I Like Nibbles

DOCTOR WHO: The Lazarus Experiment
Starring: David Tennant, Agyema Freeman, Mark Gatiss
Written by Stephen Greenhorn
Directed by Richard Clark


The first trailer I saw of The Lazarus Experiment–-which showed some old coot going on about living forever or some such–-made me think Peter Davison had returned to the show. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the geriatric in question was not Mr. Davison, but was Mark Gatiss in Old Man Makeup (you know the sort–doughy latex piled on doughy latex that suggests aging implies you grow pancakes on your face). And I thought: surely Davison would have worked cheaper? And couldn’t they have saved tons on makeup?

Coming after the rather tedious–-and apparently annual--Dalek borefest that was Daleks in Manhattan and Evolution of the Daleks, The Lazarus Experiment arrives like a breath of creative fresh air.

Clearly, Lazarus doesn’t break any new ground. Any long time viewer of DOCTOR WHO will wonder if this episode didn’t somehow manage to crawl out of the slush pile from the Pertwee era, live rough on the streets of London for thirty years, before hitchhiking to Wales, bribing the security guards, and then managing to position itself beside RTD’s morning cappuccino. The main theme of Lazarus–that man’s desire to pervert the natural order of things to make a buck or other more esoteric forms of greed–would be well at home in the early, still-hippie Seventies. The setting–-a mysterious scientific corporation filled with whacked out gadgetry (a spinning machine that makes you young!), as well as other London environs-–almost feels incomplete without Bessie screaming to a stop at some point in the story.

Yet Lazarus succeeds because it not only embraces the Mad Scientist story mold, but brings it up to date. There isn’t that feeling of ‘Hey man, Earth power, man’ seen in Seventies Who, but a tired despair at corporate greed. With global warming, waste of natural resources, and ongoing pollution, what else can corporations mess up? You’d be surprised. Yes, we’ve walked this ground before, but instead of feeling tired and faux nostalgic, it feels both new, exciting and just goofy enough to make us smile.

New? At this point, we’re still getting used to Martha as the new companion, and in this episode we again see how different she is from Rose. When Professor Lazarus outlines his plans, Martha is quick to see how horrible its success would be for the human race. When the inevitable monster begins causing the inevitable havoc, Martha deals out medical assistance, illuminating that there are now two Doctors in the TARDIS. We learn more about Martha’s family–whereas Rose’s family at one end of the financial spectrum, we see that Martha is at the other, far distant end. Yet her mother’s feelings for the Doctor indicate she and Jackie Tyler would probably have a good natter about our favourite Time Lord over tea.

And perhaps most importantly–for this sad fan–Martha lets her hair down and wears a quite fetching party dress. Sure, she’s a strong character whose intelligence is only rivaled by that of Pertwee companion Liz Shaw, but damn! She looks fine!
Sad middle aged maleness aside, it’s this episode that (in my mind) cemented Martha as part of the Who mythos. She belongs now. Let the fan fiction begin!

Exciting? While this self contained episode never really lets us think anything too terribly drastic will happen to the Doctor and Martha, there is still that tried and true Who feeling of panic as the Doctor races from newfound idea to computer console and back again to save the day. The monster scenes–which make use of some fairly enjoyable special effects, camera angles and filters to give an idea of the creature’s POV–are well shot. Yes, it’s our beloved Corridor Chase again, but running on the ceiling was a nice touch. Martha even adds to the excitement herself by taking a much more decisive action against said monster in the show’s finale. Sure, Rose would have done the same, but would have Nyssa? Not on your life. She’d get her velour suit all dirty.

Now for my favourite: the goofy.

The monster of the piece– a sort of scorpion like thing the size of a small tank, whose origin will have you looking uncomfortably in the mirror for a few days–apparently can ignore the physical law of conservation of mass. This was particularly amusing since the Doctor–who natters on about other more pseudo-scientific concerns and/or bafflegab–misses this one completely. (Although he does notice the need for energy replacement in the monster, evidenced by a certain someone pigging out on ‘nibbles’. Methinks the Doctor is wearing narrative blinders again.)

The victims of the scorpion monster seem to be a nod to the SPACE 1999 episode Dragon’s Domain–easily one of the creepiest episodes of any show ever. Sure, the corpses here don’t skitter across the floor, but the end result seems the same.

