The first shot of the episode establishes one of it's major flaws - the "Rattigan Academy" is clearly the same building that has been used for multiple Whoniverse exteriors. The only one that springs to mind is the Medusa episode of Sarah Jane, but I distinctly recall saying "they used that building on Sarah Jane" during some other episodes. What's more, it's all lit up purple - re-using sets is one thing, re-using the purple lightbulbs every time you want to make any set look slightly different and people are going to start noticing.

RTD has spoken out against the re-use of the same quarries in Old Who, but the crucial thing to remember about a quarry is that it's a big fucking hole in the ground, and most big fucking holes in the ground look the same, more or less. It doesn't stretch the credibility of the programme in quite the same way as having every other villain living in the same house, or inhabiting the same stretch of corridor. Quarries don't have cornices, bannisters, recognisable elements which no purple lightbulb can disguise very well.

It might seem like a little thing to gripe about, but I can't see what would be so difficult about finding another building, so anyone who has the temerity to be familiar with the previous episodes isn't constantly pulled out of the action. There's loads of buildings, everywhere. Even in Wales. The majority of the audience won't care, but then, the majority of dogs won't care that much if they eat vomit for their dinner. Here's some other ways this episode of Who made me think "Golly! How unoriginal!" or "the guys in charge of Doctor Who must smoke big delicious lumps of heroin aaall day long!"

1. The plot is something to do with a load of clones. You might remember the "loads of clones" plot device from Helen Raynors last spell on Who, writing Daleks In Manhattan. Load of clones? Load of REHASHED CRAP, more like.

2. Seemingly innocuous modern technology integral to evil scheme? What, like in Rise Of The Cybermen? It's like these plot elements are decided by cycles of the moon, and at the same time every year we have to sit down and watch more or less the same episode. A jumble of the same elements. Only for 2008, they decided to not bother moving the big Earth invasion to an alternate universe or Manhattan. Look, why the fuck is Doctor Who so bound by formula? I mean, across an entire series? No central concept of any programme is better suited for keeping the audience on their toes, throwing them the odd curveball, but it's something this show apparently can't be arsed doing. Thanks guys!

3. Who does the character of Luke Rattigan remind me of? Hmmm. I think it's probably Adam, from the episode Dalek. Mostly because they are both diminutive child-prodigy slash teenage geniuses who look the same, only Luke has a shit American accent, and Adam was just friends with someone who did. Either way, just pay someone to sit in the room with you and point out these overt similarities, so you can cast around them. When casting a "genius", why not try casting someone who doesn't radiate stupidity from his bulging shiny face? Little tip, there.

4. Why would you invent the Judoon if you were going to use the Sontarans a year later? Why rip off the Sontarans, and then do the Sontarans? Were the Who production team really organised in making sure this episode was boring? Did they pick all the sets and ideas, and then go out of their way to use them all in the previous three series?

5. Dear Doctor Who,

Please stop referring to your companions by their forename and surname and then lapsing into a drivel speech about a load of made-up places with stupid names in space, like the crumbling azure waterfalls of mars fifteen, or whatever. It was cool the first two times or so, but no more!

Lots of love,

Michael Lacey

6. When introducing a new alien, you may be unwilling to reveal them immediately, and tease the audience for a while as to their appearance. One way of doing this is to have the alien shown from behind, watching a computer screen. We will hear their voice, and perhaps see their hand. Maybe they will be wearing a helmet! Maybe there are OTHER WAYS to achieve this effect, and maybe not having your alien staring out of the Radio Times cover for a week beforehand would make it more effective. Perhaps you could all stop drinking Lambrini and fucking eachother for long enough to write some new plot devices, eh?

Here's another problem, and it's one that's so fucking easily fixed it makes me want to spew. I'm pretty drunk, so I might spew anyway. Yes, I'm sometimes drunk when I write these things. Who'd have guessed? It's obvious that with science fiction, and especially science fiction aimed at a family audience, a large part of what the characters are going to be saying is utter bollocks. Just total bollocks. It's unavoidable - for the purposes of advancing the plot, you need to introduce ludicrous concepts, and have characters be able to accurately describe things that would make normal people recoil in fear. You don't want what they're saying to sound like bollocks, or what they're doing to look ridiculous, so you introduce characters who are intelligent and well-versed in the paranormal. That way, when they look at something, and say "it's a pansexual clone alien!", you'll believe them, even though it sounds ridiculous. Here Raynor fumbles again - it's a lowly footsoldier who discovers the first weirdy treat of the episode (a blank clone in a puddle of green piss) and his identification of it as "some kind of embryo!" sounds just as ludicrous and vague as it actually is, because it's delivered badly and without gravitas by an unknown character who's also a bit of a dick. The fact that Sontaran General Mike Off The Young Ones turns up a second later and says "well done, ten points!" doesn't really manage to patch up this overlong and terminally rubbish scene.

The "one-line dialogue fix" is also a common sci-fi trope - throw your protagonists into ludicrous situations, and some smart-arse is bound to think of an easier way out for them than your convoluted ending. So, you throw in one line of dialogue that explains why that option is not an option, and the audience is back to relating with your characters rather than thinking that they are idiots. And I know this show is aimed at children, but surely even the most dim-witted child on a dizzying sugar high would wonder why AN ARMY MAN can't BREAK THE WINDOW OF A CAR. Or, perhaps, take the keys out of the ignition? How many drafting processes did this episode go through without someone saying "guys, this is a bit stupid"?

On Confidential, Raynor explains that the "buzzword" she was given for the tone of this episode was "military", a box she cleverly ticked by having a load of soldiers run around allover the place. I think a better buzzword would have been "stupid", because a character of The Doctors intelligence needs to occasionally say intelligent things rather than just grimace and point his sonic screwdriver at things. The cliffhanger of this episode - BERNARD CRIBBINS IS TRAPPED IN A CAR WHICH IS FARTING DEADLY GAS (OUTSIDE THE CAR, SO I'M NOT ENTIRELY SURE WHY HE'S SO WORRIED) actually happens about five minutes before the end, and we're treated to a delightfully long scene of The Doctor GRIMACING and POINTING HIS SONIC SCREWDRIVER at the car. In the absence of any intelligent dialogue, this resembles the actions of a man who, when he realises that his remote control isn't working, carries on pointing it at the telly and pressing the buttons anyway, like a big stupid gorilla. Weren't we told halfway through the episode that the sonic screwdriver didn't affect the devices (yes, we were)? The Doctor arguing his way out of being driven into a river by ATMOS resembles the kind of logical quandary Tom Baker would often find himself in ("one tells the truth, one lies, you have one question" etc), but it's simply paying lip-service to Old Who without even attempting to craft a genuinely challenging mental problem.

Also, Martha's back! Hooray! Or to put it another way, what? Martha's role in this episode depressingly underlines the fact that the writers have never known what the fuck to do with her, at all. I'm still not a fan of Catherine Tate's character but at least the character itself has some definition, so that everything Donna does in this episode is somehow motivated by her own will. She wants to go and see her family, she doesn't like the army man, and we understand and relate to these things. Conversely, everything Martha does - summon the Doctor, provide a way in to UNIT, get cloned by Sontarans - is in service of the plot, and says nothing about her as a person. She's a void. A sexy void. This utter shabby lack of on-screen character development (she's engaged, so she doesn't fancy the Doctor anymore, but this doesn't seem to affect her relationship with him at all, so why do we care?) makes her sudden rise up the UNIT ranks seem like a trite plot device dreamt up one boozy afternoon as a flimsy excuse for reviving a still-born character. It's not that I have a problem with trite or flimsy plotting - how could anyone who enjoys science fiction? - it's that Doctor Who as a programme seems to have forgotten that established genre conventions and emotionally engaging the audience are a more effective means of telling a story than having boring one dimensional characters explain off-screen events.

That said, what's good about the episode?

The bit where they're shown walking into a van, and then once they're inside a van it's clearly a much larger set than would fit in the van - that bit was good!

The bit where a familiar warehouse set is lit pink to look like somewhere else, even though it's already been lit pink to look like somewhere else in an earlier episode? That bit was good!

The bit where a soldier pre-empts the audience by saying "he looks like a giant potato!", in a kind of ironic meta-reference that was trendy about 12 years ago, even though the new Sontarans look more like old maltesers than potatoes? That bit was good!

The bit where everyone passes around and looks intently at an empty file as if they're going to discover an important piece of evidence, which is ridiculous because it's just an empty fucking file, and nobody says "couldn't these bits of paper just have been lost somewhere?"? That bit was good!

The way no set actually resembles what it's supposed to be, ie, the Rattigan Academy is a posh house full of weird shit and the factory doesn't seem to have any machinery in it? I totally loved the way this made the episode really bewildering and hard to follow.

The scene where a Polish guy looks blank and confused and overworked and talks in stilted, basic English? I totally loved the way this made Martha look racist against Polish people.

The way The Doctors anti-gun policy seemed to change from furious to tolerant depending on who he was talking to? This made his stance seem totally well thought out and worthy of inclusion in the episode!

