Downton Abbey - A Review of Series 3 So Far

Downton Abbey, now two episodes into its third series, feels like a completely different show this year, and I’m not quite sure what to make of it. The first two series were very much bound together by the cloud of war; the first series was the calm before the storm, and the second series showed that storm in full swing, reminding us that in times of great crisis petty things such as class divides really don’t matter very much at all. The characters, throughout those two series, often alluded to a great sense of change pervading the air; World War I is typically seen to represent a loss of innocence across society, and it is that loss which arguably kickstarts that societal change. Series 3 of Downton, contrary to building up to and foreshadowing that change, shows it in action. Set in the Roaring 20s, there's new 20s hair, new 20s suits ("Oh, you two are dressed for a barbecue!") and, tonally, it feels world apart from the show that began with the sinking of the Titanic, setting in motion a fateful chain of events.

Worlds Apart - Downton Abbey is a very different show these days.

The change in time seems to have manifested itself via a reshuffling of the cast. Sybil and Branson no longer feature particularly heavily, the nature of Anna and Mr Bates’ storyline has inevitably led to them being somewhat sidelined, and the introduction of such characters as Shirley MacLaine’s Martha Levinson (whose appearance is, admittedly, limited to just two episodes) and Matt Milne’s towering but loveable Alfred really does give Downton a very different feel this year. A cast reshuffle can often be good for a show, but only if done right, and I’m not sure that Julian Fellowes has quite hit the nail on the head. Sybil and Branson’s slow-burning but powerful romance built to a steady climax throughout the first two series, and it was so effective that I’d probably cite is as my favourite storyline of the show so far. Their presence was a real highlight of the first episode of this third series, but their absence in both the Christmas special and tonight’s episode were very keenly felt indeed. Similarly, the latter half of Series 2 saw Anna and Mr Bates’s contributions to each episode relegated to worriedly whispering in corners of the servants’ quarters, highlighting a failure on Fellowes’ part to “show, not tell”. I was hoping that this series would rectify that, but so far it looks as if the only change to their storyline is the location of their consternation-filled talks; instead of Downton, they’re now in prison. (It's also worth mentioning that Daisy, having gotten over her infatuation with Thomas and her storyline with William having drawn to a close, noticeably seems to serve no purpose anymore, and instead spends most of her screen time either seeing things that she shouldn't or complaining.) And whilst the banter between Shirley MacLaine’s Martha Levinson and Maggie Smith’s Violet was supposed to be one of the key draws of this series, one can’t help but feel that, actually, it’s not that good. Some of it is amusing, yes, an obvious example of which is Violet’s quip that, “When I’m with [Martha], I’m reminded of the virtues of the English.” “But isn’t she American?” “Exactly.” Mildly entertaining, yes, but I’m afraid the exchanges don’t rival the verbal jousting between Maggie Smith and Penelope Wilton in preceding series. One of my favourite pieces of dialogue ever will always be this:

Violet: You are quite wonderful, the way you see room for improvement wherever you look. I never knew such reforming zeal.

Isobel: I take that as a compliment.

Violet: I must have said it wrong.

Disappointing - Shirley MacLaine as Martha Levinson.

Watching Episode 2 this evening seemed to confirm growing fears in my mind that the plot to this series of Downton is, so far, rather weak. The will-they-won’t-they excitement of the Matthew/Mary relationship has been tempered by their marriage, and the consequences of Lord Grantham’s dodgy investments fails to reach the emotional heights of the last series, where the characters’ primary concern was not the financial upkeep of Downton Abbey, but whether or not their friends and families would ever return to them from the war.

However, despite those flaws, the episode also established and built upon several plot strands which I’ve found really rather moving and effecting. Lady Edith’s relationship with Sir Anthony Strallan has arguably been longer in the making than that of Sybil and Branson, and there’s much more uncertainty in the will-they-won’t-they aspect of their relationship than there was in Matthew and Mary’s. But more interesting than whatever the conclusion of their story will be (which, by the looks of the trailer for next week’s episode, looks rather promising) is the fact that, as an audience, we seem to be rather rooting for Edith to get her happy ending. In Series 1, Edith was jealous, manipulative and, on the whole, thoroughly unlikeable. But over the course of the show, we as an audience have come to sympathise with her and really understand her situation, to the extent that we now share her hopes of a happily ever after. And that kind of character turnaround – from wholly unlikeable to downright loveable – always impresses me.

Lady Edith Crawley - a perfect example of how character development should be done.

