Saturday’s unhealthy dose of post-Victoriana tosh began with a recap of the ‘creepy’ events of Friday in Transylvania where Karl (husband of Yvette) and Stuart (cousin of Yvette) saw an apparition that spooked them so intensely they were forced to flail, flap, wobble and squeal. The camera, and indeed the levelheaded viewer, saw nothing. “I’ve an overwhelming urge to throw myself over the balcony" Stuart opined. Don’t let us stop you, Stu. Kath (hairdresser of Yvette) was ‘terrified’ although the Manc-voiced, turtle mouthed make-up girl is often terrified even by an innocuous sneeze and a mouse taking a pee.
Saturday had a buffoon-like Paul Ross gurning crazily as the Nosferatu-like Julian Clegg gabbled nonsense about a “massive response” from the public which I can only imagine is the 300 drunk folk who text in of an evening to claim that they have seen “a little girl” (why is it always a little girl?).
Someone, incredulously unnamed, catches two girls in a large room walking followed by a shadow of a marching man who emerges from the floor to follow the girls. The para-psychologist cannot explain it – Yvette gets excited…to me it’s a deeply unsubstantiated mobile phone video clip that needs a lot more cross referencing that old ‘historian’ Lesley seems incapable of performing without Google and Wikipedia.
Conveniently a séance in the very same room produced a barrage of orbs (or, as I like to call them, dust) and Karl being semi-possessed by an evil entity who hated David Wells (they always hate poor David, these spirits. How can anyone hate the camp, sweet smelling, overweight Scottish psychic/medium?) Stuart's legs, just as conveniently, stop working…the same Stuart who was beaten, strangled, assaulted, possessed and laughed at by ghosts on previous series. Time to call it a day and apply to Coronation Street again, Stu?
Sadly for me and the other 506 viewers, Vlad the Impailer does not make an appearance. He may have been a Romanian speaking, child hating, pensioner stabbing maniac who loved a bit of black pudding of an afternoon, but even he can remember the horror of Yvette Fielding on Blue Peter circa 1992 and decided an eternity in Hell was preferable to a live broadcast in front of a load of drunken sceptics, excited believers and a bored-looking Paul Ross.
I cannot, despite my best intentions, tear myself away from Most Haunted. Yes, its looks fake, yes its melodramatic, yes Yvette is a pain in the backside, yet the show is frighteningly compelling...as though David Wells has cast some scary psychic mind control spell over me and I cannot switch over until an actual ghost shows its face. There’s an old museum near me more haunted than a Harry Potter chapter…I might email Yvette and Karl and see if they’ll pop by – I may even volunteer my services as a spoon-thrower…I mean, enthusiastic sceptical reporter.
Think Yvette and Karl are honest? Can you fake more convincingly? Chillywinter@hotmail.co.uk
Sunday 25 February 2007
Friday 16 February 2007
Waterloo Road and The Verdict. 15th February 2007
Waterloo Road is largely and enjoyable viewing experience despite its many, many flaws. There seems to be a distinct lack of drama on any channel at the moment that deals in anything close to reality. The ‘concept’ drama is still very much alive and, in my opinion, had outstayed its welcome. Waterloo Road has at least one foot in the real world and has a smattering of believable characters – the cynical old History teacher, the spinster French teacher, the irritating expelled student with a face you could take ratting.
Unfortunately a few too many worthy ‘issues’ are creeping in and gathering, riot style, into the one same episode: pupil-teacher crush, lonely teacher gets MS, stressed mother goes into tragic premature labour, ex-junkie goes home to her sinister step-dad, teenage girl raped in bushes, 17-year-old boy begins illicit tryst with 30-year-old secretary…Still, the authentic moments shine through and that makes it almost worthwhile. I’m quite hopeful the issues will resolve ad a bit of human drama may surface.
