Sex Education: Season 3, Episode 2

 "You're not going to paint over the Wall of Cocks, are you?"

Things are getting interesting this episode. The casual sex thing between Otis and Ruby is increasingly hilarious as Ruby becomes increasinly controlling, but we end with the two of them as a proper couple. Eric and Adam have an equally sweet virginity-losing subplot, as a spat turns out simply to be because of a top/bottom misunderstanding, although it'd rather fortunate that Eric should happen to be a top. Actually, I've always wanted to know how gay male couples sort ut the whole top/bottom thing, but it's not the sort of thing one can easily ask.

Equally sweet is how soon Jean and Jakob agree to get together, and that Jean so readily agrees to help Aimee recover from the sexual assault. It's also good that Isaac confesses to Maeve- still upset about her mother's stupid blaming her for everything- what he did at the end of last season, and suffers the consequences, as Maeve quite rightly doesn't trust him.

There's a lot else going on, though. Adam is trying todo better at school. His dad seems to be in the midst of a redemption arc- living with Colin will be good for him- while Hope is turning out to be frighteninglyauthoritarian, leading to Jackson being sacked as head boy and replaced by the crafty Vivienne. Ooh.

Oh, and Aimee had a poo which came out "like a gigantic orgasm". Which is nice.

I'm enjoying this. Lots going on already.

Hammer House of Horror: Growing Pains

 "For all the unloved children..."

Well, they can't all be good. Four episodes in, an attempt to do an episode with a creepy kid, and frankly it's a bit of a dud.

There are some good things here, in this tale of a workaholic couple whose neglected son dies, resulting in their adopting a creepy replacement. I like the clever bit of misdirection as we're constantly made to see James as creepy but he's just a red herring, his emotionless behaviour just thowing him to have experienced trauma. The subtext is nice, too: William felt neglected by his parents and seeks revenge from beyond the grave.

Yet it doesn't quite work. The story beats are awkward, there's the foregrounding of a character, in James, who sort of has to be played in a way that is robotic and charisma-free. And the direction shows a strange reluctance to employ any of the visual tropes of horror.

Still, one bad episode of four so far is not bad at all.

I May Destroy You: That Was Fun

 “I'm not drinking anything."

This episode shows a real deepening of the themes, the arcs and the characters as it carries on exploring the more distressing side of sex and consent. We see Bella struggling to adjust to therapy, to flashbacks, to being alone with her thoughts. We see society's uncaring side: the publisher still demands a first draft and, without it, she has no income.

Yet there are more things going on too. Unexpectedly, Bella has sex with the posh and entitled Zain who himself commits a massive consent violation by sneakily switching to doggy and removing the condom, which is an utterly contemptible thing to do even if he does 

We also see Kwame and one of his sexual encounters, too, also addressing the additional diffuculties of being a gay man from a culture  (Ghanaian) that doesn't accept such things. He ends up alone, and sexually assaulted, by the deeply uncomfortable Malik, who plays musuic with deeply homophobic lyrics as a power play. And he's deeply, deeply affected.

This is not exactly pleasantviewing. But my God, it's powerful.

Sex Education: Season 3, Episode 1

 “Sir, I need to take the goat out for a wee..."

So it's back, beginning with a rather well-shot sex-themed montage of all the characters we know up to all sorts of mainly sexual hi-jinks, although the highlight is without a doubt "The Colin Hendricks Experience".

And a lot has been happening. Eric and Adam have been rather sweetly seeing each other as a couple. Jean is now very pregnant indeed. Otis has been having secret sex with... Ruby. Yes, Ruby. And there's a new headmistress in town, one who seems quite cool on te surface but shows hints of evil peeking through. Mr Goff, increasingly desperate, is living with his rich wanker of a brother, played by him off of Harry Potter with less hair.

This episode is cleverly metatextual, based on a fraudulant new sex advisor whose silliness is brought to an end by Otis, leading to the demolition of the old toilet block, symbolically destroying the original format of the series. And there are some nice charactermoments all round. Yet it never really seems to catch fire.

Still episode one.Plenty of stuff to happen before the arcs get moving.

The Sarah Jane Adventures: Farewell, Sarah Jane

 "The Jackals of the Backwards Clock..."

I don't have time to blog a full episode of anything tonight (real life stuff) but, as RTD will be returning to Doctor Who and I have a spare thirteen and a bit minutes to watch at least something, this seems an appropriate thing to blog.

It's one of those unique little short video productions that emerged out of the early days of lockdown last year, made with rigorous social distancing. Hence the format is a narrated script with actors doing the odd solo scene, a kind of Big Finish "Companion Chronicle" with a camera pointed at it. And yet, as with all drama, this essentially stands and falls by the writing and performances.

And, yeah, in this case it most certainly stands. RTD's script is magical, poetical, tear-jerking, full of heart and full of life. Sarah Jane gets the perfect funeral in an affectionate and beautiful tribute to the late Lis Sladen. There are lots of little chances to be nosey into various characters' lives- Luke, Clyde and Rani are all successful young adults. Luke has a husband. Tegan and Nyssa are seemingly a couple. But it's not really about all that- it's about a character, and an actress, whom we in fandom miss very much. And tributes don't get much better than this.

