*SIGH* If Only...

I'd love to see this made into a full movie. I've never been a fan of anime, but this guy's work is pretty good and, well, it's Doctor Who :D

Retrieved from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPCrGsya1ZI

Weep, Weep For Future Generations...

Here's a short list of some of my favourite quotes from the atrociously spelt and narrated Harry Potter fan-fic 'My Immortal' by Tara 'Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way.' You can find the full hilarious story at http://myimmortalrehost.webs.com/chapters122.htm Just for a bit of context, Ebony/Enoby/Eboby is a vampire goth in Slytherin House at Hogwarts, her bisexual vampire goth boyfriend is Draco/Drak/Darko Malfoy, Harry Potter has changed his name to Vampire and... yes, he's a bisexual vampire goth... noticing a trend? A good third of the story is actually incredibly detailed descriptions of vitually indistinguishable black outfits and identical emo concerts, there's sex, drugs, murder and bad grammar. My Immortal also has perhaps the biggest fanbase of any internet fan-fic - nobody can quite decide if it's serious or a vicious parody. So without further ado (and without any editing)....

Dumbledore: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS!"

Snake and Loopin were in da middle of da empty hall, doin it, and Dobby was watching!

"STOP IT NOW YOU HORNY SIMPLETONS!" shouted Professor McGoggle who was watching us and so was everyone else.

"I MAY BE A HOGWARTS STUDENT"" Hargirid paused angrily. "BUT I AM ALSO A SATANIST!"

"Hey bitch you look kawaii."

"The Dark Lord shall kill all of you. Then you must submit to him!!!!" Snape ejaculated menacingly. "You fucking preppy fags!" Serious shouted angrily.

"Volfemort has him bondage!"

"You fucking bustard!" yelled Draco at Vampire. "I want to shit next to her!1"

"VAMPIRE POTTER, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" I yelled.

"Why did you do such a thing, you mediocre dunces?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"YOU ARE NOT FIT TO BE THE PRINCIPAL ANY LONGER!" yelled Rumbridge. "YOU ARE TOO OLD AND YOUR ALZHEIMERS IS DANGEROUS! YOU MUST RETRY OR VOLDEMORT WILL KILL YOUR STUDENTS!"

"CUM NOW!1!" Preacher McGongel yielded. We did guiltily.

"Suddenly an idea I had. I clozd my eyes and using my vampire powers I sent a telepathetic massage to Drako and Vampire so they would destruct Snape."

"THE BARK LORD IS PLANNING TO KILL THE STUDENTS!" yelled Cornelia Fudge.

"Crosio!" I shited pointing my wound. Snoop scremed and started running around da room screming.

"OMFS, letz have a groop kutting session!11" said Profesor Trevolry.

A chapter after Loopin "masticates" outside of Enoby's window, Tara took a second stab at it: "You saved me from getting a Paris Hilton p- video made from your shower scene and being vued by Snap and Loopin." Who MASTABATED (c is dat speld rong) to it he added silently.

"Abra Kedavra!" he yelled at Snape and Loopin pointing his womb.

"Noooooo!11" she screamed. All the preps in da theater screamed but everyone else crapped koz Satan and I loked so cute 2gether.

I smelled happily.

"Hey haz aneone fuking seen Draco?" I asked gothikally.
"No Draco told me he wood be watching Hoes of Wax." said Profesor Trevolry.

Dracola used to be called Navel but it tuned out dat he was kidnapped at birth and his real family were vampires. They dyed in a car crash.

"Rid my sight you despicable preps!"

Snoop laughed meanly. He polled down his pants. I gasped- there was a Dork Mark on his you-know-wut!11!

"But it was to late. I knew what I herd. I ran to the bathroom angrily, cring. Draco banged on the door. I whipped and whepped as my blody eyeliner streammed down my cheeks and made cool tears down my feces like Benji in the video for Girls and Bois (raven that is soo our video!). I TOOOK OUT A CIGARETE END STARTED TO smoke pot."

"I laffed statistically."

"We went sexily to Potionz class. But Snap wasn't there. Instead there was…………………………………………Cornelio Fuck!11111"

"“OMFG!!! Im back in Tim again!!!!111” I screamed loudly."
"“Oh my fukking god!!!! Voldimort! Voldimort!” screamed Hedwig as his glock touched Voldemort’s."

"then suddenlyn………………. the floor opened. “OMFG NO I SCEAMED AS I FEEL DOWN. everyone looked At ME weirdly.”"

What is... Flash Fiction?

Mitchell Warren describes Flash Fiction as “short, funny and allowed only so much pathos before the word count is up. Like a stand-up comic graduating from an hour-long show to an eight-minute set on a late night talk show, flash fiction is a ceremonious demotion to professional writing. Readers of flash fiction are demanding, overly critical, and of course, are only humbly asking to be entertained.”

I love this stuff… there’s some real gems. But for all the ones that make you laugh, cry or blanch in horror, there a ten that just don’t quite succeed. I’ve tried a couple of times but can’t get do it, it takes more talent than I’ve got :)

So here’s some fun examples…

The first two are by Giles Hobbs and can be found at http://www.mystorypage.com/flashfiction_one_hundred_words.html


The Sale (only 100 words!!)

"Nice car! Can I buy it?” He asked.
“Now?” I say.
“Now, including everything in it. I’ll pay you double what it’s worth.”
I look around the car, finding nothing of real value.
“OK” I say, “but I need to get home first.”
He follows me home and I sign a hasty contract whilst sat in the driver’s seat.
Inside my house my dog starts barking as I hand back the contract.
In his hand the man holds a studded dog collar.
“My dog wasn’t in the car!” I protest.
“Your dog wasn’t.” he says and reaches for my throat.


