The Bridge: Episode Seven

"You can't have sex with your colleagues' children!"

There's a small but interesting difference at the start of this episode: the lyrics of the song end slightly differently, with "And then you cut…" rather than "Back to the beginning…" as we've heard in all of the previous six episodes. Perhaps this is a nod towards the fact that we're close to the end? It is also, of course, accompanied by a camera cut, which is nicely metatextual. Also interesting is that this week's "previously on…" clip show refers to so many different things from so many weeks ago, many of which I'd semi-forgotten. Threads are beginning to be tied up.

Also interesting is that the first scene proper takes place on a bus which is shot as a small, insignificant speck in a bleak, wintry landscape, and that everything is shot in very muted colours. It's tempting to see a thematic connection with the existentialist subtext which so strongly pervades this episode.

The central focus here is Ferbé, whose near-death experience with his overdose has left him a changed man, deeply shocked by the strong impression that there is no afterlife and thus no meaning to existence. He spends the episode gradually rejecting nihilism and learning that he can impose his own individual meaning on the absurdities of the world, in his case by possibly throwing away his career for the sake of principle, and committing arson to save a child's life, an experience which he describes as "intense". This is an interesting word, as it connotes a chemical high, something which we associate with his pre-overdose self.

The episode ends, of course, with his death, but at least he did something with the extra time he had which had meaning for him. I'm a little wary of stereotyping Swedes as existentialists(!), but I'm reminded very, very strongly of The Seventh Seal.

All this is echoed, I think, in the other characters, albeit in a wider context. Saga, being a kind of innocent, had no faith in an afterlife to begin with, and nor has she ever assumed that the world has a divinely ordained meaning. She is therefore free of existential angst. Martin, meanwhile, sees his purpose in his family, but his family life is falling apart, which is making his life fall apart. Nevertheless, the problem is not a lack of faith.

The episode has some great Saga moments. I laughed out loud when Hans had to gently explain how Martin would be upset about her sleeping with August, and that he might want to know that they didn't have sex. Even funnier is when she shouts it across the whole office! They spend much of the episode at loggerheads, but seem to bond towards the end, and once again Martin seems very perceptive about her, and very empathetic. And his face when told "This is Anton. We have sex now and again." is priceless.

Much of this episode is about consequences. Martin has to face the consequences of cheating on his wife; things are up in the air, and who's that man who spend ninety minutes alone with Mette and texts her in the evening? Stefan, of course, has to face the consequences of what he's done at the very time his sister needs him most. Even the murderer tells Ferbé that he plans to turn himself in and face the consequences.

We seem to be entering the endgame, and we have a definite suspect in Jesper Andersson. It won't be him, of course, and I suspect it isn't a cop.

Killer Klowns from Outer Space (1988)

"These clowns aren't people. They're creatures, things from another planet!"

No, I kid you not. This really is a film about, literally, killer clowns from outer space. And it's quite hilarious. And very, very late '80s. It has the fashions, the hairstyles, some very '80s bikers, and even an end-of-level baddies. And, incidentally it has a superb theme tune from top Californian punk band The Dickies.

This is a "B" movie, of course. You'd guessed that. It's mainly about the set-pieces, with a rather basic by-the-numbers plot with just a few broadly drawn characters to give us a bit of camply humorous melodrama to string everything together. The acting is hammy, but deliberately so, with a standout comedy performance from John Vernon as the gruff, violent Officer Curtis Mooney. So let's just talk about the set pieces.

I suspect this movie didn't exactly cost much, but it looks great, with absolutely no sign of cheapness anywhere, probably because  the film doesn't exactly call for realism. But there's so much cool stuff here, right from the comedy hillbilly (with a dog called "Pooh Bear"!) who kicks off the set pieces. We get a high point early on as a clown twists a balloon into the shape of a bloodhound and uses it to follow Mike and Debbie, our heroes, but the film manages to top even that, many times. Custard pies, silhouettes, candy floss, ventriloquist's dummies… everything you can think of is used to terrifying effect and there's a shower scene that's, yes, more terrifying than Psycho and even more terrifying than the one and only Jasper Carrott in Jane and the Lost City, if such a thing is possible.

The climax, in a perverted version of an amusement park, is perfect- full of suspense and laughths in equal measure and, this being the late '80s, there's an end-of-level boss straight out of the Sega Mega Drive, with highly prominent puppet strings, no less.

I'd heartily recommend this movie, in the highly unlikely even you can get hold of it. The combination of affectionate piss-take of '50s sci-fi "B" movie with a very '80s fixation on the inherent terror of clowns is a winning one. It's funny, but it's very, very scary indeed, and not one for those with a phobia of clowns. It's also, of course, interesting to see this so soon after Vampire Circus! And it deserves to be adored for the title alone.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Bad Girls

"Faith, you don't get it. You killed a man."

"No, you don't get it. I don't care."

This is a great episode, but then again it's a Season Three episode, so chances were that it would be. What's more interesting is how excellently this season is developing its themes throughout the episodes. Not only is this a serious(ish) arc episode, which follows a more light-hearted episode, which in turn follows a serious arc episode, thus helping to maintain a balance of light and dark (pause for breath…), it also looks at the themes from last episode in a new light. In The Zeppo Xander found himself mixed up with thuggery, gangs and, up to a point, crime. Here the same thing happens to Buffy, but it's much more serious.

We've had plenty of hints throughout the season that Faith is damaged, a little dangerous and, well, pretty much the juvenile delinquent type. Here things are revealed to be worse than we thought; she keeps throwing herself (and Buffy) into fights where they're vastly outnumbered, with no plan, for kicks. But it isn't, I think, just for kicks. I think Faith quite obviously has a death wish. Her self-esteem is obviously rock bottom. And so she tempts Buffy into her delinquent ways in which, like many teenagers, she thinks nothing of the consequences of her actions. So the two of them are seen dancing in a club to hardcore techno (in real life, a fairly common and healthy activity but, in drama, a sure sign of a bad 'un), flirting with the opposite sex in a When She Was Bad kind of way and, in Buffy's case, skiving from a chemistry exam!!! She's going off the rails, and it's all due to Faith's influence.

The metaphor is a) obvious and b) the same as last week. But these two are Slayers, and that raises the stakes a lot. The two of them get more and more out of control until we reach serious crimes such as burglary ("Want. Take. Have."), resisting arrest, crashing a police car into another car and not stopping to see if the cops are ok. It all culminates in Faith unintentionally, but carelessly, killing the mayor's underling, a flesh and blood person. And yes, morally, Buffy is an accessory. There are no two ways about it; Faith is by far the guiltier of the two, yes, but both of them deserve to go to prison. We can't have special rules for Slayers because, as Willow said to Cordelia long ago, that would mean a fascist society. Faith, of course, is in denial, but Buffy knows there must be consequences. Perhaps she's seen the title of the next episode.

