Metallica- Ride the Lightning (1984)

This may be my favourite Metallica album.

There is, of course, a difference between one's personal favourite and what one critically considers to be the best- I don't doubt that Master of Puppets is a deeper album, and objectively a better one, with an even greater level of musicianship and which (crucially) does not allow said musicianship to compromise the songs.

Perhaps it's simply that I first heard this album at a more formative age, but for me this is the first time Metallica let rip with their combination of gorgeous musicianship (the classically trained Cliff Burton, a serious contender for best bassist ever and someone who I'd love to have seen as a guitarist) and perfect thrash metal songwriting.

There is no filler on this album. Oh, there are highlights- "For Whom the Bell Tolls", the sublime "Call of Ktulu", the thrash anthem "Fight Fire with Fire"- but no song fails to excite. Not necessarily the best thrash album, but my favourite one.

Martin's Close

"Thirteen!"

I'm only on my second glass of this rather nice Spanish red, so I think I'm safe to blog this short M.R. James adaptation, the second in a new annual series of Christmas ghost stories to be written and directed by Mark Gatiss.

It is, of course, a rather enjoyable half hour, both creepy and erudite, as Peter Capaldi's prosecuting barrister states a rather unusual and supernatural prosecution on the charge of murder. Simon Williams is also rather good as the present day narrator, usefully feeding exposition to those of us whose knowledge of Judge Jeffries runs to "hanging judge", "Duke of Monmouth", "Bloody Assizes" and not much else. Apparently this bloody man was a humorous wit, the kind of chap you'd enjoy a pint with. That feels like a very Mark Gatiss thing to know.

This tale of a guilty man, an arrogant young country squire who thinks he can use and then jealously murder a poor ans simple girl, unfolds slowly over half an hour as the ghost of his victim slowly nudges him towards his barbaric fate. The BBC, of course, shows its usual skill with period drama and Capaldi, as he is wont to do, shines in a role that demands a big actor. Enormous fun. If you missed it, it's on iPlayer...

A Christmas Carol: Part Two

"This is not reason versus fancy, Ebenezer."

Two thirds in and I think I can say that this daring, dark and devilishly clever version of the story is really rather brilliant- give or take a certain two things which I'll come to in the next paragraph. It was all about the Ghost of Christmas Past, though- the last episode will have a lot to squeeze in.

There are a certain two bits of this episode that are particularly edgy, though. It's been a long while since I read the novella, probably more than twenty years ago, but I'm fairly sure that the sexual abuse of Scrooge at boarding school was not remotely hinted at. Nor was his sexual exploitation of Mary Cratchitt for Tiny Tim's operation. These two elements both make Scrooge initially more sympathetic by showing us his "old pain" from his early childhood, but then go on to make us hate him as a sexual abuser. That's brave, and will make it harder to end this satisfactorily- how can such a monster be redeemed? Of course, his shockingly brutal and immoral business practices are shown in greater detail too, so there's a wider picture here. And it's notable that the multiple plot threads of the first episode (Marley's angle, Mary's source of money) all feed like tributaries into one here.

What we have here, I think, is a very modern deconstruction of Victorian Britain and its literature, not limited to the fairly foregrounded references to Hard Times as seen in the quote. Of course sexual abuse was never mentioned- but it was rife, as it has been throughout history. And so, of course, was the sexual exploitation of desperate women by powerful men. Both evils are still with us today, but in Victorian times there was the added evil of a woman always being judged harshly for any sexual act  not with a husband, circumstances be damned. In any Victorian novel, any woman such as Mary, however blameless, would die- I'm thinking of The Odd Women and Tess of the d'Urbervilles but the tendency was, I think, universal, How will this series deal with Mary?

There's an awful lot that the third episode needs to do. But this episode has been masterfully done, with some brave decisions, certainly, but handled with skill.

The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003)

"The eagles are coming!"

So. I finally find three and a bit to complete the trilogy, a feat possible only during the Chrimbo limbo at a time when the little one is ith the in-laws. And yes, my disgracefully pretentious beginning was indeed a reference to Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf... no, stay with me. This blog post won't dissolve into pretentiousness, I assure you. I've had a bottle of wine, honest...

Tolkien was a scholar of Old English, and of other ancient Germanic tongues and heroic culture. This all, of course, was perverted for racist reasons- the most racist reasons imaginable- by Hitler's twelve year reign of unspeakableness. A millennium of Germanic literature must be held to exist on its on terms and not be defined by these monsters- as Tolkien himself makes clear in his response to the impertinent question from a Nazi publisher as to whether he has "Jewish blood". Ingeld and Beowulf may have lived in what we called the Dark Ages, but they must not be tainted by the far greater barbarism of the Nazis.

So, that aside... well, obviously, this is superb. The same stellar cast aside from the usual touch of plywood from orlanso Bollom, wit even John Rhys Davies being a splendid actor in spite of being a right wing conspiracy theorist twat; superb visuals and battle scenes that enthrall even me, perennially bored by such things; the narrative splendidly remixed for cinema in a way that works well dramatically. There may be no Scouring of the Shire, and Aragorn's use of Kinsfoil may be neglected somewhat even in the extended edition, but it's good not to have quite as many endings as in the novel.

What strikes me, though, more than either of the other two instalments, is how much the ethos of the film- that is, the defence of Gondor against the orcs and not the boring Frodo subplot, less dull by far than in the novel but still dragging- owes to the emotion and noble warrior passion of Anglo-Saxon poetry, which is not exactly about romance or daffodils, homoerotic overtones aside. Although Elrond’s words to Aragorn being in iambic pentameter may not be quite contemporaneous with this- but Tolkien’s literary bent is reflected in the dialogue, for which we should be grateful.

The film, and indeed the trilogy, is a triumph. Even though Christopher Lee isn’t in this one.

A Christmas Carol: Part One

“Bah humbug!”

It's quite a statement of intent to begin an adaptation of A Christmas Carol with a boy pissing on a bloke's grave, but that's what happens here. It's a very clear sign that the three hours of Dickensian drama that lie before us are going to be devoid of the normal schmaltz and sentimentality.

This is a grubby, harsh and, well, Dickensian London, just before Christmas 1843. It's a time of poverty, suffering, starvation and sickness, long before the Welfare State and, indeed, probably where we're headed in the next few years, unprotected by EU membership from Trump's rapacious designs on our food and our health system and where the Welfare State is becoming deeply unfashionable to those in power, much like such things as objective truth, the BBC, an independent Civil Service and, you know, institutions that one imagines a "Conservative" ought to want to preserve. But I digress. At least, in 1843, things were getting better. They had Sir Robert Peel, not "Sir" Iain bloody Duncan Smith.

None of that hope means much to poor Bob Cratchit, forced to work for an unusually lean Ebenezer Scrooge in the shape of Guy Pearce, a cynical smartarse who manages to be just likeable enough as an antihero. There's a long scene of dialogue between Cratchit and Scrooge, with Cratchit anxious to get home for Christmas Eve from his job as a human photocopier, or "clerk" in 1843 speak, which nicely gives us all the necessary exposition about his family's unfortunate situation and their respective situations. This side of thngs is almost traditional.

However, all this stuff with Jacob Marley and a very hellish Purgatory (it's all very Catholic but then it's a concept rather necessary to the idea of a ghost)- it's all very dark, scary, visual and not in the novella. Nor is this odd little sub-plot with Mrs Cratchit's cousin. And surely if, on Christmas Eve, Scrooge is told there will be three ghosts on successive midnights, this will take him long past Christmas morning?

