"Human Nature," the most recent episode of Dr. Who, seems to be pretty pivotal to me. As much as I've enjoyed this season, it has seemed rather flat for the last couple of episodes. Martha (Freema Agyeman) has been in a holding pattern, there but not really vital. Agyeman is a tremendously appealing actress, and "The Lazarus Experiment" introduced an interesting arc-ish element (who is Mr. Saxon and why does he approach Martha's family?), but Martha still seemed a bit fuzzy, out of focus.
"Human Nature" fixes that. It snaps her into our vision clear and sharp. Martha has always looked at the Doctor with an adoration that wasn't present in Rose. Rose loved the Doctor but she didn't looooooooooove him. Alan Sepinwall has some astute observations about this development, and I don't want to tread too closely to what he says, but I think that it's both a brilliant stratagem and a good use of Agyeman's gifts. Her gaze can linger on the Doctor and melt in a way that Billie Piper's never could (and I thought Piper was great). Rose needed the doctor to rescue her from her dead-end life and reveled in the exhiliration of adventure; Martha needs him to claim her heart and hopes that her gameness will someday make him see that. When she whispered her forlorn declaration in the Tardis, I wanted to reach through the screen and wrap her up in a big hug. Agyeman makes Martha vulnerable in places where Rose was not.
The next episode, "Family of Blood," is supposed to be even better. Curse you, Labor Day, for making me wait two weeks!
Update: A viewer at Television Without Pity complained that Martha (in the viewer's eyes) has "no chemistry with the Doctor, romantic or otherwise." For some reason that stuck in my craw, but I think it digested last night.
Martha is not only in love with the Doctor, but it's the cruelest sort of love: unrequited. There will be no chemistry because he simply does not feel that way about her (at least not yet). It's a one-sided relationship. If that's intentional, it wouldn't be out of character for Russell T. Davies.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Trust Me... I'm A Psychopath!
Posting's been light due real-life busy-ness, but I'll try to resume the regularly scheduled broadcasts soon. For now, I must clean up the love-stains left by my viewing of BBC America's Jekyll.
If you have BBCA and you didn't watch Steven Moffat's mind-bending update of Stevenson's story, then check the schedule and catch it when it repeats. If you don't get into it immediately, stay with it. You won't be disappointed.
If you have BBCA and you didn't watch Steven Moffat's mind-bending update of Stevenson's story, then check the schedule and catch it when it repeats. If you don't get into it immediately, stay with it. You won't be disappointed.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Over The Top... Did You Say Over The Top?
Do not go see Day Watch if you are high. Let me repeat that.
DO NOT SEE DAY WATCH IF YOU ARE HIGH!!!!!
Don't smoke pot. Don't do mushrooms. Don't take Ecstasy.
Your head will explode and you will impair your appreciation of one of the most hallucinogenic visual experiences that the movies have offered in a long time. Timur Bekmambetov makes Guillermo del Toro look like Kevin Smith; he's never met a lighting set-up or camera move that he doesn't just love. You remember the good parts of What Dreams May Come? Not the part with the awful performances by Robin Williams and Cuba Gooding, Jr., but the parts that took place in the afterlife/otherworld, the gorgeous, trippy visions of color and light? Imagine over two hours of that in the service of a story that involves vampires, psychics, a war between Light and Dark, and a car pulling a bootlegger turn on the side of a building.
Forget any kind of plot summation. Frankly, I'm not sure it's possible. You need to remember three things:
1.) Dark Others
2.) Light Others
3.) The Chalk of Fate
Yeah, the Chalk of Fate. Day Watch is like Bubba Ho-Tep; watch it for five minutes and you're either in or you're out. If you're out, I don't think you can (or should) be convinced otherwise. If you're in, well, you're in, baby. For the record, I'm in. I'm waaaaaaaaaaay in.
Day Watch is 132 minutes of ocular excess. It's Matrix-by-way-of-Dostoevsky sensibility is a direct jolt to your monkey brain. For me, any attempt to engage in orthodox criticism of Bekmambetov's opus (the middle episode in a trilogy; the third volume will be called Twilight Watch) is short-circuited by the sheer head-rush of his palette. Did I like it? I was laughing like a fool as I left the theater. Will you love it? I don't know, but you should at least give it a try.
DO NOT SEE DAY WATCH IF YOU ARE HIGH!!!!!
Don't smoke pot. Don't do mushrooms. Don't take Ecstasy.