Bloodbath at the House of Death (1984)

 "What is that?"

"Sounds like a lot of monks exploding."

This isn't Monty Python. Let's make that clear. It's nowhere near in the same league.  Yet, with some added innuendo, it's a similar style of humour. And, quite frankly, it doesn't need gto be anywhere near as good in order to entertain. This is never going to have a claim to be the greatest comedy film of all time, but it's a delightful way to spend ninety enjoyable minutes. And, knowing that good comedy doesn't have to be superlative to be good, one can enjoy a silly little film like this.

My dad is rather partial to Kenny Everett, and I watched and enjoyed a lot of his stuff as a kid. But he seems to have largely disappeared from the zeitgeist, his friendship (and patronship of the London gay scene) with Freddy Mercury aside. Puzzlingly, he's not a gay icon, perhaps because he was (it seems with tongue at least partially in cheek) a Thatcherite Tory. I am, I can say with some confidence, no Tory. but political affiliation, within the bounds of democracy, decency, tolerance and patriotism, should not disqualify an artist from acclaim.It's fair to say I will never blog Triumph of the Will, but let's have a sense of proprtion here. Kenny Everett was a damn good comic performer, as this film makes very clear.

Of course, Pamela Stephenson is magnificent too. Sex therapist she may be these days, but I certainly can't think of a thespian who can portray being pleasurably ravished by a poltergeist Beelzebub woth quite the same elan. And yes, I agree: that sentence may very possibly never have been written before.

 Vincent Price is, of course, magnificent as usual, with a comic talent very much on display, despite looking shockingly old and unhealthy. And the cast is, in general, superb, as is the direction. And the script, while having no pretensions to greatness, is very funny indeed in this alternately witty and very silly horror spoof. I want to see more Kenny Everett.

Russell T. Davies returning to Doctor Who

 Let’s not beat around the bush here: I’m bloody ecstatic. This is fantastic news. That said, though, it’s interesting that a past showrunner has been put back in charge. This is a possible sign that the BBC, feeling that the current iteration of the show is not quite right, is looking back to past glories. Yet this is RTD, who since his first stint as showrunner has improved his already stellar reputation with such masterpieces as Cucumber, Years and Years, and the superlative It’s a Sin. This is not a writer you bring in for reasons of self-indulgent nostalgia. He’s radical, brilliant and is going to really annoy the people who don’t like Doctor Who to be “woke”. These are all very good things.

RTD is not my favourite post-2005 showrunner. That would be Steven Moffat. Yet the reason for this is that the Moff wrote first class clever science fantasy for male, middle aged geeks like me. RTD may have been (slightly) less to my taste, but he had a firm grip of how to get the show to appeal to non-geeks, children, women. He’s a showman.

When RTD revived Who in 2005 there were reasons for him to be cautious. He downplayed the show’s mythology and had to live down an ill-deserved reputation of wobbly sets, wobbly scripts and wobbly acting, whereas Moffat was able to take more risks and be less formulaic.

This time things are different. RTD- now the RTD of It’s a Sin rather than Casanova- will have very different ideas and want to do something new. I’m not expecting seasons of thirteen episodes with a present-future-past opening tryptich.

RTD has mentioned spin-offs in the vein of Marvel shows such as WandaVision etc. He clearly has big ideas, and they are 2021 ideas, not 2005 ideas.

This is very exciting news. Let there be much imbibing of alcoholic liquids.

Crome Yellow by Aldous Huxley

One may perhaps assume, from the fact that I am going through a particular phase for science fiction and fantasy at the present time as I have just begun to blog novels, that it's what I've mainly tended to read. That isn't really true, although I've read a fair amount of said genres. I shall go through other phases, and indeed have done in the past. Like most people, I have my comfort authors as I have my comfort songs. One of those is Aldous Huxley.

Yet the Huxley is not the Huxley of Brave New World or The Doors of Perception: it is the younger Huxley, he of the novels of ideas of the Twenties and Thirties, which are suich fascinating records of the lives and the thinking of that fascinating period between the wars- war-scarred, Bohemian in a way, at least for a certain class of people, and replete with new ideas- of Freud, of Modernism, of the motor car- and new anxieties- of technology, of another war, of class conflict.

This, Huxley's first novel, which I've just reread after many years, is a shocking hundred years old and feels instantly modern. This may be far more comedic than its successor novels, but it perfectly captures the tenor of the time, where youn twentysomethings (such as Huxley himself) could be no less pretentious in their angsts and solipsisms than you or I were, or perhaps in your case are, at that age.

The pretentious Denis, the Freudian Anne, the determined introvert Henry Wimbush, the authorial mouthpiece (complete with predictions of the main concept of Brave New World...) Mr Scogan are all splendid comic creations, expressing the ennui and humanity of people who have abandoned God but not, despite their Freudianism, able to escape the extraordinary sexual repression of their society. This may be a novel in which literally nothing happens, but it is no less fun, and no less instructive, for that.

Hammer House of Horror: Rude Awakening

 "You shouldn't have killed your wife, Mr Shenley..."

