Angel: The Ring

"Why aren't Wolfram and Hart in here?"

"Because they're lawyers, not demons?"

"Fine line, if you ask me…"

The first rule of The Ring is- sorry, cheap joke. Actually, this episode owes nowhere near as much to Fight Club as I thought I remembered, certainly not as much as a certain episode of Torchwood. Roman gladiator movies and Raymond Chandler struck me as much bigger influences. No, really.

Obviously, we have Angel being Spartacus here, leading the revolt of the reluctant slaves and proving the moral lesson that banding together makes more sense that rugged individualism and all that. But he's never been more heroic or noble, turning down the promise of life and freedom just because of his moral principles. He's a man with the chivalrous value system of a knight from a mediaeval romance who lives in modern, urban California. I suppose it's odd, in hindsight, that I haven't noticed this blatantly obvious point before. Duh.

The other interesting character point is the continuing development of Wesley; he has some klutz moments, yes, but he also gets wittier dialogue and even a genuine badass moment as he beats up the bookie. Both he and the impressively resourceful Cordelia are shown to be an effective part of Angel Investigations, although this episode makes it even less clear exactly how the business stays afloat; they get their first client for ages and he turns out not to be genuine, or anywhere near as concerned about his brother's life as he claims.

Season arc-wise, though, this is fascinating. Wolfram and Hart (plus Lindsay) were introduced in City of… but we've seen pretty bugger all of them until now, rather close to the end of the season. But this time their actions seem to be leading to something, and the deliciously amoral Lilah Morgan gets her first appearance, getting herself a great scene with Angel where she does the Mephistopheles thing... Things are slowly becoming more and more like the programme Angel will become, but there's some way to go yet.

I was surprised just how much I enjoyed this episode. Yes, it was derivative, but the plot was well executed and the script sparkled.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Who Are You

"You can't do that! It's wrong!"

This seems, at first, as though it's going to be predictable: Buffy and Faith have switched bodies because of some McGuffin. We can see the sort of direction in which this is headed, right? Except that we then see that it's both written and directed by Joss Whedon. Immediately we begin to suspect that this is going to be much cleverer than we expected.

We in Doctor Who fandom often speak of "Doctor lite" episodes, in which the Doctor is largely absent for production reasons but this makes us all the more aware of the Doctor because of the gap he leaves behind. This is a Buffy lite episode in that sense, albeit one that happens to star Sarah Michelle Gellar as Faith. And Gellar's mastery of all Faith's mannerisms is scarily brilliant.

The whole shape of the episode is relievingly focussed on Faith's reaction to living Buffy's life, and gradually becoming her, as opposed to lots of potentially frustrating scenes of Buffy being misunderstood and disbelieved. Yes, there are scenes with Buffy and a few annoying idiots from the Watchers' Council, but that's fine because they're idiots. The "British" dialogue is really awkward, though, which is really surprising from Joss Whedon, who previously has always got it right. They refer to the UK as "the mother country", a phrase no Brit would ever use: we're not Russians! And as for "Stop her, you ponce!"…. oh dear!

Still, all the scenes with Faith in Buffy's body are incredible to behold. I love the shot with the mirror, early on, and Faith's slow gradual acceptance of the hero's role. The whole thing pivots on the sex scene with the unwittingly unfaithful Riley, as Faith experiences slow, loving sex for the first time and is disturbed by it. There's a slightly troubling aspect to this- Faith, like the vampires in this show, is kinky, and this seems to be a bit of a signifier of nefariousness, like smoking. This scene can only really be read as saying that Faith learns the error of her bad, kinky ways and learns the value of loving, emotional sex, as though the two were mutually exclusive. It's a surprisingly and disturbingly judgemental and puritanical message.

Still, the other sex scene is much nicer and cuter, even if, what with it being a lesbian sex scene and this being the USA in 2000, it has to be shown in metaphor. But the intense, sweaty "spell" between Willow and Tara clearly shows us that, as Faith notices, they're a couple. Oh, and that exchange ("I am, you know." What?" "Yours.") just made me melt. The two of them are such an adorable couple. Even better, the two of them are more or less now officially "out", at least in Scooby circles.

The ending is perfect, with Faith angrily lashing out at Buffy for looking like her and hating the bad things she's done and the choices she's made. The body swap doesn't last, but at least for Faith there now seems to be a chance of redemption.

RoboCop (1987)

"Best way to steal money is free enterprise."

Right. The next five Saturdays will be Doctor Who nights. That means no movie reviews until after then, probably. So here's one last review slipped in while I can…

This is a very unusual film, far more so than it appears at first glance. It's an '80s macho action film with loads of posturing, gore and violence, a genre we all know well. Thing is, though, we all vaguely assume, correctly, there's something intrinsically right wing about genre. Interesting, then, that RoboCop should be so centred around a central message. Because this is a film about the excesses of privatisation. OCP has already run prisons and hospitals and now, with inevitable corruption, it runs the police. I look at this film, I look at the creeping privatisation of the police under the UK's Coalition government, and I'm scared.

Not that the film, with its vague near-future setting, is prescient in all things, of course. "Old Detroit" seems rather more populated than the Detroit of 2012. Characters are seen smoking indoors. The fashions are irredeemably '80s. But the political satire is frighteningly accurate; a privatised police force leads, inevitably to corruption. Even before we find out that Clarence Boddicker is working for Dick Jones we're clearly shown that there's a moral equivalence: that quote up there comes from Boddicker. In Old Detroit there's no public service, only profit. And no one at OCP displays and moral sense at any point whatsoever. The difference between Bob Morton and the other executives is pure hubris; they're no more moral than he is. We're given constant contrasts between the violent world of the overtly criminal and the no less disgusting world of the corporate, a world of cocaine, hookers, ruthless competition and (literally, with ED-209!) blood on the carpet. The corporate world is completely unglamorous: Wall Street this ain't. There's a good symbolic reason why we get so many scenes set in the toilet.

All this is further shown by the hilarious news broadcasts, which eerily foreshadow The Day Today but are gloriously dark, with an aggressively nuclear apartheid South Africa and the Star Wars "Peace" platform. This is also a nice narrative device for moving the plot along. RoboCop is a very pacey film. It's also a very violent, gory film, of course (especially Emil and the chemicals!!!), which is the main thing noticed by my eleven year old self when I first saw the film, hired from the local video shop. It feels a long time ago.

It's not perfect; Peter Weller's acting is not unlike a plank of wood. There's also an embarrassing plot hole: why does OCP sent RoboCop to a precinct where he might be recognised as Murphy? But it's witty, brilliantly shot by Paul Verhoeven, and gloriously violent. RoboCop is a true '80s video classic. I hadn't seen it for about twenty years, which is shocking. Don't make the mistake I did!

Henry V (Richard Eyre, 2012)

"Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it."

In a way, it's rather annoying that I've done so much musing over the disconnect between Shakespeare's plotting dialogue, specifically written to be performed on a stage, with all the limitations that implies, and the medium of television, and sumptuously shot location shots to boot. If I'd waited until now to talk about I would have had so much to say. After all, consider the chorus here- a gloriously metatextual character, probably played originally by Shakespeare himself, who refers to a "wooden O" and apologises for the compression of time which all historical dramas do and which his bits help to elide. It's particularly eyebrow-raising to hear John Hurt declaiming apologies for not being able to represent the battle scenes properly as we watch brilliantly realised battle scenes. It's a juxtaposition that seems almost deliberately intended to highlight the tension between media.

