The Sandman: The Sound of Her Wings

 "That's all there is, little one. That's all you get."

Yes, that scene... I'm a parent and it shook me deeply. I'm so glad they cut away before the mother's discovery of what had happened. But that's the point; death is taboo, and this episode faces it. The first half, covering the comic book issue of the same name, is actually almost entirely faithful to an original which can't really be improved upon. Kirby Howell-Baptiste, while not a goth, is perfect as Neil Gaiman's death: a lovely, caring person who finds meaning in easaing people's transition to the "Sunless Lands".

And that's the point; the Endless exist to fulfil their function. They are not gods, however aloof and arrogant they may seem. They are our servants, not our masters. And Dream, depressed after his recent triumph, gets a much-needed lesson from his very lovely older sister.

And then, after twenty minutes, we get to a faithful retelling of the tale of Hob Gedling, a man who is, essentially, seen to be cheerfully indisting, in a pub, that he will never die. As a resident of small town Leicestershire I could mardily point out that only in London, in pubs frequented by the likes of Chaucer, Marlowe and Shakespeare, do passing gods happen to grant immortality to ordinary blokes out of mere philosphical curiosity. But chips belong on plates, not on shoulders. And chips here in the provinces are both better and cheaper than in that London, of which I'm actually rather fond. Plus, I suppose, there are benefits to living in a part of the country where you can have an ordinary profession and yet own your own home. 

And perhaps two passing gods will do this for me sometime. I'm with Hob: life has its ups and downs; the downs are crushing. But life will always be rich and beautiful, and I will always want it.

So see you at the pub in 2122?

Edge of Darkness: Part 6- Fusion

"You can't die alone, Ronnie..."

"Why not? We all do, you know."

The final episode, at last. As with previous episodes, it very much feels as though a single viewing is not enough to glean what lurks within these fifty crafted minutes. Most interestingly, though, is that this final episode barely goes through the motions of being a thriller, again introducing a variation f James Lovelock's Gaia theory- will we, as Grogan (coded as a villain) transcend our Earth and move to colonise the Solar System (perhaps less likely now than it may have seemed in 1985), or will our continued pillaging of our planet see our Earth mother strangle us in our cradle with the black flowers we see in the final shot? The answer is as uncertain as Craven's fate, but he is ultimately doomed. Are we? Emma's ghost seems to imply that humanity had a sapient predecessor, swallowed by thsoe black flowers.

We get to explore the personal complexities of Jedburgh here, but again we are not spoon fed. He's a man with a death drive, yes, but he is at once sensitive and intelligent while cynical and worldly wise. Is he an environmental idealist, deep down? It's left, I think, deliberately ambiguous. Just like the future, and just like the historical currents in this chaotic world of ours, where the twin false gods of Marxism and market fundamentalism have in turn tried to impose a determinism and teleology which does not exist.

It's a downbeat ending, one that refuses to be neat and makes clear, to Harcourt's shock, that the activities at Northmoor were always sanctioned by the powers that be. Nuclear power exists. We live in a plutonium world. How long we can last is up to us. This isn't as easy, pleasant or enjoyable to watch as previous episodes, but art doesn't have to be any of those things. Sublime.

Edge of Darkness: Part 5- Northmoor

“To know is to die..."

The above quote, from the ever-mercurial and ever-unknowable Jedburgh, one of the most fascinating characters in television history, seems to illustrate a point: knowledge brings us death, whether the radiation thereof is literal or metaphorical. Shades of the myth of Adam and Eve there. Yet we understand why Craven's need to know exceeds his need to live- but what of Jedburgh, who knows this may be a suicide mission? While both seem to survive- Jedburgh with the plutonium- their life expectancy is likely to be much shortened.

This episode marks an extraordinary change of focus- yes, there are the scenes of the parliamentary committee to remind us of a wider, and contested, context, but the whole episode is shaped around our two protagonists retracing the steps of Emma (who doesn't appear- she no longer needs to?) and GAIA, while being tracked by those with no qualms about killing them. It's very much shot to emphasise the constant danger, discomfort and horror. Even the bunker, with its vintage wine and luxuries, feels like a cruel joke.

Interestingly, our protagonists are both acting, intentionally or not, on behalf of spooks on both sides of the pond. But ultimately this penultimate episode reveals less of the plot than expected, even as it reveals what is physically at Northmoor. Meaning and context can wait- but will the final episode give us that? Extraordinary and unpredictable telly, playing to no one's rules.

