Crypt of Horror (1964)

 "In some houses death is a tenant."

This is, so to speak, a spaghetti horror, with Christopher Lee being a kind of Clint Eastwood here (not a phrase I ever thought I'd write) as the star and only native English speaker amongst a largely Italian cast in L'Aquila. It's reasonably straightforward sdaptation of Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla with a few names changed but the plot largely left intact, and will be interesting to compare with Hammer's The Vampire Lovers when I inevitably get there.

And it's the plot that makes this film surpisingly good. Lee is, as ever, superb, and well-cast as a Count Karstein who worries that his ill daughter may have been possessd by the spirit of a powerful witch of an ancestor- a true gothic situation with an evil from the distant past threatening a castle and deserted village. The historical Italian setting really emphasises this sense of an ever-present past threatening the present.

This film is, perhaps, a collection of all the usual '60s horror film tropes with all the above plus more. But what makes it special is the unusally intricate plot, with twist and turns throughout and a rather effective whodunit element towards the end. It's weird that all the dialogue except Lee's is dubbed, but the script is surprisingly strong and the film well-directed, and done as straight horror with no ttempt at high camp whatsoever- a dangerous thing to mattempt with this sort of film but just about pulled off successfully.

Overall, this is surprisingly good, and deserves an audience beyond the usual Christopher Lee completists.

Deserter's Songs (1998)

 The late ‘90s were not, in hindsight, the best of times for music. Of course, you can’t say things like that without caveats; I suspect at any time the ratio of good music to crap remains constant, more or less, at least from around 1965 onwards. But what gets into the zeitgeist is curated by the record companies and the media, so what is prominent at any given time. And, for me, the late ‘90s were a time where Britpop had burst into mainly inane dad rick, metal had continued Nu-Metal to a point beyond interesting while things seemed to be stagnating a bit, and it had become clear that manufactured pop, an institution of unfettered evil, was back.

But of course there was so much more going on under the surface, and my personal soundtrack to the late ‘90s bears no relation to those trends. One reason for this is Mercury Rev and this album, which I went out and bought the moment I first heard “Goddess on a Hiway”. Weird, ethereal, sounding like gossamer with theremins while still somehow sounding a bit like the Flaming Lips, I fell for this album hard, as did many for this breakthrough album. It’s extraordinary, and it’s quite ironic that this is the sound of the band giving up on mainstream success and just doing what they want.

Still don’t like how they spell “hiway” or “tonite”, mind.

Jon Pertwee 1982 Interview

 Here's the link to a fully copyrighted YouTube video of a 1982 interview with Jon Pertwee. It's a rather interesting little curiosity,: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWmi1BZeh_0

The whole thing is possible the most 1982 thing ever, from the opening titles with that font to the young interviewer's oh-so John Craven's Newsround hair and suit. It's nice that it takes place in the Pert's dressing room with him in full costume and make-up as Worzel Gummidge, which makes it an even nicer little artifact.

Much of the interview consists of the Pert's usual talking points over its eighteen minute length, but there are some fascinating little nuggets. The Pert seems to take slight umbrage at the suggestion he was known as a comedy actor before Doctor Who (he was), pointing to a handful of obscure '50s film roles to prove his point. But it's odd to think that such a young-looking interviewer would, in 1982, remember him taking over from Patrick Troughton. It's also striking that this interview dates from a time before it was possible to watch old stories. The interviewer, seemingly a fan, can't remember The Dæmons.

Most amusing of all it the subtle criticism of the humour of his successor- when facing an alien threat, "you don't fall over a scarf"...

Interestingly, the Pert comes across as the consummate professional interviewee on the surface, with a stream of polished anecdotes and opinions- but they're mostly the same talking points again and again. He's playing a part, as always. The real Pert is only seen in a slight prickliness just beneath the surface...

Creepshow 2 (1987)

 "I feel the need, the need for weed!"

It's getting close to Halloween which, I think, is as good an excuse to watch only fun, cheesy horror films for the rest of October. This is a particularly fine example, with three nice little Stephen King stories (he gets an amusing cameo) adapted, but not directed, by George A. Romero in another entertaining little '80s Hollywood version of those old Amicus anthologies. It's nice to see that the cast, while short of star wattage, is full of character actors with familiar faces who are getting prominent roles and nailing them.

The first segment, uncharcteristically, happens in some western state that isn't Maine, which is very un-Stephen King. It's a simple tale of a kindly old couple who are nice to the local native tribe and try to support their dying community, only to be cruelly murdered by a young psychopathic thug and his underlings, who are all then slain in increasingly fun ways by a wooden carving of a Native American  chief. It is, I suppose, vaguely racist in its stereotypes, but the killings are clever and fun. The axe in the back, in shadow but with a splattering of blood, is nicely done in particular.

The second segment, about four teenagers on a raft being menaced and killed off one by one by some kind of sentient oil slick, is superb. The straightforward plot doesn't really reflect the cleverness of how events play out for maimum tension. I love how all but one of the kids smoke some weed, making one expect a "drugs are bad, m'kay" undercurrent with the one girl surviving... but they are all doomed regardless. I love how the slick is inexorable and can't be outrun. There's no logic or reason to cling to, only fear and death.

The third and final segment is outstanding, as a very rich woman leaves the home of an expensive male prostitute(!), is late, and in her panic fatally runs over a hitchhiker who pursues her inexorably to her death after she drives off and tries to avoid the consequences. The horror and tension are nicely juxtaposed with her musings on the guilt she feels. On a mundane note, I smiled at the beginning when the digital alarm clock failed to go off and flashed "12:00" after a power cut. That exact situation made me late a couple of times back in the days before we all just used our phones...

This film isn't big, it doesn't claim to be clever, but it's enormous fun and gave me quite a feeling of warmth.

The Crown: Season 3, Episode 6- Tywysog Cymru

 "Fancy being the heir?"

"Not if it means going to Wales..."

This is yet another outstanding episode, our first to focus on Charles as a young man rather than a child- Josh O'Connor plays him with aplomb, safely negotiating a path between acting and impersonation. But the script (with James Graham co-writing) is magnificent.

It's horrifying to see Charles at 20, clearly having been denied much of a childhood, being denied a youth too. It's awful so see him trying to reach out to a room of fellow students in Aberystwyth but have the door slammed on him by youths with hair and clothes appropriate for students in 1969, while he stands there in his ever-present suit. He can never belong, and even his family (though his rapport with Anne is lovely) are very cold fishes, as we shall see.

For much of the episode it seems as though the theme is going to be Welsh nationalism, Certainly we, through Charles, learn much of the Welsh viewpoint and it's interesting to see Charles relationship evolve with his republican, nationalist tutor Edward Millward (not a very Welsh name!) from insulting ignorance to true mutual respect as he slips some sympathetic sentiments into his speech which, well, may not have actually been said in his real investiture as Prince of Wales, but are a nice bit of artistic licence.

But all this is undermined at the end, after the warm parting with Millward and his "You did well". The Queen finally receives a translation of the speech and immediately sees through it... his sentiment about Wales being ignored, not listened to, are all about himself. He's exploited the Welsh no less than many of his forebears. And we end with an argument about how a monarch can never be seen to express an opinion lest the whole edifice collapse. At the same time, this is an impossible thing to expect of someone. I 'm sure this theme will recur.

The solution, of course, if one is not a republican (and I, remember, am St Augustine's republican- "Lord, grant me a republic, but not yet"), is that it's only right to allow senior royals to decline the succession and retire into private life if they find this an overly onerous requirement. The gilded cage of royalty must carry the hope of parole. The lack of this sensible reform will, I suspect, lead to much further angst in future episodes...

Butthole Surfers- Independent Worm Saloon (1993)

 

The splendidly monikered Butthole Surfers are nowhere near as well known as they should be. This is a crying shame. At their best they’re the finest band in the world, Gibby Haynes is a genius and if there were any justice they’d be a household name. I absolutely love them.

This isn’t my favourite Butthole Surfers album- we shall come to that- but it’s near the top of my mental list and a delightful example of both how very weird and how very Texan they are- for some reason they sound more Texan here than usual- and a collection of killer songs which may be utterly bonkers but are also quite addictive, particularly “Goofy’s Concern”. The guitar sound, the production, the insanity- it’s all peak Butthole Surfers. 

This is their major label debut and, bizarrely, produced by John Paul Jones and made with lots of hard work in the studio and righteous amounts of alcohol. It didn’t quite get them mainstream success but, well, these are the Butthole Surfers. The mainstream doesn’t deserve them.