Metatextual stuff aside, though, and briefly mentioning that this is my first experience of the play, not just there's an intriguing political subtext. This play follows on directly from its predecessors, even to the point of featuring Bardolph, Pistol, Mistress Quickly and (sort of) Falstaff. We can assume, then, that there's a continuity of theme, and that the examination of the nature of kingship should be understood in relation to this continuity. In fact, There's an interesting scene, on the morning of the battle, when he pleads with God not to punish him for the sins of his father, insisting that "I Richard's body have interred anew". Hence, presumably, his determination to attribute his eventual victory to God alone, and perhaps even his very determination to pursue his claims in France- an assertion of royal legitimacy and, perhaps, one his usurping father could not have made.

Hal may be very different from his former self, as we clearly see when he approves the hanging of his old mate Bardolph. The prevention of looting in captured towns is more important to a king than old friendships, however oddly this may sit with his later orders to kill all the prisoners!!! But is he really all that good a king? Because, unusually for Shakespeare, I think I can detect a definite authorial voice at work in this play. And that voice is asking why on Earth should ordinary people suffer and die in war just to satisfy the "honour" of lords and kings. Shakespeare, I think, would have seen honour as Falstaff did, not as King Harry does here. Which, then, is the more virtuous? Shakespeare gives us a king who seems to fit all the conventional notions of the good king, and then questions that. After all, he kills prisoners, betrays his friends, and wages war for his personal "honour". It's a very different angle on kingship from its three prequels, but it's fascinating, important, and rounds out the thematic whole that is the four plays on kingship.

Tom Hiddleston is extraordinary, and pulls off the task of making Hal and King Henry seem simultaneously very, very different and yet absolutely the same person. His two main speeches are surprisingly low-key and un-Olivier-like.

To finish, it's interesting for this Leicestershire native to hear Pistol addressing his new wife, the former Mistress Quickly., as "me duck!" It seems that our ways of speaking once spread much further southwards than they do now. And it's a bit of a bolt to be reminded that King Henry died at 35, the age I am now. He conquered France… what have I done?

Angel: The Prodigal

"Since she tried to kill me, it's been different…"

Oooh boy. This season has generally had a strong "monster of the week" feel. Excessively so, much as the individual episodes have often been good. But this episode, for once, is arc, arc, arc. We have a hint that there are things afoot which don't involve reset buttons.

We see Kate's continuing struggle to accept who Angel is, and to grasp that there are such things as vampires and demons, completely shattering the world view that underpins all her values; what use is a cop against such things? How can she possibly protect the public? There's a rapprochement, of sorts, in the middle of the episode, but she ends the episode still feeling as she did at the start, but with added grief. Will she and Angel ever reconcile? Still, the concept of demons on PCP (with added eye of newt!) is pretty damn brilliant, as is the fact that Angel can't prevent Lockley Snr's death because he hasn't been invited in although, interestingly, he's able to enter from the moment of the owner's death. Of course, I'm still watching this show like a hawk for the inevitable moment when Anger enters a property and shouldn't be able to…..

But this episode is mainly about fathers. Kate, in the present, sees her father sin, and suffer death as a consequence, leaving so many things unsaid between them. This is strongly paralleled with scenes between Liam, in 1753, and his own father, a similarly difficult-to-please figure.

But there's a third father, intriguingly: Darla. It was she who "sired" Angel: note the masculinity of the verb, which neatly implies that she is his father as well as his lover. That seems more than a little disgustingly incestuous, yes, and no, it wasn't a sentence I was particularly expecting to be writing this morning.

It's a bit strange, though, to bring back a character, even in flashback, after so long. We haven't seen Darla since the early episodes of Buffy Season One, after all. Casual or first time viewers won't even remember her. I certainly didn't, on my first marathon trek through the Buffyverse.

We learn a few more things about Liam, most notably his year of birth (1727; he turns 23 in 2000), and the circumstances of his awakening as a vampire and his first kill. A possible source of the nickname Angel is even rather awkwardly crowbarred in.

Things end on a rather unresolved not, in terms of Kate and Angel's relationship but also in a wider sense. But I think Kate is wrong to doubt Angel's humanity; his body may be all vampire, but that's not who he is.

Free Enterprise (1999)

"What would William Shatner do?"

I can't believe I'd never heard of this film until a few weeks ago. It's essentially a romantic comedy set in the world of geek culture. It very much like (and as good as) a Kevin Smith film (Chasing Amy in particular), but with William Shatner instead of Jay and Silent Bob. It's funny, witty, and well worth seeing.

There are a lot of Star Trek references in here, of course, but the net of geeky cultural references is cast wide enough to please everyone. Personally, I'm someone who watches and enjoys Star Trek (except Voyager and Enterprise, cos they're rubbish), but I'd stop short of calling myself a fan. Doctor Who fandom has become a huge part of my social life, and I've dipped a toe into Buffyverse fandom. Star Trek, much as I enjoy it, is lacking in a certain quirkiness, and I suppose I'm not too keen on the authoritarian Utopianism of the whole concept of the Federation. Also, I have this general impression (which may be very, very wrong!) is a different culture from the fandoms I'm used to, which tend to be vaguely left of centre and don't take themselves too seriously. The original series still rules, though, and I also like TNG, much as I always side with Q.

This film makes me wonder if I'm wrong about Star Trek fandom, though. The characters are likeable, funny and (sort of) cool. They're very, very South Californian, what with all the mutual psychoanalysing that goes on, they all seem to work in "the industry", and Bob and Mark, at least, seem to live in very nice-looking apartments, but ultimately they're people I can identify with.

It's interesting, though, that one thing that's dated since 1999 has been the concept that girls don't get geek culture, which is nowhere near as true as it once was. Geekery is not as marginalised as it was then. Then again, it wasn't really until the '90s that adult geek culture really began to get noticed by the media at all.

I also like the way that the film sharply differentiates between Bob's geekery and his immaturity. He's not immature because he's a geek; Claire's as much of a geek as he is. He's immature because he's useless with money and gets himself stupidly fired. It's refreshing how this film makes a clear distinction between being childish (bad thing) and being childlike (bad thing).

Mark, of course, is nearly 30, after which it is of course all downhill. I like the way the film Logan's Run (must see that someday!) gets used to symbolise this. It's one of many nice little touches in the film. My favourite is the scene with, er, some very, very dangerous driving, although Mark's stirring monologue towards the end comes a close second. It's nice how the plot ends, in true romantic comedy style, with Bob, Mark and the Shat all being paired off.

It's nice, for once, to have a film where all the actors are unknowns, and you don't get distracted by actor-spotting. This also means that the film's guest star, the Shat himself, really gets to stand out and shine, cheerfully taking the piss out of himself. Still, a six hour musical version of Julius Caesar, with William Shatner playing all the characters? I don't know about you, but I'd pay good money to see that.

Henry IV, Part II (Richard Eyre, 2012)

"Presume not that I am the thing I was!"

It's been a while since I reviewed Part I, I know. The last few weeks have been somewhat unusual, though. The blog is now back to normal and you can expect Henry V fairly sharpish, probably next Saturday. I was actually going to review a film today but I really have to get these Hollow Crown adaptations watched and reviewed as I recorded them off the telly and they're taking up too much space. So, the current schedule is Shakespeare for two consecutive Saturdays, after which Saturday (or Sunday if I happen to be out Saturday) will be where I review new episodes of Doctor Who. I'll be doing a film on Bank Holiday morning. Only one other person (yes, you, Nick!) knows what it is. After the five weeks of Doctor Who then Saturdays will revert to films again, although I also plan to slot in a recording of Macbeth from BBC 4 at some point. The rest of the week will be all Buffy and Angel.