Wild Horses (only 100 words!!)

When the hooves strike and splinter your front door with a crash, your body will freeze. The familiar clip-clop, out of place on your stairs, will seem less benign than you remember. Then near silence, hooves muffled by carpet as you wait, unsure if you’re dreaming, terrified, until the large equine head finally peers around your bedroom door. “What did I ever do to you?” A stupid question. Will you really expect an answer? No, because you will know well before it rears it’s hooves above your head, you will know that this horse is in no mood for talking.


Now here’s three by Hugh Cook, beginning with this nasty little horror…

Waiting for the Americans

My wife doesn't like it when I play attack helicopters, though it's a perfectly harmless game. The baby doesn't mind being levitated through the air to the accompaniment of "budda-budda-budda" chopper noises. But I've been told to stop.
So we play "Waiting for the Americans" instead. This is a very quiet game. Your wife may not even be aware that you're playing it. All it involves is a father. Sitting quietly. In a corner. With his daughter. Waiting. For the Americans.
But the Americans do not come, and it's been another long hot month, and the thunder on the horizon is neither war nor rain, merely the discontentment of the sky. One month more, and I still have my wife and baby daughter.
Well. Really. Do I need to wait for the Americans? After all, I have a hammer. And a shovel. And two burlap sacks. And that, I think, is all I really need.


Under the Alien Yoke

When the aliens arrived on planet Earth, one of the first things they did was to ban ice hockey. The aliens were the Glish Galzish, a remorseless race of logicians who were in the process of conquering the known universe in the name of Rational Ethics.
"No ice hockey," they said. "No football. No beer. Everyone in bed by eleven at night, please."
The inevitable result? Revolution. No way, ultimately, to thwart those dreams of ice hockey, of sharpened blades, of blood glistening on the glittering ice. The revolutionaries used a stolen alien space drive to trigger a massive solar eruption which killed ninety per cent of the human race, but effectively threw the Glish Galzish off balance and allowed the revolutionaries to triumph.
Now the invincible starships of the Fans of Sport are fanning out from planet Earth, and the appalled civilizations of the ethicalized are falling before them, unable to contend against the true barbarians -- against the horror, the horror.


Meeting My Agent

So we get together in this restaurant in the World Trade Center, and Ronnie gives me the bad news about the proposal.
"No," says Ronnie.
Just like that. Flat no.
"Why?" I say.
Thinking to myself: I need the advance, you bastard!
"It's just not credible," said Ronnie. "They out the spy? For, like ... what's the word? Pique?"
"Yeah," I say. "It's refreshing, original."
"No," says Ronnie. "It's not original. It's nutso. The government doesn't out its own spies. We don't betray our own side, not without, you know, motivation. Someone sells out for a million bucks, something like that."
"But that's what makes this so original," I say. "I've created unique monsters. They've disconnected from ... what can I call it? The protocols of necessity, shall we say. Make sense?"
"No," says Ronnie. "It doesn't."
"The smallest thing," I persist. "The smallest thing, they'll set it up so people are killed, tortured, thrown in jail ... they out her, it's headline news, her contacts get rounded up -"
"Yeah, yeah, sticks in orifices," says Ronnie, impatiently, cutting me off. "That's your problem. You're just wacko. You're just too much into this stuff. I mean, this is one sick fantasy. People getting disappeared, beaten up, deported off to these, these - "
"Torture camps. The overseas torture camps."
"Yeah, that. And the bit about the guy with the gunshot wounds ...."
"That's just how I see it," I protest. "You know my ethos."
"Yeah, yeah," says Ronnie. "The reality thing. But you gotta accept, this isn't reality, this is just, like I said, just -"
"My demented imagination."
"Yeah, that."
And, five minutes later, Ronnie is gone. Leaving me with the bill for the dead duck and the oyster shells. Alone in the restaurant, looking out at the view of the blue sky and an airplane.


…and to finish off, here’s two by Jared Axelrod…


Invaded

We think large. We may be small creatures to you, but our lives extend far beyond the miniscule moments you possess. We think large, and we think long.
Have you ever looked at a mosquito, closely? It’s a strange shape, all hunched over and crooked. Even by your insect standards, it is a bizarre creature. And you never realized. It’s one of the few insects that survive your winters. Did you ever wonder why?
It was us, of course. We didn’t have to do much; it was already such a glorious creature. And what with that penetrating…what’s the word? Oh, there it is. Proboscis. Lovely word. Proboscis. What with that proboscis, we had the perfect conveyance.
Naturally, you were still too great in number, so a certain degree of population destruction, a bit of “shock and awe,” if you will, was necessary. What was it you called it? Malaria? How…quaint. If the boys in the infantry don’t already know what you call them, I’ll have to tell them. Sounds like a girl you used to have sex with, doesn’t it? “I just met a girl named Malaria…” The things you people think up.
And all this time, you blamed the mosquitoes! Not totally, I see. You called them “carriers.” Too true. What does that make you then, I wonder?
I do apologize for all the mucous that clogged your throat and sinuses, the aching of your muscles, your general weakness for the past few days. I can see that you thought it was a just a cold, but I feel the need to own up. We’ve become so close, after all. It was me. Your nervous system is surprisingly hard to operate.
Tell you what, before we meet up with the rest of the invasion fleet, let’s go find a girl that arouses you and have sex with it. First one we find, huh? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, boy?
Look, I’m trying to be nice, here. I don’t have to be.
After all, your world is ours. From the first time you coughed, you had already lost.


How Much Will You Take?