The Verdict had too much human drama – so much so I thought I might end up having a nervous breakdown. The show was incredibly depressing, yet frighteningly real. The biggest problem for me was not the very predictable young-girl-roasted-or-raped-by-grubby-footballers trial, it was the ridiculous jury. I’m sure the BBC was trying to highlight the very real difficulty and responsibility such a trial holds, but choosing a jury that would never pass the selection stage was simply pointless. An ex-footballer with a penchant for girlfriend beating and dogging? An angry ex-rapper cleared – eventually – of murder? A campaigning mother who’s child was herself raped and murdered? An ex-MP jailbird who himself lied in court? A woman who began a world famous sex-toy shop? Come on! Most people with dull and colourless lives would struggle with such a trial but neither the ‘victim’ nor the ‘accused’ can have felt any confidence when they saw that bizarre group of ‘representatives’.
Naturally all charges were acquitted and, surprisingly for me, the jury did do their best to remove emotion and follow the facts only – but the truly harrowing aspect of the entire show was that at least 75% of the jury felt that the victim had been raped but couldn’t convict the accused for a very minor – but very real – reason. It appears that burdening a rape victim with a very public display of disbelief is much easier to live with that burdening a guilty party with prison purely on a technicality.
It’s no wonder the conviction rate for rape is dropping. If any potential future rape victims watched The Verdict, I doubt they’d even bother phoning the police – and who can blame them?
Bring back comedy. Please? Chillywinter@hotmail.co.uk
Unfortunately a few too many worthy ‘issues’ are creeping in and gathering, riot style, into the one same episode: pupil-teacher crush, lonely teacher gets MS, stressed mother goes into tragic premature labour, ex-junkie goes home to her sinister step-dad, teenage girl raped in bushes, 17-year-old boy begins illicit tryst with 30-year-old secretary…Still, the authentic moments shine through and that makes it almost worthwhile. I’m quite hopeful the issues will resolve ad a bit of human drama may surface.
The Verdict had too much human drama – so much so I thought I might end up having a nervous breakdown. The show was incredibly depressing, yet frighteningly real. The biggest problem for me was not the very predictable young-girl-roasted-or-raped-by-grubby-footballers trial, it was the ridiculous jury. I’m sure the BBC was trying to highlight the very real difficulty and responsibility such a trial holds, but choosing a jury that would never pass the selection stage was simply pointless. An ex-footballer with a penchant for girlfriend beating and dogging? An angry ex-rapper cleared – eventually – of murder? A campaigning mother who’s child was herself raped and murdered? An ex-MP jailbird who himself lied in court? A woman who began a world famous sex-toy shop? Come on! Most people with dull and colourless lives would struggle with such a trial but neither the ‘victim’ nor the ‘accused’ can have felt any confidence when they saw that bizarre group of ‘representatives’.
Naturally all charges were acquitted and, surprisingly for me, the jury did do their best to remove emotion and follow the facts only – but the truly harrowing aspect of the entire show was that at least 75% of the jury felt that the victim had been raped but couldn’t convict the accused for a very minor – but very real – reason. It appears that burdening a rape victim with a very public display of disbelief is much easier to live with that burdening a guilty party with prison purely on a technicality.
It’s no wonder the conviction rate for rape is dropping. If any potential future rape victims watched The Verdict, I doubt they’d even bother phoning the police – and who can blame them?
Bring back comedy. Please? Chillywinter@hotmail.co.uk
Saturday 10 February 2007
10th February 2007 - Dancing on Ice & Primeval
Dancing On Ice glittered onto ITV1 with lacklustre sparkle. Though I can enjoy this show even whilst comatose in a wine fuelled stupor it lacks something and I’m not entirely sure what it is. Let’s be honest, ice dancing isn’t actually dancing at all is it? Sliding along in tan tights with a fixed grin whilst a perma-tanned, sequin dipped young man flings you though the air, legs akimbo with gusset flashing, isn’t really the same as the Nutcracker Suite or a pulsating, dramatic Tango. Still, it was okayish.
