Ve Haf Vays Of making You Talk, Herr Griffin

The BBC's decision to include Nick Griffin as a panelist on a recent edition of Question Time has been the subject of furious debate, both before and since his actual appearance. Right from the original announcement, I've heartily supported that decision. Firstly, because the BNP has two MEPs, and it's essential that voters have the opportunity to hear, and are able to closely scrutinise, their elected representatives' views. If, as with Nick Griffin and the BNP, those views are particularly vile, the greater our interest is in knowing precisely what they are. I also happen to believe that the most effective way to discredit the BNP's views is by openly confronting and challenging them, not by covering our eyes and ears and hoping they'll go away if we pretend they don't exist.

Others have taken a different view, suggesting that Griffin's participation in a Question Time debate somehow 'legitimises' the BNP, fearing it may help to boost its support with 'free publicity'. As mentioned above, the BNP do have two MEPs, so I think we're past the point where we can pretend it isn't a 'real' party - it's a political reality and, though we may find its values deplorable, we've got to accept that and deal with the situation as it stands. On the subject of the two MEPs, I feel it's important to point out that this breakthrough was gifted by the collapse in support for mainstream politicians, rather than any significant rise in the BNP's own support. They may have been nudged through the European Parliament's door at the ballot box, but it was the corrupt tossers in Westminster who had unlocked that door, thrown it open and turned on the lights. They're keenly aware of this, so I do wonder if some of those who've been most vocal in their disgust at the BBC's decision are, in fact, overcompensating out of shame. The BBC may have extended the invitation, but it was trough-guzzling MPs who alienated he public to such an extent that led to the situation where the invitation could have been given in the first place.

As for whether the programme may have helped to increase support for the BNP, I'm afraid that's part and parcel of how democracy works; politicians set out their stalls, and the electorate decides whether it wants to buy. Generally speaking, I think the British are a fairly tolerant and altruistic lot, with little interest in the BNP's peddled hate, but, inevitably, some will be reaching for their metaphorical wallets. But this is no reason to try and limit the party's right to be heard. A democracy we're only willing to uphold for 'nice' people, and when we can be sure voters will give a 'right' answer, is no democracy at all. Also, if any of last Thursday's so-called 'anti-fascist' campaigners are reading this, you can piss right off with your patronising need to 'protect' the rest of us from the BNP's beliefs and, while you're busy pissing off, grab a dictionary and look up the words 'irony' and 'hypocrisy'.

In the event, Griffin was unprepared and hopelessly out of his depth. His performance was marked by plenty of hand-ringing, both literal and metaphorical, and he quivered throughout, as though he'd walked into a prison shower room and had been greeted by the sound of falling soap. In the face of serious attacks on his repellent views and his attempts to avoid taking responsibility for them, he laughed and clapped like an imbecile. He looked, in every respect, like a beached whale. A few of his gems include mention of a 'non-violent' Ku Klux Klan, and saying, in response to being asked whether he denies the Holocaust, that he doesn't have a conviction for it. Why use a single word like 'yes', when you can use six or seven others instead? Neither, apparently, can he tell us why he 'used to' deny the Holocaust; nor can he explain why he's 'changed his mind', beyond the bizarre claim that a radio intercept has convinced him where photographic evidence and copius witness testimony had previously failed. There was also the tantalising hint of a ludicrous theory of 'British history of indigenous whites' (based on immigrants - yes, immigrants!! - arriving at the end of the last ice age*), which, disappointingly, there wan't the time for Griffin to elaborate. Disappointing because, having all the hallmarks of the Nazis' crackpot ideas of 'Aryan' history, it would have gone even further to discredit Griffin and his odious party (here, I'm using 'party' as a word to describe a gaggle of cunts, in the same way that we can have a 'parliament' of rats).

Since the programme's broadcast, some commentators have suggested Griffin may pick up some support from people who sympathised with him for having been 'ganged up on'. Predicatably, that's precisely the line Griffin himself has tried to spin, whining that he faced a 'lynch mob', and that the programme shouldn't have taken place in London, because he no longer regards it as a British city. If anyone does feel any sympathy for 'bullied' Nick Griffin, then they haven't watched the same programme that I did. I saw a deeply prejudiced twat whose ideas, when he was given an opportunity to properly defend them to the public, were shown to be flagrantly racist and intellectually lacking. By trying to deny any quote put to him that exposed him for what he is, he seemed to lack the courage of his convictions, so he can't even be respected for at least standing by his upopular views. He is, in short, an abject coward. He's even shown this after broadcast with his assertion that London is no longer a British city. When he was actually facing the audience, however, he didn't have the balls to say this. Instead, he 'magnanimously' told one questioner that he: 'would be very happy for you to stay'. I suggest you take a moment to think about this, and ask yourself if what he said to that audience member is really compatible with the idea that London, England's capital (home, presumably, of said audience member) is not a British city.

One thing where I do agree with Nick Griffin is that he should, at some point, be invited back to Question Time, and be given the opportunity to explain his policies that have nothing to do with immigration. You know, the ones he doesn't actually have. As the maxim goes: give him enough rope and he'll hang himself. If his Question Time debut was anything to go by, he'll even bring his own rope and obligingly build the scaffold.



*Yes, I know we're technically still in an ice age, so, if you're muttering to yourself about this, ask the nearest person to give you a good slap, please.

The Crotchwood Chronicles, Volume One: Chibnall's Bollocks

Previously lost between the gap in Gwen's teeth (henceforth referred to as 'the rift'), here's the first set of Torchwood reviews I did a couple of years ago, for the first series. They're mostly presented 'as is', but I've patched them up in a few places, where the toothpick I used to extract them has been a little unkind. It would be too much for anyone to bear as a single post, I think, so I've decided to break them down into three sets of four. Ish. Looking back at my thoughts on Torchwood's first series, I obviously felt that it could be divided into three roughly equal chunks of 'utter shite', 'OK', and 'surprisingly good'. So, I've decided to begin with the utter shite, and work my way up to 'surprisingly good'. As you'll see, I thought (and still do think) that the absolute worst was written solely by one man...

