-Way-So-I'll-Throw-A-Hissyfit-And-Maybe-Break-A-Telephone-Or-Two (or Wah Wah for short)-Weiss? It doesn't matter if Weiss cares about this whole thing far more than he should... I just can't get enough of their woodenness! Seriously, that hammy delivery, those weird pensive pauses and smirks that Williamson does... the stuff of dreams, man. Hell, they make me feel better about my own lacklustre acting skills. And when Hastings utters the immortal line, 'you wanna replace me as head of CTU?', it just fills me with an overwhelming sense of delight at the possibility that we might have another revolving door of bureaucrats who do their absolute best to hinder everything beneficial that happens within the investigation. These writers are too good to us, really.
They do give us more extraneous interpersonal gumf, after all. Honestly, I find myself having to contain my excitement at all of this, just in case the sort of hyperactive gleeful gesticulation that it is known to induce actually causes me to have a hernia. I don't know about you, but whenever Hassan's daughter appears on screen, running after her potentially dastardly boyfriend (oh yeah, don't tell me you haven't clocked those dodgy looks that Tarin keeps shooting everyone - the guys in the car especially - and honestly, where else is this story going to go? We're probably due a predictable mole around about now anyway), I find myself thinking that this is the sort of thing I want to see on my TV screen, wishing that more programmes could feature such riveting and potentially revolutionary storylines... and sparkling dialogue, for that matter. 'This is such a terrible situation and yet I've never felt so happy'? That's deep, man. That's the sort of thing that stays with you, that touches the very depths of your soul. That's the stuff Emmys are made of. All of this makes me care so much about these characters; almost as much, in fact, as I care about Cole and Dana, whose initiation of Kevin's Voyage to the Bottom of the Swamp might be 'rediculouse', in Gods's words, but by golly, was it heart wrenching. Katie Sackhoff's wistful, 'complex' gaze, her tears, Freddie Prinze Jnr.'s confusion and his... um... confusion. Man, I was choking up. It's just a shame that the writers spend so little time on them this week; the show could do with more drama that's completely unrelated to any of the central motifs. Still, at least it doesn't seem like it's going to go away any time soon. Yup, we really can all sleep soundly at night knowing that we're gonna get to see the fall-out of this water cooler-worthy storyline. What else? Oh yes, there's the possibility that Jack and Renee are gonna get it awn which gets my vote frankly, since the very definition of 'fun', in my book, is knowing someone for a day and a half and then agreeing to spend all your time with them romantically. The rather spurious technology's also good for a laugh (bring up the hospital security feed instaneously, acquiring results of facial recognition within seconds, remotely disarming the bomb from a ludicrous amount of miles away) and how about that Cisco product placement, huh? 'The telepresence conference is about to begin'... in the 'Cisco Telepresence Suite'! Oh 24, you are such a cad, but we love you for it.
You know Mr. Gods, I think that's much better. Having embraced your philosophy and allowed myself to bypass everything that it's in the very fibre of my being to criticise, it really has improved both my state of mind and my enjoyment of writing this review. Granted, a significant proportion of '1am - 2am' is a decided improvement on weeks past anyway, featuring a much welcome focus on the terrorist threat and generating a substantial amount of suspense, but those parts that are extraneous, I no longer feel inclined to whine about. Nope, I don't feel even the slightest bit frustrated at the fact that 24 is able to provide us with far better, as it has done in the past. I'm quite happy to coast along with you on auto-pilot, letting everything go in one ear and out the other, never objecting that perhaps, just perhaps, we deserve better. As that wise scholar Andrew W.K. once said, 'we want fun', after all. Thanks ever so much 24 for giving it to us. 10*
* 7.8 really. Couldn't keep up the facade any longer.
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Television review: Desperate Housewives #616: 'The Chase'
616: 'The Chase'
Wr: John Pardee & Joey Murphy
Dr: Larry Shaw
Synopsis: Celia comes down with the chicken pox, and having never had it herself, Gabrielle must keep her distance, so she stays with Bob and Lee for a while, and is suddenly reminded of what it feels like to be "single" again. In the meantime, Tom and Lynette forget little Penny's birthday, which leads the girl to go missing. Bree hires a promising new employee (guest star Sam Page) and Katherine makes a surprising discovery about herself. Meanwhile, Susan cheats on Mrs. McCluskey, whereas Angie grows concerned over Danny's disappearance.
Review: Desperate Housewives is having a right gay old time this week; us homos are quite literally everywhere, botching up previously functioning catering businesses, seducing supposedly heterosexual single ladies and spilling out of detached suburban homes in the wee hours, drunk on cocktails, gossip and super fabulous exfoliation dahling. On the one hand, such prominent visual presence is significantly encouraging; in effect, the show normalises queerness, treating it in the same off-hand, 'as is' style as its somewhat 'straighter' motifs, which egalitarianises the sexualities and avoids a sense of 'us and them'. However, this argument doesn't account for the nature of the representation, and for all 'The Chase' has some positive and healthy things to say about gay sexuality, it tends to rely far too heavily on convention and stereotype.
While it is certainly pleasing on the eye to have Andrew back in play, albeit with a five o'clock shadow that would put Jack Bauer to shame, his storyline effectively reinforces a number of common misconceptions about both gay men and their ability to participate in functioning, loving relationships. The strand is hampered by nature of the relationship between Andrew and Alex. The first we ever saw of the two, in season five, was when they sprung their surprise coupling on Bree and Orson and then, within the space of a dinner, announced their engagement. This sudden revelation, while providing a nice momentary jolt to the narrative, prevented the viewer from ever being able to invest in their paring, from giving a tinker's cuss about whether their marriage would actually come to fruition. Subsequently, we've barely seen anything of them since the story took a decidedly different turn and their relationship turned into a springboard for the delineation of the changes to Bree's character and her difficulties with Orson. The homosexual element served only to progress the hetero, and once completed, disappeared off our screens completely.
Now, Andrew's suddenly sleeping with the innocuous Tad and jeopardising what he has with Alex, but it's so throwaway that it barely even seems to matter. The plot doesn't afford this development any real significance; there is simply no gravitas to it as its sole purpose is to provide convenient fodder for the furtherance of a patently ridiculous narrative involving some random, woolly-jumpered creep whose mission to become Bree's surrogate son involves severely discrediting the one she actually bore. It isn't even conveyed as being particularly objectionable: for all Bree raises the issue of Alex, Andrew brushes the accusation of adultery aside, excusing his behaviour as a result of drink and, laughably, peer pressure and raising the small matter of Bree's own infidelity. Nothing is challenged here, and you can guarantee that we will see no repercussions in the weeks to come (since Shawn Pyfrom's probably fulfilled his ten minutes of screentime for the year by now), so this casts an air of superficiality over Andrew's marriage, reinforcing the idea that this is perfectly standard behaviour for us homos and even potentially acceptable. Instead of pratting about with some hopeless caricature of a character who has about as much depth as my old paddling pool, the story would prove far more rewarding if the onus was on the implications that all of this had for Andrew and Alex's relationship.
Similar problems impact upon the success of Bob and Lee's first actual story in about three seasons. Firstly, their involvement is solely the result of an unfortunate development in the Solis household, so inevitably, the focus is on the impact for her character and how getting a taste of the 'single'/childless life has a dramatic impact on her, turning her (once more) into a selfish, self-absorbed socialite. This trope probably constitutes about 85% of the narratives into which Gabrielle has found herself entrenched in the six year duration of the show and consequently, it's about as interesting as the bacterial infection in my granddad's big toe. A far more rewarding storyline would have been to concentrate squarely on the impact that Bob and Lee's proposed lifestyle change has on their relationship, especially since we know so little about these characters that they're effectively blank slates, bursting with opportunity and potential.
