mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

everybody weng chiang tonight

As I said, if I need a reason to smile today, and I will, I can think of last night's Boardwalk Empire. I'd had a frankly dreadful day and was in the mood for a bit of orchestrated violence, and, well, Boardwalk delivers. There were some darkly comic moments, all concerning that merry band the Capones, but I did giggle and smirk. It was cathartic.

Today I'm in dazzle camouflage, because the mousey blacks and browns weren't working as far as deterring threats go (and there were/are threats), so I figured be loud, be a bigger target. Not sure it'll work, but man, this dress is crazy when you stand in sunlight. Heh.

It was either that or stay in bed, and that was option 1 to a gazillion, but I did get out of bed. Don't know why, I'm sure to cop it again today. I'm rather tired of people being horrid.

So, plays? Yes, sort of. Despite the ruination of my weekend I did slip out to see a screening of The Globe's Twelth Night again, because it's too funny (and having begged them to screen close by, I feel morally obliged). It was partially ruined by two idiots who staggered in late, climbed over just about everyone to get some seats, then talked loudly to each other, you know, all 'who's that' and 'why is he doing that' and everyone else is grinding their teeth and wishing they'd shut the fuck up for five seconds and maybe they'd catch a bit of plot, but no.

We thought maybe they'd just come for Stephen Fry, but no, they talked through all of his bits, too.

Anyways, I don't know what they thought they'd bought a ticket to, but as the gender bending rom com started to ramp up they left in noisy disgust, stamping on people as they left (actual cries of pain heard in the wake of their hasty egress)...and the rest was silence.

Or laughter, actually. Roars of laughter. Bonded as we were all now in adversity, the audience rolled as one to the delightful finish line as all the mismatched couples are untangled and tied up at last in the right order, and all is well. Hilarious production, absolutely screamingly funny and very wicked. Love it to bits.

Yes, it's all very arch and winking, but it's an old English rom com, what on earth do you expect? I love it. You can take your European misery cinema and sling it. Give me a knob joke anyway.

So, that was the film/theatre ration for the week (the rest of the time was spent working, weeding, washing, ironing, and making marmalade which kinda candied when I took my eyes off it for two seconds but it's still edible, but pity cause the little surviving orange tree makes nice oranges).

TV? Well, I did push the work aside to watch the repeat of Ripper Street, which oddly enough had two of the missing scenes restored, I guess cause it was on the digi channel and they have less nappy ads to fit in, per chance. In any case, bonus Homer Jackson is never a bad thing. Man, I'm gonna miss him. My new favourite tv hero.

Back on EvilChannelTen, we've got Elementary, no longer a year behind the States but mere days. Still...meh. I'd really been looking forward to this one, the London set episode, with Sean Pertwee, and it was...meh. Maybe I was sulking over the sudden lack of Mr Rothenberg in my life, but, well, meh. Now you know I love Sean, dearly, but I didn't love his blustery Lestrade (despite the pub scene where it looked like the boys were in deep giggle loop) and could that have been any less Highgate cemetery? Sure they could have used one of the other high Victorian necropolises at a pinch. Harumph.

Mycroft was also a disappointment, though Mr Ifans put in a surprisingly tender performance. Perhaps that's why? Anyway, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but the sooner Holmes and Watson get back to NYC the better. Having them in London just invited comparison, and it wasn't favourable.

Speaking of the one true Lestrade, I caught old Rupert twice that week, once in a Marple in the middle of the night which also featured half the cast of Ripper Street (okay, a couple), to my delight (more Matty hat acting - squee), and I was working, in case you ask, but I must admit I was a touch distracted by shiny things, I'd only put on Marple because it's a good report writing show to have on as background noise, no explosions, just the odd rattled tea cup.

Rupes also showed up in the ten minutes or so of an episode of Lewis I caught on the way through. He was playing a dissolute drunk, but was far, far too pretty to be a character of such chronic alcoholism. Maybe that was a plot point later on, who knows? I never will (certanly no time to crack open a dvd, sigh).

Anyway, that's me. Not very happy right now, but it's hard when under constant attack. I'm trying my best, though. I always do, even though it's never good enough.

Also rather tired of having to play Jeeves all the time. The constant pulling people out of pickles of their own creation is wearing on one (especially when there's no one around to offer the same service). I'm not sure there's enough fish in the world to get out of this one, though. This time this particular Bertie might have to front up and face of the consequences of not acting as advised. I'm tapped, I really am. And I'm not your freakin' fairy godmother.

Sorry, but it's been one stressful day after another, and they're not even my actual problems. My problems have been pushed to the back of the line, as always (would like access to decent bandwidth, help fixing the gutters and clearing out a few cupboards, if you could manage it).