So, Part II. Again, the only one of these plays I've read or seen before is Richard II, so forgive me if I react to a play that is new to me. There's a real sense of foreboding right from the start. All these parallels of different pairs of fathers and sons are soooo last play. The old Earl of Northumberland, such a presence in the last play, gets only two scenes, in one of which he suffers the bereavement of his much-loved son, and another in which he buggers off out of the play. It's interesting that the scene in which he hears of his bereavement should take place amongst such bleakly beautiful Northumberland countryside.

But this play, unlike its predecessor, is concerned with just one father and one son. Even Falstaff, this time, is no longer a father figure; he and Hal are on strained terms from the beginning, and Simon Russell Beale gives Falstaff a palpable anxiety throughout, as if he knows, deep down, that the prince will disown him. There's much more emphasis on his physical age, even to the point of a sex scene which makes it clear that his performance is not what it was. Tom Hiddleston, too, gives us a more serious prince from the beginning, with the frailty and mortality of his father weighing upon his mind.

This play is much more serious than its prequel. It's not that there isn't comedy- there are some glorious insults in the scene where Falstaff is arrested, and Robert Shallow is a brilliant comic creation. But there's an ever-present sense of decline and doom which can only be redeemed by the accession of a king freed from the original sin of being a usurper. The old king visibly declines throughout the play, and becomes much more morose and philosophical, even getting a soliloquy on his insomnia, which even kings are subject to. Like Cnut, this king knows that nature marks a limit to his power. Perhaps there's also a suggestion that his inability to sleep, and the tumult that besets his realm, are a result of his illegitimacy as a king. It's significant that he even quotes Richard.

We're reminded that Falstaff, as a knight, has certain feudal obligations in time of war as we see him recruiting peasants to take with him.  One of them, Ralph Mouldy, points out that his wife and children will have no breadwinner while he's away fighting, a reminder that these aristocratic wars have cruel consequences for those further down the scale. Another peasant is fatalistic about his possible death, a motif that recurs throughout the latter stages of the play: as Shallow points out, "Death is certain". For everyone in this play, death is very near. Shallow is conscious of his many dead acquaintances; he sees his generation beginning to pass away. The king is dying. People die in wars, "traitors" are casually and summarily executed, and there are many, many mentions of old Falstaff's mortality, which culminate in his admonishment from the new King Henry V.

This scene is the fulcrum of both plays, of course: the new king's "I know thee not, old man." His new, royal persona is so very different from the playboy prince of the recent past but then, of course, as we knew from Hal's soliloquy at the start of the previous play, the playboy prince was no less of a mask than the kingly one. Hal has to clearly separate the man and the king, having learned from his father that kingship is a burden.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: This Year's Girl

"It's just with…"

"Little sis coming, I know. So much to do before she gets here!"

Gosh, that's an interesting bit of dialogue. What on Earth could it possibly mean?

This episode is probably more fun of stuff than any Buffy episode ever, as Faith wakes up at precisely the least convenient moment. Even the "Previously on…" segment is the busiest one ever. Not only do we have all the "current" characters making an appearance, plus Faith, but Joyce and even the late Mayor put in an appearance. There's a fair bit going on here.

It's interesting, given the fact that Adam is at the forefront of all our minds, that the early scenes, with Faith in a coma, should use imagery which so strongly hints at Frankenstein. Also interesting is that Faith should spend much of this episode subtly but symbolically dressed as Red Riding Hood. I have no idea what either of these things mean. The extended dream sequences early on are interesting and mystifying, too. The Mayor is obviously the father figure, taking Faith on a fatherly picnic, but the snake? Obviously it refers to his death but also, you know. It's a bit phallic. Faith makes a joking reference to "some stuff about cigars and a tunnel", but most of this subtext is going right over my head.

Still, Faith is back, and she's dangerous. Everybody's scared of her. But there's so much else going on here, albeit with her as the catalyst; she isn't going to really move beyond that and start doing the bad stuff until next episode. So here she just lurks around, while her presence causes things to happen, such as Buffy failing to explain about her sunlight-averse ex to Riley, Joyce realising that Buffy hasn't paid much attention to her for months, and Spike having to exclaim "Can't any of you damned Scooby club at least try to remember that I hate you all?". Of course, this is also a bit of a rebuke to us viewers for too quickly accepting Spike's unwilling role as good guy, and thus pleasingly meta.

Riley is learning to live in a world with shades of grey in it, with the help of his adoring girlfriend. They're very lovey-dovey here, but there's an underlying tragedy; Riley has given up everything he believed in for her and firmly deciding whose side he's on, agreeing to act as the Scoobies' double agent in the Initiative. Buffy is now the sole centre of all meaning in his life. And yet… the signs are that Buffy isn't that into him; for all her fussing over him and her genuine deep affection, there are all sorts of signs that the relationship isn't going to last for ever. When it ends, where will Riley go?

Once again I have to give a shout out to Amber Benson for some outstandingly good physical acting, but also to Sarah Michelle Gellar who, as the star, is easy to take for granted. The last five seconds of the episode remind us just how good an actress she is.

Oh, and I like the new wardrobe for the Watchers' Council. Very fetching.

Angel: I've Got You Under My Skin

"Pretend to read any good books lately?"

Another standalone episode, this. I suppose it was inevitable that Angel would eventually do The Exorcist. (Which, er, I haven't actually seen at this point. I must blog it sometime). This is a fairly standard runaround with the tropes, really, with a couple of nice bits of misdirection: the sinister-looking father is nothing of the sort, and the boy is more evil than the demon. It's a nice and well-crafted self-contained forty-two minute story. Unlike the previous episode, it has a fair few interesting character moments. And it's anything but skippable.

For one thing, Wesley gets a bit more hinterland as we learn that he was afraid of his father, who he believes to be disappointed in him. We're obviously going to return to this. On the other hand, this episode continues the trend whereby he's becoming incrementally more brave and heroic. If Wesley's going to become established as a regular then his character is going to have to move beyond the role of comic relief. Angel is still profoundly affected by Doyle's death. And Cordelia, of course, makes some valid points about nursery rhymes, although she seems to be something of a gullible shopper. The end of the episode, and the awkwardness between Angel and Kate, hints that some kind of reckoning between the two of them is coming soon.

I can't help but admire the nuts and bolts of the plotting here. Angel, of course, has to be invited into the Andersons' house, but the plot rather cleverly arranges for this to happen in as subtle a way as possible. The misdirection with the father is done so very cleverly- he even smokes, so he must be villain, right? Even cleverer is the fact that the father's matches have an important role to play at the end. But the episode turns on a sixpence at the moment Ryan is revealed as the demon, and his parents both immediately switch roles in their attitude to Angel. That's a very neat and clever bit of plotting.

If I could be allowed a digression, though… what is it with suburban America and picket fences? You can just step over the silly things. They look absurd. Why on Earth do people have them?

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Goodbye Iowa

"You know, you should really get yourself a boring boyfriend, like Xander.

You can't have Xander!"

This isn't the first time I've compared Buffy, or Joss Whedon serials generally, to Chris Claremont's run on X-Men in the 1980s. (Apologies to non-comic geeks; just skip the next couple of sentences and it'll be fine!) We have a combination of a fast-moving, ever-changing status quo and a strong focus on characterisation which just seems so very close in style that I suspect there's a strong, direct influence. If so, it works as well on screen as it did on the comic book page. This episode is big, important, arc-defining, but essentially all about character, character, character.