Sadly, however, the Housewives writing staff choose to let them remain ciphers for the vast majority of their narrative, exhibiting all the hallmarks traits of a conventional, heteronormative perception of gay life. Bob and Lee are super fabulous party animals, whose house is brimming with opulence (because, you know, all homos have so much disposable income that they just don't know what to do with it other than splurge on excess), overflowing with alcohol (seriously... how much cocktail-concocting material do these boys have?) and is a constant port of call for any and all rampantly queeny, effete and gossip-mongering homos. Lee 'has ten homos on speed dial' at any given time and can get them to turn up within minutes of suggesting that there might be a social gathering, looking like catwalk models, every one. They have names like Frederico, drive ludicrously posh cars, wear fedoras and gather round their ex-model faghag as she's gossipping about her torrid sex life, soaking up every detail like it's the most interesting thing since Angelina split up with Brad. They're hopeless archetypes, the sort of characters that the straight world believes to be indicative of homosexuality and frankly, I expected a whole hell of a lot more from a showrunner who is actually that way inclined himself. Perhaps Marc Cherry's life is more like this, who knows... it doesn't really matter anyhow. What matters is that it's hardly empathetic or welcoming; if anything, it propagates the perceived difference between gay and straight, setting us apart as entirely different creatures altogether. When the story does come round to providing something of substance - the revelation that Bob and Lee wish to adopt - it's far too little, far too late.
And then, of course, we have the big one. The one that's got all the tongues wagging. Katherine Mayfair's new-found confusion regarding her attraction to Robyn. Credit where it's due, at least the unusual nature of all of this is actually addressed. It's good to see Katherine approaching her psychiatrist on the issue and being open and up-front with him, and the advice he gives is actually quite pertinent, suggesting tat she is simply distracting herself from her recovery. Unfortunately, sense finds itself shoved out of the nearest window as the narrative progresses and ratings-grabbing takes priority, so instead of simply having moderately amusing, but a little cringe worthy, sexual dreams about Robyn, Katherine actually goes to bed with her instead. Yes, you read that right, Ms Mayfair is actually willing to skip the starter and go straight for the main course, so to speak, diving in (hur hur) with both feet without even the slightest objection. Not for Katherine a kiss, cuddle and romantic meal, oh no, she wants to get down to business, so we end the episode in post-coital bliss (or indeed, regret). There is insufficient of a journey here: essentially, as Robyn starts taking her top because she's spilled wine all over it, Katherine gets all hot under the collar and starts acting like a cat on heat. Well, sort of. It doesn't feel logical enough; it reads more like an attempt to provide shock value, to get the message boards buzzing, and sadly, we've had so little time to invest in the development that it's hard to have any faith that it will amount to little more than a passing curiosity.
There are other storylines in 'The Chase', ones that don't concern themselves with queer issues, but they certainly don't have the same level of impact. In fact, they're fairly dull by comparison; Angie and Nick's proposed trip to New York is a rather predictable twist, while Susan's incessant pestering of poor Roy to propose to Karen is just about the most useless storyline that she's ever had, full of ludicrous dialogue and unbelievable character decisions (Roy kisses Susan because he 'feels trapped'? Huh? That's just an excuse to give us all a 'memorable' gross out moment). No, the main meat of the hour is everything to do with us gays but sadly, the writers drop the ball in more ways than one. Instead of challenging the viewer and providing valuable insight into our lives, the storylines use their queer motifs in throwaway fashion, perpetrating ridiculous narratives and illustrating a series of distinctly outmoded conventions and stereotypes. There is such potential within all of Housewives' non-hetero characters that this comes as a massive disappointment and sadly, the episode suffers greatly as a result. 4.8
Wr: John Pardee & Joey Murphy
Dr: Larry Shaw
Synopsis: Celia comes down with the chicken pox, and having never had it herself, Gabrielle must keep her distance, so she stays with Bob and Lee for a while, and is suddenly reminded of what it feels like to be "single" again. In the meantime, Tom and Lynette forget little Penny's birthday, which leads the girl to go missing. Bree hires a promising new employee (guest star Sam Page) and Katherine makes a surprising discovery about herself. Meanwhile, Susan cheats on Mrs. McCluskey, whereas Angie grows concerned over Danny's disappearance.
Review: Desperate Housewives is having a right gay old time this week; us homos are quite literally everywhere, botching up previously functioning catering businesses, seducing supposedly heterosexual single ladies and spilling out of detached suburban homes in the wee hours, drunk on cocktails, gossip and super fabulous exfoliation dahling. On the one hand, such prominent visual presence is significantly encouraging; in effect, the show normalises queerness, treating it in the same off-hand, 'as is' style as its somewhat 'straighter' motifs, which egalitarianises the sexualities and avoids a sense of 'us and them'. However, this argument doesn't account for the nature of the representation, and for all 'The Chase' has some positive and healthy things to say about gay sexuality, it tends to rely far too heavily on convention and stereotype.
While it is certainly pleasing on the eye to have Andrew back in play, albeit with a five o'clock shadow that would put Jack Bauer to shame, his storyline effectively reinforces a number of common misconceptions about both gay men and their ability to participate in functioning, loving relationships. The strand is hampered by nature of the relationship between Andrew and Alex. The first we ever saw of the two, in season five, was when they sprung their surprise coupling on Bree and Orson and then, within the space of a dinner, announced their engagement. This sudden revelation, while providing a nice momentary jolt to the narrative, prevented the viewer from ever being able to invest in their paring, from giving a tinker's cuss about whether their marriage would actually come to fruition. Subsequently, we've barely seen anything of them since the story took a decidedly different turn and their relationship turned into a springboard for the delineation of the changes to Bree's character and her difficulties with Orson. The homosexual element served only to progress the hetero, and once completed, disappeared off our screens completely.
Now, Andrew's suddenly sleeping with the innocuous Tad and jeopardising what he has with Alex, but it's so throwaway that it barely even seems to matter. The plot doesn't afford this development any real significance; there is simply no gravitas to it as its sole purpose is to provide convenient fodder for the furtherance of a patently ridiculous narrative involving some random, woolly-jumpered creep whose mission to become Bree's surrogate son involves severely discrediting the one she actually bore. It isn't even conveyed as being particularly objectionable: for all Bree raises the issue of Alex, Andrew brushes the accusation of adultery aside, excusing his behaviour as a result of drink and, laughably, peer pressure and raising the small matter of Bree's own infidelity. Nothing is challenged here, and you can guarantee that we will see no repercussions in the weeks to come (since Shawn Pyfrom's probably fulfilled his ten minutes of screentime for the year by now), so this casts an air of superficiality over Andrew's marriage, reinforcing the idea that this is perfectly standard behaviour for us homos and even potentially acceptable. Instead of pratting about with some hopeless caricature of a character who has about as much depth as my old paddling pool, the story would prove far more rewarding if the onus was on the implications that all of this had for Andrew and Alex's relationship.
Similar problems impact upon the success of Bob and Lee's first actual story in about three seasons. Firstly, their involvement is solely the result of an unfortunate development in the Solis household, so inevitably, the focus is on the impact for her character and how getting a taste of the 'single'/childless life has a dramatic impact on her, turning her (once more) into a selfish, self-absorbed socialite. This trope probably constitutes about 85% of the narratives into which Gabrielle has found herself entrenched in the six year duration of the show and consequently, it's about as interesting as the bacterial infection in my granddad's big toe. A far more rewarding storyline would have been to concentrate squarely on the impact that Bob and Lee's proposed lifestyle change has on their relationship, especially since we know so little about these characters that they're effectively blank slates, bursting with opportunity and potential.
Sadly, however, the Housewives writing staff choose to let them remain ciphers for the vast majority of their narrative, exhibiting all the hallmarks traits of a conventional, heteronormative perception of gay life. Bob and Lee are super fabulous party animals, whose house is brimming with opulence (because, you know, all homos have so much disposable income that they just don't know what to do with it other than splurge on excess), overflowing with alcohol (seriously... how much cocktail-concocting material do these boys have?) and is a constant port of call for any and all rampantly queeny, effete and gossip-mongering homos. Lee 'has ten homos on speed dial' at any given time and can get them to turn up within minutes of suggesting that there might be a social gathering, looking like catwalk models, every one. They have names like Frederico, drive ludicrously posh cars, wear fedoras and gather round their ex-model faghag as she's gossipping about her torrid sex life, soaking up every detail like it's the most interesting thing since Angelina split up with Brad. They're hopeless archetypes, the sort of characters that the straight world believes to be indicative of homosexuality and frankly, I expected a whole hell of a lot more from a showrunner who is actually that way inclined himself. Perhaps Marc Cherry's life is more like this, who knows... it doesn't really matter anyhow. What matters is that it's hardly empathetic or welcoming; if anything, it propagates the perceived difference between gay and straight, setting us apart as entirely different creatures altogether. When the story does come round to providing something of substance - the revelation that Bob and Lee wish to adopt - it's far too little, far too late.