Oh no, what I've done there is list a load of other things that were shit about this episode. Literally the only thing I can imagine praising about it is Sontaran General Mike Off The Young Ones, who was pretty good.

Well, actually, a few other negatives occur to me right now, so bear with me as I roll through them, keeping in mind (always keeping in mind) that I recommend this album, and I'm only bothering to highlight these things because I imagine that fans of Flight of the Conchords will buy this no matter what I say, and non-fans would have no reason to buy it anyway.

But wait! Wouldn't non-fans like to hear this excellent release? Shouldn't it initiate them into the world of the Conchords and make them realize what they've been missing for so long? Well, no. As good as the album is, this really isn't the way to expose somebody new to the band.

Why? Well...I hate to say it, but the versions presented here really do represent the "worst of both worlds" for potential new fans. These versions of the songs are (at least sort of--more on this later) the reworked, fully-orchestrated versions you've heard in the HBO series. These worked so well on the show because they were supported by that week's plot, by excellent physical performances during the song, and by some truly brilliant music-video pastiche. To listen to these versions without the accompanying visuals (and often without the accompanying narrative, however loosely they may be connected) you aren't getting the complete experience. The fully-orchestrated versions are less funny on their own. That's just the nature of the recording, and I'm sure the Conchords themselves realize this.

(Worth mentioning, probably, is the fact that these more fleshed-out versions of the songs sort of disguise the excellent musicianship of the duo. After all, anyone can sound good under a mountain of studio musicians and trickery--but when it's just the boys and their guitars they have nowhere to hide, and they reveal themselves as masters of many, varied genres. A shame to almost lose that here, but there you go.)

For a newcomer, it's best to either hear the live versions (with audience interaction and great banter) or watch the television show. Both different experiences, yes, but both excellent introductions. With this CD you neither get the appropriate context nor the energy of live performance. Does this make the album less enjoyable? Well, that's debateable. It doesn't bother me, but it does decide for me that I won't be using this to turn any new fans onto the Conchords.

Speaking of context, a definite issue with this release is how context-free it manages to be. It's a pretty manic assortment of songs, as you probably already know, and what it manages to enforce is how important it was that the songs in the show were used so sparingly and never back to back. Even their live shows feature large amounts of banter and setup, and it's very important for allowing the audience a chance to "reset" after a certain musical style and before the next. The album hits you from too many different directions without allowing any real time to reflect. A limitation of the medium? Sure. But the fact of the matter is that the songs are all grouped together too closely to really achieve anything more than the sum of their parts.

Another issue is definitely going to be track selection, especially when the album clocks in at a mere 42 minutes or so. There was plenty of room to include all of the cuts from the television show, and probably a re-recorded rarity or two. Instead we get fourteen songs, which is nearly all of them--but not all. I'm Not Crying and If You're Into It appear on the Distant Future EP, so that's a must-buy if you're a fan, as those songs are as good as any other. And apparently Bret You've Got it Going On was an iTunes exclusive. But a few songs--Albi the Racist Dragon, Frodo, Pencils in the Wind and Song for Sally--appear to have been neglected entirely. Which is a shame, because the latter two are brilliant songs that I think would work much better audio-only than most of the cuts that did make the album. Here's hoping they turn up on a followup.

So far it sounds as though I'm treating this album like a soundtrack, right? Well...maybe I am. And it almost is. But it isn't...because, if you pay attention, you'll notice that these recordings are not identical to the ones you've heard on HBO. They're very, very, very close, but they are different. In a way this is a good thing--after all, it means they didn't just slap down the existing audio recorded for the show and call it a day. But, on the other hand, the songs seem to lose more from the re-recording than they gain. Case in point: a few excised jokes from Business Time, including my two favorite lines from the song!

For the most part the re-record seems to have been used to touch up instrumentation a bit or in a few cases to alter the inflection on the vocals (Leggy Blonde and A Kiss is Not a Contract are probably the most obvious examples), but, as mentioned above, you do end up losing a joke or two in the process. I understand (and appreciate) the desire to craft something new, but there isn't enough newness to justify the omissions.

One thing I would have liked to have seen--considering they already went through the trouble of a re-record--would have been a few extended versions of certain songs, like Foux du Fafa or Boom that would have benefitted from an extended outro. Or maybe another verse or two to flesh out A Kiss is Not a Contract, which all of a sudden seems criminally short when removed from the context of its episode. In other words it's a lovely song that really needs some more room to breathe if it's going to survive on its own.

The fact of the matter is, though, that this album is loaded with brilliant songs, many of which (Inner City Pressure, Leggy Blonde) could easily have been hits for other, less-discriminating artists with a few minor lyrical changes, and others that will make you laugh every single time (Mutha'uckas, The Most Beautiful Girl [In the Room]), though probably at different lines and rhymes each time you listen.

You already know whether or not you're interested in buying this album so, by all means, follow yout gut. But if you're new to the Conchords and you're interested in learning more about them, check out some live perfomances on YouTube, and definitely grab yourself a copy of their television show on DVD. You won't be disappointed, and you'll probably end up with a quiet little crush on Rhys Darby.

If the album suffers from anything, it's that it leaves you with that same feeling you got when you burned all of your absolute favorite songs to one CD, then listened to it, and couldn't understand why it wasn't your new favorite album. There's just something preventing that overall cohesiveness. But the songs all work just fine during the course of their own runtime--and that's more than enough to justify the purchase.

Oh, you get a nice little poster with it, too. It's a lot larger than the "posters" that usually come with CDs. Somewhere out there someone is interested in that.

Razor-sharp. Brilliant. Irreplaceable.

Thank you for everything, Humph. The world is a much poorer place without you.

Thankfully, Planet of the Ood represents a significant step up – and while perhaps still nowhere near the highlights the previous three series have offered, it’s certainly a step in the right direction. The overriding feeling is that of a “classic”-style adventure (albeit compressed into the current series’ forty-five minute format), and this is evident in a number of the episode’s aspects.

For a kickoff, it’s nice to see once again the idea of journeying in the TARDIS as a “mystery tour” – it’s a setup that’s appeared at various instances in the show’s history, whether it’s been down to a malfunctioning guidance circuit or a deliberate “randomiser”, and it lends a nice “hurtling through space and time” feel to proceedings. It’s certainly more palatable than the idea of being called back to present-day Earth at a moment’s notice by Mickey, Martha or whoever.

I’ll freely admit, meanwhile, that prior to the start of the series I was a fully paid-up member of the rabid anti-Tate brigade. But while she may not have fully justified her presence in the show in my eyes, though, she’s definitely getting better. After a shaky start featuring all kinds of unnecessarily larking and squealing around the console room, writer Keith Temple nails down a pretty strong Doctor/companion dynamic – and again, it’s one that feels quite “classic” in its nature. While her character couldn’t be more different, there’s almost… dare I say it… a Sarah Jane-ish feel to the way Donna firmly centres situations around herself, particularly regarding supporting characters.

And the old-school feel spreads to the construction, too. It’s a luxury that’s rarely been afforded the new series, thanks to the relative brevity of stories, but it really is nice to be able to properly spend time with the secondary characters around whom the individual stories revolve. Particularly when you’ve got guest stars of the calibre of Tim McInnerny – who here turns in a solid, if a little subdued performance, although when getting shouty there’s more than a hint of Captain Darling coming through. It’s interesting, too, that rather than being a maniacal billionaire, there’s more of a sense of him being a desperate, slightly failing businessman – it adds a slightly different edge to the story, although the “bad humans enslaving others” allegory is still perhaps a bit heavy-handed.

Speaking of those “enslaved others”, one of the real pleasures of the episode is getting to spend a bit more time with the Ood. I’d say they’re probably the one truly successful “new” monster created in the RTD era so far – there’s something quite compelling about their look, style and backstory (even if they’re not wholly original – it’s hard not to think of Doctor Zoidberg, for example; and indeed, you wonder if the shoehorning in of an incongruous Simpsons reference early in the ep is a faint and abstract reference to this). Despite being fairly grotesque in appearance, there’s also something strangely cute about them when in “gentle” mode – and you’re made to genuinely feel for their suffering, particularly during the affecting sequence with a dying Ood in the snow.

With Graeme Harper at the helm, you can always be assured of some classy direction, and so it proves here. In the establishing scenes, we’re treated to some utterly lovely landscape and planet shots – as well as a cameo appearance by what appears to be Thunderbird 3! – and he nails the action, as well, with a claw/crane chase sequence that at script level feels perhaps a little deliberately tacked-on, but in execution is at least stylish and gripping. The climactic “transformation” scene, meanwhile, is genuinely unsettling – the skin peeling moment easily rivalling the infamous “gask mask” sequence from The Empty Child – but it is let down slightly by a quick cut to a profile shot of emerging tentacles that feels rather more fake.