It's very instructive, I think, that this should so soon after Giles is fired by the Watcher's Council, thereby semi-detaching the father figure from her life. The two of them are close- it's obvious in the body language here with the two of them united against Wesley- but Giles hasn't really got custody of his surrogate daughter. Instead, we're introduced to the useless, but highly amusing, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. He's frighteningly young, arrogant (or trying to be), full of book-learning, and comically cowardly. What else can he be but a figure of fun? He and Giles make a fantastic double act and, incidentally, Giles suddenly looks very cool by comparison. When did he become so adept with a sword?

Oh, and we're finally on the main road towards the climax of this week's series arc: the mayor is moving towards his "Ascension", and in this episode he takes a major step towards that goal, becoming invincible with some rather neat CGI. I love the way he then proceeds to tick of "become invincible" from his otherwise mundane to-do list!

I love the mayor, and I love Harry Groener's performance. On a show full of metaphors he's perhaps the most satisfying metaphor of all: the politician who has literally sold his soul for power. His entire persona is slick, full of false cheer and ersatz bonhomie. There's nothing genuine about him at all. How could he not be demonic?

The other Scoobies aren't in this much, really, but I like the contrast early on between Willow's offers from Yale and Harvard and Xander, contemplating his future as a member of the working class. But the other Scoobies aren't in it much; perhaps their absence is a big part of why Buffy goes off the rails.

I love the way this is going. But I hope the consequences live up to what has been done.

The Bridge: Episode Six

"You're clever. I'm sure it'll come to you."

I was sort of lukewarm about the theme song initially but, exactly as with the new Soundgarden single, something has clicked and it's really growing on me. The lyrics are such wonderfully poetic gibberish, too, and it's tempting to read all sorts of unintended echoes from the story, whether they start as a cross in you or not.

This is a big, big episode. Lots of plot stuff happens, obviously, but Martin's life is suddenly falling apart. I say suddenly, but it feels earned; it was foreshadowed last episode. The moments of rage that we saw last episode are becoming more irrational, and his casual adultery- which we thought had been tied up last episode and which is, perhaps, another symptom- suddenly leads to him being thrown out of the marital home. And if that isn't enough, August is sleeping with Saga who, naturally, doesn't understand why he's upset. In this episode he goes to unreasonable lengths in his suspicions of both Stefan and Saif. He's losing his grip on the case, and it's Saga who makes the running.

And yet we're beginning to see possible chinks in Saga's armour, too. Her sister committed suicide at fourteen, the same age as Anja, and it's not hard to see the obvious link, that she blames herself for both of their deaths. Martin instinctively sees this connection. Perhaps he understands her better than she understands herself. Perhaps he's seeing things that aren't there. Perhaps the point is simply that other people are always, in the end, unknowable. But it seems, right now, that Saga's distance from the world of feeling is leaving her in a better state than Martin.

Interestingly, the murderer seems to understand Saga too, to an extent. The conversation between the two of them indicates that she may even be a factor in his plan. But it's her, of course, who works out in the very last moment that he must be a police officer. He certainly knows stuff that only police officers would know.

As for other characters- well, Saif and his unnamed father are more or less stereotypes, or more charitably stock characters who could have stepped out of a Hanif Kureishi novel but then, I suppose, they're only there to dramatise the murderer's latest "problem", the failure of integration and the treatment of immigrants. Interestingly, though, Saga is beginning to suspect that all of these issues are just a smokescreen; the murderer's motive is personal, not political.

Interestingly, Ferbé starts to fall apart here, too, with his overdose on pills in that horrible trendy club. He seems quite shaken by it all, suddenly aware of mortality and disturbed that he technically died briefly, yet there was no tunnel of light, only darkness. For someone with such an ego it must be terrifying to contemplate the extinction of that ego. Ake, meanwhile, seems to be taking his place. Perhaps nice guys sometimes finish first.

Yet again, I have no idea where this is going, and I love it.

The Bridge: Episode Five

 

"It's an unwritten law.

"I don't know any of those."

This is an episode of shocks. It's a shock that Anja's creepy, samurai-obsessed host should kill someone, randomly, mere seconds into the episode. It's a shock that Anja herself should be attacked without warning, and die in hospital halfway through her drawing. And it's a shock that Martin is starting to become affected by things. He slaps Lars Jonsson, our samurai-wielding schizophrenic. Much as he is genuinely fond of Saga, he begins to snap at her. And he cheats on his wife with Charlotte.

This is a deeply significant moment, especially as Charlotte, herself a wronged woman, post-coitally asks him what it's like to cheat on his wife, which must feel like a punch. He spends the rest of the episode denying this act, in various ways. It's an episode where his character becomes foregrounded and where his flaws become manifest, and even more of a contrast to Saga's apparent serenity.

Saga's "strange" nature gives us some more comedy, although much less broad. Her shag of a few episodes ago makes himself useful again, this time more aware of what's going on. And Saga seems very together and very efficient. It's easy to see how people can be fond of her- Mette is amused, rather that offended when Saga, unexpectedly invited to dinner, says matter-of-factly that the food "wasn't tasty".  Interestingly, she makes a great impression on August, who is very much on the same wavelength. Of course, going by what we already know, this could imply that he's the killer.

He's far from the only suspect, though. Stefan's story becomes more and more interesting. Although he begins to defend himself from Veronika's psychopath husband, he continues to batter him once unconscious, which would seem to be manslaughter. Now he has a body to hide, at a time when he's made Martin very suspicious and he's under surveillance. And Martin also believes that Anja's drawing is of him. Is this too neat, though? I wonder if the cut to the next scene at this point is supposed to make us suspect Henning, the surprisingly acquitted policeman?

The killer's third social problem is cuts to treatment of the mentally ill, hence several paranoid schizophrenics being driven to kill in both Malmo and Copenhagen. And this is an episode in which people's mental stability is beginning to fray a little. Even Ake begins to realise just what a contemptible shit Ferbé is, cheerfully printing the addresses of schizophrenics and exposing them to violence. I think (and hope) the murderer has a comeuppance in mind for him.

Another new thread is the acquittal, and its effects on the family of the dead man, an almost clichéd pair of the moderate son and the radicalised son, Saif. Access to justice is, we again learn, not equal. Saif will clearly have a part to play, but I have no idea what will happen next. Next episode tomorrow...

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Zeppo

"Boy, of all the humiliations you've had that I've witnessed… that was the latest."

Yep, just as I thought: after last week's traversal of the emotional wringer we get a nice little comedy episode. And it's rather good. It also addresses head-on what's becoming a troubling part of the structure of the series: everyone else has superpowers or abilities, so what's Xander's role? Fortunately it's one of those questions which can't be ignored but doesn't really need to be answered. We just need to know that the writers are aware of it. As long as that's so, then Jimmy Olsen jokes are enough.

Probably the funniest thing about this episode, though, is the "b" plot, with Buffy, Angel, Willow, Faith (properly in this episode) and Giles (now redeemed, at least in the eyes of the Scoobies) facing the biggest threat they've ever faced in scenes of hilarious, po-faced melodrama. The scene between Buffy and Angel is particularly funny and shows just how amazing Sarah Michelle Gellar is. Not many people have the ability to portray real anguish and heartbreak with a comic subtext, but she does. And I love the glimpses of the terrible monsters, fleshed out by the descriptions of unseen things. It's wonderful that we know these characters well enough by now to do something like this.