And then, of course, we have the big one. The one that's got all the tongues wagging. Katherine Mayfair's new-found confusion regarding her attraction to Robyn. Credit where it's due, at least the unusual nature of all of this is actually addressed. It's good to see Katherine approaching her psychiatrist on the issue and being open and up-front with him, and the advice he gives is actually quite pertinent, suggesting tat she is simply distracting herself from her recovery. Unfortunately, sense finds itself shoved out of the nearest window as the narrative progresses and ratings-grabbing takes priority, so instead of simply having moderately amusing, but a little cringe worthy, sexual dreams about Robyn, Katherine actually goes to bed with her instead. Yes, you read that right, Ms Mayfair is actually willing to skip the starter and go straight for the main course, so to speak, diving in (hur hur) with both feet without even the slightest objection. Not for Katherine a kiss, cuddle and romantic meal, oh no, she wants to get down to business, so we end the episode in post-coital bliss (or indeed, regret). There is insufficient of a journey here: essentially, as Robyn starts taking her top because she's spilled wine all over it, Katherine gets all hot under the collar and starts acting like a cat on heat. Well, sort of. It doesn't feel logical enough; it reads more like an attempt to provide shock value, to get the message boards buzzing, and sadly, we've had so little time to invest in the development that it's hard to have any faith that it will amount to little more than a passing curiosity.
There are other storylines in 'The Chase', ones that don't concern themselves with queer issues, but they certainly don't have the same level of impact. In fact, they're fairly dull by comparison; Angie and Nick's proposed trip to New York is a rather predictable twist, while Susan's incessant pestering of poor Roy to propose to Karen is just about the most useless storyline that she's ever had, full of ludicrous dialogue and unbelievable character decisions (Roy kisses Susan because he 'feels trapped'? Huh? That's just an excuse to give us all a 'memorable' gross out moment). No, the main meat of the hour is everything to do with us gays but sadly, the writers drop the ball in more ways than one. Instead of challenging the viewer and providing valuable insight into our lives, the storylines use their queer motifs in throwaway fashion, perpetrating ridiculous narratives and illustrating a series of distinctly outmoded conventions and stereotypes. There is such potential within all of Housewives' non-hetero characters that this comes as a massive disappointment and sadly, the episode suffers greatly as a result. 4.8
Album review: The Rocket Summer: 'Of Men and Angels'
THE ROCKET SUMMER: 'Of Men and Angels' (Island Def Jam)
It's standard practice among music critics to champion Bryce Avary's seemingly interminable talents, so perhaps it's best to get the fawning out of the way before we continue. Yes, it's mighty impressive that this blonde-haired, doey-eyed twentysomething is able to create entire albums on his lonesome, playing all the instruments, singing all the vocals, writing all the lyrics, donning the producer's cap and playing with those fiddly knobs and buttons... that's a hell of a lot to take on at once, and the fact that his records don't come out smelling like an amateurish, over-bloated ego trip is testament to the depth of his talent. Problem is, while Bryce tends to avoid seeming self-absorbed, he has trouble escaping from the trappings of his own creative proclivities. 'Of Men and Angels' is essentially just 2007's 'Do You Feel', writ slightly larger and with moderately different melodies.
The album doesn't really take Bryce anywhere new. He's still the earnest Pied Piper, smothering us in his optimism, encouraging us to see the joy and beauty in the everyday. He tackles prejudice in the jaunty 'You Gotta Believe', but does so in the most polite and taciturn way possible, asking his target to 'excuse (his) rudeness' and 'hoping' that guy's 'blinded eyes' can see that '(you) gotta be free'. It's so inoffensive, it's almost saccharine but Avary's irresistible way with a big chorus lets him get away with it. Similarly, the 'hills and valleys' metaphor in the song of the same name would be vomit-enducing if it weren't for the powerful combo of Bryce's delectably fragile voice and cascading piano solos. The song swoops and soars like a flight over the landscape and you can't help but be thrown along for the ride, agreeing to 'hold on' with him on this comfortable journey.
This is a technique that works, yes, but it's also one that's disappointingly safe. There's little doubt that after a while, Bryce's self-appointed life-coaching lessons begin to grate. The joyful euphoria of power pop gems like 'Roses' and 'I Need A Break...' quickly stagnates, and for an album the length of 'Of Men and Angels', that's something of a problem. Oh sure, not every track's a lethal dose of sugar sweet happiness, but the ones that aren't, such as the hopeless 'Japanese Exchange Student', in which Bryce whines about the plight of the poor, lonely rock musician, are patently atrocious. His persistent preoccupation with his faith doesn't help matters either: the title track is a horribly sickly paen to God wherein Bryce 'falls' at his Lord's feet, casting aside 'hints of fame' in favour of '(His) peace'. 'Nothing Matters' is even worse, coming on like the sort of embarrassing attempt to engage with 'da yoof' that God-bothering travelling troupes bring to school assemblies across the globe.
More of the same from The Rocket Summer then, as Bryce Avary delivers an album of unashamedly sincere optimism, using the tried and tested vessel of infectious piano-led pop rock. Sadly, at fifteen unforgivingly saccharine tracks, this quickly begins to grate and long before record's end, you long for a dose of bitterness to come along and spoil the party. It's a shame really, as 'Of Men and Angels' has the ingredients of a solid album; it just needs a helping hand, a new set of eyes and ears, to realise it. (5/10)
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Television review: Lost #605: 'Lighthouse'
605: 'Lighthouse'
Wr: Carlton Cuse & Damon Lindelof
Dr: Jack Bender
Synopsis: Hurley must convince Jack to accompany him on a mission, and Jin comes across an old acquaintance.
Review: 'Lighthouse' is something of a curious beast. On the one hand, Lindelof and Cuse's script has the same qualities as last week's stupendous 'The Substitute', maintaining steady momentum through the interweaving of intriguingly oblique and dramatically engaging narrative strands, However, on the other, it seems to falter occasionally, testing the viewer's patience somewhat by resorting to a number of tried, tested and rather transparent tricks that serve only to prolong the inevitable, to stall the progression of the arc plot. After six years, we've become rather accustomed to the producers' admittedly salient methods and in the absence of something especially unique, it becomes easy to drift and to feel frustrated with the inherent nature of what we're given.
The worst offender, it seems, is the flash sideways. Now, I will profess to being slightly biased against Mr. Shephard's stories, given that he's one of the least interesting characters on the show (I know, I know, scream "blasphemer!" all you like, but come on... he's no Locke is he?!), but even Matthew Fox has had his moments of brilliance. Sadly, 'Lighthouse's B-story isn't one of them; giving the guy a son is a very nice idea, and there are some hints at a more intriguing slant to the purpose of these strands (Jack doesn't remember having his appendix removed, despite it happening when he was seven, which seems to suggest a possible 'course correction' or change in history that he is not completely disassociated from), but unfortunately, very little is done with the story that is actually of much interest. The teleology is decidedly predictable - it's patently obvious from the moment that Jack's son starts ignoring him that a moral lesson will be learned by both parties within the course of the hour and that they'll reconcile, which robs the narrative of its lustre, making the denouement a foregone conclusion and exposing the transparency of the plot structure. It's also rather indicative of the 'neat and tidy' approach to storytelling in conventional television drama, wherein it is perceived that equilibrium must be restored within one sitting in order for the viewing audience to feel some sense of satisfaction. Lost is not normally guilty of this as consequence is a significant feature of the ongoing story, but here it feels too compact, tied into a neat little bow simply because there was a requirement to pad out the script. Admittedly, there are some well-executed moments within the strand, most notable of which is Jack's desperate attempt to find David, coming across his voicemail message while in the boy's room, but they are insufficient to make the whole thing truly memorable or engaging.