1.02: Day One is the first to be written by Chris Chibnall. Regrettably, it's not the last. A young Chibbers had once criticised Pip and Jane Baker's contributions to Doctor Who, but, although his complaints were valid (and bravely presented, because Jane looks as though she'd bite your cock off as soon as look at you, and isn't to be trusted even when confined to the other side of a TV screen), he doesn't appear to have applied any lessons learned to his own work. If Pip and Jane's writing was the benchmark he'd set himself to beat, then he was never going to go far... I'm not even convinced that he is an improvement upon Pip and Jane. I bet noone ever wittered on about 'orgasmic energy' in any of their scripts, not least because it's hard to imagine that they've ever created any. On the other hand, it's all too easy to imagine Chibbers having typed his scripts one-handed, transcribing his warped fantasies in real time - an image you really don't want, if you've had the misfortune to see the oily twat.


I think it's only fair that Torchwood: Declassified (or: Chibnall: Re-Certified) should have given Pip and Jane Baker the chance to turn the tables and publicly trash Cuntnall's toss. It would all end in tears - possibly with Jane snapping off his cock and forcing Pip to don a Weevil mask and sodomise him, whilst dousing him in barbecue sauce for the pterosaur. Close-up of Chibnall's sweaty face, as the 'Weevil' looms over him; Chibnall's cry of anguish simultaneous with Pip's release of 'orgasmic energy' and the pterosaur's hungry screech. Wow! I'd better post this off to the Torchwood production office before someone Chibnall steals the idea!


Oh, the 'plot' isn't worth dignifying with a proper examination here, but, if you must know: A woman possessed by 'sex gas' wanders around Cardiff, accompanied by Goldfrapp's Oooh La La, literally fucking people to death. See? I told you, didn't I?

1.04: Cyberwoman took a promising concept and wanked it up the wall. The idea of someone being trapped in a body half-way between human and Cyberman has the potential to be thought-provoking, and  to say something profound about what it is to be human. Here, the series could have really come into its own, as there are some genuinely adult themes in there, somewhere, beneath all of Chibnall's adolescent misconceptions of 'adult' (yet more gratuitous sex and gore). I'm certainly not averse to either sex or gore, but appropriate context is everything. If you're forced to hide in a morgue, with your colleague necessarily lying on top of you, because there's a mental half-machine stomping around outside, intent upon killing you both, then, no, that is not the time to hear 'I can feel your hard-on', frankly. Chibnall must have been looking at a poster of a scantily clad Weevil on his bedroom wall when he tossed away any tension that scene might have hoped for.


The episode isn't really about what you might have thought it would be (in my case, the emotional conflict of a woman struggling to reassert her humanity over her Cyber-conditioning); it's a base-under-siege story, one of Doctor Who's tried and trusted staples. In this regard, it's not a complete failure, because, talk of hard-ons and some unlikely bouts of snogging aside, it does have some of the tension you'd expect of the format. Despite Chibnall's best efforts. The downside, as I've already mentioned, is that it squanders a good opportunity to be something special, and resorts to being a mindless runaround. The Torchwood kids are, literally, running around in circles. Then they piss around trying to get outside. Before deciding they really need to be inside, after all. At one point, Jack and the half-Cybe even do that child-like thing of not quite chasing each other around the table, while Jack feebly moans that she's 'hurt my friends - and nobody hurts my friends!', as though he's in a Famous Five book. The Cybe woman herself is largely free of shit dialogue, since she hardly has anything to say whatsoever, but, upon finding an empty Hub, her 'And we all ran' line sounds as plasticky as her thong and Cyber-tits. I imagine the delivery to have been similar to Charles I ineffectually announcing 'I see all my birds have flown', after his bungled attempt to arrest some pesky MPs in Parliament.


Finally, we see something of Ianto, the bland non-entity whose only functions seem to be to serve coffee and to wipe Torchwood's collective arse, whenever it shits its way around Cardiff. Given something to do, at last, Gareth David-Lloyd gives a good performance, carrying the episode by himself. Even if his blubbing does go on a little too long for my liking. He's a man who's trying to do the right the right thing, but gets it spectacularly wrong - and he's automatically more likeable than most of the Torchwood twats we've seen so far, because he's acting out of love, not his own self-interest. We know, but he can't see, that the object of his love no longer truly exists, and he's long past the point where he could have helped her - if indeed he ever could. By the time she, in a scene Chibnall obviously hadn't thought through properly, transplants her own brain into a hapless pizza delivery girl's body, he perhaps has grasped the futility of his efforts, and the most natural thing would have been for him to kill her. But no. Instead, the Torchwood twats rush in, standing in line, firing squad-stylee, to blast the poor bitch to smithereens. Torchwood seems to like walking and standing in formation, almost as much as Jack likes to piss about standing on rooftops for no good reason.


Ah, I almost forgot. There's an absurd scene where Jack covers Cybe-girl in barbeque sauce, to set up a fight between her and the pterodactyl - thus endangering the only Torchwood character I could give a rat's arse about about. It's a fairly good way to sum up how brainless this episode is. I'm not sure it's quite as bad as Day One, but the quality gap is surely no bigger than the Planck length, either way.


Shameless plug, but: if you want to see my take on a similar concept, marbe or maybe not wanking it up the wall, (why not read it and decide for yourself?), then Myth Makers #14 is still available here.