Oh, and Xander pops his cherry, of course ("Oh, I'm up!"), courtesy of Faith feeling horny after a fight. It's rather amusing that she should chuck him out once she's used him, just like Saga in The Bridge, this blog's other series of the moment.

The "a" plot baddies, essentially zombies without the shuffling, are the perfect metaphor for macho, laddish wankers. They might not seem to act any differently as zombies that they did when alive, but the implication is that people like that are zombies to start with. And the fact that Xander is almost killed as part of an initiation ceremony is also rather symbolic about that kind of lifestyle, a lifestyle which has made the leap from laddishness to gangs. Equally symbolic is the fact that they're all dead in the first place.

The climax sees Xander not only overcoming his fear and being brave, but showing himself to be braver, more in control, and ultimately more of an alpha male than O'Toole, who then proceeds to be randomly killed as his usefulness to the plot is now at an end. I love that kind of wink to the viewer. The shortest ever "Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer…" runs it a close second, though. Right from the opening moments we know this episode is going to be funny.

I suppose I ought to mention Oz's werewolf suit- it's bloody awful in this episode- but that's the only real flaw. This series is on fire at the moment.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Helpless

"That's beautiful. Or, taken literally, incredibly gross.""

Last episode, Buffy's mother betrayed her; I'd say that burning your daughter at the stake certainly counts. Even so, there were extenuating circumstances. Plus there was a reset button, even if it wasn't pressed down fully. But this time Buffy's surrogate father betrays her, and there are big, big consequences. Even beyond the immediate ripples, from this point onwards there'll be something of the suddenly unemployed, washed-up dad to Giles. Parents can disappoint; that's part of growing up. So is recognising that adults are not infallible, and beginning to question them and their institutions. The Watchers, for example. What gives them the right to assert their authority? To whom are they accountable? Why, as the loathsome Nadine Dorries might say, are they all such posh boys?

In fact, lets's have a closer look at the central concept of this episode, shall we? The Slayer, someone whom the Council would presumably consider quite valuable, is put through a highly dangerous rite of passage on her eighteenth birthday, as part of some bizarre "what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger" type logic. It's stupid. Self-evidently stupid, as we clearly see by the fact that Kralik escapes and people die. It might be centuries-old tradition, but so was slavery, once. Buffy's now an adult, and suddenly her fellow adults, and their silly institutions, have their flaws exposed.

Most of all, though, this is a story about fathers and daughters. In a nice piece of foreshadowing, Buffy's real father betrays her by failing to show up for the traditional birthday ice show, just minutes before the shocking scene where we see how surrogate father Giles is hypnotising Buffy and injecting her with, er, either red or gold kryptonite, although I suspect Oz is right on that one.

The emotional core of the episode is Giles' confession to Buffy, and her total and devastating rejection of him ("Who are you?"), which is really, really sold by another incredible performance from Sarah Michelle Gellar. He only really redeems himself by risking his life to save hers at the end, and by the fact that he gets himself fired by refusing to do the Council's bidding. There's another huge moment where Travers says to Giles that "You have a father's love for the child, and that is useless for the cause." At last, someone says it out loud. And the scene of Giles gently washing Buffy's wounds is just as touching. He might have been fired as a Watcher, but he's still the father figure in spite of everything.

The scenes of Buffy walking alone, at night, powerless, are deeply disturbing, given that the premise of the show is the reversal of the idea of damsel in distress and, up to a point, a challenge to the male gaze. Now the reversal is reversed, and she has to put up with the misogynistic gibes of wankers and flee from threatening men while screaming for help. Kralik, too, is not simply a vampire; the supernatural veneer is very thin in his case. He's a psychopath, a sadist, something out of a slasher movie, and the whole sequence of Buffy's test feels very much like a slasher movie, right down to the incidental music. It's a genre that had to be done, I suppose.

Where now, though? What happens to Giles? What will Buffy's new Watcher be like?  And where's Faith?

The Bridge: Episode Four

"How's your scrotum?"

"Small talk isn't your strong side…"

In spite of the above quote, there's not much humour in this episode. The stakes are raised, things previously set up are unwound, new characters and plot threads emerge. The reason for the low morale of the Danish police is becoming clear: tomorrow is the verdict in a trial of four police officers accused of unlawfully killing an immigrant, and one of their number is being leant on to keep silent for some unknown reason. A morosely silent, middle aged couple are introduced, and the man witnessed all this. Oh, and that bloke Anja's staying with, Lasse Jönson? He's well odd, he has memory lapses, he thinks he's a samurai, and he's planning something big for tomorrow, after which Anja, a self-indulgent, deeply unlikeable Holden Caulfield of a character, will get to keep the flat. Oh, and what was that odd jump cut while he was playing with the sword?

We get some fleeting appearances of the killer, too, starting very early on. He's male, he dresses in black, and the first shot on the stairs seems to show a long leather jacket. Er, it's me. Except it isn't; the action sequences later on show him to be quite athletic, which is not like me at all. We have a second red herring, too, in Lasse, although Stefan continues to simmer nicely as our suspiciously obvious main suspect.

Charlotte is most interesting here, as she's the fly in the ointment, the one variable for whom the killer hasn't planned. The four millionaires, it's assumed, at least by Saga, are meant to refuse the ransom, thereby proving the killer's political point. At first, she sticks to this presumed script and pretty much insists that everyone refuse. But as soon as she discovers, in a scene that reminds me of Katrine meeting her dead lover's wife in Borgen, that a woman who can only be her late husband's lover has gone to see his coffin. Worse, her daughter-in-law knew all about the affair. This is not the sort of thing the murderer, with his psychological profile, could possibly account for, but Charlotte determines to pay the whole ransom herself out of pure spite for her husband and his daughter. The most selfish character in the programme performs the most outwardly selfless act, and her grand emotional gesture is thrown into the mix.

Of course, the immediate consequences are limited. The killer stops bleeding Bjorn, but he dies anyway. But an unpredictable gesture has been thrown into the killer's plan. No doubt there will be ripples.

Martin gets more and more likeable. The scene between him and Mette, his wife, where she reveals to him that she's pregnant just days after his vasectomy, is so very sweet. The dialogue is all about how the could possibly make room for another child and whether to keep it, but we know they will. The dialogue is counterbalanced by their laughter, and affection for each other, and mutual happiness. But all is not completely well in the house: who is this "Frida" whom August is chatting to?

The Bridge: Episode Three

"I had sex as well."

"How did you find time for that?"

"It doesn't take long."

"What's his name?"

"I can't remember."

Well, I've certainly crossed Saga off my list of "fictional characters I might conceivably consider sleeping with". It's a funny exchange, though, and while it's the best in the episode it's one of many amusing little "odd couple" between her and Martin. She has no sense of embarrassment whatsoever (and that, if nothing else, makes me jealous) and has no ability to infer what other people want or are implying. Hints mean nothing to her.

