spatch: (Tom Baker - what)
Dear god there's a new LJ editor window thingy and since it doesn't look like the one that I've been using for nearly the past ten years, I HATE IT. I hope LJ doesn't pull a Google and end up forcing me to use the old one because well THAT'S JUST MEAN. IN ALL CAPS.

Well look what snuck up on us while we weren't looking: A new QI series A new cartoon called Gravity Falls New Doctor Who! I think this series has been one of the most hyped up in a while because of The Thing What Happens In Episode Five, which we shall not discuss here since A. while we know more or less what happens we don't yet know how, and B. if you do know how and explain it all, we will send this fine twenty-pound cat over to your house so he can pee all over your floor, Clarissa.

Spoilers below, etc. So here we are already at the third episode. )
spatch: (Bewitched)
1. Delta and the Bannermen, a Doctor Who serial from 1987 starring Sylvester McCoy as the Doctor and Bonnie Langford as Mel, the screamiest companion ever. And you were right, [livejournal.com profile] stannate. It was pretty awful. Paradise Towers is goofy and bad, and so it gets a pass because you can laugh at it and feel like it's a guilty pleasure. But with this one, the "oh god, that's bad" overwhelmed the "so bad it's good" camp in a serious way. I tried to find things to like about it -- Stubby Kaye was in it, that was cool! But his role is completely useless! He and the guy with the Worst Southern American Accent Ever are part of this C story that contributes nothing to the main adventure at hand!

The girl playing the motorcyclist was rather cute! But... all she did was pine for a boy and ride around on the motorcycle, giving us the Doctor Who equivalent of Rock Climbing. Any time the episode needed padding, they just threw in a few more shots of everybody gaily riding about on their motorcycles. Eventually the group gets too large so they add a car to the parade. How fun! Mel even waves hello to cows from a sidecar. Yes. SHE WAVES HELLO TO COWS. They're hurriedly escaping from vicious, cold-blooded warrior types and seeking a safe spot, riding through the Welsh countryside, and Mel's WAVING HELLO TO FREAKING COWS. She didn't even call them on her side, so I called them from my side, and that means Mel lost all her cows.

But I absolutely lost it when we got to the baby painted green. (For those of you without a shred of context, yes, all this is entirely true, including the green baby. And the Rock Climbing motorcycle riding. DEEP HURTING. DEEEEEP HURTING.)

2. This week's episode of the Venture Bros. Now there's some quality Scooby-Doo style adventuring gone horribly awry. HORRIBLY SEXY AWRY! Was this episode written after six months at sea? My god. It was like Brock fighting Molotov Cocktease times three. I wonder how many concessions Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer had to make to the Cartoon Network Standards & Practices department (or whatever they're called) in order to get this one approved. I wonder how many bits of other episodes they had to rein in to make the deal. Or perhaps they did the ol' trick of including much, much, much more Verboten material to make the stuff they eventually got away with seem tame in comparison. I don't know. There's parts in this episode that you won't be able to unsee. And I suspect the Rule 34 guys are going absolutely apeshit right about now.

Now it's time to pretend to pass out for a few hours. Wish us luck. The heat is oppressively heat-y.
spatch: (Default)
I got a very nice phone call a few weeks back breaking the news to me that Stephen Moffat was stepping up as Doctor Who's show runner once Rusty Davies finally makes his step down. The call was made to me because the caller said of all the people she knew to make this announcement to, she wanted me to know if only to see what I'd eventually write. Then, of course, I didn't write, because it's been dang hard recently trying to actually sit down and type make words on screen without some form of interruption or distraction.

But Moffat taking over Davies' position? This can only be a good thing. This can only be a damned good thing. Even if, in four years' time, we're sitting around complaining of yet another formulaic Moffat script for Whoever-The-Doctor-Is-By-Then, the changeover will still have been a good and welcome one. I mean, at least Mr. M's formulaic tendencies don't run towards flatulent aliens camping it up, one-dimensional supporting characters, endless shots of crowds running outside and pointing at the imminent Threat Of The Week (or hugging with a hoorah once the threat has been neutralized) and "DO YU LIEK ME CHECK ONE [ ] YES [ ] NO [ ] OH GOD ANGST ANGST ANGST" soap opera bushwah.

