Category Archives: Watchmen

Sucker Punch: Moulin Rouge + Bayonetta + Inception – Coherence

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Okay, let’s get this post out of the way so I can use my words in more constructive ways. Yes, I just saw Zack Snyder’s Sucker Punch, and as a member of the nerd community I am therefore compelled to give up my thoughts. These are preliminary conclusions – more reaction than actual concrete theory – but I don’t want to spend too much time on it as America has had a week of arguing about whether it is sexist or the end of cinema etc. and so my wurblings already mean less than nothing. But hell, if I’m going to pay £17 to see a movie (in the afternoon! Not even at night when they jack the prices up!) then I’m going to at least get a blogpost out of it.

First thing’s first. Smarter and nicer people than I have already batted this around a lot, so if you want to understand the current state of play re: reaction to Snyder’s magnum opus, then you need to check out these:

All very good, and very thought-provoking. Which leads me to my first point; Snyder may have made a clunking, clattering, noisy and annoying failure, but he sure as hell got people talking, and I think that was his main goal anyway. Sucker Punch is designed to generate a reaction, though only occasionally does his filmmaking actually generate an emotional response other than numbed gurgling. I’m thinking here of the opening sequence; a dialogue-free and surprisingly nerve-wracking slow-motion prologue that sets out the stakes very quickly. It’s a bit unfortunate that the casting of Emily Browning means comparisons can be drawn to the Lemony Snicket movie (orphans, evil family members, etc), but this distraction means little.

My second point follows on from that. Snyder wanted to start a dialogue, but what was it? Sexism, exploitation, objectification and all that unpleasant jazz. The story is obviously drawing a line from familial sexual abuse, denigration and oppression of women, and the use of barbaric psychiatric regimes to deal with women who cause problems for their men, to the modern gender debate and the continued ill-treatment of women around the world. Snyder’s use of these emotive images and tropes is blunt, but then there is a real sense of anger here. You get the feeling he’s genuinely annoyed about these things, and sure as hell wanted the world to know about it.

So why the hot chicks in the sexy uniforms? Third point: nerd bait. Snyder wanted to give nerd culture a wake-up call about its objectification of women, and knew that we are all such snivelling little children that the only way for us to take the bitter medicine is to dress it up in sweet costumes and such. No nerd worth his salt is going to sit there and get told he’s wrong to have that poster of Megan Fox on his wall, so the Snyder-spider weaves a web and hides it behind a bunch of shots of Browning zipping around in a schoolgirl outfit with a samurai sword, and we multitudinous priapic clowns wander into the cinema and after a really quite boring 90 minutes of clumsy metaphor piled on top of clumsy metaphor… BAM! The equivalent of someone appearing on screen wagging their finger at the audience for being misogynists. I’ll give him this, it certainly wasn’t what anyone expected. Guess that “You Will Be Unprepared” tagline was right.

Point four: Is it gratuitously sexy? Yes, the ladies wander around in their smalls a lot of the time, but some of the money shots are surprisingly ambiguous. One slo-mo shot of the five girls walking in slow motion mimics some titillating Michael Bay-esque shot of models parading towards the camera, but the surroundings are more interesting. It’s the steampunk Nazi robot section of the movie, and they’re walking into a trench populated by “our boys”. What’s telling is that none of them look up, their eyes fixed down or away. As Snyder spends a lot of time focusing on eyes, there’s something being said about the Male Gaze here, perhaps that in Babydoll’s fantasy world she at least can escape that. In fact, the only man who looks at her (who even actually exists) in these fantasy worlds is Scott Glenn, and now that he looks like Leonard Nimoy’s older brother he arguably doesn’t pose a threat. He’s certainly a kindly old soul, though sadly lumbered with the worst dialogue.

In fact, the many tribulations of the five female characters very noticeably happen off camera, just as we do not see Babydoll’s supersexy dancing. All of the female characters who get killed have their moment of mortal wounding occur off screen, and when Babydoll dances we move into her fantasy worlds. Again, not what I was expecting. More to the point, the sexy costumes are less provocative than they seem at first, but as has been pointed out, there’s a difference between cosplay and dressing like a human being. Snyder is still making sure he adds the nerd bait with these costumes, and there’s just no point denying it, seeing as they add precisely nothing except sexiness to the plot. Such as there is one.

Point five: All of the nerd trappings here serve zero purpose, and – as has been pointed out before – are completely incongruous as Babydoll doesn’t seem to be the sort of person with a collection of Manga and video games in her sad room in the evil step-father’s house. They literally have no point whatsoever in the movie, but then the “sexy dancing” level of reality doesn’t either, other than as a way for Babydoll to process her experience in the mental institution. But then does that even exist, as the movie starts with Babydoll on a stage before she later sees the same stage in the institution? Are we just meant to assume that the movie is nothing more than a metaphor on every possible level, with only the wire framework of a narrative to keep us in our seats until the voiceover very bluntly tells the women in the audience to use their “weapons” to fight for themselves? If so, then Snyder’s need to lecture nerds about their unacceptable behaviour and immaturity could just as easily have been accomplished by putting some posters saying, “Don’t be such dicks” all around Comic-Con.