Riley is now suffering the after-effects of his failure to ask questions, as the fact that everything he knew was wrong causes his entire world to fall apart. His emotional denial that Walsh – his surrogate mother- could do such terrible things is paralleled by the cold turkey he's going through, having been unknowingly fed a kind of super-soldier serum. There's a very strong parallel between the physical and mental symptoms, to the point where each is a metaphor for the other. The emotional heart of the episode is Riley realising he can't kill an old demon lady. There's hope for him, but by the end of the episode it still hasn't arrived. These things take time. And Buffy realises he needs her, she cares deeply, but nothing she tries can make him any better. They're in love, at this precise moment, but they're not soulmates and they never will be. Riley's the unquestioning sort who does as he's told and needs certainty as a bedrock. Buffy questions things and needs to decide things for herself before there can be any certainty. It's tempting to see two opposing political and philosophical positions here, not exactly left vs. right but authoritarianism vs. liberalism.

Elsewhere, the season arc is explored in the biggest info-dump so far. If it wasn't blatant enough that Adam is a version of Frankenstein's monster, we get a rather distressing scene with a small child in the forest which quite pointedly evokes a similar scene from James Whale's Frankenstein. And it's Adam who, most kindly, gives us a much-needed shot of exposition towards the end of the episode. And yes, he's the season's Big Bad, here at last.

In other news, Willow and Tara continue to make sweet, romantic magic in an increasingly obvious metaphor for sex acts, which is lovely. Amber Benson continues to be amazing in how she portrays the socially awkward Tara. Willy's back, and it's great to see him again. It suddenly strikes me just how huge Xander's basement is. Probably the coolest thing in this episode is Spike's thumbs-up gesture to the suggestion of Buffy's being killed, but it's clear that there's no way back for him; the demon grapevine has heard what he's been up to. Life seems to be railroading him into Scoobydom, whether he likes it or not.

Angel: She

"I was so glad you came. You know how parties are? You're always worried that no one's gonna suck the energy out of the room like a giant black hole of boring despair. But, there you were in the clinch!"

Well, that was mostly rubbish. A rather pointless riff on the whole Stepford Wives trope. The whole concept feels out of place in this show, grounded as it is in vampires, demons and other such elements of the horror genre. This episode felt like science fiction, and that jarred.

Worse, it didn't seem to have anything to say. The concept- a race where men enslave their women by, in effect, lobotomising them, symbolically amputating the seat of their sexuality. At first I thought there might be something of a subtext about female genital mutilation, but on balance I'm not sure there's a subtext at all. And that's a problem. Without some kind of authorial message about gender roles, feminism or the like, a concept like this is pretty much pointless.

On the other hand, though, everything about the episode that wasn't the actual plot was pretty darned good. I loved Cordelia's party, although there's nothing like a party scene to graphically show how awful the fashions were back then. Was it really only twelve years ago?

I'm with Angel, I have to say. Parties are generally not fun. They're full of endless small talk , and endless small talk is not my idea of a good time. I think that's what we were supposed to conclude, interestingly; Angel's conversation with the woman who has a Masters in Fine Arts but is running a sandwich shop pretty much highlights the desperation and loneliness of life in the big city, a running theme of Angel. I think we're supposed to see the party as essentially this in microcosm. Alas, only Angel and Dennis seem to understand this basic truth.

Also, Wesley is now officially an employee of Angel Investigations, after a surprisingly long time. All three of our leads continue to be great, with the three characters having a fantastic dynamic together. Angel gets the best moments, though. I love his hatred of mobile phones, although the phone he's using looks absolutely prehistoric in 2012. And his brief stint as a guide in the art gallery is the coolest thing ever. I'm not sure it makes much sense that the cruel and evil Angelus would have been so pally with Baudelaire, but the whole thing is so cool that I'm going to overlook that.

Also, of course, I love what they do with the closing titles. Otherwise, though, this is a plodding, pointless and eminently skippable episode.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The I in Team

"Everyone's getting spanked but me!"

This is it, then. The pivot around which the whole fourth season turns. We finally get confirmation that the Initiative are not fluffy bunnies after all, and that Professor Walsh is actually rather unpleasant beneath that pleasant exterior. The status quo has changed. Oh, and welcome back to the blog. It's now back properly.

Initially we look as though we're getting an episode about the friction between Buffy's old mates and Buffy's new mates and, well, we are, but we're led to expect that this is going to be a running thread. It isn't; there's one bit of misdirection. There's a nice scene early on in which it looks as though Buffy and Riley are about to get jiggy for the first time, but in fact Buffy is about to be inducted into the Initiative. It's very funny but, this being a Joss Whedon show, and with apologies for the pretentiousness, it's also something of a synecdoche. By far the biggest bit of misdirection, of course, is Walsh's speech at the end, which really plays on our expectations of her being the Big Bad. Naturally, she gets a suddenly killed by Adam, her, er, son.

Ah yes, Adam. Earlier in the show Buffy used to do nice little homages to horror tropes including, in Some Assembly Required. This episode not only returns to the Frankenstein meme and promotes it to season arc status, but also nods to a second Universal movie by featuring a monster which looks uncannily like the thing in The Creature from the Black Lagoon or, if you prefer, Go Fish.

Of course, the emotional heart of the episode is Walsh's attempts, for her own sinister reasons, to engineer Buffy's death, thereby causing Buffy and Riley against her. For Buffy, who is independent and used to questioning things, this is relatively straightforward. For Riley, who doesn't ask questions (this pretty much gets rammed down our throats and, it's heavily stressed, is not a good thing), it's going to mean a lot of angst. Personally, I'm fascinated by the montage of Buffy and Riley, in slow motion, alternately fighting the Creature and having metaphorical / flashback sex, and then having actual sex, really good sex by the look of it, in slow motion. The implication is that it's really great sex, but also linked to fighting, and thus purely about the physical. These two are going to have some great sex together, but they're not going to be together for too long.

Still, I like the scene where Buffy wakes up, momentarily thinks Riley's not there, then realises that not only is he lying next to her but they're lying in the pinkest, fluffiest, most romantic bedroom in the history of ever.

Speaking of romance, Willow and Tara continue to be the cutest couple ever, and I have to single out Amber Benson for particular praise. She's extraordinary at portraying the body language of someone who's been hurt, bullied, and possibly abused.

We end with the status quo changed entirely. What now?

I'm Baaaaack!

Phew.

Right, that's a rather stressful couple of weeks done and over with. The blog is now officially back from its hiatus, and a normal schedule will resume from tomorrow, with the usual exceptions of nights at the pub, gigs, conventions etc..

The coming weeks see much more Buffy and Angel, a new season of Doctor Who, and the rest of the BBC's recent Shakespeare history plays...

Henry IV, Part I (Richard Eyre, 2012)

"Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world!"

"I do. I will."

I'd never seen or read this play before, this English graduate sheepishly admits. There are rather a lot of them, and those pesky academics are pushing to include more and more to the fortyish plays. For the record, I've seen or red fourteen including this one. That said, it's surprising, as ever, how much of this play, a lot of it concerning Falstaff, was familiar.

That gives me a bit of a challenge. When I reviewed Julius Caesar and Richard II I was discussing the production rather than the play, which I already knew. I'll endeavour to keep this review in that same spirit, but I hope you'll forgive me a small digression on my first impressions of the play.

