There was a lovely vid online (sadly the link has since expired) that made me realise how everytime Sam woke up in 1973 he was hoping he was back home, and you can see it in his face. Every time. Poor pet.
That John (who has thankfully signed up for S2, all official like). I read that he did it because he wanted to try and take something really silly, and make it really dark. So poor Sam suffers. I mean he suffers. He is tormented, terrorised and plagued by demons and madness and thanks to Simm you can see every pixel of agony on his face. The sheer horror when he's confronted by the test pattern girl, the way he just hugs the tv and sobs. It's all taking a terrible toll on Sam (and the viewer, so keen is his distress).
Oh yeah, did I not mention this is the Sam whumping show? Lots of whumping, physically, emotionally, spiritually, morally, psychologically...poor Sam just takes hit after hit, and shows every blow. Heh.
So I feel cruel when I say I want him to stay, but I do. Besides, he is having fun. In amongst all that dire torment is fun. I love the way he just lies there and giggles after the Live and Let Die chase (another song with meaning). Deep down, Sam is exactly where he wants to be. But can he, should he let his old life die?
Ah, who knew you could have such deep philsophical questions in a show that features racing through piles of cardboard boxes and sliding across bonnets? This is the most brilliant show, ever.
Throw in some slash and social history and I'm there, man.
Okay, Viggo. Despite feeling dire I took myself down to the premiere, and there's always that awful point where I have to drop all pretence at disinterested passerby and join the throng. Throng I did. And well worth it. I hate it when actors I like turn out to be arseholes. I am delighted when they turn out to be thoroughly lovely chaps like Viggo. He arrived early (to squeals) and signed and chatted with just about everyone. Including me. Swoon. He was lovely, and he was nice, even to an ugly old boiler like me, so that meant quite a bit to me, even if he is an actor. He didn't have to be nice. He was. Very nice. Sweet. And very bemused, it seemed.
So, there you go, a thoroughly decent chap. And drop dead gorgeous, but you knew that.
I squeed all the way home with the woman of a similiar certain age I'd been standing with, who ended up on the back seat of the same bus as me, so that was fun, too. It was just the ticket, really. Viggo, the human Lourdes. I can walk again, or, at least, walk outside.
Eased back onto the fucouch in the spare room, just really relaxed and happy, and indulged in Supernatural and chocolates. Poor old Supernatural, throwing up an old X Files cast off for us this week, with bugs, bugs and more bugs, and have you ever seen more rubbery spiders in a show that's supposed to have some sort of budget? For a moment I thought they were actually supposed to be fake, but no, there's Dean, eeeping over cheap Chinese rubber spiders. I could buy more realistic rubber spiders at the museum up the road. I shakes my head at them.
We also had some lame attempt at character development as Sam discuss his Daddy issues. Always with the Daddy issues. (Freud: sucking the life out of modern television? Discuss). Okay, so I know it's a classic, going back to Herc and co, but, gee, sometimes it's like play another record, will ya? Or at least be less whiney about it. (The American Sam whines, the British Sam just crumples, guess which I prefer).
I mean, I like the boys, they're very pretty, and I like the old monster of the week premise (and I was still sobbing in my Wheaties over McGavin when I heard Weaver went, too), but I do wish there was some more meat on the bones of the plot, and a little more characterisation than basic stats from a game card: Sam: college boy, Daddy issues. Dean: chancer, retro music tastes. I mean, that's pretty much it, isn't it. Lovely blank canvases for fan fic, but wallowing in Brit telly as I am right now, I find myself want just a bit more. Something a little more handcrafted and less preprocessed. A little more bite, a little more darkness. It's supposed to be a horror show, afterall. They boys never react to the horrors they see, and after a while, you beging to suspect that they're not so much as brave as just stupid. And I know that's unfair, so a little more depth please.
But that's the problem with American tv. Dvd can be a cruel medium, much like a changing room mirror under harsh fluorescent lights, but I've discovered that rewatching most, not all, but most British shows I adored as a child, I enjoy them even more, as deeper layers of meaning unfold for me. Whereas stuff from the US I watched as a kid, while being great when I was eight, it's absolute rubbish now, because it's solely pitched at eight year olds. (cf Simm's anguish over re-watching The Six Million Dollar man and discovering it was complete tosh).
I think that's the problem. Supernatural is children's television. Life on Mars is for grown ups.
I should probably mention all the depressing tv deaths of late. My Nightstalker box set only (finally, via Salzburg) arrived on Friday, and I'd not even had a chance to take it out of it's wrapper, and now by beloved, very much beloved Karl Kolchak is gone. Weep. Then I heard about Dennis Weaver this morning. Weep some more. Oh and Don Knotts, too. Kind of a one, two punch there, alas. Watching my Nightstalker now won't be half as much fun.
Oh, by now everyone in the UK will know Sam's fate. I've got at least a week before I see the last episode. I wasn't worried until I read about them having filmed four different endings and hoping they'd used the right one. Yikes. I'm going to have to spend a week covering my eyes and sticking my fingers in my ears. I'm going to have to finish my fic tonight, and not go near the net. I'm going to have to go for a walk, I'm so knotted up. It's been years and years since I really, actually gave a rat's arse about how a story played out, but damn you Sam, you got under my skin and now I really bloody do actually care whether you live or die or dream happily ever after. You bastard, you made me care. Oh, I'm twisting on a hook here.
And I can't see myself ever getting this worked up over the Winchester brothers. I like 'em, but not the way I love Sam and Gene. Oh, please, don't the daft comments on the boards ruin the ending. Please, don't wake Sam up.
Living is artistic for Viggo
A graduate of the crazy castle school of acting
"A History of Violence" Tokyo Premiere
Gunsmoke star dies
"McCloud," "Gunsmoke" Star Rides Into Sunset
Get off "Brokeback's" back already, would ya?
Dennis "McCloud" Weaver dead
Entertainment News: Gunsmoke Star and Two Other TV Vets Are Mourned
Gender pay gap costs UK economy £23bn a year
March brings little people, "Sopranos," polygamists, "Prison Break"
Crisp shirts are ready for their close-up
Postcard from a past long vanished
TV runs hot and cold on climate change ads
Kung fu legend's death linked to epilepsy
Clooney to present Oscar
"Brokeback" named Hollywood word of the year
Shakespeare at his political best with "Measure"