Point six: What the hell is this message anyway? I’m all for someone saying, “women deserve better than to be treated like objects for the sexual or visual gratification of the unevolved male”. I wholeheartedly endorse this message and am pleased to see Snyder is grappling with the way nerd culture has struggled to absorb this very simple idea into itself. Sadly, as Watchmen showed, Snyder can have a thought but have great difficulty expressing it very clearly. His love of Moore and Gibbons’ comic was obvious, so slavish was his imitation. However, the clunky failures of tonal translation were numerous, suggesting that while he loved the comic and wanted to show to the world just how strong that love was, he didn’t actually know why it worked, or why it has resonated with readers for decades. It was all surface. If he had understood it, he would see it needed to be ripped apart and put back together again for it to work. His love got in the way of the storytelling.

Same here. He really really really wants to make a big statement about sexism and objectification, and adds some interesting ideas (the covering and uncovering of female faces, the absence of actual names, the stretches where women are robbed of their voices, the facelessness of the male enemies in the sub-levels, etc.), but he doesn’t know how to put them together properly. It doesn’t help that his nerd-bait imagery gets in the way so much. They look sexy, and yet don’t and yet do. It’s iconography that gets in the way of the message while being necessary for the dissemination of the message and yet is utterly superfluous.

I’m having trouble describing the multiple cognitive disconnects needed to make sense of his haphazard jumble of meaning, but then in a way that perfectly describes it. He’s against the thing he’s using to show how he’s against it, but the reaction of the audience is not under his control. Whether he likes it or not, there are going to be audience members who think the talking got in the way of the hot chicks with the guns and stockings, and so should he have bothered putting it in in the first place? I think this is where Sucker Punch falls down the most. Certainly most of the to-and-fro in the blogosphere concerns the level of exploitation here, and whether it enhances or detracts from the message.

One thing is clear, though. In the immortal words of Groucho Marx, whatever it is, he’s against it. It’s impossible not to see that he’s struggling to say something, but he’s not a strong enough storyteller to get that point across without patronising the audience or realising that he’s muddling things up to the point that it’s impossible to pick through it. Maybe that’s actually intentional and he’s smarter than us: why bother making a clear point when we will do it all for him? Or he’s trying to make something for everyone. Titillation for the troglodytes, “empowerment” for the feminists. If so, he falls short on both counts, which, in the second case, is a shame.

What makes things worse is if we take his metaphors literally. Is he really saying to women that they have the advantages because while men are murderous rapists who treat women like possessions, we’re also so boner-obsessed that whenever the ladies dance all sexy-like, we literally fall into a stupor, enabling the canny women to get their way? There is not enough WTF in a million sub-levels of mental reality to even begin to cover this cheeky and absurd idea that manages to insult both genders simultaneously. Shake that booty, ladies, then pick our pockets! That’s using your “weapons”, all right! What a fucking awful world-view. What a reductive and insulting way to address the gender debate of our time. It’s the sort of fucked-up philosophy you’d hear some “nice guy” coming up with. “You women are so awesome, and powerful, and so in control of your sexuality. Nobody else out there understands how awesome you are. Except me. Now please go out with me.” No no no no wrong wrong wrong please stop.

So is there anything worthwhile in the movie besides the mish-mash of misogyny, misandry and feminism? Abbie Cornish is pretty good (though it’s sad to see her here after being so good in Bright Star), as is Jena Malone, both of whom are better at breathing life into the cyphers they are playing than anyone else in the cast, though Oscar Isaac makes a very hissable villain. Carla Gugino’s accent is… not the worst thing I’ve ever heard. The action scenes are occasionally well-staged, with some being surprisingly clear and others being a headache-inducing barrage of… splarg is the only word I can think of to describe it. The robot level was quite clever; a “single shot” that goes on for a while and flies around all over the place. There was a nice shot involving mirrors at one point, but after Black Swan – surely the most mirrored movie ever made – it was just unnecessary. Scott Glenn seemed to be having a good time. The dragon was pretty. The godawful cover versions of good songs end eventually. Erm… It was fun spotting all of the nerd iconography: steampunk, orcs, single-shot pistols, samurai swords, miniguns, etc. Sad that none of it was there for any reason other than that Snyder wanted to cover all of his bases. There’s a thesis to be written about his use of that iconography, though it would only ever get a C- at best.

The only other thing to praise is its ambition. It fails pretty spectacularly at almost everything it attempts to achieve, but it is trying to do – and say – something. That’s something that it has over just about every movie that will be released for the rest of the year. It’s just a shame that Snyder didn’t sit down and work out exactly what he wanted to say before he made this garish and needlessly complicated nerd epic, a movie that desperately wants to mean something but ultimately means nothing.