With each stroke of the knife, I knew he loved me.
It started with my nipples, him telling me how much he loved me and how sexy I would look without them. He touched my face as he did it, cooing and kissing my forehead and telling me how much he loved me. He kissed away every one of my tears and held me within his powerful arms as I bled.
For six weeks there was no mention of knives. My heart leapt every time he looked at me, a joy and longing in his eyes. The six weeks after I gave up my nipples were quite possibly the happiest of my entire life.
But the seventh and eighth and ninth passed, and he grew distant, moody. He would spend nights away from the house and return drunken and grumbling. One night, I asked what was wrong, and what I could do to help him.
And so the knives came out again.
He shaved my head, including my eyebrows that night. Soon after, all of my hair from my body was removed through his amateur electrolysis. He took off my nose with one clean slice and, using a device I didn’t recognize, sealed up the wound and made it smooth to the touch, as if nothing had ever been there. I could only breathe through my mouth, and told him so, panicking. He just smiled, kissed the smoothness in the center of my face, and told me I was beautiful.
My toes and fingers took nearly two months, one joint at a time. He took similar relish with each of my teeth. He said he was sad when he went for my crotch, but I saw how happy his eyes were and how his hands shook with arousal as he smoothed out my groin.
He used that same device to seal off my sockets after he cut out my eyes. He also used it to fuse my ass cheeks, and later, my mouth leaving only a small hole in each case. I heard him laugh and tell me how sexy I looked. He kissed me all over, and made jokes about how easy it would now be to confuse my two ends. He sounded so happy.
One night -- or what I assumed was night, at the very least -- he drew a heart on my smooth chest with his finger. He told me it meant “I love you.” Then he cut off my ears.
Between long stretches of nothing, I would suck vitamin-enriched water from a straw he would press against lips and feel his strong fingers all over what was left of my naked body. I was too weak to react physically, but I reveled in his touch and the way traced that heart on my chest over and over. My life was spent this way, waiting for these moments.
It is difficult to love a being from another planet, but there are sacrifices to be made in every relationship. And now my alien lover will never leave me.

Hitler Isn't Happy...

Lovingly pilfered from http://www.scifiscoop.com/news/hitler-isnt-happy-with-avatar/

Most Freaky Awesome Thing I've Ever Seen

Coming to you from Awesomer Than Thou

Two And A Half Hours I Won't Ever Get Back...

Ok so tonight I went and saw Transformers 2: Revenge Of The Fallen, knowing full-well that it would be mindless trash, having seen the other terrible films that make up Director Michael Bay's life work, including its predecessor, Transformers. At the end, I found myself quite unable to articulate my feelings on the movie I'd just seen, so and so when I got home I perused the Interwebs to find something, ANYTHING, that might get the verbage going again, my brain having been for all intents and purposes liquified by the seemingly endless explosions and gunfire I'd witnessed. Below, I've copied and pasted the two reviews that I feel come closest to capturing the essence of this cinematic abortion...

The Empire Strikes Out
Retrieved 02/07/09 from http://www.flickfilosopher.com/blog/2009/06/062309transformers_revenge_of_the_fa.html

I’m certain that someday it will be acknowledged that Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen is like the most totally awesome artifact ever of the end of the American empire. It’s so us, a preposterously perfect reflection of who we are: loud, obnoxious, sexist, racist, juvenile, unthinking, visceral, and violent... and in love with ourselves for it. And Michael Bay is the high priest of our self-engrossment. It’s not enough that we like blowing shit up: the blowing shit up must be transubstantiated into something religious by having, say, a ridiculously gorgeous girl humping a motorcycle, her face aglow in the golden hour of sunset as she watches the shit get blown up, her glossy lips parted just a little in orgasmic joy.

What we have right here is the Easter Island statue of our legacy. People 1,000 years from now will gaze at Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen in wonder and mystery and marvel how we just couldn’t see. How could we not see?

I liked the first Transformers, two summers ago. It worked because it pretended to absolutely nothing, aspired to absolutely nothing beyond being a big dumb loud brainless advertisement for toys. Unlike every other propagandistic Michael Bay film, which all revel in their jingoism about justice or patriotism or heroism, Transformers felt no need to bother. If only Hollywood could have left well enough alone.

Of course, in Hollywood, “well enough alone” means you wear out a franchise with 12 movies, until even the fanboys are complaining that it’s stupid and a budget-bloated sequel finally bankrupts the studio. We’re nowhere near that, though. Transformers 3 is coming soon to a theater near you, you may rest assured of that.

I was ready for Revenge to be as agreeably inconsequential as the first film, and I was perfectly happy to be enjoying that it’s so completely fuckin’ bonkers from the get-go, when we discover that the alien robot things have been on Earth from 17,000 BC, when they apparently fought off Stargate’s Goa’uld or something for the right to pick on the poor uncivilized cavepeople natives. But then I got lost beyond that, for -- unlike the first movie -- this one either assumes that you’re steeped in the laughable mythos that Hasbro invented for its toys, or else screenwriters Ehren Kruger (The Brothers Grimm, The Skeleton Key) and the team of Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman (Star Trek, Mission: Impossible III) invented a new laughable mythos. I’m not an eight-year-old boy, and I wasn’t in the 1980s either, so I don’t know which is which.

It’s something to do with an ancient bloodfeud between the good robots (the Autobots) and the bad robots (the Decepticons). You can tell which are the good robots -- they have blue eyes and are nice and round and shiny and look like Japanese motorcycles or something Paul Walker drove in Fast & Furious or gas-guzzling, all-American pickup trucks manufactured by companies now in bankruptcy -- and you can tell which are the bad robots: they’re very pointy and have red eyes. Beyond that, there’s a lot of high-falutin’ about wrongs done eons ago and such: it’s impossible to understand 90 percent of the Transformers’ dialogue, which is probably a blessing, because the other 10 percent sounds like Gandalf explaining to Frodo about the Ring, or Darth Vader grumbling about the damn Jedi Knights, but without the gravitas of either.

