Doctor Who: Planet of the Dead

Cut to the Chase Meridian : can't say I enjoyed this.

Planet of the Dead is a story that very much relies on the audience falling for the Doctor's one-off companion, Christina (Michelle Ryan). If you didn't fall for this cat-woman homage, there really wasn't much else in the episode to engage you. The other characters (who as usual for RTD, felt authentically British) were relegated to the bus leaving us with Christina and the Doctor - oh and some flies. Hate to sound stuffed with snark, but the flies carried more charm than Christina. Really - they were great!

Cards on the table - I hate sounding like a grumbler, but (and there's always a 'but') can we have a female character that doesn't have to constantly compete with the Doctor for the audience's attention? It seems each companion has to spar with the Doctor to prove they are made of equal awesomez as the 900-year-old Time Lord. When one goes, the next has to come and fill those same shoes. Having the occasional companion look the Doctor in the eye is super - having companions occasionally do this makes that moment stand out more, but it seems each companion or major female guest star has to find a way to do just this. So by the time Christina appears ready to prove how she's not going to be ordered around by a very competent and rather superior being, she's sort of lost the dramatic edge.

I suppose we should blame society and our churlish, sexist social regime that we have to constantly reminds ourselves exists no more by adding aggressive or challenging female role model to buck past trends (which on consideration, isn't exactly a bad thing). It's just in way, this ideology limits the female character types to fulfil the companion role. I mean, men can be charming like Captain Jack, or eccentric like Malcolm (Lee Evans), UNIT's scientific advisor, or just excitable like Adam (Dalek) without having to prove to the Doctor - and through the Doctor, the audience - that they are valid, contemporary role models. In a way, it seems lead female characters are pigeon holed as bolshy and confrontation to prove they are no longer being pigeon holed as weak and submissive. Is there no middle ground?

In fact, I think this episode would have been far better with just the Doctor and the bus load of Ordinary. Yes, the Ordinary were far more likeable, believable and enjoyable to watch than Christina. We had a spectrum of London types and they were all very well played. They rooted the audience in the dilemma very well indeed - unlike Christina's character who was a boob laden pastiche on Bond and Thomas Crown - who just dragged you away from the tension. She was too unbelievable.

What? Unbelievable for a man travelling around time in a police box? Yes, sir - unbelievable. One oddity is something an audience can invest in. We can accept a Doctor, or a James Bond or a Batman. But when they have an equally unbelievable sidekick, who is just as amazing, it starts to become a little farcical.

Strong sidekicks aren't always a 'no' of course - in the right context they can be beneficial to a story in my humble ungodly opinion, but I think the desperation required to sustain the situation in this particular tale required the supporting cast to be believable - and that includes the companion.

I'm sure many people loved this Special - which is great. I'm not here to berate RTD's production (or personal talent) as crikey, they don't half get enough flack from fandom as it is. I just feel I have to be honest and say this didn't fulfil my Doctor Who criteria. But given I'm neither The Family or The Kids - the two key demographics for this story, I'm not the stat type to take priority. I'm just saying as a member of the audience, I found it slow, predictable and, thanks to Ryan's character, slightly cringe worthy. It's a ghastly thing to say when people have worked so hard and I don't mean to smear any of the cast and crew's talent, but it just didn't work for me. Heck, I found Lee Evans Malcolm enjoyable - and he's a gent whose on-screen presence normally drives me to the ceiling (as did his father, Norman Wisdom). I didn't enjoy the lame robbery opening (can we not put Mission: Impossible behind us now?), the barren middle bit (barren for those of us neither lusting or loving Christina and the Doctor's dynamic) or the triumphant ending (that felt smug and superfluous). Though I have to say the portents of things to come were very exciting - matched with a wonderful shot of brooding Tennant.

So a little disappointed. I'm a big fan of the New Who productions, so if you are just reading this blog on a random web-surf, don't mistake me as someone who generally whine about the show (yet persists in watching it so they can whine some more). Loved the last season so perhaps I just don't do Easter Specials! And for the first time, I have to say I really didn't enjoy Gold's soundtrack - dear lord, I've fallen right off the Who bandwagon this time. Someone hoist me back up.