This is brazen, bold, brave and different. Is it going to work? Well, the jury's out.

Earth- Primitive and Deadly (2014)

Why is it that my favourite music made this decade (for half a week, at least) tends to be drone doom made either in Norway or (as here) Washington state, and fronted by Dylan Carlson. a man famous for supplying a certain firearm to Kurt Cobain? Well, I've has a bottle of wine- it's the Chrimbo limbo and we (Mrs Llamastrangler is gaming) are on our own for the first time in years as Little Miss Llamastranger has just left for a week with the in-laws which is.... weird, liberating (lie-ins!) and actually quite heartbreaking  as I miss my little girl so much and it's been a few hours.

But this album by Earth feels right- slow, light on vocals and replicating the effects of trance with guitar, bass and drums for us long haired men who may have large collections of rock records but sort of regret never getting into rave and, yes, especially Gabber- I love the hardcore type of hardcore, especially Evil Activities. Earth (we shall come to Conan and Sunn O))) later) scratch that itch in a way that this 42 year old veteran of proper, Jack Endino produced, Charles Peterson photographed Grunge, can enjoy and love.

This album rocks. Their other stuff is pretty much the same. It is, I suppose, relatively obscure. So check it out.

The Hateful Eight (2015)

"They shot my nuts off!"

Wow. I know I tend to like Quentin Tarantino's films a lot. \but this, of the ones I've seen, which are most, this is his masterpiece.

Superficially, perhaps, it has many of Tarantino's tropes- his usual cast members; his signature sudden acts of graphic violence punctuating the narrative as if to shift the narrative from slow ad dialogue driven to fast and action-driven; the way he somehow makes everything seem, somehow, both natural and curated.

And yet... fundamentally, this is very different. For a start, the direction, while masterful, is restrained stylistically in a deliberate move to foreground the script an actors. His disinclination to do this in the past has never, of course, been a problem- there's a reason he's a famous director- but here he chooses to foreground the script and the performers.

 This feels, incredibly for a Tarantino film, not so much like the Western that it undoubtedly is but a serious stage play that evokes no less a writer than Arthur Miller. The characters- acted superbly, with Samuel L. Jackson and Jennifer Jason Leigh (weirdly, I'm familiar with her from Atypical) standing out, are well fleshed out, and there's a very prominent theme of race of the original American (and British, and French, and Dutch, and Spanish, and Portuguese) sin of slavery. This film has a lot to say of the difficulties involved in being black and American, in still living in the country in which you (or in the Major's case, you) were enslaved.#

The narrative- in chapters, framed by the music of Ennio Morricone, is masterful, mostly observing the Aristotelian unities but with necessary but restrained flashbacks, is both gripping and beautiful. One of the last films I see during the '10s may well be the best of the decade.

Black Sabbath- Sabbath Bloody Sabbath (1973)

This is Sabbath's finest album- mature, creative, with amazingly structured songs that are actually about stuff. And "Spiral Acrobat" is one of the finest songs ever written.

Some say it's overproduced. I disagree, but find the criticism revealing. This is a criticism from those who don't think that metal (and we shouldn't limit Sabbath by a label they didn't and don't accept) should have that Andy Wallace glossiness- a glossiness which may be inoffensive with the contrasting splendid brutality of Slayer but ruined Nirvana's  Nevermind- and no, generally, it shouldn't. But the production levels of this album- which go far for 1973- are no more than is needed for the beautiful songs. This is the band's peak. And I say this as someone from the Steve Albini school of production.

Sabbath made many great albums after this, including from long after Ozzy left and, yes, including some very unfashionable ones. But they would never again (so far; may Tony Iommi's cancer remain forever in remission) quite hit these heights.

Iron Maiden- Iron Maiden (1980)

No album should be considered in a vacuum; where and when a collection of songs was made is always absolutely central to understanding it. With this album we know the score- debut album, NWOBHM, London pub scene, Paul Di'Annio still the singer, Steve Harris hated punk, etc. And yet while, like any album, this one has a context of time and place, it really is timeless, as the real classics often are. It exists far beyond the NWOBHM scene for which Maiden were always too big.

In 1980, unless you were Lemmy, punk and metal were two different words. This was very much Steve Harris' band- Paul Di'Annio is an excellent singer but not the virtuoso that Bruce Dickinson would be; he doesn't try to overshadow the guitars- and very much on the side of metal and certainly not punk. Any yet, despite the superficially metal guitars, there's very little in the structure of the songs that would alienate a punk. You wouldn't need to do much more than change the production a bit, and perhaps a few solos, to reveal what could plausibly be a punk album. Even the vocals could remain unchanged.

Many songs from this album- "Running Free", "Prowler", "Iron Maiden"- would go on to be immortal. This is not a NWOBHM album, or even really a rock album. It's a true rock classic.

Union Jack: Blood

"Come on, man- this is my wanking hand!"

So this is it, almost: the penultimate episode. After Thursday next week (the '20s!) I'll have that day of the week back. It will no longer have been hijacked by this addictive little web series that has had me so thoroughly hooked.

These last two episodes are back to the original plot thread with the Baroness and Falsworth Manor, and this episode is pretty much here to set up the finale. There's the usual wit, the usual excellence in incidental music from Tasha Fights Tigers- using a guitar sound from the general lineage of post-punk (with a bit of QOTSA in there? Perhaps the Wildhearts? The Libertines?) , the usual fight scene peppered with much amusing dialogue, as all fights scenes should be. But intriguing things are being set up, too- Joe and Romany are skint, having quit their jobs yet still trying to stop the Baroness. Early on they get approached by a chastened Gavin, who has also quit MI5 after the horrors of last week. He is hoping they'll join his "Invaders Initiative", an obvious reference both to the WWII-set Roy Thomas title from the '70s and to the post-credits sequence of Iron Man. Set-up for a second season? I hope so. Marvel, kindly make this series official and throw lots of money at Mark Garvey and co for another one. Understood? Good.

We conclude, after a showdown between Joe and Grausum in which our Joey wins against the odds by fighting dirty, with our heroic couple ensconced, alone, in Fasworth Manor, awaiting either glory or certain death. I'll be there next week, when the Chrimbo Limbo will be over and days of the week will exist again.

A Grand Day Out (1989)

“We’ve forgotten the crackers!”

This is a rather different short film to watch now, in 2019, knowing the massive industry Wallace & Gromit would shortly become, than it must have been back in ‘89. Oh, it’s a rather charming and gently funny animation of no little technical brilliance, certainly. It’s a love letter to stop motion, made on the cusp of the emergence of CGI.

Yet it’s also clearly an amateur work made by Nick Park with brilliance, a kettle of some string, and very little else. No teams of animators here: this first instalment is very much an independent film. It’s also interesting that Park, of Bristol, would choose so make Wallace so quintessential northern but this was, I think, a combination both of his earlier Creature Comforts and the late ‘80s zeitgeist.

Creature Comforts was a series of very short animations combining the voices of real people, not actors, many with accents not often heard on telly, with animations of animals with expressive yet naturalistic facial expressions. And all this, I think, feeds into a certain thing going on in the late ‘80s with Alan Bennett approaching the peak of his powers and popularity as a great yet very TV-friendly playwright (He had come a long way from Beyond the Fringe by this point, although I’d love to see his comedy series On the Margin, long junked by the BBC). In particular, this was the time of his series of short monologues called Talking Heads, short plays with one character- typically an elderly, northern woman- talking to camera. I thing there’s a lot of this aesthetic in Wallace.