Apparently the good robots have discovered that Shia LaBeouf is Indiana Jones’s kid, because they send him on a mission to find an ancient doohickey from 17,000 BC in the North African desert. And luckily his superhot girlfriend (Megan Fox: How to Lose Friends and Alienate People) is along to gape in ecstatic joy at stuff blowing up and blue-eyed robots and red-eyed robots beating one another up over the ancient whatchamacallit, which is supposed to have the power to do something-or-other.

To call Revenge incoherent and bloated is to put it kindly. To say that Michael Bay fetishizes slow-motion and we still can’t see what the hell is happening the half the time is probably something he’d take as a compliment. But eventually I got so bored -- for these two and a half hours feel much, much longer than the same two and a half hours the first movie consumed -- that I lost track of the number of testicle jokes and taser jokes that flew by. The target audience will be pleased to know, perhaps, that yes: one joke combines testicles and tasers. It’s like the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup of frat-boy humor.

But it’s all good, because, you see, even though a Decepticon snatches the American flag from the Brooklyn Bridge as a show of contempt for us puny humans, it’s back later. America rules! Take that, Decepticons!

Welcome to Easter Island.

Viewed at a semi-public screening with an audience of critics and ordinary moviegoers. Rated PG-13 for intense sequences of sci-fi action violence, language, some crude and sexual material, and brief drug material.


Small Penis Humilation
- by Dustin Rowles
Retrieved 02/07/09 from http://www.pajiba.com/film_reviews/transformers-revenge-of-the-fallen-review.php

I realize I’m stating the obvious here, but it bears elucidation in light of this review because it’s the single biggest driving force behind Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. Michael Bay has a profoundly tiny dick. The man has a diminutive dangler — what’s known in medical circles as a micro-penis (less than 2.75 inches erect). And rather than seek psychotherapy for his small penis humilation, Mr. Bay deals with his itty-bitty anxieties by hiding behind his work. It’s classic overcompensation; all the symptoms are manifested in his person — long hair, leather jackets, sports cars — but none more evident than his pursuit of aggrandizement in Revenge of the Fallen. His desire to embiggen Transformers II over its predecessor — to make bigger in power, to enlarge our conceptions — is clearly an attempt to conceal his sexual inadequacy.

It’s sad, really. Mr. Bay has no ability to drive, thrust, shove or plunge. All he has in his arsenal is a malevolently irritating poke delivered with a toothsome sneer, the flick of his mullet, and a decidedly timorous and almost hopeful, “Do you like that, baby?” And so Mr. Bay takes these frustrations out in his films, and in Revenge of the Fallen his eagerness gets the best of him. It’s easy to suggest that the two-and-a-half hour series of explosions, cheesy toddler one-liners, and cacophonous, bass-heavy noises is all part of an ongoing big-dick swinging contest Mr. Bay has with McG, but if you look closer, you’ll see what’s really at play here. Revenge of the Fallen is little more than a series of explosions transposed with shots of Megan Fox’s cleavage and/or ass. Mr. Bay sees what he cannot have in the bedroom, and out of those phallic frustrations, he obliterates everything in his wake like a petulant little child who destroys the contents of his toy chest because he’s been denied an ice cream cone. Those Transformers are his toys; the big screen is his bedroom; and sexual competence is the ice cream cone that will forever elude him.

Serial killers are often associated with small-penis syndrome and though there may be little veracity in that theory, it’s apparent that Michael Bay shares the same hedonistic soullessness of a Ted Bundy or Leonard Lake. There’s not an ounce of life in the Fallen’s script. But there is little denying that the man knows how to film an action sequence — 44 years of practice borne out of sexual insufficiency will make a person an expert. In Revenge of the Fallen, Bay sticks to what he knows, barely capable of poking his spectacle into a narrative framework. It’s a battle of good and evil. Autobots vs. Decepticons. Megatron is pulled from the sea to assist the original Decepticon, Fallen (a metaphor for Lucifer? No: For Bay’s limp junk). Fallen wants avenge an ancient slight against the planet Earth by finding an instrument hidden in a monstrous Egyptian obelisk that will allow him to stab out the sun (there’s some metaphorical wish fulfillment for you).

Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf) spends all of one day in college, where he is attacked by a human-shaped Decepticon (Isabel Lucas) with a phallic tail, before he is recruited by Optimus Prime to act as an ambassador between the Autobots and the United States military, which has an uneasy relationship with the Transformers. That relationship becomes moot, however, when Fallen and the other Decepticons invade Earth in search of that sun-diffusing instrument, which Sam — along with the assistance of Megan Fox’s low-cut blouses and all powerful slo-mo cleavage — has to prevent while also retrieving a few shards and something called the Matrix of Leadership.

That’s essentially the gist of the nonsensical, incoherent, illogical ass-brained plot, and even the six-and-a-half minutes of story seems to get in the way of the other 144 minutes of shit blowing up. There are, of course, even more Transformers in the sequel, which only means it’s even more difficult to tell what’s going on, who is on whose side, and who is battling whom, which becomes particularly problematic near the end where everything is also obscured by a storm of sand.