1.06: Countrycide opens with what I half-suspected would be a 'comedy' take on the scene in Casino Royale where Bond rolls his Aston Martin. There is no Aston, and there is no rolling, but the 'person' lying in the road is - Oh no! - a trap... What follows is nothing more than a dumb American slasher movie, which just happens to be set in the Brecon Beacons. All you really need to know about this one is that some Welsh cannibals, in the arse end of nowhere, decide to round up and eat any passers-by every ten years. Why? Your guess is as good as mine - and better than theirs, apparently. Beyond it making them 'happy' (obviously not that happy, or else why the ten year intervals?), they're fucked if they know either. They may as well have said: 'We worship the pagan god Chib's'balls, and he tells us, in a voice that sounds like jism exploding over an abused typewriter, to just do it'. That's about as good as an explanation as you're going to find. Some people, inexplicably, cite the lack of any sort of explanation, or even a suggestion of one, as being the best thing about the whole infuriating bag of bollocks. Personally, I'm in the 'why haven't Chibnall's fingers been guillotined yet?' camp.

1.13: End of Days and, mercifully, End of Series. A final, desperate squeeze on the shitter from Chris Chibnall gives us... a CGI Chewits monster; indeed, had it actually skated around Cardiff on a pair of double-deckers, I wouldn't have been totally surprised. Perhaps intercut with a montage of Jack fucking his way around Cardiff, to the tune of 'I like to screw it (screw it!), I like to screw it (screw it!)... I like to... SCREW IT!!!'. If you think I'm being silly, then you're already better qualified to be Torchwood's lead writer than Chibnall ever was, because he'd had that general idea long before me and called it Day One.

Actually, this is the first of Chibnall's scripts to be merely bad, as opposed to his usual (sub)standard of offensively bad. There's a wonderful image of bewildered Roundheads firing upon modern-day police; it's precisely the sort of juxtaposition that you'd expect to see - and has, in some form, already appeared - in Doctor Who. Also, there's a potentially good villain in Bilis Manger. Potentially, because he gets fuck all screen time, and... What's the point of him? Seemingly, he's only there to flit between different times, exuding camp menace and, for reasons that neither he nor Chibnall ever explain, manipulate the gullible Torchwood team into opening the rift and releasing ol' Chewie (who, like Manger, is Abbadon, and got the poisonous shadow to prove it). Presumably because he's an evil old mincer, and that's the sort of thing evil old mincers do.

Once again, Torchwood's biggest failure is Torchwood itself. Not for the first time, the 'mainstream' authorities (who, like one half of a turbulent relationship, can't decide whether they're on reluctant speaking terms with the organisation, or haven't even heard of them) suspect Torchwood of having caused the problem, and they are, not for the first time, one hundred per cent correct. Whether by accident or design (the odds are 50/50, at best), one of the themes to have emerged across the series is how the Torchwood gang are isolated and corrupted by their jobs (in contrast to the way Jack's adventures with the Doctor had had an improving effect upon his character), often using, for example, alien technology for their own selfish ends. Usually causing some massive fuckage to something and someone in the process: in this case, they've fucked up... just about everything, as it turns out. All because they're cretinous, emotionally stunted fucktards. I'm not sure what could prepare anyone to do a job like theirs, but they've been doing it a while, and still seem to be as shit about it as you'd think anyone else would be. They're even taken in when people who couldn't possibly be speaking to them do just that, instructing them to, shock horror, open the motherfucking rift. Like prize pricks, they do just that, despite knowing it's probably a massively stupid thing to do.


When the lead characters are one of the biggest reasons to turn off, it's a worrying sign. On the other hand, when their 'underground base' is built on a sewer - so they're practically swimming in shit - it's perhaps unsurprising if that's where they fish some of their scripts from.

Gordon Brown, As Considered From A Tudor Perspective

A man whose profligate spending would bankrupt the rich exchequer he had inherited with hs office, he assumed power extolling ideals that he would never quite live up to. Irascible and overly suspicious, he ruled through a small group of trusted intimates. During the latter part of his reign, he was desperate to show himself to be in control, even through deteriorating health (a contributing factor to which may have been a sporting injury he'd suffered in his youth). He was, of course, Henry VIII, but you could be forgiven for thinking of Gordon Brown. 


We can, as we have seen, draw parallels between the two, but they are pretty few and slight. It would be a generous person indeed who really thought that Gordon Brown could be compared with Henry VIII. The latter was a legend, even in his own time, whose magnetism can still be felt today; the former exudes all the charm and personal warmth of Norman Bates' mother. Henry twice debased the currency, without it making much of an impact on his popularity, whereas Brown has been confronted by a much less forgiving public for his part in causing today's economic woes. Henry proved to be a skilled statesman, while Brown is comparitively bungling and inept (though he might have felt at home in Henry's court, which was dominated by the kind of factional politics he appears to relish).


Far from being just another attack on Gordon Brown's failed premiership (if that's quite the right word; if politics was performance based, like football, he'd have had his bollocks kicked back into the Scottish League before now), this is going somewhere, so hang in there. I've been a bit slow about it, but I've been meaning to write something on The Tudors' third series, which I've greatly enjoyed. From its very beginning, the programme has been roundly mocked for its tendency to be at variance with historical fact; something that [writer] Michael Hirst (sadly not Iolaus from Hercules: The Legendary Journeys) has defended by saying that he was asked to write 'entertainment, a soap opera'. He's certainly succeeded there, but they could at least make the effort to get more of the costumes right. But, if you can look past the historical inaccuracies and accept the series for what it is, it's a hugely enjoyable experience in its own right - especially when the accents unexpectedly wander into Irish.