All in all, while still perhaps remaining in the realm of “early season filler”, Planet of the Ood is a decent, old-fashioned “alien exploration” kind of a story, perhaps slightly lacking in action but nevertheless rattling along at a better pace than either of the two episodes so far. It’s worth noting also that, ironically for an episode with a plot point hinging on the use of music, that Murray Gold’s score is far less intrusive than elsewhere of late (and the new theme is kind of starting to grow on me – while I still think it’s ridiculously busy, I do rather like the eighties-style “DUM DUM DUM DUM” as the episode title appears). Series four may not have hit the ground running the way series three did, but thankfully there are signs emerging that Team Cardiff certainly haven’t lost the knack of delivering the goods. Let’s hope the upward trajectory can continue with a proper “blockbuster” two-parter next week…

Watch Out! - Car Theft (1973)
This was part of the famous 'Watch out! There's a thief about' campaign. A car thief steals someone's car whilst they're at a football match, and we see the car being driven to a garage to be resprayed, all while the owner is telling his friend about the car in the voiceover. The message at the end is to lock all doors, close all windows, and to take the key with you. Nowadays, drivers are far more savvy about car security; in fact, an entire industry has grown up around it. However, the focus for thieves moved to what was inside the car; firstly, car radios, and when they became much harder to steal, satellite navigation units.

Tell the Police (1963)
This encourages people to look out for possible intruders, and to always call the police if they see anything suspicious. Rightly or wrongly, there's a lack of confidence among the population of the UK nowadays that the police will investigate every call they get, and it's interesting that the focus for public campaigns changed soon after this to put the onus on the property owner. It's likely that this was in response to the increase in personal wealth over the 20th century, especially from the 1980s onwards. There was a good reason people could leave their doors open in the old days; they usually didn't have anything worth nicking.

Menace (1970)
A rather threatening PIF claiming that someone 'watching this programme' (so obviously planned for commercial breaks) would be burgled tonight. It's part of the 'If it opens, lock it' campaign. It seems an unlikely claim for the time, and is even more unlikely now in a multi-channel and home entertainment environment. Still, the advice is sound.

Snatch of the, erm, Day.

Pick Pockets (1975)
A frankly unforgettable PIF, which opens with the caption "SNATCH OF THE DAY". The first time I saw this, I was incapaciated for around 5 minutes or so whilst I tried to stop laughing. A pickpocket is interviewed whilst he explains the various ways he can steal from the unwary. According to him, the one place he can't snatch is a nudist colony. Quite.

Purse Snatcher (1971)/Guard Your Purse (1973)
A dodgy looking sort in Safeway nicks some poor woman's purse, and a gossiping old woman realises too late that someone's come along and swiped hers as well. As the PIF says; look after your purse - before someone else does.

Bicycle Thefts (1974)/A Thief Would Like Your Bike (70s)
Lots of comic performances here, as people report the theft of their bike but can't describe it, didn't lock it to something, left valuables in the saddlebag and don't know the frame number. It's all topped off by a constable coming into the station and saying "You're not going to believe this, Sarge, but somebody's nicked me bike!". In the second PIF, Derek Griffiths larks about whilst warning us that we ought to take precautions against our bike being nicked.
Again, a whole industry has grown up around bike security, but the thefts continue unabated.

A right dodgy little git.

Where's Your Lad? (1980)/Fireworks - Where's Your Lad Tonight? (1976)
A stark warning to parents; if you don't know where your teenage son (or daughter) is at night, chances are that they're up to no good. A warning that's still relevant today. The same message is in the second PIF, emphasised for the period around Bonfire Night, when fireworks are easier to get hold of.

Vandalism (1976)
A group of residents angrily clear up their street after some vandals have been at it. They talk about how they feel powerless to stop it, and the voiceover explains that there is something you can do - call the police. However, the competing demands on the police service nowadays means that they can't often catch the vandals in the act.

The little toerags, eh? The message is still the same today; if you've got stuff, protect it, because someone else wants it.

Sigh. Are the yoof of today really that unable to cope with the originals? As the tracks are not altered that much either, the whole enterprise seems to be a waste of time from my point of view, but then I'm not the one earning money from it. Utah Saints may be satisfied, but it's the aural equivalent of premature ejaculation for me.

The Doctor, there

Although the high concept of the episode is to use the inquisitive Ms Noble as an excuse to nail down the reasons why the Doctor doesn’t seek to avert real life tragedies, this doesn’t prevent an interesting A-story developing. Rather than labour the point, and show Donna being denounced in the streets as a apocalypse-preaching lunatic, James Moran emphases the superstition of the times, suggesting that it would be this factor that would thwart any attempt to save the citizens. Sensibly borrowing from Lance Parkin’s acclaimed audio drama Spare Parts, he presents events from the eyes of an ordinary family. The involvement of the Caecilius & Co is extremely well constructed, firstly through the gentle cliché of their having come into possession of the TARDIS, but then as a means of moving the main plot forward. Rather than being fixated on the city’s fate, the story takes time to embrace its roman setting, with political skulduggery and the paterfamilias concept worked into the plot. Up to the twenty-five minute mark, the story is superb, with the only weak point being its magma monsters. The dictat that historicals must feature enemies derived from their setting is becoming a severe irritant, although the Doctor’s holding off the Pyroviles with a water pistol is a delight. Much more interesting are the semi-historical Sibylline cult, with their simple but effective telepathic gimmick, and the accuracy of the city’s soothsayers is a brilliant way of introducing an air of unease.

Unfortunately, at this point, things start to go awry. The quarry-based excursion to Mt Vesuvius is a rather odd direction for the story to take, completely removing the personal drama that has so far characterised the episode in favour of an uncomplicated run-around. It’s easy to understand the production team’s reasoning here- I watched the initial transmission of The Shakespeare Code with a group of young relatives, who proceeded to gradually loose interest in the mixture of wordplay and rock star spooffery. However, even if this episode had been constructed as a pure historical, it would have still offered the most visually impressive climax of any episode of Doctor Who to date- the forced injection of action here feels rather unnecessary.

Even more seriously, the clarity of events of the story’s opening is completely absent from its finale. The conclusion of the episode suffers from the same poor storytelling that blighted Moran’s work on Torchwood earlier this year. As events are depicted on screen, the Doctor behaves in an inexplicable and callous fashion, initially leaving the episode’s guest stars to a horrific fate, before returning to assist them on a whim. As with Sleeper, it’s possible to mentally reconstruct the intended message. The Doctor has been thinking in terms of the absolute barriers that prevent his saving Gallifrey and his people. On realising this, he decides that he can risk the slight interference that Donna suggests, while letting the general path of history take its course. Unlike Gridlock, which also traced some dubious behaviour by the Doctor to the trauma of the Time War, there is no foreshadowing of the fate of the Time Lords playing on the Doctor’s mind, and its impact is drowned out in the barrage of fire and ash. The epilogue to the episode, showing how the saved family have come to worship the Doctor as a god, redeems matters slightly. There’s a deliberate contrast with Martha’s claims in The Last Of The Time Lords that the Doctor “never asks to be thanked”, and a not very subtle hint that this slight alteration to the web of time has set a disturbing train of events in motion. Hopefully, we’ll see this strand re-emerge as the series continues.

Had the initial focus of the episode been maintained, this story could have been an all-time classic. Unfortunately, the story’s ending is swamped by the enormity of its task.

Review by Michael Lacey

Peter Capaldi, there.

First up, how did Pete Capaldi and a red-haired woman manage to have one pale, willowy daughter and one son who looks nothing like any of them? He looks like he might actually be from Pompeii, which seems a pointless concession to reason when you've already had Phil Cornwell as a cockney market trader, in Pompeii. The Tardis-translation thing means that this makes a basic sort of sense, but the episode makes the mistake of examining this bit of hokey sci-fi logic and picking holes in it for comic effect. If you want to have an episode-long verbal running joke a la Shakespeare Code or the werewolf one, does it really have to be one that makes one of the basic elements of your programmes internal logic look frankly stupid? And having raised the issue of language translations being a difficult business, why pepper the rest of the script with tricksy language and dual-meaning puns? It's very distracting. The Shakespeare Code, which seems like an obvious comparison, whilst occasionally lapsing into Harry Potter-quoting silliness, came across as a reasonably intelligent and well researched episode. Fires Of Pompeii is better at maintaining a serious face, but just isn't as clever as it thinks it is. A "Six Months Later" epilogue, which could have been an emotional coda to the episode, is just a stupid tacked on happy ending which closes with one of the stupidest images Who has managed to date.

What's up with Series Four and scenes that go on for way too long? Last week Donna and Steve Zissou chatting about nothing-all for about six minutes, and this week all that Mary Poppins shit with Pete Capaldis "family". It's crucial to the climax of the episode that we empathise with these people, but they're rubbish, and I already can't buy into the notion of them being a family in any way at all because they all look like Latin textbook illustrations apart from the son who looks like Enrique Iglesias.