Canadian Actor Saves Atheists From Assassins

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Though there is nothing more boring than hearing someone telling you about their dreams, I’m going to totally tell you about the dream I just had, because it was strangely awesome. Yesterday, after spending two consecutive days obsessively reading The Huffington Post, Salon, The Daily Dish, Daily Kos, and various other websites pointing out the scary facts about vice-presidential candidate and nemesis of the polar bear Sarah Palin, I had a minor panic attack while washing dishes (not the first time), and then a really scarily detailed vision of what the world would be like if Palin became Vice-President and then President (because I’m thinking worst case scenario, here). It entailed Righteousness testing for all citizens, judging Americans for their loyalty to the Judeo-Christian God, and anyone who failed would be interred in camps for retraining. If that didn’t take, they’d be shot. It was seriously terrifying, so terrifying that I forgot where I was and nearly stabbed myself in the hand with a soap-coated knife.

I think I know where it comes from. Recently I read God Is Not Great by that pissy souse Christopher Hitchens (the quality of the book is inversely proportional to his likeability), and having also read The God Delusion by the man Dawkins, and Sam Harris’ The End Of Faith, it’s made me very jumpy when it comes to my atheism and how it is viewed by fundamentalists of all different flavours. While I obviously have nothing against religiously inclined individuals, monolithic institutions do scare me greatly, and the thought that I would be punished for not believing in God weighs heavily on me. I appreciate that the books mentioned above are the atheist equivalent of the Daily Mail’s Hate Your Neighbour ranting (though much better written, obviously), and that the effect they had on me (XXXtreme ennui and terror) was my own fault for gobbling them down, but the fact remains, they put the fear of not-God into me. Yes, my mind has come to the conclusion, after reading about her vehement belief in God, that Sarah Palin (seen here with a crustacean representing her soul)…


…is the living embodiment of Mrs. Carmody from The Mist.


Be afraid. Be really really really afraid. Another contributing factor to my upsetting vision is Ed Zwick’s The Siege, which was on Sky Movies this weekend. When it came out years and years ago I thought it was passably entertaining, but then with my feeble understanding of the Middle East I didn’t think it was insensitive either, especially as the real bad guys were Bruce Willis and Annette Bening (well, other than the poorly sketched Islamic terrorists who are just boogeymen with no dialogue and no inner life except “Kill Infidels!”). The thing that struck me most were the horrible scenes of New York Muslims interred in concentration camps, which were shown as an example of policy gone wrong, as a huge over-reaction and disastrous decision, and not as a possibly good idea should it ever come to that. At its best, it shows that Posse Comitatus is probably a good thing. Sadly, it’s not at its best very often. For the majority of its running time, it’s lunk-headed and doofy.


Of course, seeing it now with a bit more knowledge at hand, it is also prescient and uncomfortable viewing, not to mention dumb, cliched, and offensive on many levels, but if you don’t focus on the ineptly presented politics, Bening and Denzel Washington have an entertaining chemistry, Tony Shalhoub is great value as ever, and OMG! Look, in the supporting cast! Lance “Intensity” Reddick (operating at minimal intensity, which is still pretty goddamn intense), and Aasif Mandvi in a depressing role as Cowardly Muslim What Gets Chased Everywhere. Seeing one of our favourite Daily Show correspondents saying little more than “Durka durka!” prior to getting roughed up by Bening’s goons was a miserable experience. And what does he get out of it? Denzel feels sorry for him getting beaten up when it turns out he is a mere patsy, and then gives him a cigarette as an apology. Yay? Here he is in happier times.


So, with all of this playing on my nerves, nerves that are already shot due to frustrating economic and employment concerns, last night I dreamt that the UK had been hit by a massive influx of atheists flying over from America to avoid the pogroms against them, orchestrated by Sarah Palin-Carmody with miltary force. N.B. I’m using the word in the sense of violence against any group, and not in its (regrettably) more common anti-Semitic form. As the UK cannot cope with the effects of this huge exodus, it goes all Children of Men as camps are set up throughout the country to house the Americans. And yes, I’m aware that this is a fucked up dream. Even worse, President Palin-Carmody demands the return of all of the atheists for immediate religious retraining and righteous punishment by her Christian militia, and PM Gordon Brown, still in thrall to the American machine and concerned about the growing anger over the rise in immigration, strongly considers this. At about this point I turned up in the dream, as someone helping out at the camps, working as an liaison between the Americans and the British soldiers running the joint, but just to complicate matters I kinda woke up at about this point, and thought, as is often the case when half awake, that I was dreaming the best goddamn movie ever, and started to plot it out in my semi-conscious state. That would account for how I got replaced in my dream-movie by Nathan Fillion, someone several thousand times hotter and more charming than me.


Yes, the hero of this movie, played by Nathan Fillion, hears that the government is thinking of shipping the Americans back to the States, and helps lead a rebellion against this. The Americans, in horror, decide to stay within the camps, which in turn causes more trouble for the government. Unable to remove the Americans without terrible consequences, and with the British troops unwilling to act against them out of sympathy, the government allows fundamentalist black ops assassins to infiltrate the camp containing our hero, which is where the dream got a bit stupid. For a start, they were stealthily disguised as black leather-clad ninja-bikers with machine guns, and as they try to mow down the defenseless atheists, the hero takes them down, yanking one ninja-biker off his bike, snapping his neck with the machine gun strap, and turning the gun on the other assassins. Awesome violence ensues as he saves the atheists! Then, however, he starts to suspect that someone in the camp is not who they seem. And that someone is played by Sean Connery.