And yet... If you think of Henry VIII, you'll probably be reminded of the bloated, lusty king who married six wives and had two of them beheaded, or of the cruel tyrant who beheaded his enemies with gleeful alacrity. Here's a king who's been frequently portrayed in film, TV, novels and plays, and those portrayals usually fall firmly into one of the two standard caricatures. Like many a legend, the real man has been lost to history, buried beneath his burgeoning reputation. Neither caricature properly captures Henry VIII's true character, and neither give any real insight into the man behind the legend. Which is why, as entertaining as The  Tudors may be, I still think I would have preferred a more accurate depiction of King and court; both were far more interesting than the usual clichés attached to them. I've always felt that history is often interesting in itself, but it's even more so when we can use it to better understand today's events and when it resonates with modern peoples' lives. I've already hinted that we can use certain aspects of Henry VIII's reign to reflect upon our own circumstances today.


So, what of The Tudors? There's the usual softcore porn and court intrugue; everything that's familiar to viewers from Showtime's take on Henry VIII is present and correct, so I won't go into any of that here. The highlight of the series has been the development of Charles Brandon's character. No longer a one-dimensional playboy, this series has seen him grow wiser (even if the actor's youth makes it difficult to believe he's really any older), as he's found himself conflicted between duty and conscience. It's a conflict seen to be fuelled by Thomas Cromwell, and his downfall is what the series built itself up to. The series opens with a religious uprising against the King (the Pilgrimage of Grace), which Brandon is charged with quelling. He wants to complete his mission justly, but a furious Henry wants more blood than Brandon is originally willing to spill. In order to force him into carrying out a brutal massacre (the enormity of which requires him to kill the innocents he had wanted to save), Cromwell manipulatively implies that his earlier 'soft' treatment of the rebels may put him under suspicion of sympathising with them. For Cromwell, the uprising suits his own agenda of pushing for religious reform.


Although the enmity between the two runs through the whole series, it does lose its punch after the first few episodes dealing with the uprising. Once that has been dealt with, and Brandon's torment over the monstrous acts his been forced into committing has been shown (whilst fishing with his son - who manages to be  a profoundly irritating shit by simply saying nothing, even when harried by his increasingly erratic father, and looking gormless - he hallucinates the silently accsuing figure of one of his victims), their feud simmers into the background. Informing the events that lead to Cromwell's fall from grace, but not as explicity about it. My sympathies mainly rested with Brandon, but I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Cromwell, come his meeting with a heavily hungover executioner, where he finally sees what a cunt he's been for the last three series, and freely admits to the gathered audience what his real crime has been. Even if I hadn't have known the history, and expected Cromwell's fate, it was signposted in the penultimate episode, where he tells a page a little about his religious beliefs, and, therefore, what makes him tick as a person. That he does so with a lack of his usual arrogance and disdain, temporarily making him quite likeable, should ring alarm bells. Oh, and he even gives the page one of the pears he'd been thinking of stealing before he realised Cromwell was in the same room - an unexpected act of kindness that tells us he'll soon be dead.


In the main, Showtime can chalk the third series of The Tudors up as another success, although its shortened length has made the conflated timeline more of an irritation (e.g., the events that really do for Cromwell are hurridely dealt with in the final episode, and would have benefitted from having been given a greater build up), and the usual quibbles apply (including some occasionally quite dreadful dialogue, and the afforementioned lack of regard for some costumes' accuracy).


If, like me, your Friday nights are a little less exciting now The Tudors has finished for another year, then perhaps you could imagine the Henrician court with Gordon Brown at its centre. Better still, instead of imagining him being in Henry VIII's place, picture him having supplanted Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, but still surrounded by The Tudors' regular cast. It'll completely change the character of scenes such as those where Henry (Gordon) shouts that Anne of Cleves (played, bizarrely, by the beautiful Joss Stone) looks like 'a flanders mare', or the one where he rewrites the ten commandments to include 'thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife's ass'. I half hope that, as the desperation mounts and his mind snaps, Brown actually tries to pass that as a real law. As a close second best, I'd settle for him having Peter Mandelson attainted and beheaded.

No Fourth!

'Britain's future must be green', the Prime Minister told his party at the annual Labour conference yesterday. For once, he's right, and not just in the way he means. Britain's future certainly isn't Brown (beyond being in a whole heap of shit for the next decade, that is). The speech was Gordon Brown's last chance to try and reinvigorate his party, and to begin winning back an increasingly hostile media. The Sun, meanwhile, has once again proved itself (and Rupert Murdoch) to be an unprincipled turncoat, and picked a choice moment to finally disown New Labour, in a move that's every bit as cynical and self-serving as the Government it now decries. If only the shit-rag hadn't been the Government's bitch for the last twelve years, and had chosen to hold it to account instead, then the list of failures now given as reasons for switching sides needn't have been quite so extensive... Naturally, though, The Sun's change of heart will reflect its readership's own shift of support (openly sticking to a set of beliefs is a luxury that seems more expensive for Murdoch, the richer he gets), so it's brown news for Gordon, regardless.

Yesterday's speech was doomed from the start, as Brown entered the stage to a song with some unfortuneate lyrics, and some sickly shit from his wife, who spun the improbable line that her husband thinks and worries about us all his waking life. In the speech that followed, Brown not only failed to acknowledge that his profligate spending during his time as Chancellor had helped send the economy crashing through the basement - let alone actually apologise for his costly mistakes - he also showed no sign of having any idea as to what to do about it. Instead, he: fired off a list of proposals that couldn't possibly be funded; made the usual vague noises about the NHS, reforming the House of Lords (something New Labour have been 'wanting to do' since 1997) etc.; basically proposed that teenage mothers should be incarcerated in their own special prisons, and; laughably suggested that another Labour government would 'crack down' on twenty-four hour drinking. Never mind that the Licensing Act was passed by a Government that Brown himself was a part of, and had started out as a policy that was actively used to promote New Labour to the younger voters (anyone remember the texts?). Absurdly, Brown now appears to want to reuse the Act as a reason to vote Labour - whilst at the same time removing it as one for the people who it might have helped sway before.