The problems are less significant on-Island but nevertheless, occasional lapses remain. The issue centres mostly on Hurley and Jack's sojourn to the lighthouse which is prolonged substantially through the episode's mid-section. At the end of the first act, it becomes clear that they are heading somewhere, but the destination is not reached until part-way through the third. This is not objectionable in itself but the interim sequences do not contain enough weight to distract the viewer from the fact that the plot is being stretched out over an unnecessarily lengthy period. The 'journey' scenes even seem to highlight the fact that they are somewhat extraneous: Lindelof and Cuse give Hurley dialogue along the lines of "this feels like the old days, you and me heading somewhere that we don't know for a reason we don't understand" which, instead of seeming like a pleasingly self-referential nod to the audience, actually just exposes its immaterial nature. There are further attempts at this sort of metatextual self-reflexivity: when Jack asks why they haven't seen the lighthouse before, Hurley responds that 'we weren't looking for it', which feels like a rather convenient excuse. Hurley also suggests that the skeletons in the caves that the Losties lived in during season one could be them, having travelled back in time and remained stuck there. This is a theory suggested by many within the fan community and, intriguingly, it isn't quashed here, but the inclusion does not feel at all organic. This reads like the grafted on wink to fandom that it is, coming completely out of nowhere and seeming rather superfluous to the story. It's there for its own sake, essentially, and sadly, comes across awkwardly. Coupled with the rather underwhelming flash sideways, these moments make the narrative feel like it's treading water during the middle of the episode, exposing them as little more than filler.
Conversely, however, everything that surrounds this is distinctly strong. The juxtaposing of Hurley's visitations from Jacob, and his subsequent realisation of his mission, with Jin's unfortunate encounter with Claire is a superlative piece of scripting that generates sufficient dramatic tension and beguiling mystery to ensure that the viewer remains firmly on the edge of his or her seat, scratching their heads in delectable bemusement. Once again, a substantial number of questions are generated, but hints at answers to others are incorporated too, to avoid a feeling of frustration. The sequences in the lighthouse are particularly indicative of this, as the structure itself is unusual enough to keep forums buzzing for a good week or two with discussions about the names on the gigantic compass and, more importantly, the 'mirror' that seems to allow the spectator, at the very least, to view the life of the individual denoted by a certain bearing (once again, the numbers afforded our Losties seem to correspond to Hurley's numbers, suggesting further significance, and 108 is Jacob's suggested bearing, which is both the sum of these numbers and the number of minutes between button-pressing in the fabled old hatch). It's entirely possible, of course, that this is far more than simply a lens and that it somehow provides a basis for Jacob's ability to appear off-Island, transporting him to the destination in question. For all its apparent science-fiction tendencies, it's a wonderful conceit and one that is superbly executed by the production department, the design of the device exhibiting a sort of archaic, confounding aesthetic that just makes you yearn to know more. We may never get the answers we seek, however, since Jack essentially has a big paddy, taking out his pent-up frustration on the thing, but this is an excellent moment in itself, perfectly in line with his character and symptomatic of the importance of his apparent journey for the remainder of the season. For all it appears, on a superficial level at least, that Jacob's reasoning for 'pushing' Jack rather than simply giving him all the facts, is rather flimsy, the sort of pseudo-psychoanalytic mumbo jumbo that typically attempts to excuse a slowness of pacing, it is nevertheless perfectly in sync with the character, since his reluctance to accept the fantastical (or rather, the machinations of 'destiny') necessitates a learning curve. Hurley, on the other hand, has always been receptive to that which he cannot explain, which helps to justify Jacob's straightforward approach throughout their relationship. Still, his duplicitousness does shine through when he reveals his ulterior motive for sending Hurley and Jack away, which potentially suggests that they are the preferred of his candidates or that he simply cannot afford to 'lose' them to Smokie. It's a rather callous move, given that it effectively 'writes off' Sayid and potentially Kate, Jin and Sawyer, and as such, helps to further complicate the apparent 'good/evil' binary between the two benevolent characters.
Meanwhile, over in the Monster's camp, Jin finds himself playing house with a somewhat affected Claire, whose three years in the wilderness have essentially turned her into the new Rousseau. Emilie de Ravin is excellent here, perfecting the character's transformation through a subtle manipulation of vocal delivery and body language, aided admirably by the costume and production department's combined efforts to make her look decidedly feral. There are some superbly disturbing touches to the mise en scene: the skeleton in the cradle, the presence of all sorts of weird and wondrous instruments in her little 'hovel' (needles, axes, you name it) that all work to make the sequences truly unnerving. By the time she's threatening the poor Other with the axe, she's so far removed from the tenants of her prior character that it's almost as if she's a new person altogether and one that we should most definitely fear. The addition of Smokey Locke to proceedings only intensifies matters, suggesting that he has manipulated Claire sufficiently with his influence to transform her into this paranoid, aggressive individual and this demonstrates a great deal of potential for the furtherance of the storyline; potentially, Locke and kooky Claire together will make for a formidable, and distinctly frightening, team. Perhaps the most engaging aspect of this whole narrative is its unpredictability and the highly effective manner through which, by the subtle manipulation of dialogue and representation, Cuse and Lindelof are able to construct an undercurrent of decidedly macabre apprehension.
'Lighthouse' is a difficult episode to assess. There are a great deal of enjoyable aspects to the narrative, particularly where the furtherance of the Jacob/Smokey dynamic is concerned, as once more, we are presented with several beguiling narrative strands (the nature of the lighthouse, Claire's transformation) that keep the viewer guessing and maintain a prominent level of suspense. Unfortunately, the episode seems to dip somewhat in its mid-section due to the noticeable padding of the plot, particularly when Hurley and Jack are walking to their destination, which, when coupled with the rather disappointing flash sideways, makes for a distracting and less engaging experience. Essentially, a third of the hour is a little sub-par, while the other two thirds contain just about enough that is good or excellent to keep things afloat. A tough call then. Let's go with an... 8.0
Television review: Desperate Housewives #615: 'Lovely'
615: 'Lovely'
Wr: David Schladweilder
Dr: David Warren
Synopsis: Susan causes quite a stir when she invites a former stripper (guest star Julie Benz) into her home, because former exotic dancer Robin will have a profound effect on the ladies of Wisteria Lane: with three teenage boys at home, Lynette will need to keep a watchful eye on them, Bree needs to pick up a few tricks to engage Orson, Katherine needs to find a friendly companion, and Gabrielle needs help with her troublesome niece - and Robin might just provide that help, whether she wants to or not.
Review: Oh Housewives, you were so close. You nearly had it. For approximately thirty five minutes of your latest moderately amusing instalment, you actually managed to remain consistently entertaining, barely raising so much as an eyebrow with your storylines or reeking of desperation with your attempts at humour. Thanks to a refreshing change of narrative structure and a tempered array of character development, 'Lovely' actually evokes the Housewives of old, far from critically outstanding but a jolly old romp nonetheless. And if only they hadn't gone there. If only they hadn't done it. If only Marc Cherry could've kept his desire for ratings bumps in his pants and consequently, kept his head screwed on correctly. Then, perhaps, he would've realised that turning Katherine Mayfair towards lesbianism might not be the most inventive or engaging idea he's ever had; that, in fact, it actually threatens to ruin the fabric of the episode entirely.
Now, let's get one thing straight (hah!) before we continue. The incorporation of a queer storyline into the Housewives framework, at its core, has the potential to be an excellent thing. The show's tried over the years, with varying degrees of success, but it's always reigned on its promises, never really delivering the goods, so to speak. Andrew got pushed to the wayside fairly quickly after he stopped being a thorn in his mother's side and as for Bob and Lee, well, when was the last time they even had a storyline? The revelation that Robyn is queer, if not lesbian (since she seems to suggest a 'shift' from men) is therefore very welcome, as it offers the opportunity for an alternative perspective on sexuality, visualising, if not normalising, the 'other'. It's also a character trait that we can buy into as we don't have a wealth of experience with Robyn; she's essentially a blank slate. Katherine Mayfair, on the other hand, is a different matter altogether. Having always appeared straight in the two plus years we've known her, never demonstrating any ulterior proclivities, as soon as an attractive woman enters her life who suggests the possibility of 'widening the net', she starts barking up a different tree? Okay, okay so she brushes the suggestion aside at first, but Mary Alice's voiceover hints that she's finding herself thinking - oh! shameful - thoughts about Robyn and you can only guess where this is liable to head in next week's episode. It is arguable, of course, that Housewives should be commended for demonstrating the fluidity of sexuality, contradicting the hegemonic, erroneous notion that persuasion is fixed and determined, and this would be a valid notion of these plots weren't so standard in American television drama, and if it didn't feel like such a throwaway attempt to 'get people talking' It's virtually guaranteed that Benz will disappear from our screens within a week or two and Katherine will return to yearning for the c**k. And in any case, it's frustrating that previously straight characters can so easily chop and change in TV (Party of Five? The OC? Any number of soaps?) simply because some homo comes along and gets them all hot and bothered about something different. God, if only it were that way in reality; whenever I find out that a guy I fancy is straight, it's the end of the possibility. It doesn't pique the boy's interest. We simply don't have that power, but Housewives and so many others would have you believe so. It's just so damn disposable as you know it'll have no lasting effect on anything in the future. Personally, I'd sooner we spent more time on the established gay characters, on Bob, Lee, Andrew even (bring him back!) instead of throwing gimmicky schlock stories into the mix left, right and centre.