Well. Thirty minutes and its Red Dwarf. Let's see if the night continues this trend. I hope not!

EDIT: Who writer Lawrence Miles has far more to say on this topic and more candidly. Have to say I find myself agreeing with his points and feeling utterly awful for doing so.

Cancelled too soon: Firefly, meet Millennium.

Those who regularly suffer this output will be aware of the campaign I keep pushing for the return of Millennium's Frank Black. Others may have equally suffered my recent twabber (a jabbering monologue as vacuous as twitter but with no word limit) on Battlestar Galactica. Some poor fools will have suffered both.

Well rest assured, the tippity, tappity, tuttery tick of my fingers against keys translates to a topic devoid of Cylons or Legion.

Well, almost anyway.

A neat, uncomfortable wisdom tooth extraction has lead to two vital occurrences this very week. The first is the increased necessity for painkillers, resulting in some wobbling and sleeping, the other is a marathon viewing of Whedon's Firefly show, its sequel Serenity and the comic book segue Those Left Behind. For those who aren't familiar with the show - bloody well go and get all manner of familiar with it. It's essentially the daily life of Han Solo with a more glib and earthy penmanship; a gang of mercenaries who struggle to survive in the outer edges of a solar system inside their much loved bucket of bolts, Serenity.

In some respects, Millennium and Firefly suffered juxtaposing ailments. The former got three brimming, excellent seasons but was robbed a satisfying resolution, while the latter was robbed of more than half a season but got a wonderful epic conclusion. Put the two together and you'd have the most righteous slice of television brilliance known to man since, well, Battlestar Galactica.

That being said, perhaps what makes Firefly so great is that it is short. Thirteen stories plus a film. In some ways it seems grossly unfair that it was cut off so early - even with the fortunate luxury of a feature film, this show had so much to say, but one could equally say that thirteen tales is enough for most forms of storytelling. We're never bummed out Hamlet never got a sequel or that Frodo didn't manage to showcase his exploits beyond Middle Earth. We don't get upset that Stoker didn't pen ten odd more encounters with Dracula. When all said and done, a book series that managed to whip out thirteen tales would be considered most generous - possibily even excessive.

But with television, we want more. Arguably this is understandable - we look to Firefly as a serial, we look to Macbeth as a single tale. With books, the time it can take to read a single good novel thoroughly you could have watched a good few episodes of a TV show. Three quarters of an hour isn't that long when it comes to storytelling - and that's our standard television serial format.

However, we don't look to serialised films with such a warm grace. Naturally there are factors which made film a whole different pot of ingredients, but whatever the factors that make a franchise of film often weaker than a single outing, the fact is we don't appear to look at ten odd hours of storytelling on television as a bigger enough investigation of a particular universe - or in Firefly's case, a particular 'verse.

The obvious answer is the basis of comparison. I'm not a fan of Stargate - as a genre comparison - and yet it has gone on and on and on. Whoopie for its fans, but for those of us who didn't find pleasure in the show and have watched shows that were pleasurable drop by the wayside, its understandable that we speculate to what Firefly could have had.

But then I have to remind myself - of those who did manage to get what Stargate had (or at least more than half a season) and see what happened to those shows as a result. Did longevity eat into the show's quality and thereby its legacy? It's an age old question - do you suffer the inevitable duds of a longer show for the sake of the gems that might be cut? Or do you simply enjoy the short and sweet of a single, well crafted season?

Invariably, as with all things from my gob, the answer is somewhere in the middle. I can't think of any show that lasted any more than five seasons that hasn't shown a dip in quality. Likewise, I can think of many shows which had potential that you knew was present but was never had the opportunity to prove it. Knowing Whedon's talent and the sheer craft of Firefly's 'verse, I'm sure the show had much to prove. Wouldn't it be great to swap over DVDs with an alternate universe - show a world which had five seasons of Firefly Serenity film and for them to show us their four extra boxsets? I'm sure they'd be as fascinated in Serenity's quick wrap as we would be in their extended franchise.