There was more. Not much, though, because nothing important was discussed in detail. Why's he so upset that the media 'don't want to talk about his policies', when he's apparently so disinterested in talking about them himself, even when he's got a captive audience? Perhaps Brown's most ridiculous claim was that the Conservatives are absolutely never right. About anything. OK, then. As much as I generally disagree with New Labour and some of the things they've done, even I wouldn't be so dogmatic as to say they've never done anything right, or that they're invariably wrong. As an attempt to draw a dividing line between parties go, merely reiterating a simplistic, childrens' storybook picture of Labour 'good' versus Conservative 'evil' is as low rent as it gets, and unlikely to appeal to anyone other than the most slavish Labour supporters. There's a time when it could have probably worked, but both the Conservatives and, increasingly, the public (who are fed up of being treated like idiots by both parties, and expect more than childish posturing from their MPs) have moved on, leaving Gordon Brown way, way behind.

He squandered his final chance yesterday, and instead gave more evidence of what most of us have already long known - that he, and his Government, are depleted and run-down, with no fresh ideas and nowhere to go but crashing down the polls and out of Government. 'Go Fourth' probably seemed an appropriate campaign name, given that's what Gordon Brown's been hearing for the last year. That may be what he's heard, but what we've really been telling him is to 'go forth'; but, of course, we know he only hears what he wants to, so he'll have missed the '...and fuck yourself' that would have made the real meaning crystal clear.

'And May My Bones Rot For Buying It!'

Six months ago, the official Doctor Who Magazine asked its readers to rank every Doctor Who story ever made (The Mighty 200!) - the biggest poll of its kind since 1998. Doctor Who fans are often said to be compulsive categorisers and compilers of lists (6700 people answered the mighty 200!'s clarion call, so perhaps there's more than a grain of truth in that), and I'm no exception. How have fans' attitudes to different 'eras' in the series' history, and to individual stories, have changed - and where might they have stayed the same? Where does 'the New Series' fit into the wider context of the series' canon? Might Timelash be crowned the 'Number One Story of All-Time'? These are just a few of the questions I've been itching to see answered for the last few months...


DWM have now put me out of my misery and published the results, with the top ten looking like this:


10: Bad Wolf/The Parting of the Ways

09: The Robots of Death

08: City of Death

07: Pyramids of Mars

06: Human Nature/The Family of Blood

05: The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances

04: The Talons of Weng-Chiang

03: Genesis of the Daleks

02: Blink

01: The Caves of Androzani

No Timelash, then, but there is Bad Wolf/The Parting of the Ways ('you have got to be kidding!'). On the other end of the Shitometer's scale, but also placed bafflingly high in the chart, is the overhyped and self-satisfied Blink. But, despite any misgivings I might have about a few of their actual chart positions, I'm genuinely pleased to see long-time favourites sitting alongside a few celebrated modern classics; that Christopher Eccleston and David Tennant have managed to beguile fans old and new will surely vindicate those who campaigned for the series to return during its 'wildnerness years' off-air. Incidentally, if you are, like me, one of the many people who enjoyed Human Nature/The Family of Blood, you may not know that the writer adapted it from a previous Doctor Who novel of his, published by Virgin as part of their New Adventures range. Sadly, it's out of print now, but is available here as an ebook, which you can either read online or download as a PDF. 

If we compare The Mighty 200!'s top ten, with that of '98's:

10: The Web of Fear

09: The Evil of the Daleks

08: The Tomb of the Cybermen

07: City of Death

06: Remembrance of the Daleks

05: The Robots of Death

04: Pyramids of Mars

03: The Caves of Androzani

02: The Talons of Weng-Chiang

01: Genesis of the Daleks


We can see that Tom Baker dominates both top tens, with a whopping five stories in each. Furthermore, they're the same five stories, and they appear in more or less the same order - proof, I think, of their enduring popularity, cementing their reputations as being some of the very best of Doctor Who. Another decade later, and a couple of the modern stories in this year's top ten may well enjoy the same status. Here's hoping.

One of the most striking things about The Mighty 200! results is that two consecutive stories emerge as the pinnacle and nadir of Doctor Who, respectively, and these two stories are what I really want to discuss here.




THE TWIN DILEMMA

Considering that he spends half the story sleeping inside a makeshift wardrobe, Castrovalva was the worst way to introduce a new Doctor. That is, until The Twin Dilemma presented a Doctor who was violent, bullying, and a general all-round twat. That the gap in quality between The Caves of Androzani (#1) and The Twin Dilemma (#200) could be so great that the entirety of Doctor Who's long history can fit inside it is truly staggering.  Virtually every aspect of The Twin Dilemma's production fails, but the most unforgivable failure is the Doctor himself. Having suffered a particularly traumatic regeneration, the idea that he might be, for a while, even more erratic and unstable than he would normally be under similar circumstances is, in principle, a good one. Where the story (and script editor, Eric Saward) turns a potentially good idea into an actual steaming pile of shit is in failing to reassure the viewers that the cunt-ish new chap was the same character they'd grown to love over the last twenty years or so. Given that the Doctor not only cowardly betrays his companion to the bad 'un's guards, but even attempts to kill her, this new Doctor's debut needs, far more than any other, to clearly establish that, whatever crazy shit he's up to, the 'real' Doctor is still there, somewhere, and will settle down once the post-regeneration fuckage has finally given over. Had the story emphasised the Doctor's uncharacteristic behaviour as being symptomatic of suffering brought about by a less-than-smooth regeneration, and shown some of his more familiar, likeable traits, the audience might have been able to sympathise with him. Instead, we're not shown a scintilla of the Doctor's true character, and the audience will have gone away with the idea: 'that's what he's like now'. Little wonder they rapidly abandoned him, and the series. 