There's a big question here, of course: is there something a bit uncomfortable about using the traits of Asperger's for comic purposes? I wouldn't use a stronger word than "uncomfortable", but I do wonder. But it isn't as though I don't find Saga funny. And it's rather touching how her boss, Hans, is quite fond of her. That scene between the two of them is rather sweet, even if it does hammer home rather unsubtly (not that hammering tends to be subtle, but you know what I mean…) that she and the murderer probably have similar personalities. And I bet she will end up withdrawing her report on Martin eventually, probably for a completely random reason.

The police in Copenhagen are rather less of a happy family, and Martin's boss is rather more beleaguered, especially with the whole Monique Brannan debacle. Still, it's interesting how both sets of detectives wear very casual clothes and are always calling each other by their first names. Hans even has rather longish hair although, yes, I know- pot, kettle. You wouldn't see any of those things in a British cop show.

As far as the plot is concerned, this episode is mainly about introducing new plot threads, as the poisoning of the homeless people is not really the focus of the episode, except to establish Sonja as having survived, and to push Stefan back firmly into "red herring" territory. He ends up looking so very guilty to Martin and Sonja; it's a surprise they don't arrest him there and then.

No, the homelessness angle is really about the reality show- style kidnapping of Bjorn, and the way four rich people have to donate £20 million krone or krona within a few hours if he's not to die. One of those people, interestingly, was to be Goran, except he's dead. Things haven't gone to the murderer's plan and he must improvise, which is one of his weaknesses according to the Malmo psychologist (who dresses much like I do, yay!), and make do with Charlotte, who has inherited her husband's money and thus joined up with the main plot. Of course, after the events of episode one she will only speak to Martin, not Saga. This, of course, teaches us one of the rules by which this series operates; events in one episode can have unforeseen consequences a couple of episodes later. Interesting, then, that Martin's son August admires the political agenda of the "truth terrorist" and is speaking to a mysterious online someone.

Definitely unforeseen is the whole angle with Anja. She's a very middle class rebel, but her only communication with her mother is through sudden, awkward violence and her dad is too busy throwing dinner parties in his massive house. So she plays at being homeless and shacks up with a creepy male stranger. I have no idea where this is going, but she's clearly going to play a big part.

This episode feels very much like set-up for the most part. Exactly what's being set up is a mystery to me at this point.

Howard the Duck (1986)

"That's it. No more Mr. Nice Duck!"

It's rather odd that I haven't reviewed any superhero films so far, especially as I'm rather partial to them and there are so many of them around these days. V for Vendetta doesn't really count. It's about time that I reviewed a film starring one of the truly iconic Marvel or DC heroes. What could be a more obvious choice than Howard the Duck? (Thanks to Nick for lending it!)

Admittedly, there are reasons to go in with low expectations. The quotes on the DVD cover, which are naturally going to be the most complimentary ones they could possibly use, are all about the special effects and nothing else. The film is "presented by" George Lucas, and any film which is "presented by" someone more famous is invariably directed by someone quite obscure. Also, back in those distant days before the Star Wars prequels when George Lucas actually had a good reputation, this was generally considered one of the worst things he's put his name to.

Actually, though, I was very pleasantly surprised. It's not a particularly great film, fair enough, but it's a pleasantly nostalgic experience to watch it today. Yes, the plot is a bit plodding, the tone overly sentimental and the jokes forced, but without these things it just wouldn't be a 1980s Hollywood adaptation. And the film lays on the 1980s-ness so heavily that it's hard to accept that it's from the real 1980s and not a modern pastiche of the 1980s that thinks it was all Rubik's cubes, shoulder pads, Mr. T and Boy George. Let's do a list, shall we?

• Lea Thompson is in it, and she's one of the most 1980s people ever. Plus, her hair is looking particularly 1980s. Oh, and she's lead singer in a band that's just like the Bangles.

• We have one of those sorts of nightclubs that are only ever seen in movies from the 1980s, complete with an extraordinary array of hairstyles and probably half the world's supply of hairspray.

• Howard gets shoved all the way along a bar until he falls off the end, and then walks purposefully across it to get his revenge. This only ever happens in 1980s film and TV.

• There's some outrageous product placement for, of all things, Heinz mustard and tomato ketchup.

• There's an end of level baddie at the end as the Dark Overlord attains his true form, thus indicating that we've just entered the age of the video game, and yet this monster is a rather splendid, Ray Harryhausen style stop-motion thingy that moves just a little too quickly and awkwardly but is nevertheless the greatest thing ever. This combination could have happened in no other decade.

So, yay for all that. Of course, the duck costume looks rubbish. Of course, you have to raise an eyebrow at how easy it seems to be for a literal illegal alien to get a job. And yes, the film translates very little of Steve Gerber's absurd humour and sharpness to the screen, although Beverley does utter the phrase "trapped in a world you never made". But this is fun, nostalgic to the point where even the rubbish bits are nostalgically rubbish, and features Lea Thompson with not many clothes on. What more do you want? Although it has to be said that the film only has a 12 certificate and yet there are rather broad hints of what is technically bestiality…!

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Gingerbread

"Oh man! It's Nazi Germany and I've got Playboys in my locker!"

In a way this, Jane Espenson's second script is a harking back to what already seems an earlier era of the show: the fairly clear cut metaphor at the heart of the story. After all the arc episodes of late it would almost be a relief to have a more dependable type of one-off episode, except that the subject matter is intrinsically rather harrowing. It's a good thing that it's leavened with so much humour.

Moral panics are terrible, terrible things, always. Even when they aren't virtual witch hunts, people always get hurt. The obvious example which occurs to me is the moral panic against paedophiles here in the UK around a decade ago, whipped up by The News of the World, on whose grave there can never be too much dancing. There can hardly be a more genuinely loathsome section of society, but even in these cases innocent people get hurt, as the paediatricians who had been mistaken for paedophiles by a particularly stupid mob would no doubt agree. So much worse, then, when the target is much less deserving. Even without the literal presence of witchcraft the allusions to Salem would be obvious.

The demon (ironically, or rather deliberately, a rather Satan-like one) is closer to being literal than most of the metaphor monsters we've seen so far on Buffy. Even the mental fog which stops people asking basic facts about who the dead children is not much of a stretch; hysteria and groupthink do bad things to rational thought.

One thing which particularly impresses me is the way the theme is only gradually developed, though. The scene of the coven of witches doing seemingly dark deeds is shot especially to look as incriminating as possible, so the fact that we suddenly find Willow amongst them is a shock. The sudden reveal of the same occult symbol from the children's corpses is a truly shocking moment.

The true horror of the whole situation is played out via mother / daughter relationships, though. We've never seen Willow's neglectful mother before; the first time she takes an interest in her daughter, she burns her at the stake. The scenes between the two of them are simultaneously horrifying and very, very, funny. Alyson Hannigan is such a great comic actress.

It's the irrational actions of Joyce that are more shocking, though. Partly this is because of the convincingly gradual build-up, but also because it shows that moral panics can affect even people who are normally quite rational. Her speech ("This isn't our town any more. It belongs to the monsters and the witches and the slayers. I say it's time for the grown-ups to take Sunnydale back.") is another of several moments that hits you (and the Scoobies) like a punch.