Edge of Darkness: Part 4- Breakthrough

“Well, bodies kept turning up in the bunkers, and you needed air support to play out of the rough. Kinda puts you off your game."

My, this is getting very deep indeed in terms of plot, psychology and subtext. Nothing I say here will do much more than scratch the surface, but suffice to say that this is masterfully crafted stuff.

Craven is back at home, and almost killed by McCroon, the suspect, for banal reasons of revenge. Yet there's more to this, and not just in one way. Yes, there's the fact that someone gave McCroon the information and resources he needed, but there's also the dirty tricks that took place in Northern Ireland, and Craven's own hands are very much dipped in the blood; he personally recruited informers who were subsequently dropped and allowed to be offed by the Provos. This is, to say the least, no less dishonourable than the other political games going on.

There's the genuine question over Craven's mental state, as much is driven by the presence of Emma's ghost inside his head. Then there's the mercurial Jedburgh, whose entire outward personality is a performance. Who is he, underneath? He's not just eccentric- he seems extraordinarily sanguine about the apparent recent death in El Salvador (the series oozes with '80s current affairs), and his loyalties may not just be to his CIA employers. Are we convinced by the explanation he gives Craven for co-founding GAIA?

Eventually, in a very exciting sequence, Craven gets to hack a very 1980s IT network and get a little more information- not least a map of Northmoor. He also gets Godbold to spread the beans- and, while hopelessly in hock to the nuclear industry, he was in fact Emma's man on the inside- and lets slip that the killers almost certainly suspected Craven of fulfilling that role. This is already a complex web, and a compelling one. Plus, it seems, Craven and Jedburgh are going to retrace Emma's terrorist steps.

Excellent stuff. I raised an eyebrow, however, when Craven was told that you "don't say no" to a Commons select committee or "they lock you up". Someone should tell that to Dominic Cummings.

Edge of Darkness: Part 3- Burden of Proof

"I don't believe in the conspiracy theory of history."

This episode may perhaps be, again, less obviously artistic than the first and even more so than the second and, by now, deeply engrossed and, indeed, engrossing in the unravelling of the complex yet clearly narrated plot, but that is achieved without sacrificing either characterisation or verbal wit. This is still extraordinary, even sublime television, three episodes in.

Bob Peck is again, well, deservedly BAFTA-winning in how he portrays deep emotion and bereavement in a restrained man. Craven may be seen, by the end, by his boss as in need of help over his seeming obsession with deeper conspiracies behind Emma's death, but he is simultaneously seen by Harcourt and Pendleton, those nebulous spooks, as a credible witness for their plans to somehow nobble Bob Bennett, whom they suspect of killing Emma. Craven refuses them, of course, being the decent father that he is, but this goes to illusrate that things are not as they seem. The Texan act of the ever-thinking Jedburgh is, as H and P point out, an act. He's a fascinating, deep and nuanced character, hiding beneath both a stereotype and a supposed political standpoint, yet according to Clemmie he co-founded GAIA, an environmental organisation he now loudly derides as terrorists? With him, there are layers to unpeel.

It's odd, and disturbing, to learn of Craven's intimate, touchy-feely interrogation techniques with Lowe, but then it's established that he's a sex offender. Godbolt again pops up, looking anxious to deny things And Terry, Emma's erstwhile boyfriend, is murdered in the bath after giving Craven a clue. The plot thickens, as always. And there are far too many nuances to recount the plot. Suffice to say, I'm gripped.

If this all reads as the work of a drunk person, well, I'm forty-three today, and I've just finished a bottle of rather good Chilean Cabernet. Burp. Stay at home. Beat coronavirus with good wine. That is all.

Edge of Darkness: Part 2- Into the Shadows

“It’s an anal disease. Marx has trouble with his bowels...”

A less poetic episode this time, perhaps. The camera lingers less and we have a greater focus on the unfolding mystery. There's a lot of plot, although masterful scripting means both that it's easy to follow and the exposition follows naturally from character.

So the subtle recap  at the start comes from the faces of the appalled investigating officers as they hear a tape recording of Ronald Craven's testimony- and I shall start calling him Craven rather than Ronnie; it fits his world. And the world of the spooks- not just Pendleton but Harcourt, his eccentric "other half", played by a young Ian McNeice- is one of exposition, certainly, but also of contrast- southern as opposed to northern, wit and eccentricity as opposed to Craven's sober stillness.