Sadly, this leaves a rather bitter taste in the mouth as 'Lovely's conclusion significantly impacts on the overall quality of the episode. This is certainly unfortunate as, for the most part, all else is actually quite enjoyable. The story's unconventional narrative structure works in its favour, compartmentalising all the housewives' experiences of Robyn, thereby affording each of them a greater and more considered amount of screen time and also serving to three-dimensionalise her. We are treated to all manner of facets of Benz's character, which is certainly refreshing for a bit part, enabling the viewer to better engage with her. In effect, once we've witnessed her impact on Wisteria Lane, we actually begin to care about what happens to the gal, which is more than can be said for a great number of other guest roles in the show's history (I still don't give a c**p about Ana... thank God she's been shipped off to New York, no matter how ridiculous that is! I mean come on, Gaby's able to make a quick phone call and get her out of the state? Huh?! No, no complaining - at least she's off my screen!) Additionally, this provides an anchor for the narrative, lending the episode a cohesive feel that has perhaps been missing from Housewives for some time.
The actual stories themselves often prove to be quite amusing. Bree's narrative, in particular, is something of a howler, Marcia Cross proving particularly adept at bleeding every drop of humour from the most miniscule of plot details. Her 'striptease' is absolutely priceless, utterly cringe worthy and in the baddest of taste, but it's unrelenting, not ending until she herself is injured. With every passing moment, the viewer desperately wants her to stop but you just can't look away and Orson's bemusement works as the perfect counter to the sequence. Of course, it is questionable whether Bree would continue to so evidently embarrass herself when it's obvious that Orson has no interest in what she's doing, but the moment is amusing enough to brush off these concerns and the pay-off works nicely to restore some of the chemistry that had previously been lost between the two characters. Similarly, for all Mike and Susan's experience with the stripper is a fairly bog-standard run through a set of beats that are notoriously well-worn (Susan gets jealous because Robyn is suggestive), it's handled delicately enough and without 'crossing the line' into the OTT. It teeters occasionally, most specifically when Benz straddles Mike while in very little gear, but we are thankfully spared any additional excess, such as Robyn insisting that Mike relax in bed while she's fixing his back. Susan's jealousy is logical and it leads to a nice resolution, in which Benz determines that it is in her best interests to relocate. Then we have Lynette and Tom, whose anniversary is jeopardised slightly by Tom's suggestion that women only ever have sex with men due to their spending. his is a pleasingly realistic narrative, borne of a simple, throwaway remark, that leads to some enjoyable dialogue and even gives the grossly underused Parker some airtime.
On the whole, 'Lovely' is a genuinely enjoyable episode, bereft of anything too ludicrous or patently unrealistic. It's good to see a peripheral character given such prominent attention (do you think this could be to make us care when she's executed by whomever targeted Julie and killed the girl in the restaurant? Calling it now!), which has the consequence of improving the quality of the central cast's respective narratives and lending the episode a better level of cohesion. It's a shame, then, that the writers feel the need to ruin their efforts by including such a blatant attempt at ratings-grabbing as the hint that Katherine might have some lil' ol lesbian tendencies. Once again, an American television drama is treating queer sexuality as something disposable and schlock-worthy, rather than as just a basic fact of life. For all I want to believe that this will lead to something engaging and fresh for the show, I have no faith whatsoever that it will last beyond the next episode. Katherine will go back to being hungry for c**k, Benz will disappear and Bob and Lee will get precisely no screen time. It's a real shame that this has to be the coda as it puts a substantial dampener on an otherwise fine instalment. Stop tripping over your own feet Housewives, you need to be able to stand tall. 7.0
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Television review: 24 #809: '12.00am - 1.00am'
809: '12.00am - 1.00am'
Teleplay: Chip Johannessen & Patrick Harbinson
Story: Alex Gansa
Dr: Brad Turner
Synopsis: As Farhad Hassan and Josef Bazhaev prepare to complete the Uranium transaction, Rob Weiss suggests that Renee Walker be blamed for the terrorists getting ahold of the weapons. Jack races to help Renee escape from CTU.
Review: Welcome to the wonderful, wacky world of 24 where high-ranking government officials in highly important and risk-heavy jobs are able to bunk off work in order to smite their illicit ex-lovers, with whom they committed criminal acts that were conveniently glossed over in their job applications. Where the current lovers of said individuals, who work within the same department and arguably have even more important jobs, can abandon their posts under the flimsy excuse of 'following a lead' in order to track down their partner and engage them in an emotional showdown, forgetting all about the pesky little matter of a nation-wide terrorist threat. Where supposedly competent staff writers and experienced executive producers actually seem to believe that this sort of pointless, unbelievable and excrutatingly abysmal storyline is the stuff of good drama; so much so, in fact, that they devote an entire final act, arguably the most important segment of the episode (if you want to maintain your viewing audience, at any rate), to its resolution. It's really hard to believe after eight years and 177 hours, but what do you know, Alex Gansa, Chip Johnnassen and Patrick Harbinson all seem to believe that this is what we need; that we're all just dying to see how Kevin, Dana and Cole are going to get out of this week's crazy scrape.
Teleplay: Chip Johannessen & Patrick Harbinson
Story: Alex Gansa
Dr: Brad Turner
Synopsis: As Farhad Hassan and Josef Bazhaev prepare to complete the Uranium transaction, Rob Weiss suggests that Renee Walker be blamed for the terrorists getting ahold of the weapons. Jack races to help Renee escape from CTU.
Review: Welcome to the wonderful, wacky world of 24 where high-ranking government officials in highly important and risk-heavy jobs are able to bunk off work in order to smite their illicit ex-lovers, with whom they committed criminal acts that were conveniently glossed over in their job applications. Where the current lovers of said individuals, who work within the same department and arguably have even more important jobs, can abandon their posts under the flimsy excuse of 'following a lead' in order to track down their partner and engage them in an emotional showdown, forgetting all about the pesky little matter of a nation-wide terrorist threat. Where supposedly competent staff writers and experienced executive producers actually seem to believe that this sort of pointless, unbelievable and excrutatingly abysmal storyline is the stuff of good drama; so much so, in fact, that they devote an entire final act, arguably the most important segment of the episode (if you want to maintain your viewing audience, at any rate), to its resolution. It's really hard to believe after eight years and 177 hours, but what do you know, Alex Gansa, Chip Johnnassen and Patrick Harbinson all seem to believe that this is what we need; that we're all just dying to see how Kevin, Dana and Cole are going to get out of this week's crazy scrape.
Well frankly, they're stark raving bonkers. There isn't a single shred of enjoyment to be derived from even a milisecond of this hopeless narrative; its continued presence merely amplifies an already substantial level of irritation, distracting the viewer from the central plot and sending the momentum screeching to an almighty, indignant halt. The only saving grace at close of play here is that both Kevin and his ridiculously incompetent and patently unrealistic cohort (oh yes, I know what to do now that we've been rumbled... stab my mate in cold blood and attempt to shoot the highly skilled, bad ass CTU agent(s) while drunk and most probably high! Makes perfect sense, no?) are dead as doornails, but sadly, it doesn't seem likely that this signals the end of the story. We have the small matter of Cole's repugnance to pay-off; he certainly isn't happy with Jenny's behaviour (and nor should he be) and given the prominence that this intrapersonal aspect has already been granted, it seems almost a given that this will be explored further in the coming weeks. We'll probably see some tired, woeful arc in which he calls off the wedding, decides never to speak to her again (except when forced to work with her, natch), this will come back to bite them both in the ass when it begins affecting their job performance and Hunchback Hastings notices, someone will discover the bodies, despite Cole and Dana burying/dumping them somewhere, and through the Miracle Technology available in 24 world, will connect them to the CTU agents, and then they'll be forced to face the possibility of one or both winding up behind bars. Which will probably bring them back together again. Or something. Whatever happens, there is no trajectory that would be even remotely rewarding, other than to completely brush the story aside and enable them to concentrate on the terrorist threat... which, you know, isn't exactly outside the realms of possibility given that all of this occurs within a single day. The likelihood of this occurring, unfortunately, is about as great as Queen Elizabeth showing up at my door tomorrow morning with a selection of sex aids; no, this is going to drag on and on, filling in more time while the actual suspenseful elements of the plot take a back seat. Hell, now that the evil Iranians (sorry, Kamistanis) have decided to change tactics and denotate Rod Stewart on American soil, they need a few hours to acquire all the necessary materials... so we'll need to fill the episodes out with more extraneous incident! Hooray!