In the end, I know I would have happily suffered some duds for more Firefly, just as I am happy suffering Thirteen Years Later in Millennium for the sake of over fifty episodes, but if I was honestly rational with myself, I'd say that Firefly is like reading a book while Millennium will always remain a unfinished project (unless we can do something about that - see backtofrankblack.com). For all the potential Whedon's show lost, it had something so special that is so much missed from Millennium - it had an ending. Okay, not a definitive ending (Whedon wasn't that dumb), but the film it got gave the show closure the series never could offer. That closure is important. I can watch Firefly, enjoy the variety in stories, the colour of the characters and the wonderful workmanship of its world safe in the knowledge that like a good book - like all good things - it has an end that will satisfy. I can enjoy the episodes without looking at the clock knowing I'm getting closer to being ripped away from the story, its tale unfinished.

With Firefly/Serentity we have a beginning, middle and end - thanks to the film's focus on the River's arc. The show opens on Simon and River's début on ship, we watch the crew and passengers adapt to their new dynamic and it finishes with this family actually making a difference - whether that difference is long-lasting we don't know, but that doesn't matter. The show has been giving meaning by the significance of its final outing.

Of course there may be more from Firefly in the future. With the commerce of cult being so unpredictable these days, its never too late for a return (look at Red Dwarf, brand new back on TV tomorrow for the first time in over a decade - and given then ending of the last season, in need of a return). If there isn't, I'm good with that. For me, Firefly/Serenity make the book - I'm not desperate for a sequel. But with Millennium, well, that's a different story. That show needs an end.

Hell, every show needs an end of some sort - but there are a few quality shows in particular that need it more than others. I'm forever grateful to Firefly's fandom for pushing so we got some form of closure on that wonderful show. I'm just hoping that Millennium might have the chance of the same.

Illusions of Truth: Storytelling in Battlestar Galactica

Just to add to my lengthy commentary on the finale of Battlestar Galactica, a tweet from Amazo Paul Cornell took me a wonderful collection of comments about BSG from established writers and journalists. Each author offers his reaction to the finale and ponders where they'd have taken the show if they were the creative mastermind behind it. Some polarised views there, but one strand of thinking is prevalent throughout - and that's the problems in writing a show with a fluid future; where nothing is set and everything is in flux.

I think this is a particular problem with BSG given the show states from the start that - within its fictional universe - the enemy "has a plan". This infers the storyteller has conceived a concise narrative prior to the story when in the case of Battlestar Galactica, it does not.

There is no doubt that while a pre-constructed formula to any story is technically constrictive and unbending to new ideas, but for an audience it carries a comfortable hierarchy with the storyteller - we like to feel a world is real even if its conceived, and our brains prefer that conception to have been molded before we embark on a tale. Bottomline, we like to be lead on a journey rather than taking the journey hand in hand. We prefer the storyteller to have control of the whole experience rather than in the case of BSG (or at least to some extent), a pawn to the eddies created by the story.

A rather general overview I admit - particularly in the aspersions to the BSG creative process which, to little surprise, I played no part in. Speaking generally again, a clear benefit of a a fluid storyline is the ability to expand and contract on what works and what doesn't as the story grows. Furthermore, the creative process is exciting and dynamic - it can respond to the notions and ideas of the audience and shift, staying one step ahead. So I'm certainly not berating such an approach to storytelling. If we look at BSG again, the shifts in season three seem to me to very much be based on where the show has been and an effort to find places it hasn't - and I think New Caprica and the Final Five were a brilliant way to re-engage the audience after two seasons. I think this is the strength of fluid storytelling - it allows the story maker to let the show progress at its own pace rather than a preplanned one. I recall RDM saying he was happy bringing the show to an end after four rather than five seasons because he felt the show had naturally covered its ground quicker than they'd anticipated.

Equally, while I'm not looking to berate the fluid approach, I'm not looking to champion structure. Look at Babylon 5, when the show was uncertain whether it would get its year 5 on its pre-planned arc, it was forced to compress the structured storyline into one season leaving season four feeling overtly compressed with two major cumulative wars and season five rather vacuous.

