Posts Tagged ‘television’
May 24th, 2010
Warning: the following contains spoilers for the endings of Cowboy Bebop, Fullmetal Alchemist, Neon Genesis: Evangelion, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Battlestar Galactica, LOST, Supernatural (current) and The Prisoner.
I’ve noticed an alarming trend in television finales, lately: God.
October 28th, 2009
Yes, now you too can watch poorly-dubbed Italian classics like Playgirls and the Vampire, for free, on AMC. This is the perfect way to celebrate Halloween, unless you a) live near abandoned barns you can explore or b) have a goodly amount of small-batch bourbon and a toolbox of Hammer films at the ready. (Parties are also good.)
Also good is the fact that AMC is streaming episodes of the original Prisoner series, to tie-in with their upcoming adaptation starring Ian McKellen as the sinister No. 2 and Jim “I played Jesus” Caveziel as the prisoner, No. 6. As much as I love Ian McKellen, I maintain the opinion I held this summer: No. 2 should always be played by a new actor in each episode, to heighten No. 6’s uncertainty and set his usual “three steps forward, two steps back” pace. Ian McKellen will probably make an excellent No. 2, but so would Ricky Gervais. Go back and watch the original episodes, and you’ll know what I mean. To my mind there was no need to Galactica-fy The Prisoner by adding gritty realism; even during its most zany moments the series was emphatically bleak and nihilistic, with little potential for hope in either the system or the humans living in it. It didn’t matter that the Village’s prisoners wore primary colours and got hot cocoa each night before bed — they were watched as they slept, drugged by their caretakers, and betrayed by the people they trusted most on a regular basis.
If you want to see a real response to The Prisoner, go watch Dollhouse.
September 14th, 2009
These are all Dean-heavy scenarios. Maybe that’s because I can’t imagine an end-of-season scenario that doesn’t end with Sam dying painfully-but-nobly. But at least he gets to wear that totally bitchin’ Bowie-circa-Hunky Dory suit before he goes out. And at least God won’t lead Sam and Dean to some horrible place where there isn’t any beer or Magic Fingers. At least, I hope not. Now I’m a little worried.
March 16th, 2009
I had a good weekend. It involved learning Japanese, visiting The ROM, and learning how to play Crokinole from Karl Schroeder, who is enough of a crack shot that he can manipulate the board such that you might feel a little bit better about your total lack of hand-eye coordination, until you realise what he’s done.
He’s crafty, that one.
My weekend also involved Kings, which is sort of like what would happen if people wrote slash-friendly AU Bible fanfic, then applied BSG-level production values to it, and it was surprisingly fabulous and pertinent and not unlike I, Claudivs in scope, scale, and sentiment. I’m a fan of any show which starts conversations about Grail legends, JFK, Macbeth, and the superiority of Tachikomas to Panzer-style tanks. Plus, there’s Ian McShane, playing a theist named King Silas Benjamin who calmly explains that evolution is all part of God’s plan, having been “anointed” into royal power thanks to a crown of monarch (get it?) butterflies that fluttered about his head as a boy. (And you wondered why all the show’s branding was orange.) Silas is a character you instantly fall for: capable of great affection and great cruelty, a consummate manipulator of others’ weaknesses who is categorically blind to his own, the kind of man you believe could have crawled up through the ranks based on his ability to spin a good yarn and order the deaths of thousands in the same breath.
He’s probably rubbish at Crokinole, though.
And last but not least, after comparisons to cats and cupids, after teary toasts and whispers about Webleys, there was this:
Five years ago, Jack had been tempted to speed Amy’s progress, to bypass all the awkwardness and frustration and sacrifice of her toddler life and get to the fun parts, the amusement parks and knock-knock jokes and impossible birthday wishes. But now he knows her. She needs the time. She needs to understand how she’s different and why and what it means, from her lack of physical pain to her abundance of opinion. This time – this sweet time, pulsing with rhythms he’s finally learning after years of moving too fast and stepping on everyone’s toes — is the gift Charlotte’s mother could never give her. He is determined that Amy have better.