Although, obviously, we also have a dog who does welding and a skiing fridge so, you know, there’s other stuff going on too. I thoroughly enjoyed and yes, indeed, I am just blogging what I happen to have seen over Christmas while the in-laws are here, just to keep the blog ticking over. I’m probably going to open a bottle of wine now and watch the penultimate episode of Union Jack while they all play their online computer game thingies. See you in a bit.

The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part (2019)

“Everything can still be awesome!”

Yeah, I’m not exactly going to give this film a slapping. Let’s say right now that I loved the first film and that this is pretty much 140 extra minutes of the same stuff and the same quality. Basically, it’s a bit good. Oh, and Merry Christmas and all that. This feels a suitable film for today.

Anyway, we start with the Duplo invasion from last film’s cliffhanger (I love the toddler voices!) leading five years later to everything having gone a bit Mad Max except, of course, for Emmett, who is his old self. There follows a clever and very meta plot which partly represents a bit of sibling rivalry in another dimension and partly shows us how uncool it is to be overly grimdark and antiheroic. It’s a nice moral, although I’m not sure I approve of the revelation towards the end that cutesy chart pop is not evil: I think you’ll find it’s evil incarnate. It’s not rock ‘n’ roll that’s the Devil’s music, it’s manufactured pop.

Throughout all this we get far too many self-referential and metatextual moments to recount, but the best by far is Queen Watevra Wa’Nabi doing her song about how she’s Totally Not Evil. Plus we get sooo many pop culture references and more taking the piss out of Green Lantern. This is always a good thing. And Will Arnett is scarily close to being my fave Batman. Plus we get grim, dinosaur loving future Emmett with his timey-wimeyness and stubble.

Another superb film. Unbelievable, super cool, outrageous and amazing.

Outlaw King (2018)

“I’m done with running and I’m sick of hiding!”

Time for a good, proper historical epic, I thought; it’s been a bit of a while. And what better, I thought, than this recent Netflix offering? Well, I’m certainly glad I watched this spiritual follow-up to Braveheart that deserves to be known for far more than its famous sex scenes.

As a historical epic the film works well- complex events over many years are successfully collapsed into a suitably dramatic narrative. The film looks convincingly like mediaeval Scotland as it would have been, with no tartan in sight. And Chris Pine is a charismatic and convincingly Scottish star. We get a suitably moustache twirling Edward I and a surprisingly a rather large role for the future Edward II, wisely not dwelling on his sexual orientation.

This is a superb subject for a film and it’s surprising it hasn’t been filmed more often- the extreme reversal of fortune shown by Robert the Bruce is intrinsically very dramatic indeed. The slow courtship between Robert and the devoted but fierce Elizabeth is wonderful and rings true, although the sex scene when they finally do it is startlingly realistic. You are certainly left in no doubt of the moment where he climaxes. Whether it was equally satisfying for her is, it seems, lost to history.

There are some moments that make one raise an eyebrow- would Edward I really have had access to the jealously guarded secret that was “Greek Fire”? It’s also strictly inaccurate to have the English royals and nobility speaking English, unlike the Anglophone Scottish nobles, but I think we can overlook that. What we have here is a truly impressive version of events which really, really needed to be made into a film. Highly recommended.

Mothra (1961)

"We are living in the atomic age!"

I know this isn't a Godzilla film, but I know it crosses over later, so I'm watching and blogging it now in the interest of watching everything in the correct order. It’s a very different film, and not just because it’s in colour.

It’s not until more than an hour until the eponymous giant insect appears, but we get plenty of time before then to get to know our heroes- square jawed scientist Dr Chujo and comic relief pair of reporter Senichiro and photographer Michi. We also meet the villainous Nelson, from the fictional nation of Rolisica, which is the most thinly disguised fictional version of the USA ever. We spend that first hour seemingly in a different genre entirely as an expedition explores an unknown (and, of course, radioactive) island in the South Pacific. Here they find strange fauna, much weirdness and, er, the discovery that the Japanese were just as prone to blacking up as “natives” as anyone in any western country. Oh dear. Still, at least this is partly mitigated by the strong subtext about not exploiting people from “primitive” cultures and leaving them alone. Particularly not kidnapping little ladies and putting them in freak shows as “fairies”.

Mothra doesn’t initially fly but slowly swims across the Pacific, in larva form. The larva isn’t all that visually impressive, truth be told, yet the sequences of its attacking Tokyo and being fought by the military are awesome. Yes, colour can be more exposing to effects work than safe old monochrome, and it’s obvious most of the time that the effects are done with models, but this is proper effects nevertheless- none of this modern CGI nonsense.

There’s a nice little satisfying ending in “Rolisica” involving church bells and a combination of a “native” religious rites and Christianity- which is, interestingly, seen from a politely interested Japanese perspective, an unusual little bit of east-to-west anthropology. It’s a satisfying end to a film that somehow manages to be highly impressive and exciting in spite of a Mothra being a bit rubbish in both her forms.

Scratch Acid- Just Keep Eating (1986)

I haven't heard this album before, and have only heard a couple of tracks by this forerunner of the Jesus Lizard before. And, well, this is good, but not really what I expected.

I mean, this is sort of weird-ish, I suppose,but the more alternative '80s production style gives it a very different sound, and not one that seems to suit the songs. And the album, while by no means without noise and weirdness, is very melodic. It reminds me, more in sound than style, of a more mellow and accomplished version of Flipper- the final song especially.

I'm well aware that Kurt Cobain rated this band hugely, and of course they would go on to greater things. But this album, while perfectly decent, is interesting more as a forerunner to the far more interesting Jesus Lizard than in its own right. There is, perhaps, a reason why that band has the much bigger reputation. Still, this is a curiosity worth hearing.

The Jesus Lizard- Goat (1991)

So here we go, my first album review. It begins now. Somehow I need to evolve a way to talk about music.

I chose Goat by Texas' very own Jesus Lizard for obvious reasons; it's an album that I've never heard before but also a "safe" choice, the sort of stuff I tend to like- namely loud rock music, but weird and abrasive enough to burrow its way into my brain without my ever quite understanding it but enjoying the weirdness and musical ideas even if I have no idea how it technically works.

It's an awesome album, of course, which mostly reminds me of Big Black- I'm guessing Steve Albini was something of an influence here. Didn't he produce a lot of their stuff? Perhaps with a bit of Fugazi in there too, and perhaps even bits of the Crass, except this isn't shit. But the Nineties, dreamlike and abrasive at the same time, vaguely fuzzy guitar sound throughout (which I love) doesn't take away from the very real variety from song to song. I love this already, and repeated listens are bound to intensify this.

Yes, I know. It's probably an obscure choice, especially in 2019. But sod it- this is my blog.

So I'm going to try blogging albums now

Ive been doing this blog for ten years and, barring the odd unusual update, it's been exclusively focused on discussing TV and film. Essentially I'm an English graduate some way into a sensible, non-creative civil service career, and the blog helps me to scratch the writing itch. I'm no artist, but I like to write about creative works and have the freedom to do so in any way I damn well choose, so this blog is perfect for me- especially as I've been a carer to Mrs Llamastrangler in recent years as well as being dad to Little Miss Llamastrangler and working full time. I can't get out as much as I used to but this blog is something that's unambiguously mine.