I know, I didn’t get that either. Sean Connery tells Nathan Fillion that there is evil afoot, and while they sit around a camp fire eating marshmallows, Connery reveals that Gordon Brown has allowed the assassins free run at the camps, and thinks the slaughter of the atheists would get a sticky political situation off his back. Our hero is rightly disgusted by this, and storms into the visitors gallery in the House of Commons. Mid-debate, our hero reveals the dastardly plot to let the White House fundamentalists send their ninja-bikers into the concentration camps to kill the atheists, and there is uproar among the MPs as Gordon Brown slumps down onto his bench, shredded copies of Hansard fluttering around him, his sneaky and cowardly plans responsible for his downfall. I also remember thinking, while half-asleep, that that would be awesome.

Sadly my subconscious wasn’t done yet. Upon returning to the camp to tell everyone the good news, a random American informs our hero that he has found out that Sean Connery is not who he seems to be. He is actually Allan Quatermain, as played by Sean Connery in The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen!

(That must be because I’ve been thinking about Colonel Gentleman from The Venture Brothers recently.) Realising this, our hero chases Quatermain down to his ramshackle house in North London, where he lives alone with his enormous collection of goth porn. Quatermain insists that he regrets nothing, and that he is happy with his life as a collector of depressing pornography. However, our hero cannot escape with the knowledge of his true identity and depraved hobby, and so Quatermain pulls out a toy laser gun, modelled after something from an old Flash Gordon serial, and fires it! Except it doesn’t go off as expected. In a weirdly elaborate effects sequence that played out in scarily vivid detail in my brain, a super-close-up of the gun shows electricity running through it, vaporising the plastic, causing it to explode. Quatermain doesn’t die, but the words, “Don’t let her down!” are splattered across the wall in hot plastic. The End!

Well, the end of the dream-movie, which wraps up with a title card and the frozen image of the plastic message, leaving me, Canyon, and Jaredan from World of Wahhhcraft sitting in a cinema, surrounded by geeks in Watchmen t-shirts. Yes! It was not my movie we saw, it was Zack Snyder’s Watchmen, transformed from a deconstruction of the superhero genre into a cross between The Siege, Mr. Smith Goes To Washington, and some bad Mark Wahlberg action movie starring an undervalued Canadian acting genius. As we spilled out into the street, the nerds and fanboys rejoiced at this version of Watchmen, proclaiming it an enormous success (though I remember bitching that Moloch had been written out), and then all began cheering, “Fuck you Fox! Fuck you Fox! Fuck you Fox!” At that point, one of our cats put her paw squarely on my trachea, and I woke up.

I reckon, as long as I take out the Allan Quatermain references but keep the goth porn and ninja-bikers, and maybe add some transforming robots, I’ve got a hit on my hands. Watch this space!!!

End Of Season Review – Battlestar Galactica

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Is it fair to say that sci fi fans are split into two factions over the best genre shows on TV right now? In my time reading talkbacks and comment sections online, Lost talkbacks are often invaded by hardcore Battlestar Galactica fans dissing the island-based dissertation on free will for “making it up as it goes along”, and Battlestar Galactica talkbacks feature, well, less attacks, but perhaps that’s because Lost fans are more polite. Yes, I am firmly in the former category, and so my perception is distorted by that fandom. Lost pushes all of my buttons, whereas BSG makes me angry almost as often as it makes me happy. This picture expresses the chasm between the two fanbases (at least as far as I see it).


It was not always this way. The opening mini and the first season were as good as TV gets. It was relevant, it was exciting, it was cleverly referential with regards to the original series, and it featured the most incredible effects yet shown on TV. It’s shallow of me to love the show for that, but Zoic’s effects work was simply staggering. That was merely the cherry on top of a lot of really terrific drama. I was absolutely thrilled that SciFi was making something so challenging and clever.


Over time, my opinion changed. By the end of season two we had had way too many placeholder episodes, which meant the finale crammed in several episodes’ worth of drama into an hour of TV. It was good drama, but rushed through in an unsatisfying blur of action and revelation and unconvincing fatsuits. The other sin of that season (and the subsequent season) was the amount of time spent focusing on possibly the least interesting couple on TV at the expense of a lot of other exciting avenues. Yes, no Apobuck ‘shipper am I. Or Starders, or Apoulla, or any combination.


Apollo and Starbuck bore me to tears, and we have spent way too much time watching them come up with reasons not to just start spacehumping. My least favourite Apobuck moment came when Starbuck used religion as a reason to not just bang Apollo’s grumpy brains out. We have no idea what the provisions of her religion are, as none of these details have been explained convincingly (more on that bugbear later), so this just smacked of contrivance. The main reason for their inability to just get it on (other than that they are boring, badly written teenagers who love the drama of their relationship) is that Starbuck was involved with the now “dead” Zack Adama, Lee’s brother, who looms over them and Apollo’s dad, the flat-out AWESOME Bill Adama, from “beyond the grave”.