But what affected me most about Episode 2, what really really got to me, was Mrs Hughes’s story. Since the first episode I have absolutely adored Phyllis Logan’s portrayal of Mrs Hughes. She manages to give a character who, on paper, might seem a little cold, a heart of pure gold. In many ways she’s always been a bit of a tragic character – forever stoic, and unwilling to let her personal feelings get in the way of her duties at Downton – but perhaps that’s part of her charm. Either way, she’s a character I really, really love, and one who is a part of the very heart and soul of the household she serves. And so naturally the revelation that Mrs Hughes has breast cancer really got to me. The fact that on screen it is revealed so suddenly and so out of the blue is an accurate reflection of her character, never wanting her personal problems to get in the way of what must be done. But that bluntness certainly helped add weight to the blow. Literally as soon as Mrs Patmore told Mrs Hughes that she could indeed feel a lump, I let out an, “Oh no,” and brought my hands to my mouth, instantly hoping that the character Julian Fellowes’ has told us will die in this series won’t be her. Now, although I do get quite emotional at times when it comes to TV, my reaction struck me as different to any reaction I’ve ever had to TV before – and not just because of how much I love dear old Mrs Hughes. Unfortunately, it’s because, once again, art is imitating life, and all too suddenly it was as though this plot strand was striking a little too close to home. You see, I recently found out that someone I greatly admire – someone who’s given me a lot of advice, guidance and support over the years – has breast cancer, just like Mrs Hughes. And just like Mrs Hughes, she, too, appears to be trying to keep her news as quiet as possible. I’ve been thinking a lot about her cancer over the past few days (the big realisation it made me come to is for another blog and another time), and to see it presented on screen like this… Well, I’ve never been able to really, truly relate to a fictional story before, but I can safely say I have now. So this is one plot strand that is going to have me completely engaged and involved for the whole series, without a shadow of a doubt.

Heartbreaking - Phyllis Logan as the stoic, loveable and brave Mrs Hughes.

Overall, I guess you could say the first two episodes of this series of Downton Abbey haven’t showcased the series at its best. But I’m not giving up hope yet, because it still has those moments where it just sings, and I don’t want to miss a single one.

Doctor Who - The Power of Three - A Review

For me, Doctor Who has always been about ordinary people doing extraordinary things, and extraordinary things happening in ordinary places. But the dawn of Steven Moffat’s era seemed to largely herald an end to that vision of the show. If you look at the episodes from Series 5 onwards, you can just about count on one hand the ones that are set in modern day Earth. And I think that a lot of the poor characterisation that is synonymous with this era of the show is linked to the fact that its ties to the modern day have been next to non-existent in recent times. What I liked so much about The Power of Three, though, was that it brought the show back to the Extraordinary Things Happening In Ordinary Places mantra that worked so well for it in the past. For arguably the first time in the Moffat era, this modern, social media-driven world was presented well and accurately. And for the first time in the Moffat era we were given a decent insight into what the consequences of travelling with the Doctor really are (whereas it took Moffat three series to deal with this hugely significant issue, Russell T Davies had explored it by the end of the fourth episode of his first series). And, credit where it’s due, this episode really worked.

The highlight of the episode was, by country miles, the scene in which the Doctor and Amy sit by the Thames, watching the city by night. It sort of addressed a motif that has been touched upon before; just as Amy’s choice in Series 5 was between the ordinary (Rory) and the extraordinary (the Doctor), so was it again in this episode – should she and Rory choose the ordinary life, with friends and jobs and houses and anniversaries, or the extraordinary life with the Doctor? To an extent, it’s a decision that all companions have had to make. With Rose, there was never any question that she would choose life with the Doctor. The same goes for Donna. But the consequences of that decision were tragic for both characters – because of that decision, their on-screen stories had to end tragically, with them being involuntarily separated from the Doctor. Admittedly, Martha did stop travelling of her own accord, but that was more because being around a man who would never love her back was no good for her, and because of what travelling with him had done to her family. So what’s interesting about this story is that, for once, we’ve got two companions that are genuinely torn between two lives, and who are very close to choosing the other life. That’s not really a path that’s been explored in New Who before, but at the same time I think it’s a very real, and very human, response to their situation. Travelling through space and time is one thing, but at the end of the day, home is where the heart is. The fact that Amy is behaving in such a human manner is a giant leap for her character, an absolutely giant one - not least because the Amy of Series 5 would have chosen the extraordinary life in a heartbeat. What we’ve got here is evidence of an actual, proper character journey. And it’s so rewarding that it almost makes up for all the years where she was nothing more than an emotionless shell.

"You're thinking of stopping, aren't you?" The Doctor and Amy watch London by night.

The other highlight of that scene is the speech that the Doctor gives to Amy. We’ve heard him state before that the human life is “the one adventure [he] could never have.” We’ve seen him in episodes like The Lodger actually show us that he could never live a normal life. And whilst it’s not difficult to understand why he can’t live a life like that, we’ve never actually heard him stand up and articulate in his own words exactly why not.