Roadkill: Episode 1

 "Voters think of me as a character..."

So, alternating with the crown, I'll be blogging this very current political thriller from David Hare, starring Hugh Laurie as exactly the sort of morally dodgy character he's been playing of late. First impressions are extremely promising: an intricate yet clear plot that reminds me of State of Play while being very much of our time.

We first meet ambitious Tory transport minister Peter Laurence immediately after he's won a libel case and makes a speech on the steps which has to have been intended to echo Jonathan Aitken, bavk in the Major years back in that innocent era when Toty misisters would actually resign for misdeeds and the concept of absolute truth was rather more fashionable than it is now. But, well, he's essentially Boris Johnson, isn't he? A shagger, a "character", a man with no pirnciples.... although, it seems, Peter is at once more criminal and much more competent than Boris.

It says a lot for Hare's script that there are lots of characters and many moving parts here, but things are never hard to follow. The cast is superb. The hero is clearly Sarah Greene's investigative journalist Charmian,humanised as a recovering alcoholic, but also impressive are Helen McRory as a delightfully machiavellian prime minister and Pip Torrens as a cynical newspaper editor. The direction is excellent yet unobtrusive, and it's nice to see a variety of locations from a prison to a club where young people dance to The Fall's "Totally Wired". Where were these places when I was their age?

A very promising start. Early days, but this could prove to be something special.

The Crown: Season 3, Episode 5- Coup

 "I am protecting the Prime Minister. I am protecting the Constitution. I am protecting Democracy."

We have another fine episode here, again mixing excellent character stuff with thought-provoking constitutional issues. I suspect, due to the largely political subject matter, this episode won't be quite as popular as others this season, but to devote space to the supposed coup against Wilson is probably the right thing to do.

It is, of course, not necessarily a hard fact that any such coup was planned, despite decades of rumours. Sources (Hugh Cudlipp, the highly questionable Peter Wright) give some indication that Lord Mountbatten was approached, but it's not widely believed that things went any further. Dramatic licence aside, however, the events are well dramatised here, with Mountbatten's presentation to Cecil King and co on the practicalities of a coup are like something out of a Frederick Forsyth novel. Charles Dance, recast as a necessarily harder-edged Mountbatten, is outstanding as the charismatic old military leader looking for purpose in retirement. His speech to the Burma veterans, including the full recital of Kipling's "Road to Mandalay", is dripping with charisma. Mountbatten comes across as complex here, and not unsympathetic, quite an achievement,

Cecil King is odd, though. Proprietor of the Daily Mirror, friend of Hugh Cudlipp, yet fomenting a right-wing coup against a fairly standard Labour government?

Regardless, the Queen gives all this short shrift here. If she did, in reality, do this, she deserves much praise for doing the most important job of a modern constitutional monarch in defending democracy, for being Juan Carlos in 1981 rather than Vittorio Emmanuele in 1922. Interestingly, this episode contrasts this by showing the Queen spending weeks on end travelling to pursue her horse racing hobby, at the expense of her job. One can hardly begrudge her a holiday, however; Trump and his golf this ain't. And there's a superbly written moment between her and old friend Porchey as she discusses how she would have much preferred the life of a racing horse owner to that of a monarch. These few weeks are a poignant glimpse into the life she could have had, if her Uncle David hadn't forced her, and her reluctant monarch, into the life she now leads.

We end on a note of hope, as the duly chastened Mountbatten reconnects with his sister Princess Alice, reminding us of the complexities of the family trees of the royal houses of Europe. "We Battenbergs have no country" says the old and relaxed Alice to her patriotic brother, both scions of a universal monarchical class floating over the various nations of Europe which at some point borrowed some German princeling to be their king.

We alo have a nice scene with Elizabeth and Philip at the end. The personal stuff, the characterisation, is always perfectly written and performed, and seems to mesh seamlessly with the more phiosophical stuff. This is bloody good telly.

British Sea Power- The Decline of British Sea Power (2003)

 There was a bit of a renaissance in indie music starting roughly with the Strokes in 2001 and eventually petering out to landfill indie pointlessness after about five years. But those few years packed in an extraordinary profusion of diverse and interesting bands, mostly ploughing some interesting post-punk furrow or other, but the concept of post-punk can cover all sorts of stuff. Of course, eventually you reach the point where new bands are no longer influenced by Wire and Gang of Four but by the bands they in turn influence, diminishing returns happen, and these kinds of bands lose out to the ever-present godawful Coldplay clones.

It was good while it lasted, though, and the splendidly weird British Sea Power were always one of the more interesting bands of the lot. This, their wonderful debut album shows why. They sound a bit like Joy Division on the surface, but there's a onderfully playful obtuseness to the lyrics and an equally playful whimsicality to the whole album, making what could have been a rather po-faced album into something else entirely. And I love these Brighton-based Cumbrian musicians' insistence on lyrics that are as un-rock 'n' roll as possible. That's the quintessence of punk.

Life on Mars: Season 1, Episode 8

 "You make that sound like a bad thing..."

This is, of course, a superb and hard-hitting season finale, resolving the mystery of what happened to Sam's father. It's also, interestingly, an episode that eschews the usual commentary on social mores and between 1973 and 2006 in favour of what we Doctor Who fans call timey-wimeyness. It's a superb character piece, a pretty good whodunit with a twist, and a good bit of, yes, time travel science fiction.

John Simm is superb as Sam slowly unravels the truth about why his dad walked out on his family at a family wedding in 1973. Sam's wilful refusal to see Vic as anything other than a good bloke helps to cleverly misdirect us from the fact that Vic himself is the big bad, who commits two murders under our noses.

Also clever is that we learn the reason for the hallucination of the woods, which we've seen all series- it's Vic kicking Annie in a repressed childhood memory- would she have been killed without Sam there? And is his dad why Sam has gone back to 1973 in particular?

I think it's also becoming clear- especially following last episode- that Gene Hunt is a more nuanced and (whisper it) character behind the hard nut facade, like many a Western hero. He even forgives Sam for pulling a gun on him, but he clearly likes and respects Sam more than he will ever admit. 

This is an exeptional end to a fine first season. I've been alternating Life on Mars with The Crown, and will continue to do so, but I'll blog something short and very current over just a few days before I see you again for Series Two...

Culture- Two Sevens Clash (1977)

 I’m one of those people who got into ‘70s reggae and dub via ‘70s punk and, perhaps more specifically,  via the sort of stuff Don Letts used to play in the Roxy, and then kindly sort of reproduced in a compilation. album several decades later. This l d to me buying and enjoying a number of reggae albums from that era.

That era, and not beyond, of course;  I don’t really have a roadmap beyond the punk connection and have no clue about reggae music after about 1980. It feels like a very different culture (part of the attraction) in a way that Black American music doesn’t, even though it originates from the same West African diaspora of the descendants of people kidnapped into North American slavery.

A few songs from this album are tightly well known, and the title song has a special meaning for those of us born in the year of no Elvis, Beatles or Rolling Stones. But the whole album is a treat to listen to.

Cat People (1942)

 "I like the dark It's friendly."

I can't quite put my finger on why, but this film- as with many directed by Jacques Tourneur and produced by Val Lewton- doesn't quite do it for me. It doesn't seem to cohere.

It gets a lot of things right. It manages to be pacey as well as having very strong characterisation for a horror film- fantasy elements and dodgy Serbian history aside, this is a film that could be about real people, and has an actual subtext of the wildness of female sexuality, kept repressed in what they would not, in 1942, have referred to as our patriarchal world.

The horror is well done, with suggestion and direction rather than spectacle as something seems to follow Alice- the footsteps and bus scene, and the swimming pool scene, are both very well done. Kent Smith is a little bland, but the rest of the case is superb.

And yet, there's an unevenness of tone. It doesn't become a horror film until the last part of the film, instead the story of a woman's fear of the harm she can do with her sexuality, causing her to remain repressed until she meets the nice but dull Oliver. There's a bit of a vague love triangle with Alice, who comes across as very real. Then there's the Doc, who probably isnt intended to come across quite as creepy as he seems in 2020. And the threat is, perhaps, undersold and left overly vague.

Nevertheless, this is a good and interesting little film.

Catwoman (2004)

 "I'm a woman. I'm used to doing things I don't want to do.

This film has, well, not the best of reputations, but I was determined to go in with an open mind. Can this film really be as bad as it's cracked up to be?

Er, yes.