As a result of this, you can bet your bottom dollar that we're going to see more of the depressingly familiar bueracracy storyline as Hastings will be forced to answer for the fact that he's made a duplicituous deal to get Renee off the hook. Yes, one-dimensional cardboard politician Rob Weiss will bear down on the one-dimensional cardboard head of CTU in the least exciting clash of wills in television history. Honestly, a single plank of wood could probably out-act both of these two; how awful is their telephone conversation? Weiss is just far too obvious, outlining the fact that his plan is duplicitous without so much as the tiniest of reservations, and uttering woefully cringeworthy lines like "you're my guy!" in the least organic manner possible. Honestly, who talks like that?! The less seen of these two the better really but it doesn't look like the story is going to go away any time soon. And while Annie Wersching continues to put in a stellar performance as the emotionally broken and battered Renee (how good is she while being interrogated and also in her gentle moment with Jack?), the idea of 'sending someone over from Justice' - in five minutes, natch! - to get in the way of necessary plot progression naturally does nothing other than infuriate the viewer. We don't want to see the individuals who are so obviously the key protagonists, the story's heroes, thrown obstacle after obstacle and forced to jump through a series of well-worn, tiresome hoops. Why does anyone have to 'take the blame' for the failure to retrieve the rods after all of two hours anyway? How about we just chalk it up to a poor set of circumstances? Being out of everyone's control? There's still plenty time to acquire them yet... nothing's bleeding well happened! But no, we need to inject some forced, grafted-on drama into proceedings in order to beef up the narrative. Oh, and to fulfil the perceived need for emotional gravitas since it allows Jack to swoop in and save his damsel in distress, demonstrating just how attached and devoted he is to the woman despite having only ever spent time with her for less than two days. Still, he attempts to choke the buerecrat, which we'd all like to do to be honest, and goes batshit crazy on the poor, unsuspecting security guard for the first time in nine episodes. Look, he's so honourably bad ass! He'll do anything for his woman! It's something of a groan-enducer this, although arguably worth it for the brilliant "son, you're gonna get hurt" and the subsequent tasering that Bauer's subjected to, knocking him down a peg. Nice.
When '12am - 1am' gets round to the business of dealing with the actual plot, things improve somewhat. There are a number of pleasingly unexpected twists peppered throughout the hour that lift the quality of the storyline: poor David Anders's summary execution comes out of left field, especially given that he seemed to be ready to step up to the plate at the end of the last hour and that he's one of the finest actors currently working on the show. Still, what he does get here is rather enjoyable: having Bauer and Sergei be upfront with Josef is a nice angle and leads to some enjoyably realistic exchanges between father and son. It's also completely logical for the kid to decide to let CTU bring him in, rather than espouse some worthless cause... just as Farhad unexpectedly does later in the episode. I gotta say, I didn't see this one coming at all. Kudos to the production crew for framing the plot in such a way as to cause the viewer to infer that the Evil Generic Kamistanis are going to do away with Farhad (the look between the leader and the guy that walks him off is conventionally telling), and then taking completely the opposite route. Again, the guy's reluctance to be involved in a patently terrorist act is completely in line with his character and adds a greater level of complexity, and tension, to events. It's refreshing to see bad guys who aren't simply indicative of the traditional 'we hate America!' paradigm, although this does seem to be where the story's headed in future episodes. It's worth noting too that the music and cinematography are excellent throughout these sequences, particularly as the Rod Stewarts are being unloaded. Unfortunately, a number of frustrating niggles remain, although they aren't anywhere near as objectionable as certain other aspects of the narrative. The ease with which Farhad is able to contact CTU seems a bit ludicrous, given that they're supposed to be a fortified, top secret (well, ish) organisation; what, does he just have Chloe's direct line on speed dial? Then there's the ease with which CTU are able to acquire a 'voice match' for Farhad... it takes ten seconds, for God's sake! Why must all technology be ludicrously advanced on this show? Why must the solutions be this easy? And why must villains be so stupid as to answer their private mobile telephones, on which they are doing duplicitous business, with the name of their benefactors when they don't even know who it is that's calling? Josef assumes Farhad is the guy ringing him at the opening of the episode and answers, 'Farhad, you're late', only to find his dad on the other end! Surely, if there was no name, a simple 'hello' would suffice? Ack!
Still, at least these are gripes rather than grievances, small problems rather than huge gaffes. For the most part, the progression of the central plot point, the presence of nuclear rods on US soil, is solid and engaging, containing a number of surprising twists that keep us all hooked and on the edge of our seats. It's a pity, then, that everything else pretty much makes us get out of them and stick the kettle on. There's simply far too much extraneous incident in '12am - 1am' for the episode to prove rewarding; the script spends a great deal of its time pissing around with utterly redundant storylines that do nothing of any consequence and go absolutely nowhere of any interest. The involvement of a buerecrat from the White House is the sort of worn out trope that should've been consigned to the scrapheap six seasons ago, serving to do nothing other than irritate. Worse still is the Kevin/Dana/Cole garbage which, frankly, nobody gives a flying frack about because a) we haven't spent enough time with the characters for it to have any impact and b) it slows the momentum down to a snail's pace, failing to generate any suspense whatsoever by virtue of its appalling execution and scripting. As Kevin goes all Forrest Gump and cries "JENNNYYYYYYY!!" in his final moments, it's hard not to laugh at how patently ludicrous this whole sorry scenario is. And don't fool yourself into thinking it's over now that the bad guys are dead; this is going to linger and linger, like that rash you never got treated years ago, sucking the life and soul out of the show until someone catches a clue and shoots all parties involved. But hell, at least no cougars showed up out of those woods, eh? 5.1
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Television reviews: Supernatural #513 'The Song Remains the Same' and #514 'My Bloody Valentine'
513: 'The Song Remains the Same'
Wr: Sera Gamble & Nancy Weiner
Dr: Steve Boyum
Synopsis: To prevent the Apocalypse before it ever starts, Anna travels through time to kill Sam's parents before they conceive him.
Review: Trust Sera Gamble to take a plot premise that's been utilised on the show before and turn it into something resoundingly original and engaging. Season four's superlative 'In the Beginning' sees Dean transported back in time to before he and Sam are born, thrown into the lives of his lovestruck parents and given the opportunity to change history so that his mother never succumbs to the brutality of the Yellow Eyed Demon. The song essentially remains the same here, natch, as a frighteningly militant Ana throws herself back to 1978 in an attempt to prevent Sam from ever being born and the brothers follow suit, struggling to resist the temptation to interject 'for the better' and put an end to what they perceive to be their miserable existence. In the hands of lesser writers, such similarities would render the episode frivolous and predictable. However, Gamble and co-writer Nancy Weiner know better and what results is a top notch marriage of dramatic ennui and mythological advancement.
The key to its success is all in the pacing. From the moment that Ana interrupts Dean's somewhat risque dream, it's heads down, pedal to the metal, no turning back. The narrative commences its trajectory, with the viewer believing that Ana has returned for honourable reasons and that her mission is of the utmost importance. There is an immediate sense of urgency established which permeates the subsequent sequences as we move directly into the resolution of this trope, bypassing any extraneous incident or moments of character introspection. The story just gets on with it, throwing twists and turns at us in glorious succession. Very quickly, we discover that Ana isn't trying to help the brothers at all and that her time banged up in Heaven has changed her. Cue a spectacular fight sequence, some wonderful two-handers between she and Castiel and a breakneck narrative that captivates just as much as it mesmerises. In any other show, this would form the meat of the episode, but not here. Instead, this is merely the preface to the main event as the plot shifts a few gears after only the first act, becoming something entirely different in the later stages.
