meirwen_1988

Recently a friend posted a link to a wonderful article that basically skewers Steven Moffat. There were things I didn't know in the article, things I'd thought but never said aloud, and it also helped me clarify some things that have bothered me. But, well, it isn't what I want to say, but it does help buck up the foundation a bit, so you may want to go and read it. I'll wait.

Okay, so, if you read it, forgive me if I repeat anything, and if you didn't I'll try not to say things that will only make sense if you did.

I've been a fan of Doctor Who since the early 80's. Before that I didn't even know it existed, and when I found it I was a recent college graduate, employed, taking graduate school classes, and, to most intents and purposes, a grown-up. I don't have any of the childhood foundation pieces that some of my friends have (either in Britain or America, though those experiences are demonstrably different in effect), or that I myself have with shows like Star Trek or even Wonder Woman. No, I met the Doctor as an adult American female, and he had big teeth, curly hair, an absurd scarf, and was clearly the craziest, most dangerous clown in the universe. And I adored him. Then I met some of his earlier incarnations, and immediate heir, and they became part of the cast of imaginary friends that I carry with me and that keep me sane. But then, well, the subsequent ones lost their charm. Colin, Sylvester, Paul (ill-served by a horrible script). The Doctor went away, and given the most recent versions, I didn't care. I still had my old friends, and that was enough.

Then he came back, with a "daft old face," and I was seduced again. Russell T. Davies as showrunner managed to honor the old, but brought wonderful new ideas and twists that made me love the mad Galifreyan all over again. Even the startlingly abrupt transition from Christopher "I don't dance" to David in Trainers was handled brilliantly, and Davies was gifted with one of the best doctors ever (or at least in my opinion), which really allowed the Davies years to shine. I was even willing to forgive him Rose Tyler and the horrible way he treated Martha. There was so much wonderful in what he did with the series (Jack!). But then as things do, he moved on and was replaced by Steven Moffat. And David was succeeded by Matt.

It's hard for me to be sure how much I dislike about the Moffat years is because of Moffat and how much is because of Matt Smith (who is a perfectly fine actor, but who never worked for me as The Doctor). I'm inclined, though, given what I've seen of Smith out of character, that he was hired because he matched well with what Moffat wanted to do and then did a superb job doing what was asked of him. So I pretty much come down blaming Moffat. For a lot. Like the train wreck that is Amy Pond (loved her for three episodes, but by the time "The Angels Take Manhattan" came around I was cheering because she'd be GONE). Like River Song. I'm a huge fan of Alex Kingston, and "Silence in the Library" is one of my favorite episodes of the 21st century Doctors, but the almost farcical elements of the Doctor's and River's relationship has me ready to scream. That may in part be because it could have been wonderful, until Moffat made it stupid. The notion that her life is moving backwards to his, so that he is "forgetting" their life together as she moves into having it only be memory has a heartbreaking poetry, that could have been so wonderful. Instead, it's ridiculous.

And then we have the story which brought me to this reflection, "The Day of the Doctor."

First we had "The Name of the Doctor." I was unmoved, but there were some interesting elements. Then there was "The Night of the Doctor." I actually liked it, and it made me angry that Paul McGann's tenure as the Doctor was limited to that awful movie. I liked the darkness, and the moral ambiguity of his choices (I loved Babylon 5, which is also riddled with those kinds of moving in the grey). Then there was "The Day of the Doctor." On one level it was just a shallow "let's bring all the old faces back for the fans" one-off episode, where some of the elements really were very forced and artificial. But the attempts to contextualize that huge "elephant in the room" that is The Time War were at least worth attempting, albeit I don't think they were successful in the attempt. And, well. David.

Which brings us to "The Day of the Doctor." I should probably watch it again. Maybe I missed something. Maybe it had some worthwhile elements. Maybe the script wasn't as bad as I thought, with logical errors, McGuffins, and ridiculous symbolism. Maybe. But I don't think so. But, give me a minute. Let me rewatch it. I'll be right back.

There's a famous line, perhaps apocryphal, attributed to, variously, Augustine, Aquinas, or the Jesuits, that says "Give me a child until he is seven, and I will give you the man."

Well, when my hands are better I'm going to write about that. Except it will involve "until she is 11," and the permanent influences of early helpings of Orson Wells, Angelique Bouchard, and the Balanchine choreography for "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy."

For what it's worth, the inspiration for this post is that Pat Tallman was recently gifted with the complete Dark Shadows. Blame her. Or Joe--he's the one who gave it to her.

Just blissfully watched the Season 2 premiere of Game of Thrones.

Earlier today I said, "And I can hope that right around the time this season is over that Sons of Anarchy will be up." Duchezz looked at me with "that look." To which I responded, "Yeah, I like my TV grim."

Of course she's a fine one to talk--yesterday she was talking about Jaimie Lanister and said, "Pushing Bran out the window might have been a little bit extreme..." to which I interrupted with "MIGHT? MIGHT?????"
"Well you asked me to participate in the world view of the show."
"Even in the world view of that show pushing Bran out the window is considered BAD!"
"Well, yeah." And she smiled, and shrugged.
"We need to see about getting you some moral compass dietary supplements."
She laughed. And shrugged.

*in the rerun of tonight's episode, I could swear Tyrion was whistling the Harry Potter theme.*

So the day of involuntary rest yesterday seems to have been what was required. Things are still a bit chancy, but for the most part I was able to do light labor today, and that is a good thing.

Bought vegetable plants to put in when the raised bed gets made, swapped out the cold weather clothes for warm weather, did my syllabus and tentative assignment list for the class that starts tomorrow, and made dinner.

