| R.B.7 8 A V I E W 2 0 1 0 |
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IM 448199 |
| R.B.7 8 A V I E W 2 0 1 0 |
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IM 448199 |
(click here for the ration book rules) (red text = new items; + = new points to existing items) (pale text = repeated items unseen; murky text = taped items) |
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| WEEK FIVE Summer comes to an end, and with it we see the return of Formula One (the always brilliant Spa) and Kermode & Mayo (back from their hols). Together they account for over a third of this week's points. Meanwhile, for an impartial review of University Challenge see this week's [[Life After Mastermind]]. WEEK FOUR Thank goodness for Cricket, eh. And bootlegged concerts on the internet. Without them where would we be? We'd be in a world where the only stuff on of any interest (apart from news) is to be found on Monday nights on BBC2 (repeats of far-from-vintage Shooting Stars on Virgin1 notwithstanding). That said, I've still got to watch episode 3 of The Normans on the iPlayer before the end of the month. A lot of clauses to my Monday night remark therefore. But still. And looking forward to this coming Bank Holiday Monday, its episode of University Challenge at least promises to be a cracker, with Sheffield taking on Newcastle. A must see. WEEK THREE TMS gained a sense of self-awareness this week. Normally this is a bad thing, but TMS is above all that. The only sharks to be jumped in the cricket world are those encountered a pedalo-ride out from a Caribbean beach. So, presumably in an effort to steer themselves away from jokes about cats and screwdrivers, the commentary team discovered [[Boycott Bingo]]: the TMS equivalent of a drinking game. The excitement caused was sufficiently massive as to burst CMJ's bunion. The Normans is a good thing. When your presenter cites references along the way (e.g. "Florence of Worcester mentions how, following a documentary about his son William Rufus, the Conqueror categorically refused to give any post-battle interviews with the BBC") you get a warm cosy feeling of being given something properly written. Robert Bartlett is what a good presenter looks like. I watched The Hours this week. It appeared to star Mark Gatiss. Perhaps this put me in the wrong frame of mind, but I found the film a badly directed sub-Altman piece of "for your consideration" melodrama. It would've made a better play than a film. WEEK TWO I seem to be alone in finding Sherlock underwhelming. Not that it was ever terrible, and quite often it was rather good, but it felt a little ill-fitting and could've done with taking in here and there. The 90 minute running time didn't help. That's a film, and I expect a little more of my films. The final episode proved that Gatiss isn't wholly incompetent, though ended on a thoroughly damp squib. It (and the whole series) played its cards too early and was all the less interesting for it. Moriarty should not have been involved at all in this first run. There was a shark of Conan-Doyle's devising and it is best left unjumped until much later in the day than this. A face off with the said character (who turns out to be Paul McCartney) in only the third ep is like getting pregnant on the first date (inadvisable). And now we get a second series, which is unfortunate for any aspiring writers out there, keen to get some new ideas dramatized. Still, for what it is (an effortless modernization of Sherlock Holmes with some over-telegraphed narratives and a nice texting gimmick) it is fine. Dull but fine. Like a certain type of pencil. From one curly-haired pointy-nosed moon-faced loon to another: Simon Amstell's return in a dom-com-dram. Grandma's House is The Royle Family but with Simon Amstell in it (so therefore a bit funnier). It amused. Amusing me more, however, was Shooting Stars. I've not been watching this series on account of the last one being crap. It turns out that this was an error. This series has been good, with different jokes every week (shock, gasp). A burning mountain bike and a comedy stuffed fox in episode 3 (revisited by illicit means) proved particularly risible and I thank the criminal underclasses for giving me the opportunity to see it (albeit with sound and vision hopelessly mis-synched). WEEK ONE August starts in a rather uninspiring fashion: there's sod all on, it being summer. There's a documentary about Normans that I intend to catch on the iPlayer, but I haven't done as yet. Instead, I've been watching '80s kids' TV on YouTube. Alas, the Spanish version of Pigeon Street (one of my first YouTube experiences) seems to have gone missing. Instead, an episode of Button Moon: chilling stuff. I'd forgotten how much bigger was Mrs Spoon than her husband, and quite how cheap the whole thing was (I know that's the point, but still...). I found the experience a little terrifying... the dreamlike narrative (Mr Spoon at one point becomes tangled in some streamers for no real reason, and then they meet an alien bottle in drag) especially disoriented. It's enough to make one never want to go in the kitchen ever again. At some other sort of extreme is Chock-A-Block, in this episode presented by Chockagirl (Chockachick would've rung better) Carol Leader. I'd forgotten that the videos it ate were the "blocks", and the data-entry aspect had also left my memory. The tombola of the "rock-a-block" spoke deep truths to me and had evidently imprinted somewhere crucial in my mind, though it too had been forgotten in real terms. But the whole impression of a slightly trippy mainframe was proven accurate. The particular episode involved a puppet crow flying "Histor"-style ("as the crow flies"), which added a certain value. Leader herself was faultless, and her interplay with the all-consuming machine was impressive. An un-nerving vision of the future in yellow and red, and a brilliant concept for a See Saw programme (in the Watch With Mother sense). The chockatruck itself is worthy of its own award. |
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