froodle | Entries tagged with dr who

I went to see Fright Night yesterday. FAILED SO HARD, you guys. I think Colin Farrell and I are now on the path to major, final breakup. The dialogue wasn't funny or clever, the comedic timing was way off (and jesus, you have the Tenth Doctor, the star of In Bruges, and Red Mist all playing major roles, how do you get all three of them to somehow not be hilarious?) there was no plot to speak of and basically everyone was a complete window-licking dullard. Also, Jerry semephored that he was a vampire so hard, that even if you were the kind of person who automatically discounts "oh, he's a vampire" as an explanation for neighbour-based weirdness, you would still think he was a massive creeposaurus.

Also, Colin Farrell's vampire form was this massive fake-head thing that make him look like the kid from Battle Dib. Every time he turned into it, part of me was expecting him to start screaming "SHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNKKKK!" and beating Jailbait Chekov with an over-sized cotton wool bud. The only bits that raised a smile was whenever Jerry got really badly injured, he would do this weird "epilectic on meth" seizure dance thing.

At least it was only an hour and a half long. Even so, it felt like marathoning all three extended editions of Lord of the Rings back-to-back, except for the bit where Lord of the Rings was entertaining. What a waste of talent - in the time they used filming this piece of shit, Colin Farrell and David Tennant could have made one decent film each. That's two decent films that will never get made now. Red Mist and Jailbait Chekov could probably have made something less epicly retarded.

And yes, this is coming from someone who rates Lost Boys 3: the Thirst as a solid three out of five. Well done, Colin Farrell - you just rated lower than a straight-to-video Corey Feldman movie. You must be so proud.

There was a trailer for this new Hugh Jackman movie that appears to be about Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. I do not understand. Tintin looks shit, the Puss in Boots movie looks superfluous, and for some reason Disney is showing the Lion King in 3D and marketing it as "for the first time ever!" Christ, just admit that you've run out of ideas, Disney. Paranormal Whatever 3 looks like an over-long cut of the Bloody Mary episode of Supernatural, and the new Sherlock Holmes movie looks alright.

In other news, I have been catching up on Carnivale - the creepiest thing about Evander Geddes isn't that he suffocates little kids with plaster of paris just so he can take casts of their death agonies - it's that bit where he explains to Ben that his objective is "to capture the soul". Because in Carnivale, that is TOTALLY FEASIBLE. Urgh!

I have been watching the Shield, too - thus far, I rate it "quite good." Possibly I will write more when I know people's names. So far all I know is CCH Pounder, who is in everything. She is a police lady. She does police things. Her partner is kind of a spaz, but is quite good at detectoring. There is a bald man. The bald man is basically in charge. He has three little friends who are like his Crime Army. There's another dude who I think is supposed to be in charge, but everyone hates him and likes the bald man best. The other dude is pretty sour about it. CCH Pounder and her spaz-detecting friend don't seem to care either way - they just like to detect stuff. I don't know. I might be wrong.

Oh dudes, I couldn't even watch the last couple of minutes of Game of Thrones tonight - as soon as Ronan started melting down his blingage, I knew something horrible was coming, so I covered my ears and shut my eyes and basically waited until the screaming stopped and I heard the end-credits theme start playing.

Was it totally gross? Is he alive? I have this phobia of shit happening to people's faces - I've seen and read Watchmen dozens of times and always looked away or skipped the page where Rorschach pours chip fat on that prisoner. I nearly fainted during the Avatar episode with Ko the Face Stealer and again during the Doctor Who episode with the thing in the telly that sucked people's faces away. Can someone who's read the books please warn me if I'm going to have to deal with face-meltage next week?

Why is there not more Nurse!Joker porn? No, seriously. Why? If you're reading this and you haven't written any yet, you should be ashamed. It makes me doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion. Oh, and no Harvey, plzxthx. His stupid zombie-face annoys me.

On a totally different note, I feel it is necessary to state how much I love that episode of Miracles with Sherwood. I love it to the power of one of those sideways figures-of-eight. That scene where he's spinning the wheelchair around in a circle like a disco-dancin' Dalek, and he's going "doo-dee-doo-doo" in his Steven Hawkins machine-voice and the words are also appearing on his computer screen? So awesome, you guys. And also when Skeet tries to stop him from blocking the door and he's like, "Oh, nice, shove a cripple!"

I liked that bit in the Civil War episode where they're in the woods and Skeet's all, "We is lost," and Alva's like, "No, the trees are moving FROM SPOOKINESS!" and Skeet's like, *annoyed face*. Unlike his "I am sad/take me now" face, his "annoyed" face is always appropriate and unambiguous. I bet Alva does that all the time - like, they're trying to find an exit on the highway and they get lost and Alva's like, "Supernatural activities are causing the roads to move around!" and Skeet's like, *annoyed face* and Alva's like, "Skeet? Why are you putting on that Ghostface ma- argh oh no I am stabbed!"