Upon having to wear a tuxedo to Professor Lazarus wingding, the Doctor moans, “Whenever I wear this, something bad always happens.” Nice to see the Doctor feels the same way I do about Rise of the Cybermen.

In an escape from one of Professor Lazarus’s spinning gadgets, the Doctor must (ahem) ‘reverse the polarity’. (Anyone who still disputes that The Lazarus Experiment is not a Pertwee homage, please sit down.) When it takes a little longer than expected, the Doctor complains that he must be out of practice. Heh.

With so much going for it, it’s unfortunate that the final showdown between the Doctor and Lazarus seems like the story went to the well once too often. Having had one fairly decent ending, the classic trope of the resurrected killer card is played, with all the narrative tension that usually brings. This is saved only by the Doctor speechifying about time and lives lived that came across as oddly poignant. But hey–I turn 42 this year, so anything to do dwindling time and imminent death seems poignant to me.

All in all, The Lazarus Experiment is solid Who: we have monsters, we have improbable science, we have a beautiful companion, and we have a deep urge to know what happens next. And there wasn’t a Dalek in sight. Can’t ask for more than that.

Twist Works At CBC. Apocalypse Imminent.

So I did two days at the CBC. My doubts about the piece were mirrored by my producer, and 95 percent of it has been scrapped. We have a new approach now, one that I'm far more comfortable with, since it's more humour-based. This will entail another trip down, which at the cost of trains and finding a place to sleep at night, will actually make me lose money on this project. Still, it's the CBC. Dreams come true and all that.

Such a different work environment there. I felt like I was some barbarian set loose among the philosophers--after twenty years of working where I do, there is a certain degree of machoism and I suppose callousness that becomes part of your everyday experience. That isn't there at the CBC. From what little I saw, structure is kept to a minimum as creative people are allowed to do what they do. I'm used to working in a place that is akin to a battlefield--chaos is always flowing around you, and you never know from minute to minute what the hell will happen next. To suddenly be in this quiet environment was unsettling. I kept waiting for someone to walk into the office, see me and go 'What the hell is he doing here?" before grabbing me by the throat and throwing me through a plate glass window.
That I would have been comfortable with. As it was, I was never sure if they regretted hiring me, thought me someone they should Mace, or if--and excuse my delusion--I actually fit in.

So, the robot.

I get off the elevator with my producer, and one of the first thing she says is 'Look out for the robot." I thought she was joking, but no: beeping down the hall, following a track beneath the carpet, is a rather large box shaped robot, delivering the mail throughout the CBC. I thought this was amazing. To them, it's just part of the scenery. I had to hug the wall as it trundled by, beeping to itself. Like I said, awesome.

On a break,I did wander around the place, and that's where I found Friendly Giant's castle. There's a display downstairs, where you can photograph Jerome and Rusty, as well as that little chair for two to curl up into. It was really an emotional moment for me, and I bullshit not here: I loved that show as a kid, and it really did seem magical to me. To see that castle, and to see the bits of chicken wire sticking out of the old plaster, to see the rent in the front of Rusty's gown, how rough Jerome looks up close, and the paper cow and moon that hung over the castle...it was powerful. I felt sad and old, and very happy. A cocktail of warring emotions that probably aged my heart by ten years and turned sixty hairs grey.

I also got to touch Casey and Finnegan's treehouse. It needed dusting and looked forlorn.

As I ended work Wednesday (I edited a fight scene for three hours, making me an editing god), I went to Silver Snail, Toronto's best comic book store. So many things you don't see in London--like gorgeous alternative women working there, who know their comics and action figures. I wandered around there, unable to find the sonic screwdriver I've been searching for, but did manage to find the latest issue of DWM and a new Moon Knight trade.

I also met up with some Who friends:-- Graeme, Scott and Mike-- at Pauper's, a very comfortable pub, and geeked out with Who talk for a few hours. A good time. This has led to me to start Who Tavern, which will hopefully have its first meeting in August. (Basic idea? We all meet at a bar on a Saturday night, drink, talk Who. See? How can it not be fun? Check Facebook for more details under 'London Who Tavern' in the Groups section.)