Just as all this stupidity is getting too much, some great big fucking monsters made of rock appear and things start to improve. The stupid rock escape pod thing? Not even going to complain, because there was big rock monsters and great big explosions to distract me. Then Donna did something that Martha didn't really manage - established a believable relationship with The Doctor. It's kind of nice that the production team has realised it wasn't just that Rose was a sexy bird who asked appropriate questions, it was the fact that her relationship with The Doctor was co-dependant which engaged audiences (not even really the romance). It's nice to have that kind of dynamic back instead of giving The Doctor an actual fawning lapdog, and that they've redefined it somewhat as Donna being necessary to stop The Doctor from like, going on killing sprees. But still, did it have to be Catherine fucking Tate? Ughhhh. A character can serve the same PURPOSE as Rose without needing to be COCKNEY and SORT OF, YOU KNOW, COMMON. Take note, BBC. So I am slightly more convinced than previously that Donna might be sort of worthwhile, but I still don't *like* her, and with her "what d'you do for fun? go down the shops? hang out wiv yer mates? EAT CHIPZZZZ?" segment, I remembered how patronisingly this series has always handled it's depiction of ver-working-class, who are only ever allowed to be shown eating CHIPS or PIZZA, and preferably going "OOH LOVELY CHIPS LOVELY PIZZA! WE'RE JUST LIKE *YOU*!" over and over while half chewed food flies out of their mouth and down their face and they make smutty expressions at eachother.

Still, that's me complaining about the series as a whole again, rather than reviewing this episode. The climax is well-set up and dramatic, and the "omg we're going to diee" moment is effectively underplayed. The volcano explosion looks brilliant (the effects department is the only bit of Who that has really consistently gone from strength to strength), but all the should-we-or-shouldn't-we rescue Pete Capaldi's family stuff and him slowly coining the word volcano ("it's like some kind of ...volcano!" wasn't even the worst line of the episode) made me want to eat piss with boredom. A piece of effects-laden fluff like this needs to make its point then get off the stage, rather than fanny about with these dud emotional crescendos. Save it for Moffatt. Does the episode succeed on its own terms? No. Is it fun to watch rock monsters smash shit about and watch great characters actors bellow portentously about Gallifrey and their own psychic powers? Well, yeah, obviously.

I nearly forgot about that events in flux / fixed events thing. I still can't decide if it's super-awesome or super-lame and I can't be bothered, but getting specific about The Doctors super-powers and time-vision seems to go against the series' spirit of mystery for the sake of the plot of one episode that really only needed the following plot anyway - ROCK MONSTER SMASH UP LATIN TEXTBOOK. BOOOOOOOM.

When Doctor Who was first launched, in black and white times, it blew everyone's tits off. This much we know. It had a unique central concept which offered infinite storytelling possibilities, and it made rich use of them. Then, over time, the series got bogged down in its own mythology, made dubious overtly populist casting decisions, and die-hard fans across the land were in uproar. The thing is though, that took about twenty fucking years, or something. RTD's much-lauded reboot of the series has managed a similar feat in a much shorter time period, and sadly, Partners In Crime does little to dispel the idea that the series is set firmly on a course to disappoint essentially the kind of people who are likely to be reading this review, unless NTS is performing better than I'm aware of in the mentally subnormal or 10 years and below brackets.

Series One had it's flaws, but even the clunkiest episodes gave off the feeling that they were striving for greatness. Over time, the professionalism of the typical episode has risen - there are fewer moments where you feel you're watching a school play and things zip along at a pleasing pace, the characterisation of the Doctor is much improved and the music, while still over-used, has improved immeasurably since S1 (they still haven't quite figured out how to do "light" episodes like this one, mind). But the ambition has all but evaporated. When this Who relaunch first started gathering pace, did RTD and his team imagine they would be getting Racquel off Coronation Street to hover mid-air, flailing her arms like Wile E Coyote, before plummeting to the ground? Were Road Runner cartoons an influence cited in their brief for reviving a seminal Science Fiction series? Or has everything just gone a bit fucked? I'm inclined to believe that everything has just gone a bit fucked, and they might have been better taking that year off this year rather than next.

Out of four series openers, three have started with shots of women walking to work. One of the few things that didn't piss me off about New Earth was that it flung us right back into the action, and given that Doctor Who is the most popular programme in the earth and no actual new characters are being introduced in this episode, why do I need to watch Catherine Tate walk to work, accompanied by jaunty music? The episode ACKNOWLEDGES the lack of a need for an audience surrogate at this point by refusing to explain a new gadget the Doctor is running about with, or the psychic paper that he uses about ten times. Can DOCTOR WHO not just be the main character of an episode of DOCTOR WHO for a bloody fucking change?

There were scenes I enjoyed - the sonic device battle in a window-cleaning thingy was tense and well handled, Bernard Cribbin's appearance as Steve Zissou was welcome, the one I'll come to in a minute, and Tennant's Doctor is obviously, by now, down pat, and had a nice moment alone in the Tardis. But far more frequent were the scenes when I thought, "I'm watching a programme aimed at children. A programme which used to straddle age divides and unite families, but now exists solely for the very young and very old, and does not treat me with any intelligence whatsoever". To whit - the Pilsbury dough-man aliens, the emotional chats which went on so long I considered suicide, the idiotic comedy routines which went on so long I considered ever more complex methods of suicide, the "so you're basically like SUPERNANNY, incase anyone has failed to get this?" line, the fifteen scenes where it cut back to Doctor Who and he was just standing by that rubbish computer in a cupboard thing doing very little at all, the thuddingly familiar plot elements (sinister businesspeople) and all the bits after Catherine Tate bumped into Doctor Who and turned into a screaming thicko again.

Possible shots at redemption for this series so far - Moffat's first two-parter since Series One, the return of all that lot, the possibility of thingyo as the big villain, no romantic arc between the two leads, the overall series arc thus far having been not been laid out in detail by tabloid newspapers. On the strength of this episode, essentially the worst series opener yet, it seems more likely that Series Four will mimic Series Three in that the good bits seem to exist in their own little bubble, incapable of redeeming the whole. Roll on M*****t and C*****e.

And as for THAT moment, at the end? Well, I didn't really see it coming, and frankly, it gave me such chills that I'm almost inclined to forgive this episode the rest of its sins. It was ballsy, undercuts the importance of us all being spoiled a while ago about Rose's re-appearance and hits at a more serialised format that the series would definitely benefit from, as I don't imagine we're due an explanation anytime soon. That music, too! It was great, But to be honest, it was largely great because it reminded me of a time when Doctor Who was less likely to appall me, which feels like a long time ago.

Gray has been perfectly threaded through this series, as direct references in Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and Adam, while lurking in the motivation behind others. Jack’s memories of losing his brother clearly played a part in both the character’s reluctance to let Owen rest in peace, and his actions towards the rift victims in Adrift. There’s a grim irony here- Jack’s team have risen to every challenge, only to fall before the one he brought to their door. When interviewed about the episode, Chibnall has admitted that John was originally the main enemy, with Gray a subservient minion. Although the broadcast form of the story obviously owes something to a desire not to turn a popular guest character into an irredeemable villain, it’s easy to support the final incarnation of the plot. Although the implication that anyone tortured for long enough becomes a monster is an unfortunate one, its believable that Jack’s failing of Gray would loom as large in the mind of the latter as the former. By taking charge of the situation, Jack gains the capacity to forgive himself, even if his brother’s acceptance must still be won. Unfortunately, the story occasionally over-reaches, with the most acute problem being John’s motivation. Until the plot depends on it, we’re never given any demonstration of Hart’s love for Jack, leaving Marsters’ protestations sounding flat and unconvincing. Also a difficulty is the perpetual suffocation accepted by Jack as his penance for abandoning his sibling. After nineteen centuries of unimaginable horror, it’s hard to imagine the Captain still being sane, let alone able to quickly devise a plan to save the day. A minor niggle is Gray’s addressing Jack as “brother”- given this series’ willingness to expand on Harkness’s past, the reluctance to give his real name feels a little childish.

Although the episode does more than any other to further develop Jack’s character, most discussions of it have centred on the deaths of Owen and Toshiko. It’s odd to think that the lives of these initially second-string characters have been spread across more screen time than either Rose Tyler or Martha Jones’s adventures. Gorman gives the high quality performance we’ve come to expect from him, conveying both Owen’s instinctive immaturity and his underlying compassion, but it’s Mori’s work that leaves the greatest impression. Finally given material she can get her teeth into, the result makes the viewer speculate on what she might have achieved if not relegated to a plot device so frequently. Her video epilogue is note-perfect; played with modesty and humour while underlining that there’s only one way of leaving Torchwood. The pair will be mourned by the series’ fans, but probably not missed. Such wholesale changes are the inevitable destination of the path the show has walked down this year. Rather than change the format or enlarge the cast, the creative team have firmly adhered to a policy of taking the format of Series One, and making it succeed consistently. Unlike its parent show, Torchwood cannot rely on a new location every week or so to take the viewers’ breath away, and so is forced to use the emotional development of the regulars far more prominently. This detailed work with such a small set of characters, charting their relationships with each other so intensely, has taken its toll. The opening character line-up has been wrung dry, with new dynamics needed if the show is to continue.