The next day: Ok, so a couple of problems got themselves sorted (though again I smart over the songs and dances I was forced to perform to achieve the outcome, Gene Kelly I ain't). Everything else is urgh argh, and the less said about last night's 'commute' the better, but, man, it was difficult trying to get home. If I turned it into a film you wouldn't believe it.

Anyways, squeaked in the door just in time for Sleepy Hollow, though sadly missing Iain Glen in Doctor Who option #1, and the gay Robots of Death in Doctor Who (I think they were trying to do Korda in the costumes, but on a mining ship?) as option #2. They've got DW on two channels at the same time, and as it's usually staggering over the threshold and collapsing on the couch time, it's often watched and it's a constant game of which episode has the higher card value when choosing which to watch.

So, Sleepy, it was okay. The plot was a bit seen it all before, and before, and before, but it was saved by young Mr Mison and his performance, those lovely moments when he's tripped up, literally. As I noted while watching Lost in Austen, he's rather good at the physical comedy side of things, and so far TPTB have shown no inclination to tell him to stow it and be more stoic. Stoic heroes are a dime a dozen, and, frankly, boring. Icky chugging his first carbonated beverage? Priceless.

In others it might be, probably would be, annoying, but in young Mison it's rather sweet and adorable, bless. And, really, when you're playing a time travelling revolutionary soldier book of revelations prophet english university professor, who is there to say you're not doing it right?

Really loving it as a genre cop buddy show, and you know I'm rather partial to those (Life on Mars, The Avengers, Randall and Hopkirk, X Files, etc). Just a pity the monsters of the week are a bit same old, same old, especially after nearly a decade of Supernatural. Hey, maybe they could arrange a monster exchange programme?

I could say how silly (and a touch demeaning) it was that the only bona fide indigenous person on a hundred miles was a fully paid up shaman, or how accommodating the police captain is in these straitened times (the US shut up shot the night I watched it), but let's not pick it to pieces and just wallow in the wonderfulness that is Tom Mison (can he be shortlisted in three years time when the brilliant Mr Capaldi hangs up his hat/bowtie/scarf/whatever?).

The next day: So they finally played SHIELD out here (I'm too lazy to punctuate, or type the full title, so bear with). Some luke warm reviews and the Peanut Gallery was all meh, but I rather enjoyed it. Yes, it's the same old comedy team superheroes stylings from Whedon and Co., and, as the Vulture put it, the second episode (they played one and two last night, mushed together) could have totally been an episode of Burn Notice sans the Avengers refs (more terrifyingly, I went straight to the MacGyver place, but that's just me showing my age), but, you know what? It worked for me. So it's Burn Notice with silly 60s superpowers and a super plane. It's nostalgic and fun and there were some lines that made me giggle.

Maybe it'll get better, maybe it won't, but the problem is, instead of something new, it's a movie franchise spinoff, so it suffers from comparison, and perhaps an over reliance of having done the reading (the PG, having ignored all the films thus far, was completely lost and this may have contributed to his meh-ness). So, a spinoff that assumes prior knowledge. Oddly, this makes it a harder sell than other Whedon shows, methinks.

But I liked it. It was comforting, familiar, it riffed on and referenced other things I like. It was funny and the cast weren't too annoying. A bit on the bland side, but not too annoying, so bland in fact I'd have difficulting naming them without resort to Google, not sure what went wrong with the casting there, a touch too generic imho, where are the colourful characters with sharp edges of Buffy or Firefly?.

It'll do, I guess. There is such a thing as too colourful, as that Bill Shakespeare guy says:

Oh, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split
the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of
nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise. I would have such
a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant — it out-Herods Herod.
Pray you avoid it...

Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your
tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this
special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature. For
anything so o'erdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end both
at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twere, the mirror up
to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image,
and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now
this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful
laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve, the censure of the
which one must in your allowance o'erweigh a whole theatre of
others. Oh, there be players that I have seen play, and heard others
praise and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that neither having
the accent of Christians nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man,
have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of nature's
journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated
humanity so abominably...

...And let those that play your clowns
speak no more than is set down for them, for there be of them that
will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators
to laugh too, though in the meantime some necessary question of
the play be then to be considered. That's villainous, and shows
a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it.

So yeah, all a bit beige at the moment (as per the interior of the Super Secret Agent Plane), but I'd rather beige over prating idiots whose 'reading' of lines would shame a GPS.

Ah, well, I liked it. After the week I've had, sure, gimme an old fashioned 70s superhero spy show. The parts of me that are still nine in thought if not in apparatus loved it to bits.

Ripper Street is still my grand passion (though plotty spoilers for next season cast a pall - any episode that sounds like Homer Simpson's dismissive comment about Mannix is bound to set off alarm bells), but SHEILD can happily join Sleepy Hollow and Supernatural in the list of shows I like and look forward to.