Case in point: The most recent two-parter involving The Library (with capitals, yes). I'll say right off the bat this is good stuff, man, this is really good stuff. The second part was amazingly well done, and turned many conventions on their ear, conventions which I'd gotten quite tired of. I mean, let's compare what would have happened to this story had Russell T. Davies written it.

Delve? Let's. )
spatch: (Garth Merenghi's Darkplace)
I wonder who ended up with the neon sign from the opening credits of Happy Days. You know, the one that blinks "HAPPY DAYS".

My money's on Henry Winkler. Probably has it in his rec room or something.
spatch: (K9)
Another week, another Doctor Who episode. I was surprised to find that I liked this one more than I should have. I'm not exactly sure why.

Let's delve, shall we? )
spatch: (Corner Gas - NO)
Just saw this week's Doctor Who and you know, the episode was decent, all things considered, it had its moments, had some instances of human beings actually acting human, didn't feature any gratutitous kissing (at least, not involving Ten)...

...and then I saw the previews for next week before turning it off.

Oh god.

Oh god.

OH JOHN RINGO GOD NO.

I don't believe I've hollered "WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT?! NO!!" at my televised media display screen before with quite the fervor as I just did, and that includes the response to the concrete slab-fucker scene from a few seasons ago.

There's only one way this little premise could work and if what we see next week is not that way, I fear next week I will be hollering "RUSSELL T. DAVIES YOU ARE DEAD TO ME, DO YOU HEAR ME? OOPS NO, YOU CAN'T, BECAUSE YOU ARE DEAD TO ME."

Sigh.
spatch: (Doctor Who - Tardis Door)
Paging Mr. Davies, Mr. Russell T. Davies, your mommy issues are on Line 1, Mr. Davies, please pick up Line 1, thank you.
spatch: (Admit One)
First, Neil Diamond's wretched remake of THE JAZZ SINGER (complete with Neil in blackface!) followed by the Village People magnum opus CAN'T STOP THE MUSIC which launched (and pretty much ended) Bruce Jenner's acting career.

Our cup is so runnething over tonight ("I am," it said, to no one there, before continuing to runneth) it's crazy.
spatch: (Default)
TCM is showing "Sh! The Octopus" at 1:00 am EST. It is one of the stupidest movies ever.

Night people everywhere rejoice.
spatch: (Barth Gimble facepalms)
Last night I watched the first episode of Crowned, the mother-daughter beauty pageant "reality" competiton program on Tha See-Dubya, which has replaced Beauty and the Geek now that [livejournal.com profile] gee_tar's season is over.

In case you didn't see Crowned and/or don't care to, I can easily bring the experience to you in, like, words and stuff.

Imagine you're watching footage of two steam locomotives smashing into each other head-on at full speed, only you're watching it in slow-motion so you get to see every crumple of metal, every piece of debris fly off, every last bit of the carnage gruesomely displayed in full, unblinking, high-definition widescreen.

Now rewind the footage and watch it another seventy-three times.

Congratulations, you've just seen an episode of Crowned. Now you can go outside and do something productive with your life, like trying to contract rabies from neighborhood strays.



Show highlight, if you can call it that: The mother-daughter teams were challenged in the opening episode to come up with a name and loosely-based theme. Challenge was right. One team named themselves "The Blonde Bombshells" because they thought it'd make them sound intelligent and, as they explained, "the blondes invented the bombshell"; another team named themselves "Skin Deep", unaware of the full meaning of the term, because they thought it'd make themselves sound deep. I can't make this stuff up, folks.

And one team, for reasons I'm still trying to fathom, inexplicably named themselves "Silent But Deadly" and didn't understand the meaning of the term until The Guy From Queer Eye, who I don't think has a name except for "The Guy From Queer Eye", explained it to them. The only way I can sum this all up is to quote Futurama. I've seen it; I can't unsee it. Not even Lacuna, Inc. could help me now.
spatch: (HAMBONE)
Ever have one of those mornings that start off so well that you think "Well, the only thing that could make this morning complete is an ice cream sandwich" and what do you know, there's ice cream sandwiches in the freezer?! Nrom nrom nrom. Friday started off that way. Quite nice.