Then there's Emma's shifty boyfriend Terry, played an extraordinarily young Tim McInnerny of the same age as when he first played Percy in Black Adder II. He's a man of apparently strong political views but of dodgy loyalties- a police informer and sleeping with another girl before Emma is even buried. He is, I think, very much a type you'll see in the various organisations of the hard left, some of them rather rapey and all of them full of big fish playing their little games in small pools. Craven doesn't like him and, as we see everything through his eyes (including his daughter in his mind's eye, which continues to humanise him), neither do we.

But by this point we know that Emma led a raid on a nuclear facility at Northmoor. And we, and Craven, learn much more when we meet the fascinating figure of Jedburgh, who hides considerable depths beneath that Stetson hat and brash, Republican, Commie-bashing exterior. He and Craven bond unexpectedly over Willie Nelson, and we discover more juicy little details.

This is clever, controlled, deeply human and a fascinating glimpse into the psyche of 1985. I'm utterly addicted.

Doctor Who: The Wedding of River Song

“You and me- we should get a drink sometime.”

“OK.”

“And married.”

“Fine.”

Oh blimey, here it comes at last. It ratchets up the tension to get such an arc-heavy “Previously on Doctor Who” sequence; it’s always interesting to see which particular clips they choose to go with. Why so much emphasis on the Teselecta, hmm?

The opening is weird, and great. Steam trains choo choo their way into the Gherkin, Roman charioteers wait at traffic lights, a picnic is ruined by pterodactyls and Charles Dickens is giving an interview to BBC Breakfast News. There’s so much stuff crammed in here that will take more viewings to get.

This world is presided over by “Holy Roman Emperor” Winston Churchill, whose war mammoth, thankfully for the budget, is kept off-screen. It’s a bit weird to see the return of that Silurian eugenicist, though; can’t we have some Victorian Sapphic sleuthing, instead?

The Doctor’s entrance into the narrative is both dramatic and bearded, as expected, and it turns out that time has gone all wrong, the universe is in a spot of bother, and this is all a framing narrative anyway. This is all out of left field, and really rather fun.

So, off we go into the main narrative it self. There’s almost as much spectacle here as the Doctor searches for information on why the Silence want him dead. There’s a nice cameo from Mark Gatiss as Gantok, a bizarre Viking dwarf, and some terrific stuff with some scary-looking skulls that eat rats. Brr. But basically, Dorium’s back, decapitated but still alive. Yay!

Dorium’s a great, witty, charismatic character and thus perfect for giving out loads of exposition. That he certainly does here, and there’s one line worth quoting as I’m sure it’s going to mean an awful lot next year- and perhaps up to the 50^th anniversary, given what we learn at the end of this episode: On the fields of Trenzalore, at the fall of the eleventh, when no living creature could speak falsely or fail to answer, a question will be asked. A question that must never be answered.”

What’s this about, then? Is “the fall of the eleventh” a reference to the next regeneration or just a red herring? Just how far ahead is Moffat planning?

Anyway, the whole point of “Silence will fall” is that the Doctor must be killed before he can answer the question, or Bad Things Will Happen. The Doctor is in denial at first but, in a nice little touch, he changes his mind as he learns that Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart has dies. This is a nice little tribute to Nicholas Courtney. That and, as my mate Nick remarked in the pub last night, the fact that they’re all wearing eyepatches. I didn’t see an on-screen caption, though?

It’s interesting to see the events at Lake Silencio again, this time from the Doctor’s perspective, and we’re made privy to the conversation between River and himself. There are two very odd things here, though. Firstly, River is being controlled by the spacesuit and isn’t responsible for what happens. She’s the weapon, not the murderer, so why the Hell does this innocent woman happily end up in prison, “serving time for a murder you probably can’t remember”? And that goes double after what we learn at the end. Secondly, why does River need to be in the spacesuit at all if she doesn’t do anything?

Except, River doesn’t shoot. The Doctor lives, time goes tits up, and we’re back where we started. The framing narrative is now the main narrative, time is dying, the Doctor and Churchill have weapons on them for reasons they can’t remember, and there are tally marks on the Doctor’s arm. Oh dear.

I love the moment where we see loads of Silence on the ceiling- it certainly scared the pants off me. And as for special agent “Pond, Amelia Pond”- what an entrance! Is it me or does Karen Gillan look particularly ravishing in an eyepatch? I love the way the character gets treated here- she’s so cool and so heroic, with an office on a train and everything. And her relationship with alt-Rory is cool, too.