Why? Firstly there's the horrible music video direction and cinematography, with the horrible dated use of green light everywhere. Secondly there's the bizarre decision to completely ignore the comic book background. Some varitation is inevitable, even a lot of variation if justified, but this is barely based on Selina Kyle at all. It certainly doesn't use her name. The CGI is awful. Sharon Stone is even worse, although Halle Berry is not actually bad at all. And the early scenes about replacing the "face" of a cosmetics company remind me of The Wasp Woman, a much better film.

And then there's the script. Frustratingly, the plot could have been made to work with a little more doctoring, but we have what we have. I'm as big a cat lover as they come- we have four cats and I cuddle them all every day- but would I walk out on to the ledge of a window on the umpteenthh floor to rescue a cat? Er, no. The whole bit about Patience realising her employer is up to something and getting killed for it is like a crapper version of Batman Returns. The resurrection is silly, and the CGI cats don't look or move like real cats. Oh, and why would Tom be assigned to interview the suspect he was on a date with the previous night as opposed to a colleague with no conflict of interest? It's all very silly.

Much as I'd like to be contrary... yeah, this is rubbish.

The Stranglers- Rattus Norvegicus (1977)

 

The Stranglers are a bit of an odd band, in hindsight. They’re usually lumped in broadly with the punk scene despite not being part of it: they feel more like a kind of keyboard-driven pub rock, which makes sense given that they’d already been together since 1974. Their sound, fully-formed on this debut album, owes a lot to the Doors, who in turn don’t really sound like their own era, except with laddish vocals. Sometimes very laddish vocals, as we shall see.

This album is astounding, and must have been even more so at the time when it must have sounded incredibly fresh. It’s not just “Hanging Around” or “Get a Grip (on Yourself”, both justifiably well-loved songs although I personally hate the 70s rock fashion for brackets in song titles. No; every song is superb, with killer keyboard riffs and menacing vocals. It’s a classic, and arguably underrated.

It’s just a shame about “Peaches”. Such a great song, such unambiguously and nastily misogynistic lyrics. Then there’s “I can think of a lot worse places to be/ like down in the streets/ or down in the sewer/ or even on the end of a skewer”, which... yeah. But this album, if you pretend it’s 1977, is astounding.

Therapy?- Troublegum (1994)

Therapy? have made several albums over the years, most of them very good indeed. It's worth taking a look at their wider discography, and I'll be blogging all of their albums in the months and years to come. But this is clearly and undoubtedly their masterpiece. Sometimes things come together for a band and they produce something extraordinary as a one-off sublime achievement that will never be topped. This is one of those times, and it's only the second of many excellent albums.

Troublegum is one of the true greats, a sublime achievement marrying punk and indie rock with glorious heaviness and dark, twisted lyrics. "Stop It You're Killing Me", "Die Laughing" and "Screamager" may stand out, perhaps, but there's no filler here.

It's curious, though, how this album- absolutely huge and ubiquitous at the time- isn't generally remembered as part of the '90s nostalgia industry, perhaps overshadowed by Britpop while not quite being a metal album either. It's an example, perhaps, of the perils of allowing mainstream popular culture to curate our nostalgia. But there's no denying the wonderfully addictive pleasure of listenng to these songs, all of them,  again and again.

The Crown: Season 3, Episode 4- Bubbikins

 "Bubbikins...?"

 This is, again, a cleverly constructed episode, dealing with two seemingly separate- and thematically contrasting- threads, and drawing them together very neatly at the end. It's also the episode where Princess Anne appears for the first time as a more-or-less adult, and where I perhaps begin to warm a little to Tobias Menzies as Prince Philip. He's no Matt Smith though.

On the one hand, Prince Philip is whingeing about real terms cuts to the Civil List. He, husband to the richest woman in the world, may be forced to sell a palace or two or even give up polo. This is contrasted with his mother, Princess Alice, a humble nun in Athens, casually selling her priceless jewellery so she can continue her charity work. These themes interwtwine throughout. Philip tries to savage his public relations faux pas with a documentary on the royals so we can see how they're good value for money, and it goes so badly that the Queen orders it buried after a single broadcast. Meanwhile, the fascist coup of the colonels in Greece exiles Princess Alice to London... and Philip just avoids his mother, as an embarrassment and, worse, a mother who abandoned him.

The threads are drawn together where it is the publicity from Princess Alice, and her hard life of suffering and service, that gives the royals some positive publicity- and leads Philip finally to reconnect with his mother before it is too late.

Most importantly, perhaps, we are shown that Philip's mother didn't abandon him out of callousness, but of genuine and serious mental health issues, for which she suffered barbaric tortures and, just as bad, Freudian psychiatry. Mental health is an issue that can affect us all, eincluding royalty.

This doesn't, of course, stand comparison with its exceptional predecessor, but shows nevertheless the high watermark of this series. Good stuff.

Life on Mars: Season 1, Episode 7

 "I left a weak man in charge..."

I saw this episode on its original broadcast but, as this was several months before Torchwood debuted, I had no idea who Chris Chibnall was- not the case the following season, where I distinctly recall discussing his episode of Life on Mars in the pub-so it's a surprise to see his name on the credits. This is interesting, because this episode is superb, certainly the finest so far. Chibnall may be a divisive figure in Doctor Who fandom, but he's certainly good at writing serious drama on the evidence of this, whatever you may thing of his family-oriented science fantasy.

There's a simple concept here- a death in the cells, for which everyone on the team bears some degree of responsibility. This simple premise leads to a wonderfully layered and complex script in which every character gets some development but John Simm really gets o shine as the white-hat wearing Sam. The end- where, after much agonising, Sam hands the tape to the superintendent who simply destroys it and covers up the whole thing- is a powerful reminder of how things were in 1973. 

It's nice, too, how the initial rush towards a cover-up by Gene is later shown to have been something more nuanced. And at least Ray faces some kind of consequence for his actions. Inevitably, we have to finish the episode with a reset button- Ray's demotion notwithstanding- but the fact this works without looking like a massive cop out shows us just how good this script is.

More Chibnall please. On the evidence of this he's better than the showrunners.

R.E.M- Life's Rich Pageant (1986)

R.E.M. when recording this album were in the middle of a sort of metamorphosis- this was their last indie record, and the last to go with their original lo-fi production sound which they would never sound like again. Yet it's a strong album, with a much rockier sound and a wider potential appeal than before. You can see why they went major label than it did.

I'm always banging on about production- I like lo-fi, and tend to be of the school of thought that most music should be produced by clones of Steve Albini. Yet I'll admit that for Life's Rich Pageant, even more so than for earlier R.E.M. albums, this production style doesnt't really suit their sound.

Nevertheless, this album, on the cusp of much bigger success, reminds us of R.E.M.'s roots not of the stadium rock beast they would become (except, you know, without the general crapness of stadium rock), but of their very indie roots.

Oh, and the extra songs at the end of the special edition are interesting, especially the cover of the Everly Brothers' "All I Have to Do Is Dream".

New Order- Technique (1989)

 I like New Order. Oddly enough though, this is an album I can admire, and accept as good, but I've never really got on with it. I've just relistened to it and have only a few disjointed thoughts as to why.

From the vantage point of 2020 this album was made at an interesting time. New Order are band with obvious  roots, via Joy Division, in the whole punk and post-punk world and are, just about, still a kind of rock band. Yet they've always dabbled in Electronica as the various '80s dance scene evolved and cross-fertilised with and around them. 

It's too simplistic to point at acid house and the album being recorded in Ibiza; this is 1989, just after the second summer of love and Blue Monday, and the height of that Madchester thing which, for me, has always been a curate's egg. New Order are, of course, the centre of the Manchester scene at this point and, of course, on Factory records, just like the Happy Mondays, who I'm not that keen on. 

You can sort of hear all that in the record, yes. And it's all very good. But for me it's a hard record to get a handle on, or to like, as many of their other albums- no less electronic- have done. Perhaps it's as simple as that it's too Madchester. But I suspect it's more complicated than that.

The Crown: Season 3, Episode 3- Aberfan

 "Put on a show? The Crown doesn't do that?"

This is, it's fair to say, not at all a typical episode. It is also, I suspect, the one with the least dialogue. The Aberfan tragedy in all its visceral yet man-made horror is made fully manifest to us, from the early scenes of ordinary family life in this South Wales pit village, as the slag hill looms threateningly above, to the scenes of the devastation and its human cost that makes up much of the episode. We see, and hear, the reactions of Lord Snowdon, Prince Philip and finally the Queen, but the unspeakable horror is there for us to see- although, as a father, I found Tony's reaction the most quietly devastating. 