The play continues the theme of kingship from Richard II, with Henry IV, a usurper, plagued by guilt and incipient rebellion. Fascinatingly, there are two pairs of doubles who dominate the play. The dour, guilt-ridden, dutiful, rebellion-plagued Henry is contrasted with the fun-loving, cheerfully cynical but emotionally vulnerable Falstaff, giving Prince Hal two polar opposites as "fathers". Meanwhile, Hal, a dissolute young man who contains greatness within him, and is much cannier than he looks, is contrasted against the brave, honourable but impulsive and not-too-bright Hotspur. We get a lot of foreshadowing that Hal will put away childish things when he starts, er, kinging, and that he will, indeed, on that day, banish plump Jack and banish all the world. Hotspur, in getting himself and a lot of people pointlessly killed, illustrates, I suppose, that Hal's strategy, if we can call it, of making himself seem to be a bit of a waster so he can surprise everyone, is a good idea. Although robbery is perhaps pushing it a bit far.

Underlying this is a sense that something is rotten in the state of England; Henry's speech about rebels at the climax, given his own actions, rings hollow, and it is the rebels, not him, who speak of honour. The only hope lies in the next generation.

Interesting, then, that this more rotten England gets a far grittier and more lived-in mediaeval look than did Richard II, which seemed much more on the High Middle Ages. We get constant contrasts between earthy taverns and a cold, grey, empty, joyless castle which really emphasises, in the use of setting, how this play cuts between two very different worlds, one joyless and rooted in a terrible sin, the other merry but ultimately without honour or values. For all it's japes, and its sack, and its misguided honour, this is an England that has lost its way. It's notable that the final battle is shot mainly in close shots to give a sense of confusion, chaos and claustrophobia. There's bitter snow, and fog clouding everything. The battle is won, but things are not right. This generation has failed, and the throne itself is still in question.

Jeremy Irons is superb as the recast, older, rather depressed Henry IV, who has gained only misery by seizing the throne. Simon Russell Beale, my first Falstaff, made me fall in love with the character and want to see more interpretations. But I suspect it's Tom Hiddleston, Loki himself, who will make the biggest impression over the three plays. There are broad hints of how his character will develop, and I'm looking forward to what happens with his performance. Perhaps it's the battle scene, more even than the play-acting in the tavern, that points the way. This is not Falstaff's world, but Hal belongs.

Angel: Expecting

"I learned men are evil… no, wait, I knew that."

Boo! Weren't expecting this, were you? Neither was I, to be honest. This blog is still more or less on semi-hiatus until after the first week of August but I find myself with an unexpected free evening. What could be more appropriate than to watch and review an episode of Angel called Expecting?

About ten minutes in, I was all ready to hate this episode. Cordelia has sex with someone she hasn't known for long, and whoosh! She's pregnant the next morning. At first glance, this appears tiresomely puritanical in its message, especially with Cordelia's pre-existing issues (emphasised here) with thinking that she's being punished. But that's not what this is about. For one thing, Cordelia makes it clear that "everything was safe", a line which could only be there to signal that none of this is her fault; she took precautions. What it is about, I think, is arrogant, entitled men who think it's fine to get someone up the duff and then bugger off, leaving her with all the consequences. It's fitting that it should be Cordelia who knocks the errant father, personified as a demon, into a million pieces.

Oh, and if that wasn't enough to prevent this from being the Pope's favourite episode of Angel, the whole plot is essentially about procuring an abortion.

It's well executed, too, much as there were a couple of clichés that made me smile. Wilson is sweet, considerate, self-aware- he must be evil, right? And the sex montage, showing us lots of short scenes of kissing, bedclothes, the Sun rising and essentially chaste stuff fading into one another, is really a bit too much of a cliché to be done without irony.

Great episode, though. I loved the fight early on, seen only through shadows on the wall, and Dennis looking after Cordelia- aaaah! Oh, and the bartender in the club- isn't he the janitor from Scrubs?

I love the continuing subtle developments in Wesley's character. (He's still not an "official" member of the team, although he seems to do an awful lot of unpaid work!) He's still as much of a klutz as ever (love the axe scene- Alexis Denisof is great at physical comedy), but also extremely brave, much braver than he was in Buffy. His rapport with Angel is developing nicely, too; the two of them are beginning to make a highly amusing double act.

But most interesting is how this episode highlights the way Cordelia's character has developed- beneath the surface she's both much, much tougher and much, much wiser. Fittingly, the final scene consists of her running rings around the two boys. But that last line shows how much she appreciates them. Again, aaaah!

There. Don't expect updates all that regularly until a week into August, although I'll make sure I keep up with the BBC's "Hollow Crown" Shakespeare adaptations, at least. There may be a blog entry on Friday, too. Fingers crossed…

The Next Two Weeks....

There won't be much in the way of blog posts over the next two weeks because of pesky real life stuff, but things won't stop completely. I'll try at least to post on Fridays and Saturdays, unless I'm out. Things should get back to a normal schedule from the second week of August.

Richard II (Rupert Goold, 2012)

"For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground / And tell sad stories of the deaths of kings."

This is the first of four plays to be screened by the BBC under the title of "The Hollow Crown". Coming next will be Henry IV Parts 1 and 2, followed by Henry V, all of them, like this play, filmed as full dramas, with elaborate costumes, sumptuous location filming and the full visual feast of modern, high budget, television drama. And that isn't something that has been done since the 1970s, a very different age of television. This is not one of those occasional BBC 4 dramas, based on current theatre runs, which still have one foot in the theatre, with only limited use of the moving camera. This is the full medium of television being applied to Shakespeare. Modern methods of visual storytelling, unheard of the 1590s, are fully utilised. Realism is the rule; the locations and settings straightforwardly evoke the real world of the late fourteenth century. This is television, not theatre.

And that's very interesting, because there's a constant tension between the theatrical medium of Shakespeare's playscript and the medium of television to which that script is being applied here. Modern television drama, with its fast pace and fast cutting, adheres to a philosophy of "show, don't tell". This fits awkwardly with those scenes, so frequent in Shakespeare, where characters describe battles, gruesome happenings and other things which happen off-stage. This was a necessary device for the Elizabethan stage, of course, where it was best to avoid having to depict such things. But it sits awkwardly with the medium of television, where beheadings by the cliffside and location filming at real beaches, woods and castles are all possible. There are many scenes in which speeches are juxtaposed with a visual depiction of what is being described. On the one hand, all of this is brilliant. On the other hand, it is often made awkwardly obvious that Shakespeare was writing for a very different medium.

That isn't always the case, of course. The television medium can often serve instead to emphasise meaning; Richard's last minute decision to cancel the trial by combat between Mowbray and Bolingbroke is made all the more effective by the visual depiction of the sheer expense of organising the event. Nevertheless, there's a tension between the two mediums.

Ben Whishaw is superb as a fey and effete Richard, famously based on Michael Jackson and a little reminiscent of John Hurt's Caligula from I, Clavdivs.  It's a stand-out performance, showing us a Richard who seems to care little for affairs of state, and robs his nobles for his wars as but a casual afterthought. The pet monkey pretty much symbolises his fickle, pleasure-loving nature. This is a man who ill befits the rather warlike nature of mediaeval kingship. He's a camp king in a very butch world. I recall at University I studied this play in conjunction with Marlowe's Edward II. The parallels are strong in any case, but such a very camp Richard makes them all the more so. This is the first time I've seen Ben Whishaw (I've yet to see The Hour), but he's truly a revelation here. I don't doubt that his Hamlet would probably have been superb.

