Okay then. Friday's highlight was The Vice on UKTV, starring a young and cocky (what else?) Marc Warren. I never took to this series whe it played on the ABC but I have some fuzzy memory of coming to it halfway through for some reason, and thus missed all the introductory scenes, though the Brits, bless 'em, prefer to do this sort of thing on the run. I quite enjoyed it, and it wasn't at all as seedy as I remembered it, though I think in the few years since I saw it, the bar has been lowered re seedy, especially by Wire in the Blood, which really is nasty telly.
Saturday, ah Saturday. Where does one start? Okay, how about 4am when I woke up, because I only ever wake up on time on the weekend. Decided to indulge in some required viewing, and finally watched Blue/Orange, all the way through, nobody up and around to pester me. Okay, basically a three man one room screaming match of a play, which it was, a play (and like most modern theatre, has the characters say things for shock value), and pretty much was filmed as such, only the characters change rooms on occassion, and I don't know why they bothered as I would have thought the claustrophobia would have added to the piece on this occasion.
Anyway, it was basically just a game of spot the nutter, with a bit of 'just what the hell is normal anyway?' thrown in for good measure, and it did remind me of Life on Mars, with it's spot the nutter games. John was also very Sam like: same hair, same medal, rolled up sleeves and all the shouting and manipulation. Oh yes, John goes to town in this little piece, throws his complete portfolio down on the table here, and in the scene where he really blows up, I thought he was going to have a stroke.
It was a great performance, though and it was only lessened by three things: the Human Traffic cast reunion moment which amused me more than it should have, all the Sam moments, and an unfortunate segue when I popped the tv and the dvd came on. It was a mini Trek marathon on TV1 and it was the episode where Kirk was split into good and bad and it was very much a case of 'nice try, kid, but watch and learn from the master' as the Shatman when for the gold, howling and chewing up scenery like a starving man (no wonder he got so fat).
It's terrible, because you realise this means I am never going to be able to watch Sam throw a strop again without thinking of the Shatman. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. How unfortunate. But it's stuck in my head now, as I went from one screaming OTT thsep to another. Oh well....
As it was pissing down, I settled into to watch Trek for breakfast and, as I was actually paying attention for the first time in ages, it was actually rather like watching it anew. Mudd's Women I've always dismissed on account of that OTT chancer, Harry Mudd, but it's a rather risque episode about whores in space (how Firefly of them) and then it becomes a brief meditation on the blonde bimbo trophy wife versus the plain jane who'll cook your meals and mend your socks. No wonder the show is so beloved of spinsters.
Then there was the episode where Kirk runs about fake caves, wielding a plaster stalegtite that looks so much like a giant dildo that I just can't watch without sniggering, ruminations on the nature of humanity and man vs machine notwithstanding. Also: Lurch in a big floral mu mu. Yikes.
The last episode was Miri, and could the way Kirk was cracking on to, and using, Miri be any more creepy? Yikes again.
Then I decided I just had to watch one episode of Rome. Before, I'd watched it knowing damn well I was going to be examined on it and it sucked all the fun out of it. This time I was just watching, and I just fell for it. Oh yeah, I'm in love with Rome right now. But before I coul indulge further I had to go out.
It seems the Buzzcocks were back in town to take what little hearing they'd left me the last time, and despite the wet and cold, and being knackered after a long, hard week, I just had to go, for nostalgia's sake and because I wanted to see them sans whining BF: Ewww! They're a punk band! You never said they were a punk band! You never said you liked punk! Etc, etc. I mean, I told him I was going to see the Buzzcocks. I mean, who has never heard of the Buzzococks, fer fek's sake.
So I went and saw them and I had a ball. They were really on form, having fun and I jigged about, not quite up the front but near enough to get jostled when the pogoing really started in earnest. They played my fave songs. I was happy. The support bands were a real case of 'this too shall pass', though. Someone needs to write a paper on the time distortive effects of good bands versus crap ones, because to my mind the Buzzcocks were only on for 60 seconds but the support bands droned on for 16 hours. Longer, even, maybe.
Interesting taxi ride home, as we went through rain squalls and a deepest, darkest blackout. Oh, and I wore what I wanted to again, for the second time in my life, and was again complimented. I'm beginning to sense a pattern here.
Anyway, loved the Buzzcocks. Always have, and I've never really thought of them as a punk band, probably because I once read an article that called them "punk for girls", which is ironically what led me to buy an album in Phantom Records, as was. I think the critic was just being snitty because the Buzzcocks make hummable, danceable little ditties and unashamedly use the word "love" in their lyrics.