I would say the best work (as with all things) finds a middle ground, one where the storyteller has a plan and his willing to reinvent it if needs be. With Moore's show, I think that middleground is lost. Certainly they seemed to have a flavour of what's to come, but I felt in season four that some of the resolutions didn't match the notions that presented them. And one can't help feel that when you walk the fluid path, you let the show help dictate the outcome more than pre-formed structure. In other words, you create the impact then worry about the aftermath when it comes time and in the interim watch the story flow carefully letting that help inform the creative process.

That all being said, I think many of the critics in the linked page are overtly critical, forgetting that the niggles are not what BSG was about - it was about characters (which arguably is the opposite of Moore's previous work on Star Trek which was infamous for technobabble and crossing its tees). So I think certain fixations in the responses to BSG are unfair and largely irrelevant. Those who wanted a big expose on the Head Six or Starbuck's mystery should have sensibly seen that such ethereal revelations would be tonally impossible. The show was never about definitives and like life, tried to keep things grey. There was never going to be big explanations aside from one: God Moves In Mysterious Ways.

And I like that. The ambiguity and almost arbitrary love/hate the universe has for its souls, and the process it leads them is as inconclusive and as uncertain as theology has painted in a dozen cultures. How often as the Lord in the Old Testament acted in a way that for an omnipotent being been considered rather elaborate or needlessly pedestrian. Why did God put that particular fruit tree in Eden? Why did he seem surprised when Man took a bite from his fruit? Why was he not aware of the serpent's plans? He's omnipotent isn't he? And like theology, BSG's higher powers work in odd unexplained ways. Starbuck's narrative journey is extremely non-sensical (as Saxon points out in the article), but that seems very theological to me. From my understanding, gods in most religions rarely move directly from A to B, but prefer a more colourful and memorable route.

But I guess the real crux of these negative comments isn't whether as an audience we can "buy" these explanations, but a resentment to knowing they were never planned and as such we wonder whether there was the opportunity to do something better.

I think people are open to improvised storytelling - I'm certainly not against the medium, but I think unfortunately Moore's candid remarks on the fluid approach to the show worked against the show itself. His professional honesty was both commendable and insightful but practically it did damage the credibility of the story itself. For example, I thought some of the choices for the Final Five were very clever when the finale to season three aired. We'd seen Tyrol's connection to Boomer, his irrational fear of being a Cylon exposed with Brother Cavel and his instincts bringing him to the Temple of the Five. As soon as I discovered than none of that was planned to lead us to him being a Cylon, but was retrospective in its decision, the twist lost its impact. I still loved the twist and the impact of the revelation, but it did lose some of its sparkle. I guess we can cope with being hoodwinked by the mysteries of the narrative - in fact its what we watch for; we enjoy the anticipation of the big reveal. But we don't enjoy being hoodwinked by the smart retrospective eye of the writers - despite the fact it presents a different and no less impressive approach to creative writing. Both approaches look to find creative solutions to creative problems. Both approaches are manipulative in intent, but one we find it easier to stomach one technique over another.

Overall this approach never truly spoilt the show for me. After all, however they resolved the Final Five, that scene when the five were revealed will always be magical. And given the mandate of any television serial is to entertain in the moment and not to create perfect continuity nor even a perfect seamless serial, I think BSG was wise to involve fluidity into its process.

After all, audiences look more and more for story arcs within their television, yet the industry remains ever cutthroat to dips in performance. Maybe fluidity is the key to keeping a show relevant, adaptive and thereby responsive to its viewers. Maybe by on-the-spot tailoring of a show's masterplan will the epic remain relevant. While Babylon 5 managed to luck out on five seasons, it could be considered the success was a commercial fluke against the many odds. Perhaps BSG's successes and failures mark the future of epic fictional television storywriting. Pitching a show with a five year arc is not going to woo any investor, but pitching a show where your long term arc is as expansive as the viewing figures dictate - that sounds like the future of television and I look forward to seeing new shows build on BSG successes and failures just as BSG did on the sci-fi epic success of Babylon 5. The future is indeed, bright.