“I’m not running away. But this is one corner of one country in one continent on one planet that’s a corner of a galaxy that’s a corner of a universe that is forever growing and shrinking and creating and destroying and never remaining the same for a single millisecond, and there is so much – so much – to see, Amy. Because it goes so fast. I’m not running away from things, I am running to them before they flare and fade for ever. And it’s all right. Our lives won’t run the same. They can’t. One day – soon, maybe – you’ll stop. I’ve known for a while.”

As I said, we may have seen him be unable to cope with living life in the slow lane (and in the right order) and we may think we understand why, but hearing him explain why not to us is absolutely monumental. It allows us right into the Doctor’s head (just look at that second sentence – it’s so long and fast that it’s like his thoughts about this are almost too strong to be put into words), and that isn’t something that happens an awful lot on this show. Normally, everything we see is seen through the companion’s eyes, which is why the few times where we get to see things through the Doctor’s are so special.

Now, there’s no way I could end this review without mentioning Jemma Redgrave as Kate Stewart. I don’t venture onto Doctor Who sites as often as I used to, so I had no idea prior to the episode that there was so much speculation about who her character would be. And my Who senses are clearly waning, because even when she told the Doctor her name I still didn’t figure out who she was. Therefore the revelation that she was the Brigadier’s daughter was a real surprise for me, and an absolutely lovely one at that. One of the main reasons why her character worked (apart from Jemma Redgrave’s wonderful performance) was that she wasn’t written with the intention of being a female replica of the Brig. He was such a vital part of the show’s history that it would almost have been insulting to try and simply replace him with a character designed to be exactly like him. Instead, Kate is a strong, independent, likeable character in her own right (and take note, Moffat, that she didn’t have to be “feisty” like Sally/Amy/Clara/etc to be so); she’s not trying to be the Brigadier (hence why she dropped the ‘Lethbridge’ from her surname), but she is carrying on his good work. And overall I think that her character was one helluva tribute to both the character of the Brigadier and to Nicholas Courtney himself. I’m just really, really hoping we’ll be seeing a lot more of her in future – New Who’s UNIT needs a character like her.

Jemma Redgrave as Kate Stewart, a wonderful character and an even more wonderful tribute to the Brigadier.

So, overall, no major gripes with The Power of Three. It won’t ever be one of the great Doctor Who stories, but it was a really enjoyable, strong episode nevertheless and it followed on nicely from last week’s similarly enjoyable A Town Called Mercy. The Ponds’ grand finale is next week, and as long as the Weeping Angels are as good as they were in Blink (and not as poor as they were in The Time of Angels/Flesh and Stone), it looks set to be a great episode. I mean, it’s set in New York and has got the fabulous River Song in it – what more could you want? Lovely jubbly.

(Also, just saying, this episode contained some of the best cameos in the show’s history. Professor Brian Cox, Lord Sugar and Sophie Raworth. Forget the Doctor, Amy and Rory – I think they’re the power of three that the title alludes to!)

The Big Bang Theory

Having heard nothing but fantastic things about The Big Bang Theory from pretty much everyone in the civilised world, about three weeks ago I forked up £25 and bought myself a DVD boxset of Seasons 1-4 of the show. Now, it's three weeks later and I've finished watching all 5 seasons of it, and I'm wondering what I ever did with my time before!

In many ways, The Big Bang Theory is a very odd programme. You wouldn't normally expect a show that is distinctly and unashamedly about Nerds and All Things Nerdy to be such a hit. Neither would you expect a main character like Sheldon Cooper (who, let's face it, could so easily have been universally hated) to have been so taken into the hearts of millions and millions of people. And yet, it was and continues to be a hit, and Sheldon Cooper is loved by all. The Big Bang Theory's Facebook page boasts over 23 million fans, whilst Sheldon Cooper's page comprises over 9 million fans. The world is a very strange place indeed.

The delightfully nerdy (except for Penny!) cast of The Big Bang Theory.

That being said, I'm not complaining at all. I happen to think that The Big Bang Theory is one of the funniest and well-written shows of the 21st century, and as a bit of a nerd myself I can't help but love it whenever Star Wars or Doctor Who or Superman gets a mention from characters who love those things even more than I do. To a degree, I think that one of the many keys to the programme's success might just be that kind of fanboy obsession. Because even though the bulk of the show's audience will not have seen every episode of Star Trek or Red Dwarf or Firefly and will have no desire to do so either, I'm willing to bet that every single one of them will still be able to identify with the kind of love Sheldon, Leonard, Raj and Howard have for them. Who can honestly say that they're not a fanboy/fangirl of something? Whether it's a sports team, a brand like Apple, or whatever. Each one of us has at least that one thing that we love to pieces and love to geek out over, and to see that kind of love translated onto screens taps into the inner fanboy/fangirl in all of us. It allows us to empathise with the characters, and we appreciate them for being so willing to express their love for their interests in either the same way as we do or the way that we wish we could.

