Monday, March 14, 2011

'The Macra Terror' and 'The Waters of Mars' reviewed.

So, in an effort to provide slightly more regular and engaging reading, I'm going to begin by reviewing some of the things I'm watching at the moment and right now that means Doctor Who, both the classic and revived series.  What better way to begin this than to review a story from each.

First up, we look at a story from 1967, The Macra Terror.

The Macra Terror, was the seventh story of Doctor Who's fourth season and was the fifth story to feature the second Doctor, Patrick Troughton.  His companions at this stage were Ben Jackson, Polly Wright and Jamie McCrimmon.

This era of the series was markedly different from the first three seasons, not just in the presence of a new Doctor, but also in the style of the episodes.  Whereas the stories of the first Doctor's era tended to be long and relatively slow-paced, focusing on atmosphere and mystery more than anything else, the second Doctor's era had the hallmark of shorter, faster-paced adventure stories.  The character of the Doctor had changed to match this, moving from the thoughtful, often grouchy first Doctor of William Hartnell, to a more whimsical, chatty but also less human second incarnation.

As it happens the style of the episode plots and the character of the second Doctor really appeal to me.  I grew to love Hartnell's Doctor as I watched my way through the first three seasons, but Troughton won me over far quicker and it is his charm, more than any other feature, which makes The Macra Terror entertaining.

By modern standards the plot is fairly cliché, but then Doctor Who often is and it is not always that much of a problem for the quality of its episodes.  The Doctor and his companions arrive on a planet with a human colony that quickly turns out to be too happy to be true.  We soon meet the crab-like Macra (who will later hold the record for the longest gap between appearances on the show when they reappeared, super-sized and super-stupid in the revived series three episode, Gridlock) and it becomes apparent that they are running the colony behind the scenes for their own benefit.  The Doctor bumbles around in his slightly insane way, his companions get caught, escape, get caught again, turn against each other and generally achieve very little and then, in his continued bumbling, defeats the Macra and frees the colony.

It's all fairly prosaic and the Macra themselves are fairly ridiculous - not because of the quality of the special effects, which seem fine for the time (as much as one can tell from soundtrack and telesnaps only), but simply because they are apparently super-intelligent, lumbering crab monsters.

I have no idea why they had to be crab monsters!

Despite all this the story is perfectly entertaining and it's all because Patrick Troughton has such charm as the Doctor.  His unravelling of the equation that controls the gas which the Macra need to stay alive is hilarious, as is his confounding of the gas flow process.  The rest of the story could disappear and it really wouldn't matter all that much.  We pay to see the Doctor, or so it seems.

Another actor who's charm redeems a great many sins in the role of the Doctor is David Tennant, however even his skill does not do quite enough to make me like my second story: The Waters of Mars.

Written by Russell T. Davies (who seems to think that good science fiction is spouting nonsense and covering it in a thin veneer of Coronation Street) and Phil Ford (who belongs to the same school of thought as those writing Doctor Who in the era of Patrick Troughton), The Waters of Mars is one of the series of specials which made up the gap between seasons four and five of the revived series and the end of Tennant's tenure in the role of the Doctor.  It has won awards.  I'm not entirely sure why.

The premise of the episode is an interesting one, albeit one we have seen many times before: first colony on a new world, terrible menace, everyone destined to die, struggle for survival, etc. etc. etc.  The twist is that the Doctor is there and that he knows what is going to happen and that he cannot change it.  The events that are supposed to unfold are somehow to shape humanities future in a profound way and the Doctor knows he cannot interfere.  So along come some monsters which are supposed to be creepy (and so nearly are) but which look too rubbery around the mouth and patently ridiculous when they start spouting water and the Doctor prepares to leave the crew of the base to their fate.

But he changes his mind and the scene which follows is a familiar moment of awesomeness - the Doctor defying fate and saving the remaining crew in flamboyant style.  Tennant's flair for the part really shows off here and the combination of music and visuals is really exciting - the best part of the episode so far.