“Hey,” Charlotte says. She slips her cool hand into his. She is as beautiful as the night he met her, in a theme bar in Vegas during a tech show, when she served him a glowing blue cocktail named after a comic book character whose name he utterly forgot the moment her voice touched his ears. Her eyes – viridian, he had called them that night, his own voice hushed with wonder at the collective genius that had ushered her existence into being – narrow with concern. “What’s wrong?”
He squeezes her hand. “Just thinking about my dad,” he says. “And your mom. How stupid they are to miss this.”
Charlotte smiles. “The important thing is that we found each other.”
“Damn straight,” he says. He stretches one arm over her shoulders and pulls her closer. “Have I ever told you how smart you are?”
She shrugs. “All that graphene has to be good for something.”
…Sometimes, I write about nice things happening for nice people.
January 10th, 2009
TVO is hosting Mysteries of the Mind week, with coverage on everything from precocious kids to narcolepsy.
December 6th, 2008
British female scientists want a female Doctor, ostensibly to raise the profile of female scientists in general. Me, I’m just excited about the possibility of Dawkins (himself a guest star on the show and married to a former Time Lady) explain to us the evolutionary biology of a species which gender-morphs male-to-female close to the end of its life cycle.
Read the rest of this entry »
November 1st, 2008
You know how you’re supposed to eat a lot of food and drink a ton of water before you give blood? Turns out, you’re really supposed to do those things. Otherwise, you might have a moment of complete and epic FAIL after donating, and have to prevail upon the graces of some poor guy who doesn’t even believe in altruism when you collapse to the floor in an unconscious heap.
Signs You’re About to Faint:
Judging by my bruises, I fell on my knees, then my face. My jaw, specifically. (The same spot where I split my chin open in first grade! Old habits never die.) No one saw me fall. I imagine that someone turned a corner and stumbled over me, because I remember slowly coming to and thinking: “Wow, my bed is really hard this morning.” (Of course it was! It was the floor!) Then people were rolling me onto a cot and covering me in icepacks and asking me what day it was. (I had a moment of horrified doubt when the doctor smiled gently at me and said: “Oh, it’s Halloween, is it?”)
A few phone calls and some waiting later, and I’m being steered down the street by Peter “I Smell A Lawsuit!” Watts in search of pizza and maybe a nap. (“You take care of this girl!” the nurse admonished.) Which is how I got to watch the first two episodes of this show:
Which I quite liked, and was even able to stay awake for, having elected not to go to the emergency room, despite Mr. “Let Me Check Your Pupils!” Watts’ offers to the contrary. (Note: the follow-up nurse who called me today wants me to get my head checked. Literally.)
For all the unexpected scares, however, yesterday’s truly strange moment happened when the girl sitting next to me learned I’m a registered donor with the OneMatch bone marrow and stem cell registry and said: “So, wait, you’d really give your stem cells to a complete stranger?”
Why yes, I would. If it’s good enough for vampires, then it’s good enough for me.
October 26th, 2008
I should have listened to Henry Jenkins when he talked about Supernatural. (And to everyone who pimped Supernatural to me.) Because then I would have grown accustomed to this level of awesome:
This is Jensen Ackles, who plays “Dean” on Supernatural, doing his “Eye of the Tiger” routine as a special feature to the latest episode. After seeing this, it’s impossible to not to imagine John McCain doing the same each time he begins a rally with the song. (And I can’t help but wonder if maybe that’s the intent.)
I have an odd relationship to the show. I didn’t start watching it when it first began airing, and then by the time I started noticing it here on Canadian tv, I was hearing some pretty nasty things about how the show treats women. (And I still have some issues with that, make no mistake — it’s a troubling sign when all the episodes that feature women involve either rescuing them or being tricked by them.) But there’s so much else to like: the creepy Pacific Northwest gothic vibe; the gritty nature of each case and the depictions of real poverty, the fact that X-Files crew members are part of the team, the excellent partnership between Sam and Dean…the list goes on. I feel about this series the same way that I do about Chuck: every time I catch an episode, I like it more.
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