It also, of course, hints at Sunnydale's "selective memory thing" that Willow mentions at the end. That means we get to see the glorious confrontation between Giles and Snyder in the library without any big consequences, but this isn't a fully-fledged reset button, not quite. For the first time we're explicitly told that the people of Sunnydale mat repress, but they don't forget, not completely.

The regulars, then? This is Cordelia's best episode since she split with Xander, back to her comedy gold best. Amy (nice to see her again) is stuck as a rat, potentially for a very long time. Also funny is Xander's exaggerated oversensitivity towards the very suggestion that he might know where Willow is. In fact, it's almost as though the Scoobies' interpersonal relationships are being drawn lightly as a contrast from the heavy themes. I'd say it might be a harbinger of some heavy stuff between regular characters next episode, but that can't be, right? It's Buffy's birthday!

The Bridge: Episode Two

"Do you want to have sex at my place?"

"Yes, definitely!"

"Good, let's go."

Two episodes in, and I can already tell apart the words for "no" in both Danish and Swedish. Saga certainly says it a lot. It's also becoming clear that this is really good telly. Really, really good telly. Spiral and The Wire good telly. The plot's rather slow burn, and it's easier to spend these reviews talking about themes and characters, but it's unfolding very nicely indeed.

This time the mysterious Stefan has another woman to "save", the strange and homeless Sonja. He also has an office full of underlings who are helping him with Veronika. He also has a scene naked where we see his penis, which seems rather fair, given how much we see of Sonja's boobs. There's a twist, though… Sonja is his sister. And there's another twist at the end, as six homeless people turn up poisoned, apparently by the murderer. Sonja seems ill, too, and Stefan speaks of a mysterious someone who wishes her harm. What does this do to his status as red herring, then?

As I mentioned last episode, I still have no idea whether Stefan and Sonja are Danish or Swedish, and this clearly isn't meant to be unclear- perhaps the subtitles could have pointed it out? The same is true of the murderer's recording, although at least we learn that it was recorded, on behalf of a mysterious client, by an actor speaking "standard Swedish".

The murder seems to have a political agenda, and the first of his five "issues" is the inequality of access to justice. Certainly Monique, the Danish prostitute, has not had the access to justice that Swedish politician Kerstin Ekwall has, er, enjoyed. Martin is appalled and upset to discover that the investigation of the previous year did not even stretch as far as to look at the missing girl's diary, and he's visibly upset by reading it. He's very much a "people person", if you'll excuse the awful phrase, and his empathy and instinct are clearly intended as a neat contrast with Saga. His instinct to go with a hunch and assume that Ferbé has drugs in his flat is such a massive contrast with anything she would do.

The funniest scene is, of course, our look at Saga's very direct pulling technique, the way she post-coitally just turns away from the man she's just shagged without a word and is cluelessly rude to him in the morning. The last thing she says to him is "Thanks!" There are some interesting contrasts here, most obviously with Martin's family life, current sexual inability and habit of confiding with his wife, but also between Saga using a stranger for sex while Martin feels deep empathy with prostitutes. Interesting, too, that each of them is displaying traits more often associated with the opposite gender, whether in relationships or personal traits.

The theme of whether or not to have children, so important last episode, is brought into sharp focus as Charlotte tries to convince the father of a boy on life support to let her husband have the brain-dead son's heart. There are all sorts of ethical agonies inherent in this, but Charlotte is "not interested in hypotheticals". And yet her husband survives only to dump her, and then die. Her selfishness has brought her only pain. Still, it's not yet clear what her role is other than to echo themes.

More of this on Monday: it's back to Buffy next…

The Bridge: Episode One

"Does he know… she's a bit odd?"

"If not, he'll soon find out."

Here we are then. Another Scandinavian TV drama and, on the evidence of this episode, a bloody good one. From the first shot of some driving gloves to the final revelation which leaves us wanting more it had me gripped. There is, I think, a slight comprehension problem for those of us from third countries in that we don't immediately know who's meant to be Swedish and who's meant to be Danish until we're told by the dialogue. I still don't know whether Stefan and Veronika are Danish or Swedish. It doesn't matter at this stage, though.

But let's start by talking about Saga Norén, shall we? Martin Rohde is the co-star, of course, and I suspect he'll turn out to be equally interesting, but Saga makes quite the first impression, to put it mildly. As so many previews have said, she seems to have Asperger's, but this isn't "diagnosed" by the script, and I'm not surprised. Whatever the merits of labelling people in this way, it isn't intrinsically very writer-friendly. Characterisation becomes a little more reductive and less interesting. Nevertheless, that's obviously how we're supposed to see her, initially with a fair bit of dry humour. She's deliciously yet innocently rude to everyone, and has loads of priceless scenes. She refuses to let an ambulance over the bridge, even though it's transporting a heart for transplant. She doesn't exactly show herself as a "people person" when rather brutally informing Kerstin Ekwall's husband of her death. She's calmly matter-of-fact, hilarious, and bizarrely wise in my favourite scene, as she calmly explains to Daniel Ferbé about how he's going to die. But the most revealing scene is where it has to be explained to her that, as she has to spend probably a long time working with Martin, it probably wouldn't be particularly clever to report him for letting the ambulance through!

She's a tall, blonde ice maiden, a very Swedish stereotype. She's cold, lacking in empathy, and a stickler for rules to the point of absurdity. Does this make her a Danish stereotype of a Swede? If so, does this make Martin the Swedish stereotype of a typical Dane? He smokes, which in TV these days is always symbolic: this clearly shows us that he's much looser and more relaxed. He's fathered five children with three different women. His basic social skills are present and correct. Interestingly, he's just had a vasectomy, which means he's symbolically emasculated. I'm not sure what to make of this.

It'll be fascinating to watch this interplay of the two countries, and their mutual stereotypes, over the course of the series. But it's interesting that these two languages are more-or-less mutually intelligible, albeit with a bit of enunciating and hand-waving. As they say, a language is a dialect with an army.

But there are other themes, too; the theme of how rigidly we should stick to rules is seen also in the determination of Charlotte, a wealthy and powerful woman, to bend the rules and secure a heart transplant for her dying husband, an event which ultimately fails because of factors she cannot influence. Also interesting and, at this point, puzzling, are Veronika and her Good Samaritan, Stefan, who seeks to save her from her abusive drug addict husband for reasons which are not yet clear. I suspect, given the contents of the CD in Daniel Ferbe's car, that we're supposed to think he's the murderer. But then it's probably too soon to think of him as the red herring.

Another theme is whether or not to have children. An earlier scene in which Martin and Saga discuss this is echoed by a conversation between Daniel Ferbé, an offensively good-looking hipster and twat, and an older colleague of his. Ferbé, of course, gets his comeuppance.

Oh, and the murder itself, intensely theatrical, is interesting too. There'll be more on that, I'm sure, and many, many more…

Slight Change of Plan...

Before today's proper blog post, a quick word...