I've resisted blogging albums for ten years, in spite of suggestions being made. Music has meant a lot to me since my now-distant scenes but, to be frank, I've never felt qualified to write about it as, in spite of a failed teenage attempt to learn the guitar, I've never had any musical ability whatsoever. This may seem an odd thing to say: I've never written, directed or acted in anything either. But music has its own language, a language whose beauty I can enjoy but which I don't understand. So can I slowly evolve ways to talk about music? Let's find out...

I don't promise to blog albums that often. And this might very well fizzle out. But here goes, and here's the index...

Union Jack: Right

"You're a pathetic phallus!"

A very different episode this week, bravely centring on a moral dilemma portrayed through dialogue and drama instead of action, entirely in monochrome, and allowing Romany to be the wonderful, articulate, ethical hero- with Joe also showing his essential decency by standing by his woman.

Jasmine Knight deserves much praise for anchoring this episode, as does Simon Cleary. The dilemma is splendidly, impossibly acute in pitting Kantian versus ultilitarian ethics- should we kill a village full of innocent people infected by a kind of vampire-zombiesm in order to avert a zombie apocalypse? In the end Romany is right, and the script clearly sides with Immanuel Kane, as the final scene is of Gavin, literally having dipped his hands in the blood, learning that a cure has just been found. Ouch.

This is an an usually serious episode, but not one without the usual wit, humour, fourth wall busting ("We're second string characters at best") and digs at Captain Britain. And Brexit, of course. Which the Tories now own with no excuses, but I digress.

It's interesting to see a role for Arabian Knight- although apparently this is a new and different incarnation of the character. And sad to see that the actor playing him, Surinder Juneja, died this year, and he was very slightly younger than I am. That's no age, and it's right that he should get a credit.

Anyway, the excellence continues. It's sad that we're on the final stretch now...

Atypical: Shrinkage

"Hi, Bob. You look silly."

An interesting episode, cleverly structured as always- but there's no doubting that things end up as something of a downer for all involved. Friendships and relationships are broken apart, ready for the final stretch of the season.

For Elsa, it's the realisation that Doug bought Fleetwood Mac tickets not for her, even though the band were always "their" thing, but for Megan, a devastating blow. The cruelty, as ever, is the hope. So she's probably doing the right thing in telling Doug that they need to separate. He's shocked, dumbfounded and upset, of course, but at this point he can hardly complain.

Then there's Casey, who is depressed and struggling for motivation, avoiding Izzy and constantly irritable- as well as not training, something really rather essential to her future. It all comes to a head when Izzy confronts Casey over giving her the cold shoulder treatment- and Casey kisses her. So the love triangle is back on.

Finally, there's Sam, who we see early on in an ethics seminar learning about Kantian versus utilitarian approaches to moral dilemmas which, this being drama, promptly appears in his own life as he realises that Gretchen has been shoplifting from Techtropolis. After much agonising- not the case for the abstract dilemmas in the tutorial- he decides to do what's right and report her, at the cost of his friendship with Zahid, a crushing moment. This is the first episode that Zahid, the rebel with a heart of gold, acts like a dick. We now want Gretchen to go away as much as Sam. We love to hate her.

Good stuff, then, yet again. Even if it does end with a bizarre cover of Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now".

The Sopranos: A Hit Is a Hit

"This, as far as I'm concerned, blows away Matchbox Twenty."

My farts blow away Matchbox Twenty.

Let's be clear about this. The Seattle scene of the late '80s and early '90s- Nirvana, Soundgarden, Mother Love Bone, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, Mudhoney, Tad, Sub Pop Records, Jack Endino, K Records, Beat Happening- was one of the greatest cultural achievements of my lifetime. Derivative shite like the Goo Goo Dolls, Candlebox and, yes, Matchbox Twenty, is of far less cultural importance than my last poo. Agreed? Good.

This episode, obviously. concerns the music business- in a 1999 without Napster, where the record business calls the shot. But, digging deeper, it's about ethnic and cultural stereotypes. The music business may be negotiated by the comically clueless Christopher and Adriana, trying to big up this bloody awful band she likes; their old demo sounds ok, a bit Terrorvision, but it becomes clear they’re like one of the godawful bands listed above. But they are partly motivated by a desire to bring back Italian-American influence into music. Meanwhile Chris meets Massive Genius, an incredibly rich and powerful gangsta rap star and both the most intelligent and the most savvy character in the episode. His mission is to get Hesh, an unscrupulous record producer of the old style, to compensate a late musician’s mother for stealing her son’s profits, and he does this cleverly, in spite of the intransigence of Hesh, who seems to have far right views on the whole Israel/Palestine thing: there was no question of the peace process as it was then giving away “parts of Israel”, just the West Bank and Gaza. So we have the black man versus the white, and in this case Jewish, record industry.

But we also have Tony trying to make friends with his neighbour Dr Cusamano, who he describes to Dr Melfi as being a “white man”, an “Americano”, something he as an Italian can never be. That Italians should be subject to such racism is bizarre to this Englishman: we may have a Queen down in that London today, but we’ve never forgotten that there was once a governor from Rome. The Italians may flirt with Fascism a little too often for our liking, but the eat better than us, dress better than us, and give us a real sense of cultural cringe. I suppose it’s all subjective and the point is that racism is silly but it exists, and is complicated.

This is probably the most expendable episode yet, with not a lot of arc stuff, and lacking the usual sparkle. But it’s still a cut above most telly.

The Sopranos: Boca

"They made me an offer I couldn't refuse..."

This episode is largely about, to use a term we wouldn't have used in 1999, toxic masculinity. It seems weird to me now, and did at the time, that anyone could consider cunnilingus- Exhibit A for actually caring about pleasing a woman in bed- to be in some way unmanly, but apparently it was considered so, at least in the circles where one risked sleeping with the fishes.

This is all in the context of nerves brought about by an obviously tightening FBI net that seems extremely likely to at least send Junior to a retirement home considerably less pleasant than Livia's, but Junior is extremely humiliated as the rumours spread that he is not averse to heading south. But Junior has a countermeasure as Tony mocks him at golf, in turn spreading the rumour that Tony sees a psychiatrist. Giving oral is one thing- but a man with feelings...?

Of course, what is "manly" is subjective. Here, in the America of 1999, all the daughters play football ("soccer") for their team- it's primarily a sport for girls in '90s America, here in England it was- and is- as macho a sport as they come, with women's football only gaining serious acceptance in the last few years. But the debate here is how to react to a coach who abuses his position to groom and sexually abuse a teenage girl. And, interestingly, Tony ultimately decides- following the advice of Dr Melfi and his henpecked friend Artie- not to whack the coach and instead to let the law take its course. Toxic masculinity is here outweighed by the feminine.

But no one escapes unscathed. In heartbreaking scenes we see Junior dump his girlfriend of sixteen years, Bobbie, leaving her distraught and crying why he suppresses his feelings, because boys don't cry.

I think the big clash between Tony and Junior has now become inevitable. Never mind the future, though. What an episide,

Scrooged (1988)

"Where are we? Trump Tower?"

This is my Christmas movie to slot in before said holiday properly commences. There may or may not be others. We shall see. It's a good way, for now, to try and forget that bleeding election.

And a bloody good Christmas movie it is. The opening is wonderful with a series of bizarre scene of Santa, his elves and, er, Lee Majors, all taking part in a shootout at the North Pole. We soon learn that this is just a television programme, and are introduced to the mean and cynical Frank Cross, a Sscrooge for our time who just happens to be producing a live televised version of A Christmas Carol.