So, all in all, not a bad two days. I do have my doubts about this piece, though--I don't want to be away again, and like I said, I'm not sure I can justify going into the hole on this. So we'll see. If nothing else, at least I got to get behind the scenes at CBC Radio, if only for two days.

I'M HOME!!

Oh, Good God. I'm home.

Details to follow. They involve:

1.Almost being hit by a robot.

2.Silver Snail

3.Friendly Giant's castle.

Right now, I'm taking a glass of wine my Ninja is handing me while my cats demand explanations for my absence.

Novels and Nausea

Have spent most of my vacation avoiding all the major jobs I had planned around the house, for which I feel both guilty and well, more guilty. I look with awe upon those of my friends who can perform the magic of drywall, or can rewire their homes while coffee is brewing. Any attempt I ever make at anything beyond painting quickly becomes an amalgam of The Keystone Kops and The Three Stooges, regardless of how careful I am. If there is a God, He/She must insist on an Universal Law of Comedy when it comes to me using tools.

Have also worked on the novel, which Vulcan Ninja has reluctantly read. She didn't hate it, nor did she smack me across the face with the keyboard. I take this as a Good Sign.

And yes...the CBC job beckons. It's times like this that I admire writers like Neil Gaiman and Tad Williams, who have to go on book signings that last weeks. I have to go away for a few days, and I feel nauseous. I hate leaving my house. I'm sure that's indicative of some deep psychological problem, but I'm a writer. If I didn't have deep psychological problems, I'd probably be an accountant.

Going Off The Grid For Harry

Okay, so I didn't go out at midnight last night to get my copy of Deathly Hallows. I did get up early today, though, and hit the streets to get one--but any geek points I lost for not being out at the witching hour was lost by insistence on getting the 'adult' cover. Because I'm an adult, you see. All growed up. My bookshelves require dignity, even if they do have Aragorn fighting Pikachu on at least one shelf.

Headed up to Westmount first of all, where a severe woman was handing out all the pre-ordered books. A young man--all beard and black clothing, which is something we geeks think is cool, and yes, it's what I was wearing today as well--jittered up to her, all excited, and she brought him back to reality with her All Business attitude.

"You pre-ordered?"

"Yeah--yeah, I did." The man looked like it was Christmas morning, and all the presents were for him.

"Then I'm the one you speak to."

Efficient!

Even though a girl returned an adult covered book while I was there, the hocus pocus of retail would not allow me to purchase that copy. So it was out to Wellington Road Chapters.

The place looked like a bomb had gone off. Garbage everywhere, the bins overflowing, and the staff looking emotionally exhausted. It hit me as I walked under the rendition of King's Cross Railroad Station--complete with giant spiders--that perhaps there had been a few people there last night for the midnight offerings. Walking in, I grabbed one of the last adult covered books, purchased it, and walked out, seeing many other people doing the same. I felt part of something, so I did. Sniff. It was our geek Woodstock.

I'm on Chapter Four, still unspoiled, and will go off the grid as much as I can until I finish the book. Which for someone like me who can't function unless he's on the net, listening to NPR and having BBC News on behind him, may be my own personal version of Azkaban. I wonder if Dementors make coffee?

The Legend of Zelda: Acid Princess

As much a fan as I am of The Legend of Zelda series, I have to admit I was getting a little tired as I made my way through the first two hours of Twilight Princess.

I can accept that there is a comforting sameness to the games that is offset by its creativity and all out awesomeness. So I expected the usual rustic beginning we get in each game, where we see how happy Link is in whatever home dimension the poor bugger finds himself in this time round. (And therein lies the tragedy of the game series: like Frodo, Link is usually quite content living in the boondocks, doing whatever one does to support the boondock lifestyle. Does he ever actually ask for all the hell and pain he finds himself in? Does anyone, gentle reader?)

But even expecting it, at two hours in, I was really starting to wonder where this game was going. We had Link go and capture loose goats. We had Link go find a lost cat. If that wasn't exciting enough, Link also had to knock down a bee hive. As time kept passing, and the levels of cuteness threatened to disintegrate my teeth, I wondered if perhaps I misremembered the glory that was Ocarina of Time and Wind Waker? Or had my soul darkened to the point where rustic medieval shenanigans had lost their hold on me?