And then we hit the epilogue and we learn that characters who had been facing death moments before actually kinda wish they had died (although they give no good reason as to why) and the Doctor, who, admittedly at this stage is starting to sound overly arrogant, is forced to realise that he was wrong to change their fate.

It all fits in very well with the classic series story The Aztecs, where the Doctor was constantly saying the history could not be changed, but at no point do Davies and Ford give us a convincing reason that the people of Bowie Base One had to die, or that the Doctor could have convinced them that and when Adelaide Brooke, the commander of the expedition and fulcrum of humanity's apparently great future, tells the Doctor that no-one should have the power to decide that future, she seems to forget that everyone has that power every day with every choice they make.

Okay, sot he Doctor knew what was going to happen in a way no ordinary participant of history could, but still, it's all just too much nonsense trying to be profound.  Tennant plays it all very well, but it's the one episode of the revived series that, on re-watching, actually makes me angry.  I feel insulted by it!

The fact that it then follows on to The End of Time parts one and two, probably only adds to that insult, but that is another review for another time.

Until next time...

A Sense of Direction.

It has to be said that this blog has been lacking any kind of forward momentum.  The truth is I'm never entirely sure what to write in it.  A brief re-cap of some of my earlier posts has reminded me of the stuff I have written in it before and that has revealed a mixture of complete nonsense, minor profundities, TV episode reviews, autobiography and creative writing.  None of these things sit terribly well beside each other, but it seems that I have lost the knack even for such randomness as all that.

So, this blog is currently under review.  I aim to give it a purpose.  It might not be a very strict purpose, but at the very least, I shall try to post in it more often and with more relevance and interest to the casual reader (whoever you might be - my stats currently suggest that you are no-one, by which I mean no offence) and perhaps a greater connection to my more serious blogging effort - Shadow.

This questing for a sense of direction has become something of a theme in my life over the past week.  It seems that every year, around about this time, I suddenly find myself with itchy feet, longing to escape from my job, or my creative doldrums and get out and do something more meaningful, more productive, that sort of thing.  None of this was helped when a friend in work revealed that he was leaving to do just the sort of creative work he has always wanted to do, and he's likely to get paid quiet a bit for it as well.

Well, it was with such thoughts in my mind that I found myself sitting in church yesterday morning listening to a man talk about the work of The Samuel Trust (Sams), a Christian group who aim to work with the young people of disadvantaged areas in Aberdeen.  They were looking for new volunteers, having run so low on them that they had to put one of their clubs on hiatus.  The sermon that morning was about the end of Romans 9 and the whole of Romans 10, in which Paul speaks about the need for people to be told about the gospel and Dominic, our minister, tied this in with the work of Sams as an example of the kind of gospel work Paul would be calling people to now.  I can't remember the exact context, but at one point he spoke of us having 'itchy feet for the gospel' and the use of that term, which I had had in my mind so much over the past week really (and here I borrow the terminology of the esteemed Professor McGrath) - this phrase really resonated with me in that context.

So, long-ish story short, I met with the guy from Sams after the service and have agreed to go along on one of their trips for older kids to see how I find it and whether or not it's something I can do.  I've already worked out that I have the time for it every other Thursday and that I can do some flexible working to make sure I arrive on time.  I'm pretty sure the folks at work would agree to it all.  It all seems so convenient, in fact that I really do feel that it might be a calling.  I guess I'll know for sure when I do it.  It could turn out to be exactly the wrong thing for me to do, but that in itself would be helpful to know as otherwise I'll always be swithering.  Either way, then God has opened a door for me so that I might see beyond it and perhaps find that sense of direction which I seem to have been missing recently.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Clerihews

We interrupt our scheduled silence for some Clerihews.

J. Edgar Hoover
Liked drinking nail-varnish remover.
Whilst being so high,
He became the founder of the F.B.I.

and

David Lloyd George
Worked hard at the forge.
He made Ireland his mission
And left it in a state of Partition.

and how about

Sir Francis Drake,
Regarded a rake,
Had in mind
A more golden behind.

And I'm done.