These changes are a wrench, but the story never descends into melancholy. There’s a playfulness in Chibnall’s script that makes what would otherwise be a horrifically bleak turn of events bearable. Having introduced a nuclear reactor in meltdown, the perfect sci-fi shorthand for immanent death, the writer toys with the viewers as to which characters will be dispatched to the scene. It’s hard not to laugh out loud as Chibnall devotes some of Owen & Toshiko’s final words, not to giving emotional closure to their relationship, but to fixing the continuity error in Aliens of London concerning Tosh’s area of expertise. In the presence of these winks to the viewer, John’s wisecracking doesn’t seem at all out of place. The writer also displays skill in coping with the limitations of production. Aside from the signature shot of John’s bombs exploding across the city, this episode was clearly written with a tight budget in mind. With the exception of the (superbly realised) scythe-wielders, the monsters raging across the city are of the bargain-basement variety. After the return of the army of Weevils seen in Dead Man Walking, not the mention the Hoix, the viewer is left waiting to see if Ianto will end up wrestling a Graske before the end of the episode. This approach, however, is sensible, as it presumably freed up funds for episodes without the alliance of James Marsters with the deaths of two regulars to supply drama in abundance.

While Fragments saw Chibnall acknowledging the series’ as-built flaws, here he addresses its worn out elements, thoughtfully carrying out maintenance ready for a new owner. With the underlying themes of Series Two brought to such a well-crafted conclusion, it’s hard to share its survivors’ gloom.

In Everything Changes, Russell T Davies spent the entire episode using Gwen Cooper as his audience point-of-view character to introduce the team, but left little room for those introductions themselves. Only two of the Torchwood employees received much in the way of dialogue, and one of them was killed off at the conclusion of the story. This made for a rather jarring first half of the series, as writers struggled to script a regular line-up of characters that they hardly knew. By revisiting those initial interpretations, Chibnall is able to strengthen the integrity of the programme. His most pressing work is done in the story’s Ianto segment, where the writer seeks to overcome the feasibility problems and lack of foreshadowing that hampered Cyberwoman. He does this by making it clear that Jack did not take the initiative when recruiting his butler, and therefore may be excused for hiring such an unstable figure. The fight in the warehouse has Jones displaying just the right level of quiet courage for a staff member not trained for fieldwork, and it’s nice to see Torchy the Pterodactyl being used as more than a just one-line gag. Establishing that Ianto’s role in the team was not a regular position smoothes over one of the less believable aspects of the show’s original concept.

Toshiko’s story has more subtle implications. Retconning the character as effectively a prisoner of Torchwood is a bold step, but serves as a perfect explanation for the diffident shown attitude during her early appearances. The mini-thriller provides an unexpected burst of tension in the middle of the episode, and gives the viewer a welcome glimpse of how the Torchwood version of Jack operates when dealing with government powers outside of Cardiff. The introduction of the Ministry of Defence as a formidable force in the Doctor Who universe is, however, rather unfortunate. When combined with the various arms of Torchwood and the reborn UNIT, the UK is now suffering a surfeit of secretive organisations. The weakest of the backstories belongs to Owen, where Chibnall is only really successful in one of his two objectives. The story of his fiancé’s death is a clichéd explanation for the misogynistic figure of Everything Changes, and instead of reconciling matters, the story ends up adding another layer of complication to a character already explored in depth during this series. In contrast, Harper’s readiness to betray Jack during the climax of Series One is now much more believable in the light of events towards the end of his flashback. Gorman portrays superbly Owen’s frustration with the results of Harkness’s cover-up, and it’s clear that the opportunities of his new job does not outweigh his resentment.

As for the Captain, his tale is rather deceptive, with the superficial focus on how Jack came to work for Torchwood being secondary to addressing the issue of the darker version of the character seen during Series One. The story opens in a broadly predicable fashion, with a sadistic Victorian couple being a perfect link between the Institute as conceived in Tooth & Claw and the organisation seen in Army of Ghosts. Although it’s regrettable that the budget wouldn’t run to matte-paintings of the Hub during its varying stages of development, the set is dressed in a number of interesting ways, and Harkness’s initial torture is a good introduction to the imperialist ethos of the original organisation. By confirming that Jack has only seized control of Torchwood Three comparatively recently, Chibnall confirms that he has had to survive under the ethos of Hartman et al for over a hundred years, explaining the physiological armour the character displayed during Torchwood’s first run. The attention to detail in the execution of the script as a whole is superb, from Jack’s historical ruffian sideburns to the re-hiring of Naokio Aida to portray Toshiko’s mother for just one scene. Also welcome is the return to the semi-serial format of the programme, which the writer exploits to free himself of the need to expend much time in constructing a linking plot for the flashbacks. Duplicating the explosive trap concept from Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang is a skilful method of foreshadowing John’s return, and Rhys being called upon for help with the team incapacitated builds nicely on his action scenes in Something Borrowed. Chibnall manages to combine his affinity with these characters and an effortless appreciation of what level of detail should be added to the story’s plot. Should Torchwood be recommissioned, hopefully his schedule on Law & Order: London will allow his return to the series as a jobbing writer.

Fragments is a remarkable episode. Prior to the climax of Doctor Who Series Three, an entire instalment of an Upper Boat drama being largely devoted to satisfying fan curiosity would have been considered highly unlikely. That this undertaking is performed in such an accessible and entertaining manner is extraordinary.

ACROSS THE UNIVERSE.

Across The Universe deserves special mention because it is riddled with incomprehensible stupidity at every possible level. It is a musical made up of Beatles songs. As everybody knows, The Beatles are the best band ever. So how did their music end up populating the worst musical ever? The answer comes about halfway through, when our main characters meet an idiotic caricature of a drugged up, bus-driving spiritualist leader, who within moments achieves the rare honour of being possibly the most punchable man I've ever seen. More punchable than Bono, even? But, look closer! It *IS* Bono! The only man in the world with enough money to get something this stupid made. Here's an idea of "fair trade", Bono - I saw your STUPID MUSICAL, so as a "fair trade", you should have to watch me take a shit in a dustbin and then pound on the side of it with my shoes, SCREAMING, for two hours. THEN WE'LL BE EVEN.

The funniest scene by miles occurs when our hero "Jude" is having a row with his girlfriend because she works for an "anarchist" magazine and he just sits in the kitchen doing bloody awful paintings. The sentiments he wishes to express to her are roughly summarised in the Beatles song "Revolution", so he barges into her office and starts singing away, kicking up a fuss and knocking things over. Not only does this sort of contradict the message of the song (whilst singing "when you talk about destruction, you can count me out!" he is wrecking an office and punching people in the face), which is about the sixteenth in a tiresome list of increasingly strained excuses to shoehorn Beatles songs into the plot (at one point a character actually says "Her? She came in through the bathroom window!" and somehow nobody onscreen looks like they're having trouble keeping a straight face), he's the only person in the scene singing, and everybody else is just sort of standing around looking horrified. They become the audience. Even when Jude has been thrown out of the building, and his girlfriend rushes outside, the film defies musical convention and where you would have expected her to burst into song, she screams "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?" at Jude. The whole scene feels like CCTV footage of a laughable, babyfaced drunk who thinks he's in a musical, rather than a scene from a real musical, and is the point where I cracked up so much I lost all ability to do anything other than laugh at this film. Unless you're Fame or Once, you can't have realism in a musical, because it's a MUSICAL. There's people SINGING. They're SINGING. The people are SINGING. With their INVISIBLE ORCHESTRAS. It ISN'T REALISTIC. AT ALL.

Somehow, that came AFTER an appearance by EDDIE IZZARD as EDDIE FUCKING IZZARD "jazzing up" a rendition of "Being For The Benefit Of Mister Kite" with various sub-par and tired Izzard-isms (the overall impression is that a director has handed Izzard a stupid costume and said "go over there and BE EDDIE IZZARD! PARODY YOURSELF! CHEAPEN YOURSELF! DO THAT BRITISH SCHTICK" which isn't something Eddie Izzard has done particularly well for a few years), after a procession of RETARDED "LIVERPOOL" ACCENTS, after a character called Prudence has HIDDEN IN A CUPBOARD for NO REASON other than to justify the line "won't you come out to play" in the song "Dear Prudence", and after THE MOST BORING COMPUTER GENERATED ACID FANTASY EVER. If you are one of those people who slows down to watch car crashes, or animals having sex, or enjoys the You've Been Framed "Funny Babies" specials - watch this film. A truly magnificent achievement in stupidity. I didn't do a "Best Of 2007" list, but as I've just written about definitely the worst film of that year, I may aswell mention my two favourites.

WALK HARD - THE DEWEY COX STORY / THERE WILL BE BLOOD

How many truly great comedy films are there? Twenty? Fifty, tops, I reckon. Walk Hard is one of them, anyway. A note-perfect spoof of Ray / Walk The Line and films of their ilk, with a towering lead performance from John C Reilly, one of the few straight actors who feels perfectly at home with this sort of work. Where the comedy production stable headed by Judd Apatow has recently been embracing new realistic takes on the rom-com, this is a return to the quickfire, surreal lunacy of films like Anchorman, Airplane or The Jerk. There's a healthy combination of sight-gags, one-liners, set-pieces, recurring jokes, genuinely funny music and great cameos (one scene may feature the best cinematic depiction of The Beatles yet, and like everything else in this film, makes such an achievement look like nothing more than the product of some very talented people being as silly as they like).

