The Big Whatsit

Oh dear. I’m coming to the end of my sick leave, and wanted to mark the time with a marathon viewing session of all three Lord of the Rings movies in succession, followed by a review here. Sure enough, I happily watched the films, but the article started developing into one of those mammoth concerns that surely won’t capture everyone’s attention until the end. On the one hand, I love those flicks, and have lots to say about them. Then again, so do a lot of people, and the biggest struggle was in trying not to move away from the original observations I had made to covering the usual ground.

I’ll get it edited and published some day. In the meantime, and at the risk of this blog appearing like one of those fantastic summaries produced by Robert Sharp, here’s a rundown of the things I watched over the last few days. In an effort to get it all out of my system, I won’t include Andorra-England in the following piece, but will say that as sympathetic as I am towards the best manager my team has had in a long, long time, my real feelings are with the travelling fans. The players can condemn their boo-happy supporters all they want, but when you’ve shelled out for travel, accommodation, tickets, crappy matchday food and so on, only to be greeted by the sort of bobbins England produced against Israel and Andorra, I think you have a perfect right to vent your spleen. A bit harsh perhaps. I don’t honestly care. Steve McClaren and his players take home a lot of money for their work. It’s times like these when they have to earn it.

Phew! Thanks for indulging me. Onto what I’m here to discuss…

Miami Vice (2006)

Like any kid unfortunate enough to have their formative years in the eighties, Miami Vice was a big deal for me. It’s easy to think back to the Don Johnson starrer and recall its linen jackets, rolled up sleeves, flash cars and Jan Hammer electronics (they weren’t exactly the most ‘undercover’ of undercover cops, were they?), but catching an episode recently, the brilliant scripts and way everyone took it so seriously are what struck home. The update captures little of its predecessor’s accessibility, throwing the viewer headlong into machine gun policespeak and the sense we’re already in the middle of a story within the first five minutes. It can be a little bewildering, but bear with it, because once it gets rolling Miami Vice develops into a superb cop movie. Many elements make it stand out from the usual fare, but I really liked the dynamic between Crockett and Tubbs. Unlike most buddy partnerships, there are few wisecracks to be found, and little sign that there’s any genuine affection between them. However, they are partners, showing an almost telepathic understanding of what the other’s about, which you imagine is what it would be like in real life. As with any Michael Mann film, the gunfights are loud, the suits louder, and much of it takes place under gorgeous sunsets. A great deal of the filming is done with handheld digital cameras, giving the action an urgent, gritty feel. As for the acting, which has been much criticised, I didn’t see much that didn’t hold together. In fairness, Jamie Foxx didn’t seem too challenged as the eternally second fiddle Tubbs, but Colin Farrell made for a great Santiago Crockett, personifying the macho male he would probably need to be in order to get himself into the kind of scrapes that he does.

Music and Lyrics (2007)

There’s much comic mileage to be had from Hugh Grant playing an 80s pop star, and clearly he thinks so too. Grant has loads of fun pulling off the daft dance moves and gurning of Alex Fletcher, who at one time starred in the band PoP but is now a washed up has been. It’s here that the film slips into formula tedium. Offered the chance of writing a duet with current teen sensation, Cora Corman, our hero finds the only way he can produce anything like a cohesive song is with the help of Drew Barrymore, who tenuously enters the story as someone employed to water his plants. By lucky chance, she can write lyrics, whilst he provides the score. The rest you can guess. A great pity they couldn’t do more with their talented cast. Barrymore seems to have carved out a niche as the new Meg Ryan. Grant just looks bored. How people can be satisfied with this sort of guff when everyone knows how it will all turn out even before they enter the theatre is anyone’s guess, yet Music and Lyrics has made its money, which suggests the death of the ‘Rom Com’ is depressingly nowhere in sight. The film’s ending reminded me a lot of the climax of the vastly superior About a Boy.

Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997)

DVD sales are great. They mean I can nip into HMV and walk out with a minor classic like this for a measly three quid. It may be that I haven’t watched the original Austin Powers since seeing it at the pictures originally, on a cold, damp autumn night at Cine City, Withington (and it was like that inside the cinema!), but then I didn’t have to as the sequels provided much the same laughs. Of course, the film’s a riot, from Austin’s dance routine in swinging London to Dr Evil spending time in group therapy with Scott. It manages to coax a decent(ish) performance from Elizabeth Hurley; Will Ferrell makes a good humoured cameo. Where this one scores over its follow-ups is in the clever gags that reference previous spy movies. Dr Evil and Scott’s argument over how to dispatch Austin is a good moment, and I really liked the bits where familes and friends learn about the deaths of henchmen, suggesting that the hundreds of people routinely killed in these films aren’t just there to be offed summarily but have lives of their own. The series lost much of this sense of subtlety afterwards, concentrating on gross out humour - I mean, Fat Bastard? - and catchphrases.

Doctor Who Season Three, Episode One

Like most series openers for the good Doctor, this one was mildly entertaining rather than spellbinding. Presumably, the good stories are yet to come - next week’s Shakespeare episode looks like it might be interesting. David Tennant’s manic performances are getting a little irritating. Whereas he started well in The Christmas Invasion, when he was called on to give a pedestrian yarn something of a kick, I’m losing interest in his 90mph turns. As for Freema Agyeman, she looks like she could be a big improvement on Billie Piper, who left the series at the right time. Let’s hope for a lot less flirting with this one - I often wished the Doctor and Rose would just get it out of the way, couple on the TARDIS floor, and then move on. Neither companion can genuinely replace Nicola Bryant, but who can, huh?

The funny thing about ‘new Doctor Who’ is that it has me missing the classic stuff. Slowly, I’m snapping up the DVDs released by the excellent restoration team, and catch the odd UK Gold omnibus if I get up in time (rarely). So far, I own The Five Doctors (mainly for nostalgic reasons - I loved it as a kid) and Genesis of the Daleks, which has had rave write-ups, and deserves them. The Beginning is on order. Odlly enough, The Boy, who mithers me endlessly for Battles in Time cards and has become a Gallifreyan databank on the quiet, really enjoys those old shows also. I thought he’d be nothing but contemptuous about the horribly dated special effects. Not so. A viewing of the Pertwee era Inferno had us both appreciating the finer points of old Who. I guess it shows that there’s no substitute for a good story and a central character for whom the writers clearly had a good deal of affection.