Duncan James who, if the Dictionary was pictorial would have his face appearing next to the definition of ‘smarmy’, had strangely big hair, an orange skin tight top and a disinterested looking partner. Poor Stephen Gately was admonished – probably quite rightly – for not only not dancing but also for not moving, not smiling and not ‘connecting; to his partner. Kay ‘The Bulldog’ Burley seemed only too keen to connect with her partner, the lovely Fred, who looked as though he’d rather remove his own teeth with a toy plastic hammer than let young Kay perv over him for much longer. Fairly, Kay and Stephen polled the lowest scores where as thinning-haired, thickly-chested ex-rugby star Kyran Bracken stormed the top of the leader board with his amazing ability to slide on one knee and bend simultaneously as he danced!
Primeval followed. Clearly aiming for the roaming ever-so-slightly despondent Dr Who/Robin Hood crew, it began with the standard humour and intrigue fair. A scientist (Douglas Henshall), his loyal student (James Murray) and an irritant know-it-all interloper (Andrew Lee-Potts) head into the Forest of Dean to investigate a large hole in a fence and an apparent errant dinosaur. Meanwhile, a lizard loving zoo girl (Hannah Spearitt) decides to venture into the same forest where a young boy found a computer-generated lizard.
I thought I’d give this a go for two reasons. 1) I know Andrew Lee-Potts in real life quite well and he’s a nice bloke and 2) I was hoping Hannah Spearitt could undo the awful image ex-S Clubbers now have in my mind since grubby Jo O’Meara showed her miserable gob on Celebrity Big Brother.
After a lovely looking Home Office worker (Lucy Brown), who bares an uncanny resemblance to Henshall’s dead/missing wife, turned up I knew I was watching a sub-standard X-Files/Torchwood business with scheming characters, annoying kids, time portals and banging music – yet it was surprisingly enjoyable and I haven’t seen a Douglas Henshall performance yet that I didn’t like.
Trouble is, no one in the Home Office is as young or as pretty and Lucy Brown and…I’ve been to the Forest of Dean and the only thing of any creepy note I encountered was an over enthusiastic old man obsessed with fingerless gloves and onanism.
Still, quite a good night in with ITV1.
Duncan James who, if the Dictionary was pictorial would have his face appearing next to the definition of ‘smarmy’, had strangely big hair, an orange skin tight top and a disinterested looking partner. Poor Stephen Gately was admonished – probably quite rightly – for not only not dancing but also for not moving, not smiling and not ‘connecting; to his partner. Kay ‘The Bulldog’ Burley seemed only too keen to connect with her partner, the lovely Fred, who looked as though he’d rather remove his own teeth with a toy plastic hammer than let young Kay perv over him for much longer. Fairly, Kay and Stephen polled the lowest scores where as thinning-haired, thickly-chested ex-rugby star Kyran Bracken stormed the top of the leader board with his amazing ability to slide on one knee and bend simultaneously as he danced!
Primeval followed. Clearly aiming for the roaming ever-so-slightly despondent Dr Who/Robin Hood crew, it began with the standard humour and intrigue fair. A scientist (Douglas Henshall), his loyal student (James Murray) and an irritant know-it-all interloper (Andrew Lee-Potts) head into the Forest of Dean to investigate a large hole in a fence and an apparent errant dinosaur. Meanwhile, a lizard loving zoo girl (Hannah Spearitt) decides to venture into the same forest where a young boy found a computer-generated lizard.
I thought I’d give this a go for two reasons. 1) I know Andrew Lee-Potts in real life quite well and he’s a nice bloke and 2) I was hoping Hannah Spearitt could undo the awful image ex-S Clubbers now have in my mind since grubby Jo O’Meara showed her miserable gob on Celebrity Big Brother.
After a lovely looking Home Office worker (Lucy Brown), who bares an uncanny resemblance to Henshall’s dead/missing wife, turned up I knew I was watching a sub-standard X-Files/Torchwood business with scheming characters, annoying kids, time portals and banging music – yet it was surprisingly enjoyable and I haven’t seen a Douglas Henshall performance yet that I didn’t like.
Trouble is, no one in the Home Office is as young or as pretty and Lucy Brown and…I’ve been to the Forest of Dean and the only thing of any creepy note I encountered was an over enthusiastic old man obsessed with fingerless gloves and onanism.
Still, quite a good night in with ITV1.
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