Friday was a very long day. I took the Acela into New York for an evening of musical theater and then a late-late-late night bus ride back. Earlier this autumn I picked up one of the last few remaining face value tix for a Friday night performance of Young Frankenstein, currently in previews at the Hilton Theatre. Was pretty excited to get the tick (er, ticket) because hey, Mel Brooks and his creative team did a good job out with The Producers; hey, Andrea Martin is in it; hey, Sutton Foster too; and hey, Young Frankenstein was a funny film to begin with so if it gets the Producers treatment and goes all bigtime and stuff, I can boast and brag that I saw it before you did neener neener neener (with the exception of katre and some Seattle people, apparently.)

By the way, I finally discovered the beauty and glory that is the Acela train's Quiet Car. No cellphone conversations, no loud yammering, no screaming kids, just blessed quietness, all politely and quietly enforced. I mean, the loudest noises in the car, besides station announcements, were tiny things such as someone went rustling through a bag or an occasional "hrumph" from the older businessman seated next to me (he had a throat-clearing tic, apparently, or he just constantly did not like what he was reading.) All in all well worth the C-note you gotta drop for Business Class. I'm not sure if the Quiet Car only exists on the Express trains; there certainly wasn't one the last time I rode biz class on the Acela's local service, sitting in the Kiddie Business Class car and stopping at every station stop, it felt like, in Connecticut.

I arrived in NYC with the express intent of visiting the Museum of Television and Radio first, then dinner at a favorite restaurant, and then the show. It was a one-man trip, a solo venture, and I was glad to enjoy my solitude in the midst of the most crowdedest city in this time zone. And while I handily accomplished all three tasks, hooray hooray, I was not prepared for the insane humidity. God damn! The rain I was ready for but the humidity played hopscotch with my internal thermostat. I waited for my E train on the 42nd Street platform, amazed at the humid blech that hung over everything, in October, even! Whenever the A express stopped on the other side of the platform, I rushed over and hung out by the open doors of the blessedly air-conditioned train, then hustled back over to the E side. When I got to 53rd and emerged from the underground into the rain, my hair was already soaked and I hadn't even been aboveground yet.

1. In Which Pooh Bear Visits The Museum of Television and Radio )

I had to cut my time at the museum short for dinner. I still had some time left; your $10.00 admission allows you an hour's worth of viewing though they gave me nearly two (must've been a slow day) but I'd seen all I could see at that point. I'd definitely return with the list of flops I'd been working on.

Bidding Sandy and Fred adieu, I stepped back outside into the humidity, ambled over to a 6 train, and rumbled down to the 20s for some food.
spatch: (Pronoun Bus)
I seem to have found myself watching Bob Barker's last turn on The Price Is Right.

So I can say I was there, man.


The first contestant won a Corvette, and then they played Plinko. The place is going nuts.

(LIVE BLOGGINGING!!!1 updates in comments)
spatch: (Carl Spackler)
IT'S THE 2004 MR. BELVEDERE REUNION SPECIAL

Streaks on the china never mattered before, who cared?
When you drop-kicked your jacket as you came thru the door, no one glared
But sometimes things get turned around and no one's spared
All hands look out below, there's a change in the status quo
Gonna need all the help that we can get
According to our new arrival, life is more than mere survival
And we just might live the good life yet!


INT. OWENS HOUSE - DAY

GEORGE OWENS: Hey, it's great to see the entire Owens clan back home for the holidays!

MARSHA OWENS: It certainly is wonderful. Even with all our adventures, we always seem to stick together as a family.

WESLEY OWENS: And speaking of adventures, remember when we had that English butler live with us for a while?

KEVIN OWENS: Yeah! Mr. B or something, wasn't he?

HEATHER OWENS: I think it was Mr. Belvedere.

KEVIN OWENS: Mr. Belvedere, yeah! Whatever happened to him?

GEORGE OWENS: Well, actually, he died a few years back.

KIDS: Oh.

(There is an AWKWARD SILENCE. FADEOUT.)

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