John Turturro brings further indignity upon his career by appearing as a former government agent turned conspiracy theorist; it’s hard to say what the fuck he was doing in this movie — both Turturro and his character — except to bring shame on his family. Megan Fox is in a perpetual state of glisten and never stops pouting her lips; meanwhile, Shia LaBeouf continues his fast-talking douchenut ways. Rainn Wilson has an incredibly brief two minutes as a college prof — it’s the best two minutes of the entire movie, and the possibility he might return at the end of the film was the only thing that kept me in my seat. I’ll save you the trouble: He does not. [Actually... if the reviewer had stayed on to watch the credits for a few minutes - tedious as it was - he would have seen that this professor comes back for an utterly redundant and unfunny minute-long final scene - DR]

In addition to Fallen, there are a few other new Transformers, including a sand-sucking monstrosity that bites the tip off an ancient Egyptian pyramid (ouch); a senior citizen fighter-plane Decipticon who switches allegiances; a few mini-Transformers; and Mudflap and Skids, the Jar Jar African-American racial caricatures (gold tooth, hip-hop lovin’, bad slang, can’t read) of Transformers, who really are offensive, though it’s not too surprising: Racists have notoriously small dicks.

Lookit: Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen is Bush League, and I mean that in a purely political sense. It’s chest-thumping, racially-insensitive, sexually provocative redmeat bullshit designed to get needle dicks hard. And that’s fine, if you’re a hormone-addled pubescent Beavis who gets his rocks off on blowing up frogs. But you know that, and you don’t need a review to tell you that Revenge of the Fallen is an epic shit storm so bad you’ll wish you were watching Wolverine. And for a lot of you, that knowledge isn’t going to prevent you from seeing Transformers II, and I won’t begrudge you that. Your morbid curiosity may get the best of you. The confluence of your skepticism of critics, your overwhelming childhood nostalgia, or your desire to see just how awful it is may compel you into the theater. That’s cool — that’s what a manipulative, $100 million marketing campaign will do. But you’ll probably walk out of the theater fuming, itching to murder the one guy in the theater who attempted to start an ovation every time Optimus Prime appeared onscreen (he was met with a round of blank what-the-fuck stares by a sold-out crowd).

But even if you do help to contribute to the $150 million Revenge of the Fallen is likely to gross over the next five days, you can rest easy knowing that, no matter how much money Michael Bay has in his bank account or how many bloated, corporately jingoistic films that he makes, all he has to show for it is an estate that’s the size of Delaware and a babydick the size of your little toe. It’s small consolation.

Dustin Rowles is the publisher of Pajiba. He hides his small penis behind petty insults and personal attacks on Hollywood directors.

Doctor WHO, OverVIEW :)

Anyone who knows me knows I'm a bit of a Scifi nut, and that of the many Scifi franchises out there, none have caused me to obsess and nerd out as much as Doctor Who.

I always enjoyed DW, it gave me nightmares as a kid but there was just something about it that kept me coming back. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, of course, but now that I'm a bit older I recognise the crucial element. it's originality. First, the very premise is quite unique, how many other shows are there where a man travels through space and time in a small blue box? Then there's its other most recognisable elements, nobody really knows who the man is, he changes his face all the time, he's always interfering in history and causing mayhem... if any other show did any of this it would be a blatant rip-off because DW not only did it first, it did it in such a way as to be instantly recognisable. And it's been doing it for longer than any other show around.

DW has also come up with some of the most distinctive villains in Scifi, sure, they've had plenty of men in rubber masks over the years, what Scifi show hasn't? but what other show has had centurions made out of volcanic rock, or a woman so obsessed with plastic surgery that she ends up as little more than a trampoline made out of skin? What other show has had a Repeating Meme, a stone angel, or a carnivorous shadow? Or an Abzobaloff, or thousands of little aliens made out of human fat? Not to mention the Daleks, perhaps the most easily recognised Scifi villains of the lot, and certainly the most popular. And don't forget that 30 years before Star Trek's Borg was were wandering around space turning people into cyborgs, DW's Cybermen were doing that very thing.

I'm really loving the series since it was revived in 2005 after 9 years off the air. Yes, Christopher Eccleston, David Tennant, Catherine Tate and the rest are amazing actors, and yes, the special effects are increasingly superb, but what really makes me love the series is the writing, both the wider story arcs that Head Writer and producer Russell T. Davies has constructed, and also the writing for each episode. DW shows that script and story are of paramount importance, you can have all the CGI you want but if you can't tell a story about people, you're not going to get far(Star Trek: Enterprise, anyone?). So without further ado, here are my impressions of the new Who.

The 2005 season paved the way for a big budget reimagining of the DW universe (which, it has been suggested, is the same universe as Douglas Adam's Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy). Rose was a great introduction to the new series, showing what happens to an ordinary girl when a fairly extraordinary man walks into her life. The following episode, The End of the World was a powerful story set in the distant future, I particularly love the scene when Rose and the Doctor stand watching the remains of the shattered Earth drifting in space and Rose makes the comment that “nobody even noticed.” Hard-hitting, topical stuff, and what a great way to start a series, with the point at which most Scifi franchises finish! It seems every Scifi show and its dog these days is trying to blow up the Earth for their grand finale, well, all I can say is this is a refreshing change!!

The next episode, The Unquiet Dead was brilliantly creepy, the following two-parter Aliens of London/World War Three was a bit of a let-down, I loathed the Slitheen, butit wasn't all bad, I really thought the characterisation and dialogue between the cast was fantastic. Father’s Day was great but those Reapers were a little cheesy, however the storytelling and acting more than make up for it. Dalek is very nearly the best episode of the entire revived series, but I hardly need to mention that as it’s consistently rated among the top episodes.

The Long Game was good fun and I loved seeing Simon Pegg as a villain, and ‘Max’ was a very cool monster of the week. Stephen Moffat’s The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances is, needless to say, utterly enthralling, sweet but horrific and fantastic fun. Unfortunately the following episode, Boom Town, is a little disappointing, though I do have to give it some credit for making the awful Slitheen a little less irritating, and for showing the ongoing development of Rose’s relationships with Mickey and the Doctor.