But this episode, as well as being entirely about the tragedy and respectfully allowing the people of Aberfan to take centre stage. Cynically, yet inevitably, there's the potential political fallout, as Harold Wilson swiftly sees. Safety standards were blatantly failed, and had been for years. So was this the fault of the current Labour ministry or the previos Conservative one? The political blame game is as inevitable as it is tasteless. Marcia Williams (I suspect we shall see more of her) is all for sticking it to the Tories, and the Queen too if there's political advantage in doing so. Yet, while this can be seen as cynicism, it is born of a passionate belief in the Labour "movement" and its ability to do good.

And then there's Elizabeth, who spends a week refusing increasingly strong entreaties to visit, insisting that is not the role of the Crown. She is only shamed into doing so by the danger of forces within Labour attacking her seeming heartlessness in public- and has to pretend to wipe away a non-existent tear.

Her concluding scene with Wilson- supposedly the prime minister whom, in reality, the Queen had the best rapport- is superb, as the admits her inability to cry, and her undemonstrative nature. It is, rightly, left unsaid (as it would be in 1966) whether we are supposed to see her as being on the neurodiversity spectrum but, as it is a spectrum, aren't we all? And Wilson's response is brilliant: we need calmness from a head of state, not hysteria. And we all have parts to play, not least the privileged, cigar smoking former Oxford don playing the part of a man of the people.

This is genuinely sublime, and on quite another level. Jason Watkins is excellent but Olivia Colman is truly incredible.

Machine Head- Burn My Eyes (1994)

 Machine Head are probably the latest of what I consider the "classic" thrash bands. They've been around a while, and their style has wobbled around a lot, not least with their late '90s nu-metal phase. But they can always be relied upon, when not pursuing ill-advised directions, to produce the goods. And this debut album is a stonker.

I'm forty-three and beginning to get a bit curmudgeonly with new music. Thrash bands from more recent years often sound quite good, but the thrash sound hasn't progressed much over the last thirty years and any new thrash band just sounds like constant variations of an old formula.

Machine Head, in 1994, were juuuust early enough for this not to be an issue, despite the guitars on this album sounding suspiciously like Dimebag Darrell at times. And I can wax all nostalgic about the well-judged production. My preferred production style (Steve Albini, basically) doesn't really work with thrash, which needs a cleaner, more Andy Wallace sound- but not too clean. This album isn't too clean, but it's one of the last real classics of that era of production, not that we knew at the time...

Machine Head's first. And best. A nostalgic listen.

Life on Mars: Season 1, Episode 6

 "I'm the negotiator."

"I'll make you a hat."

Ok, the premise behind this episode may be somewhat trite- Sam’s life support machine is to be switched off at 2pm, and in 1973 there’s a parallel hostage situation where a hostage is to be killed at 2pm. It’s a little near, and this episode isn’t one of the ones that will stand out. But it’s a strong hour of telly nonetheless.

The hostage situation is full of excellent tension and drama, with an interesting villain whose motive is interesting, nuanced and nicely ambiguous with a bit of misdirection. It’s a nice touch that the hostages are local journalists, one of whom has lambasted Gene in the past. It’s a premise that would work even without the time travel conceit but, despite this, relies as ever on the contrasting methods of Sam and Gene.

Sam is well-versed in hostage negotiation tactics. Gene just wants to turn up the heating so the hostage taker can open a window and get shot. This provides most of the fun throughout the whole thing, although by now it’s clear the two of them have a grudging mutual respect.

It’s a good if not stand-out bit of telly, raised to a higher level, as ever, by John Simm.

The Crown: Season 3, Episode 2- Margaretology

 "There was a young lady from Dallas, who used a dynamite stick as a phallus. They found her vagina in North Carolina, and her arsehole in Buckingham Palace."

It’s surprising, I suppose, that The Crown has focused so relatively heavily on Margaret. And yet it can’t be denied that they keep finding new and interesting angles to take on Bertie’s second born. This episode manages to be fascinating as a study not only of Margaret but of the contrast and rivalry between the two sisters.

Importantly, the episode begins and ends with a coda, a flashback in 1943, where Tommy Lascelles starts to prepare young Elizabeth for a role for which the more outgoing Margaret would seem to be more suited. Yet Elizabeth is very firmly told, in spite of the fact that both sisters are happy for Margaret to be queen, that that’s not how it works.

In the present day, we are introduced to a fun little turn from an excellent Clancy Brown, who may not resemble LBJ but manages to be damned convincing as the old Texan arm-twister. And the whole episode centres on the UK being in the desperate position of needing an economic ball out from the USA-but we are not LBJ’s favourite country because Wilson won’t touch Vietnam, quite rightly, with a bargepole.

Enter Margaret, to save the day with charm, emotional intelligence, bawdiness and limericks. Helena Bonham Carter is superb here, as Margaret achieves things the Queen could never achieve, in an episode constantly seething with sibling rivalry.

We also see the cracks in Margaret’s marriage getting deeper, and Elizabeth getting fonder of Wilson. But it all ends, nicely, with Philip channelling a theory of Lascelles from when they got drunk together last season- there are the dull Windsor’s and the dazzling ones, and they always come in pairs. For every Bertie there’s a David, for every Elizabeth, a Margaret.

It’s a masterfully crafted and paced piece of telly. I’m not sure it’s particularly deep but the craftsmanship is superb.

The Searchers (1956)

 "Fella could mistake you for a half-breed."

When accusing a film of racism one needs to be wary of nuance, historical context and all sorts of factors. Past ages were far less sensitive to racist tropes and assumptions, and while that may not prevent racism being racism it must be taken into account. Past filmmakers can be forgiven, up to a point, for growing up in times where being non-racist took a far greater perceptiveness and strength of character than it does today.

Nevertheless, there are times a film is just racist by any standards, and it’s a shame that it has to be this one. The film is gorgeously shot by John Ford, with achingly epic vistas of Arizona standing in for Texas. The script is extraordinarily acute its psychology. And John Wayne gives a superlative performance.

And yet the protagonist, Ethan, is both a colossal racist and a total dick, a bully possessing not an ounce of charm or decent principle. Not long after we first meet him he utters the extraordinary line quoted above to Marty, who is fated to spend much of the film as his sidekick. He remains, three years after the end of the American Civil War, loyal to the Confrderacy, an ideal based entirely on race-based slavery, whatever Southern apologists may have spend much of the twentieth century trying to gaslight us with. He is therefore stubborn in his beliefs but with absolutely zero ethical foundation.

Lots of Westerns are not overtly racist as they don’t centre on the opposition between “whites” and the Native Americans whom said “whites” are in the process of slowly exterminating. It’s I arguable that the story of the American West is a story of genocide, but it would be pointless to dismiss much of a whole genre because of this. The American West was full of people born there just trying to live their often very hard lives and survive and, although they were all complicit in this genocide, well, I’m sure you and I have both worn clothes made by slave labour, and are complicit in the climate catastrophe. We are all born into the societies we are, and few of us are so virtuous as to not share some of that society’s guilt.

All of which is to say that I do not condemn the Western genre on the grounds of this genocide, not even necessarily where Native Americans are portrayed as an antagonist. But The Searchers absolutely leans into this. The central plot is when a bunch of Comanche destroy a home and murder its inhabitants, taking little Debbie to raise as their own. Yet everyone in the film, barring Marty, seems to be of the opinion that she is now tainted, made “not white any more” by her adoption of another culture, and should therefore be killed. This is not a film about Ethan the racist; it is a racist film.

And yes, the film ends with Ethan relenting, and generously allowing that a white girl who sleeps with a non-white man and adopts elements of non-white culture may not, perhaps, deserve to be slaughtered. So miscegenation is bad and so is non-white culture, but perhaps it shouldn’t quite be a capital offence. That seems to be the message here.

The Searchers is a very good film, perhaps even an excellent one. Unfortunately, it’s also incredibly racist.

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (2019)

 "She is not who you think she is..."

So we finally reach the end of the trilogy- if not, I suspect, of Star Wars movies- and we have a perfctly enteraining bockbuster movie that hits all the right beats and tugs at the heartstrings, quite rightly allwing the ounger generation of heroes to shine while still wallwing in some nostalgia in roughly the right balance.

So why am I, if not disappointed in a film that does exactly what one expects of a franchise blockbuster, perhaps just a little underwhelmed?

I think, perhaps, with J.J. Abrams returning to the helm, this film follows on awkwardly from The Last Jedi, which rather cleverly plays with our expectations in killing off Snoke and revealing that Rey isn't in fact the child of anyone we know (such as Luke) as we might have thought.