The amount of time spent agonising over a character who is not actually on the show is dead air, and as such seems odd. Unless, of course, Zack is the final Cylon. The fact that the prequel series Caprica seems to revolve around the Adama family’s connections with the scientist who created the Cylons suggest it might be. The arrival of Zack will justify all of the attention on two boring-ass flyers at the expense of so many other more interesting relationships. How the son of a human could be a Cylon has yet to be explained, but we’re convinced it will be him (kudos to the AV Club commenter, whose name escapes me, who suggested it a few months ago). If not, why the hell are we devoting this much time to these guys? Now that they’ve reached earth together will they become Adam and Eve? Surely a show as smart as this one won’t be so stupid as to do that.


If I had problems with season two, season three tested our patience to the limit. After a very very strong opening featuring some of the most astonishing drama on any show last year, the show got into a funk, with Baltar doing something something on the Cylon Basestar, Tyrol staring at a carving for two episodes, Apollo and Starbuck getting pissed at each other, and lots of other truly dreary nonsense that I’m blotting out because those empty scenes are taking up space in my head I could use to get excited about the Watchmen trailer (shut up over-sensitive fanboys, it looks great). By then, even some top quality space explosions couldn’t keep me interested. An attempt to watch the Razor TV movie faltered in the middle of a huge battle sequence due to lack of interest (and I’ve yet to finish it). How is this possible? Usually I live for this stuff.


I thought it would take a miracle to make me give a damn about Battlestar Galactica again, but in the end something less dramatic but equally as wonderful happened; Jane Espenson wrote two episodes of the show and introduced some quality writing, something the show was sorely in need of. That’s not to say that the fourth season of BSG was instantly made flawless, because there were plenty of annoyances, longueurs, and poor performances. That’s also not to say the rest of the BSG writing team are uniformly dreadful; Ronald D. Moore, Bradley Thomson and David Weddle (and Mark Verheiden, occasionally) still do sterling work, but we still get some horrendous dialogue, cringe-making dramatic devices, and confusing expansion of the BSG mythos. If you don’t believe me about the terrible devices, consider Gaeta and his lost leg. A strangely dramatic plot-thread for a minor character, but made almost unwatchable by the conceit that, in his post-op delirium, he keeps warbling tuneless, pretentious songs reflecting that episode’s moral dilemmas. Even more improbably, anyone walking into the recovery room was obligated to comment on how lovely it was. Gah! I know you’ve been living without music for a while, but it didn’t used to sound like that. Oh well, at least it wasn’t a Dylan song.


However, even at its best (and its best is very very good), the show has lacked a spark in its writing, possibly due to budget and network pressures, or, as I sometimes suspect, the mythology of the show has been insufficiently worked out in advance. I once started a huge post about my frustration with the show, and perhaps I’ll get back to that soon. Right now, I want to go apeshit over Espenson’s expanded role on the show, which saw her get solo credit on two episodes, a step up from co-writing a season three episode with former 24 producer Anne Cofell Saunders (who has left BSG to work on Chuck). Her first episode was dismissed by some talkbackers as a placeholder, and though it didn’t feature space battles or mythos-defining weirdness, it did have words coming out of people’s mouths that didn’t sound like they were written by a robot. Or an infinite number of Grace Parks working away on an infinite number of archaic typewriters.


If I never warmed to BSG the way I warmed to Lost or Deadwood or Friday Night Lights or anything from the Mutant Enemy Factory of Awesomeness, it’s because the dialogue never came alive. Even when I was really enthusiastic about it (from the opening mini-series to about the halfway mark in season two), I wished the dialogue had some sass, or spunk, or surprise. When spoken by the show’s best actors (I’m thinking Edward James Olmos, Mary McDonell, James Callis, or Tricia Helfer) that dialogue sounded just fine, but then talented performers can transcend something flat. However, when handled by some of the less polished performers (it gives me no pleasure to aim my stinkeye at Grace Park, Katee Sackhoff, Michael Trucco, and some of the other random actors playing minor characters littering the screen), the shortcomings of the writing becomes all too apparent.


With Espenson on board, even that placeholder episode felt fresh and entertaining and relevant. Even better, her second episode, the penultimate one of this mini-season, had all of the visual wow and big drama that the talkbackers thought was lacking before, and even though she was lumbered with the kind of poorly explained dream sequence stuff that so often irks me on this show (by which I mean Laura Roslin’s visions of her death), she imbued them with humour and humanity, and avoided the purple melodrama that can often seep into these moments. I just wanted to ambush the rest of the writers with a screening of it, all the while yelling, “This is how you do it!”


Even better, the finale, written by Weddle and Thompson, was infinitely better than the dire season three finale, and though it flirted with the same Dylan nonsense that blighted that previous episode, mainly it was concerned with getting on with telling the story and blowing our minds. Which it did, with five minutes of exultation, heightened emotion, and finally a total loss of hope. As shocked as I was by the final shot of Jeremy Bentham in Lost, BSG‘s bravura pan across the leaders of the human/Cylon coalition and the desolate surface of a ruined earth might have been even more astonishing. In that moment I was relieved that I had stuck with the show even when the third season had annoyed me so much.