For the second time in succession we have a superb episode. Yes, it helps to have a charismatic lead in Denholm Elliott, cast against type as an estate agent in the least posh role I've ever seen him in, but this script is superb, layering dream within dream and horror upon horror, leading to out increasingly deluded protagonist killing his wife in the belief that it's only a dream.

The structure of dreams within dreams, denying us a stable grip on what is and is not reality, works superbly, and allows the episode to play effectively with form, structure and tropes. Yet beneath it all is something fearfully desperate. This is an episode set within the psyche of one unhappy man.

There are such subtle touches here, beyond the obvious yet well done obvious scares as the creepy voice on the telephone, the collapsing building or the body in the dumb waiter. Yet cleverest of all is the revelation that Norman's secretary, with whom he's been carrying on an affair in a series of implausibly sexy outfits, is in fact just a young and unattainable women whom this unhappy man secretly likes. This is tragedy as horror, puncturing the delusions of a man whose life is without colour. And it's quietly excellent telly.

I May Destroy You: Don't Forget the Sea

 "The privilege of the underprivileged..."

An unexpected flashback this time, as we go back in time three months to Ostia, one time port of Rome and modern day seaside of Rome. Terry visits Bella and gets to see the relatively luxurious life she's getting to live, on expenses.

And it's an interesting episode, exploring how the millenials live and their sexuality without telling us what to think. We see how Bella first met Biagio, and how he's essentially a decent chap. We see how Terry has a threesome while on lots of drugs (Bella and Terry spend much of the episode out of their heads on stuff that I, my drugs of choice being real ale and red wine, know nothing about. I mean "molly" sounds like a Georgian gay brothel), and we're left to wonder whether she's living the life, being sexually exploited by creepy men, or whether we may perhaps be overthinking this in denying women agency in their own sexuality and falling intothe trap of seeing sex as something men do to women.

A lot of this is the sort of realism you don't usually see in dramas- the artificial awkwardness of sex during a heavy period for example. It's just ordinary blood, exactly like the substance running through my male veins, but there's such cultural awkwardness around it.

This is very good stuff, leisurely and not overwritten.

Hammer House of Horror: The Thirteenth Reunion

 "I don't know why we have a women's page. We don't have a men's page!"

Last episode was the fun and silly sort of Hammer Horror. This second episode could not be more dissimilar. Superbly and inteligentlly scripted and shot, it is a masterpiece of suspense that starts with a macabre mystery and ends with a truly nightmarish shot.

The opening scenes seem to promise, despite the witty and likeable nature of protagonist Ruth (the excellent Julia Foster), little more than an unusually brutal weight loss regimen presided over by Renton's dad from Trainspotting.Yet when Kevin Stoney appears we know that something's up and, by the time we meet the gang including Von Smallhausen from 'Allo 'Allo, the script is cleverly feeding us the morsels we need to work out exactly what it is that is happening and why, in a masterly use of the art of plotting.

This is subtle, intelligent, gripping horror and the best thing I've seen from Hammer since The Devil Rides Out. I have absolutely no idea what to expect next.

Breaking Bad: Better Call Saul

 "The Jew thing I just do for the homeboys..."

I was, sadly, aware of the spin-off in advance of watching the episode, so I can't quite say I was completely unspoiled. But Saul is an immediately likeable and cool character, and I hope we see much more of him. He's clever, delightfully crooked, and steals the show completely. That last scene, as he accosts Walt in the classroom and warns him how easy he is to track down, is an act of sheer balls, but gets Walt's attention. He can see, as I think I can, that Walt may not be Don Corleone yet, but promises to be. Saul is clearly an important character, but so is what he represents: another step on the road to what Walt is to become.

As Saul says, Badger won't be the last time an underling is caught.Walt needs to be ready for this, and a thousand other things. The opening scene with Badger and a narc, both sat on a bench filmed by an unmoving camera, is a masterpiece of acting and scriptwriting. This sort of thing is now part of the territory, which is why we need a character like Saul, with his hilarious adverts.

Walt seems again to get away with it at the end, but Hank- whose PTSD is masterfully explored here as he tries to pretend to be his usual self- clearly suspects something is up. Hank can only get close so many times, but the premise of the show means Walt can't be caught. Calling it now: Hank dies at the end of the season.

The family stuff is not much emphasises here, although Skyler is very much getting used to her job, but we discover that Jane (who is getting very close to Jesse) is a former addict, something of which I'm sure we will hear more. There are lots of things subtly happening, but everything points towards Walt Corleone. A superb episode of television.

The Creeping Flesh (1973)

 "That is why I shall have to employ someone for whom eythics have no significance..."

This is (SPOILERS, even if I remain vague) a film which relies entirely on a last minute twist, upon which all relies and about which I;m not going to be able to say much. I'm not generally strict on spoilers but this is literally a last minute revelation which raises a poor to average film, based on seemingly silly concepts, to a film based on a script which actually has some merit.

Not that the production can be much faulted: Freddie Francis directs and Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee star in a horror film, not actually by either Hammer nor Amicus, yet which evokes both. The question is not whether or not the film is well made; it's about to what extent the last minute twist redeems what has until then been a ho-hum film.

There, I suppose, feminist subtexts here, about how feminine expressions of sexuality are seen, in quite horrifying scenes involving mother and daughter, about how expressions of female sexuality are seen firstly as invitations to rape and, upon resistance, as insanity.