And then we come to Bad Wolf/The Parting of the Ways, which finish the season in a fantastic way. I have to say, Bad Wolf is possibly my absolute favourite episode of the entire series, it’s fun and silly and sweet, but it captures the menace of the Daleks, it first introduces and then dispatches the Controller, which is quite tragic, we get to know sweet little ‘Lynda with a Y’ (whose death went a long way to reinstating the Daleks as the ultimate bad guys in the universe), Jack kisses both Rose and the Doctor, and both Rose and the Doctor get their Crowning Moment of Awesome – “Rose, I’m coming to get you” and “You are tiny; I see every atom of your existence, and I divide them.” Serious Wow.

The following Christmas special, The Christmas Invasion, was pretty good, as David Tennant’s introduction it couldn’t have been much better. But the following episode and official opening of the second seasonis far more heartwarming and funny. New Earth is good silly fun, and it’s great seeing Rose and the Doctor ‘on a date’ as it were. Matron Casp is the perfect cat person, the Face of Boe makes a welcome return, and Cassandra’s double entendre on possessing the Doctor’s body, that it’s ‘hardly been used’ is classic. What really won me over with this episode, however, was the tragedy of Cassandra/Chip. I cried. New Earth is a much stronger opening than Rose, and would have to be one of my favourite episodes. This is followed by the visually impressive but ultimately forgettable monster of the week story, Tooth and Claw.

School Reunion was a good follow-up, and it was great to see classic series regular Sarah Jane Smith return. The Girl in the Fireplace was also a wonderful episode, the clockwork creations were pretty horrifying and I’m damn sure that if I’d seen that episode as a child it would have haunted me for the rest of my life. But these two episodes are utterly outclassed by the sheer badassery that is Rise of the Cybermen/The Age of Steel. The alternate London, the re-imagined Cybermen, the ‘ear-pods’ and the long trek through the dark within arm’s reach of slumbering Cybermen, it all adds up to a really exciting story, it could totally have been a series finale. It also felt a lot like the Doctor Who I remember from the 80s, so this two-parter stands out as a highlight of the show’s second season.

The Idiot’s Lantern was another great episode, a little piece of history spiced up with some cheap horror. It was a bit of a breather before the traumatic ordeal that is The Impossible Planet/The Satan Pit. This double episode is definitely Nightmare Fuel, but it also makes explicit Rose and the Doctor’s feelings for each other in a powerful and moving way. The next episode however, Love and Monsters, is kind of cute but utterly forgettable.

The season’s penultimate story, Fear Her, should be excised from the narrative, I’m sorry but it’s just awful. It's followed by the Army of Ghosts/Doomsday story arc, which is right up there among the best, we get the two ultimate Who enemies squaring off and insulting each other before engaging in all-out war; it’s hilarious and exciting, frightening and bitter-sweet. Rose’s departure is heartbreaking. And I just love that the season finishes with the unexpected and ludicrous introduction of a bride in full wedding regalia into the TARDIS, to the Doctor’s utter dismay. Classic.

This of course leads us into what is, for me, the defining moment of the new Who, the second Christmas Special, The Runaway Bride. It’s fast paced, bombastic, thrilling, funny, charming and utterly absurd, and I absolutely love it. Catherine Tate rocks my world. Seriously.

Then we have the introduction of Martha Jones in Smith and Jones, the first episode of the third season, and the first Who episode to feature a recurring black companion. It’s a strong start, and a great introduction for the character, she’s smart and beautiful, sensible and strong. Sadly, the third season was the weakest in the revived series, and she didn’t often get much of a chance to shine. The Shakespeare Code, Gridlock, Daleks in Manhattan/Evolution of the Daleks, The Lazarus Experiment, and 42 are all either terrible or completely forgettable.

The series only finally starts to live up to its potential in the stunning Human Nature/The Family of Blood two-parter. This story saved Season Three from mediocrity, I for one would have liked to have seen it strung out over several more episodes. It’s moving and mature, frightening and exciting. It’s followed by the indescribably good Stephen Moffat story Blink (often picked by fans as THE best Who episode, like, EVER), notable for its unusual storytelling and strong horror element, and then by the series finale in three instalments.

The first of these, Utopia, is a great set-up for the final two episodes, the Master’s introduction is enthralling, wonderful and tragic and quite satisfying. It’s like watching a train crash, it feels disturbingly real. The second act, The Sound of Drums is delightfully manic and satisfyingly apocalyptic. What a shame, then, that the trilogy is concluded with the deux ex machina ending of Last of the Time Lords. Nevertheless, Martha Jones endeared herself to me forever by walking out on the Doctor with her head held high. All up, after a promising beginning, Season Three at first failed to deliver, and only recaptured my interest in its second half. Even the by-now traditional surprise season ending, this time a collision with the Titanic broaching the TARDIS hull, failed to deliver.

It turns out that the Titanic that we see smashing a hole in the TARDIS at the conclusion of the third season is not the Titanic that we expect, but a jumbo-sized space-going replica. Voyage of the Damned subjects us to the horror that is Kylie Minogue’s acting, inflicts upon us an irritating cast of stereotypes and smacks us across the face with messianic imagery. Oddly enough, the emotional heart of the tale belongs not to the officially recognised Companion, but to two older gentlemen in minor roles, the first being the amazing Bernard Cribbins as Wilfred Mott, the second being a fraudulent professor who would have made a wonderful Companion.

Wilf’s appearance provides a nice bridge between seasons three and four, as it is revealed in the first episode of the season that he is in fact the Bride’s grandfather, and that the two share a special and close relationship. Donna’s reappearance is one of the funniest moments in the entire series, and makes Partners in Crime one of the most watchable season openings of the new Who.