Of course, the ten episode mini-season wasn’t exclusively Espenson-level writing and mind-blowing reveals. The quality level still rose and fell rapidly, often within the same episode. Though I was grateful that the focus on Apollo/Starbuck, the plot that had derailed the previous season, had been dialled back, we still had her and Anders acting out their risible and dreary psycho-drama. Even knowing that she is unwittingly the number one Cylon pin-up (with both Leoben and Anders obsessed with getting into her unflattering space-pants) didn’t make it any more interesting. Having the two of them stuck on a garbage scow with the cream of the fleet (a plot device that made absolutely zero sense) was televisual torture, made worse by the histrionic performances from the entire crew.


Back with the fleet, things were sporadically interesting with patches of blurg. The Tyrol/Cally plot was resolved with Cally getting blasted out of an airlock, a turn of events that pleased us greatly. Aaron Douglas and Nicki Clyne had been lumbered with the worst kind of kitchen-sink drama, with Tyrol hiding from his shrill wife and horrible kid, a domestic situation complicated further with the revelation that he was a Cylon and their child was a human/Cylon hybrid. That fact alone created immensely important drama that changed the whole direction of the show, and…


Oh, that’s right. Their hybrid baby is seemingly nowhere near as important as Athena and Helo’s kid. Ron Moore pretty much admitted that at last year’s Comic-Con, but has yet to explain why one is important and the other is not. You’d think that the decision to make Tyrol a Cylon was a spur of the moment thing, but BSG would never just make it up as they go along, would they? That’s Lost I’m thinking of. [/bitter] That said, Tyrol’s reaction to Cally’s death was terrific, and brilliantly written by Espenson. His breakdown in the Galactica bar was a season highlight. As Tyrol was also well-served by Espenson (and Cofell Saunders) last season, it’s fair to say I only like him when she writes him. Fingers crossed we get more of that in the last ten episodes.


Baltar’s transformation into opportunistic messiah was also welcome, after he was reduced to a wibbling loser last season. Seeing him stumbling into his destiny as ineffectual self-help guru with his customary mixture of bluster and self-loathing was great fun, as was his growing influence within the fleet, as his monotheistic religion becomes more appealing to the increasingly desperate refugees. One of the aspects of BSG that has interested me the least is the slowly building focus on religion. The show has always had a religious aspect, but I tended not to pay much attention to the details of the conflicting religions of the humans and Cylons, thinking them little more than signifiers of the shows comment on contemporary tensions, but as the fourth season wore on I had the horrible feeling that I should have been paying attention all along, and we were going to get to the final stretch of the show without a proper working knowledge of the significance of all of that guff about the twelve Gods and what have you. Was I going to have to go back and rewatch the whole show to catch all of this stuff?


By the time the finale had rolled around, I felt almost certain that the Cylons and the humans are all worshipping the wrong thing, that there is a force shaping their destinies but it is not the God we think of, but some force of physics or space/time or multi-dimensional space (Roslin’s visions during FTL jumps makes me wonder about that) that is beyond comprehension, and certainly beyond the superstitious teachings of the twelve tribes and the Cylons. At least, I hope so. I find the religious plotline far more interesting as a tool to dramatise tensions between the characters than as a complex but ultimately uninteresting mythology running through the show. That way lies The Sacred Scrolls of Borzon and The Temple of Astroculite and much other silliness that doesn’t fit into this plot, though regrettably it has wandered in that direction from time to time. Thankfully the show appears to be using God as a source of conflict, which is believable and way more interesting.


Plus, as an added bonus, James Callis has been fantastic as a reluctant messiah winging it in front of an adoring following and coming up with a philosophy even more vapid than Oprah’s latest pet belief system The Secret, if that’s possible. At the end of last season he was walking around in robes looking like Future Space Jesus, which was amusing but sledgehammer subtle. At least now he just looks like a cult leader, which is pretty much what he is.


I’ve been bitching about a large proportion of the plotlines, but there were stories within the mini-season that I really liked. While I was irked by Ron Moore’s admission that Roslin’s cancer remission was another spur of the moment writing choice (a choice that AICN BSG talkbackers were in denial over, having spent three years making snotty cracks about Lost being made up on the fly), it’s given Mary McDonnell yet more chances to show off her considerable acting skills. Confession time: before BSG I couldn’t stand McDonnell at all, finding her rictus grin performances in Donnie Darko and Grand Canyon unwatchable. I could just about get over my antipathy in Sneakers, but that’s because Sneakers is the awesomest. Setec Astronomy! Yeah, that’s right, bitches.


In BSG, however, she has been uniformly magnificent. This season has provided her with some of her best acting opportunities, as Roslin’s humanity and morality get tested by the ever-worsening situation within the fleet, the continuing fallout from the occupation on New Caprica, the urge to overrule the council as they vacillate and bicker, and her wavering faith, which has caused her to misinterpret signs and omens, as well as damage her empathic connection with those around her. Best of all, she almost killed Baltar after he finally confessed to accidentally betraying humanity, before a vision of her own death showed her the error of her ways. It was an acting tour de force that made the regular PointyShouty moments look even more feeble by comparison.