It's a somewhat brave move to transform your story in this manner and to do it in such a way that effectively decreases the momentum. As Sam and Dean are (re)introduced to their young parents, the motifs change dramatically; the characters inevitably find themselves questioning what they can do, how they can prevent the seemingly inevitable from arising. While the show has touched on this before, it remains a relevant and realistic concept and is distinctly well-handled. Gamble addresses the issue and resolves it quickly, demonstrating to both parties that nothing can change. Essentially, they would be no better than Ana if Mary took their advice, divorcing John and running off into the sunset. It's heartbreaking to see them realise it, which is a testament to the strength of Padalecki and Ackles's respective acting talents, but it is a necessary epiphany and one that ties neatly into the episode's thematic web. Credit should also be given to the actors portraying Mary and John, who deliver whirlwind performances with what they're given, making it seem like they've been part of the show's framework since the very beginning, not simply since last season. John is particularly good when he discovers the truth about the demon world and even exhibits shades of Jeffrey Dean Morgan at times, most notably as he's insisting that he can draw the symbol on the wall.
Of course, in amongst all of this, there's the small matter of the debut of the one, the only, motherfracking angelic Michael to contend with. After easing the pace of the plot in the episode's mid-section, Gamble ramps it up again with this knockout of a sequence, mercilessly slaughtering Ana to begin and then unpacking a whackload of mythology on Dean's ass in a spectacularly shot and written scene. Remarkably for something so loaded with development, it comes across as rather methodical, feeling less like an information dump and more like a tempered, natural progression. Michael's likening of his own situation to Sam and Dean's and his rationale for occupying the Winchester's meat suit is very effective and adds further shades of grey to this already refreshingly murky paradigm. There's a notable sense of foreboding about the whole thing too, which is perhaps due to the eerily composed manner in which Matt Cohen plays the part.
A pretty darn spectacular episode then and one that recalls Supernatural's more recent penchant for playing with its own format, taking chances with its narrative and making brave and unconventional decisions regarding the structure of its stories. At once packed with mythology and resoundingly introspective, 'The Song Remains the Same' acts as a blueprint for how this show should operate, providing a thrilling roller coaster of engaging plot and insightful cornucopia of character examination at the same time. Predictably, Sera Gamble stands victorious again. Unquestionably brilliant. 9.4
514: 'My Bloody Valentine'
Wr: Ben Edlund
Dr: Mike Rohl
Synopsis: The brothers take on Cupid when the people of a small town start killing each other in the name of love. However, they soon discover that a greater power is responsible.
Review: You know you're onto a winner when your episode's named after a superlative cult noise act from the early 1990s. 'My Bloody Valentine' is a dastardly little rascal of an episode, a televisual upstart, if you will, that defies convention, flies in the face of expectation and simply refuses to sit still, flitting intermittently between genres and storytelling styles to produce a melting pot of scrumptious goodness, an encapsulation of all that is so bloody brilliant about this most flexible and daring of shows. And perhaps predictably, it's from the indomitable pen of one Ben Edlund, the man responsible for a plethora of Supernatural's most memorable moments (the talking Teddy bear? All Ben).
What is perhaps most remarkable about 'My Bloody Valentine' is its ability to present a number of genuinely comedic moments within a narrative that is chiefly concerned with the progression of the season-spanning narrative. At its heart, the central story is desperately bleak, focusing on the harrowing effects of Famine being free to roam the Earth. We're treated to a superbly macabre teaser sequence that moves from cliche-ridden schmaltz to one of the most grotesque ideas ever presented on the show. It's executed so seamlessly and with such verve that it remains with you long after the episode has finished and is one of those stark visuals that undoubtedly has a place in the annals of Supernatural history. People eating each other while having sex? Yeah, you're not going to forget that one in a hurry. There are a number of other superb conceits too, particularly the idea of the guy eating himself into an early grave and Castiel's craving for red meat, but the icing on the squeamishness cake has to be Famine's grand entrance in the cafe, which contains just about every gluttonous, debaucherous activity known to man and is genuinely terrifying (the guy putting his hands and head into the fryer? Jesus!) However, amongst all of this horror, the script maintains an undercurrent of humour that manages to work in con junction with the more serious elements to create something truly rich.
Evidently, some of the more hyperbolic moments of repulsive excess become humorous by virtue of their extremism (Castiel's penchant for burgers being one of them). However, there are other amusing nuggets here, the most notable of which is the debut of one of many Cupids. Edlund's writing is absolutely perfect, making use of every beat and nuance to manufacture something so patently absurd and contrary to every behavioural convention to which Sam and Dean adhere that it's howlingly funny. Every detail is spot on: from the guy's nakedness to his childlike enthusiasm for the concept of love; from his ridiculous 'handshake' to the moment he begins to cry when his feelings are hurt. And in order for all of this to work so well, Cupid requires a foil, something that Edlund takes great delight in delivering. The reactions of the central cast are just priceless: Dean gets angry, Sam feels awkward and Castiel, well, Castiel just doesn't know what to do and his laconic, aborted attempts at comfort are certainly enough to tickle your funnybone, if not have you in stitches. It's a neat idea at its core too, and one that slots nicely into the show's mythology: that Heaven might have a hand in orchestrating love, in determining who can and cannot 'couple up', so to speak, in order to ensure certain destinies come to pass, is both a nice notion and a somewhat scary one, since (again) it demonstrates the callous disregard that those upstairs have for free will.
This draws an uncomfortable parallel with the machinations of those downstairs too. Effectively, Famine is manipulating the entire cast throughout, robbing them of their ability to temper their hunger, to use their free will to prevent them from, say, sticking their heads in the deep fat fryer. Once again, Supernatural refuses to paint its apocalyptic war in demonstrable black and white, instead choosing to illustrate the murky and complex nature of everyone's motivations: hell, you need only look to the plight of poor Sam for evidence of that. His struggle to resist the temptation of chowing down on the ol' demon blood is harrowing to watch, especially when it's accompanied by a hefty slice of dramatic irony, since the viewer knows Famine's minions are heading to the hotel when Cas and Dean leave the poor boy there. And while it's neat to see him saving the day, albeit through the use of his dangerous powers, the effect is qualified by a saddening coda in which he finds himself forced into cold turkey, locked in the 'panic room' in Bobby's house until purged of all that he has consumed. Comparatively, Dean's juxtaposing character expose, while far less visceral, is no less heartbreaking. The idea that Famine cannot affect him because he's 'dead inside', incapable of feeling the way he used to, sits well with all that's happened to the character in the last season and a half and gives Jensen Ackles some decidedly meaty beats to play, to which he rises admirably (tell me you weren't a little choked up by that last scene... go on!)
All of this and we still haven't mentioned Famine himself, who is just fantastic, a real tour de force of casting and representation from all involved. Really, this guy is astoundingly eerie and is arguably one of the finest villains in Supernatural history which, frankly, is saying something. Still, in an episode so loaded with brilliance, it's easy to bypass a few things. Yet again, Ben Edlund provides us with a script bursting at the seams with engaging ideas and insightful character development, moving effortlessly between genres, throwing grotesque horror, superlative humour and highly suspenseful drama at us with reckless abandon and clearly loving every second of it. Five years and ninety six episodes in, Supernatural still surprises and delights with each passing week. If only more shows could follow suit. 9.3
Wr: Sera Gamble & Nancy Weiner
Dr: Steve Boyum
Synopsis: To prevent the Apocalypse before it ever starts, Anna travels through time to kill Sam's parents before they conceive him.
Review: Trust Sera Gamble to take a plot premise that's been utilised on the show before and turn it into something resoundingly original and engaging. Season four's superlative 'In the Beginning' sees Dean transported back in time to before he and Sam are born, thrown into the lives of his lovestruck parents and given the opportunity to change history so that his mother never succumbs to the brutality of the Yellow Eyed Demon. The song essentially remains the same here, natch, as a frighteningly militant Ana throws herself back to 1978 in an attempt to prevent Sam from ever being born and the brothers follow suit, struggling to resist the temptation to interject 'for the better' and put an end to what they perceive to be their miserable existence. In the hands of lesser writers, such similarities would render the episode frivolous and predictable. However, Gamble and co-writer Nancy Weiner know better and what results is a top notch marriage of dramatic ennui and mythological advancement.
