Doctor Who: The Ghost Monument

"I can't remember who I borrowed them off now. It was either Audrey Hepburn or Pythagoras."

Ok, so they can't all be that good; it's Chris Chibnall after all. His first alien story as showrunner and we get a decent but fairly pedestrian tale about a rally between planets and the planet of the booby traps. Which is not to slag the story off; I liked it. I just wouldn't use a stronger word than "liked".

Still, aside from the story of the week, and those niggling worries about his talents for adventure storytelling and science fantasy concepts, that doesn't necessary make him a bad showrunner. Again he's showing signs of being good at developing characters, which could bode well- and yes, I will see Broadchurch soon.

Our TARDIS crew (well, not yet...) of four is looking curiously similar to Ian, Barbara and Susan in that we have a sort-of "grandfather"; I already like the sort-of-familial relationship between Graham and Ryan, and this is going to grow. Yasmin is perhaps not so well fleshed out at this stage (will she and Ryan have a will-they-won't-they like Ian and Barbara?) But there's plenty of time. And still, of course, Jodie Whittaker is the Doctor; as Mrs Llamastrangler pointed out, it's satisfying to her her saying "run".

Again her gender matters not. Well, except for a good old cheap laugh, that is: "Come to Daddy- I mean, Mummy". But she is completely and utterly Doctorish throughout, in circumstances that display that Doctorishness magnificently. But... Chibnall seems to have yet another bit of backstory for her, as one of the Shrouds of Doom refer to her as "the timeless child" and "an outcast", something which clearly strikes a nerve and which clearly is intended to be picked up on. This is clearly another arc about the Doctor's past; I hope it fits with all the others.

It's nice to see that this "jumping on point", while being carefully continuity-lite, isn't averse to the odd nod to the past such as the mention of Venusian Aikido (from Venusian nuns, apparently). And it appears that last week's baddies- the Stenza- may end up as this season's Big Bad. But all that pales next to the fact that the TARDIS is finally back, redecorated inside and out, after a nice little character moment where the Doctor is close to giving up hope but her three friends aren't. The new interior is awesome- I love the Heath Robinson style of ho it works, the lighting, and the biscuit. Will the Doctor take them straight home? Just as with Ian and Barbara, we know she won't.

And the new theme is also awesome, and the opening title sequence is rather Pertwee, I feel, as opposed to the closing sequence being very Tom. In fact, a lot about Doctor Who is awesome now; it looks so much more cinematic. I don't think the budget has gone up, but it gives the illusion of having done so. And if the scripts are merely good, so far that's ok.

Sherlock: The Final Problem

"I wrote my own version of the nativity when I was a child. "The Hungry Donkey". It was a bit gory. But if you're gonna put a baby in a manger, you're asking for trouble."

I've not been quick in blogging this episode so I've not failed to notice the divided reaction which seems, anecdotally, to be more negative than not. And one of the main criticisms I hear- that this is yet another non-whodunit- is a valid one in that Moffat and Gatiss are certainly not writing what their audience wants and expects from Sherlock. But here lies, I suppose, the question: are writers mere hacks hired to give an audience what they want, or are they artists who may transcend such considerations? There is, of course, no easy answer, and I do not claim to be firmly on either side. But I will make the obvious point that giving the audience what that want connects very awkwardly with giving them surprise and unexpected events. I will also note that I enjoyed this episode very much. And that Mrs Llamastrangler was deeply affected, to the point of tears at the end.

This episode is a series of interlocking puzzles and fun little intellectual games, all with a touch of the macabre, but it is of course really about the character stuff, an excuse to explore the psyches of not only the fascinating Eurus but also Sherlock, John and the pleasingly foregrounded Mycroft.

If there's a disappointment it's the relative lack of Moriarty, whose games from beyond the grave do not come close to living up to expectations and whose screen time is painfully limited. But Eurus is a superb creation and Sian Brooke gives an incredible performance. It's so very clever that, after all the misdirection hinting at a third Holmes brother called "Sherrinford", this is simply the name of the prison where Eurus does her Silence of the Lambs stuff.

There are clever nods to The Musgrave Ritual and The Three Garridebs, but here we are quite moving away from a Holmes canon that the series may have outgrown. Certainly, each character- including Mrs Hudson, Molly and Lestrade, gets what would work as a final scene, suggesting that this may have been intended as a possible finale. I suspect no one connected with the show really knows whether or not Sherlock will ever be back, what with everyone being so very busy, but that this was designed as a fitting finale if need be. I hope it isn't, and I'm sure the creators do too. After all, we end with Sherlock and John both back in 221B Baker Street, and The Dancing Men...

And yeah. Mrs Hudson vacuuming to "The Number of the Beast". Awesome.

The Living Daylights (1987)

"We've nothing to declare!"

Before I go on to praise this splendid film... I may get one last blog post out tomorrow on the train- we will see- but after that there won't be anything more until after my big exam on Tuesday 3rd May. It's a week of hardcore revision for me to look forward to. Still, expect a flurry of new blog posts in the couple of days after the exam, probably.

Anyway, I loved The Living Daylights even if it didn't feel much like a Bond film when watched in context. It's a strange thing to say for a series of spy films, but Bond hadn't done a proper Cold War thriller before and only now, in 1987, the very last opportunity there would ever be, do we get one. And yes, I know we have an American chief baddie as a fig leaf so they can deny that this is a straight ahead Cold War spy film with the Russians as the baddies so as not to offend the real world USSR but, well, they're fooling nobody.

And so we have a tale of defections, crappy police cars, secret police arresting pretty girls in the exotic surroundings of, er, Bratislava, and that classically Cold War locale that is Vienna and a Ferris Wheel that immediately evokes The Third Man. Mind you, nothing has dated quite as much as showing the Afghan Mujahideen as the good guys. I'm no useful idiot, far from it, but Najibullah (not a nice man but no one deserves to die like that) was much better for Afghanistan than what came after.

Timothy Dalton... let's actually mention him, shall we? He's obviously a fine actor, easily the best so far, far more technically competent and nuanced in his portrayal than Connery or Moore. I like him. And yet... he's genuinely charismatic, yes, but less so than either of the two aforementioned, both of whom oozed it, and for me he doesn't quite convince as a ladies' man- well, womaniser. He's too sensitive. Still, a promising debut. 

Maryam d'Abo makes a good, and refreshing Bon-bimboesque, Bond girl, and we get good performances from John Rhys-Davies, Art Malik and the ever-reliable Desmond Llewelyn, in a good film for the gadgets.

This is the best film of the '80s so far, let down only by a mildly disappointing theme song from a-Ha, even if it isn't as awful as Shirley Manson of Garbage notoriously said it is. After the problems of A View to a Kill we now have a younger Bond and a witty script, and as a result there's not a lot wrong.