I forgot to mention the Poliakoff double on Showtime on Tuesday, which was the one thing that kept me weeping in a heap as I struggled with Dell Boy. I must say, Bill Nighy has a surprisingly calming tv presence. At least, it worked for me.
The first one featured old ginger nut Damian Lewis in Friends and Crocodiles. I found this hard to follow, but I think I had to glance away during a couple of key scenes. It was jumping across time zones though, from the 70s to the 90s, as much concerned with the dot com bust and bad management practices and the ruination they cause as much as the characters. This time around I found the characters just too unlikeable to really care, too distant, too removed, and too willing to serve as the author's chorus on various UK events than speak of their own real emotions, except for the one, truly great scene, the breakdown on the staircase.
The Bill Nighy one was great, mainly because he was teamed with Miranda Richardson, so as much as the piece had things to tut tut over regarding the Millenium dome and celebrity, what the two main characters had to say about personal grief as opposed to public displays, well, I got that. I knew all about that. Nice contrast between Stella's private grief, which everyone considers unseemly and wishes she would stop, against the stupid and awful Diana thing. Stella was really speaking for me when she raged against people telling her to be done with it, and that she could never stop screaming at herself, asking why didn't she take more care, do it differently, look after him more?
Like Stella, I don't think you ever stop screaming at yourself "why didn't I go with him?!" I've lost folks through age and illness, and it's nothing like losing someone through your own carelessness. The scene where Stella had to flee from the church also struck a deep chord, the suddenly being struck with it all over again when moved by something else entirely, be it music, words or motion picture (I can't watch any of the LOTR films without exploding into violent grief at some point, ditto Doctor Who, even Life on Mars).
So I like Gideon's Daughter a lot. It was weirdly cathartic on such a horrible day, which such horrible thoughts bubbling very close to the surface. But I think those emotions have worn me out as much as the overwork. No wonder I'm a stroppy old cow.
As much as I may weep in shame over the ocassional losses of decorum this week as I fairly cracked under the weight of my labours, I did at least manage the self control to stay offline last night and not reply to some byotch who really, really, really ticked me off. My reply would have most probably involved quoting the Governor of California: "Fuck you, asshole", but I sat on my hands and counted to ten thousand instead. So I've left it unsaid, but I still think she stinks.
Instead, I watched Smallville, which was my first choice as I discovered to my horror they weren't playing it this week and I'd missed it last week. So to offset another strop it was freshly burnt dvd to the rescue. And it had Spike in it. You know, I've not given Spike any real thought for months, gosh, nearly a year, and there he was. Minor squee. Okay, so it wasn't really Spike, but James Marsters is such a one trick pony that it kind of was (unless they've asked him to play it that way), so yeah, kinda Spike Lite. I liked.
I had no idea of the plot, skipping two half seasons as I had, but I liked it, as Clark went off his nut on silver kryptonite. Actually, I started to wonder if Brian Clemens hadn't had a hand in the script as Clark started having drugged out paranoid delusions, dream sequences and the kicker: props. A drugged out sequence of madness involving starkly shot and obvious metaphor props? So Brian (cf The Avengers, The Baron). So yeah, that made me go hmmmm. If there's an episode that starts with a girl in her pjs stumbling along a field with no memory of who she is or where she's been but a few cryptic words, then I'll know for sure (cf The Professionals, The Avengers, Danger Man and Thriller).
I mean, I know he's still writing, but I never see his name anywhere, but I know he's a notorious pseud user, and he also has his favourite plots/devices. Another invloves a showdown in a room full of shop dummies. There are a few shows I've suspected he's at least submitted a spec script for, like Jason King, or Highlander. Episodes that just scream Brian.
Edit: Just checked the IMDB and I was bang on with the Highlander, despite protests from others that it wasn't so - the very same people who said The Saints had never been in The Return of The Saint, which I now have on dvd as proof that they did indeed, or would believe me when I said there were Daleks in an episode of MacGyver. I win. I know my cult tv, thank you, and I know my cult tv writers. I can spot their handiwork a mile/1.6093 km off.
Yeah, I know. I should say I enjoy Poliakoff, Abbott, Davies and McGovern, and I do, but I grew up on Brian Clemens, Dennis Spooner and Terry Nation, for good or bad.
While trying to find an online version of that lovely academic list of the various stages of police criminality (Gene & co were operating at Stage 3 with a view to Stage 4, where Stage 5 is the HK police), I can't find it, bugger, but googling police corruption keeps bring up the hits for the NSW police. Notorious much? I think I could very easily transplant a few tales oop north. Very easily (cf Blue Murder).
Yep, while my poor pc is churning away on various jobs I've been doing the lightest of fact checking. Apparently I should have Sam throw up in the cells at least once. Won't that be a fun scene to write.
Heh. I just noticed today's rag has the headline "Back to the '70s" and I hadn't even noticed until now. Too busy drolling over '70s coppers, me.
random moody shot of serious thespian engaged in some serious b/w posing:
Then there is me, twisting myself in knots as I struggle against the near overpowering impulse to type something here that incorporates the words "in the woods". It's quite the internal struggle, I can assure you, as I am exactly the sort of person who'd rather lose a friend than suppress an epigram. We can only hope that my large intestine will leap up my neck and throttle my brain before I give into such base and tacky impulses. Must...not...type...
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