This film is far more predictable. Palpatine is back- a rather obvious thing to do. And Rey, er, actually is the child of someone we know, after all- Palpatine himself. This undermines the previous film somewhat, to put it mildly. And the way she uses the power of past Jedi to win, and sort of becomes a Skywalker at the end, is sort of meh. This isn't playing with our expectations; its's confirming them, and erasing the metatextual subtext of the previous and much more interesting film.. 

That's not to say the film is bad; it's well made and entertaining. It's just a shame the previous film aspired to say something beyond the usual Joseph Campbell plotting and relentless fan service. Fun though it is to see Lando, and Ewoks, and a very old-looking Han, well, this is just Star Wars by numbers, even if it's very good Star Wars by numbers.

Life on Mars: Season 1, Episode 5

 "What if me uncle had tits? Would he be me auntie?"

This episode is all about football, and the romanticisation of its fandom in the era before hooliganism, which we see emerging here. It says a lot about this episode that, since the 2010 World Cup, I’ve had zero interest in football, but this episode had me gripped.

Again, the weirdness and time travel isn’t foregrounded here except as a means to examine 1973 from a modern perspective, although the Test Card Girl again has a nice little cameo. And again we see Sam bond further with Gene and the rest of the gang who aren’t Ray. We seem to have almost hit on a formula where Sam, with his methodical approach, has a theory and Gene has his own more old-school approach, and there’s a jovial rivalry between them until Sam is proved right. It works well, especially as the episode works very well indeed as a whodunit.

Sam finally gets the caution right when arresting someone- at last. Someone gets arrested for cattle rustling. And it is, of course, fun to see the gang running a pub, although I’m reminded very much of why I try to avoid football pubs even today. 

The final angry speech Sam makes to the killer, who thinks football is all about violence (“You know nothing about football!”) is superb, and his relationship with the sin of the murdered man is a nice touch, as are the scenes of City and United fans walking to the match together. It’s a nicely crafted hour of telly even if, again, a little less deep and mysterious these days than it was at the time

The Crown: Season 3, Episode 1- Olding

 “What you see is what you get..."

A new season and... well, let’s face the elephant in the room, a new cast. I like the opening, introducing us to Olivia Colman’s new Queen and I must admit, although Claire Foy was magnificent, that she’s won me over. Helena Bonham Carter is superb as Margaret, of course. But Tobias Menzies, as a suddenly charisma-free Prince Philip, is certainly no Matt Smith, and on the face of this episode the character is set to become a lot less nuanced.

Fortunately we have a nicely nuanced performance from Jason Watkins as the deceptively straightforward Harold Wilson, alongside a superb turn from Samuel West as the vile traitor Anthony Blunt. And through the episode runs a lice line of misdirection. It’s out with the old, as the Tories are out and Elizabeth faces the first Labour Government of her reign just as the much-missed Winston Churchill (still the wonderful John Lithgow) is dying... and we hear constant rumours that Wilson is a Soviet spy until we discover the true culprit, who ends the episode threatening to blackmail Philip. I loved the Queen’s double-edged speech with Blunt, who seems to go unpunished.

And yet... this episode doesn’t have the depths of earlier seasons, in spite of its clever conceit. Perhaps it’s just the need to introduce a new status quo and a new cast. I hope so. Let’s hope that turns out to be the case.

Life on Mars: Season 1, Episode 4

“Others have tried to wear the white hat. And all have failed."

This is a frustrating episode- a well-crafted, well-acted hour of telly that examines, rather successfully, the ethics of police taking bribes and allowing Kray-like big men to hold sway over a community in return for an orderly neighbourhood. And yet there's one big, fatal flaw that stops me from saying this is the best episode so far and, indeed, leaves a rather nasty taste in the mouth.

The use of Sam's mother- in both time zones- and the peek into his childhood is a very nice touch here. Again, the weirdness, and the mystery of what's going on, is kept in the background and mainly part of an involuntary LSD trip. The Test Card Girl only gets a brief appearance. And I love the '70s pop culture nods, with Marc Bolan and a very '70s club.

There's some nice character development, as Sam and Annie are established as platonic while Gene begins to develop a little more respect for Sam as the reason for bringing down Stephen Warren; the "I thought you's never ask" conversation is well done, almost working as sleight of hand to hide the suddenness of Gene's conversion. Sam's essential white knight nature is established, a kind of Mancunian Philip Marlowe who always acts with integrity in a bad world, even if he needs loads of alcohol to do it.

It's all very neatly plotted, with the situation being established, the honey trap, the murder of Joni, and the resolution, all focused on Sam's ethical beliefs. The script does a good job of allowing Gene to be just complicit enough but decent enough to redeem himself; the bit of his backstoty we hear is a very nice touch, even if the stream of homophobic epithets he uses to describe Warren, even if meant to contrast then and now, probably wouldn't fly in 2020 as easily as in 2006. The whole episode is admirably done. Except for one thing.

Joni rapes Sam.

At no point does the script (or perormances) accept that this is what happens, yet she literally drugs him and has sex with him after he's explicitly told her he doesn't consent. The fact that she's a woman and he's a man are irrelevant. It's rape, so it's uncomfortable to see it played for laughs, or Annie blaming him. Of course, this all takes place in a wider context of deep misogyny, and Joni probably has little choice here, indirectly being sexually abused by Warren. But she rapes him, and there's nothing feminist whatsoever in acting as though any person can't rape any other person.

The way the script completely fails to acknowledge that Sam has been raped leaves a very nasty scar on what would otherwise have been an excellent episode. It's a shame.

The Jam- Sound Affects (1980)

I'll get round to them all eventually, so it's probably unwise to make my favourite Jam album my first one to blog. I can't resist, though. I know the album well; for some reason, alongside PiL's Metal Box this has been my go-to album when cooking something from scratch ever since my early 20s. It makes me think of chopping onions, playing with spices in the wok and suddenly remembering I need to actually put the rice on.

As an aside, "Pretty Green" gave me an epiphany that British people used to have the same cultural association as Americans do with money being thought of as green until the pound note, which was tinted green, was withdrawn from circulation in 1984. That's alsp probably why Douglas Adams wrote about the human obsession with "green pieces of paper".

In my defence, I was only seven in 1984.

Anyway, this is probably the best Jam album simply because it's a splendid collection of songs but, interestingy, I think it sounds less obviously "mod" than the earlier albums, which simultaneously makes it both less and more reminiscent of the Kinks. But, ultimately, it's a strong album allthe way through- nit just "Start" and "That's Entertainment".

Casablanca (1942)

"Here's looking at you, kid."

Casablanca is, of course, a bit like Citizen Kane in that its reputation should be a yoke around its neck. How can any film be as good as Casablanca is said to be? The film's enormous reputation means it can, surely, only disappoint.

Well, actually, no. I don't care if I recognise the famous lines from seeing them spoofed on, of all things, Red Dwarf- this film really is superlative. It is, I suppose, a romance and it is, I suppose, centred around a love triangle. Yet the characters, in a wonderful marriage of script and performers (Bogart and Bergman are extraordinary, but so is the entire cast), have all the emotional realism and complexity of characters in a literary novel. There's no melodrama here, only nuance- I love how Victor is well aware of what happened in Paris, but is not so crass as to confront Ilsa, or to doubt her love for him. And Ilsa is torn between love for two human but genuinely good men, both of whom, in their way, face a harsh and brutal world with integrity.

Like today, this is an era- the opening narration calls it the Second World War, already, in 1942- where the jackboots of far right extremism, with its contempt for humanity, for checks and balances, for integrity. All three of the characters in the triangle have had their lives deeply damaged by said jackboots, and all three perceive the world with a certain weary cynicism. Yet all three of them, ultimately, believe in something better and make sacrifices in that noble aim. One can live in a cruel world, blighted by tyranny, and be a flawed human being within that world, with conflicting feelings and loyalties- and still behave with integrity. Rick sacrifices not just his happiness but, it seems, his ife.

Yet just as fascinating are Yvonne, who sleeps with the jackbooted enemy only to be dumped, and realise where her loyalties truly lie during the extraordinary Marseillaise scene, which made this Englishman shed tears for la Republique, and of course Louis- the cynical, corrupt police chief who seems to flirt with collaboration throughout but redeems himself at the end.

This is a great, great film, but it's no forbidding and formidable edifice; it's grippingly watchable simply because of its characters, with the subtext very much arising from them. Let's not call it the greatest film ever made; it's far too good for such shallow concepts.

The Stranger: Summoned by Shadows

"I misunderstood the nature of the universe..."