Obviously, I'm reviewing Buffy, soon to be joined by Angel. But so far I've been reviewing each season of Buffy straight through, doing a short mini-series between seasons but pretty much sticking to Buffy otherwise, aside from the films. The  problem is, certain television channels (I'm looking at you, BBC4) have been showing lots of short series I want to review over recent months- The Killing, Spiral, Homeland, Rubicon.... so far I've succumbed only with Borgen. So...

I've been having a bit of a think today about being a bit less rigid, which is rather appropriate given the themes of the first episode in question. For the next five weeks I'll be juggling two TV series at the same time. Buffy will be joined by The Bridge. I'll do two episodes a week, to keep me roughly at BBC4 pace. The channel, bizarrely, is showing two episodes at a time, so I'll review both of them during the following week, interspersed with Buffy on other days, still making up most of the posts. Hopefully that'll keep things more zeitgeisty with The Bridge (in the UK, at least) than they were with Borgen, where I was a few weeks behind the curve.

Also, I should be able to post a bit more between now and mid-May. No four days running of no posts, like the last four days! I had a busy weekend, and a not exactly teetotal one. The next couple of weeks should be quieter.

So. I've seen part one of The Bridge: I'm going to start writing it now, and it'll be up in a bit. Yep, two blogs in one day..

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Amends

"Where are you going?"

"No, I'm not going. Just a… dramatic gesture."

If you're from Northern Europe, as I am, there's something oddly unthinkable about spending Christmas in a hot climate. But this, the Christmas episode, forces me to face the fact that in Sunnydale, Southern California, Yuletide is to happen in temperatures of seventy degrees (or about twenty degrees in real money). Fake snow is sprayed on trees, Joyce insists on both a fire and air conditioning(!), and Xander is able to sleep outdoors. Also, it's interesting to learn that, instead of heading down the pub, it's traditional in America to have a big posh dinner on Christmas Eve.

All this is fascinating, but it's a relief to get a flashback to a proper, wintry, Victorian Christmas in early Victorian Dublin, and a scene right out of A Christmas Carol. But this is one of Angel's flashbacks, something we haven't seen for a while, and generally a clue that this is an Angel episode. The later flashback scene in which Angelus metaphorically rapes a maid who, if caught would, in a case of double cruelty, be thrown on to the streets with her child if she was caught. It's not just sexual abuse but class abuse too, and makes me think of The Crimson Petal and the White, a recent-ish read of mine, which deals a lot with this sort of thing.

Still, away from such tangents and, in fact, away from Angel, there are some nice little character moments here. Xander quietly admits that he hasn't been a very good friend to Buffy over the Angel thing. Joyce and Buffy include Faith in their Christmas. And, well, Oz turns out to be such a mature and wonderful person. He still loves Willow ("It's like I lost an arm. Or, worse, a torso.") and they get back together, although there's awkwardness. He also gently declines Willow's offer of sex during her rather hilariously over-the-top romantic preparations, which not only involve Barry White but also a bottle of fizzy pop, in a bucket, on ice. Classy.

He doesn't want her to just give herself to him; it has to be meaningful, and mutual. There's a theme of not having sex, and of making amends, that echoes the main plot with Buffy and Angel. Essentially we have Angel being tempted by the First Evil (pretty much the Devil- the temptation thing is a bit of a giveaway) to shag Buffy again, turn evil, and be free of the guilt. He resists, but can't bear the thought that one day he might be weak and give in to this temptation that will never go away. So he attempts suicide, but is thwarted by a miraculous snowfall. And a miracle is an interesting choice, especially in an episode written and directed by atheist Joss Whedon.

Those are the bare bones, but there's a lot more to it than that, not least the heartbreaking argument between Buffy and Angel near the end. It's about Angel showing deep, deep remorse so that the audience can begin to like him again, something which is deeply necessary, and it's important that it's Giles who stands for the doubting viewers but comes to accept Angel, though not without reservations. Even more important, perhaps, is the welcome return of Robia LaMorte. This episode really, really, had to happen. Also, we get to hear Joyce saying "So, Angel's on top again?" which is, like, the best thing in all television ever.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Wish

"I have to believe in a better world."

Well, we certainly needed a rather less heavy episode at this point and we certainly got one. This episode is pure fun, plus it has Evil Willow in it. Mmm… Evil Willow…

But before we get to the alternate universe stuff (which manages to pack an awful lot into not very much screen time in an impressive piece of structuring), there's a lot of fascinating character stuff. Xander is the more self-indulgent of the two, but both he and Willow spend their time obsessing on their own need to do something about their guilt, without considering that, actually, it's the needs of the people they betrayed that count. Oz rightly calls Willow out on this; her need to feel better about herself is indeed not his problem. Nor should we have much sympathy for them not being able to be as innocently tactile with each other as they once were.

Cordelia doesn't take things anywhere near as well as Oz does, though; not only has she lost her boyfriend, she's lost her place in the school hierarchy. Harmony (how long has it been since we last saw her?) tries to set her up with Jonathan, and the mockery just continues. The worst moment comes when she's knocked into a pile of rubbish as Buffy fights a vampire, just before Harmony walks along with her gang and a cruel quip. Obviously this is all ultimately Buffy's fault and it would be better if she'd never come to Sunnydale.

Unfortunately, Cordelia's new friend Anya (no doubt a one-off character, right?) turns out to be a vengeance demon who acts on behalf of women scorned. As you do. And a Sunnydale without Buffy is a dark, dangerous place, ruled by the Master from Season One, where the classes are half-empty from those who have died and the streets are not safe after dark. Only the desperate "white hats", consisting of Giles, Oz, Larry(!), and Redshirt Girl, stand in the way of the undead, although not very convincingly. It's all very bleak. Buffy, meanwhile, is in Cleveland, which apparently has a huge demon problem. Undead Xander and Evil Willow, interestingly, are two of the Master's most prominent lieutenants, and both of them are clearly, somehow, the same people. Angel is kept chained up as a "puppy" to be regularly tortured by Evil Willow. Er, part of me wishes I was him. Did I really just type that?

This is an alternate reality, so naturally Cordelia dies pretty soon, as Giles watches, horrified. Of course, pretty much everyone dies- why waste a good alternate reality? But we'll come to that; by far the most interesting character in this reality is Buffy, scarred, brusque, cynical, humourless, battle-hardened and played extraordinarily, and so very differently, by Sarah Michelle Gellar. Faith may not be in this episode (interestingly, there's an early line about her going AWOL), but symbolically she isn't needed, as she pretty much symbolised what Buffy would be like without the support network of her family, her friends and her life. Here, we have the real thing, and she's harsh, withdrawn, without hope, and as inwardly dead as any vampire. Without hope, or anything to live for, she embarks on a kamikaze mission, with no plan, and dies.

The one person who refuses, stubbornly, to lose hope, and the true hero of this reality, is Giles. He saves the world with hope. And yet this is juxtaposed with slow-motion shots of all the characters we know and love- Willow, Xander, Angel and, finally, Buffy, dying pointlessly. Hope and despair are side by side. Not a bad metaphor for Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Lover's Walk

"I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it."

Oooh boy. There's so much to say about this episode. My notes are a hell of a lot longer than usual. This is a superb piece of television. It makes you laugh, it makes you cry, it's beautiful. It's a kind of magic spell, I suppose. Spend several episodes setting everything up, just add Spike, and watch as devastating things happen.