The music, in particular Black Sheep (a Brian Wilson-esque everything-including-the-kitchen-sink psychedelic jam penned by Van Dyke Parks) perfectly captures the styles of the eras it is supposed to span, and that they would be million-selling hits is easily believable, regardless of their comic value. They're just great songs, which happen to be frequently hilarious. Don't leave until you've heard "Have You Heard The News? (Dewey Cox Died)" playing over the end credits. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed songs in a comedy this much - it could be as long ago as The Three Amigos! which adds to the feeling that this is the kind of film which doesn't come along very often. I put the fact that this flopped massively at the box office down to the ferocity with which it attacks films that are inexplicably so universally lauded and awards-laden. One of the promotional videos has John C Reilly exclaiming "suck on that, Joaquin Phoenix!". For anyone who has a fondness for those films, Walk Hard amounts to being called an idiot for 90 odd minutes. For anyone else, it's a blast. Try to get ahold of the Directors Cut DVD, which reinstates about a half-hour of new stuff, from which the film greatly benefits. The theatrical cut felt a bit hacked up, and it's clear why - whole swathes of the disco period were trimmed, and scenes cut down to their big laugh or plot-advancing moment when the longer scene is much funnier.

It took only a matter of minutes for There Will Be Blood to join Walk Hard as BEST FILLUM OF THE YERE - it begins with a lengthy, wordless scene which perfectly establishes the unremittingly grim tone of what is to follow, and is riddled with disturbing beauty. In it, Henry Plainview, played to fierce precision by Daniel Day Lewis, strikes oil, falls down a big hole, and has to drag his broken body back to the surface, while the camera drifts between intense focus on Plainview, and the bare, gritty landscape - all to the strains of Jonny Greenwoods intense score.

It's not even the first masterpiece Paul Thomas Anderson has made, but where his other films felt very cinema literate, tricksy and smarty-pants, like a Tarantino film if he'd been raised on Altman instead of kung-fu rubbish, There Will Be Blood has a far more classical dramatic sensibility. Which isn't to say there aren't fleeting references to other films - there are touches of Kubrick here and there, and the music recalls Bernard Hermann (Psycho). The PT Anderson who resolves multiple plotlines with a shower of frogs and group singalong has been replaced by one who cranks out works of actual genius worthy of sitting alongside Citizen Kane as an examination of one mans life. Plainview is consumed by greed, and it gradually erodes the few tiny scraps of empathy tethering him to sanity. It's an arduous, unsettling experience, but unarguably one of the greatest achievements in cinema of recent years.

MARGOT AT THE WEDDING

Every now and again, just as I'm starting to get really pissed off with Nicole Kidman (most recently for The Golden Compass, which I'd write a damning review of if I could remember a single thing about it), she goes and makes a completely fucking brilliant film. I mean, let's just take a look at how brilliant some of Nicole Kidmans filmography is, just incase we've forgotten, as I usually do. Birth, Dogville, The Hours, Eyes Wide Shut... granted, that's just a handful from a very long list, but they're each unusually good films, and Margot At The Wedding might be her very best performance, and the only reason it's not her very best film is that she worked with Stanley effing Kubrick. Writer-Director Noah Baumbach is probably best known for helping Wes Anderson to write The Life Aquatic, and the dysfunctional families in his own films (his previous, The Squid And The Whale, is also fantastic as I've harped on about in this column before) shed some light on how Baumbach was able to make the family dynamic in The Life Aquatic, though it's not far from Andersons usual terrain, more affecting than usual. Baumbachs films share a certain sensibility with Wes Andersons, the leafy suburbs of The Squid And The Whale particularly reminiscent of Tenenbaums, but they're far more rooted in the real world and willing to delve deeper into uncomfortable psychological areas, insecurities, sexual hangups, awkward adolescences and generally terrible behaviour. The miracle of Baumbachs films is that any of his characters remain likeable, and it's a credit to Nicole Kidmans performance that after wanting to smack her in the mouth for two hours, her eventual undoing is more or less as unsettling for us as for her. Gambling the emotional climax of your film on such a staggering amount of empathy from the audience would only work in the hands of people this talented.

I WANT SOMEONE TO EAT CHEESE WITH

Written, directed by and starring Jeff Garlin (you know, off Curb Your Enthusiasm!) is a gentle romantic comedy/drama which plays a bit like Curb Your Enthusiasm, as Garlin strolls through his life having short comic vignettes on social awkwardness with various familiar faces, but it has real heart, honesty, some good jokes and a great, touching final scene. I don't really know what else to say about this - it's a short, simple, cheap film which doesn't attempt anything groundbreaking, but plays to it's strengths and becomes something a little more than the sum of its parts.

GONE BABY GONE

"Hello, my name's Ben Affleck! You might remember me from BEING A COMPLETE IDIOT for the last decade or so. Well, I directed this film which is like, probably top 5 of last year, so FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU."

That's what I'd say if I was Ben Affleck. Gone Baby Gone is a truly unpredictable and wrenching neo-noir, anchored around a great lead performance from Afflecks wee brother Casey and an innate sense of geography (I've never been to Boston, but I bet it's exactly like this film) which adds a harsh realism to the depiction of the effect a childs disappearance can have across a whole community.

JUNO

Apparently, if you don't like Juno, you're part of the "Juno backlash", or you have a HEART OF STONE, or you're just curmudgeonly. Let's straighten this out a bit. Yes, Juno is an above average script for a first-time writer and it's extremely well-cast and acted. But it's also extremely self-conscious, there's far too much samey music in it, it's too twee, with the exception of Michael Cera the characters all talk in exactly the same way (their speech peppered with smartypants New York zingers) regardless of age or sex and that gives the whole thing a pretty amateurish air. Certain scenes like the Mother getting maternally defensive and uncharacteristically bad-ass feel par for the course in films of this nature now. In summary - it's nothing special, and falls far short of Jason Reitmans previous film, "Thank You For Smoking".

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN

This film, despite dealing with plenty of familiar elements from their earlier output, feels like a new chapter in the careers of the Coens. While it's not as bad as everyone seems to think, Intolerable Cruelty was undeniably a big step down from the run of films preceeding it, and The Ladykillers looked so awful that neither I nor anyone I know has seen it. As such, much is riding on their return to "proper" film-making. So it was refreshing to read about this "return to form", an adaptation of the novel of the same name by Cormac McCarthy. Had I any familiarity with McCarthys work, the incredibly bleak and sombre tone of this film wouldn't have surprised me so much as it did, but having been led to expect something resembling their earlier work, I was taken aback by quite how un-Coensy the film was. Which is in no way to it's detriment - it just makes comparing No Country For Old Men to say, Fargo, a futile exercise. Which is remarkable, considering they both concern murders, human weakness, bags of money, police officers, hitmen and suchlike. While their films are frequently unusual, rarely have the Coens abandoned the viewer to make their own assessments of such a grisly situation. Dramatic music cues, climactic shootouts and wisecracking expositionary characters are notable by their absence, and the audience is left as weary and confused about the world as the characters.

Let's try something new - here is a film that I made, and you can tell me what you think in the comments bit.

PJ Hammond has adopted a slightly disquieted tone when interviewed about his Torchwood work, displaying resentment at being pigeon-holed by the production team as the series’ source of supernatural and surreal horror. Unexpectedly, this appears to have improved his work, with the writer’s determination to escape his creative confinement resulting in a superb episode, with considerably more depth than its initial premise suggests.

From the “Next Time” trailer at the end of Something Borrowed, it’s clear exactly what should be expected from this episode: a creepy ghost story, complete with sinister clowns and a haunted cinema. Ten minutes in, little that’s happened contradicts this impression. A suitably sinister figure has been introduced, as has a stock family whose lives can be turned upside down by the occult. Torchwood has blundered into events, with a social outing bringing the team into contact with the threat. The story seems set up to use the same plot device as many J-horror films, taking an innocuous daily object, and giving it a means of stealing the souls of those exposed to it. The enchanted projector and film reel with a life of its own creates this impression, but what seals the viewers’ expectation is the moment when Jack appears in the travelling show footage. At this point, the path of the story appears to be set: the film will suck in those who watch it and leave them trapped, beginning with Jack. However, this element is quickly exposed as a red herring, with Jack explaining that he was actually filmed participating in the act shown. Hammond then launches the story off in an unexpected direction, showing a horror from a bygone age trying to survive in a changed world, blissfully unaware that the “cutting edge” technology it exploits is already outdated.