This is, and is not, a Doctor Who spin-off- indeed, it riffs and perhaps relies on that very ambiguity. Please bear with me, non-Doctor Who fans; this is, I fear, something of a niche little short film, made in 1991 during that long hiatus of 1989 to 2005 where, one failed American TV pilot aside, Doctor Who had been cancelled by the BBC, perhaps forever, and it fell to fandom to fill the space with various amateur and, indeed, not so amateur material.

This is the first of several straight-to-video productions by Bill Baggs, and it's a fascinating artifact, very much of its time. The music, the hair, the cinematography, the camera angles- it all screams 1991. Although obviously cheap, the whole thing manages to look good, partly through cleverly relying on intrigue and atmosphere over spectacle. While it stars Colin Baker, the overall mood and effect is strongly evocative of the McCoy years, and of Andrew Cartmel's vision far more than Eric Saward.

It's rather good for what it is- watching it today, the plot feels very much like a New Adventures novel, but such was the zeitgeist. Colin Baker, in particular, is superb as a perhaps later version of hs Doctor, world-weary and far more self-aware. Michael Wisher, always a joy to see, is similarly excellent as the villain.  But this is very much of its time, very much aimed at a telefantasy audience with none of the mass appeal through character drama that RTD would one day bring.

Its a promising and entertaining watch, though, especially for what it is, and very much worthwhile to the Doctor Who completist.

Life on Mars: Season 1, Episode 3

“You are surrounded by armed bastards!”

Perhaps this episode sees the series settling more to the point where we can talk about episodes of the week; there’s stuff about Sam losing the will to live in 2006, there’s even another appearance from the test card girl- does she represent the easy temptations of death?- but this time, despite the fact the factory killing takes place in what will one day be Sam’s flat, the focus is on the 1973 plot, not the meta-narrative.

Essentially this is a clever whodunit with a nice twist, set in an old-fashioned factory full of looms against a backdrop of the ongoing death of this kind of industry and the abyss that is about to open up in front of all these men, and their families, when it goes. Even six years before Thatcher the old-fashioned industries are dying and there’s a very hard transition into whatever comes next. There’s a fair bit of subtle social commentary here, too- on militant unions, on the cowed immigrant workforce.

But the episode is shaped, as ever, on the contest between Gene’s gut instincts (“first one to speak did it”) and Sam’s forensics, which this time we see in rather more detail and, in the end, successfully. Sam also seems to become more accepted within the team- not quite being on their level but offering something different and useful- and sharing with them all that most 1970’s of drinks, a Watney’s Party Seven.

Again, this isn’t necessarily Edge of Darkness, and perhaps it’s not quite so conceptually clever as it seemed in 2006, but this is solidly entertaining and quality telly.

Blog Update

As you can see, I’ve just finished the second season of The Crown, and I’m a couple of episode into Life on Mars. So here’s what I’m planning for the next few months as far as telly is concerned. As ever, I’ll be blogging films at weekends and telly in the week, as far as life allows and without being too rigid where that’s too limiting.

Essentially, I’m going to go right through Life on Mars and Ashes to Ashes, and I’m going to keep going through the third season of The Crown as the fourth season is due soon and I hope to blog it while it’s still hot. I’ll more or less alternate the episodes. However, when I reach the end of a season of something I may choose to briefly blog a short series of six or so episodes of something else before  starting a new season. I have something particularly in mind before I continue with The Crown.

Future vague plans include more Deadwood, more Black Mirror, and... well, any requests?

The Crown: Season 2, Episode 10- Mystery Man

“You are a mystery man to me.”

It’s a bit of a jump forward to 1962, and this episode covers two years of time, but then again this is the last outing with this wonderful cast. I think we would be churlish to begrudge them at least one episode where, although there’s no swinging as yet, it is at least beginning to feel like the Sixties.

This is, as ever, a dense and thought-provoking episode, hinging on the Profumo scandal but not so much about it as riffing on it. Most obviously, there’s the unresolved question of whether the “mystery man” photographed at one of Stephen Ward’s parties is Philip or not, his increased absences at house parties and the like, and the question of whether he is playing away. It’s left ambiguous, even after the wonderfully acted confrontation scene near the end when the Queen shows him the locket he saw in his case all those years ago- and we still are left none the wiser. This kind of ambiguity is probably wise.

We also get a good sense of how social mores are changing- the satire boom is in full swing and Beyond the Fringe (if you haven’t seen it, do so; it’s extraordinary) mocks the establishment in new ways, and Macmillan’s humiliation as he watches it in stage is nicely juxtaposed with the pompously conservative, snobbish and implicitly homophobic prosecution speech at Stephen Ward’d trial, leading to his suicide- exactly the kind of vicious arrogance that needed doing away with. It was this, rather than particularly Macmillan, that needed to be swept away.

Speaking of Macmillan, this series has not been kind to him. I’m no Tory, but I’d say he’s the best peacetime Tory prime minister of the twentieth century- moderate, sensibly centrist in his opinions, a steady hand with colonialism. Yes, his resignation was more due to being fed up with it all than his ill health, but I’ve no doubt six years as PM is exhausting. The Queen’s rant at him for being a quitter here is uncalled for, but I suppose the point is that she doesn’t have the luxury of resignation. It’s an interesting scene to include.

We end with a new royal birth and a kind of deconstructed mise en scene as Cecil Beaton takes another photograph to end a second superb season. I’ll be blogging the next season very soon indeed.

The Ramones- The Ramones (1976)

For such a well-known and well-loved album- I adore it myself; this is a deeply addictive and cheekily simple set of songs- this is a really hard album to judge in any sort of context. It was the Ramones who formulated the whole “here’s one chord, here’s another, here’s a third, now go and form a band” antithesis to pretentious prog wildling that forms the true core of punk, yet the Ramones don’t quite feel fully punk, as it was undefined when they helped to pioneer it. It’s also true that the whole New York, CBGB’s scene was a very different beat to the London, Sex Pistols-led scene that perhaps is though of as more of a template.

But it’s more than that. I think a lot of it is that the Ramones are suffused with, well, not exactly the 50s but (stay with me here) a very specifically 70s type of 50s nostalgia, the same thing as Happy Days, which most pertinently in this case harks back to a time before rock ‘n’ roll became “rock”. That’s entirely present in the sound of this album and, let’s face it, the Ramones didn’t exactly develop as a band, did they, said with all affection?

There’s something beyond even this, though, perhaps it’s the fact that the band was all dead within a few years of the new century. Perhaps it’s the disconnect between the vague whiff of right-wing politics that surrounds the band and the fact that their lyrics (see “Commando”), and even Johnny Ramone’s public statements, look oddly like ironic satire even if they almost certainly aren’t. Perhaps it’s the hints at depth in the lyrics- “53rd and 3rd” subtly discussing Dee Dee’s days as a rent boy, or the splendid breaking of the fourth wall in “Judy Is a Punk”.

All that is probably just me being a pretentious git. But we all know this album, we all know these songs, and they are awesome. That is all.

Life on Mars: Season 1, Episode 2

“I’ve never fitted anyone up who hasn’t deserved it!”

This is a clever second episode, our first “story of the week”, perhaps, and centred around a big difference between Sam and Gene, this time around the fitting up of suspects in the days before the 1984 reforms. But it’s also subtly the episode where Sam and Gene bond after an initial massive clash, something which had to happen, and a couple of other subtle character nuances- establishing Sam’s Blackadder-Baldrick relationship with Chris, and that Ray hates him. And there’s also lots of ‘70s flavour, not least with the white dog shite.

We also have the first outing from the vaguely average title sequence, and more hints that Sam is imagining this from his hospital bed- the blackout sequence at the end is very well done, and the way the creepy Test Card Girl comes from out of the telly is deeply effective.

But the story of the week- nailing a dangerous bank robber properly, with evidence and not fitting up- is also handled very well indeed. It’s a nicely structured plot, with Sam’s principles letting June get shot but Gene, Ray and Chris almost letting Annie and a witness get killed. It’s a much-needed episode giving a bit of depth and reality to the Sam/Gene relationship as well as fleshing our Gene a little to make him less of a grotesque and more of a person. These two- Sam and Gene- are fascinating to look at from the perspective of 2020 with all this culture war nonsense: Sam, sensible chap, would have voted Remain while you just know Gene would be one of them Leavers. It’s seemingly that age old clash between people who are liberal and people who are wrong, absurd oversimplification that is... but Gene, like many of the other side, is someone you just can’t dislike.

A strong episode and perhaps, in story and character terms, better than the first. I’m very much enjoying this.