Much has already been said of that coat, but the Doctor's garb isn't the only garish costume to be found in his debut story - the Doctor is just the epicentre of a massive seismic shift in design, the first rumbled warnings of which could be felt four years previously, when John Nathan-Turner put interrogative marks on the good Baker's collar. The Sixth Doctor's costume (suggesting less an alien wanderer in time and space, more of a golem composed not of mud and earth, but of semi-frozen piss and vomit) marked the point when the ground finally caved in. 

Design isn't the only area where the Doctor's lowered the bar, he's also led the way in doing away with naturalistic dialogue ('Thou craggy knob'; 'Little bubbles are good in champagne and purgatives, Noma, but not in blood'). Where he leads, the other characters follow enthusiastically ('And may my bones rot for obeying it!'; 'I found Zanium on the floor! It looks serious!'). Really, Eric Saward should have sorted this out. Of course, it's already well documented that, by this point, his working relationship with JN-T had imploded, and he's been very clear that he felt Colin Baker to have been woefully miscast. In fact, when he wrote Revelation of the Daleks, he even went as far as to include a character similar to one Colin had played in Blake's 7, specifically so that a 'real' actor could show Colin how to do it properly. Could Saward really have been so bitter that he was deliberately undermining Colin from the start? If not, he was certainly of fuck all use here.

With all that said, if you're willing to dig beneath all the shit, it is still possible to find one or two pieces of buried treasure. Just don't expect them to be of any great value, or worth the effort it takes to find them. Whatever can be said of the Doctor himself, Colin's performance delivers everything the scripts ask of him, and he throws himself into it wholeheartedly. But it's in one of his rare quiet moments that he really shines, where he witnesses - and is seen to be affected by - the death of an old friend. Both he and Maurice Denham make the scene a rather touching one, in a story where 'touching' is the last thing you might expect it to be. Aside from that: the model work is pretty good; the reveal of a ravished planet lends the utterly laughable monster a brief moment of credibility, and; there's the occasional directorial flourish that tries to inject a little realism into a story that's so poorly designed, written and performed, that it can never truly be seen as anything other than artificial.

Amusingly, The Twin Dilemma was released on DVD in the very month that DWM's poll revealed it to be the least popular Doctor Who story ever made. I don't know whether that'll have the effect of putting off newer fans, or whether some morbid curiosity will compel them to take a look. What I do know is that, in the interests of completism (another fan compulsion), I'll have to get it myself, at some point. And when I do... May my bones rot for buying it!

THE CAVES OF ANDROZANI

If The Twin Dilemma is a near complete failure, then, as the poll results suggest, The Caves of Androzani is the polar opposite. As always, the production team were hampered by the usual time and budgetary constraints, so the finished product isn't quite as polished as it could have been - certain scenes would have been re-shot, if only they'd have had the time; a couple of the effects (which are actually mostly pretty good) might have been handled differently, if only they'd have had more money; they'd have fucked off the armadillo with limp wrists and cataracts, if only they hadn't have had JN-T - but, here, all the elements come together to produce something as close to perfection as Doctor Who has ever reached.  Androzani is a rare instance where not only are all the people making it singing from the same hymn sheet, but they're also singing from the right hymn sheet. Even Roger Limb gets a kick in the bollocks to produce a stunning musical score.

To further stretch an already creaking metaphor, Graeme Harper, making his directorial debut on Doctor Who, is the most accomplished choirmaster the series has ever been blessed with. He's often lumped together with Douglas Camfield, but, despite Camfield's undisputed talents, it's fair to say that he didn't have quite as firm a grasp on his craft as Harper does. (An amusing aside about Douglas Camfield: He was once invited to dinner by Dudley Simpson, veteran BBC composer, to discuss a project they were both working on. Camfield was so enraged that a lowly composer could afford a nicer house than he, a director, could, that he thereafter deprived Simpson of work wherever he had the opportunity to do so. Note, for example, that the only episode of Blake's 7 to not be scored by Dudley Simpson is also the only one that is directed by Douglas Camfield). 

Many fans have suggested similarities between this and previous Robert Holmes stories The Talons of Weng-Chiang and The Power of Kroll. The former, like Androzani, incorporates a pastiche of The Phantom of the Opera as a core story element, whereas the latter seems to be mentioned purely because both stories have gunrunners. Personally, I've always felt that Androzani owes rather more to The Space Pirates, an even earlier Holmes story. Not only are the surface genres they both play on more closely related, but many of the details are strikingly familiar. Both feature: similarly named generals, trying to protect an invaluable natural commodity; a dodgy corporate figure (each with a controlling interest in the aforementioned commodity) in league with the space pirates/gunrunners; characters who misunderstand and make false assumptions about one anothers' identities and/or motives... If all of this gives the impression that Robert Holmes slavishly reheated his previous work to make a quick buck, that's far from the case. Terry Nation he was not. He may have reused familiar story elements, but he played a different riff on them and fashioned them into something fresh and exciting, even where those elements had been taken from widely unpopular stories. That he could do this is a testament to his skill as a writer. He's often referred to as a mastercraftsman - which he undoubtedly was - but there's also something of the alchemist about him, too.

Holmes was particularly adept at giving his fictional worlds a life far beyond what we see of them on screen, effortlessly sketching in characters and societies we can believe had lives, and a history, before they got to wherever they are when we happen to catch up with them. The Caves of Androzani is one of the best examples of this. In broad strokes, Holmes paints a picture of an utterly corrupt, dystopian society, where a businessman can control government, as well as an army, and order executions (even of an employee); where torture is seen as a legitimate means of information gathering; where introducing slave labour may be seen unfavourably by the person who ostensibly matters in making the decision, but not so much that he's actually unwilling to do it as soon as money is mentioned... The Fifth Doctor worked best when he was portrayed as the last good man in an increasingly bleak universe, and never was that handled better than here. Peter Davison seemed to intuitively grasp this, playing to the scripts' strengths accordingly, and giving a stand-out performance in a production where a distinguished main cast give nothing other than their absolute best. He isn't the best Doctor - although by no means the worst, either - but Davison certainly gives the finest single title perfomance here. Which makes it all the more of a shame that, having been largely hampered by poor material for most of his tenure, Davison should only be given room to live up to his potential in his last story. He is on record as saying that, had he have received more scripts of similar quality earlier on, he may have stayed on for a fourth year. I can't help but feel a pang of regret that things didn't work out that way.