I mentioned Sheldon Cooper in an earlier paragraph, and anyone who thinks that he's not at the very core of why the show is so popular is just plain wrong. Sheldon is played by Jim Parsons, and in his time on The Big Bang Theory he's won awards galore. He's won 2 Emmys, a Golden Globe, a People's Choice Award, a Critics' Choice Award, and more. And do you know what? He deserves every single one of them and then some. The quality of acting in Comedy is something that is often overlooked, and it's easy to forget just how brilliant actors in comedy shows often are. But with Jim Parsons, it's understandable why he's been met with such universal critical acclaim. In short, his performance is nothing less than astounding. Forget learning all the technobabble and monologues that Sheldon comes out with (which is in itself is a Herculean feat) - it's the way that Jim becomes Sheldon that's truly astonishing. I mean, I know it's nothing unusual for an actor to become a character, but there's something more to it when Jim does it. I've seen Jim in interviews, and watching them it's clear just how much he changes every facet of himself when he becomes Sheldon. His mannerisms, his body language, even his voice - every tiny little nuance, it all changes. And not necessarily in an extremely obvious way; a lot of the time the changes he makes are very very subtle. But the fact remains that the transformation he as an actor undergoes is phenomenal. I also mentioned earlier that it would be very easy for Sheldon to be unlikeable; again, it's a testament to the quality of Jim's acting that he makes Sheldon not just likeable but in many ways absolutely adorable. Underneath all the arrogance and condescension, there's such a vulnerability and gentleness to Sheldon. And actually, the way he's played, you can't help but like him. In essence, Jim Parsons' portrayal of Sheldon is one of the finest displays of acting you're ever likely to see, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that, and I'm just so glad that that's been recognised, and that we as viewers are lucky enough to get the opportunity to see him at work week after week. Now Jim, come and do a play in the West End so I can see you live, damn it!

Jim Parsons is stunning in the role of Sheldon Cooper.

In general, it's usually comedy shows that make me laugh and dramas that have scenes that make me sit back and go, "Wow." But the best ones do both. The best dramas can make you laugh and cry. And the best comedies make you laugh at most scenes but also sit back in amazement during others. And, obviously, The Big Bang Theory is one of those comedies. The one scene that stands out most for me is the final scene of Season 5's final episode, The Countdown Reflection. In it, Raj, Bernadette, Amy, Sheldon, Leonard and Penny sit in front of their television screen and watch their friend (and, in the case of Bernadette, husband) Howard journey into space. I know Chuck Lorre said in his vanity card for that episode that what choked him up most about that scene was the fact that the characters all subconsciously reached out to each other to hold hands, and whilst I agree that that moment was beautiful, the most beautiful line of all - and what made that scene perfect in every sense of the word - was Sheldon's final line. Just 4 words:

"Boldly go, Howard Wolowitz." 

Do you know what? The whole show is summed up in those 4 words. And a lot of the human condition is, too. Human beings are meant to explore. We've crossed oceans and climbed mountains. We're meant to reach out and, with outstretched fingers, touch the face of God. That's what Howard was doing, and that's what his friends knew he was doing. And those 4 words encapsulate everything. They encapsulate how we humans cling on to and love even tiny things like television shows, whilst at the same time strive towards the extraordinary and things that are greater than ourselves. It's an expression of admiration, pride, hope, friendship and humanity. - All that... in 4 words in a 30 minute comedy show. And if things like that aren't what makes The Big Bang Theory so special, then... BAZINGA to you!!

Doctor Who - Asylum of the Daleks - A Review (Spoilers)

It's no secret that I'm not a fan of Steven Moffat or his vision of Doctor Who in the slightest. That being said, I still approach each new episode with an open mind, and hope against hope that I'll love it. On Saturday evening Asylum of the Daleks hit our screens, and with it heralded the arrival of a brand new series of the world's longest running sci-fi show. And as usual, there was me, sat on my sofa, hoping I'd be amazed. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

Before I talk about just a small handful of the many gripes I had with the episode, for the sake of being balanced I'd like to point out that there were parts of it that I actually liked. The unexpected appearance of future companion Jenna-Louise Coleman, for example, provided a nice "Oh wow!" moment, and was a welcome piece of proof that not all spoilers manage to leak their way onto the internet. Secondly, the scene which reveals just why Amy and Rory have drifted so far apart (she can't have children and didn't want him to have to live the rest of his life without them) was handled absolutely beautifully. I don't think Karen Gillan always gets it right with her acting, but she definitely did in this scene. Arthur Darvill, too, really nailed it with his understated approach to the scene, combining disappointment and sad acceptance with the right mix of heartache.The whole thing just pulled at the heartstrings.

Karen Gillan delivers the episode's most emotional moment.