Your head will explode and you will impair your appreciation of one of the most hallucinogenic visual experiences that the movies have offered in a long time. Timur Bekmambetov makes Guillermo del Toro look like Kevin Smith; he's never met a lighting set-up or camera move that he doesn't just love. You remember the good parts of What Dreams May Come? Not the part with the awful performances by Robin Williams and Cuba Gooding, Jr., but the parts that took place in the afterlife/otherworld, the gorgeous, trippy visions of color and light? Imagine over two hours of that in the service of a story that involves vampires, psychics, a war between Light and Dark, and a car pulling a bootlegger turn on the side of a building.
Forget any kind of plot summation. Frankly, I'm not sure it's possible. You need to remember three things:
1.) Dark Others
2.) Light Others
3.) The Chalk of Fate
Yeah, the Chalk of Fate. Day Watch is like Bubba Ho-Tep; watch it for five minutes and you're either in or you're out. If you're out, I don't think you can (or should) be convinced otherwise. If you're in, well, you're in, baby. For the record, I'm in. I'm waaaaaaaaaaay in.
Day Watch is 132 minutes of ocular excess. It's Matrix-by-way-of-Dostoevsky sensibility is a direct jolt to your monkey brain. For me, any attempt to engage in orthodox criticism of Bekmambetov's opus (the middle episode in a trilogy; the third volume will be called Twilight Watch) is short-circuited by the sheer head-rush of his palette. Did I like it? I was laughing like a fool as I left the theater. Will you love it? I don't know, but you should at least give it a try.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Plenty O'Toole
Terrible pun, I know, but it's Peter O'Toole's 75th birthday. TCM is running a full day of O'Toole movies ("No prisoners!") and while not all of them are classics, they all highlight one thing about Peter O'Toole.
The man went for it. His famous full-tilt-boogie love of life offscreen steps directly onto the celluloid. When he was on The Daily Show a few months ago, his physical condition was shocking, but the light in those famous blue eyes was undimmed. He radiated vigor in spite of his body's frailty. O'Toole's film resume is all over the map; watch a few of his movies at random and something coalesces in your consciousness. Peter O'Toole may have been in some bad movies, but he's never condescended to the material. Man of La Mancha is pretty terrible, but O'Toole throws himself into his performance in a way that makes you wonder if he wasn't willing to be in a movie that he knew (or suspected) might be awful just so that he could play a part so unlike any other he had attempted. He never winks at the camera, never flags in his commitment. Unlike James Coco as Sancho Panza, O'Toole is never theatrical. When he meets Sophia Loren, it's like watching a thunderstorm forming; two titanic screen presences and underrated actors creating a magnetic field that threatens to suck everything around them into the vortex.
Watch him in Goodbye, Mr. Chips. The songs in the movie are crap, and Petula Clark is, well, pleasant, I guess. Sian Phillips' supporting performances is terrible in a late '60s "with-it" way. The story is, to be charitable, bathetic, manipulative, and cliched. But watch O'Toole; see how Herbert Ross uses the actor's great physical beauty (and Peter O'Toole is not handsome. He is a beautiful man.) to clarify the character's asceticism. Just like T.E. Lawrence, Arthur Chipping's commitment to his cause burns away what is common; it is his oblivious dedication that elevates him to near sainthood, while simultaneously making him baffling and impossible. The greatest strength contains the greatest flaw. Watch Chipping's final speech. See how O'Toole flawlessly navigates the possible pitfalls of treacle and modulates his performance in a flawless arc from the beginning of the speech to the conclusion.
Peter O'Toole is never thinking about the next movie, or the next deal, or how this particular film will affect his bankability. He is, in the best possible way, lost in the moment and going for it. High-brow, low-brow, action-adventure, art film, doesn't matter. Peter O'Toole always gives you everything he's got.
In My Favorite Year, O'Toole's Alan Swann declares, "I am not an actor, I'm a movie star!" He's both. Enjoy.
PS
When the first Harry Potter movie was being cast, I fiercely wanted O'Toole as Dumbledore. Tell me that wouldn't have improved the films. Also, acknowledgment is due the Shamus for his much better appreciation of O'Toole.
The man went for it. His famous full-tilt-boogie love of life offscreen steps directly onto the celluloid. When he was on The Daily Show a few months ago, his physical condition was shocking, but the light in those famous blue eyes was undimmed. He radiated vigor in spite of his body's frailty. O'Toole's film resume is all over the map; watch a few of his movies at random and something coalesces in your consciousness. Peter O'Toole may have been in some bad movies, but he's never condescended to the material. Man of La Mancha is pretty terrible, but O'Toole throws himself into his performance in a way that makes you wonder if he wasn't willing to be in a movie that he knew (or suspected) might be awful just so that he could play a part so unlike any other he had attempted. He never winks at the camera, never flags in his commitment. Unlike James Coco as Sancho Panza, O'Toole is never theatrical. When he meets Sophia Loren, it's like watching a thunderstorm forming; two titanic screen presences and underrated actors creating a magnetic field that threatens to suck everything around them into the vortex.