Season Four goes from strength to strength, fans voted it their favourite season and it is hardly surprising. After the strong first episode we get another historical adventure in The Fires of Pompeii, and a reminder of why the Doctor needs someone with him, and why Donna fits the bill so perfectly. We’re also given a taste of what’s to come; Donna will do a whole lot of crying over the course of this season, and as it turns out, so will we. Case in point: the following episode, Planet of the Ood, picking up on some of the subtler aspects of Season Two’s The Impossible Planet/The Satan Pit. This is hands-down the most beautiful and uplifting instalment of the whole of the revived series, and ranks as one of my ultimate favourite episodes. On an emotional level, it would be hard to top, and the following three episodes, The Sontaran Stratagem/The Poison Sky and The Doctor’s Daughter wisely don’t even try, opting instead for military manoeuvres and fast paced action.

The return of Martha Jones in those three episodes is something of a disappointment, she displays none of her customary strength and genius, and instead ends up crying pathetically in a puddle on some alien planet, but this is more than made up for by the enjoyable exchanges between the Doctor and Donna. I’m struck by the thought that perhaps it was necessary to bring Martha back and show her failings to underline the suitability of Donna as the Doctor’s long-term companion. In any case, the season progresses strongly, continuing with the charming and more than slightly ridiculous The Unicorn and the Wasp, replete with comic moments and subtle meta-fictional references.

What follows is what I can only describe as Stephen Moffat’s big sales pitch for where he will take the series when he takes the top job after the departure of Russell T. Davies. Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead return to the Moff’s favourite themes of horror, mystery and romance, with beautiful sets, impressive special effects and fantastic casting choices. The Doctor and Donna get no happy resolution this time, but their close companionship is once again highlighted, setting us up nicely for the next two instalments, in which they’re mostly kept apart.

The first of these is Midnight, featuring the Doctor going off on his own for a spell, and I would argue that this episode is a strong contender for ‘Best New Who Episode.’ There’s only one set for the duration of the adventure, and the special effects are kept to a minimum, but this the most tightly scripted and tense show of the season, and I would say the series as a whole. It’s stressful and nerve-wrecking, cleverly written and brilliantly acted, showing what RTD can do with not much.

It’s followed by Catherine Tate’s powerhouse performance in Turn Left, another strong contender for best episode. Donna wanders off and gets in trouble, and we get some nice continuity touches but more importantly a glimpse at what might have been and a greater understanding of Donna and her potential and bravery, a leap of faith and a whole lot of emotion, from despair and depression to horror and bewilderment, hope and happiness. Watching it, you feel as if they couldn't possibly have packed any more emotion in, and it could be too much of an ordeal if they had somehow managed to.

The episode dovetails nicely with Season Four’s grand finale, The Stolen Earth/Journey’s End, bringing together all the threads from the various stories, demonstrating how the Doctor sows the seeds of destruction everywhere he goes and providing fan service and more than a few surprises along the way. It has often been noted that the science of this double episode makes absolutely no sense, but it almost seems intentional, it’s as if RTD is simply saying “Who cares? The story’s the thing,” and certainly he manages to juice every last drop of emotion out of fans and puts poor Donna through the wringer. The story is huge and dramatic, fast-paced and exciting, and ultimately tragic. The ending is heartbreaking, thanks to some brilliant writing, but also to the considerable talents of David Tennant, Catherine Tate and Wilfred Mott.

We’re left broken and miserable, which is exactly how the Doctor is supposedly feeling, and so the Doctors elated mood at the beginning of the Christmas special that follows, The Next Doctor, is somewhat refreshing, although given the title of the episode we may be apprehensive. But the title is intentionally misleading, what we end up with is far and away the best Christmas Special of the series thus far.

While The Runaway Bride might have uproariously good fun, this Christmas Special follows the more threatening feel of The Unquiet Dead, Rise of the Cybermen, and Utopia , perhaps appropriately given the recent loss of Bride's star. The result is captivating, and David Morrissey brings real depth and gravitas to his role. Finally, however, we see the Doctor accept the invitation to spend Christmas with friends, providing some relief from the increasingly gloomy turn of events in the show.

Planet of the Dead, the show’s first Easter Special and most recent instalment, continues in this vein, being a light and frothy adventure with some impressive CGI and a return to the Doctor’s more cheerful, manic behaviour of days past. RTD promises, however, that this will be the last respite, and that the final three episodes featuring David Tennant as the Doctor and Russell T. Davies as Head Writer and producer will be frightening, depressing and traumatic. The first of these, The Waters of Mars, will go to air in November, and the concluding two-part story will play over Christmas and New Years.

I'm looking forward to it :)

Appreciation Stations!!

I sent off an email the other day to Chris Neale in the UK, owner of the amazing ChrisNeale-Creative website (which I highly recommend any self-respecting sci-fi geek visit). He has created some extraordinary CG renders of Doctor Who and Star Trek icons, and provides details of how he went about creating them.

I was pleasantly surprised when he wrote back to me, taking the time to offer a few inspiring words, so without further ado, here’s my initial email and his response…


Hi Chris,

My name's Danny and I live across the other side of the world in little ol' New Zealand. I stumbled across your site and I just really wanted to say I love your work, the attention to detail is incredible... I'm a bit of a nerd so your renders of the Daleks and Star Trek are faves.

I wish I had your talent!! But I don't, so I will just continue to appreciate what you put together. And because I'm a cheeky beggar, I took one of your pics and changed it just a teeny bit in Paint (yeah, I really do know nothing about CG imaging techniques!!).

Not that your work isn't perfect, it totally is, and it's awesome to see the Renegade Daleks looking like they're not about to fall apart!! But I wanted to see what one of your pics would look like with the larger indicator 'ears' that I'm so fond of (cos I love the old movie Daleks). I also took out the eyespot cos I'm not so keen on that, I always felt it made the Daleks look less threatening and alien - that's why the original Daleks are the best!! Really looking forward to your Super Dalek, too :)

And I TOTALLY agree with you re: Shatner and the Enterprise. Can't wait to see your finished pics!! What did you think about the new movie?