The plot runs as we'd expect, of course, but that's the point- this is like a very different cover of a classic song. So here we have a Christmas Carol in '80s New York, where the Ghost of Chrstmas Past not only drives a yellow cab but is played by the lead singer of the New York Dolls. Bill Murray is awesome, and behind the scenes arguments with Richard Donner don't seem to show up on screen at all. We even get the great Robert Mitchum in a supporting role as Frank's boss.

The ending wouldn't fly today- a hostage situation, with a gun, as a major part of a happy ending. But there's no denying that this is a true Christmas comedy, full of Christmas spirit without being excessively schmaltzy. It's warm, it's comforting, but it's not afraid to use the dark side of humour too. A real seasonal classic.

Godzilla Raids Again (1955)

"You bastard. Have you already limited yourself to a woman's level of drinking?"

Time for a second film after last night's devastation, methinks. Brexit will happen, Dominic Cummings will be let loose on the Civil Service, and a dangerously revolutionary and post-truth sect of not-very-conservative "Tories"who have left Edmund Burke far behind are free to break as much stuff as they want for up to five years. We;re all going to die, so what would be more appropriate than Godzilla and an ankylosaurus fighting each other to death, by means of the awesome power of stop motion, and decimating Osaka in the process?

There are air raid shelters this time, and aeroplanes scrambling, but the echo of the War feels not quite so intense. The echoes of King Kong are, of course, just as strong.The magnificent scenes of stop motion action as Godzilla and the ankylosaurus destroy Osaka are just as awesome as anything in the last fim, although the plot is somewhat different, spending a surprising amount of time developing actual characters in what turns out to be a rather tragic love triangle.

It's all about Godzilla, though, even if this isn't literally the same individual; any number of nukes can, it seems, create any number of monsters. We even get a cameo from the first film's Professor, who again gets listened to respectfully as he speculates absurdly about things he couldn't possibly know.

The ankylosaurus may ultimately be disposed of rather early to avoid upstaging Godzilla, but this is another hugely enjoyable film.

Union Jack- Co-operation

"So sorry I shot you, mate. My bad."

It's a weird time to be blogging this, a few minutes away from the exit poll in a somewhat dramatic election marked by much rain (at least here in the constituency of Bosworth) and, it seems, high turnout. But I shall pass these last twenty-odd minutes with some praise for a particularly outstanding episode of this bloody good web series.

First, though, I really need to correct a long-standing omission and praise the music, from Tasha Fights Tigers, to the skies. I love this kind of broadly post-punk sound, but not only is the theme tune awesome but the incidental music as good, if not better, than anything you see on telly.

As for the episode as a whole, though, once again we get lots of seriousness leaved by genuinely funny humour and likeable characters well portrayed. We get cleverness, too- the conceit here is that Axis Mundi are going to explode a WMD in central London tomorrow, and Joey and Romany have to sneak into Slaymaster's lair and get him to help. Yet the plot is foiled and everybody lives with plenty of entertaining drama but without too much strain on the budget; the defeat of Axis Mundi's plan happens off screen but we don't mind as we're too engrossed by the witty and exciting character drama we see unfolding.

Plus, you know, Trivial Pursuit banter. Booby jokes. And, er, Union Flag boxers. This is seriously good stuff. Watch it now on YouTube.

The Sopranos: The Legend of Tennessee Moltisani

"Where's my arc?"

Another clever episode, this, and probably the

closest this programme has ever come to skirting with the fourth wall. Christopher, a minor character, thug and thicko, has an episode of angst about the fact he's just a minor character, a Rosencrantz or a Guildenstern, and not destined to be the deepest or most developed. Him being a bit of a prat, this consists of his failing to write (or spell) a film script, digging up a body and shooting a baker in the foot because he has to wait. Even his possible depression is made to look shallow in a discussion with Tony, a proper character. And the end shows all to be cured by him getting his name in the paper. Pillock.

There’s more fun with the fourth wall as we finally spend some time with Dr Melfi’s wealthy, educated yet dysfunctional family- and they morally disapprove when Jennifer lets slip the nature of her latest client. This leads, though, to her pompous husband pontificating about the Mafia-dominated depiction of Italian-Americans in the media. The irony of this being said in The Sooranos is not, I’m sure, lost on anyone.

This is all very fun, but we’re also reminded of the morality of what Tony and others do- Christopher is haunted by dreams of the Czech gangster he killed, and is reassured that it gets easier the more he killed. And, when Tony is told by Dr Melfi that he must pay for the session he missed, his scary reaction forces her to confront what he is- not evil, as that isn’t a grown-up concept, but perhaps someone she should keep at arm’s length. Will she keep him as a client? Perhaps the damage us done,  though. Livia has told Junior that Tony is seeing a psychiatrist.

Ultimately this episode is full of foreboding. The FBI are said to have indictments ready to go and people are jumpy. Tony’s house is searched just after the evidence has been hidden at Livia’s. and they know about Junior. So what next?

This is superb episode- fun, metatextual but full of ill omen...

So, there’s a General Election on...

This election feels Quite Big. The last chance, if one happens to be an incurable optimist, to stop Brexit. A potential fourth Tory term with all that implies. A chance to reverse austerity. A chance to stop fiddling while the climate burns.

Firstly, though, a digression, if you will. A century ago this country rules the waves, controlling 25% of the globe. This was, to put it mildly, dine by means of much moral dodginess, but it was possible for this small island to rule the world because of the Industrial Revolution- we were the first country to specifically pursue improvements in science and engineering to make profits and grow our economy. This gave us an enormous tech lead and allowed us to be Boss Nation for quite a while.

But it was never going to last forever.

Having an enormous tech lead doesn’t remain an advantage forever. Other countries, like Germany and the USA, slowly caught up with us, learning from our exploratory mistakes. And we were slowly eclipsed by other, continental superpowers, whose home populations dwarfed that of our little island. And our empire, in the end, was always something of a bluff. Slowly, the trappings of power came to an end, and by the 1960s we were a middling power at best.

And middling powers are not like great powers. They don’t have the agency, or the sovereignty, to stand up to great powers in, say, trade deals which involve handing over public services such as health to private firms, or accepting lower food standards. It can also mean accepting larger levels of immigration, for those who are obsessed with such things.

But fear not; in 1973 that problem was solved as we joined a number of other European countries in similar positions in what would become the European Union. By joining together, we could be stronger than the sum of our parts and unite into a superpower. Individually, to use a highly geeky analogy, we were Constructicon nations. Together, we were Devastator.

Sadly, though, there are those who don’t care about British sovereignty and want to abandon our national sovereignty, surrendering it to Beijing and Washington. These people are Brexiteers. Stopping Brexit is our only chance to preserve our independence as a nation. Preferably by means of a Lib Dem overall majority and the revocation of Article 50. But we all know that ain’t gonna happen.

So what is to be done? Well, if voting Lib Dem makes tactical sense, do so. I’m in the happy situation of living in a constituency where the Lib Dem’s are challenging the Tories. If you are too, vote Lib Dem. But I accept that most of you have a straight choice between the Tories and Labour. I pity you.