The key to its success is all in the pacing. From the moment that Ana interrupts Dean's somewhat risque dream, it's heads down, pedal to the metal, no turning back. The narrative commences its trajectory, with the viewer believing that Ana has returned for honourable reasons and that her mission is of the utmost importance. There is an immediate sense of urgency established which permeates the subsequent sequences as we move directly into the resolution of this trope, bypassing any extraneous incident or moments of character introspection. The story just gets on with it, throwing twists and turns at us in glorious succession. Very quickly, we discover that Ana isn't trying to help the brothers at all and that her time banged up in Heaven has changed her. Cue a spectacular fight sequence, some wonderful two-handers between she and Castiel and a breakneck narrative that captivates just as much as it mesmerises. In any other show, this would form the meat of the episode, but not here. Instead, this is merely the preface to the main event as the plot shifts a few gears after only the first act, becoming something entirely different in the later stages.
It's a somewhat brave move to transform your story in this manner and to do it in such a way that effectively decreases the momentum. As Sam and Dean are (re)introduced to their young parents, the motifs change dramatically; the characters inevitably find themselves questioning what they can do, how they can prevent the seemingly inevitable from arising. While the show has touched on this before, it remains a relevant and realistic concept and is distinctly well-handled. Gamble addresses the issue and resolves it quickly, demonstrating to both parties that nothing can change. Essentially, they would be no better than Ana if Mary took their advice, divorcing John and running off into the sunset. It's heartbreaking to see them realise it, which is a testament to the strength of Padalecki and Ackles's respective acting talents, but it is a necessary epiphany and one that ties neatly into the episode's thematic web. Credit should also be given to the actors portraying Mary and John, who deliver whirlwind performances with what they're given, making it seem like they've been part of the show's framework since the very beginning, not simply since last season. John is particularly good when he discovers the truth about the demon world and even exhibits shades of Jeffrey Dean Morgan at times, most notably as he's insisting that he can draw the symbol on the wall.
Of course, in amongst all of this, there's the small matter of the debut of the one, the only, motherfracking angelic Michael to contend with. After easing the pace of the plot in the episode's mid-section, Gamble ramps it up again with this knockout of a sequence, mercilessly slaughtering Ana to begin and then unpacking a whackload of mythology on Dean's ass in a spectacularly shot and written scene. Remarkably for something so loaded with development, it comes across as rather methodical, feeling less like an information dump and more like a tempered, natural progression. Michael's likening of his own situation to Sam and Dean's and his rationale for occupying the Winchester's meat suit is very effective and adds further shades of grey to this already refreshingly murky paradigm. There's a notable sense of foreboding about the whole thing too, which is perhaps due to the eerily composed manner in which Matt Cohen plays the part.
A pretty darn spectacular episode then and one that recalls Supernatural's more recent penchant for playing with its own format, taking chances with its narrative and making brave and unconventional decisions regarding the structure of its stories. At once packed with mythology and resoundingly introspective, 'The Song Remains the Same' acts as a blueprint for how this show should operate, providing a thrilling roller coaster of engaging plot and insightful cornucopia of character examination at the same time. Predictably, Sera Gamble stands victorious again. Unquestionably brilliant. 9.4
514: 'My Bloody Valentine'
Wr: Ben Edlund
Dr: Mike Rohl
Synopsis: The brothers take on Cupid when the people of a small town start killing each other in the name of love. However, they soon discover that a greater power is responsible.
Review: You know you're onto a winner when your episode's named after a superlative cult noise act from the early 1990s. 'My Bloody Valentine' is a dastardly little rascal of an episode, a televisual upstart, if you will, that defies convention, flies in the face of expectation and simply refuses to sit still, flitting intermittently between genres and storytelling styles to produce a melting pot of scrumptious goodness, an encapsulation of all that is so bloody brilliant about this most flexible and daring of shows. And perhaps predictably, it's from the indomitable pen of one Ben Edlund, the man responsible for a plethora of Supernatural's most memorable moments (the talking Teddy bear? All Ben).
What is perhaps most remarkable about 'My Bloody Valentine' is its ability to present a number of genuinely comedic moments within a narrative that is chiefly concerned with the progression of the season-spanning narrative. At its heart, the central story is desperately bleak, focusing on the harrowing effects of Famine being free to roam the Earth. We're treated to a superbly macabre teaser sequence that moves from cliche-ridden schmaltz to one of the most grotesque ideas ever presented on the show. It's executed so seamlessly and with such verve that it remains with you long after the episode has finished and is one of those stark visuals that undoubtedly has a place in the annals of Supernatural history. People eating each other while having sex? Yeah, you're not going to forget that one in a hurry. There are a number of other superb conceits too, particularly the idea of the guy eating himself into an early grave and Castiel's craving for red meat, but the icing on the squeamishness cake has to be Famine's grand entrance in the cafe, which contains just about every gluttonous, debaucherous activity known to man and is genuinely terrifying (the guy putting his hands and head into the fryer? Jesus!) However, amongst all of this horror, the script maintains an undercurrent of humour that manages to work in con junction with the more serious elements to create something truly rich.
Evidently, some of the more hyperbolic moments of repulsive excess become humorous by virtue of their extremism (Castiel's penchant for burgers being one of them). However, there are other amusing nuggets here, the most notable of which is the debut of one of many Cupids. Edlund's writing is absolutely perfect, making use of every beat and nuance to manufacture something so patently absurd and contrary to every behavioural convention to which Sam and Dean adhere that it's howlingly funny. Every detail is spot on: from the guy's nakedness to his childlike enthusiasm for the concept of love; from his ridiculous 'handshake' to the moment he begins to cry when his feelings are hurt. And in order for all of this to work so well, Cupid requires a foil, something that Edlund takes great delight in delivering. The reactions of the central cast are just priceless: Dean gets angry, Sam feels awkward and Castiel, well, Castiel just doesn't know what to do and his laconic, aborted attempts at comfort are certainly enough to tickle your funnybone, if not have you in stitches. It's a neat idea at its core too, and one that slots nicely into the show's mythology: that Heaven might have a hand in orchestrating love, in determining who can and cannot 'couple up', so to speak, in order to ensure certain destinies come to pass, is both a nice notion and a somewhat scary one, since (again) it demonstrates the callous disregard that those upstairs have for free will.
This draws an uncomfortable parallel with the machinations of those downstairs too. Effectively, Famine is manipulating the entire cast throughout, robbing them of their ability to temper their hunger, to use their free will to prevent them from, say, sticking their heads in the deep fat fryer. Once again, Supernatural refuses to paint its apocalyptic war in demonstrable black and white, instead choosing to illustrate the murky and complex nature of everyone's motivations: hell, you need only look to the plight of poor Sam for evidence of that. His struggle to resist the temptation of chowing down on the ol' demon blood is harrowing to watch, especially when it's accompanied by a hefty slice of dramatic irony, since the viewer knows Famine's minions are heading to the hotel when Cas and Dean leave the poor boy there. And while it's neat to see him saving the day, albeit through the use of his dangerous powers, the effect is qualified by a saddening coda in which he finds himself forced into cold turkey, locked in the 'panic room' in Bobby's house until purged of all that he has consumed. Comparatively, Dean's juxtaposing character expose, while far less visceral, is no less heartbreaking. The idea that Famine cannot affect him because he's 'dead inside', incapable of feeling the way he used to, sits well with all that's happened to the character in the last season and a half and gives Jensen Ackles some decidedly meaty beats to play, to which he rises admirably (tell me you weren't a little choked up by that last scene... go on!)
All of this and we still haven't mentioned Famine himself, who is just fantastic, a real tour de force of casting and representation from all involved. Really, this guy is astoundingly eerie and is arguably one of the finest villains in Supernatural history which, frankly, is saying something. Still, in an episode so loaded with brilliance, it's easy to bypass a few things. Yet again, Ben Edlund provides us with a script bursting at the seams with engaging ideas and insightful character development, moving effortlessly between genres, throwing grotesque horror, superlative humour and highly suspenseful drama at us with reckless abandon and clearly loving every second of it. Five years and ninety six episodes in, Supernatural still surprises and delights with each passing week. If only more shows could follow suit. 9.3
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)