Watch him in Goodbye, Mr. Chips. The songs in the movie are crap, and Petula Clark is, well, pleasant, I guess. Sian Phillips' supporting performances is terrible in a late '60s "with-it" way. The story is, to be charitable, bathetic, manipulative, and cliched. But watch O'Toole; see how Herbert Ross uses the actor's great physical beauty (and Peter O'Toole is not handsome. He is a beautiful man.) to clarify the character's asceticism. Just like T.E. Lawrence, Arthur Chipping's commitment to his cause burns away what is common; it is his oblivious dedication that elevates him to near sainthood, while simultaneously making him baffling and impossible. The greatest strength contains the greatest flaw. Watch Chipping's final speech. See how O'Toole flawlessly navigates the possible pitfalls of treacle and modulates his performance in a flawless arc from the beginning of the speech to the conclusion.
Peter O'Toole is never thinking about the next movie, or the next deal, or how this particular film will affect his bankability. He is, in the best possible way, lost in the moment and going for it. High-brow, low-brow, action-adventure, art film, doesn't matter. Peter O'Toole always gives you everything he's got.
In My Favorite Year, O'Toole's Alan Swann declares, "I am not an actor, I'm a movie star!" He's both. Enjoy.
PS
When the first Harry Potter movie was being cast, I fiercely wanted O'Toole as Dumbledore. Tell me that wouldn't have improved the films. Also, acknowledgment is due the Shamus for his much better appreciation of O'Toole.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
A Stiff Upper Lip
Severance is a British film that sort of does for slasher movies what Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz did for (respectively) zombies and zombie-like Michael Bay cops. It was funny and enjoyable, but not as good as it could have been. After the opening murder, we flash back to meet the sales team of Palisade Defence. They are on their way to a corporate retreat/team building weekend. Things go quickly awry and the team ends up in the wrong spot, squarely in the sights of a murderous psychopath.
The film is efficient and rather cheerful about the necessary beats of a modern bucket o' blood movie. It also aims to point out the stupidity and silliness of much modern business lingo. "You can call yourself a warrior all you want around the table in the conference room," Severance says, "but when you're staring down a maniac with a hatchet, well, try not to soil yourself." The movie stars Laura Harris (whom I first noticed in one of my favorite bad movies, The Faculty) and Tim McInnerny (MI-5 and Blackadder) and about a half-dozen actors who are vaguely familiar from various BBC America projects. The film is pretty successful as both comedy and slasher movie, but one character mistake keeps it from being the satire of corporate "warfare" to which it aspires.
That mistake is Richard's (McInnerny) complete incompetence. The movie would have been much stronger in the social commentary department if Richard had actually been a strong, successful leader, someone who really believed in those "business is war" homilies and applied them ruthlessly. The contrast between the blowhard puffery of corporate Big Swinging Dicks and the actual reality of "nature red, in tooth and claw" would have been much more effective. Instead, Richard is almost a cliche of a spineless ditherer. There's no way he would have climbed the ladder in an industry like defense, where the cloying stink of faux-testosterone hangs in the air like musk.
Still, the movie is several notches above the average horror film, and it actually provides a motivation for its killer. It's so much better than Hostel (1 or 2), Turistas, or High Tension that I almost feel bad for pointing out its flaws.
The film is efficient and rather cheerful about the necessary beats of a modern bucket o' blood movie. It also aims to point out the stupidity and silliness of much modern business lingo. "You can call yourself a warrior all you want around the table in the conference room," Severance says, "but when you're staring down a maniac with a hatchet, well, try not to soil yourself." The movie stars Laura Harris (whom I first noticed in one of my favorite bad movies, The Faculty) and Tim McInnerny (MI-5 and Blackadder) and about a half-dozen actors who are vaguely familiar from various BBC America projects. The film is pretty successful as both comedy and slasher movie, but one character mistake keeps it from being the satire of corporate "warfare" to which it aspires.
That mistake is Richard's (McInnerny) complete incompetence. The movie would have been much stronger in the social commentary department if Richard had actually been a strong, successful leader, someone who really believed in those "business is war" homilies and applied them ruthlessly. The contrast between the blowhard puffery of corporate Big Swinging Dicks and the actual reality of "nature red, in tooth and claw" would have been much more effective. Instead, Richard is almost a cliche of a spineless ditherer. There's no way he would have climbed the ladder in an industry like defense, where the cloying stink of faux-testosterone hangs in the air like musk.
Still, the movie is several notches above the average horror film, and it actually provides a motivation for its killer. It's so much better than Hostel (1 or 2), Turistas, or High Tension that I almost feel bad for pointing out its flaws.
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