And then....then everything went absolutely nuts. As if the game creators had looked up the dictionary definition of 'bizarre' and decided to rewrite it.

In the space of two minutes, I was playing an entirely different game. A game that seemed not to be drawn from the imagination of Beatrix Potter, but Osamu Tezuka after a generous handful of peyote. The game ratcheted up the strange so quickly I had whiplash.

And I remembered why I loved this series. It always surprises, and after twenty years, makes me march out and buy each and every single incarnation.

But where does it go strange, you ask?

Like I'll tell you. Just be sure not be holding onto any drinks or rare china at around the two hour mark, that's all.

Wii Are Amused

Somehow, a Wii materialized in my living room. I stayed up very late last night playing Wii Tennis, and now feel confident enough to send in my resume to Wimbledon. Cher is following her bloodlust--as evidenced by her prowess in martial arts--and is focusing on Wii Boxing. She ducks and weaves and bites ears like she was born to it.

I have to admit: the damn thing is fun. Good thing the controller has straps, because I'm sure it would be through the screen by now. No injuries to report, although Cher did knock things off tables when she was careening around playing tennis. It's early days, though.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

With all the outdated gaming news and reviews you've come to ignore, let us again check to see what games are being played in that lonely manse upon the hill, Twist Manor.

I am well and truly getting my ass kicked in World of Warcraft. I have a mission that is allegedly--and I stress allegedly--four levels below my Night Elf. According to the gaming gnomes at Blizzard, I should be able to finish this quest--which involves decapitating an evil sorceror and dragging his head back to some unfortunate soul who collects heads, something which I don't question because I need the experience points, much as I do in Real Life. Yet each and every time I attempt this mission, I'm killed.

This involves resurrecting the character (another pain in the ass), and then repairing my armour, which costs money. So much so that I'm nearly broke. To which I say: Fuck.

So last night I thought I'd go back and play Guitar Hero 2. I forgot that my wife kicks my ass there as well. So while I muddle through Cheap Trick's Surrender on Easy, she wails merrily through Carry On My Wayward Son like she was born to playing fake video game guitar.

So where shall I seek solace? I return to Jade Empire, a game which is fun to play when it actually allows you to fight, but is so long winded it should seek tenure. I did laugh, though, when the game seems to notice it does tend to go on, offering beleaguered players the chance to 'hurry this along'.

I just want to kick bad guys in the face. Is that so wrong?

A Wild Night Out!

Ended up at Chaucer's last night, one of my favourite pubs on Earth, next to the Evil Eye in York, England. We were there to celebrate Jackie's birthday. The cream of London's literary scene was there-or at least those among them I can be around without the need for anti-nausea pills. Jason Dickson was there, as was Vanessa The Mad Fashion Writer.

It was a good night. Turns out most people there were newfound Doctor Who fans (or as I call them, DT converts), so conversation ranged from Season 3, the new Transformers film, and the joys to be found in The Legend of Zelda series. I had the pleasure of being the only one not drinking, so that's always fun: Cheryl was tipsy, and you know what that means--she's doing jigsaw puzzles when she gets home! So she careened into the wee hours doing a puzzle with fish in it, while I read Deadhouse Gates and half watched Dazed and Confused for about the 20th time.

A wild night!

Could This Be The Godzilla Apology?

I think we're all in agreement that the American version of Godzilla was horrible. No, horrible doesn't go far enough. Rectum rippingly bad does.

So even though I have not the hope so many of you have with J.J. Abrams, this does look good. So far. For a trailer. I mean, it doesn't star Hilary Duff, so it has that going for it.

Random Randomness of Randomosity

Came home today to find my package from EVE Online in the mailbox, and it made me smile. Like the space game it is, the envelope itself was all 60s space age shiny, like Buzz Aldrin's spacesuit. And it was also the first time I received a package from Iceland. The neighbours will never stop talking now.

I am now the proud geek owner of an EVE Online T-shirt and the very trippy electronic soundtrack to the game. It reminds me a bit of Kraftwerk, if Kraftwerk were all alone on a deserted asteroid, knowing they'll never see Berlin again. I love it. And yes, my geek quotient just went through the roof. Again.