Rather than presenting a horrific but uncomplicated opponent, the writer frequently makes the audience sympathetic to the enemy that Torchwood faces. On the silver screen, Ghost Maker is a terrifying figure, and it’s easy to assume that this beckoning spectre will be an implacable force to rival Bilis and Adam in Torchwood’s rogues’ gallery. In the flesh, however, he is simply too bizarre a creature to instil fear- for once, the dismissive reaction of a monster’s first victim seems appropriate. He’s obviously the driving force behind the Night Travellers, but appears strangely directionless after his initial breakout from the Electro- it takes his companion to suggest the fairly obvious step of resurrecting the rest of their troupe. The writer takes a very bold approach, scripting much of the story as a sequel to the pre-credits sequence. In his element, Ghost Maker is a metaphor for the power of entertainment, with a breathtaking spectacle winning over the hearts (and souls) of his audience. Hammond provides no origin story for the Night Travellers, but the episode does not demand one- the concept is clear, and needs no elaboration. In the present day, external stimuli to the imagination are more readily accessible, so while the monster’s power remains, the ethos that drove it is absent, leaving Ghost Maker reduced to a mere serial killer. His impotence is emphasised in his only direct confrontation with a member of the team, where Owen proves completely immune to his assault. Even more so than the ringmaster, Pearl comes across as being strangely pitiful. In her native time, her act consisted of simply appearing slightly damp. In the present day, she largely remains in the background, but even when she does take centre stage, the results add to this impression of inadequacy. Rising up from the bathtub in Jonathan’s editing suite isn’t intended to scare her unfortunate audience- it’s simply part of her act, and she is visibly surprised to be greeted by screams rather than applause. The moment when she is found crouching in the remains of an abandoned and forgotten swimming pool underlines that the Night Travellers’ time is long gone.

Considerably weaker are the writing and performances relating to the other guest characters, but despite initial impressions, it is only the youngest member of the Penn family who plays any real part in the story. Hammond’s treatment of the regular characters is sound, and confirmation that Ianto spent his youth in Cardiff before moving to London makes his local knowledge more credible. Also laudable is the duration of the episode. After Last of the Time Lords and Voyage of the Damned demanded extended running times to do justice to the stories in question, its encouraging to see a willingness to close the story five minutes short of the normal Torchwood episode length, as padding would have diluted the material’s impact. Basset’s direction is subtle, but considerably aids the story. The jump-shocks are well executed, and we are given a glimpse of Owen’s bandaged hand to remind us of his undead state a few seconds before it plays a part in the plot. Such unqualified praise unfortunately cannot be given to the effects used in the episode. The CG used to realise Ghost Maker’s flask is extremely poor, and the situation has to be rescued by the high quality make-up on his dehydrated victims. Despite the production team’s claims to the contrary in the accompanying documentary, the Night Traveller’s circus appears extremely sparse, and the low production values here would have hampered the storytelling if any more time were to be spent at the showground. The return to Torchwood’s trademark “Cardiff in the rain” night-scenes suffer no such deficiencies, being universally well-executed.

Small Worlds explored a number of threats to childhood, including paedophilia and abusive parents. However, these elements felt more like an adult’s fears than a child’s, and never really developed into a coherent story. Despite its unexpected turns From Out Of The Rain never feels inconsistent, with Hammond giving the viewer just enough background information to allow the story to unfold steadily. By intimately tying a visual style to his tale, Hammond adds cohesion and frees himself to add unexpected poignancy to the story.

Adrift

The first Torchwood bottle episode was one of the most influential episodes of the initial run, although not in the way its creators intended. Universally regarded as the nadir of Series One, a drastic change in policy ensued to prevent a repeat of the Random Shoes fiasco. Instead of being afterthoughts, these instalments of Doctor Who Series Three and the Sarah Jane Adventures had high profile writers attached. In the case of Torchwood Series Two, however, the tinkering with the regular characters means that the story is a job best left to the lead writer.

Adrift is superficially similar to its predecessor, as Gwen undertakes an investigation virtually single handedly, exploring the human interest angle to a minor sci-fi incident in the face of opposition from her boss. However, Chibnall makes a number of adjustments to overcome the problems which befell Random Shoes. Although John Barrowman is not given significantly more material than in last year’s bottle episode, Jack is much more integral to the plot. The human interest angle to this story is much stronger than in the original bottle episode, with Nikki’s desire to recover her son a much more pressing matter than Eugene’s academic curiosity about the manner of his death. Keen to make the episode an integral part of the series overall story, the writer decides to use this script to restore some of the edginess to Rhys’s view of Torchwood. Given the extent of Rhys’s disenchantment with his wife’s employer, Chibnall chooses to doubly link the organisation with the episode’s plot, making it both the investigator of the mystery and its solution. This, however, creates its own difficulties.

The notion of Torchwood secretly looking after those harmed by the rift is a perfectly plausible one, but the implementation somehow fails to sit easily with the rest of the show. The first problem is simply with the realisation of the care home. The concrete outbuildings are perfectly acceptable- this is clearly a former military or secret service facility that Jack has had converted to its present use. However, the interior is styled as a dungeon, with only token additions made to convey that people live here. It feels rather fanish, not to say unreasonable, to complain that we’ve seen nothing of this installation to date- such an objection implies that every aspect of a concept should be demonstrated fully in its first outing. However, there are two possibilities for the Flat Holm hospice, neither of which do much credit to the series. The first is that it will become a permanent addition to the series’ setup, in which case Chibnall and Davies really should have taken some steps to foreshadow its inclusion, such as having Jack mysteriously absent from the Hub on occasion or Ianto processing unusual payments. Presenting plot elements such as Lisa’s presence in the Hub’s lower levels or the ability of the water tower equipment’s ability to open the rift as fait accompli was one of the worse habits of the first series of the show, and severely damaged its credibility. The second, and more likely, option is that Flat Holm is a throwaway inclusion, which will not be referred to again. This, however, belittles the discoveries which have made such an impression on Gwen, and makes the episode feel rather inconsequential.

It says a lot about the lack of material given to Tom Price that his character is still universally referred to as “PC Andy”, despite having been a feature of the show since it started. The fact that Andy is the only real point of contact between the authorities and Torchwood has been a sore point in the show, and it was hoped that Series Two would address this issue. Rather than correct this problem, Chibnall takes the opportunity to explain the present situation, showing that Andy remains in contact with Gwen due to his unrequited crush on her. It’s a good solution to the issue, although the viewer is left in two minds as the whether the reason for reason for Andy’s absence from Gwen’s wedding was really the character’s unresolved feelings or the difficulties that would result from fitting him into the anarchy which unfolded. In many ways the most pressing character issue addressed by the story is that of Gwen’s lost naivety when it comes to the extraordinary. It was hardly credible that Cooper would maintain her initial passionate attachment to the everyday, and Nikki’s plight succeeds in both highlighting the changes that have been made to her character and providing a compelling explanation for why she strives so hard to avoid becoming completely hardened to the world she works in. The story also tentatively explores the issue of why Torchwood remains secret, and it’s a tribute to the quality of Chibnall’s writing that Nikki’s change in attitude, from crusading truth seeker to disowning her knowledge, does not feel at all contrived.

The perfect macrocosm for the story is the changes in Gwen and Rhys’s relationship. When the story starts, having not seen the couple since their wedding, the viewer assumes that all is well and that Gwen is managing to balance both halves of her life. As the story progresses, in becomes clear that this is not the case, and that Torchwood is having a detrimental impact on their marriage. However, events cause Gwen to reassess her views, and the two are reconciled. It’s all well written and performed, but merely restores the status quo which was present at the outset of the episode.

Frozen Ponds; keep away.

Iced Ponds (1969)/Frozen Ponds (1980)
"Iced Ponds" is a instructional PIF for children dressed up as a fairy story; the children who obeyed the three rules (taking an adult with them, getting the adult to check the ice first, and playing close to the shore, away from the middle, where the ice is thinnest) lived happily ever after, and those who did not obey the rules; well, some of them were never heard of again. Frozen Ponds is a far more depressing PIF aimed at adults, with animation of ambulancemen picking up the body of a unfortunate boy who went further away from the shore than his friends and got trapped under the ice. One of the ambulancemen is explaining the event to his superior, explaining that the boy's mother thought he'd be safe with his friends, and never dreamed it could be that dangerous. The PIF gives the three rules from the parents' perspective at the end. Modern advice is to not to take the risk of playing on frozen ponds at all.

Tell Mummy (1969)/Don't Talk to Strangers (1969)
A common tactic in 'stranger danger' campaigns is to use child voiceovers to give the message from the child's perspective. This uses childish drawings as well to tell a story of a girl who was asked on a picnic by two other children, but couldn't go because she knew she had to ask her mother first, and couldn't get her attention before the other two children left. The girl gets a picnic with her parents as a reward after explaining her distress to her mother. 'Don't Talk to Strangers', from the same animation company, features a girl talking about her brother George, who refused offers from a stranger because he'd remembered what he'd been taught about never talking to strangers. An adult voice reinforces the message at the end.

Children and Disused Fridges (1971)
It's always nice when health and safety laws mean that a PIF is no longer relevant. This warned against the locking mechanisms of old fridges when they were dumped, as they posed a danger to children. Any fridge that was abandoned was airtight and impossible to open from the inside, meaning that some unfortunate children presumably lost their lives when they mistook them for a play den. The magnet seal on fridges, used for some years now, means this could not happen today.