Things now proceed to get cooler as the steam train choo choos into the Great Pyramid, which has “Area 52” written on the side. This is Amy’s headquarters, which she runs alongside River. They’re all wearing eyepatches because this allows them to remember seeing the Silence for as long as they wear them. This is rather important, as they are holding prisoner a number of Silents, plus Madame Kovarian.

I love the Doctor’s attempts at matchmaking between alt-Amy and alt-Rory. “Texting and scones”… I’ve certainly never heard it called that before.

The main romance of this episode is, of course, between River and the Doctor. Everything that happens is about love: River is prepared to allow the universe to die because of her love for the Doctor. As for the Doctor, he’s not pleased about this, but he does drop a subtle hint about his feelings for River. Reader, he marries her. As River says, at least he gets to die knowing that he’s loved. They kiss, and the Earth moves.

We cut to Amy, in her garden, sharing a glass of wine with her daughter. For River, the wreck of the Byzantium has just happened. This is, of course, in her personal future. But things are still raw for Amy. She deliberately allowed Kovarian to die (although this was, as River says, in another reality, so this reality’s Kovarian is presumably still out there) and feels guilty about it. River doesn’t think it’s that bad a crime but, given the circumstances, that’s not too surprising.

River drops a few important revelations. She was only pretending not to recognise that spacesuit in Florida; the Doctor didn’t actually whisper his name to River but something else, and… the Doctor isn’t dead! It was a Teselecta after all, with the real Doctor inside. Predictable enough, I suppose, but it’s been so enjoyable getting up to this moment that I don’t really mind.

The Doctor isn’t going back for Amy and Rory; he still believes what he believed at the end of The God Complex and he prefers to “step into the shadows”. It seems a bit unfair for River to be in prison, but it seems she’s spending all of her nights with her husband, er, texting and scones.

Dorium has the last word, though, revealing the “first question”, the one which must not be answered under any circumstances, for fear of dire consequences.

“Doctor who?”

Doctor Who: Victory of the Daleks

“If Hitler invaded Hell, I would give a favourable reference to the Devil.”

Oh dear. I’m terribly sorry, but my opinions on this story are awfully conventional. I’m really sorry. I can’t help it. I hate it when this sort of thing happens. But yes; I’m rather afraid this is going to be one of those “Ian McNeice is a little too over the top” “New Daleks are crap” / “They got those Spitfires into space awfully quickly, cool though they are” / “The coda with Bracewell’s emotions stopping him going off was a bit pants” reviews. Actually, shall we just take all that as read and get on with something more interesting? Except the new Daleks, obviously. I’m going to have a good whinge about those.

So, it’s a very well-realised London in the Blitz, and an… interesting Churchill. Unfortunate how this was rather close to Brendan Gleeson’s far superior portrayal of the great man in Into the Storm, but there you go. We get CGI barrage balloons again, which is all nice and nostalgic, and lots of iconic Cabinet War Rooms stuff. It’s huge fun to see those khaki Daleks with their Union Flags and “Would you care for some tea?”, although so far this series seems to be doing an awful lot of flag-waving. First an archetypal English village, then Starship UK, now this- is this Moffat’s new British Agenda? I think we should be told.

We get a brief retread of Power of the Daleks for the first ten minutes, rather appropriately- after all, if Tennant could have a remake of Evil of the Daleks then why can’t Smith have a version of their other excellent David Whitaker-penned outing? This doesn’t go on for long, though.

Some interesting arc stuff, though; the Doctor calls Amy “Amelia” when he’s annoyed with her. And for some reason she can’t remember the Daleks, or those whopping great big planets in the sky. Our attention is drawn to this, so it must be significant.

But this set-up is all, of course, just a trap. The one surviving Dalek ship to escape the Doctor-Donna has found a “Progenitor”, with which they can make baby Daleks. Yes, Dalek sex really is that boring. Thing is, though, it really brings home the creepy genocidal nature of the Daleks that this Progenitor thinks they’re racially impure, and won’t even recognise them as fellow Daleks without the “testimony” of their greatest enemy. Worse, the Daleks willingly acquiesce in their own ethnic cleansing at the hands of the new “pure” Daleks. Possibly the most chilling example yet of the horrors of Dalek ideology, and a reminder of how appropriate it is that they should feature in a story set during the Second World War.

Shame the new Daleks are so awful, though. I mean, literally everyone thinks so. What were they thinking? I don’t care how much mentioning there is of things like “rels” and “time corridors” and “the final end.” They’re not even shaped like Daleks. I want my Daleks back!