Working on the CBC thing for Outfront. I have that usual feeling of panic and horror I always have when I try to create anything, be it a newspaper column, radio bit, or a cake. I hope it's okay. I hope people don't storm CBC Radio with pitchforks and torches. I live in those sorts of hope.

Revisiting My Childhood, Part One Gazillion and Four

I picked this up today, and tis glorious. Back in the seventies, I loved Godzilla, and so of course tried to track down each and every issue of Marvel Comic's Godzilla King of the Monsters. I was not terribly successful, since the spinner racks in Byron and London were not really the Ebays of their time. But I did read to shreds the issues I did find.

Now I have them all in this wonderful volume. And to say it's bugfuck is to underappreciate its weirdness.

Doug Moench knew how to have fun with this, and it shows. Yeah, okay, apparently Toho didn't allow Marvel to draw Godzilla totally correctly (his eyes are wrong, for one thing), but I can forgive that. Here we have Godzilla fighting rats after being shrunk. Here we have Ant-Man giving Godzilla vertigo by buzzing in his ear canal. We have SHIELD and giant robots. And cowboys trying to lasso the Defender/Destroyer of Tokyo.

And to totally go back in time to the Seventies? What soundtrack would be the perfect complement to these 24 comics?



Found it at Grooves for under ten bucks. And it's been 'digitally remastered', which just means they found a way to make it even more awesome-er. I'm sure that's what it means.

Kathmandu

As I approach 42, I have realized that I am indeed an introvert. It has always been a personality trait, and it is indeed who I am. Oddly, many of my friends are not. In fact, some of my dearest friends are almost toxic extroverts, the sort of people who can't get out of bed unless sixty people are in the room.

Which is fine. That's their lifestyle. I don't personally understand how anyone can possibly relax with forty people in your living room at three a.m., but that's me.

Today I had to be around someone who sees introverts as a personal insult. The sort of person who deflates if they're alone, and I suspect if there were razors and or/rope around, would top themselves to end the screaming abyss of loneliness they've found themselves in. The sort of person who views quiet and only speaking when there's something to say as behaviour that borders on the criminal.

Usually this person is surrounded by like minded individuals. They scream at each other, they share their dramas, they indulge in this overly theatrical behaviour over anything they encounter.

"MY CAR NEEDS AN OIL CHANGE!"
"OH MY GOD!"
"I KNOW! AN OIL CHANGE!"
"OH MY GOD! I BURNT MY TOAST THIS MORNING!"
"OH NO! OH NO! WAS IT REALLY BURNT?"
"OH MY GOD, IT WAS BLACK! I ALMOST WENT BACK TO BED I WAS SO UPSET!"
"OH, YOU HAD EVERY RIGHT. YOU SHOULD HAVE!"

Generally, they don't act this way around me. Instead, they look at me as if I'm deliberately trying to upset them. As if minding one's own business is somehow the social equivalent of setting off a suitcase nuke.

Somedays, Kathmandu looks really nice, y'know?


I often suspect that they even play patty cake when no one's looking.

I Still Read Comics, Just Weirder Ones

Adventure Comics #351

Mind bending. That's all I need to write about this one. It suffices. But I will say more, if only to show how this one comic packs more imagination and out and out weirdness into one issue than most comics today do in a year.

After having kicked out both Superboy and Supergirl from the Legion because a green kryptonite cloud has enveloped the Earth, the Legion makes them ever forget they were Legionnaires by having Shrinking Violet fly up their noses and put green kryptonite in their brains.

Let that settle for a minute.

The prescence of kryptonite can kill Superboy and Supergirl, but if you put it in their brains, they just forget shit.

Awesome.

Now, that's enough for one comic, surely. Oh, no. That's only Page 3.

So just as our two Kryptonians leave, two new masked characters arrive: Sir Prize and Miss Terious. Really. And they seem to have Superboy and Supergirl's powers. But Invisible Kid swore he'd respect their need for privacy. So when Ultra Boy goes to use his Penetra-Vision (because only Kryptonians get X-Ray vision, I assume) to see who these two interlopers are, Invisible Kid punches him in the face.

Awesome redux.

