A friend sent me an article on the punk revival. This explains that horrid new remix of The Cure's The Forest that had me just about writhing on the carpet like a sprayed cockroach when I heard it for the first time last night. Ack.
This also explains why some Oz actress was in some glossy US mag wearing the very pointy very buckled shoes that were my pride and joy when I was a young and coltish lass. I used to have the buckled all the way up dress to match, too. Hmmm, I wonder where those shoes got to....
Not that I could wear them right now. My poor ankle is still eggplant bound, especially as yesterday Grima and her cronies were chasing after me in the corridors urging me to walk faster, which I found very mean, not to mention hard on the old ankle (in fact I'm sure if I was black or gay and not just fat I could have them up on harrassment).
Fortunately I am now the proud owner of a state of the art ankle brace, which is very much like bondage gear for feet. Lots of straps, laces and buckles, almost like my old goth dress, maybe even more so.
TV was Buffy and Angel on Fox8, with extra bits never shown by EvilChannel7, then Without a Trace and, holy hannah, Eric Close actually got lines and screen time. Mercy! He achieved this mainly by sharing screen space with the Aussies but there were a couple of really lovely scenes with the boys. Had I the time or inclination, and, most importantly, an adsl connection, I'd be wallowing in WaT slash right about now, having settled on my OTP. :)
Next up was Reilly. Oh my, Sam was looking especially sharp tonight. It amuses to me to know there's all this handwringing in the States over Spike and the need for redemption and atonement and really, Spike is just a sweetie and a comple Momma's boy. Especially when compared to the likes of Reilly, where the Brits serve up this delicious dish of an amoral reptilian gentleman without apology, and don't I just lap it up. There's precious little to recommend Reilly, yet he's as smooth as silk with a smile that'd do for Little Red Riding Hood and her Grandmother. If there's a vampire here, it ain't Spike.
Wicked, wicked Reilly. Mmmmmm. Yum.
Then we returned to EvilChannelNine for the premiere, at the exciting time of 11.30pm, of Birds of Prey. I can see why it tanked. Aside from the extreme Buffy wannabe Mutant Xness of it all, the entire back plot, which they glanced over, demanded a lot of required reading and viewing to actually get to grips with, which fortunately I've done, being the uber nerd that I am.
Happily I've read most of the relevant comics this is based upon and I adore the animated series, however these are the comics I read as a teenager, and, as tragically I'm old enough to be mother to the desired demographic, I can see how the kids would be going huh? unless they wanted to track down the trade papberbacks. Several of the comics this is based on like The Huntress were failed comics anyway so double huh from me as to why they chose this as a suitable project. Because it was cheap and played into that whole chick tv thing, I guess (though seeing Dinah reduced to an annoying teen is almost more than I can bear).
After that I watched a little Stargate: Hathor, speaking of sisters doing it for themselves. I've always found this episode amusing and Janet kicks arse. :)
There was an article in the Herald yesterday that discussed how many Australian actors were getting work in US shows (which an American friend has already snorted at). It's part of that US cultural imperialism/free market described in the Seattle Times where they discussed how American studios were able to undercut local productions, thus filling Australian tvs and cinemas with American, not local, product. So our actors have no choice but to work overseas. As only a precious few of these exports ever return to do local projects this means we have films that can't get financed because there are no "names" attached, ditto theatre and television, nor do we get a chance to see or work with experienced actors/writers/directors etc. It's a very sad way to be. At least I can't begrudge Tony LaPaglia in Without a Trace - he does come home to do the odd fillum.
I've realised who Grima reminds me of: the ever criticising Mrs Norris from Mansfield Park. While I'm no longer as shy and retiring as Fanny Price (trust me, I used to be) I still feel the need to rush off to the loo in tears.
I should follow good advice once given : (sotto Oirish brogue) "Fook 'em." Words to live by.