Yes, I'm sure there are more grown up programmes I could be watching (oh yes, we're using that spelling now), but Waiting For Brody, aka Homeland, was as boring as batshit and I'm so over it, missed a few other shows I probably should be watching, just in a mood for escapism this week, I guess.

That said, I was watching Hell on Wheels last night. I couldn't say I enjoy it, but I'm engrossed from start to finish every episode. Intrigued, perhaps? Appreciate? There has to be some word for a show I follow avidly, think of often, yet don't exactly have the warm fuzzies for (or maybe I do). Respect, well regarded? Something like that. It's a grand western, in any case.

Also, as we move further west, I see the mormons have replaced the local tribes as the most dangerous men on the plains. Fair enough, there's an entire Sherlock Holmes story devoted to the danger of mormons.

Which gives me ideas, I'm thinking Ezra might be mormon, or, actually, worse, a failed one (the term is jack mormon now but it meant something different then). And he wasn't going to be called Ezra, it was just a place holding name, but I've been seeing the name everywhere, including spray painted on a concrete roadside barrier, Bad Wolf style, so Ezra it is.

I'll probably kill him off, though, he's not the protagonist I might have hoped for. He's no Arkady, born in an instant of a lightning bolt of an idea, such a character he took over the whole story to be the last man standing and the hero (well, AK never lied about who he was, unlike one who was a reflection of a reflection of a reflection, as the song goes, and the other, well, good men don't need so many rules to keep them from going bad, not that he goes all Walter white, yrah, actually he does, the baddest gangster of them all, if I have the courage to sink it there). So, Ezra, so far, so yawn, but the Hell on Wheels/Sherlock prompts were too obvious to resist, I'm afraid. Besides, he's Bad Wolfing me, he wants to be born on the page.

Still a bit Mannix, though. Okay, howabout a dissolute gentleman thief? I'm sure there is some moonstone thereabouts that needs nabbing, in between his slumming it down by the docks for recreational purposes. There's a reason why it's a classic - smirk.

Or a previous theft or wrong that has returned for retribution. So last episode of Sleepy Hollow (but that's okay, they're puritans, retribution is their thing). Oooh, a curse? Let's not get too gothic and all Talons of Weng Chiang (though it is just screaming at me, especially with that story of the giant Chinese rat the other day).

Okay, calm down, don't you have drudge work to think of? Or not think of, as the case may be. Yawn.

At least I got some sleep last night. That nasty gang on the bus thought I'd actually got some (and luridly said so), but no, it was just a couple of hours sleep (it really, really shows now when I go without any zzz these days). Been up all night with worry and a very, very dodgy salad. At least it meant none of the calories from the choccie milkshake I'd had at lunch to try and make things better (not really) stuck around. I know, shouldn't be having choccie milkshakes. Not at all. Never ever. So judged for buying it. So not fair. Skinny people already have everything they could possibly want (actually empirically proven, thin people are less likely to be found guilty, more likely to be given jobs, promotions, favourable treatment), whereas people like me get nothing but punished and spat on. We actually need chocolate. It's a terrible vicious cycle.

Today still sucks, though. People are...unkind, it's raining so I couldn't see the boats come in, and I still feel peaky. Small wonder my mind is wandering far and away.

Okay, way too gothic. How about a simple case of mistaken identity or swindling, from the Book of Maverick? Keep thinking. Rather think of this than having my parentage called into question (someone was just making the family connection, and called me a bitch in the process. Sometimes I really hate my life).

And why oh why is someone from The Princess Bride in something as dull as Homeland? It doesn't seem right.

Anyway, so I was sitting down, put Doctor Who on in the background (yes, music would be better but as I only get 0.004kps I need something on telly to while away the four hours it takes me to open a single email) and I glanced up and it's


Slap the laptop away, sit up and squee. It's Talons of Weng Chiang!!! Whoo hoo! Dastardly doings in Victorian London, replete with dodgy theatres, wicked foreigners, giant rats and more than a touch of the Sherlocks. Classic. Just classic. Although the geography was a little vague as I tried to plot it on Google maps (on top of the Fleet, next to Limehouse? If you can pin it for me on a map, I'd appreciate it.

Anyways, for someone missing her dangerous, dark and dirty late Victorian London streets (not to mention giant rats and wayward time agents from the 51stC) it was a treat, an absolute treat. Throw in Bron's first appearance in the Game of Thrones repeats on Soho, followed up by the confusing narrative and scene stealing 19th-20thC guttering in White Queen, and I was very happy.

Happier still as a dear friend decided to be kind and offer support in my enforced Rothenberg withdrawal. All I need now is to dig out some of my Matty dvds and I think I'll just about manage (and I'm thinking theatre, Sickert, something stolen or swindled, and, thanks to a throwaway line by the ever beloved Henry Gordon Jago, a wild west show).