I say this with some great agony, but in your position I’d hold my nose and vote Labour, and then wash my hands for a very long time. Corbyn is essentially a not-very-bright individual whose knee-jerk of every vaguely left wing fashion arises from faith rather than thought, and has led him to adopt many dodgy positions with many dodgy bedfellows in the past. His foreign policy is a nightmare; this is a man who supports Chavez and Castro, and excuses Putin. His domestic policies would be nice to have but, like those of the Tories, are uncosted. Worst of all, in playing around with a leader like him, Labour has shown itself to be unfit for purpose as an opposition, too incompetent and too busy navel gazing to hold this of all Governments to accounts. This Tory government is the most incompetent and malicious since that of Lord Liverpool, and Labour can’t be bothered.

But, in most seats, Labour is what we have. Any damage done by Labour can be reversed far more easily than that done by the Tories. So let’s vote for anyone but the Tories, even if we need to hold our noses.

That’s what I think. What do I expect? Well, I’m worried. We seem to have two different sets of polls, one predicting a Tory landslide and the other set dangling the possibility of a hung parliament, with YouGov in the middle. So let’s assume there’s hope, much as I fear that this hope just represents the commentary at fighting the last war, as they do at every election.

So this really, really matters. We all need to vote for whoever we have to in order to have the best chance of beating the Tories. So please, do your homework and make sure you vote for the challenger most likely to beat the Tories, even if that means you need to hold your nose.

The War of the Worlds: Part 3

"I should like a bacon sandwich."

Sigh. I've been procrastinating about watching this final episode and yes, like the series as a whole, it just isn't very good. Is there any way I can avoid this blog post just consisting of me metaphorically putting this 55 minutes of telly over my knee for a sound spanking?

Well, no one sets out to make bad telly. It's well shot, particularly the action sequences with the CGI Martian. The acting is not so much bad- everyone is competent- but, Robert Carlyle aside, lacking in charisma. And you can see glimpses at times of the fact that Peter Harness is the same writer who has done so much good stuff in the past- the coda of Amy describing to little George is rather lovely. So is the ambiguous note of hope as the clouds seem to clear at the end. Will George live? Will Amy's and Ogilvy's typhoid cure be rolled out? Will they manage to grow crops and survive the winter? Will Ogilvy ever get that bacon sandwich? We can just about imagine that they might. Or not.

But such glimpses do not good telly make. Fundamentally, I think, the structure doesn't work. The first episode was ok, with its linear narrative and the fun of Edwardian Surrey facing an invasion from Mars, in spite of the charisma-free leads. But, for this episode and the last, the split narrative- the flashback to the invasion and the "present" day of the red weed and civilisation breaking down- not only makes the narrative actively less dramatic but adds nothing to the subtext or characters.

Yes, I can see that it would have been worse narratively to have an episode culminating in the Martians dying and another one on the later years of red weed and starvation. But why have the latter at all? If it's a crude metaphor for the climate crisis then it doesn't work; the red weed isn't man made, however much the subtext- in the original novel here and too didactically articulated by George here- may be that this is the British Empire getting its just desserts. Nor do I like how George's idealism is shown as naive and unrealistic. I'm no socialist- my heroes are John Lilburne, John Maynard Keynes and Henry George, not Keir Hardie or the Webbs-  but I don't like how socialism is caricatured here.

I suppose, then, that this is quite well made. But the whole thing is woefully misconceived and, in spite of some good work in paces, sadly a bad piece of television.

Godzilla (1954)

"It's getting even closer, It looks like our doom!"

I'd never seen a Godzilla film in my forty-two years until now. Yes, I know: the shame. But all is remedied; our friend Becca has now ensured, for Christmas, that all but the most recent Godzilla and related films will be blogged over the coming months. That isn't to say I won't be blogging any other movies, of course, but expect Tokyo to suffer a lot in future blogs.

I don’t usually blog films on a school night, which is usually reserved for telly. But tonight I get to procrastinate and put off for another day the need to see the final episode of War of the Worlds.

So, Godzilla. It would spawn the most epic film franchise of all time but, in 1954, was just one film, obviously based on King Kong. It’s more than just that though. For one thing, this is a film of the Atomic Age, both thematically and when it was made- and nowhere was more Atomic Age than Japan, the only country ever to have been nuked in war. So we shouldn’t be surprised to see Godzilla, supposedly an old island mythical beast, having been changed and made invulnerable by radioactivity- which, by the rules of Atomic Age science fiction cinema, is magic and can do anything.

This is clearly a post-war society, though; when Godzilla rampages through Tokyo to utterly destroy it in those wonderful set pieces in the centre of the film, we get a reference to characters having to go to shelters “again”, and we also get a widow telling her children that they will soon join their father, the implication being that he died in the war. This is awkward, because on the one hand Imperial Japan was a deeply inhumane place guided by a truly evil ideology which has touched many of us- my Grandad Gordon fought in Burma and told me only the most child-friendly of the atrocities he saw, and it was obvious there were others. Let’s just say he never bought a Japanese car.

The people in Godzilla remember and refer to the war, though, and that’s interesting. Post-war Japan seems so very disconnected from its ugly predecessor but these people lived through it, and accepted the need to abandon aggressive nationalism and cruelty. Certainly, the society we see here is a civilised one- give or take the odd professor acting as an old fashioned patriarch with his daughter’s fiancé.

All this, and the very ‘50s angst about the abuse of nuclear science (with Serizawa’s oxygen destroyer weapon an obvious metaphor for other weapons of mass destruction- note that, before using it, he burns his notes, and his death is a suicide so the knowledge dies with him; I think the film’s stance on nukes is clear) make this feel like more than the straightforward ‘50s monster movie that it is at heart. That’s an interesting combination; a subtext with a film like this.

Fundamentally, though, never mind all that: it’s Godzilla, and he’s destroying Tokyo in awesome set piece scenes with truly excellent model work. The film is brilliantly structured to hold back suspense- Godzilla doesn’t appear until we’re 21 minutes in and he’s been truly built up as a threat. And there’s just enough character melodrama to get us to like the characters without trying to rival the monster as a source of drama.

Films in this genre don’t get much better than this. There’s a reason why this is a classic. But will the follow-ups be as good...?

The Box of Delights: Leave Us Not Little, Nor Yet Dark

"Splendiferous!"

So that’s it. A splendid ending to a bonkers but deeply festive and entertaining adventure. Let’s just gloss over the disappointing fact that it was all a dream, shall we?

This episode is all action, with nary a chance to breathe- but there’s still time for lots of magic. The whole sequence with Abner and his secret semi-TARDIS, accesses through a secret door by drawing a glowing and inverted Star of David (probable symbolism there, although I’m buggered if I know)  is awesome, with the sarky statue head thing that Abner leaves upside down when in a sulk, and the cool animated dragon that Abner uses to prevent the secret agents of the Church of England fouling his dastardly plans. Yes, Abner is pretty much a cartoon villain at this point, but I for one have no problems with that.

However, his underlings have betrayed him, nicked the loot and freed the Bishop and his crew. Abner may not be in as good a position as he thought- as we confirm when (yay!) we finally meet Cole again. Patrick Troughton is on top form here as our Punch and Judy Gandalf saves the day in spite of rising water by drawing a key with which to escape (couldn’t he have done that earlier?) and co juri g up a boat from his hat as all are rescued, including Peter and the long-sidelined Caroline Louisa. It’s as though the world of the children (with which Cole is most certainly aligned) manages to save Christmas for the grown ups. We end, with the help of magic, with the Christmas service in the cathedral saved, and a few minutes where The Box of Delights briefly turns into Songs of Praise. What’s particularly nice, though, is that this is done with the help of the decidedly pagan figure of Herne the Hunter, who is basically Woden- true religious harmony. And we see that old woman again. Who is she meant to be? It’s not entirely clear.