The rest of the cast is hugely impressive, too, from Rory Kinnear's troubled, more than usually conscientious yet determined Bolingbroke to Patrick Stewart's outstanding John of Gaunt. The "This Sceptred Isle" speech is delivered slowly, with deliciously bitter irony, in one of the standout moments of the production. Yet the highlight is undoubtedly Whishaw's self-pity, as power slips gradually away from Richard. David Morrissey's merciless Northumberland and Tom Goodman-Hill's anxious Sir Stephen Scrope are also worth singling out for praise. The play's awesomely rich themes of the nature of kingship, whether any subject has the right to depose a king anointed by God, and how Richard, in denying Bolingbroke his rights of succession, thereby undermines his own, are brought out anew by the performances. These themes may seem as if they belong to another age, but they don't really. They point forward, of course, to the follies and the death of Charles I. And we see the same power relationships everywhere, whether within the ranks of the Mafia, in the boardroom, or in the dynamics of teenage gangs. Because that's what mediaeval aristocrats and kings always were: gangsters.

This is only the beginning, of course. Henry ends the play in deep penitence, filled with a mixture of regret and paranoia. He's dismayed to hear of Richard's death. This original sin will lead to profound and bloody consequences…

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: A New Man

"I'm not even sure I could take you."

"That all depends on your meaning."

So, we get a Giles episode that really focuses on his unemployed, mid-life crisis, spare part existence. It's a good episode, as we'd expect from the pen of Jane Espenson. But Giles' issues, worryingly, are not really resolved. And we're left with the troubling idea that the Initiative may not be entirely a good thing.

This is only emphasised by the fact that, for everyone else, things are going great. Birthday girl Buffy and Riley are rather endearingly besotted in these early days of their actual being an item, with Riley gradually coming to understand what a big deal it is to be the Slayer, just how superhuman Buffy is, and how brilliant a tactician she is on top of that. He's a little awed. Plus, she's his girlfriend. I suspect the seeds may just have been planted for a future conflict of loyalties.

Also rather endearing is the rather gentle courtship between Willow and the very lovely Tara, a person you just want to hug. That spell with the rose is an obvious metaphor for romance, and possibly also for sex. The whole thing certainly ends with a bang.

Oh, and in other news, Spike has been evicted from Xander's basement to find a lair of his own. This presumably means that Xander and Anya will be doing a lot more, er…

Giles, though… it's rather clever how the first half of the episode sees his spare part status constantly highlighted. Everyone says the wrong thing to him at the party and it's made very clear just how directionless his life is. The worst thing is everyone's obvious sympathy for his predicament. And not only had Buffy failed to realise that she'd failed to tell him about the Initiative (even Spike knew!), even I, as a viewer, hadn't noticed his out-of-the-loop status on things Initiative. I suspect I wasn't the only viewer to have been surprised by this either. That's a clever bit of misdirection over the last couple of episodes.

He and Maggie Walsh are a hilarious double act in their mutual loathing, circling around each other with barbed comments as their weapons, and Giles doesn't exactly get the upper hand. "Buffy clearly lacks a strong father figure"- ouch.

Enter Ethan Rayne. Seldom has he been so much fun. He's constantly coming out with comments that nicely undercut the narrative, and you know how I love me a bit of metatextual fun. He's pretty much the writer's mouthpiece here, and the writer is Jane Espenson. That guarantees us a lot of fun. Ethan gets all the funniest lines.

The fact that Giles would let down his guard to far as to get completely rat-arsed with someone as dangerous as Ethan shows us just how far his standards have fallen. Not that there's anything wrong, or un-Giles-like, about getting blotto every now and then, of course (it's the British way!), but Ethan is hardly an appropriate person to get pissed with. He really could have spiked Giles' drink with poison. And it's notable that the scenes of Giles and Ethan, two old has-beens talking about being sorcerers, are juxtaposed with a scene of Willow and Tara practising real sorcery, and being young to boot. No wonder Giles wakes up with a massive metaphorical hangover.

I love Spike's attitude- although his evilness is definitely slipping. I love Giles' scaring Maggie Walsh for the sheer Hell of it. I love "the mucus thing". The second half of the episode is pure enjoyable farce, although the extrajudicial imprisonment of Ethan certainly raises one's eyebrows in these… I was going to say post-Guantanamo and rendition days, but these things are very much still with us. 2000 wasn't that long ago. But in some ways it feels a more innocent age.

Or perhaps we're supposed to wonder a little. Could there be something rotten in the heart of the Initiative? And what's in the dreaded Room 314…?

This Is Spinal Tap (1984)

"Well, I don't really think that the end can be assessed, as of itself, as being the end, because what does the end feel like? It's like saying when you try to extrapolate the end of the universe, you say 'if the universe is indeed infinite, then how… what does that mean'? How far is all the way, and then if it stops, what's stopping it, and what's behind what's stopping it? So, what's the end, you know, is my question to you…"

Yes, I know. I've reviewed two musicals in a row, sort of. I love this film, though. It isn't so much that it's laugh-out-loud funny; in fact, considering the subject matter, the humour is actually quite gentle and ironic. There are some nicely quirky bits that are funny because they ring true- Nigel's disgruntlement with the small bread on his rider, and the band panicking at being unable to find the stage being two of the funniest.

The songs are superb, hilarious pastiches from throughout the history of rock from grainy monochrome footage of a mid 60s incarnation reminiscent of the Who to a cynical hippy cash-in from a few years later. They're genuinely great rock songs, and the lyrics are the funniest thing in the film, from the arse-clenchingly ignorant pretentiousness of Stonehenge to the jaw-dropping sexism of Big Bottom, probably the greatest ever song about anal sex, God help us.

Most of the time, though, the band is a piss-take of the heavy metal at the time, with the Stonehenge debacle even being taken from a real life experience of the Black Sabbath line-up of the early '80s. This is heavy metal before the LA-dominated "hair rock" began to arrive in the mid-'80s; the vibe is much more NWOBHM, with flying V's and stage moves taken straight out of the repertoire of Kiss.

One thing that dates this film more than anything is the idea that rock stars are past it by the age of forty-five; that sort of attitude would become passé with the advent of Live Aid just a year later. A real life Spinal Tap would have survived the Yoko issues, the declining audiences and the ropey "big in Japan" period to be raking it in today, no matter how many drummers had to die to get there.

The drummer bloodbath is a prime example of how improvisation leads to so many of the best things about the film. Many of the exchanges remind me of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore in Derek and Clive. It's a real strength of the "mockumentary" format.

This is a brilliantly crafted piece of observational comedy and a compulsory fixture of every self-respecting tour bus, although it probably helps if, like me, you're a total rock 'n' roll anorak. This is a film so good that it inspired not only an album cover but also a considerably less funny pseudo-remake from no less a band than Metallica. Surely there could be no higher compliment.

Angel: Somnambulist

"Great news, sports fans. There's been another killing!"

This is a fascinating mid-season episode. It's almost about the very fact that the show is in the process of changing its format from semi-police procedural with the supernatural as metaphors for aspects of city life to something a bit more directly supernatural. All this seems to be reflected in the central focus of this episode: Kate, a character associated with the earlier format, having to come to terms with Angel's supernatural nature and, by extension, the fact that she's now going to have to find a place to exist as a character in a genre she wasn't made for and, perhaps, may not fit.

Kate's shocked, understandably. But she's focused, together and efficient. She''' be fine. After all, in this episode she says the word "recidivist" out loud, with out fear of tripping over the vowels. That takes real courage.