Someone else who was inspired by The Caves of Androzani was Eric Saward, who had the good sense to protect the story from JN-T as far as he possibly could (the same JN-T who hadn't wanted to commission Holmes in the first place, but would later be happy to associate with the likes of Pip and Jane Baker). Sadly, in his awe of Androzani, Saward would take away various elements - a disfugured shit lusting over Peri... a plethora of cynical, unlikeable characters... a marginalised Doctor - and hammer them into the following season, without any critical understanding of how they could only work within the frameowrk of Androzani's finely crafted story. A story that he could appreciate enough to be blown away by, yet not understand enough to see the subtleties that made the whole thing gel successfully. Let's not kid ourselves here, this is not how we'd want Doctor Who to be every week, even if we love it for being a bold one-off (in may ways, this feels that it could be the greatest Blake's 7 story never made). Saward didn't get it, though. What Saward gives with one hand, he violently knocks away with the other.

A measure of Androzani's success is that, whilst you will find few who actively dislike it, those who do often seem to base their hostility on some absurd principle that it simply enjoys too much acclaim, and they're a little bored of hearing it. You can spot these types easily enough, by their ridiculous suggestions as to what might be better - one recently pondered whether Androzani might be less good than Death to the Daleks. Someone even says he prefers Time-Flight. Fucking Time-Flight! Perhaps he genuinely does, but the remark smacks of someone being contrary for the sake of being 'controversial', or of wanting to appear 'bold and original'. I would put money on him having thought along the lines of: 'What does everyone love? Androzani. I'll hate that one, then. What does everyone else hate? Time-Flight. I'll like that one, then'. Never mind the fact that he's missed the point by a country mile when he bemoans that the Doctor and Peri 'don't do anything'. Their very presence is a catalyst - often without their knowledge - for everything that happens in the story. As a warning against interference, this is far more powerful than any 'let's not meddle with history' story, precisely because the possible consequences aren't so abstract and unlikely (we know, for example, that Barbara won't be able to alter history in The Aztecs - or, if she can, that it would have to be put right anyway) that it's difficult to give a toss about them. Also because The Caves of Androzani rewrites the definition of 'meddling' to include merely being (literally) in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Finally, a certain Joe Ford asks whether any Doctor Who producer ever hit as big as JN-T did with Androzani. OK, if he's happy to ignore the likes of Genesis, Talons, et al, then I can temporarily do the same and put to him a question of my own: How many classics from other producers' eras came about because the producer himself was actively excluded from the process as much as possible, rather than actually, you know, contributing to the success? Of course, JN-T couldn't be kept away completely - he stuck his head in long enough to insist upon an unneeded, and inevitably dodgy, monster - but, while he was shut out, he was gleefully fucking up the next story, unchecked by anything as bothersome as talent, experience or creativity. 

Where I Have Been

I haven't posted here for a while, because... Well, I couldn't be bollocks-ed to, really. Much too busy trying to stave off a nervous breakdown that part of me actually wants to happen anyway. A nervous breakdown that'll probably be precipated by: being hounded by various people for money, whilst I've got fuck all coming in myself, because; there's still no sign of a job - only a brick wall of impolite cunts who don't reply to my applications at all, plus the occasional, unhelpfully generic 'there were more suitable applicants...', and; realising that the 27 years of life I've somehow managed to stumble through so far have all been for naught, because I have naff all to show for any of it - no worthwhile employment, no money, no assets, noone to share my vast expanse of nothingness with and, worst of all, no visible prospect of getting any of these things. All of which makes maintaining a blog seem to be yet another pointless exercise in an increasingly meaningless and arbitary world.

Apathy, Apathy - They've All Got Apathy!

Firstly, let me apologise for writing this - and, specifically, the naff post title - whilst [partially] drunk. A copious stream of bollocks may follow.


Writing for The Blue Blog, Serene John-Richards questions whether young voters are as apathetic as we're often told they are. It's a question I've asked myself and, like Serene, I believe the answer to be clearly 'No'.


As Serene notes, young people demonstrably do have an interest in political issues, but are often left marginalised when they try to make their voice heard. Whilst their voice outside of Parliament is often ignored, they don't have much of one inside either. Only three MPs under the age of thirty were elected at the last general election. Maybe this is part of the reason why general voter disinterest is particularly pronounced among young voters - perhaps they feel alienated by politics, because they can't see their own interests and concerns being represented within Parliament. All parties need to do more to nurture their young talent. Not just because it's in the parties' interests to protect their futures, nor simply because it would help to engage young voters, but because Parliament would be better able to serve the community it represents if its composition more accurately reflects that community.


Confidence in our elected representatives is currently so low that it's threatening to fall through not just the floor, but the gallows trapdoor. The expenses scandal has become a focal point for the public's wider dissatisfaction with our politicians, and their anger over being ignored and treated with mounting contempt. The electorate's cynicism is no surpise, given they've seen Governments blight the very hopes they raised to win power. Likewise, it's little wonder voters feel disenfranchised when they're used to seeing politicians arguing fractiously, rather than working together for the common public good. In her own post, Serene says that young people are cynical towards polital parties, and these are, I think, just a few more reasons why. But these will also hold true for for the disillusioned electorate as a whole. Another thing which, I think, may help to explain why perceived apathy is most prevalent among young voters is this: whilst the youngest voters may never have been able to perceive any real difference between the main political parties, their parents can still remember when there were was a manifest choice, and lived through events which burned the parties' ideological differences onto their memories forever. Simply put, older voters may be more reluctant to give up their vote, because their past experience makes them worry about the possible consequences if they do.