The poster decives in that the skeleton, while impressive-looking, is not seen moving until a brief, dramatic scene at the end of the film. Yet there is an interesting feminist subtext here in a script which takes its time to reveal what is really going on while appering really quite silly for most of its length. It's alsoa film in which awidowed Cushing is made to mourn his late wife.

This is an interesting curiosity, perhaps. But the last minute twist does not save it from mediocrity.

Things to Come (1936)

 "There may be an air raid, but it is not likely to be a dangerous one."

The quote above may have tickled me somewhat, the opening titles may be big and epic in a way that would later be subtly spoofed, not least by the Monty Python movies... but this is a serious film, with what little humour there is of the grimmer sort. It's also rather superb, with superlatively stylish direction, sets and costumes matched admirably by a magnificent cast headed by the highly impressive Raymond Massey.

It's bloody good. That's dealt with. But far more interesting is to look at how the future was seen in 1936 by the seventy year old H.G. Wells. This is no Whig version of future history with uninterrupted progress, but nor do we see the socialist utopia we may perhaps have expected from Wells. Mercifully, there's no hint of any of that eugenics nonsense.

What there is, though, is a war beginning eerily close to when the Second War would actually start, perhaps not hard to guess at the time: the international politics is kept intentionally vague, but the identity of the enemy was, I suspect, clear to the original audience. The devastation of the bombing of the city reflects, perhaps, a "the bomber will always get through" mentality and the prediction that there would be no declaration of war (such barbarism!) predicted not so much the Second War but every single war ever fought since then.  

The war lasts for twenty-six horrifying years, and is followed by a plague- interesting viewing in 2021. We see a near-collapse of civilisation with much warlordism and philistine dismissal of culture and technology as everything declines... until a bunch of grim, sonorous airmen save us all with their friendly chemical weapons. We then get a progress montage until it's 2036, mankind is set  to fly around the Moon for the first time... but a load of luddites riot against progress for some reason.

Yes, it may be described as po-faced. But it's gripping, really well-made and a fascinating look at a time, eighty-five years ago, when the future looked like this and a wife could say that she wanted to "serve" her husband and make him "heppy" without raising too many eyebrows. A unique and wonderful film, and a true visual triumph.

Iron Maiden- Powerslave (1984)

I suppose, if The Number of the Beast is the one Iron Maiden album one must own, this would be next on the list. The band's later work- including the bulk of the '90s when Bruce Dickinson went AWOL- is unfairly maligned and well worth a listen, but there's no real doubt that the '80s were their peak. And this album, in particular, comes along just at the right time as the band were at their very best. Significantly, it's the first album to feature the same exact line-up as the previous record.

It's a thing of beauty, at once a coherent soundscape and a collection of killer songs like "Aces High" and "Two Minutes to Midnight". This is far from the last time the band will master that little trick, but never again will they do it quite so well. And never again, to date, have they produced an epic to rival the rather long "Rime of the Ancient Mariner", even if they do decide to bloody butcher Coleridge's words, the philistines. Yet, given how bloody good the album is, I shall graciously forgive them.

And doesn't Eddie look good as a pharaoh?

I May Destroy You: Someone Is Lying

 "I had a threesome once..."

This subtly devastating episode begins with Bella trying to convince people, not least herself, that she's all right. But this narrative slowly collapses as the lies of a defensive Simon and flashes of memory lead to the sense that something definitely happens. And Bella does what sexually assaulted people in TV drama don't do and goes to the police- something far too few women feel able to do. But, with the massive invasion of privacy (they take your phone for months, and a woman's sexual history is for some reason seen as relevant) and the low conviction rate, I can't say I blame them.

Coel is superb with her devastatingly understated performance of a woman in horrified denial, and the reactions of those around her, preoccupied with their own lives, are realistic too. Sadly, this includes Alissa's rant at Bella in a nicely awkward scene.

This is compelling, quietly upsetting, devastatatingly human television.

The City in the Autumn Stars by Michael Moorcock

I read this novel, like its predecessor, long ago. I recall snatches and images- not least the balloon and the Diderot-worshipping fox- but I recall not liking the novel as much as I did this time round. Nor do I recall enjoying the subtext.

As with the previous Von Bek novel, with its hope that the horrors of the Thirty Years war would yield to an age of Reason, this novel again mixes historical and philosophical themes, this time from the other side of the Enlightenment, with fantasy which owes much to Christian mythology but which, I suspect, would be best understood in terms of Moorcock’s multiverse if I had more awareness of that backstory than I do.

However, this is a rollicking novel, at once a gripping adventure story, a fascinating novel of ideas and an exercise in world building that gradually adds increasing elements of fantasy to a very recognisable Europe of 1794, as in Paris the Terror proceeds apace while the capitals of Europe shudder. It mimics, enough to delight but not enough to confuse, the stylings of a novel of the late eighteenth century and is crammed with delightfully vivid characters, from the charmingly deceitful balloonist St Odhran to the mysterious and alluring Libussa, Duchess of Crete, whose fate is at once horrifying and symbolic of the appalling lot of women throughout history.