The Crown: Season 2, Episode 9- Paterfamilias

"The Prince is sure to be put through his paces by their gruelling physical regime..."

As ever, this is a thought-provoking and stimulatng piece of drama, and about more than it may seem at first. The gruelling experiences of the sensitive young Prince Charles at Gordonston are paralleled with flashbacks to the childhood of the young Philip- and we see that both father and son are damaged, both of them in large part because of their own fathers. The cycle continues. And it is hard to escape the conclusion that Charles will be a worse king for his experiences.

Charles is put through five long years of what he describes as "a prison sentence" and "Hell" by Philip, who passionately believes in Gordonstoun and its ethos and will stop at nothing to send his son there. Yet he struggled there himself at first, until the death of his favourite sister- which his absentee monocled failure of a father, Prince Andrew of Greece, cruelly blames on him. Dickie Mountbatten has the right of it in his little monologue to young Charles about parents falling short. The whole theme is masterfully developed, with the use of planes being particularly clever throughout. And Matt Smith is sublime in portraying his disappointment at Charles at the end.

There's more, of course- it's a shock to see the young Philip in Nazi Germany, speaking German and surrounded by the casual presence of Nazi iconography. His sister, Princess Cecile, casually and apptovingly refers to "Herr Hitler". And it's a shock to see Philip insist to Elizabeth that Charles must continue to attend Gordonstoun on pain of divorce- he is deeply attached to Gordonstoun. And the flashbacks tell us why: despite the physical exertions, cold showers and gruelling runs, the this of the school is not cruel and its headmaster, Jewish refugee Dr Hahn, is as progressive as he is harsh.

And yet, in spite of the nuanced portrayal here, one cannot but reflect on the words Elizabeth is made to say here, about the terrible childhood damage caused by bullying, and be horrified at how the man who will soon be our King was brought up. Poor Charles.

Brazil (1985)

"I won't look at your willy."

This film is, of course, a work of genius from the unique mind of Terry Gilliam- Kafkaesque, nightmarish, surreal, perhaps similar in visual style to his recently directed Crimson Assurance bit of Monty Python’s Meaning of Life, but announcing Gilliam as a true auteur. It’s also a true cinematic classic, managing to present a fundamentally bleak view of civilisation with the darkly humorous approach that is of course the only sane one.

Gilliam may be a native of Minnesota, but this film is full of the influences of his twenty years in Britain. It is, obviously, full of that Orwellian fear of tyranny, and the petty details of that tyranny, that is constantly found in British science fiction. It is set in a deliberately timeless and anachronistic time and place, but there are plenty of visual nods to the Nazi’s, and in particular to the phenomenon, in the words of Hannah Arendt, of the banality of evil.

It’s very Pythonesque, of course, but should certainly not be reduced to that. The casting of Michael Palin against type is a masterstroke, as is the starring role for the excellent Jonathan Pryce. A parade of British character actors play a parade of entertainingly disturbing grotesques, as does Robert De Niro, whose insane casting somehow works.

It is, of course, obstructive to see a film about the reality of, well, fascism, in 2020. The Kafkaesque evils inherent in computers are shown here, as well as the effectiveness of information control by those in power. Where the only news is Fox News, truth no longer exists. And, while the UK is not yet at risk of fascism or anything close, the blatant cronyism and disrespect for constitution norms we see here are particularly chilling.

A superb film from a director who, with this film, has well and truly outgrown Monty Python.

The Return of Godzilla (1984)

"Godzilla is a living nuclear weapon!”

This is, I think it's fair to say, the first of a new breed of Godzilla movies. It's been nine years since the last film in the fanchise; the eponymous beast has been subtly updated; and it's heavily implied that all previous Godzilla films since the first have been retconned away.

And, in a sense, this is a version of the first film updated for the Eighties. Certainly the fashions and office decor scream loudly which decade this was made in. But, although very much a Godzilla film in the familiar tradition, it also looks and feels much more like a Hollywood blockbuster. The set pieces of Godzilla destroying various marine vessels and, of course, Tokyo, ae present and correct but, well, somehow more dated than the earlier films which are, perhaps, easier to excuse in this respect because of their age. Certainly, the giant sea lice are... not exactly a special effects triumph, and amused me greatly.

And yet none of this prevents this well-shot and well-structured film from being an impressive achievement. It has a nice balance of set piece, drama and political tension, with the use of the Japanese prime minister as a key character being a nice touch. The threat of nuclear war by understanding, and the nuclear sabre rattling, by the Soviets and Americans respectively, add an exra bit of dramatic film.

And it is in this aspect- nuclear weapons- that provide this film with a political subtext that echoes that of the first film, and amplifies it. For the only nation in human history to have been nuked to be pressured by both superpowers to allow itself to be nuked, even for its own protection, is a powerful scene, and the PM's speech rejecting a nuclear attack is a real philosphical centrepiece.

Overall, this is a successful and enjoyable revival which, while still being somewhat kitsch, manages to morph the somewhat illy franchise of the "Monster Island" era to something more serious, with Godzilla established once again as a serious threat.

Life on Mars: Season 1, Episode 1

"I need my mobile."

"Your mobile what?"

I thought, given the recent news about a new series, that I may as well just marathon Life on Mars- which I saw on the telly when it was broadcast- and Ashes to Ashes, of which I've only seen the first episode.

It's an impressive first episode, every bit as good as I remembered, and nicely establishng the show's central conceit- DCI Sam Tyler finds himself hit by a car and either in a coma or back in 1973- while introducing a load of compelling characters and, no easy feat, getting us to like them. John Simm and Philip Glenister are both superb from the beginning, in very different parts. It's amusing, given that the show relies heavily on the contrast betwee the present day of 2006 and the past of three decades earlier, that the last fourteen years have really dated the 2006 sequences- the eponymous Bowie track is playing on an iPod.

I think, though, that while the characters are well-drawn and the script is highly quotable, we are perhaps stretchng credulity a little as DCI Hunt and the rest of the 1973 gang give a little too much credence and leeway to this nutter claiming to be from the future. But there's enough sleight of hand to get away with it, and it's all nicely smoothed over with truly phenomenal, auteur-like direction from Bharat Nalluri. He really shines here, and is arguably as much of an authorial voice as the writer Matthew Graham. The dreamlike sequence where Sam first wakes up in 1973, and the panorama round the 1973 street, stand out in particular as brilliantly done, but the camerawork is masterly throughout.

Overall it's a superb conceit with plenty of potential- the casual sexism and pre-1984 policing methods are very much highlighted here in setting up the ongoing comedy of manners but, interestingly, Gene Hunt is allowed to end the episode with a moral victory on behalf of the old school methods. Perhaps it remains to be seen how the series fares with a less amazing director, and part of me suspects this is more of a pop culture 1973 than a real 1973 (surely we'd see more internal decor from the late '60s, for example?), but perhaps that's not necessarily a flaw.

Fourteen years on it's clear that this isn't quite up there with the very best telly, but there's nothing wrong with that. Life on Mars is big, brash and fun. I'm sure I'll enjoy it again this time round.

The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (1972)

This is, perhaps, my second favourite Bowie album- you'll have to wait for the first. Obviously, it's quite simply an extraordinary collection of rocking, music hall, vaguely queer, anthemic, awesome songs, many of which still receive heavy radio play even now. There's a peculiar depth not only to the songwriting but even to the concept of the album itself and, indeed, the Ziggy Stardust altar ego, perhaps Bowie's finest.

And yet there's something ineffably 1972 about it. "Five Years" communicates a sense of oncming armageddon, something which includes but it at the same time wider than the Cold War fear of nuclear annihlation, and is almost existential in its cynicism. "Moonage Daydream" manages at the same time to communicate a jaded and very post-hippie, coming down from the highs sort of attitude to progress, apporiately marking the year which marked the last time, as of September 2020, that a human foot last touched the Lunar surface.

I'm not going to go rough each song as I'd be here all night, but the fact I need to say that is pretty revealing. This is an extraordinarily album- simultaneously shallow and deep, niche and popular, undisputably an album of the very first rank.

Acid Mammoth- Under Acid Hoof (2020)

Deep within the ancient Attican peninsula, in the immortal city of Athens, dwells a band who, with this splendidly and brutally slow little stoner masterpiece that is, I've no doubt, something Plato would instantly have recognised as the ideal soundtrack to his ideal polis of philosopher kings. I haven't read The Republic since my early 20s, but I'm sure the main thrust of it is the desperate need for a deeply mellow yet crushingly heavy soundscape lest the Spartans should prevail.