But then, what ruins - or at least significantly dilutes - good things like that for me are mistakes and misguided assumptions on the part of Steven Moffat. Whilst the inclusion of Jenna-Louise Coleman was undoubtedly a big deal for the ming-mongs, the impact of her appearance will have been almost non-existent for the casual viewers who simply have no idea who she is - and let's not forget that it's those viewers who make up the vast, vast majority of the show's audience. I am aware that Doctor Who always features small elements that only the fans will get, and I don't think that there's anything wrong with that; my problem this time around, however, is that the deliberate inclusion of a future companion is not a small thing. Yes, her appearance in this episode will almost undoubtedly be referenced in a future episode, but that's missing the point. The point is, the bulk of the show's audience was denied one of the biggest "OHMYGOSH" moments of the new series. And to make things worse, I feel that this is indicative of a worrying trend in Moffat's writing. More and more, Doctor Who appears to be descending into a forty five minute spectacle of Moffat trying to shoehorn in as many GIF/Tumblr-worthy lines as possible, often recycling one-liners that weren't all that funny to begin with. Maybe it's just me, but I don't feel entirely comfortable with the idea of Doctor Who being written with its fanbase as its core audience. And this leads on to my problem with the other thing I liked about the episode: the main Amy/Rory scene. I've already established how great I thought that scene was. How awful, therefore, for that to be cheapened by one throwaway line at the end of the episode. The "Yessss!" Rory does right before Amy lets him back into their house? Awful. Why? Firstly, he already knew that they were getting back together - that had been established MOMENTS before. The reaction was redundant. Secondly, that scene had established just how delicate a topic their break-up is; it had clearly caused a lot of pain and damage to both Amy and Rory. And for all that to be resolved and swept under the carpet with a simple "Yessss!" Sorry, I don't buy it. And the worst thing is, I'm willing to bet that Moffat wrote that line thinking about how great a GIF it would make.

The first appearance of Jenna-Louise Coleman

To prove I'm not a Moffat basher, though, I'd like to give credit to the man for canning most of the God-awful rainbow Daleks that were introduced to the show in Series 5. And credit to him also for trying to go somewhere new with the Daleks. I'm not sure how successful that Dalek exploration was, but credit to him for doing it in the first place.

I'm not going to list all the things about the episode I didn't like because this post would go on for ever and I don't want this blog to turn into the Julia Moans About Things website. However, I do think it needs mentioning that even Matt Smith, who's usually nothing less than spectacular as the Doctor, was conspicuously underwhelming in this episode. (Well, his hair looked better than usual - I'll give him that.) It got to the stage where, when he was shouting to the Daleks, "What are you waiting for? At long last, it's Christmas. Here I am." I was focusing much more on how appalling his enunciation was than on what the scene meant in the context of the episode. As an actor, saying your lines clearly is Rule Number One, and I'm shocked that an actor as brilliant he is can get such basic things wrong.

Surprisingly, Matt Smith disappoints in Asylum of the Daleks.

Incidentally, as common a criticism as this may be, it does indeed look like Moffat has, again, made the mistake of writing all of his female characters in the same way. At this stage, Oswin's dialogue, if read in isolation, could easily be passed off as that of Amy's, River's, Sally Sparrow's, etc. However, this is only episode one. This isn't the new companion's introductory episode. We have no idea if Jenna-Louise's companion will ultimately be anything like she was in Asylum of the Daleks. So, until we've seen more of her, I'll not write her off just yet.

So why do I still watch the show if I dislike it this much? Well, anyone who knows anything about me knows just how much the Russell T Davies era of the show means to me - it shaped a lot of who I am and it's what got me so interested in television in the first place - and it's out of loyalty to that era that I still watch. Russell's era made me love Doctor Who and made me realise that, at its best, television doesn't get much better. However, I can't help but feel that this era squanders that potential. Doctor Who could be so much more than it is right now, but it's not. I could never honestly say that I hate this era, because at the end of the day it's still Doctor Who, but I would definitely say that I'm disappointed with it, and episodes like Asylum of the Daleks show why.


(Thanks to www.doctorwho.sonicbiro.co.uk for the screencaps.)

The Newsroom

Okay, here's something I don't understand.

Everyone loves Aaron Sorkin. And quite right, too. Having given the world the likes of The West Wing and The Social Network, it's no wonder he's the Golden Boy of Screenwriting. And yet, despite that, the vast majority of professional reviews that I've read of his latest offering, The Newsroom, have been largely negative.

I'm sorry, but what?! The only possible reason I can think of is because this show doesn't exactly portray all journalists in a wholly positive light, and that the writers of reviews, being in that sort of business themselves, might not react greatly to that. But that's a pathetic reason at best, and I don't want to just assume that all journalists are that shallow, because not all of them are.