The subtext is rich, yet resistant to being reduced to some simple summary. The results of the concluding ritual are left sensibly ambiguous, although we are clearly ending an age of Alchemy and entering one of Industry. The protagonist, another Von Bek, is perhaps rather more passive than his war hound ancestor. But that is, perhaps, the point.

A gloriously weird, philosophical and exciting novel. I shall briefly read something else to cleanse the palate, then it will be more Moorcock for me.

Alice Cooper- Brutal Planet (2000)

 I haven't blogged an album in a while, so here we go.

There's a tendency, with long-established artists, for their early work to be popular and their later work neglected- sometimes justifiably so, sometimes not. It's true that the Rolling Stones haven't done anything interesting since 1972, but the likes of the late lamented David Bowie and the thankfully still with us Neil Young have released albums of varying quality over the years, some of them very good and others not so much. Quite often, though, even the failures are failures for interesting reasons and, well, I'll never stop defending Bowie's jungle period in the '90s.

Alice Cooper, while some albums are better than others, has been consistently good. His hits of the '70s and '80s are justly perennials of rock radio. But Vince is, at heart, an album artist, with both the alchemy required to move with the times and the sureness to remain himself, regardless of whom he collaborates with. This album, for instance, heralds a shift to a harder style of metal which is more or less retained from this point.It does not feel out of place in 2000. Yet nor does it feel so much of its time as to feel dated today, or pandering to fashions. It is simply a confident, quality, contemporary heavy metal record. No more, no less.

In a sense, then, the fact that "It's the Little Things"- Mrs Llamastrangler's favourite Alice Cooper track ever- makes blatant lyrical references to his past hits in the context of moving on stylistically, is revealing. The esteemed Mr furnier does not reject his past, nor does he wallow in it. The title track may be the one that has grabbed the most attention here, yet this is an album without filler.

It's an album worth listening to. And so are its successors.

Hammer House of Horror: Witching Time

 "You want me to burn!"

This is the first of thirteen episodes made in 1980, a few years after Hammer stopped making films, and all of which I shall be blogging. Superficially, given the age of the production and both the directorial style and the period's signature switching between videotape and film for location sequences (as Monty Python said, "This building is entirely surrounded by film"), this feels a bit like those '70s BBC M.R. James adaptations, a couple of which I've blogged.

Except this is Hammer, and things are not taken anywhere near as seriously. This is how you do it: with that nicely ambiguous gap between high and low camp that the later Hammer films did so well.

So we have an affluent, upper class couple working in the media, probably in the Home Counties, alng with a tawdry yet rather ho-hum affair of a very middle class kind. And into this we throw the magnificent Patricia Quinn to ham it up gloriously as the out-of-time seventeenth century witch Lucinda. There ensues some highly enjoyable set pieces, from poltergeist-type stuff to a pyre to a vicar played by Grandad from Only Fools and Horses talking about exorcism.

Looking forward to the rest of these...

Inspector Morse: The Wolvercote Tongue

 “Never, ever interrupt me when I'm booking my seat for the opera, Lewis."

Yet again I should start by saying that I've read all of Colin Dexter's novels, albeit some time ago. This includes The Jewel That Was Ours which, in a reversal of the usual pattern, was actually written for the telly first and only later novelised.

I remember only moments from the novel, which has not stayed with me much. I didn't remember the outcome, but don't recall being, as I was here, mildly disappointed with the resolution. I suppose there's a certain red herring cleverness in the Wolvercote Tongue having nothing to do with the killings, but there's something unsatisfying in there being two unrelated events in Laura's death and the theft of the jewel versus Theodore Kemp's shagging and its consequences- although Simon Callow is superb, as always. He's one of those actors who chews the scenery with aplomb, and most certainly in a good way.

I'm also enjoying the further fleshing out of Mose and Lewis, whose relationship is by now fully-formed with obligatory scenes of Lewis being whisked away from the pub when he's hardly started his pint. I'm also very much enjoying the sparring between Morse and Max, as much as the writers clearly are. Peter Woodthorpe's performance has made quite the impression.

We have here a mildly disappointing episode which nonetheless confirms the series is going in pretty much the right direction. John Thaw is superlative, better than any previous episode, with signs that scripts are being written with a known performance in mind. I look forward to the second series proper.

The War Hound and the World’s Pain by Michael Moorcock

It’s time to blog a novel not written by Roger Zelazny, I think. Eventually I will blog all sorts of authors. I may have a taste for literary science fiction and fantasy these days, but it’s all part of a balanced diet. Hopefully, within a year or two, this blog’s Novels Index will reflect the broad nature of my tastes.

So, Michael Moorcock. This is one of only two of his works I’d previously read. I first read this novel on a long flight between London and Los Angeles in 2008 or 2009, I forget in which direction. The initial meeting with Lucifer had stayed with me, as well as the idea of the Mittelmarch. But rereading it this time round it felt fresh and new, with the world, characters and subtext much richer.

 I’m aware, of course, that this is part of Moorcock’s Eternal Champion sequence, of which I know little at this point. It isn’t the first novel within this sequence which Moorcock wrote, but seems to have been retrospectively decided as a starting point, perhaps because of its historical setting within the Thirty Years War. I suspect the references to God, Lucifer, the Grail etc are Christianised versions of Moorcock’s own cosmology, but I’m sure I shall eventually see whether I’m right about that.