Also, and why I'm stupid tired today, there was Sherlock on UKTV. I told myself no, I told myself just five minutes and then bed...yeah, like that was going to happen. I love those boys. Even trying to watch it sans fangirl glasses, and well, still with the fangirl glasses. What's not to love, from the Pertwee era style secret lab to Sherlock standing atop a tor doing his very best Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, the boys having a massive fight, then making up (and somehow scowling at anyone who thinks they're a couple - snerk) and two Little Johns for the price of one. Perfection.

Also recognised that major or whatever rank he was as the man himself from The Globe's Taming of the Shrew. That coloured the character slightly differently - grin.

Meanwhile, was so hoping to see the tall ships come in, and I should have been able to do it, sneaking close to a window, but no. At the very time the ships entered the harbour, there was rain and cloud and mist, total grey out, it was like trying to spot a tall ship in a Turner painting, which was very apropos, but, still. Even this Herald pic you can see how grey it was. Sigh.

Also, trying to listen to Mr Morrison this morning on the radio was fraught, but at least they have it up for streaming. Interesting stuff from a writer I've long admired.

Sadly didn't get to see him at the Opera House. had tickets but other stuff came up. I'll sulk on it for a while. Or always, really. It' so rare that someone I really admire comes this way, to the actual ends of the earth, that missing them burns badly.

So I ended up watching Doctor Who instead. School Reunion and Girl in the Fireplace. I always think David's Doctor's delight at seeing Sarah Jane isn't entirely confined to what was on the page, but he always was a fanboy. And that's good. I was bemused when Peter Capaldi was outed as a big time Who nerd. good. the show needs, requires someone who belives, because t's not just some role on tv, it's a vocation. Not only do you hold the hearts and minds of millions in your hand, you're also an ambassador for the show, the BBC, Britain. It's a big deal. It requirs committment, professionally and personally.

So they chose well. well, that and I've been carrying a torch for Mr Capaldi since I can't remember when. Which is why those letters in SFX, penned furiously with one hand by fat chaps in smelly black t-shirts, irked me so. First they delightd in the casting of Capaldi as being fangirl kryptonite and thus destined to return the show to their sweaty demands. oi, I say. Then they followed it up with noting that Mr Capaldi's mature years (again, oi), would mean less running up and down corridors and a return to more cerebral and hard science plots (yawn).

Wel, my pony-tailed misogynists, I hate to point it out to you, but your fiendish glee could be simply and easily overturned by saddling the new Doctor with a dewy eyed faun as a companion. One to run down corridors and have his shirt ripped from him as often as possible. (Not that Jamie ever hd his shirt ripped off but there was a lot of unseemly up-kilting).

So there, back to your basements with you, you Troglodytes.

Harumph. Okay, so I'm just sore cause I never got to see/hear Grant Morrison. It's a thing. Uh oh. Parrot time.

Things are not going well today. I'm not even enjoying Doctor Who. sigh.

Tall ships enter Sydney Harbour

triple j : Mornings with Zan - Grant Morrison Takes 5 with five songs for five characters...

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Roman skulls washed down lost river

Neil Gaiman's Journal: One Ordinary Day With Chris Riddell Doodles

'Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.': Keeping Joss Whedon curse intact?,0,7451335.story

My problem with the grammar police

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 photo tatum-ew1236-7dec12us_zps67db53e0.jpg Entertainment Weekly


7 December 2012

 photo tatum-who21dec12au_0001_zps39f7f92d.jpg Who Weekly

21 December 2012

 photo tatum_gqaug09us_0001_zps0f9a0529.jpg  photo tatum_gqaug09us_0004_zpsaeddb815.jpg  photo tatum_gqaug09us_0005_zpse3c01f95.jpg  photo tatum_gqaug09us_0006_zps3888225e.jpg
 photo tatum_gqaug09us_0007_zpsd5fcb1bb.jpg  photo tatum_gqaug09us_0008_zpsd030fe1f.jpg  photo tatum_gqaug09us_0009_zpsf92d1a2f.jpg  photo tatum_gqaug09us_0010_zps45e67a43.jpg
 photo tatum_gqaug09us_0011_zps1ed62933.jpg  photo tatum_gqaug09us_0015_zps0408ff41.jpg  photo tatum_gqaug09us_0019_zps8f6a436d.jpg GQ

August 2009

 photo mcqueen_gqoct13uk_0008_zps0f76b2f8.jpg  photo mcqueen_gqoct13uk_0009_zpsc25add7e.jpg  photo mcqueen_gqoct13uk_0010_zps7e44c040.jpg  photo mcqueen_gqoct13uk_0011_zps8ad09271.jpg
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October 2013


Tags: doctor who, magazine scans, peter capaldi, television, theatre, tom mison, william shakespeare

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