I have never managed to stay awake during Hand of God, though. I don't know what it is, as it's pretty exciting with the murdering and all, but about the time Russ's firebug sidekick from Numb3rs hits Skeet with the iron, I doze off. I think the Skeet/Alva angst just disturbs me so much that my brain shuts down in self-defence.

Man, what the hell is going on with parsnips in this city? There is like a Leeds-wide shortage of parsnips. All Morrisons had were two lonesome prepacked bags of the most tiddly and pointless parsnips ever to be dragged from Gods green earth, and at my local greengrocer? Three. THREE! How am I supposed to make roast parsnips if the Parsnip Gods conspire against me in this way?

Well, my four day weekend was a veritable cornucopia of joy, cake, joy, pastries, joy, potroast, joy, Colin Farrell and joy. It was joyful. Went to A&Js, where the four of us cooked a big roast dinner, (well, three of us. James mostly just got in the way) watched TV and discussed such mind-boggling questions as

Could Sunny Baudelaire bite through Dalek battlearmour?
Is it possible to build a robot capable of defeating Mister T?
What were the people responsible for the new Rocky movie thinking?

Of course, the rest of the week was the usual round of stupid customers, rude customers, customers who can't speak English and customers who for one reason or another are just plain annoying. Still, it is now Saturday, I have in the bag at my feet three parsnips and batteries for a remote control Dalek (which I shall be using to chase Bellatrix around the room until I get bored or she stops freaking out), and the sequel to Elizabeth Knox's fantastiful book, the Rainbow Opera, so if the idiot in the computer booth next to me would just stop his wittering, I'm pretty much set for 48 hours of gleeful lazification.

Could Sunny Baudelaire bite through Dalek battlearmour?
Is it possible to build a robot capable of defeating Mister T?
What were the people responsible for the new Rocky movie thinking?

So, before I start my traditional "it's payday so get thyself to ye olde internet cafe and pay off your credit card bill while swearing never to overindulge in spendthriftery ever again as long as you live, wench" missive, I would like to point out that if you don't read Philip Reeve's Larklight right away, you will burst into flames from lack of PURE AWESOME. Space! Space giant spiders! Space Queen Victoria! Space pirates! Space corsets! Space houses in space! It's full of greatness and space. It even has drawings. Truly, it could not be a better book even if it had Johnny Depp, and surely there can be no higher praise than that.

Christmas, while lacking in the third season of Miami Vice, was nonetheless a pleasent affair of not being at work, eating mince pies and watching such festive themed delights as the Thief Lord, (it has snow!) Doctor Who, (the Christmas Invasion, so it totally counts, and Fiyero is so blatently gay it is unbelievable) that episode of Bones where they all get locked in the lab on Christmas Eve and Dave gets high on antibiotics* and Hodgins is revealed to have a suprisingly good body for a ginger person... and then I got bored of Christmas and watched That 70s Show and Eerie, Indiana instead. And Fitzcairn was in That 70s Show, and I think it's a sign that God wants me to buy Highlander again. So it was fun, and quiet, and generally very joyous.

But then! Oh Boxing Day, the drama of it all. See, I had to work, but none of the buses were running. So I arranged to get a lift with one of the girls I work with, and I'm standing on a street corner at eight in the morning, freezing my ass off, when I am approached by a very large, very black, very heavily-accented man who asks me if I'm okay. So I say that yes, I'm fine, I'm just waiting for someone. So he asks if I'm working, and I reply that I am. And then he asks if I have a place we can go, apparently under the impression that ladies of the night work at eight in the morning on Boxing Day. No, no, say I, I didn't mean that sort of working. I'm waiting for a lift, for my job which is in an office. So he walks off some distance down the street, and I try to stop my knees from shaking and use my psychic powers to get Jayni out of bed. Alas, to no avail. Sleazy McUseswhores returns, and asks if he can have my number. I say that's not a good idea, and that I have a boyfriend. Sleazy replies that he could make me happy (because every woman wants a guy who uses prostitutes and assume that any unaccompanied female out in public must be on the game) and that I have beautiful long hair. I do that quick, panicky, "Oh God help me I'm going to be found raped and strangled in a ditch in Beeston and I know I said I'd do anything to get out of work but not this please Jayni hurry the fuck up!" equivilent of a smile, and Sleazy continues that perhaps I need a knight in shining armour to cut my hair for me, and at that point I fake a text message, babble an excuse and run all the way back to my house.