It's pretty much been obvious from what happened between the two of them last episode that the Willow / Xander thing would get out in the open here, but it happens in the most devastating circumstances possible. Both Cordelia and Oz are set up as being wonderful and caring lovers early on: Cordelia had pictures of Xander in her locker, while Oz gives Willow a little witch pez which is, er, really romantic. They're in firm occupation of the moral high ground, all ready to catch their partners in the act. And both Willow and Xander are horrified by what's happening and desperate for it to stop. Unfortunately, this is the time when Spike returns, and he's quite the catalyst.

Spike's arrival, of course, references his first appearance as his car hits the Sunnydale sign. But this is a different Spike- lovelorn, desperate, and drinking spirits from a bottle. Drusilla has dumped him and, yes, this is so played for laughs. We're already seeing the slow change in the character from out-and-out baddie to ambiguous character. He gets scenes in which he tells Buffy and Angel the unpalatable truth that they can never be just friends and (funniest scene ever!) he visits Joyce just so they can have a nice little chat.

And yet… he also kills an innocent person. And the scene in which he threatens Willow with a broken bottle and seems to be about to metaphorically rape her ("I haven't had a woman in ages") is extremely and deliberately disturbing. The character is actually very, very well-written; he's the sort of very dangerous "bad boy" that lots of women somehow find attractive and really, really, shouldn't. Bad boys like that might seem alluring but they offer nothing but darkness. In fact, the implied Sid- Vicious-ness of the character is made explicit in the final scene, as Spike sings along to the post-Rotten Sex Pistols' version of My Way (which is, incidentally, my karaoke specialty…). Sid was the ultimate bad boy and, well, it was probably Rockets Redglare and not Sid that actually killed her, but look what being with him did for Nancy.

Spike's Nancy may have dumped him for now, but the, er, refreshing experience of a spot of violence convinces him that all he needs to do is to get a little kinky. He ends the episode with his love life seemingly looking up.

Buffy, meanwhile, has unexpectedly great SAT scores, and suddenly the world is her oyster. She can go to college everywhere, and with Faith around she doesn't necessarily have to stay in Sunnydale. Even Giles thinks so. But… is it really just Angel who makes her reluctant to leave? The sudden realisation that she actually has a future is disorientating for her and, like all teenagers with a reflective bent, she feels more than a little angst at seemingly being on a carrier belt. God knows I did when I was her age. Teenagers may not actually experience the stress that we adults do, but they're far less confident and experienced at handling stress, and so it's far more overwhelming for them. That (and hormones, and the fear of dying a virgin) is why being a teenager is so existentially horror.

Speaking of existentialism… I notice that Angel is seen reading Sartre's La Nauseé. Books read by TV characters on screen are always, without exception, symbolic, and it's not hard to figure out what we're being told about Angel. He's self-aware and, unsurprisingly after what has happened, deeply conscious of the awful significances of the choices he makes. And yet, he, like Buffy, needs to be told by Spike, of all people, that the two of them can never be just friends. And it's her, not him, who is able to accept this and end their relationship.

When Willow and Xander are seen having a long, slow, rather enjoyable-looking snog by their respective horrified partners, it's actually the one time out of all of their smoochings that you could almost, but not quite, excuse them. After all, they could be about to die. But the result is heartbreaking, especially as the episode plays a cruel trick on us by injuring Cordy immediately after she's seen her boyfriend being unfaithful, and then cuts to a funeral.

Cordelia seems to reject Xander very, very firmly, but everyone and everyone else has been properly shaken into bits. It's anyone's guess where the pieces are going to land.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Revelations

"Interesting lady. Can we kill her?"

Blimey. Do some Americans really think of us Brits as being like that awful Gwendolyn Post? She's a deliciously hissable pantomime villain, perfectly written and performed to be the sort of character you love to hate. But usually in Buffy the British stereotypes are knowing and ironic, and that isn't the case here. A lot of the dialogue here indicates that there's a bit of a stereotype in America of us Brits actually being stuck-up, arrogant, emotionally constipated, puritanical(!) but also intelligent, well-educated and thinking of Americans as culturally inferior. Some of those things may have been true of a certain elite back in the bad old days of Empire, but it's odd to see it in a contemporary context. I tend to see us as more-or-less typical North Europeans: easy-going, fun-loving and partial to beer and raucous laughter, and generally very likely to take the piss out of the Gwendolyn Posts of this world.

That said, she's a delicious baddie and a gloriously fun character. And that's really rather necessary, because this episode not only does a fair bit of heavy lifting in service of the season arc, but it's quite intense at times. Buffy has kept the return of Angel secret for a while now, and this is the episode where the elastic finally snaps. No one reacts well, although it's odd that no one seems to acknowledge any distinction at all between Angel and Angelus. Xander, again, sees red. Everyone gangs up on Buffy in the library, in what looks awfully like an intervention. But it's Giles' reaction, alone with Buffy afterwards and having seemingly defended her, that is the emotional heart of the episode. His quiet yet emotionally devastating words hit so very hard: "You have no respect for me, or the job I perform."

This is, of course, the beginning of a run of episodes that examines and questions the role of the Watcher. With what right do they wield their authority? What is this mysterious "Council", with its decidedly public school membership, and to whom is it accountable? We're beginning to see the start of a distancing between Giles, a sympathetic and likeable character, and the somewhat ambiguous organisation which he represents.

The attraction between Willow and Xander is continuing to fester, and is bound to explode soon. Alyson Hannigan is superb at playing the comic potential of Willow's guilt, but I suspect there won't be much more of this. As for Buffy and Angel, it seems very doubtful if the two of them can be together. There's too much awkwardness. It's still far from clear what Angel's role in this season is going to be, other than as a catalyst for conflict between the Scoobies. Everyone seems to accept his "not evil" credentials, but things between him and everyone else are, for obvious reasons, even more awkward.

Faith's story is also taking a turn into darker areas. She trusted Post, and her betrayal makes Faith even less inclined to trust anyone. The last shot in the episode is her, in a bedsit, alone.

L'Etoile de Mer (1928)

"Nous sommes a jamais perdus dans le désert de léternèbre."

This is an interesting little comparison to Un Chien Andalou, directed a year earlier by Man Ray. The version I saw had a superb soundtrack by Paul Mercer which I recommend hugely.

The other film used conventional film-making tropes and techniques to depict surreal scenes, divorced from any context or sense of cause and effect, and that made it seem rather slippery to me. I found it hard to grab on to anything so I could talk about the film. That isn't the case here, with the use of soft focus. The blurring of the picture throughout the film is as much a part of the narrative as the events depicted, which I suppose can be understood in terms of the modernist foregrounding of form as opposed to content. As a piece of art this is far more a modernist work than a surrealist one. Interestingly, though, the picture often has a kind of Impressionist quality.

