Sunday, June 29, 2008

The "Eureka!" Moment

I think I get it now. Obviously I’ve been a long time coming to the party, instead spending most of the past few years with my head buried in my hands making guttural noises, but I think I’ve actually, finally, figured it out.

It comes from the realization that, from the get-go, I shouldn’t have ever expected the slightest scintilla of internal logic at all. In fact this latest episode stopped making sense one minute and thirty seconds in. That may not be the record but it has to come pretty darn close.

From then on it just becomes pure pantomime with grand theatrics and grand gestures that hit the high point early on and then punch on up through the roof. When the cast aren’t sure how to play a scene the answer appears to be to shout the lines.


Saturday night, the dialogue wasn’t so much on the nose as on the grapefruit Cagney mashed into Mae Clarke’s face. If it was a reaction it was imperative that the cast simply said what they (and the audience) saw, loudly.

As long ridiculous names were spewed about and every darn character except the robot dog was shoehorned into the plot, it all went into bonkers overdrive. How do you know when the shit has seriously hit the fan? When they upgrade from CODE RED to ULTIMATE CODE RED. That is seriously serious shit.

How can you criticise that? Or the ripped open Dalek that just quivered its tentacles and cackled insanely. That is simply twisted genius. I wouldn’t be surprised if they save the day by firing a trifle around the supercollider.

Of course this understanding may only be temporary, and could simply be one of the rarely reported side effects, like an increased desire to urinate.


UPDATE: I’ve just checked and I forgot to take the tablet today. FUCK!!

15 Comments:

At 12:17 am, Blogger Jon Peacey said...

I'm of the very unfashionable view that the new Who is neither 100% brilliant nor 100% drivel- just a mixed bag really.

I wish they'd had a Code Cyan and been able to upgrade it to Code Sayonara... as in time to say Sayonara and kiss our asses goodbye!

 
At 1:21 am, Blogger qrter said...

Better take that tablet quick-quick, unless you too have the ability to regenerate.

Sounds like it's Davies going on a breathless fan-splurge again, you know, when he did the Daleks vs. Cybermen thing. It never works.

That said, I haven't watched it (don't think I will). Just one question - looking at that picture, is that really Roseseses EastEnders mum? Again? Really?

 
At 12:16 pm, Blogger Good Dog said...

The post was tongue in cheek, simply because it had to be. That episode was so utterly bonkers and so completely over the top that it was just impervious to any criticism. It really was absolute pantomime.

I mean it starts off with the TARDIS arriving on Earth. Then the Earth is “stolen”, but the TARDIS (which is on Earth) doesn’t go along with it.

Er, yeah, okay....

Jon,

Code Cyan to Code Sayonara would have been just brilliant. It could have been used to show Richard Dawkins where his credibility is now at.

You’re right about it being so utterly inconsistent. That’s been a real bugbear for me as well.

qrter,

Oh, because Davies if off this is the full on Viking funeral. It’s Doctor Who does Götterdämmerung with added... everything.

And yeah, that is the blousy mother and useless boyfriend in the picture. I guess they turn up next week. After all, the show hasn’t explained how Rose got back. Then again, lack of any rational explanation has never stopped previous stories from chugging along to the finish line.

Still no robot dog though.

I was going to check out the Doctor Who Confidential programme, but this week’s edition was obviously so confidential that they haven’t put it up on iPlayer.

Oh well, no great loss really.

 
At 2:46 pm, Blogger qrter said...

Maybe Davies'll throw in a couple of old Doctors, there's still a few alive (barely, but still).

I'd love to see current day Tom Baker squeeze into his coat again. It would make no sense, so that should work perfectly!

 
At 3:44 pm, Blogger Ian said...

I take great offence at what you've said.

Pantomimes are FAR better than this great steaming pile of diarrhoeia we were served up on Saturday.

It was like some six year old's fan fiction had been dramatized as some sort of huge joke. I mean I knew it would be bad because RTD's season finale's always are, but this reached whole new depths of ineptitude.

 
At 10:41 pm, Blogger Good Dog said...

Ian,

When you’re right, you’re right.

It reminded me of a Gilbert and Sullivan production put on by some Upper East Side theatre group that I had to sit through. I think my cousin’s then girlfriend knew the troupe and got the tickets and I have a suspicion that it was The Yeomen of the Guard that they effectively murdered.

After the performance – because it was the gift that really kept on giving – we went across the street to a restaurant with some of the actors where I had to sit through the tattered remains of the evening with fixed grin, explaining that broad Noo Yawk accents were what had been missing from previous productions.

In retrospect, that evening was probably better than this evening.

Finally got to see Doctor Who Confidential which deserved a pat on the back for recognising Raymond Cusick as the original designer of the Daleks, with his creation based on a couple of lines of nondescript description from celebrated hack writer Terry Nation.

 
At 12:44 am, Blogger Jaded and Cynical said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

 
At 12:46 am, Blogger Jaded and Cynical said...

I had a couple of Eureka moments of my own, GD.

Firstly, after UNIT declared the ULTIMATE CODE RED EMERGENCY, and the Doctor gave his moving speech to the rhino-things ('Bish,bash,bosh! Plip, plip, plop!') It dawned on me that RTD was obviously being paid by the word.

Then, as Billie Piper and Davros eavesdropped on the conversation between Penelope Wilton, Bernard Cribbens, Sarah-Jane Smith, and the entire cast of Torchwood, it occurred to me that surely he's also being paid by the character.

And while it was the crappiest piece of bad fan fiction ever hurled at a TV screen, you've got to admit, there were moments when it was fucking hilarious

 
At 9:39 am, Blogger Riddley Walker said...

My Dutch girlfriend has a theory that somehow this country has got a blind spot when it comes to DW (and the uproarious hilarity that Torchwood caused amongst the Dutch is legendary).

The show concept itself is a good one, though RTD seems to have got himself a very enlarged Lucas-gland and can’t write a decent story to save his life. Yep, I went and paid money to see the new Indy film and was left with an even bigger desire to punch ‘Uncle George’ than I had previously. Popcorn was nice though.

One can detect that the show itself is not the problem, when writers like Moffat get hold of it by the scruff of the neck and give it a good shakedown. And even manage to get The Stig in for a cameo role... ;-)

I don’t even think it’s necessarily that fans are the problem - most of the people involved in telly or film are fans to some degree - it’s fans with no self-control who simply can’t stop themselves from shooting another load of watery drivel across the screens because, OMG, I’m like totally working on Doctor Who!

That said, I’m still hoping that Ron Moore answers my emails and lobs Buffy, the crew of Serenity, Darth Vader, Ron Jeremy and Emperor Ming (or is it Mong?) into the final episodes of Series 4 of Galactica. It would be, like, so, so awesome...

 
At 2:29 pm, Blogger qrter said...

Oh shit! Donna is the Final Cylon!!

 
At 4:42 pm, Blogger Good Dog said...

Well, the episode did involve The Doctor and Donna aboard the TARDIS looking for Earth.

 
At 9:44 pm, Blogger qrter said...

Also isn't that garbling Dalek a bit of a Hybrid-knock off?

 
At 10:49 am, Blogger Riddley Walker said...

You see? You see? Tell me I’m wrong...

 
At 12:44 pm, Blogger John said...

If you don't like it, why do you watch it SOOOO religiously??? I lurrrvvvedd it. Over the top nonsense, of course! But great!

 
At 3:25 pm, Blogger Riddley Walker said...

In the blind hope that it might get good all the way through, like when Mister Moffat gets his hands on it...

 

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