If that scene amazed me, a few minutes later I blubbed like a perspective-free fanboy as Roslin was reunited with Bill Adama, and finally told him she loved him. His response, “About time”, is only beaten by Ben Linus’ emotionless, “So?” from the Lost finale. Edward James Olmos has been my favourite actor on BSG from very early on, and his stoic decision to wait for Roslin in a Raptor with only her favourite book for company was a season highlight. Of course, in the finale the breakdown he has probably been fending of for years finally happened upon finding out that his best friend, Saul Tigh, was (improbably) a Cylon all along. Olmos performed the shit out of the moment, meaning poor Jamie Bamber was forced to brace himself against the acting maelstrom next to him.


The Cylons finally achieved their full potential, having previously been mysterious monoliths of force with only hints at their inner turmoil. Slowly we’ve seen cracks emerge; Leoben’s obsession with Starbuck, D’Anna’s breakdown, the rebellions of the Six’s and Athena’s. Sadly those moments were often sidelined in order to return to yet more Apollo/Starbuck angstifying, a narrative choice that drove me to distraction. This season flirted with the same lack of focus, as a Cylon civil war broke out for thirty seconds in the middle of an episode and then went unmentioned for a couple of weeks while we got to watch Tigh hallucinate at a Six instead. It was a tad frustrating.


The other thing that has bothered me over the last couple of seasons is how the show spends less time focusing on the mechanics of the fleet, how the humans are attempting to retain their connection to their history by creating a system of government and law, and how that system is unable to cope with the demands of life on the run. As we approach the finale we’re dealing more with more “sci fi” elements, such as time looping and the possible intervention of a god-like force. Last year I was bummed out by the increased focus on prophecy (a bit of a bug-bear of mine, as it can lead to some lazy plotting in all kinds of fiction), but this season has been promising, especially as potential messiah Baltar is still pretty much the same horndog as ever, except now he has new ways to justify his sleazy behaviour.


Prophecy, when used to do little more than foreshadow future events, is a crutch for lazy writers. This half-season has hinted that there is more to the religious plot than we thought. Prophecy is still a key factor, but that wonderful final shot hints that the rails that our protagonists are running on might not be heading in the direction they expected. That’s what I’ve been waiting for since the mini-series “prequel”, so many of the reservations I’ve had over these ten episodes faded. I will still hold onto my coveted memory of the less glamorous aspects of the show, the politicking, the debates, the worrying about water or food or power. I loved that stuff almost as much as the explosions.


Funnily enough, it was that stuff that made Lost a trial to watch sometimes. I didn’t mind it all in the first season, but Robinson Crusoe-esque food gathering and water collection drama has been done before, and for the first season there was a lot of that. It was perhaps a lighter and more fun show as a result, but I only really started loving it once Desmond appeared with tales of the Dharma Initiative. BSG, on the other hand, has followed a similar arc, but my interest has dwindled the further we’ve moved from the nuts-and-bolts tales. I guess it’s because it’s more interesting to me to see how the human race would struggle to survive following mass extinction and exile on spluttering spaceships than it is to see people chasing boars through a jungle.


That increasingly dense mythology isn’t the only similarity BSG shares with Lost. We also have the exploration of the concept of fate via the sci fi trope of distorted time (if the “This has happened before, and will happen again,” line is as important as it seems), reluctant leadership (Jack and Apollo), suspicion, and, most importantly, a refusal to reduce conflict to a Manichean battle, preferring instead to show good and bad and all the infinite gradations between through a distorted lens. By now we have multiple factions within both human and Cylon camps, and now both races are having to join forces, just as the Losties and the Others are moving closer together. Of course, they’re not the only shows to explore what it’s like to live on the hazy line between right and wrong. The Sopranos, The Wire, The Shield, Mad Men, and Dexter all do it too to varying degrees of success, but it’s good to see genre TV do it while remaining genuine sci fi and not some watered down amalgam of genres or another bratty child of the late-70s space opera movies that fathered the original version of this show. Plus, we get all of that moral ambiguity and ethical curiosity while retaining the large explosions. When has Dexter ever offered a spectacle as exciting as this? When has Mad Men? And no, I’m not talking about the insanity taking hold of Don Draper’s brain.


The long and short of it is, the fourth season of BSG featured many of the annoying things that have made the trip so far such a slog, but the new focus that has come with the definite end-date has re-ignited my interest in it. When I’m feeling uncharitable, I’ll bitch about it even now. Most of the sub-plots still hold no interest for me. Anders, Gaeta, at least one version of Boomer, Starbuck, Helo and Dualla could be written out (Dualla pretty much has) and I wouldn’t even notice, unless it meant more screentime for the sorely under-used Doc Cottle or the magnificently oily Zarek, in which case I would rejoice. It can often look so dark as to be almost impossible to comprehend, though I will grant that sometimes that choice pays off. The peculiar pixellated imagery on the Cylon Rebel Baseship was a lovely touch. (This picture also features Tricia Helfer being awesome, as usual.)