The novel is superb, on one level a typical quest narrative but subverting the cliches of such rather nicely, and on another a metaphor for the Enlightenment, a powerful argument for Reason over faith. The world is, indeed, better off with gods and devils leaving it alone. Von Bek is an intriguing protagonist, an amoral cynic who has commuted his share of atrocities yet who gains wisdom through both knowledge and suffering, leading a happy and long life in the end. It may well end in oblivion. But is that not so for all of us?

I’m very interested to see what other directions Moorcock takes. We shall see.

Jason Goes To Hell: The Final Friday (1993)

 "Planning on smoking dope, having pre-marital sex and getting slaughtered?"

So it's the '90s, as the fashions and the cars clearly indicate. I turned sixteen in 1993, and can attest that this way of dressing was once considered normal. This feels odd, of course, because this is the decade's only Friday the 13th film. And the first one not to feel like a regular instalment- despite the sequel-stealing final scene, this film has a blatant self-consciousness that it may be the last one that no previous instalment has had.

It isn't, of course. Nor is it the promised exploration of Jason's backstory, which is superficial indeed. It's a B movie. Yet, in the context of this franchise which, in an inversion of the usual pattern, started as nothing special and took until the sixth instalment to get good, this is fairly decent in context. It has no stars, no actors I recognise whatsoever, nor does it have anthing other than B movie performances, yet it pretty much manages to be entertaining enough.

It makes token attempts to be self-referential, most notably the opening sequence with a trap for Jason, but ultimately relies on the conceit of Jason (only briefly a returning Jason Hodder) jumping from body to body. It also relies on both melodrama and the intriguing, behatted, moderately charismatic, if cliched, character of Creighton Duke, as much as it relies on the usual jump scares.

It works. It's not a bad film. But I wouldn't use higher praise than that.

Murder on the Orient Express (1974)

 “Trial by twelve good men and true... is a sound system

I have read, probably, more of Agatha Christie's ouevre than not, although all of it- and it startles me still that I should happen to be of an age to say this- not much less than thirty years ago. Her plots are of course unparallelled: writing in an age where the tropes of the whodunit were well-estabished, she subverted and played with them, and did so with unmatched cleverness. In that respect, she was a genius.

Alas... he characterisation and prose were bloody awful, and she kept her snobbishness  close to the surface of her writing. I, in turn, have become rather more of a prose snob over the last few decades. Functional prose I can cope with. Bad prose I cannot. I prefer Margery Allingham.

However, there are always screen adaptation, which provide the wonder of Christie's plotting without the pain of her prose. This is a particularly sublime example, with a cast to die for, partly- Lauren Bacall, Ingrd Bergman- from Hollywood's golden age. Yet Albert Finney is incrddible. At first, having known only David Suchet as a screen Poirot, I didn't want to like him. Hercule Poirot, unlike Sherlock Holmes, is not a part known for many actors. Yet Finney's subtle and mannered performance makes the film. So does Sidney Lumet's visually creative directing style which nevertheless serves the plot well, masterfully combining subtly sublime camerawork- the backstory of the baby at the strt is particularly well done- with clear storytelling.

Sadly, I remembered over the decades who killed the late Mr Ratchett, so I was unsueprised, and noticed a few of the clues. But this is a hugely successful and enjoyable adaptation.

The Boys: What I Know

 "People love what I have to day. They believe in it. They just don't like the word "Nazi", that's all."

Wow. That was even more eventful than last season's crammed finale, and bloody good bit of telly. Where to start?

Of course, it was clear Stormfront was going down. She's the season Big Bad who can be defeated in the end while still leaving Vought and Homelander to do theit nefarious stuff- this time without any of that Nazi baggage, which isn't good for business. But her exposure, and how it's Ryan who permanently disables her as she tries to kill his mum, is dramatic and cathartic. Rebecca's death is shocking (it's not Ryan's fault; she would still have died if he hadn't have lashed out), but she dies reconciled with Butcher after he couldn't bring himself to betray her- and Billy Butcher, the ultimate supe hater, now seems to have a stepson of sorts, even if Ryan is in the hands of the CIA.

Maeve gets redemption, finally using her blackmail footage for good. The Deep's hilarious journey with the not-Scientologits ends hilariously as it's A-Train, not him, who ends up back in the Seven, rewarded for his "initiative" in exposing Stormfront, the new convenient scapegoat for everything. There's a reset button of sorts, at least supeficially, with Annie and Maeve back in the fold, while the Boys are now legal- and official? None of this feels like a stable status quo, though, especially with the shocking reveal as to who exactly was blowing up all them heads.

This was damn good. How long till the next season...?

I May Destroy You: Eyes Eyes Eyes Eyes

 "You know I can't socialise after I ejaculate, so..."

This is, especially at the end, not always a comfortable thing to watch. But Michaela Coel has written an extraordinary chronicle of our #MeToo times centred on a sexual assault which is experienced, as are many sexual assault, through an alconolic and druggy (spiked drink?) haze. The whole thing is written, acted and directed with real brilliant, and the sexual assault happens only towards the end, and through the hazy memories of Arabella herself.