The show is essentially Sorkin pitching his idea of what news reporting should be like, in a world where I've just witnessed Fox News belittle Olympic athletes for crying after winning their medals. True, the character of grumpy-but-genuinely-decent news anchorman Will McAvoy (Jeff Daniels) might not quite be in the same league as Jed Bartlet yet, just as the fiesty, funny (and at times a little bit pathetic!) executive producer MacKenzie McHale (Emily Mortimer) doesn't have the same level of awesome pumping through her veins as CJ Cregg. But so what? They're both still ten times better than most other characters on the box at the moment. It's the best role I've ever seen Jeff Daniels sink his teeth into (he really is the star of the show - he lights up the screen), and you just know that Sorkin's given them fantastic dialogue when you feel clever just because you've kept up with what's going on without the aid of subtitles or the rewind button.

Jeff Daniels exudes authority and, frankly, pure class as Will McAvoy

The only things I think I agree with The Newsroom's critics on are the weakness of the Maggie/Jim/Don plot, and the annoyance of the occasional bouts of silliness that the show experiences from time to time (the Bigfoot subplot, anyone? Oh dear.) Other than that, I'm really just going to have to settle for agreeing to disagree, as I for one bloody love this show.

I've been trying to work out what exactly it is that I love about it so much, and I think I've cracked it. Yes, the acting's great. Yes, the dialogue has that distinct Sorkin flavour to it. Yes, it's got that idealistic vision of new reporting that only the BBC could ever really live up to and even surpass. But that's not it. I think it lies more in the fact that the show has one foot planted very firmly in the real world. That one detail gives the show a sense of realism that the exciting but evidently fictional situations in The West Wing never could provide. And, boy, does that pay off.

The final scenes of the fourth episode, I'll Try To Fix You, are, frankly, perfect. In those last few minutes, we see the characters learn of a shooting in Tuscon, Arizona. And at the exact moment they hear that news, we get drawn into the show in a way that doesn't happen often with TV. We all remember hearing about that awful shooting; seeing the characters experience that moment again makes us relive it. Knowing, with the benefit of hindsight, that Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords thankfully survived makes seeing the ACN team take a brave stand against the pressure to declare her dead overwhelmingly poignant and powerful. Even the tiny details of that scene - like where Will mistakenly refers to the Congresswoman as "Gabby" before correcting himself - really pull at the heartstrings. And all that, coupled with Chris Martin's soaring vocals swelling over it all, really does make for literally heart-pounding television.

In a way, even trying to describe that scene in words feels like I'm cheapening it somewhat. Because sometimes, television is so powerful that you simply can't describe it - you have to watch it and experience it for yourself.

But what I'm trying to say is that although The Newsroom isn't Aaron Sorkin's greatest ever achievement, it is still one of television's greatest achievement this year - and we've not even made it to the end of the first season yet.

Basically, if you haven't yet given the show a try because you've heard bad things about it, or because you just haven't got round to it yet, then please do. The first scene alone might just blow your mind. And if that one scene at the end of the fourth episode doesn't make you believe that The Newsroom is one of the greatest pieces of television to grace our screens this year, I don't know what will.

(Screencap taken from http://tv.grande-caps.net/gallery/thumbnails.php?album=346&page=9)

The Reichenbach Fall

It's been a full five days since the final episode of the second series of Sherlock was broadcast. "Why have you left it so long to review?!" I hear you cry from in front of your computer screens. Well, firstly it's because I'm incredibly busy at the moment. Like, busy beyond belief. I've got a COLD SORE from all the stress I'm under! But the other reason is simply because it's taken me a few days to really mull the episode over in my head.

In case you missed The Reichenbach Fall (in which case, stop reading right now and go watch it), the scene that's got everyone talking occurs towards the end. After a confrontation with Andrew Scott's Moriarty on the roof of St Bartholomew's Hospital, a figure who is almost certainly Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock Holmes throws himself off the roof, landing on the cold, hard, unfeeling pavement below. Martin Freeman's John Watson staggers towards the bloodied corpse and sees that his eyes have not deceived him, and that Sherlock Holmes is dead.

Sherlock Holmes is dead.

Now, there's so much to say about that scene alone. The episode could have finished there and then, and audiences would have been talking about it for the rest of the month (if not the rest of the year). But no. The final scene of the episode sees John and Mrs Hudson visit Sherlock's grave, to cement - if it even needed cementing in the first place - the fact that this man is dead and buried and not going to come back. In fact, to an extent it tries to emphasise this too much, because it makes it so obvious that it's trying to make you think that Sherlock is dead that in doing so it becomes clear that there's one final twist to come. And that twist, as it happens, turns out to be the final shot of the series. As a heartbroken John walks away from the tombstone of a man whose reputation has been completely and utterly destroyed over the course of the episode (thanks to the delightfully evil Moriarty), the camera tracks back slowly to reveal a dark figure watching him from a distance. And when the camera pans around to reveal the identity of this mysterious watcher, it becomes apparent that it is - as it was always going to be - Sherlock Holmes himself.

A mysterious watcher looks on.

And, of course, it's Sherlock Holmes.

