I am not loving Torchwood. A lot of people are, but it must makes me feel a bit nostalgically sad. Like when you run into someone you used to love and realise that not only do you not love them anymore, but that you wish they would hurry up so you can get on with the shopping.
It’s not love, it’s not hate – just indifference.
The characters are unappealing, the story is shabbily structured and the concept is hardly that strong. That idea has been around since the first wily folk-hero trapped death in a sack.
Gwen is the best thing about this show, and I have hated her character from the beginning.
The latest episode, in the UK, spent most of the hour stuck on a plane while the actress from Dollhouse was sly eyed and tried to poison Captain Jack (I quite liked her actually) and then everyone else tried to save him.
Why? What was the point of those 30 or so minutes? So we, the audience, knew that he was mortal now? Established last week. So we, the audience, knew there were forces out there that wanted Jack dead? Again, we already did that last week. The only thing this accomplished was convincing Fisher King Rex that Jack really was mortal now. Which could have been done a lot quicker and with a lot less gurning on Jack’s part.
And to be honest, who cares about Rex? Ok, so I assume the people who like the show do. He is horrible though. I can muster pity for him and his unhealing wound, but he is basically a horrible, nasty person. He is arrogant, emotionally sadistic and a bit of a thick. It is Esther who actually accomplishes things, all Rex does is fetch and irritate people for no reason. It is shame, because the actor is very good and does a lot with the few moments of pathos he gets. I suppose he is meant to be the new Owen, but Owen was a dick with a skill-set. Besides, he was a rapist and I never much liked him either.
Basically it was filler. No that’s not fair. It was very dull filler – there was never any real expectation that Jack was going to die. It is unlikely they will kill him at all, he is the fulcrum of the show, and certainly they aren’t going to do it this soon.
Meanwhile the random paedophile wept unconvincingly on TV, the doctor (not Doctor) remained the only interesting or proactive character and the devil showed up in her red coat and her red hair, exhaling smoke with wicked glee, as she moved in on souls.
The devil, by the way, works for a drug company specialising in pain medication. Wow, the sort of compay that would really benefit from a situation where no one dies but everyone hurts. That was subtle.
In fairness, I do like the devil. She is so translucently wicked, practically winking behind her pretence at being nice, that it is endearing. Like she and the audience are somehow in cahoots. ‘Sure I am evil, you know it and I know it. These idiots though? They don’t have a clue.’
(I am giving Torchwood the benefit of the doubt and assuming that the almost pantomime quality of the character is deliberate. The actress can do subtle, so she must have been told not to.)
And then there is Captain Jack. Who killed his grandson. I know he had to. It was a necessary act, unavoidable. I can forgive his character for that. He can’t forgive himself, or he shouldn’t anyhow. Maybe he hasn’t. Maybe that is behind his strange, watchful fascination with the pedophile. Someone who shares the bitter distinction of being a child-killer, but who chose it rather than having it forced on him.
A more accurate mirror would have been someone who killed their own child, of course. It would have captured the betrayal of trust, the severing of family ties.
I know, I know. If I don’t like it, I should stop watching. I might yet, but I want to give it a chance, I want the obvious plot signposts to turn out to be red herrings (red devils) and RTD to pull something marvellous and tightly plotted out of the hat in the final episode.
Something other than everyone on earth clapping their hands because they believe in the Doctor.
It is my birthday. When I was a child I thought that the bands were out just for me on my birthday. I have a bit swizzed ever since I found out that they were actually marching for some bloke called Billy.
It is a gorgeous day, I am a Doctor of Philosophy and I feel kinda sorry for the Orangemen marching today because they must be sweltered.
Viva la Tammy!
Melanie Stark recently revealed Harrods rather out-dated ‘make-up’ code for its staff. Apparently they must wear lipliner, lipstick and lipgloss, foundation and a full eye (which sounds rather disturbing, frankly.) Ms Stark refused to comply – something that had apparently been agreed when she took the job – and eventually left the job.
On hearing this the Daily Mail editorial staff promptly climbed into their TARDIS and travelled back to 1950′s Boston to commission an article from a society matron of the period. Or so I assumed from the condescending, snobby, elitist (even at a discount, can Harrods staff really afford to stock up on Harrods make-up?) and misandrist article that turned up their site. In actual fact it was a Liz Jones, who is horrified at the idea of seeing a woman’s ‘ruddy complexion and open pores’ in the hallowed halls of Harrods. The thought gives her shudders right down to her bunions, the poor bat. Apparently, a naked face denotes laziness and an unwillingness to make an effort and, she conjures up one of the Daily Mail’s bugbears, causes people to hire immigrants because the British are job-shy and care too much about their rights.
Wear make-up, or cause the downfall of life as we know it.
Once upon a time there was a girl who was special. Her hair flowed like honey and her eyes were blue as music. She grew up bright and beautiful, with deft fingers, a quick mind, and a charm that impressed everyone she met. Her parents adored her, her teachers praised her,and her schoolmates admired her many talents. Even the oddly shaped birthmark on her upper arm seemed like a sign of some great destiny. This is not her story. Unless you count the part where I killed her.
16 year old Alison can taste names and colours have a sound to her; she can see the colour food tastes and feel sound against her skin. Alison can do a lot of things, but she has always had to pretend that she can’t. Because her mother is watching and waiting for a sign her daughter is more than weird, she is dangerous.
The interesting thing about being a writer is that people think you are good at communicating. OK, so I can see their point. The thing is, I’m great at communicating if you sit me down in front of a computer for an hour with a cup of coffee, a brief and a nice soundtrack. Ask me to write about myself and it is a different kettle of fish. I blame being Northern Irish, we are, as a society, very down on the whole ‘getting above yourself’ thing.
Highly successful HBO fantasy series Game of Thrones is returning to Northern Ireland to film series 2. Filming will begin on July 25th and run through to December in Belfast’s Paint Hall studios and various other locations throughout Northern Ireland.
I just downloaded the Dragon Naturally Speaking app. I have tried dictation software before and the combination of a Newtownards accent and a naturally fast speaking pace meant they never worked very well.
This, however, is free so why not give it a go? I will tell you why not- because it wants to kill me.
‘My name is Tammy Moore and I am standing in front of a mirror,’ I say cheerfully.
‘My name is murder and I am standing in front of a murder,’ it replies.
Mirror, I repeat. Murder, it insists. Murder murder murder.
Eventually I become so freaked out that I have to turn it off. I am glad I declined to send them the name of everyone in my contact book. The transhumanists were right. The machines will rise up against us, led by the tablet devices.
Murder, mine chips in. Just before I delete the app.
Divergent, the first in the Divergent Trilogy by Veronica Roth, is one of the best YA novels I have read this year. And, due to a rash of really, really good YA novels being recommended to me, I’ve gone through quite a few.
Beatrice Prior grew up in Abnegation, where adherents champion the virtue of selfless-ness, but it never came easy to her. So when it came time to pick the faction she would spend the rest of her life in, the choice was not as easy as she thought it would be. Do as everyone expected and pick Abnegation, prove her dedication by sacrificing her own desires to the faction, or do something else. Something…brave?