The biggest variable on the show is Michael Hogan. Will he be amazing this week? Or will he make my head hurt with the growly line-readings and scenery-chomping? I think his acting ability is determined by some astrological event or something. In this season he let his inner crazy out a bit too often; the scenes featuring him and the Six he keeps hallucinating at were simultaneously creepy, incomprehensible, and moving. Still, he gets a Shades of Caruso Free Pass for his superb work during Tigh’s Al-Zawahiri period. I’ll just choose to forget subtlety-free moments like the one below in honour of those fine performances in the past.


All of that remains, and yet my interest in the show has been totally reawakened. I’m even considering rewatching it from the start in prep for the finale. That’s a lot of watching to pack in on top of The Shield and Wonderfalls and maybe Buffy and all of the other shows we were going to watch during Summer hiatus that we didn’t get around to. Not that I consider it a hardship. Roll on the final ten episodes, the spin-off show, and the follow-up movie, which is written by Jane Espenson and therefore will be awesome. You have my word on that.

Lazy Post Courtesy Of Barry Levinson

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I’m the worst procrastinator I know. I just spent an hour pootling around on the internet instead of washing up dishes and sheets. Fair enough, but I also did that because I’m too lazy to reach over and pick up a 360 controller and play Half-Life 2, possibly because I know starting that up will mean I definitely do nothing else for the rest of the day. Nevertheless, that’s some outrageous laziness, so I’ll make myself feel better by writing about it. I guess this is what it is to be a blogger.

Anyway, while looking for Watchmen Comic-Con footage after being inspired by these incredible posters, I stumbled across this trailer, for Barry Levinson’s new movie What Just Happened:

I’m in two minds about Levinson, who hasn’t made anything I’ve wanted to see since Wag The Dog. He’s made some stuff I hope to never see again (especially Sleepers), but Diner remains a favourite of mine, and Bugsy and Tin Men are fantastic. He does seem to have a strange selection of projects on the way, though, including yet another TV series based on Leslie Charteris’ Saint novels, this time starring Thomas-Jane-clone James Purefoy, and an adaptation of Bill Bryson’s A Walk In The Woods, with, get this, Robert Redford playing Bryson. I know!

It’s written by producer Art Linson, adapting his own book. I have a copy of that somewhere, stuck under a pile of cheap second-hand sci fi and popular science books. I got it back in the days when I would read pretty much any book about the film industry, and yet that remains untouched. Even I had no stomach for something that appeared to be as self-pitying as that, and we’re talking about not bothering to read a teeny-tiny 192 page book. Seriously, Art, if you don’t want a job as a successful Hollywood producer, I’ll trade you right now. I bet the best day on my crappy job is far less gratifying than even your worst day trying to prise the latest hot actor off the wall of his trailer.

Anyway, the movie looks like little more than the usual Hollywood navelgazing silliness, which is galling as Levinson has already plundered this well a couple of times previously. That said, there are interesting things about it, such as the cast, featuring Stanley Tucci, Catherine Keener and Robin Wright Penn who, from the trailer, looks like she gets to play yet another miserable wife, just like in Unbreakable and Beowulf. Levinson has also managed to get the terrifying Michael Wincott to cry like a baby. For that precious image, I thank him. But hey, check it out! Is Bruce Willis channeling genius singer/songwriter Will Oldham?


Excellent. And ZOMG! It’s internet search term sensation Moon Bloodgood!


Sadly, from what I can tell from the trailer, she has been cast as Miscellaneous Superhottie Doing Sexxy Things With Chopsticks, doing little more than making Art Linson feel better about himself by flirting with his onscreen representative (aka Robert De Niro). Still, at least appearing in the excellent-but-doomed Journeyman and the not-at-all-excellent-yet-equally-doomed Pathfinder is not stopping her getting work. She’s also going to appear in McG’s Terminator Salvation in a frighteningly good cast that includes Christian Bale, Bryce Dallas Howard, and Helena Bonham Carter, which is great news.

In less great news, she’s also in Street Fighter: The Legend Of Chun-Li, which is an early contender for worst film of 2009. In the middle of a frighteningly uninspiring cast, Moon plays second fiddle to Kristin Kreuk as Chun-Li, Michael Clarke Duncan as Balrog (I can see that, but Grand L. Bush will probably remain the definitive Balrog), Neal McDonough as Bison (??!?!?!?), and Chris Klein as Nash. Plus, it’s directed by hapless Doom helmer Andrzej Bartkowiak; Paul W.S. Anderson was obviously too busy doing post on Death Race to take the job. It’s rare that a nerd-film is announced that I have no interest in, but they managed it. If it’s good, I’ll eat my words, lightly braised in a vowel sauce, but I don’t hold out much hope.

::sigh:: I guess I should do that washing now. In the meantime, knock yourselves out with the first animated installment of Get Your War On (beware, NSFW).