The Daleks win, of course; they’re now out there, breeding baby Daleks in that strange U-certificate way of theirs, and for the first time since the stories returned they’re no longer an endangered species. But presumably they won’t be returning until they can sort out the horrible new Daleks.

We end with more emphasis on Amy’s forgetting the Daleks, and another crack. The story had some genuinely cool moments, and really treats the Daleks well script-wise, but there are all those little things wrong with it. 3/5, then. Never mind, I’ve already seen the first part of the two-parter that’s up next (I’m on a roll this week), and it’s way, way better.

Doctor Who: The Beast Below

“I’m the bloody Queen, mate. Basically, I rule.”

So, Matt Smith’s first story in space and in the future. The UK, on a rock, floating in space. Devon. Surrey. There’ll be a Leicestershire somewhere. Probably infested with the bloody space BNP, knowing us.

This is a future Britain where it’s forever the 1950’s; there’s even a Magpie Electricals. And the 1950s classroom is made terrifying by the ever-reliable Steven Moffat, with just a circus-like creature in a booth and the three words “Bad boy, Timmy.” I’ll go on about this properly later on, but this is effectively The Happiness Patrol done much better, and with much more successful imagery. I mean, which is the scarier icon, Bertie Bassett or a post-Life on Mars test card girl?

I love the new theme. It’s similar, but not too similar, to the Trial of a Time Lord theme, but creepier. And the title sequence is great too. I’m liking this new era so far. I’m certainly loving our two leads. How can anyone not love the shot of Amy flying, in space, anchored to reality only be the Doctor’s hand on her ankle? Fairytale indeed.

Time to come down to Earth, though. I’m no continuity obsessive (Er, that’ll be my inner twelve year old child. Not me, guv.), but the Moff has got is facts wrong! Solar flares? In the 29th century? I think this is supposed to evoke The Ark in Space, but the Nerva Beacon was only built in the 29th century, during the time of Revenge of the Cybermen. Tsk. Stop looking at me like that. No, really.

You’ve got to love companions’ first stories, not least for the cobblers the Doctor can only get away with spouting at these times. “We are observers only,” he says. “That’s the one rule I’ve stuck to in all my travels. I never get involved in the affairs of other peoples or planets.” Then he goes straight out of the TARDIS to comfort a little girl, irrevocably involving himself. And this is even integral to the resolution of the plot. Moffat, you’re brilliant.

This is a great introduction to our new Doctor and his eccentricities. The reasoning as to why this world of red phone boxes and lollipop ladies is such a repressive police state, the glass of water on the floor, the warnings about “escaped fish”- this is unmistakeably the Doctor, but just as unmistakably not the last one.

Amy, who is 1,306 and long dead, has her first thoughts about a wedding, “A long time ago, tomorrow morning”, that she’s clearly terrified by. But this doesn’t impede her sense of adventure, and neither does that Death to the Daleks-y root thing.

And the Doctor meets the mysterious, masked Liz 10 and gets some answers; this impossible vessel is travelling without an engine. If this didn’t feel 2000 AD enough (and I don’t just say that because it makes me think of Pat Mills and space whales), we have a voting booth and buttons marked “Protest” and “Forget”. “And once every five years,” says the Doctor is a wonderful bit of satire, “everyone chooses to forget what they’ve learned. Democracy in action.” So he’s bringing down the government, another sign that this is basically a much-improved version of The Happiness Patrol, complete with gunge tank, but without the “camera pointed at a stage with abstract scenery” vibe. I mean, here the cameras move about a lot and everything, although it still looks a little too studio-bound. This is especially obvious in the scene where it’s revealed they’re inside a huge mouth. That asteroid in The Empire Strikes Back this ain’t. These few scenes are my only real criticism of the story, though. I mean, I even gave The Happiness Patrol a 5/5.

Liz 10’s identity is revealed as “technically not a British subject”, and someone whose family has certainly known the Doctor, in various senses (“And so much for the Virgin Queen, you bad, bad boy!”).

The big reveal is very, very clever, with the Queen simultaneously behind it all and investigating her own actions, over and over again, every ten years ago choosing between the buttons “Forget” and “Abdicate”. It’s also horrible, with the creature being horribly and constantly tortured for centuries. Amy redeems herself by working it all out, but what does it say about the Doctor that this lonely and literally tortured being is essentially a metaphor for him?

All’s well in the end, a good 5/5, and the Doctor and Amy are off to another adventure with Winston Churchill and the Daleks. But what’s that? A crack…

(Oh, and I’ve just seen that extra scene on the DVD for the first time. Fantastic!)