If anything was going to fire up the imagination, crash discussion forums and set Twitter alight in a frenzy of speculation and hashtags, it was going to be this. How. The. HELL did Sherlock manage to survive that fall? Of course, it's a testament to Sherlock's genius that he's able to fake his death in such a convincing manner, but seriously, as a viewer, knowing that I'll have to wait another year or so to find out (or possibly even a year and a half, if the gap between the first two series is at all indicative of how long we're going to have to wait this time around) is driving me insane. Knowing that all I can do is speculate along with other Sherlock aficionados - which, let's face it, is probably the rest of the country, with a particular mention going to the Radio 2 Breakfast team - whilst everything else on TV for the rest of the year fails to live up to January's standards... it's just so frustrating! But I'm not going to complain. I think the fact that a single episode of a television show can unite the country in an air of suspense and speculation, especially in a time of growing criticism and falling viewing figures, speaks volumes about how good British television can be when it's done right. And The Reichenbach Fall is very much the epitome of "British TV done right."

Of course, much of the brilliance of the episode is down to its writer, Steve Thompson, and whilst I don't think his script was quite as strong as Steven Moffat's script for the opening episode, which was perfect in the truest sense of the word, it was still brimming with wit, humour, intelligence, and an all round coolness that only Sherlock can pull off. However, that's not really what I want to focus on. No, instead I'd much rather focus on Benedict Cumberbatch and Andrew Scott.

Sherlock Holmes.

Jim Moriarty.

For the two series of Sherlock that have aired now, Benedict Cumberbatch has portrayed a cold and emotionally isolated interpretation of the character. The only overt displays of warmth his Sherlock ever really displayed were both fake and deliberately unconvincing to the audience. And yet... And yet there were always tiny, subtle moments that made you think that there might just be more to him than meets the eye; that beneath his hard exterior, a soft little heart beats away inside. They're things like how he tells John that "England would fall" if Mrs Hudson were to ever leave Baker Street. They're easy to not remember, but they're there. And what's so special about Sherlock's apparent suicide scene in The Reichenbach Fall is that, for the first time, the softer side of Sherlock comes to the surface. Just look at him as he speaks to John from the roof. Seriously, just look. And listen. His voice breaks. Tears fall from eyes which genuinely do seem to offer a glimpse into his soul. And to see such a massive development in Sherlock's character is not only refreshing but a relief, not to say incredibly moving. After all, as much as I've always been in awe of Cumberbatch's Sherlock, I can't say I've ever really liked him as a character, and that's precisely because he's largely been so emotionless. Don't get me wrong, I never disliked him, but I wouldn't have wanted him as my best mate, either. So thank God that's changed, then! But of course, there's a more sceptical way of looking at this whole thing. In hindsight, it's clear that, despite what he says, as Sherlock stands on the roof, and even as he falls, he has no intention of dying. Therefore, could you perhaps argue that all the things he says in that phone call are nothing more than convincing lies, which he utilises to make his death seem more convincing? Quite possibly. But I think that's missing the point. The thing is, although he may be misleading John with his words, the sentiments behind them are all real - of that I'm sure. Not even the great Sherlock Holmes could fool anyone into thinking he cared about his friends if, in reality, he didn't. Honestly, there are so many layers to Cumberbatch's performance in that scene alone that the only word that springs to mind at the moment is 'BAFTA'. If he doesn't win, I'll be writing the Academy a letter. 

The Sherlock beneath the Sherlock?

Something that I think is very interesting is the fact that the time at which all this warmth and goodness within Sherlock suddenly pours out is the time at which he's faced with the very opposite. For all that Holmes and Moriarty are similar entities, they couldn't be more different. Whilst some may think of Sherlock as cold-hearted, it's only in the face of a truly cold heart that the warmth in Sherlock's begins to shine through. And I love that. It may be cheesey to try to reduce such an epic rivalry into a basic struggle of good against evil, but that's what I think it is, at least on a fundamental level. And since it's only human nature to cling on to all that is good when faced with evil, it's hardly surprising that this episode seems to have intensified everyone's love of Sherlock.