Sunday was rainy, which meant, small mercies, no government mandated crack of dawn watering of the garden. So I could sleep in and have my toast and telly at the far more decent hour of 9:30 am where upon I caught up on The Professionals and The Sweeney.
The Profs was the Greek terrorists one, which is bemusing for the stereotypes, especially the classic scene where one of the returns with a bag full of deli items. At least they did make the point that pros don't eat hummus. Some nice bits here: Bodie wandering around with the towel on his head, Doyle getting all upset that he might have shot Bodie. Awwww.
What can I say? I'm thoroughly enjoying the Profs this time around. For years, nay, decades, I've let mean people ruin my enjoyment, but this time I'm just sitting back and really quite enjoying it. There's some really nice banter between the boys, and I don't think I'd ever realised before just how much of a hard bastard Cowley was.
The Sweeney was shit on George day, as poor George had to deal with missing out on promotion, not being able to afford a mortage and not being able to keep a bird, though the last was his fault, due to the stresses of the former. The kicker for poor George of course was having to watch villains rolling in cash, living the good life. Poor George.
Meanwhile, Regan set up a nasty sting, setting feuding vilains at each other, which is vigilantism by proxy, but Haskins didn't seem too bothered once he'd make the necessary for the record bleatings. Typical middle management, Haskins always let Jack do the heavy work, and carry the can, if need be, if it all goes pearshaped.
Some nice car chases through wasteland, too, brought to us by the Ford Motor Company, and whomever was making Jaguars that week. That poor old Jag, they're so mean to it.
By lunchtime it was still pissing down and a week's worth of hangovers had started to really kick in so I retired to my room for Rome fest. How could I have not dug this before, one part Sopranos, one part Desperate Housewives and one part Bill and Ted?
Yep, I was trying to think of whom the two boys, who just happen to stumble through every important moment in history, reminded me of, until we got to the "Dude! It's Pompey!" moment and I realised: Bill and Ted.
Well, just a bit, but I haven't as yet written up my piece on Holy Fools, and Bill and Ted are definitely that, their adventures tick all the checkboxes requisite for holy fooldom, the piece which was going to, obliquely as always, mention Sam, as well as touching on Don Quixote, Candide, Tripitaka and any other blissfully ignorant, hopelessly optimistic and/or divinely manipulated traveller. And hey, even Big Julie thinks my two lads are divinely watched over, fools though they may be (he was not best pleased that they let Pompey go out of pity).
But mainly, mainly I was just watching Rome as a big ol buddy flick. It's all about Titus and Lucius, the slashiest pair to wander across my screen since Gene dragged Sam into his office by the lapels. Oh, how much do I love them, especially Titus, and how much of a renewed appreciation for Ray Stevenson and Kevin McKidd to I feel now. I just love Titus so much. I love his loyalty, his gentleness (in a hard man, that's always sexy), his silliness, the way he just runs off until told to shut up, the clever way he learns how to better read people (lessons from young Octavian, no less), and the way he manages to imbue a salute with snarkiness. So much to love.
He's really just like a big naughty Geordie squaddie, and, well, it's not like I don't have form with those.
So I'm totally into the Titus/Lucius right now. Of course, even though Titus is so a top, custom and rank dictate that he'd have to bottom, the poor love, much as it should with Sam and Gene, though their friendship isn't quite so strictly bound by rank, Sam is uppity, and Gene kinda likes it that way, and so it's easier to turn the tables on those two, on occassion. Lucius, however much it is being bashed out of him, is a stickler for the rules, so I'm not sure how flexible he'd be on established custom. Still, it's something to think about on the bus, eh?
Meanwhile, I have three more episodes to revisit. Can't wait. Must buy the box set, just for the James Purefoy nudity - grin. And my, isn't he just a dish, ten years after Sharpe (unlike some). Actually, Rome is a fun game of "isn't that...", which is why I avoid reading the cast list, which often makes little meaning anyway, as I know most minor thesps by their faces rather than their cvs. The only fault with Rome is the somewhat heavy handed History for Dummies moments, you know, the real clangers like Brutus wishing the Senate resolved disputes with swords and daggers. No, really?
Never mind. Ripping stuff.
Somewhat less ripping was Elizabeth, the one with Jeremy and Hugh prancing about in it. Again, maybe I was just tired, and, by then, rather unwell, but Lizzie's constant tanties and come here go away machinations with poor Robin, doormat of the century, was just a bit too irritating to watch. Maybe I just needed to be in the mood. I kinda wasn't. I was pining for my soldier boys. Mind you, Hugh is very pretty, and Jeremy, well, you know, Brideshead.
So that was my weekend. Now I must go stick my head down a toilet. I shoulda known better to lust over that Bond trailer like that.
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