Oh, the story. There is one. Apparently R.J. Brande is in trouble, so the Legion goes off to rescue him. They find him being threatened by a villain called The Hag--an evil witch who has a broomstick with an engine on it. She attacks the Legion by showing them magic mirrors of their inevitable fate, then buggers off. Miss Terious knows a few spells to stop The Hag, but this will involve going back in time to see Superboy, who of course has the green kryptonite in his brain and doesn't know them from Adam. They also have to go back in time to see Supergirl, but since the Legion is so busy, they contract that job out to the Legion of Substitute Heroes, who hang out in a cave just waiting for such a phone call.

You see, they have to go back in time to get spell components. One of these is a lock of Mr. Mxyzptlk's hair. So off go Superboy and Mon-El to give Mxy a haircut. But this is the teen Mxyzptlk, and he's a jerk even then: every time Superboy tries to cut his hair, he turns the scissors into snakes, or toads. Then, just to be a real pain in the ass, he has a friend run a lawnmower across Superboy's head. Mon-El manages to get some of the hair they need, even though it's been turned to steel. He also makes Mxy bald, which sends the imp on a quest for revenge. I assume millions will die now because of Mon-El's follicular crimes against this extra-dimensional tyrant.

The Subs head to see Supergirl, who of course doesn't know who they are, and does what any right minded girl would do: has the Super-Pets attack them. So in comes Krypto, Beppo the Super Monkey, Streaky the Super Cat, and Comet the Super-Horse. In what is surely the greatest fight scene in all comicdom, Chlorophyll Kid takes Streaky out of the fight by making catnip grow. Streaky gets stoned in the 'nip, and Chlorophyll Kid is victorious.

My jaw was on the ground.

So after getting the 'imprint of an enchanted shoe' needed for the spell, (Night Girl has Comet kick at her while she uses a bit of sidewalk for protection--instant imprint of an enchanted horseshoe!), they return to the future and use the magic. Now we see the Hag is really the White Witch, turned evil by....wait for it...EVILLO!

Evillo is a douchebag who has determined how to take the evil in men's souls and turn it into a gas that will also turn you evil. He tries to use it on Lightning Lad, but he just thinks of how swell his friends are, and the evil don't take.

If this wasn't enough, we learn that Sir Prize and Miss Terious are really Star Boy and Dream Girl! And on top of that, Superboy and Supergirl are here, and they remember the Legion now--because Element Lad used his power to turn the green K in their brains to helium. Which doesn't give them a brain embolism, fortunately. So off go the Legion to confront Evillo, who has troubles of his own--his mad scientist doctor uses his powers for good, giving Lightning Lad back his arm among other things.Turns out the doctor hates Evillo because he did something Evil to him. So Evillo is vanquished, the Legion has a good laugh, and to top it all off, Color Boy turns that pesky green kryptonite cloud over the Earth into a blue kryptonite cloud, so now Superboy and Supergirl can hang with their chums again.

1967, ladies and gentlemen.

They knew how to do comics back then.

Gaming The Night Away

Played World of Warcraft last night, still deep in the Ghostlands, which is this abandoned elven area full of spider-webbed buildings and drifting phantoms of elves who didn't get out in time. A bit like London, really.

It was midnight, and I was about to head off after running to Silvermoon--the game's answer to Lothlorien--when a blood elf warlock stops me. It's another player, and he starts begging me to help him with a quest. Which is fine, but I really just wanted to sign off. But he keeps begging. He's only Level 10, so I say 'Sure'. Do my good deed for the century early.

But apparently the use of the English language--and politeness--is lost on this character. When I don't arrive to help immediately, he starts to get huffy. When he tells me what his mission is--finding a Rune of Summoning in a particularly dangerous place called Goldenmist Village--he has no clear idea on how to do it. Taking pity on the noob, I sneak into the village and find the Rune. I call out to him.

He gets killed. So I have to wait for him to resurrect. Then when he finally makes it to me, he starts barking orders. At this point, I'd like to throw knives at him. Then he completes his quest, then teleports away--leaving me deep in the village, now alone. And the cherry on top of this? He brags he's got another character--a level 43. So here I am, wasting forty minutes of my night for what I thought was a new player, and he's got characters higher than me.

I sometimes hate World of Warcraft. Really, I do.