Anyway, you're a busy man, so I'll quit bugging you, and I don't expect a reply, but your work totally rocks, keep it up!!

Danny in NZ




Hi Danny in New Zealand....

I appreciate your taking the time to write, firstly I don't make money from my work, so it is there purely for people to enjoy. I still get email from people who own one of my Challenger paintings (more than twenty years after it was painted) telling me how it has pride of place in their home. The fact that something I have done has made a small difference to someone else's life means far more to me than any amount of financial reward I could have received for my efforts!

Secondly, the fact that you have an imagination and you are interested in science fiction DOES NOT make you "a nerd". Men like Marconi and John Logi Baird imagined that they could contact the Spirit World with a machine... and accidentally invented radio and television respectively, while attempting to do so (something that is little known to this day)! Men went to the Moon firstly because they dared to imagine how it could be done. The idea was a fanciful one that had only ever been written about in science fiction books. It took a great leader with vision, Kennedy... to imagine the effect that it would have on his nation and it advanced the whole world in ways that most to this day still do not realise.

Sadly, the world is seriously lacking in imagination or great men of vision... when you consider that in 2009, two thirds of the population remain in poverty. The nerds... are the men in suits that exploit this fact in order to make more and more obscene amounts of money. They are the leaders who despite knowing that we have reached the point of no return... whereby the Earth's resources needed to maintain energy production are no longer sustainable... they refuse to accept the fact. The nerds won't let them develop new forms of energy production... because they'll stop making money out of the old ones. The nerds won't invest their cash either... because there's no guaranteed short term return on the investment required.

In short, the nerds are responsible for the dire state in which we now find ourselves... from the collapse of the global financial system to the decimation of the Earth's resources! They are the only ones that have benefited from it and they will either die with it or find themselves surplus to requirement when men of vision not only dare to imagine a better world... but begin to do something about it!

So Danny... keep on dreaming and if you have children, encourage them to be excited by the endless possibilities that currently can only be imagined in science fiction! Maybe one of them will turn out to be someone that saved the world... from the nerds!

Take care, thanks for your interest.
Regards,
Chris Neale

CHAFF Review -- Iron Man

Starring Robert Downey Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow, Jeff Bridges

Grade: A- or 8/10.

I’ve never read an Iron Man comic, so I don’t know if the movie was faithful to its source material or not. I went in expecting just another slick, brainless superhero movie, the likes of Ghost Rider or Fantastic Four, which Hollywood is churning out with such alarming rapidity these days. But the opening scene of Iron Man surprised me – there was no need to consciously suspend the old disbelief because it felt like I was just looking at the real world, albeit a real world much occupied by Robert Downey Jr. The surprises came thick and fast from the outset, I was caught up and swept away. Five minutes in, I was staring up at the screen in disbelief… could this actually be a smart superhero movie?

But superhero movies have a certain predictability built in, don’t they? They all tell essentially the same story, something terrible happens to someone, giving him/her some special ability that confers on him/her an obligation to Protect the Innocent. And sure enough, after twenty minutes, with each new plot development I was able to make a pretty good guess where the story was going. The Bad Guys are profit-hungry, war-mongering Corporations, there’s a monstrous nemesis, a small circle of friends in-the-know, and the rich man who’s made a living off the misery of others grows a conscience… nothing new, and yet the tired old clichés still felt fresh somehow.

I found myself sitting there wondering if this movie would have been made if not for the success of Batman Begins and Transformers… it certainly has some of the feel of both, without the former’s dark, brooding atmosphere or the latter’s relentless Battle-of-the-robotic-Titans conflict. It’s difficult not to compare Iron Man with Batman Begins, especially, they’re both origin stories, both have protagonists who happen to be incredibly wealthy, who suffer personal tragedies that wake them up to the cruel world, both spend time creating formidable suits of war with which they will put Wrong to Right, yadda yadda, etc etc.

Robert Downey Jr.’s little moments of comedy were what made this movie for me. The movie’s Wikipedia page says he is a fan of the comic, and it shows. He poked fun at his character and the superhero genre throughout, his technological marvel breaking down in all sorts of amusing ways. His dialogue and delivery felt completely natural and ad-lib, it was witty and glib, there were none of the usual gasps of ‘You’re insane!’ directed at the villain, and not once did I feel the plot was being explained to me as if I was too stupid to get what was happening (most superhero movies do this – “I have to stop him from firing the missile launcher at the President’s jet!” etc). The robo-suit itself was pretty cool; the CGI blended seamlessly with pyrotechnic and robotic effects and there were some genuinely affecting moments. Gwyneth Paltrow didn’t suck. That is to say, I didn’t want to grind her face into the pavement every time I saw her, which is a refreshing first for me.

I don’t have many gripes with this film… the big bad villain didn’t feel threatening enough, perhaps, and the Final Conflict wasn’t all that epic. I was disappointed by the film’s portrayal of the only foreign-nationals in it… they happened to be Afghani, oppressed and terrorised by militant fundamentalists, and in need of rescuing by the good ol’ U.S of A… Only one of the locals in Afghanistan wasn’t having a gun thrust in his face or doing the gun-thrusting to his fellow countrymen, and he very soon died, but not without helping the shallow protagonist discover his conscience. Maybe not such a big deal, but it smacked of stereotype.

Overall, I really enjoyed this film, it’s got it’s flaws, but it’s one of the better examples of its genre and a damn sight better than most of the other superhero crap Hollywood puts out, with the exception of Batman Begins and maybe Spiderman 2. Check it out.

Danny Rudd