Quite rightly, we get to know and like Arabella first. A successful writer, she happens to live in London where no one who isn't a millionaite can afford decent living conditions. The episode is by no means all about the sexual assault. It's about the agonising pressure, procrastination and adrenaline of being a writer. It's about the uncertainty of whether her Italian boyfriend is going to commit. It's about Black writers negotiating the very white world of publishing. 

Most of all, though, it's devastating and sublime. The final scenes, with Arabella waking up after the night before, not really aware of her own traumatic shock, are wonderfully directed and acted to pack a real punch, and to represent the trths of so many women. This is a very impressive first episode.

The Boys: Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker

 "You're the cuck fluffer!"

It'd the penultimate episode, and it's... explosive. After last episode's revelations we get plenty of rallies from Homelander and Stormfront in which, being Nazis, they cheerfully use the dog whistling slang of Nazi-loving MAGA types today "snowflake", "SJW", etc. Just to drive the point home, we begin with one of Stormfront's online zealots being slowly radicalised online until the point he murders someone, of course from an ethnic minority. It's clear what the subtext is here. And this series was released in October 2020, shortly before, thankfully, Trump was humiliated.

Yet the very final scene has uncomfortable echoes. The Boys, Mallory etc have done their best- including Billy Butcher being quite the unhinged psychotic- to expose Vaught by democratic means... and the congressional hearing is brought to a bloody end by those exploding heads. Is it Stormfront? Homelander? Either way, this ends-justify-the-means assault on democracy very much echoes the terrorist attack on the US Capitol.

Other stuff happens too, of course. Homelander and Stormfront turn Ryan against Rebecca. Butcher meets his dad, played by a fellow cast member from Lord of the Rings. A-Train is having doubts about the cult as that Archer bloke is fair gamed.

Also, Lamplighter self-immolates and so allows Hughie to rescue the now exposed Annie by means of Lamplighter's severed hand. Yep, only on The Boys.

This is gloriously evil telly. And it' actually about something to boot. I love it.

The Courts of Chaos by Roger Zelazny

So the Chronicles of Amber are over for me, at least for the time being. I realise there’s a later sequence of novels, but now I’ve started to blog novels I really ought to do some other authors.

This was, in some ways, more of the same, with the familiar prose style and the familiar extraordinarily detailed world and cosmology. Yet the narrative was different, far more of a quest, and the focus was less on the narrative itself but on metaphor and the philosophical musings of Corbin which, I highly suspect, mirror those of the author, who is clearly no solipsist and unlikely to be a practising Buddhist.

These kinds of surreal and thoughtful passages, of which there are many, manage to succeed by dint of a strong prose style and some philosophical substance, but there’s a sense that the author is doing this to break out of the genre ghetto into the foothills of literary fiction in a rather self-conscious manner.

It’s not all philosophy, though: big things happen, and a satisfying ending is ultimately reached with, incredibly, no dangling plot threads. This is, perhaps, the weakest instalment, but that’s a relative statement. The Amber Chronicles are superb.

Breaking Bad: Negro y Azul

 "You act like you never saw a severed human head on a tortoise before..."

It's an unusual beginning, to have the Mariachi band perform a song that seems to have been inspired by the events of the series, but I love it. Breaking Bad is doing things differently,approprate for an episode that seems to signify a bit of a gear change. The status quo is shifting, and so is the dramatis personae. This feels like a phase shift.

Most obviously, Jesse (the "blowfish"- I love how Walt delivers this backhanded compliment) is now seen as a badass who crushes those who cross him with ATM machines (not a sentence I've ever written before), and suddenly the way lies open for Walt and Jesse to corner the market in all of Albuquerque. Jesse is stunned, his underlings more so as they are promoted to "princes or dukes". Yet Walt remains calm, self-assured, amoral and ambitious. By this point he's moved far beyond being a desperate man who just wants the money for his medical bills: he sees life as having dealt him a bad hand, and is going to get a better one no mtter what. He's utterly ruthless- and, oddly enough, whatshows this most of all is his ruthless refusal to fudge a student's grades at the start. The steel is affecting what he does as a chemistry teacher as much as his new existence as a drug lord. At this point, the future looks bright.

Also, Skyler lands herself a job with a bloke with whom she has obvious history- this can surely only go in one direction. And Hank finds himself very much out of his depth in El Paso, intellectually (he's the only one who speaks no Spanish) and in terms of the potential violence, which erupts shockingy at the end. This way lies PTSD.

On a sweeter note, could Jesse and his landlady Jane be attracted to each other? If so, I can't exactly predict happy ever after. The plates are shifting, but things feel precarious. This is, needless to say, excellent stuff. No wonder they managed to get Danny Trejo.

Inspector Morse: Service of All the Dead

 "I'll never understand these religious types."

"That's because you have no soul, Morse."

I can't quite put my finger on why this episode was good but not great, unlike its two predecessors. I've had four pints of Doom Bar, of which I hope Morse would approve. I enjoyed the novel, years ago. The plot and the revelations were fine. There was even much made of a quotation from St Augustine which has much amused me- "Lord, give me chastity, but not yet." Lord, if by any chance you should exist, in spite of your singular failure to provde empiracal evidence, please do no such thing. The missus would not be pleased.