And then... Kay spins around, recreating the final moments of another Patrick Troughton masterpiece... and it was all a dream. That doesn’t change the fact, though, that this is a truly wonderful and special bit of telly.

Maybe I should make this a 35 year thing? See you in 2054. I’m sure my pension will stretch to it, if England isn’t a desert by then.

The Box of Delights: Beware of Yesterday

"Now do you see, you mutineering doddlehead?"

Well then. A lot can happen in half an hour.

We begin with a reprise of the big cliffhanger reveal about Arnold of Todi and Ramon Lully, aka Cole Hawlings, and then we, along with a miniature Kay, get to see the splendidly moustache-twirling Abner providing more and more exposition, ostensibly to the mutinous but dim Joe. The clergymen have been taken as hostages for the Box's return, and silly Abner doesn't suspect Kay simply because Sylvia Daisy Pouncer has declared him an "idle muff". Heh. This may be the most lampshaded piece of dramatic irony ever.

But Kay has failed to rescue Cole, Peter or Caroline Louisa, so in desperation he turns to the Box, and Herne the Hunter. If Kay can go to the past, and persuade old Arnie to take back the Box, it wont be around to cause all this trouble, right? So we get a trippy and cartoony interlude as Kay travels to a surreal-looking Trojan War past which makes no attelpt at realism and, above all, probably didn't cost that much. Here he finds a delightfully eccentric Arnie, played by Philip Locke, who went forever to the past because "my own time was dull"; believes Englishmen has tails; has no wish to leave the tiny island in 1200ish BC on which he happens to be marooned, alone; and is quite, quit mad, This is silly, pointless, and really rather brilliant.

Back in the present, the Bishop and a load of choirboys are in dungeon cells and Abner plans to double cross hi underlings to escape on his own with the fortune from the various robberies the gang has committed. But they plan to double cross him too. Neither of whch is Kay;s concern at present as he's small, has lost the box, and is trapped.

This is, by now, completely and utterly bonkers. I love it.

Atypical: The Essence of a Penguin

“There are no rules!”

It’s an interesting problem for Sam this time- he can draw an anatomically perfect penguin, but how does someone so literally minded manage to capture the essence of a penguin? Some of his fellow students are excited by the assignment, but Sam’s response- to set about recording in great detail the daily habits of his favourite penguin- shows, as ever, his capacity to miss what’s in front of him by being distracted by the little details. That is, perhaps, the essence of Sam. And yet he succeeds brilliantly, saving a penguin’s life while he’s at it.

Paige, on the other hand, has hit rock bottom. She’s suffered a massive knock in dropping out of uni, something which happened to me- but failure is often the secret of success. A few years later, after a while working in a factory amassing savings and playing at being working class, I got into a slightly better uni and thrived- propelled onwards by a great fear of my own potential laziness and procrastination. I’m sure the same will happen to Paige- that horrible waitress job isn’t her future; it’s something which will spur her to future awesomeness. And yes, Elsa is being quite brilliant in her meddling by telling Paige that. Meddling can sometimes be a good thing.

This is so for poor Izzy, too- it’s Elsa’s suggestion that leads Casey to lift the lid on her chaotic home life. And it’s clear that Izzy’s feelings towards Casey are more than just platonic... but not reciprocated.

Fortunes elsewhere are mixed. Evan impresses Doug on his ambulance practice. But Zahid is besotted with a nightmare of a woman in Gretchen- someone who wears her ignorance smugly and is a conspiracy theorist- and conspiracy theorists are a real beet noir of mine. Yes, the Moon landings happened. Yes, Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. Both of those things are clear and obvious. And no, I could never be in a relationship with someone who insisted on changing my dress style and that the “joie” as in “de vivre” was pronounced “joy”....

This is a particularly strong episode. The writing in particular is superb.

Atypical: Only Tweed

“I saw Zahid’s penis.”

Another beautifully constructed episode this time as Sam struggles with the concept, in ethics at uni, of a “Socratic seminar” where one researches a topic and discusses it in class- up preparing from 3.49am but failing the assignment through not speaking. There’s a different but equally stressful morning for Casey as the and Evan wakes up together and she resorts to rather amusing extremes to get him out of the house unseen.

And then there’s Elsa- after that revelation last time to Izzie about her shitty childhood she randomly meets her mum in the street and random small talk ensues, leaving her in shock. There’s a story there which will, I’m sure, emerge. And we also now know that Paige has serious problems- so her suggestion of a dinner party into which she Skypes is the much needed comfort of someone in a very brittle place- and it goes badly. Zahid’s new girlfriend Gretchen clashes with Sam and is an annoying know-nothing know it all who thinks she knows what she needs to know from YouTube, that uni is a waste of time that produces “drones”, and other such very wrong things. Also, Izzie and Evan clash badly, and Evan chickens out of ambulance practice with Doug because of nerves about potential failure arising from his dyslexia- something he hasn’t even told Casey about until now.

No one is having a happy episode. Until Sam realises that debating with Gretchen is exactly what he needs to do in the seminar- and he passes, returning home in triumph... to a teary Paige, who has dropped out, her dreams shattered. This is an episode where most of the characters are in difficulty of some sort, and it’s a masterly crafted episode. Superb

Union Jack: Connection

"Gavin, stop looking at my dick."

Ok, so Union Jack was already bloody good.But this episode- along with giving us all the usual wit and fourth wall damaging fun, seems to take things up a level. This far into the season it's clear we've got some seriously clever plotting going on. If you haven't seen it, and want to avoid spoilers, watch it on YouTube before going further.

Essentially the episode consists of Joe being captured and tortured by Axis Mundi as some twisted kind of test to recruit him as a replacement for Slaymaster... and we meet Vixen. Except all is surely not as it seems. We have two MI5 telepaths- the bling and sarky Alison and Kevin, but Kevin is apparently shot dead by Axis Mundi... but just as Vixen is about to offer Joe the chance to find the Baroness she's shot dead by Alison. What's Alison up to?

I don't suspect Gavin, mind, much as he may want to cover up Alison's summary execution of Vixen, who is surely not the big boss she seems- that would be too easy. His nice little speech about him being the baddie being "too obvious" as this is "not a movie" and "not a comic book" tends to deflect suspicion. Then again, are him and Alison in cahoots...? What's going on?

Plot stuff aside, there's so much cool stuff here, much of it wee-related. Joe gets out of the torture he's enduring by peeing on the laptop through which "Mastermind" is speaking. Zaran gets nobbled by his pee getting tasered- ouch. And, on a note, we're told that Captain Britain "is a Tory". Ouch. Poor Brian has surely been slandered.

This is, in spite of being very, very silly, quite seriously very good indeed.

The Box of Delights: The Spider in the Web

"Put her in the scrounger!"

A revelatory episode at last as we stake out the baddies’ lair and, at the end, finally get some answers. This one is all plot with rather less symbolism. On the other hand, though, there seems to be a car that turns into an aeroplane, plus we get more Patricia Quinn. All is well and good.

We begin with a jolly jape as Kay and the Jones children get a ride down a waterfall on the toy boat, and dodge the evil curated and their aeroplane before arriving home... to signs of a burglary, the reasons for which are obvious. But the Box, of course, has been with Kay.