And then Jayni didn't show up at all, so I had to get a lift with another girl who didn't start until ten, and then I had to walk home from Horsforth and I got lost and ended up in about twenty million industrial estates, and then Holbeck, but eventually I got back so it was okay. And nobody else thought I was a hooker.

Anyway, that was pretty much the stand-out moment since I last wrote, and now I must go home and immerse myself in Torchwood, having done the traditional pay-day shopping trip and coffee with Hot Allocator Girl (whose number I have finally got, go me!) and perhaps do some Hoovering or similar domestic tasks. Although, probably not.

*And while we are on the subject of Dave, Snithy, I rewatched that scene with him and Goodman and their pillows were not touching so you just keep your filthification to yourself, thank you. Dave/Goodman is wrong. Because, the squints are like a super-awesome family in which Goodman is the Daddy and thus Dave/Goodman is incestuous and cross-generational and generally too horrible to contemplate.

Oh my God, I hate buses. Because I was out of town last week, I didn't realise they were striking in Leeds yesterday so like a total plank I waited in the RAIN and the COLD and the DARK and then I had to walk into town where MORE WAITING OCCURED and I was an hour and a quarter late and my manager had the nerve to give me attitude, like I really fucking planned to stand outside that long and maybe get frostbitten toes. And now I owe James cake and/or a monkey holding a puppy for giving me a lift home, and that just WOUNDS MY PRIDE!

But, in gooder news, I now own the second season of new Doctor Who (Genevieve, I blame you for encouraging me to gaze in wonderment at David "way better at being Casanova than Heath Ledger, that knave" Tennent) and HAH! Fiyero is the Prime Minister's aide. It is totally awesome and hilarious and wrongsick all at once, because his voice is MADE OF POSHNESS and it's almost a parody of poshness and then he has to say "rock!" in that voice and it makes me laugh. Although, the Doctor was totally whingy when the Prime Minister blew up those stupid aliens, like slave-trading mind-trick-playing aliens are such a loss to the world. And he's like, waahh, they were leaving, waah, and she's like, yeah, to RETURN WITH MORE ALIEN HOMIES AND ENSLAVE US ALL and the Doctor gets all on his high horse about how evil humanity is, like we didn't already know that we're capable of some of the scuzziest actions in the universe. I mean, I know that, and I haven't been around for squillions of years. Also, I would have done exactly the same thing, only burnier and more painful and, if at all possible, to their children. Because nobody wants a blood feud, am I right? Yeah, I should be the Prime Minister. I'm going to make that my platform when I run for office: A VOTE FOR FROODLE IS A VOTE FOR DEAD ALIEN BABIES! Who's with me?

Also, I have vowed to cut my moaning about Temperance Brennan by at least 20%, based purely on the fact that she makes fun of short people. And encourages My Man Dave to do the same. There should be more mocking of people with genetic conditions on shows that are not House. MOCK FOR JESUS!

Anyway, I am running out of time here and there are potatoes that need eating at home, so I shall just leave you with my thoughts on Happy Feet:- it wasn't as good as the trailer made it look, Robin Williams ruins everything and Hugh Jackman is much more believable as an Elvis-penguin than he is as a posh rat from London. I would marry Memphis. YES EVEN THOUGH HE IS A PENGUIN! Except, of course, I would never cheat on Idina.

Busy, busy weekend; had dinner with Alan and Jess on Friday, and oh my God Blip and Bramble have had babies and they are just the cutest little things ever. They're small enough to sit in the palm of your hand and they're all different colours and already have their own personalities and oh my God, if they don't let me have one I'm just going to cry! We watched Most Haunted and ate chilli and made fun of the Scouse dude for dressing like a used car salesman and then Honey sat on my shoulder while we watched Ghostbusters and marvelled at the concept of Sigourney Weaver as a sex symbol. It's crazy!

Dinner with Genevieve on Saturday, with significantly less cute baby bunnies and far more cute David Tennant as Doctor Who. I still think he's kinda pretty to be the Doctor, but whatever, because he's cute and Zoë Wanamaker was in it and she's awesome even if I do feel bitter every time I see her now because Goddamnit, she should have been Ida. Not that there was anything wrong with Caroline Goodall's performance, but when I have an image of a character fixed in my head, it's hard to let it go.

My advice for today is thus; do not attempt to watch Escaflowne in conjunction with any film directed by Guy Ritchie, especially Snatch. You'll just end up feeling like an asshole when the Dragonslayers die and all you can hear is Jason Statham saying "your life doesn't flash before your eyes 'cause you're too fuckin' scared to think - you just freeze and pull a stupid face", and then you can't help laughing at that one Dragonslayer with blood pouring out of his mouth so that it looks like he's missing his front teeth, hillbilly-style.