It's clear to me that, if we deal with the problems that have turned off the electorate in general, we'll automatically have covered most of the ground we need to with the more specific problem of young voters' apathy. Dealing with issues such as MPs' corruption and unaccountability will be worth much, much more than any patronising proposal to let people vote by text (something which, I'm sure, isn't anywhere near as easy to implement as it may at first seem).


For years, politicans have bemoaned voter 'apathy'. But this just seems to be accusing the electorate of having become lazy - a charge that can be more accurately levelled at the politicians themselves. By the same token, our politicians like to stress how greater participation leads to a stronger, more vibrant democracy. They're right - but they're also trying to shift the blame again because, no matter how many people vote for them, any democracy can only be as good as the people elected to uphold it. It's high time our MPs took the time to reflect upon that.

General Election Countdown

Becoming Prime Minister may have been the fulfilment of a life's ambition for Gordon Brown, but, for the rest of us, it has meant being lumbered with a weak, unelected leader. He has never faced the public in a general election, and was thoroughly destroyed in the recent local and European polls. He not only has no mandate from the people he would presume to lead, but has also lost his authority among his own Cabinet. The only thing that has so far saved him from being defenestrated by his own backbenchers is their spineless, self-serving concern for their own seats. Brown's time in Number 10 hasn't been merely borrowed, but stolen. And he knows it. But even this ill-gotten time is running out; so here is, courtesy of the Conservatives, a countdown to mark the march towards the date when Gordon Brown must call a general elecion, and suffer the consequences.

[clearspring_widget title="General Election Countdown" wid="4a32d532f8610fed" pid="4a33af7f400269b0" width="202" height="176" domain="widgets.clearspring.com"]

Gordon's On The Rocks (But The Tide Hasn't Yet Claimed Him)

Labour are crippled by an indecisiveness borne of an absense of moral fortitude. As the dying party drags itself inexorably toward euphanasia at the next general election - trailing a bloody slew of resinging ministers and humiliating polls - it seems incapable of shaking off Gordon Brown, the albatross who's got his claws firmly gouged into their collective neck. Having been destroyed in the recent local and European elections (pushed into third place and taking record low vote shares in both; losing their last strongholds in the locals, and, in the Europeans, coming behind the Conservatives in Wales for the first time in nearly 100 years), Labour is staring into the abyss... and Gordon Brown stares implacably back.

Basking in the sycophantic praise of a specially selected audience of Labour activists yesterday, Brown almost managed to appear relaxed. Probably because, for once, his audience was telling him what he wanted to hear ('You're doing a great job, Gordon', 'We want you to stay on as Prime Minister'), as opposed to what he would normally hear, if only he ever bothered to listen (that he isn't, and we don't). As he tried to reaffirm why he still believes, against all the evidence, that he is uniquely placed to lead Britain out the very troubles he's helped to heap upon us, he once again promised Parliamentary reform. Which begs the question as to how the electorate could possibly have any faith in any such proposals, when they know that the very reason Brown's fractured party hasn't already defenestrated him - i.e. his MPs' fear of losing their own seats - exemplifies the cynical, self-serving culture that any Parliamentary reform needs to quell. 

I'm thoroughly fed up of hearing Brown, with his hands over his ears, telling us what we want him to do, whilst the Labour party tells us what it wants. It's about time both took the trouble to reflect upon what the electorate really want, and to call a general election.

Brown, But Not Out?

Labour have been, as was widely predicted, annhilated in Thursday's local elections. Not only do they not control any county council in England - not a single, solitary outpost of hope - but their projected share of the national vote, at just 23%, is a record low. Meanwhile, whilst the Conservatives didn't quite attain the 40% share they might have hoped for, they've not only taken Labour's remaining strongholds, but also seriously challenged the Liberal Democrats in theirs. On the matter of their respective shares of the national vote, it would be fair to point out that all three major parties will have had a few percentage points skimmed off the top and shared out across the minor parties and the independents, because of public anger over recent expenses scandals to have hit them all. Had that not have been the case, Labour may not have suffered their record low (not that it would have been much consolation to them), and the Conservatives may well have broken the 40% mark.

With the polls showing him to be an electoral liabilty, and a recent spate of ministerial resignations and rumbling dissent amongst his backbenchers calling his future (or lack thereof) into question, Gordon Brown really needed to reassert whatever's left of his authority with a Cabinet reshuffle. So - has he?

The Cabinet hasn't been so much reshuffled as been papered over to try and cover its deepening cracks. Many of the key positions remain held by the same people - not because Gordon Brown necessarily wants them to be there, but because they have simply refused be moved. If yesterday's poll results reflect how Brown's authority has been washed away amongst the country, then his reshuffle underlines just how diminished it is amongst those he wants to help him run it. And then there's Peter Mandelson. Twice forced out of Cabinet for corruption, unelected, and now back at the heart of Government, effectively Brown's Deputy in all but name. If this doesn't highlight the absurdity of Brown's claims to being the most credible person to reform Parliament and restore public trust in our democracy, then I simply do not know what would.

Admittedly, Brown's position could have been even weaker today, were it not for Alan Johnson and David Milliband - the former widely seen as a likely contender for the job Brown has made a poisoned chalice, the latter having contemplated felling him mere months ago - showing their support. For now, the Cabinet may have rallied around their stricken PM, but are they just earning enough loyalty points to trade in for an even sharper set of kitchen knives later?