Kate is the focus of some superb directorial choices, incidentally. Her talk about the profile of the killer, with traits matching Angel, is matched to footage of our hero, brooding. There's a nice little research montage towards the end. And the opening is a nice bit of misdirection. At first we don't see the face of the vampire that's just killed someone, but then we do see: it's Angel. Although, admittedly, it's all a dream.

We don't spend too much time on the idea that Angel may be committing murders in his sleep; it's revealed pretty quickly that it's Penn, a young man sired by Angelus in eighteenth century Ireland, as communicated in those flashbacks that won't really become a fixture of the show until Darla comes back. Interestingly, Penn is a "Puritan". If he knew Liam socially when they were both alive, this might indicate that they were both Protestants, which would explain their apparent wealth in the context of the time, when the Catholic majority in Ireland led less than ideal lives and the Protestant Ascendancy owned most things. Although, come to think of it, Penn as a "Puritan" wouldn't have been part of it, so ignore what I just said.

Still, that was then.  Geeky historical footnote over. This is now, and Penn (Hawkeye himself, Jeremy Renner!) looks curiously like a 19^th century David Bowie. He's a serial killer, yes, but I don't think there's anything metaphorical going on here; the future of the show does not lie in such things.

There are other interesting things in this episode, mind. Wesley is not yet an official member of Angel Investigations, although I notice that Alexis Denisof has now been promoted to the credits. His rapport with the other two regulars is already a pleasure to behold. And it seems that a vampire can enter the lair of another vampire without permission. I wonder if this is entirely consistent with what we've seen before?

Mostly, though, this episode has me curious about how this show is going to be developed. It's fairly clear that the format is changing, but into what? It's very possible, interestingly, to read the final exchange between Cordelia and Angel as a possible harbinger for Angelus' return. After all, it's bound to happen at some point, right?

Little Shop of Horrors (1986)

"Don't tell me you got tied up?"

"No, just handcuffed a little…"

I don't really know a lot about musicals. In fact, my knowledge of the format is pretty much entirely limited to The Rocky Horror Show, a certain episode of Buffy and a certain Doctor Who stage play, starring your actual Jon Pertwee, which I saw at Birmingham in 1989. So you'll have to forgive my total ignorance of whatever the tropes are and how the format is supposed to work. I'm usually a bit wary of the musical format for the usual predictable objection that characters suddenly breaking into song during a narrative can be a bit of a problem for me, and I won't dent there's a bit of that here. It isn't that I have a problem with the lack of realism. Suspension of disbelief and realism can go hang- let's go and do some violence to that fourth wall! But the songs can slow things down, and leave me drumming my fingers until stuff can start happening again.

 I enjoyed the songs here, though. For a start, they're good. There are lots of different styles, and some really great ideas. The Motown-style Greek chorus is a masterstroke, and the decision to make Steve Martin's manic, sadistic dentist into a leather-jacketed rock 'n' roller means he gets his very own '50s rock 'n' roll song- in fact, he reminds me of the similar character from the Rocky Horror Show. The best songs, of course, are from the mean, green mother from outer space itself, voiced by Levi Stubbs of the Four Tops. The star-studded cast is fantastic, and (obviously, as the film can afford much better performers from the Saturday Night Live stable) much, much better than in the original film. Aside from Rick Moranis, Steve Martin and Bill Murray, we get cameos from the likes of John Candy and his Christopher Guest from This is Spinal Tap (who rather surreally happens to be the 5th Baron Haden-Guest). Even the extras include none other than a young Danny John-Jules. The only part which I thought was better portrayed in the original was Wilbur Force (Arthur Denton in the remake). Bill Murray is superb, but Jack Nicholson is better with his more darkly humorous portrayal.

It's also superbly shot by Frank Oz, taking full advantage of the much bigger budget to produce a much more visually exciting experience. The highlight, of course, is Audrey II itself, which simply looks amazing, and moves amazingly, too. There's a very real sense of the poverty of Skid Row which the studio-bound original simply couldn't convey.

One thing which really surprises me, though, are the massive changes which have been made to the plot (spoilers follow). There's a happy ending and there are far fewer murders- in fact, there are only two deaths as opposed to, I think, five in the original. One character survives who originally died, and another prominent character survives who originally died. The whole plot is much, much more streamlined to incorporate the songs. The storytelling is much, much slicker, but there's a more sentimental tone, which loses a lot of both the deeply macabre, dark humour of the original and also the absurdist silliness. I think the remake is on balance the better film, but the original is still the better script. Both films are well worth watching, though, and for someone who doesn't do musicals I enjoyed this hugely.

The Little Shop of Horrors (1960)

"I didn't mean it!"

Ah, I love me a good old low budget piece of retro fun. I only actually watched this as preparation for the musical remake, which is coming next, but there are much worse ways of spending late afternoon on a Friday. It may not be The Godfather, there's no real depth or subtext to it, and it looks as though it cost about $4.40, but it's bloody funny. And filming in black and white can paper over a multitude of budgetary sins, most of the time.

The film is a black comedy, with increasing amounts of farce. The customer who starts munching on carnations in the first few minutes tells us that this is going to be a very silly film indeed. It's gloriously camp; all the characters are grotesques, and all of them have delightfully silly names that the film just revels in. Seymour's hypochondriac mother and the mad, scary dentist (is this the birth of a trope?)  are both personal favourites of mine, but the best of them has to be Jack Nicholson's unforgettable cameo as Wilbur force, a man with a massive, masochistic craving for dental torture. He spends a most enjoyable afternoon, which I suppose makes Seymour some kind of dominatrix. Hmm.

Seymour's accidental murders get increasingly silly, with the last one positively revelling in its silliness; Seymour doesn't have a coin so he flips a rock. And accidentally kills the poor gorgeous lady trying to seduce him by missing the ground and throwing it clumsily at her head. it's funny because you can see it coming. And what's this about all these women throwing themselves at Seymour? I want some of his irresistible sexual magnetism, dammit.

There's a good reason why this film is thought of so fondly. As always, it's the script and the performances. If those two things are bloody good, as they are here, then any faults elsewhere don't matter so much. It's interesting to compare this with, say, Plan 9 from Outer Space. Both are cheap. Both are hilarious viewing. But one of them is actually good and the other one… isn't.

One slight oddity, mind. I know I'm British, but surely the dialogue indicates that the film is set in LA, and a lot of characters seem to have New York accents?

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Doomed

"It's the end of the world."

"AGAIN???!!!"

Oi. I like Slayer. I saw them live back at Ozzfest '98, although there was no way I was going to brave a Slayer moshpit. I'm only little; I didn't fancy my chances of getting out alive. I'm a little annoyed at Forrest this week for describing them as "Thrash band. Anvil-heavy guitar rock with delusions of Black Sabbath." Grrr. Incidentally, I saw Black Sabbath at that Ozzfest, too. The original line-up. Even Bill Ward put in an appearance. Oh yes. But, alas, Buffy isn't too metal-heavy. At least the soundtrack at the party almost makes up for it: we have both the Hellacopters and Echobelly. Result!

Music aside, this is another good 'un. Yes, it can't hold a candle to Hush, but neither can many things. The whole structure is awfully clever, for a start- a deliberately hackneyed ritual-that-will-cause-the-apocalypse plot allows the show to poke fun at its own clichés, but more interestingly the familiar tropes allow us to see the carefully contrasted methods of the Scoobies and the Initiative to solving the same problem. Hence the long section cutting between the two groups planning their reactions to the three nasty demons in their distinctive ways.