Battlestar Galactica: The Legacy and the Finale (Daybreak Spoilers)

What a ride. Five years of Battlestar Galactica. I remember first viewing the mini-series after returning from America. Everyone here had seen it - and they were very positive about this new show. I'd been apprehensive but excited when I'd caught some glimpses of the promo material that filtered on the net having been, shall we say, a discerning fan of the original because it was clear there would be some distinct differences. But I was easy to bend - I was never a hardcore supporter of the original show. The pilot was excellent, but there was only so far the late 70s could take such a bleak premise and the show itself really plummeted at the back end of its single season (aside from the show-stopper, Hand of God). While I'd have been content to see a return to the universe, I was happy for a reboot given the shaky consistency of the old show (now missing the great Lorne Greene). I was pleasantly surprised to hear the favourable reviews of the mini-series and when I watched it fell in love with this new show.

Funny that after seeing the mini-series, the idea that a series had been green-lit on its back again caused me concern. This was an intense show - could it sustain the tension as a series? The original had failed - could the remake succeed?

Well it did. Beyond expectation. Well written, well made, well acted throughout. I have enjoyed the series from its conception. It did what both Star Trek and Babylon 5 never quite managed. In fact, funnily enough, when I used to watch Voyager I used to imagine how much better it would have been if it had borrowed from the original BSG - a ship leading a lonely trek to Earth, perhaps picking up a rag-tag fleet to protect along the way.. and who was initially involved in that production (albeit for a very short time)? Ron D Moore.

Ron D Moore has been a great series runner. The show has remained consistently strong, his commentaries have been honest and insightful. I hope they have convinced all cynics of the new show that while it may not be the show they wanted, the people doing it really cared for the product. And let's face it, the homages to the original show have been in abundance. Not just many of the designs or spattered reuse of the main theme (or more recently the opening chords on a simple piano), but in the drive of the characters. Starbuck in particular has played quite a similar storyline - she was marooned on a planet, she has had father issues (though this time minus Frank Sinatra) and as the series revealed, she didn't join the "god/gods". While this wasn't played in Battlestar Galactica's original incarnation, in the sequel Battlestar Galactica 1980 Starbuck was left on a planet marooned after helping a higher being and was intended, if a second season had been commissioned to become part of the Beings of Light that appeared throughout the original show.

It's been a great ride - so how did it end?


After hearing a few calls of derision on the net since the US airing, I was getting worried. The last few episodes had been very character driven, though a little meandering for an audience thirsty for answers. I believe with DVD retrospective goggles they will seem far less frustrating and directionless, but understandably people have been more than resentful to the lack of fast-pace and classic structure to the stories leading up to the finale. But with Daybreak, they were rewarded for those quieter episodes as the show saved the budget for its swansong.

And what a swansong. Emotion, action, answers, despair and hope. It went through the whole lot with honesty. I must admit I expected more characters to die, but we got a hefty few of supporting and major players bowing out. The effects were fantastic (great to see the return of the old Cylons) and the resolution was handled with grace. The final scenes with Adama and Roslin were as beautiful as the meeting of Athena and Boomer was brutal.

Was the final home of humanity a problem for me? No. For many I could imagine the definitive attachment to our history being an issue, but the mantra "it has happened before and it will happen again" implicitly (or in the case of this episodes mid-point, explicitly) tells us that the cycles in life are as much manipulated to repeat as they are to change. So people can speak English thousands of years ago and still speak English today, because its all part of the cycle. It's the way creation works. I particularly like the way that the god(s) in this show aren't good or evil, nor are they specific, they are an ambiguous force that doesn't require justification, just is. I think that was a very powerful perspective for TV, particularly given its propensity for absolutes - good and evil are the bread and butter of the Hollywood platter. I was happy to see this dull ideal shunned here.