Teenagers Learn to Swim (1972)
Some little teenage minx goes off her boyfriend when she realises he can't swim, and decides to go out with a boy who can. This PIF amusingly shows the social benefits of learning to swim.

Keep Out (1972)
This was another PIF often shown in schools, concentrating on the dangers of playing on railway lines. The shocked expression of the boy at the end is all you need to tell you that his friend has just found out what happens when you fall in front of a train. Despite all the warnings, some children still think railways are an appropiate playground, sometimes with tragic results.

Charley and his owner.

Charley - Matches/Falling in the Water/In the Kitchen/Teapots/Strangers/Mummy Should Know (1973)
This series of PIFs are probably the most famous of their kind; hence why the DVD collection is named after them. The celebration of Charley (a boy's cat who shows him the dangers of the world around them) started with the Prodigy sampling Charley's strangulated miaowing and the boy saying "Charley says; always tell your mummy before you go off somewhere." for the track 'Charly', released in 1991. This inspired copycat singles such as 'A Trip to Trumpton', which sampled the fine children's series Trumpton, with the unforgettable firemen Hugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dribble and Glub, and 'Sesame's Treet'. I probably don't have to explain the plots of these PIFs, as the titles are fairly self-explanatory. What IS well worth knowing is that Kenny Everett provided the voice for Charley, along with other sound effects, and had actually provided a voice for Charley's owner, but the animators felt it wasn't quite appropiate. An actual young boy played the role instead. In the 'Charley Says' exhibition mentioned above, the original invoice from Kenny's company 'The Wireless Workshop' was displayed, along with more detailed information about the series. If you're over 25 and don't remember Charley, you either grew up abroad, or you had a VERY deprived childhood. All the bad things happened to Charley so his owner didn't need to suffer. He was a bit like Jesus in that respect. And one other.

Under 5's - Shopping (1973)
More Tufty. This isn't specifically about stranger danger; instead, silly Tufty gets distracted whilst out shopping with his mother, and finds himself near the road on his own. Luckily, she turns up very quickly and tells him not to let go of her hand when they're out shopping. "Tufty holds his mummy's hand, and feels safe again." And so he should.

One of the most memorable child abductions in the UK happened because a toddler got separated from his mother in a busy shopping centre. It remains a iconic case because the abductors were children themselves, and the CCTV footage show them leading the 3 year-old James Bulger out of Bootle Shopping Centre to an eventual death on a railway line. The two boys, despite being 10 years old and so below the age of criminal responsibility at the time (unless it could be proved that they knew the difference between right and wrong), were trialed in an adult court, and sentenced to a minimum of 10 years in a Young Offenders' Institution. The impact of the case on the public conscieness can be shown by the coverage in the tabloid press, which seemed to want nothing less than the death penalty for these two very disturbed boys (a Sun campaign succeeded in getting the Home Secretary to increase the sentence to a minimum of 15 years, but this was overturned at the Courts of Appeal), and the howls of outrage when they were released as young adults in June 2001 under a life licence, with different identities, despite there being precendent for such treatment (see the Mary Bell case). The recent Facebook 'Super Wall' post that went around recently shows the remaining public appetite for pursuing these two men, proffessing outrage at their proposed release, when in reality they had been released several years previously. It's extraordinary in the cold light of day to consider that there isn't nearly half as much outrage over the release of adults who kill children, despite these adults presumably having far more understanding of their actions. I'm a very different person from when I was 10 years old, and I have every reason to believe that Jon Venables and Robert Thompson will have changed as well. Unfortunately, some people can't get past the heinous act they committed when vulnerable children, and these two men are no doubt living a life with an eye always over one shoulder, rather than the charmed existence that some tabloid reporters would have us believe.

An interesting side issue to this case is that it happened after toddler reins went out of fashion, something I remember wearing at around 3-4 years old. An industry sprung up soon after the case selling wrist links, so panic-stricken mothers could ensure that their charges couldn't wriggle out of reach.

The Spirit of Dark and Lonely Water, there.

Lonely Water (1973)
A friend of mine thinks that the voiceover for this PIF is done by James Bolam, pretending to be Donald Pleasance. It warns children to treat water carefully and with respect, otherwise they'll come a cropper. The stage school kids who rescue another kid in trouble in this PIF are perfect examples of the Anna Scher Theatre 'naturalistic' type, with thick Lahndon accents, which were very fashionable in the 70s; the girl exclaims "Look, there's someone in the war-ar!".

Youngsters Learn to Swim (1973)
Rolf Harris, the Australian whom Britain has adopted as their own institution, talks chummily to the camera whilst giving kids swimming lessons, explaining to parents that your local swimming pool will teach children to swim quickly and easily. Apparantely his pupils dunked him under the water just after the shot froze!

Broken Glass (1973)
If you don't wince at this PIF, you're a hard man. The voiceover states that the last place to leave a bottle is a beach, as a small boy runs headlong towards a broken bottle sticking out of the sand. Yikes.

Baby Walkers (1974)
A ever-popular way for babies to take their first (supported) steps, but if a baby is unsupervised, they could get themselves into trouble. This animated PIF shows babies having a race and dropping out because they've come a cropper in various ways.

The Brown Rabbits - Pills and Bottles (70s)
This takes a similar approach to Tufty, with two young rabbits getting ill from eating some pills they found, thinking they were sweets. The doctor chides them for being so silly, but doesn't actually bother telling the mother off for being stupid enough to leave them where the two youngsters could get near them. Presumably that would dilute the message a bit! I do actually remember old squash bottles being used to store deadly household chemicals, but thankfully few people are stupid enough to do this nowadays, and tamper-proof caps on chemical and pill bottles have all but eliminated this risk to children. How did children born before the 1980s survive to adulthood?

Grain Drain (70s)
This PIF warns farmers that their grain pits look like sandpits to children, and that the design of the pit means that a child can be sucked down very fast if they climb into it. A doll is used to demonstrate, with rather upsetting sound effects, and it's disturbing to think some children met a sad end this way. 'Put a grid on it' indeed.

Jeremy's got a roaring toothache...

Jeremy's Toothache (1975)
Oh dear. Jeremy the lion has a roaring toothache. As the hippo in this animated PIF says, that'll be because he eats too many sweets and never cleans his teeth. The Health Education Council encourages children to clean their teeth daily for a 'crocodile smile' in this prominent campaign from my childhood.

Children and Strangers - Ed Stewart (1976)
The DJ Ed 'Stewpot' Stewart was presenting 'Junior Choice' on Radio 1 when he made this PIF, so he was a natural choice to advise children on the dangers of talking to strangers.

Basil Brush and the Airbed (1976)
Boom boom! Another icon from my generation teams up with Mr Roy to warn children about the dangers of airbeds. The modern revival, for some reason, has subsituted Basil's irreverence for him simply being a bit of a cunt. THIS WAS NOT THE JOKE.

Prams and Pushchairs (1979)
Erk. This PIF is deliberately designed to make watching it uncomfortable. The animation opens with a mother having the same expression as the famous 'Scream' painting, presumably to emphasise the extreme mental anguish a mother would go through if her baby was killed or injured because their pram had overbalanced whilst unattended. The PIF tells mothers 'don't let the nightmare come true', but thankfully the design of prams and pushchairs has made this sort of accident far less likely. Also, the change of retail space to be more accomodating to prams and pushchairs has meant that mothers are highly unlikely to leave their children unattended outside shops, and the hightened paranoia over paedophilia means that parents in general aren't keen to let their children out of their sight anyway.

Swimming - David Wilkie (1979)
David Wilkie, 1976 Olympic gold medalist swimmer for Britain, explains how lucky he was to have learnt to swim at 3 years old. He interviews children on why they learnt to swim, and they give impecciably rehearased responses. David reassures children that they can all learn to swim, and whilst they may not make the next Olympics, they'll have a lot of fun.

Fireworks - Bangers (70s)
Gillian Taylforth gives a right mouthful to a couple of stupid boys recounting their experiences of messing around with fireworks. A brave attempt at projecting a more 'real-world' message that falls a bit flat, to be honest.

Fireworks - Throwing (70s)
On a right dodgy London housing estate, some boy joins in with his friends in throwing fireworks about on his way to meet his girlfriend Julie. His fun is brought abruptly to an end by one of the bangers he throws exploding in front of the approaching Julie, who screams and clutches at her eyes. Oops. Despite the restrictions that fireworks are sold under, children get hold of them every year, and there's rarely a happy ending.

Do you want to have fun and stay alive?

Play Safe - Frisbee/Kites and Planes/Camping and Fishing (1979)
Play Safe was a very famous campaign in the 1980s, with Brian Wilde giving advice to children on how to play with boats, kites, radio controlled planes, fishing rods and the like without coming into contact with electricity. These PIFs were often shown in schools, hence my clear memory of 'Frisbee', with the young girl screaming 'JIMMMMEEEEE!!!' as Jimmy suffers the inevitable result of climbing all over an electricity substation whilst trying to retrieve his frisbee.

Airbeds (1