While there isn't any obvious plot here, there is a definite theme of beauty, which is interesting precisely because by 1928 it was a very old-fashioned conception of what art was supposed to be or do. We are tantalised with the beauty of the woman, with the first shot of her face which is in focus showing her peeping, face half-hidden, over a newspaper. Only at the end of the film are we male voyeurs finally rewarded.

The scenes of pieces of newspapers blowing across a beach remind me of the scene from American Beauty where a plastic bag, floating in the wind, is said to be beautiful. I couldn't say what their significance was, though. And as for the starfish I have no idea. But this is a fascinating film.

A Trip to Mars (1910)

I think the list of films I've reviewed is still looking a bit short, so it's time for me to do again what I last did a couple of months ago: pad it out a bit with a couple of short, early silent films which are available online. Yes, I know. Shameless. I saw this film to the gloriously anachronistic soundtrack of Rise by Public Image Ltd, which happened to be playing in my iTunes library at the time. The film is shorter than the song.

This little gem is another one from no less a figure than Thomas Edison, a name which instantly shocks you into grasping just how long ago this was made. The film should not be confused with Méliès' Le Voyage dans la Lune. I've seen Edison being unfairly criticised for this film being a rip-of of the earlier film and it isn't; it's entirely different, just a similar broad concept, which is fair game. Of course, Edison did in fact rip off Méliès by distributing his film without regard to copyright, but that has nothing to do with A Trip to Mars.

The plot is simple, as it would have to be in a film this length, and delightfully bonkers. A mad scientist, with a rather jolly looking skeleton hanging on the wall of his lab, invents a Cavorite-style anti-gravity thingy. Said McGuffin promptly lifts our hero out of the window and (wisely glossing over the inconvenient fact of, you know, thousands of miles of utter vacuum) to Mars. There he encounters a bunch of tree people whose costumes, as ever for these early films, evoke theatre rather than any suggestion of realism. He is then picked up by a giant devil-type creature, who blows freezing air on him so he's in the middle of a snowball, and throws the snowball all the way back to just outside his window on earth. We end on some anti-gravity hi-jinks as the room spins around.

If that didn't already sound fun enough, the effects are great too. It's a wonderful, wonderful film. Put the title into a search engine and watch it now. It's only five minutes of your life.

Jane and the Lost City (1987)

"Do you mean... the Empire should rally to the flag?"

Blimey. This film is… a bit of an oddity. I borrowed the DVD from a mate after being told that it starred both Sam Jones, star of Flash Gordon, and Jasper Carrott. Any film starring that combination just has to be seen. And it is in fact rather amusing. But I'm somewhat bewildered at how a film like this ever came to be made!

The Jane in question is the star of an old comic strip from the Daily Mirror which ran during the Second World War and was exceedingly popular with the average Tommy, mainly because Jane's gimmick was that she kept accidentally losing her clothes. Yes, I know- political correctness gone mad. One wonders what Laura Mulvey would make of this film. So, naturally, there's an element of soft porn.

Except… there's not that much of it. Yes, Jane is reduced to her underwear about half a dozen times, but that's about it. This is essentially an H. Rider Haggard spoof in the style of 'Allo 'Allo, with a bunch of Brits (and Sam Jones) competing with some comedy Nazis to find a lost city in the middle of Africa which has loads of diamonds.

The script is by one Mervyn Haisman, known to us Doctor Who fans as, among other things, the co-scriptwriter of The Web of Fear- that is, the one who isn't well known for espousing silly conspiracy theories about the Holy Grail. That isn't the only Doctor Who connection, either: the programme's current production designer, Michael Pickwoad, was also production designer on this.

The film is essentially a farce, and a rather amusing one, with a few spoofs from other films. I never thought I'd see a version of the shower scene from Psycho involving Jasper Carrott as the baddie, but I just have. And there's a bit of a Casablanca spoof at the end. It also has more mildly racist, colonial era, African clichés and stereotypes than I could even keep track of; the first five minutes alone feature pith helmets, spear-wielding natives, a dying man whose last words are of a lost city, and a vast chasm to be crossed by swinging on a vine. This lost city (which is not named) was not, of course, built by Africans, heaven forbid. Still, at least the city's queen is an African, not a white woman as per She. Even if she did go to Roedean and Oxford.

It's all very Boys' Own, and there's an obvious Indiana Jones influence. There's a bit where they travel by map, which is a bit funny if you happen to have recently seen The Muppets at the cinema. I won't make any great claims, but this very silly film is rather fun if you can get hold of it.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Band Candy

"I don't like this. They could have heart attacks!"

I've been looking forward to this: Jane Espenson is here at last! And her first script is comedy gold- witty, full of fun, and getting us to see characters in hilarious yet plausible new ways. It's odd that Faith isn't in this at all, though.

I love the way that the first few minutes focus on Buffy's responsibilities and the pressures being put on her by her adult authority figures, a very stark contrast to what comes later. She has SATs to prepare for, which will determine whether or not she gets into college. She has slaying duties, as ever. There's time with her mother to fit in. Oh, and Angel, who's becoming more lucid, which is starting to lead to awkwardness. It's all go. Oh, and Snyder expects her (any everyone) to sell this "band candy stuff".

Are American high schools really like this? Are kids regularly conscripted into doing stuff for school activities they haven't even signed up for? I'm curious about this. Is "band candy" a traditional phrase that people would know? Oh, and what about driving? We hear that Buffy hasn't even taken her test, but she drives her mother's car! Is this not highly illegal? Also, that car is massive.

It all sounds a lot of pressure, which culminates in her being found out by her mother and Giles when she uses them as alibis against each other. This seems to lead to the two of them ganging up to schedule all her free time into structured activities, tiger mother style. Except all is not as it seems, courtesy of the ever uber-cool Trick, the returning Ethan Rayne and the ever more interesting Mayor, who seems to have achieved his position by making some very dark deals which would traditionally require some very long spoons.

The tables are now turned, as the chocolate bars magically turn all the adults into particularly immature teenagers. The fact that they are considerably less mature than actual teenagers leads me to suspect a bit of a subtext here. Are we perhaps being told that, actually, kids today are more responsible than their parents' generation, perhaps with an added flavour of how the baby boomer generation has not exactly looked after the world all that well on its watch? Probably not, on balance. The differences are mainly portrayed in terms of popular culture and, yes, the younger Giles is just the sort of person who would pause the conversation with a girl he was trying to impress just to hear an Eric Clapton guitar solo.

It's a bit difficult to square this rebellious Ripper with his notably estuarised speech with what we were previously told about his past (actually quite the goody-goody until going off the rails at uni) but it fits. But Joyce is much funnier as a teenage girl although the most hilarious of these sequences have to belong to Snyder. All three actors are great here. Interesting, though, that Snyder has gradually changed from a sinister, threatening figure with comic elements to an outright figure of fun during the early episodes of the season.

Buffy's interaction with the "teenage" Joyce and Giles is hilarious, especially the bit with the handcuffs. And of course the closing moments where we learn that Joyce and Giles did, in fact, do it on the bonnet of a police car, are glorious. Yes, the conclusion may be a bit quick, and the demon rather easily dispatched, but I for one am glad Espenson decided to give more screen time to the funny stuff than the mechanical plotty blah-blah.