This is a little more poppy than, say, Sunn O))) or Earth, but reminds me more of Conan: those slight concessions to hookiness are delightfully focused on bludgeoning guitars that are in absolutely no hurry whatsoever.

I don't geneally do new albums in this blog- alas, my time to pursue new music is not what t was- but this is magnificent.

The Crown: Season 2, Episode 8- Dear Mrs. Kennedy

"What are they doing?"

"Had to say. I believe it's the foxtrot."

It's getting almost predictable that I'm declaring each episode of The Crown in turn to be a superb piece of telly. I'm rather afraid I'm having to do so again.

This episode is a particularly strong example of what this episode does so well- the seamless mix of geopolitics and the history of the twentieth century with very real characterisation and psychological acuity. In this episode there's a lot of ten dimensional chess going on as the winds of change blow and former European (particularly British) colonies, especially in Africa) are made independent. Yet the episode begins with a foregrounding of how this is playing out in a Cold War context, with the Soviets ready to swoop. We see the Queen's portrait being removed and replaced with that of Lenin- replacing one symbol of European imperialism with another.

We also see the British cultural cringe- even that of royalty- to the glamour of Camelot, as President Kennedy and the dazzling Jackie visit, seeming to outshine the Queen, And, while she and Jackie seem to connect, it seems  that Mrs Kennedy is unimpressed with Elizabeth, who is hardly an intellectual.

And yet... the Queen may not know who wrote Tartuffe, but her life is full of complex diplomatic decisions. And the episode centres on an outside-the-box diplomatic masterstroke, keeping President Nkrumah close to the West by allowing herself to be seen dancing the foxtrot with him in a masterful display of soft power.

We also, in a nice little coda, see the truth behind the Camelot glamour in Kennedy's illness, his philandering and... well, I'm not sure how factual the domestic abuse is, or the exact nature of the drugs administered to the First Couple. But the connection between the two women is nice to see, and the reaction to Kennedy's assassination tasteful.

I'm not sure I'd be gushing so much if the Kennedys were the central figures here- my impression of the historical Jack, despite the philandering, is that he was a much nicer chap than portrayed here, and Michael C. Hall is simply miscast. But I can't deny that this is, once again, bloody good.

Fugazi- Repeater (1990)

I’ve never been a big fan of Minor Threat. I mean, they’re ok, I own their stuff, and I’m aware of their importance to the D.C. scene, straight edge and all that. But I tend to prefer, Bad Brains aside, my early ‘80s US punk to hail from California, where the bands tend to be more varied and interesting. Minor Threat, to me, is the American Sham 69.

But with this, the first Fugazi record, my respect for Ian MacKaye increased hugely. Superficially, in some ways, it sounds like Minor Threat. But, in most ways, it doesn’t sound like them at all, sort of the PiL to their Sex Pistols, much more structurally interesting. I’m no musician, so I couldn’t tell you whether this has any great level of technical complexity or not. But the progression from Minor Threat is fascinating, and is an interesting if rather late (1990!) example of the many ways in which punk segues into post-punk. And I love that: from the Ramones’ famous “here’s a chord, here’s another, here’s a third, now go and form a band” ethos it’s fascinating to see, as here, how punk musicians all negotiate in their different ways how to rediscover complexity without being pretentious.

I know naff all about how music works. But I know I love the time signatures, structure and weirdness of this album. And this is just the start for Fugazi.

The Adventures of Captain Marvel: Captain Marvel's Secret

"Shazam!"

And so it ends, wth a bang. This has been a splendid serial, retaining not only just excitement but plot progression (or at least the illusion of such!" throughout. But this is the final episode, and stuff can actually happen.

So we finally- after a teaser scene with his face in shadow, and a typical cliffhanger resolution- discover that the Scorpion is Bentey: it would be an interesting exercise to rewatch them all with that knowledge, although I'm not going to do it. We also discover- inevitably- that Tal Chotal is just what he seems to be- an obvious red herring, and secretly a decent chap. There's still a scattering of vague racism everwhere- Thailand is still just like Afghanistan, apparently, and I raised an eyebrow at Captain Marvel's assertion that Bentley would be extradited to face justice in the USA when he should surely be tried for the murders he's committed in, er, Thaighanistan first- but hey, it's 1941.

The ending is surprisingly final, as Billy is thoroughly outed as Captain Marvel in dramatic circumstances, and once the Scorpion is finally defeated the powers are seemingly gone forever. But it makes for a good, self-contained story.

This final episode may be brief, and somewhat crowded. But it's a thoroughly enjoyable end to a superb serial, one which has restored my faith in the material just when I needed it. Superb stuff.

Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017)

"Ah, Skywalker. Missed you I have."

I'm a fan of Star Wars, in the ordinary sense of the word. Sufficiently so that I watched every Star Wars film at the cinema from Return of the Jedi in 1983 to The Force Awakens in 2015 at the cinema, incuding the horrible special editions of the original trilogy. Sufficiently so that I could spend talking about the old Kenner action figures. Suffciently so that I've blogged the '80s Ewok TV films.

That it's taken me so long to watch this film is a testament to how real life has changed for me these days, and little else. Let's just say that, with a daughter, a disabled wife and a full time job, free time is not what it once was.

But that’s not the only reason I mention this. Because I’m a fan, but not a fanboy. And I’m vaguely aware of the fact, if not necessarily the details, that the fanboys wee split over this film. And I have no idea why. It’s a splendid bit of blockbuster fun, with real heart at its core and great characters, and absolutely in the spirit- and indeed structure- of the original trilogy.

That last point, after this second film, is now abundantly clear. Hence Han, in the last film, fulfilled the role of Obi Wan, whereas Luke here is Yoda, in terms of plot function. Leia has a large and rather touching role, rather fitting as a send off for the much-missed Carrie Fisher. But the main protagonists are or course Rey, Finn, Poe and Kylo Ren, the next generation. And rightly so.

I love how the film knowingly echoes the sort of things earlier Star Wars films tended to do, but does unexpected things at the last minute. So Ren shockingly kills Snoke as Vader killed Palpatine- but not because he’s had a moral reawakening, merely because of personal ambition. Laura Dern’s unlikeable Vice Admiral Holdo turns out to be right, brave and clever all along. Luke is not even there in his final, epic fight with Ren- the second member of the original cast he’s now slain. Best of all, Rey is not Luke’s daughter or any such thing, just a poor person from nowhere. Social mobility is a thing on the Star Wars universe.

I can see how some may dislike Luke’s characterisation here; they have a good case to make, but good drama should be unpredictable and challenging by definition. Arguably it may be out of character, but by sleight of hand it works. As for those lonely, virgin little boys who stamp their tiny feet at the fact some of the cast have the temerity to not be white or male (gasp), let us leave them to their crippling loneliness.

I didn’t just like this film. I loved it. Waiting three years was absurd.

The Crown: Season 2, Episode 7- Matrimonium

"As in art, so, it would appear, in life..."

Again we have a Margaret episode and, again, there is much subtlety and character development. Like ast episode, the plot is simple; Margaret is to marry Tony who, we now see, is sectretly carrying on polyamorous relationships with both sexes and, moreover, is rather more damaged than he might appear. Yet Elizabeth, even after hearing the truth from Tommy Lascelles- again brought out of retirement to do what Michael cannot- is unable, after what happened with Peter Townsend, to say no. And the baby to whom she gives birth here will one day be mixed up with sexual doings that are a thousand times worse.

The episode abounds, as ever, with lovely character moments on which we can dwell as we hope that Margaret won't get hurt. The scene between Margaret and Elizabeth at the end is fascinating- Margaret wants freedom and independence, and is marrying this man as part of that. Yet she, unlike the Queen, enjos the titles and the deference and will never give up those things- a necessary precondition for any royal to break free of their life sentence in a gilded cage.

We get an outburst from Philip, last season a victim of snobbery himself, yet looking down on Tony who, unlike hilself, is not the grandson of a king and a prince in his own right. Fascinatingly, we learn that the womanising Tony is the son of a vaguely neglectful mother who left his commoner father to marry an earl, and his younger half-brother outranks him- until he marries Margaret. Deliciously, we hear this as Tony, along with the Frys with whom he is having a bisexual menage a trois, watches the results of the 1959 election as Supermac crushes all before him in a country that has never had it so good.

It is also jarring to see Macmillan lead the Cabinet in prayer upon hearing of the royal baby. 1959 was a different world, albeit a changing one, more religious than ours on the surface- but perhaps not much deeper than that; and where conservative social mores on the surface are not applied to the discreet elite.

A superb hour of drama, as always.