Dovetailing nicely into this framework is another contrast, between Buffy and Riley. The episode actually picks off from the very moment the last episode ends, and there is awkwardness. Buffy very nearly dumps Riley, but he persuades her not to, albeit by methods which seem at times to cross the line into creepiness. This all feeds back into that old, familiar dichotomy: would Buffy be better off alone or do her friends make her stronger? You would have thought that The Wish, with its bitter, doomed Buffy, would have answered that for good, at least as far as the audience is concerned, but Buffy still has a worrying habit of cutting off her friends at moments of real desperation.

Riley makes a few telling points- part of this is indeed because of the bad stuff with her former boyfriend- but I'm not convinced he wins the argument. She eventually takes him back, but that isn't why. It's just lust, and he's just a rebound. Buffy will never love him as she loved Angel and he's the one who'll end up getting hurt. That's obvious from the start.

This theme sort of links to Spike's monologue at Willow (speaking of whom, where's Tara?) and Xander (speaking of whom, where's Anya?), trying to convince them that they're no use to her. Thing is though, it's Spike who's useless, to the point of attempting suicide. Only when he realises that he can do bad stuff to evil demons does he cheer up. Spike, against his better nature, is forced to be a hero. It's a nice and amusing character development and, yes, a positive step, but a line has been crossed. Never again can Spike be a full-on murdering baddie.

Oh, and "fag off"? Er, that means "cigarette off". It's gobbledegook.

Also, comments about Slayer aside, I really, really like Forrest. He's witty, cool, and I suspect a bit of a Mary Sue through whom Joss Whedon himself can exist vicariously in his own fiction. Riley is the boss, but Forrest just seems so much more intelligent and together. And I loved his riff on the Slayer being a myth and demons and vampires just being part of the animal kingdom!

Better than anything in the whole world, though, is spike's unconvincing American accent. James Marsters, an American actor, playing a Brit doing an unconvincing version of Marsters' own natural accent; surely the hardest task any actor has ever been called to perform!

Angel: Parting Gifts

"I'm evil.  But hey, I'm not, you know, evil."

In the time-honoured Whedon-verse tradition, we get a nice, light-hearted episode to help us get over the emotional turmoil of last episode and, in that very same tradition, it's bloody good. Plus, you know, Wesley.

Doyle isn't in this episode, what with being dead and all, but it's a fitting wake to him, though with slightly less potent liquid refreshment than the dead man would have preferred. It's lovely that the episode should start with Angel once again visiting the Oracles, imploring them for his friend's life. He departed with few worldly goods to his name, but there's one precious gift he did indeed bequeath to the one person he deemed worthy: Cordelia now gets the visions, which more firmly establishes her role in Angel Investigations.

I loved Cordelia anyway, but this episode has deepened my love for her even further. She's just so delightfully self-centred, taking ages and ages of moaning before she gets around to describing her vision. Even better than that is her outrage at going for such a low price in the auction. And the comic chemistry between Charisma Carpenter and David Boreanaz is just purring by this point. All things about Cordelia are wonderful.

Still, let's not forget Angel himself, After all, this is where we discovered that he's a great cook, and is fluent in Korean, or at least he is when the plot requires it. There's also an interesting line where he refuses to allow Wesley to go with him into danger because he lost Doyle by doing that. He only refuses once, though.

The plot is fun; a nice, harmless little card cheat demon client who's being pursued by a mysterious but clearly badass figure on a motorbike and a sinister black helmet. But the plot, of course, thickens, with much hilarity ensuing, pausing only for a bit of threatened eye-gouging. Urrrgh.

But, well Wesley! I love the way the tension is gradually ramped up until we discover that this fearsome assassin is, in fact, only him. He's a great, fun character, clearly there to provide the pratfalls, but his scholarly knowledge of demons and whatnot will obviously prove useful to the team.

Interestingly, he now has a bit of hinterland; having failed two Slayers, he's been sacked by the Watcher's Council and, notwithstanding his amusing prancing around as a "rogue demon hunter", he sees himself as a failure and a fraud. Just like every single other heroic character in the show so far, he has something to atone for. But that doesn't mean he can't be comic relief most of the time. The final scene is fantastic in particular. It's so, so good to see Wesley back again, and part of the team. It's immediately obvious, too, what great comic chemistry Alexis Denisof has with the other two.

It's a strange episode I suppose. Right in the middle of the season, it's a combination of a tribute to Doyle and a reboot of sorts, not only replacing one of the original cast with someone else but rearranging peoples' roles.

And who's that who "won" the auction? Wolfram and Hart again…

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Hush

"Well, it could definitely be one of your prophetic dreams. Or it could just be the eternal mystery that is your brain."

Yes, I know. My habit of opening my reviews with a quote is not exactly appropriate here. But it's my style, dammit. I usually watch with subtitles, but for once I felt a bit silly doing so. At least they were useful for the first thirteen minutes.

Obviously, this is a superlative piece of television, and possibly the best Buffy ever. And yes, it is indeed both written and directed by Joss Whedon himself. It's also a great episode to talk about. Problem is, it already has been much written and talked about. I may be a Buffy fan, but I don’t really think of myself as part of its fandom, mainly because Doctor Who fandom is a big part of my social life these days and I'm very much aware of what actual fandom involves. Still, even a non-fandom fan like me is aware of this episode's inspiration by Marshall McLuhan and its general theme that people start communicating when they stop talking. In fact, it's all there in the episode's first line from Maggie Walsh, and Buffy pretty much underlines this by complaining about everything being "all talk".

Just to zoom through the main examples…

The relationship between Buffy and Riley has now been simmering for so long that it absolutely has to boil over about now. But talk is getting in the way; both of them are hiding a big secret, and the effort of keeping these secrets is stopping them from connecting. Only when they lose the power of speech do they finally kiss, and they discover each others' secrets by means of show, not tell. Once speech finally returns to them, so does the awkwardness.

Xander and Anya are having a bit of a tiff because Xander can't bring himself to admit his feelings for Anya. But, once speech is no longer an, option, a misunderstanding involving Spike and a mug of blood causes him to demonstrate how much he cares. Anya is instantly won over, and shows just how randy she's feeling by making that gesture, which is the best thing ever.

Giles' long distance with Olivia, though (we've met her only once before), may be going in the other direction. Giles' tales of scary things were fine, but the actual experience of Giles' lifestyle has shocked her.

Finally, there's Willow's frustrating experiences at the Wicca group, who are all talk and no broomsticks, except for Tara (I'd forgotten she first turned up so early), the only other true witch, who is nervous, diffident, and gently bullied into silence by the others. Only when silence descends can she and Willow communicate by their shared magical power, moving a massive drinks machine in a nice little metaphor moment. I think the gay, sexual element to their relationship is still subtext at this stage, but it isn't all that sub.

Every character has a big moment happen to them this pivotal episode. The use of the lack of speech to move things forward in such a big way seems pointed.

So, that's they stuff you can read elsewhere. Also interesting, though, are the echoes of silent cinema. The Gentlemen look a bit like Nosferatu, and their movements are very expressive. Interestingly, Nosferatu was a vampire (well, Dracula himself, renamed for legal reasons, and removing peoples' hearts is quite an uber-vampiric thing to do. There's a lot of visual humour, redolent of silent comedies. Giles' slides in the lecture theatre also hint at intertitles, perhaps. Also, I love his drawing.

We're about halfway through the season now. It isn't as good as Season Three (few things in life are) but it's shaping up to be very impressive.