But the series did fail, and that was a great pity. I was sitting watching this with my sibling and I was laughing near the end at quite how they could blow this fantastic episode in the last five minutes. I suggested perhaps an epilogue where a Raptor comes back for Hermit Adama saying they need him back in service; that unknown to him Roslin had a son and he'd been taken by Adama's evil twin brother. Or maybe an ending where the camera rises up into the stars and Ron Moore is there on a cloud winking at a camera. The latter idea was based on JMS' flouting of the dramatic illusion at the end of Babylon 5 being the guy to switch of the space station within the story - a little display of territorial ego that really didn't benefit the show and sure, the show should take priority over any in-joke? So my sister and I laughed and this ideas of how such a brilliant show could ruin the final few minutes.

And what do you know? It succeeded!

After a brilliant act-out with Adama alone on a mountain, a perfect place to end the show, we have this turgid, unnecessary contemporary scene with the head characters. It feels tacky, out of place and utterly worthless, sledgehammering a point that the series didn't need to make because it was there by inference: could we be making our OWN Cylons? Good lord, this isn't the Twlight Zone or Outer Limits - we don't need the show's message to be nailed to our foreheads and our faces thrust into a nearby mirror to understand. We get it. We could make our own Cylons. Yes, how profound.

What really staggered me by this epilogue was the sheer insult of it. The show has not once patronised or belittled its audience's ability to see the subtlety to its stories - why start on the final five minutes?

On top of this, the dialogue felt awkward and out of place, as did the contemporary setting. It just jarred with everything the show has done.

And of course, the piece de resistance.. my little gag of Mr Moore hanging in the clouds wasn't far wrong - like JMS, Mr Moore clearly couldn't escape the opportunity of having himself spiced into the final few moments and he appears awkwardly reading a paper rammed in the viewers face on contemporary Earth, again breaking the dramatic weave of the scene.

I wouldn't dare to lecture such a TV master but I would have to ask him this following questions - questions I've already alluded to but felt I need to really hammer home. I'm sure he'll see the snarky parallel I'm making. Did his appearance benefit the show's final moments? Did it add or distract from the drama? Did it do the story good? Did your appearance serve your show at all? I can appreciate the desire to give a fan-nod as you sign off your five year project, but after such integrity you've delivered over five years - was it really worth it?

It's a shame a mere five minutes can ruin a fantastic episode, but that is always the danger of any ending - you can start a story badly. You can start a relationship badly. You can start a meal with a disastrous first course, but as long as the last mouthful is wonderful, the bad start is forgiven. The same can't be said for a bad end. And as much as I have adored the show, I loved the finale and have so much awe and respect for the work of Ron D Moore and his fantastic team, it is a great, great shame that their perhaps singular dire moment had to be in the last few minutes, leaving Battlestar Galactica with a sour aftertaste on an otherwise perfect gourmet experience.

I can only hope that The Plan (shown this fall) will give us a new ending (not technically an ending, but an end to the franchise) that will fade this bitter pill of an epilogue. And I must say, of all the TV spins offs I've seen of sci-fi franchises, The Plan sounds an excellent one!

Maybe the after-dinner mints will make up for icky last mouthful of Galactica dessert.

Author speaks out on his feelings about Millennium.

Back to Millennium, back to Frank Black. Am I obsessed? No - I've met Millennium fans who have worked for that description. I'm just over-focused. Particularly on the campaign to bring Millennium back - after all, it was a show about one man caring more than anyone else. Well, BacktoFrankBlack is the same. Only its a group of people who care more than anything else. Oh, and I suppose we don't really help solve violent crimes either. But there's enough there to strain out this allegory.

While we're on this subject, I thought for those who ask me "why do you waste time promoting this Millennium thing?" I could reply with a single sentence rather than mountains of my own frayed thread of opinions and ideas (see previous paragraph for damn fine example).

Let me just clarify what I mean:

"Why do you waste time promoting this Millennium thing?"
Read this blog and find out.

See? Simplo.

And seriously, give it a read. It's a great, personal piece from an established thriller author (M R Sellers) and what draws him into the world of Millennium. Read it if you feel tempted to ask me that bolded question, read it for the sheer hell of a good article. Which ever you pick, read it now - there's a good chap.