This episode has persuaded me of one thing. If I were, should faith without proof cease to be a requirement, to become a Christian, I probably wouldn't be a High Church Anglican as I'd previously assumed because of culture and that. Like Morse, I find all that imagery of a tortured Christ to be unpleasantly morbid.

I like this episode, altgough it never quite catches fire. As a carer, I very much identify with the very lovely Ruth, a nicely nuanced character. Morse gets some good development in terms of his relationship with her, too: I'm starting to accept John Thaw's gentler version of the character. I am, perhaps, less inclined to accept that the white-haired Thaw was forty-five years old at this point, just a year older than I am today, with only grey flecks in my long hair although rather more in my long beard, and denying all wrinkles. I am not Gandalf yet.

Witness for the Prosecution (1957)

 "I am constantly sutprised that women's hats do not provoke more murders..."

This, like Agatha Christie's other play Mousetrap, is known for its twist ending: indeed, there is a voiceover at the end of the film begging us not to spoil it. I'm not necessarily always so fastidious, but on this occasion Christie's secret it safe with me, seven decades later.

I haven't seen the play, but I read a number of Agatha Christie novels in my youth. I recall her ingenious plots, but also her poor characterisation and unfortunate snobbery- good, but no Margery Allingham. That is not in evidence here, and the dialogue (deliciously delivered by the magnificent Charles Laughton and the sublime Marlene Dietrich) is rather witty. Am I misremembering Christie, or has the script had a bit of a polish?

Nevertheless, this is a triumphant film, and certainly the finest courtroom drama I have ever seen: I can see why Christie herself was so happy with Billy Winder's film. The cast (Tyrone Power is a bit of a weak link, but the two stars are magnificent, and there's a fine comic turn from Elsa Lanchester. It's also fascinating to see the workings of a Crown Court in the 1950s, at least via the medium of Hollywood.

The twists and turns are, of course, sublime, and to say that the ending packs a huge punch is a real understatement. This is quite up there with the great twist endings. Yet beyond this we have a triumph of writing, direction and performance. Sublime.

The Hand of Oberon by Roger Zelazny

 

I can certainly confirm that this series of novel is a Class A drug. It’s frighteningly addictive.

The series turns a corner here as the dazzlingly complex plot and series of revelations unfolds, compellingly. The ending is a genuine shock. Yet at no point do the constant stream of shocking revelations render the plot in any way difficult to follow, and they all arise out of increasingly well-sketched and constantly deepening character traits.

All this leads one to do er just how much of this Zelazny had in mind at the very beginning.I suspect a great deal, although there were changes here and there. This saga is, by this point, a colossal achievement of character, prose, world building and sheer craft.

And there is still one to go.

Masters of the Universe: Revelations- The Forge at the Forest of Forever

 "We saved the world... didn't we."

Oh my. It's weird that this is (for now) only five episodes long, but this is a proper season finale and no mistake.

So much happens. The quest narrative moves to Preternia, a kind of good place Eternians go when they die. But this is more of a Valhalla than a Heaven, full of hunts and machismo and old heroes like He-Ro and wise old King Grayskull. But Adam stands out- of all the legendary heroes, only he chooses his weaker form. 

There are good character scenes between Teela and Adam, but we have no clue until the end how dramatic things are going to be. Roboto's death is a very big, very emotional scene. Adam's decision to return to Earth to help his friend, knowing he will sacrifice all chance of returning to afterlife, is moving. 

But it seems as though all is well. Adam speaks the words we know so well, and magic returns to Eternia.. and then it happens: Skeletor, unsuspectedly hiding in Lyn's staff, returns, and fatally stabs Adam mid-transformation. All is lost, and it's a bloody good cliffhanger.

More please. How long do we have to wait?

The Boys: The Bloody Doors Off

 "A bigot and a bully..."

Wow. This episode is full of revelations and superb character moments. I mean, scenes such as a bloke dissolving his own face with his own acidic vomit, or MM getting strangled by a bloke's enormous penis- yes, I just wrote that- don't even register.

The bulk of the episode consists of the Boys and Annie following up a lead to a mental hospital in Pennsylvania. Here we learn of the incident, years before, where Colonel Grace Mallory employed Butcher, MM and Frenche to get at Vought via Lamplighter. Her children died horribly, Frenchie had conflicting loyalties, and Lamploghter turns out to be played by Iceman from the X-Men films.

Oh, and Stormfront seems to be behind the facility, which is all about trying to stabilise Compound V. And Annie and Butcher seem to bond a bit courtest of Hughie being badly hurt, and some stupid wanker who pulled a gun on them whinging that "this is a Stand Your Ground state". I've got no sympathy from the psycho whatsoever. 

Also, the Deep and his puppetmasters seem to be doing quite well in getting A-train into the cult. And a shocked Elena sees how Maeve was planning to blackmail Homelander with footage from the plane.

All this is dramatic enough, but we end with a bombshell... Stormfront was born in 1919, is Frederick Vought's widow and the firt person ever infected wirh Compound V. And she's a full-on, hob-nobbing with Himmler and Goebells, Nazi, who worships Homelander as the perfect Aryan ubermensch. Well then,