A reasonably productive day, though the weekend as a whole wasn't as productive as planned.

Tomorrow the summer semester begins, and I see if the changes I put in place are any that I'll carry through to the fall.

I've been watching the marathon set in a galaxy far, far away today, and I hope that ending with Ewoks tonight will be better than last night ending with Littlefinger's knife at Eddard's throat. I so hate what Martin does to the characters I love.

Any doubts I had that Bones has jumped the shark were set to rest by the following exchange:

Temperance: Why would someone coat a blade with silver? It is a soft metal.
Jack Hodgins: They wouldn't. Unless it was Damascus.

WTF?

Yeah, yeah. That's what I get for hanging out with bladesmiths. But still, when they focus so much on getting the science right....

So, we'll just pass over the sad commentary on my priorities that is demonstrated by the fact that when scanning Yahoo! News a few minutes ago that I quickly bi-passed the article about the President's speech tonight and instead instantly clicked on the story about the death of David Gerber. As an irredeemable geek I am one of those that organizes her CDs by artist, then by date of release (not title), who actually reads the credits on TV shows and can tell you what the difference is between an executive producer and producer (hint, one does the actual work--and the word "executive" and "work" are not generally substantively linked), the name actually meant something. So, I read through the news story, and at the end I saw that he has only one survivor, his wife, "actress Laraine Stephens."

"No, it can't be that Laraine Stephens!" I thought to myself. So I instantly went to my old reliable friend IMDb. So, there it was. She is that Laraine Stephens.

"Who?" you say?

No one special. A moderately talented, moderately attractive television actress from the sixties and seventies. But, most importantly, she was "Diane Waring" on Bracken's World (1969-1970). It was the years of obsessively reading movie star biographies, total television immersion (after being without one for nearly 2 years), and total Hollywood mania. Not to mention fledgling adolescent hormones. And here was a series about making movies!!! And I was finally old enough to stay up for the shows on 10-11 on a school night!! It was the perfect storm. And Diane was my favorite of the three starlets (the show was set in the then present, but actually showed a studio system that was virtually gone at that point).

Oh, the show was a soap, no question. Sort of an early attempt to be what <i>Dallas</i> finally achieved. But in the process it taught me things. Like how to set up shots. About molding actresses and actors to "fit." About what a script girl actually does. Sometimes as I'm prepping for my film class my mind flashes back to that show, and in my mind it is Peter Haskell directing, or Madlyn Rhue saving the continuity of one shot, and wrecking one later. Of Laraine Stephens shouting against the waves in Malibu to damage her vocal chords just enough to lower the pitch of her voice so the sound on the loop is less shrill.

David Gerber isn't a real person to me, unlike the tiny woman who gave me any number of enthusiastic hugs, who we lost this week. And I don't grieve for his loss in the same way as I do hers. But his passing has brought back to me nights of sitting at my parents' table in my pajamas, watching television that touched my life. It may not have been great art, but it meant a great deal to me.

So, Sons of Anarchy.

Last night was, I believe, the second season finale. Just when you thought it was safe to be a Son in Charming....

Damn.

[And, for myself, I am glad to see them showing the complexity of Clay and Jax's relationship--it isn't all Claudius and Hamlet, which means when they finally have their showdown, it will really hurt....Yup--I like my tragedy complex and bloody.]

Well, it looks like those of us who are genre fans/geeks/nerds are now presented with a quandry. After years of having our VCR taping of shows to view later being irrelevant in the ratings, it seems now that DVR stats are being taken into serious account by the networks.

This means shows that otherwise would die a quick, not necessarily merciful death in previous seasons (Firefly anyone?) might now be given some legs (can you say Dollhouse? I knew you could).

Now, here's the quandry.

Despite my almost compulsive use of the Internet, and knowing what I do about how that erodes even the shred of illusion of privacy I have, I've been reluctant to graduate to DVR. It's like having someone access my list of borrowings from the library--nobody's business. And it costs $5 more a month than non-DVR. But if it's factoring in to ratings (and I don't believe for a second that it's only the Nielsen families who are providing that data) then do I have a personal responsibility (as in something that in the long run will improve my personal quality of life) to get a DVR so that the fringy shows I so enjoy have a better shot at being made, let alone the ones that make it staying on the air?

In the grand scheme of things--i.e., food, shelter, health--not really a biggie, but in terms of mental and emotional satisfaction, surprisingly relevant.

Hmmmm. What to do, what to do?

Next entry: The definitive number of angels dancing on the head of a satin pin.

Okay, I'm all for "freedom of expression," but there are still some things that shouldn't be part of a scripted broadcast on free air television at 8:30 at night. (For those who care I refer to the VR sex scene in Virtuosity). It is especially wrong when you consider that it is airing at 7:30 in the CDT zone. I'm willing to cut cable some slack, but the free air waves are supposed to have a different standard. (And yes, I thought the hoopla over the Janet Jackson/Justin Timberlake thing was an over-reaction. Sorry--a flash of pasty is not the same as what they just aired.)

Just sayin.'

In retrospect, starting the morning by watching the Santos election episode of The West Wing, followed by the beginning of "Requiem" from the same season, which begins with Leo's funeral Mass, may not have been the best way to start the day.

Or perhaps, it was, since I never got the Mass I needed for him. We make those sorts of contracts with the Divine--to honor the wishes of others, as we wish them honored for us. Perhaps, after all, it was the way to start the day--a piece of what I needed, if in a form as unconventional as our lives were. Perhaps there is a rightness in it.