I love the whole sequence with Maria being scribbled and her defiance against the wonderfully evil Sylvia Daisy Pouncer. It’s brilliant how we are not shown the scrounged but get to imagine the ways in which it might go “round and round” and turn children into dog biscuits- but Maria gives as good as she gets.

Sadly, the inspector pooh poohs all this as usual; it’s up to the kids. So we have Kay and Peter staking our the baddies’ lair but it all goes wrong as Peter is, er, scrobbled. And back home things are getting worse- various clergymen are being randomly scrobbled as, it seem, has Caroline Louisa. Rarely has there been such a surfeit of scrobbling, and something must be done.

So Kay must go small once more, and spy on Abner with his dastardly scrying globe- and here we come across a bombshell: the Box belonged to Arnold of Todi, a mediaeval philosopher, who got stranded in the past. And it was then taken by another mediaeval philosopher, one with an elixir of youth, one Ramon Lully... yes, it’s Cole, and he’s locked up in their dungeon.

An absolute delight. More please.

The War of the Worlds: Part 2

"This isn't our planet any more."

Oh dear. The first episode was flawed but had promise, and Peter Harness is a writer with a good track record. Yet this second episode is a load of turgid dross that bodes I’ll for a final episode which I will only be watching because of this blog. What went wrong?

There were issues with the first episode, certainly. Rafe Spall has no charisma. And the original novel is perhaps more justly famous for the barriers it become than for its quality. But there’s nothing in this first episode to suppose a mess like this may follow. Essentially we have two narratives- a main one in 1905 after the initial invasion as chaos ensues but, eventually, the Martians die for reasons which aren’t entirely clear unless you happen to have read the novel or, indeed, seen any of the numerous screen versions. The framing narrative is set a few years later, on a much redder Earth, with the Martians long gone but their terraforming has seeming to have turned Earth into a red planet which is slowly becoming less capable of supporting humans- and, one assumes, more hospitable for those of Martian extraction.

This is an attempt to insert the current climate crisis into the story, essentially wrapping up the invasion early on after a number of set pieces so that we can focus on a theme which obviously resonates for our age. But this is ill-conceived; we still don’t care about the characters, particularly not George, and the constant striving in both narratives for the couple to reunite just simply fails to be interesting. Instead we are left with the ideals and while, yes, the obvious subtext is laudable, it feels very much crowbarred in. And what exactly is this saying? The climate crisis here isn’t man made, as ours is. The parallel is crude.

So yes- the tripods look good. So does the reddened world a few years on. Eleanor Tomlinson and Robert Carlyle are good. But the whole thing just fails as a drama and that is down, I’m afraid, to the script.

The Box of Delights: In Darkest Cellars Underneath

“He was a child for whom I had the utmost detestation and contempt.”

More goodness here as Kay and his rubbish mouse friend begin the episode spying on the baddie, Abner Brown, his fellow evil vicars and, er, rats, as they ponder over where Cole’s box may be- implying they may indeed have “scribbled” him. They suspect it’s with the bishop but, more importantly, the wonderful Patricia Quinn suddenly appears as the splendidly nasty Sylvia Daisy Pouncer. I hope to see more of her.

It’s interesting that adults are often absent- Cole, the mysteriously delayed Caroline Louisa, the Jones’ awfully neglectful parents- and those that are around- the avuncular inspector or the unworldly bishop- are not quite authority figures. There’s no one to protect them from Abner, and he certainly seems to have young Maria (pronounced the old way, in a nice touch, as it would have been in 1935).

The Christmas party at the Bishop’s is an odd affair- did bishops really do this for local kids, I assume not just the well-heeled ones? He gets burgled for reasons we know damn well, and there’s a Punch and Judy show ostensibly by Cole Hawlings- but we don’t see him.

There’s more odd symbolism as Kay walks with a Roman soldier, dressed in the classical rather than late Roman armour, who tells him of wolves and lambs in a way which unavoidably evokes Romulus and Remus. This Christmassy programme has an awful lot of pagan undertones.

We end with not only Kay but Peter, Jemima and Susan all shrunk and hiding from the evil vicars on a toy boat, about to go down a waterfall. More please. This is great, and also really weird, a perfect combination.

The Box of Delights: Where Shall the 'Nighted Showman Go?

"I think it's the purple pim!"

Ok, now this is getting delightfully weird. The cliffhanger reprise sees Kay, having flown on his white horse, inside Arthur’s camp at some undefined mediaeval (Arthurian?) time and he’s asked to pitch in with a sword and defend them all against wolves. I’m sure there’s all sorts of symbolism here, and I’m wondering about the name “Kay”, very Arthurian.

But then it’s escape out of that “picture” to Cole, and some exposition. The box belongs to “Master Arnold” but Kay is to keep it safe. It can make him “go small” or “go swift”. Come only knows the “old magic” and is vulnerable to the “new magic”. All very intriguing and atmospheric. This is getting really good.

Things remain symbolic and weird as Kay and his friend Peter see Cole kidnapped by that dodgy pair of curates. Yet Cole phones them at the police station to say he’s alright- somehow we know that can’t be him. Incidentally, it’s surreal that the Inspector is in fact Superibtendent Strange from Inspector Morse with a Mummerset accent...

Caroline Louisa is away and incommunicado, leaving the maid in charge- has something happened to her? And when Kay looks into the box he sees a figure he recognised as Herne the Hunter, superficially a forest ghost but really a rich legendary figure, Lord of the Wild Hunt in all of Germanic Europe, and actually Woden. These may no longer be “pagan times” but the old gods are not forgotten.

And I had a jolt of memory- I remember that cartoon where Kay and Herne jump from animal form to animal form, with predators always being there. It’s awesome, and has brought back a long buried memory from when I was seven. Wow. And I’m appreciating more and more the great sense of using cartoons to remove the need for prohibitively expensive special effects.

This is awesome. So awesome, in fact, that I can accept that, when Kay shrinks and sets off to find the baddie, he can talk to an anthropological talking mouth in a terrible costume, and dodge some cringeworthy anthropomorphic rats. I don’t care. A programme this awesome can afford the off but of absolute crap like this. Never mind that we’ve never previously been made to suspect that talking animals might be a thing. I’m hooked.

This is awesome. I’m seven again.

Jaws (1975)

“We’re gonna need a bigger boat...”

My parents still remember seeing this at the pictures, two years before I was born, at the old Cannon cinema in Hinckley. It made quite an impression on them. And now I see why.

This isn’t Spielberg’s first film by any means, but it’s where he invents the blockbuster, right here, with a film where every lock of hair and every item of clothing is, unmistakably, at Peak Seventies. If any film defines a decade, this is it.

What's incredible is how very, very, straightforward the plot is- shark attacks terrify small town; police chief is prevented from taking action by stubborn mayor; three men ultimately spend the second half of the film hunting the shark and fighting for their lives. That's it. In lesser hands this would have made a kitsch B movie. That such a ho-hum premise and plot could lead to such greatness is a testament to Spielberg's mastery of the camera- some of the POV shots are dazzlingly creative- and a wisely scarce use of a not-that-good shark prop. It’s also the start of a very fruitful film career for the great John Williams. That musical hook is genius.

The other difference, of course, is the cast. Roy Schneider, Richard Dreyfuss and a very much against type Robert Shaw are all superb, especially towards the end of the film when it’s just the three of them doing a lot of nautical stuff that we landlubbers (I’m from about as far from the sea as you can get on this island) don’t understand. A lot of the little things are done right, and that’s good filmmaking.

My God, the young Spielberg is good.