On the subject of Moriarty, however, I feel compelled to talk about the performance of Adam Scott. In many ways it's an odd performance (people have likened Scott's performance to Graham Norton of all people!), but it's certainly an effective one. I mean, we'd seen previews of what Scott's Moriarty could really be like in The Great Game and A Scandal in Belgravia (and even, to an extent, in the final moment of the mediocre The Hounds of Baskeville); there had been little shows of his unpredictability and malice... but those were nothing compared to what he was like in The Reichenbach Fall. The fact that he veers so dangerously between jokey and completely and utterly psychotic in a heartbeat makes watching him both thrilling and terrifying. And I'm not joking about the whole 'terrifying' thing; seriously, there were moments on the rooftop where I was actually a little bit scared of Moriarty. It was partly due to the lighting, I suppose, which really made him look inhuman, but the bulk of the blame (or should I say credit?) for that can fall on Adam Scott. The thing is, though, the whole 'unpredictable arch-nemesis' thing has been done before; it's not new. Look at John Simm's Master in Doctor Who, for example. The main difference between the two is that John Simm's Master doesn't work, and Adam Scott's Moriarty does. He so does. The Simm Master always felt very forced and contrived to me, and I had a lot of trouble believing in him; but believe you me, I had no trouble accepting that Scott's Moriarty is a guy who listens to Staying Alive one minute, and then breaks into the Tower of London to wear the Crown Jewels the next (just to show that he can). And I certainly had no trouble believing that he would be willing to shoot himself more or less on a whim, as indeed he did. I don't think I've ever been frightened by acting before - of scenes in TV shows and films, yes, but never of acting. So I think that speaks buckets about how bloody fantastic Andrew Scott's portrayal of Moriarty is, then. In a way, I do sort of hope that Moriarty stays dead, even though we're only two series into a show that I could see running for a good few years yet, just for the sake of poor ol' Sherlock, and also for my own sake (I don't like being frightened!). But at the same time, he's so damn good that I can't help but hope that Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss find at least some way to feature him again at some stage, even though he's dead. Come on, as if death could stop Moriarty!

A more psychotic villian never there was. Bravo, Mr Scott.
 

Downright scary...

And completely bloody insane. A genuine psychopath.

And so, having discussed the two actors and characters that I wanted to discuss when I started writing this review, I'm finding myself thinking, once again, about how the cliffhanger is going to be resolved in Series 3 (which, as it happens, was commissioned when Series 2 was commissioned, the cheeky buggers). The fact that Molly was excluded from Moriarty's 'list' of Sherlock's friends felt like a glaring omission to me. That, coupled with the fact that Sherlock approached her for help earlier in the episode, has made me certain that she's involved somehow. Also, the cyclist who rode into John 'accidentally'? Not an accident, but then again I don't think we're seriously supposed to believe that it was. Furthermore, the fact that there was an open-top rubbish truck directly next to where Sherlock fell, which conveniently drove away as soon as people began to approach the body on the floor? Not a coincidence, I don't think. But other than that I don't know. Of course, Steven Moffat has gone on record to say that there's something incredibly obvious that everybody has missed... but that doesn't really help matters, does it? I guess for now we'll have to not worry about the fact that we don't know how Sherlock survived; instead, we should just take solace in that he did survive. He'd have broken my heart if he didn't!

It's hard to know exactly what to say to round off this entry, partly because I'm probably running dangerously low on superlatives. So I think I'll settle for using no superlatives, and keeping it short:

"More, please!"

Julia
xx

PS. If Sherlock and Frozen Planet don't sweep up at the BAFTAs this year, I'm going to have to seriously re-evaluate my ability to predict winners, cos those two shows are dead certs

A Scandal in Belgravia

I wasn’t a very good blogger last year. The amount of times I told myself I would make a conscious effort to blog more (I even went on record on here a few of those times) clearly had no effect on the amount of blogging I actually did. I finished watching Smallville (ie. Clark Kent finally became bloody SUPERMAN!) and picked up on House where I last left off - and I didn’t even so much as think about logging into Blogspot. The Christmas episode of Downton Abbey aired and I didn’t even go near the computer!! Shameful.

But last night, at 8:10pm, on your TV and mine, something remarkable happened. Having enjoyed the first series of the BBC’s updated version of the Sherlock Holmes myth, which first hit our screens in 2010 under the watchful eyes of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, I was naturally excited about the prospect of a new episode to watch, especially since it had been 18 months since audiences saw Sherlock finally come face to face with the positively psychopathic Jim Moriarty by a swimming pool, with only a worried-looking Watson, a bunch of snipers, a bomb and a gun for company. However, there was no way in hell I could have anticipated just how bloody fantastic this new episode, A Scandal in Belgravia (based on the original Arthur Conan Doyle’s A Scandal in Bohemia), would be.

Now, let me make something clear right now. I am no fan of Moffat. I enjoyed his episode of Sherlock last year, but the buck stops there. I’m no fan of Coupling. I try not to think about Jekyll. And I will never forgive him for what he’s done to Doctor Who. But what he did when he wrote A Scandal in Belgravia… well, I can honestly only describe it to you as pure perfection. From the opening moments to the final, exhilarating few seconds, I was hooked. And the only – and I mean only – piece of television that I can think of that betters last night’s Sherlock is the finale of Season 2 of The West Wing, Aaron Sorkin’s Two Cathedrals. Nothing on TV will ever better that episode, let me tell you that now – so for me to say that Moffat’s Sherlock episode came perilously close to doing so last night… that is saying a hell of a lot.

It’s difficult for me to highlight just what was so excellent about Scandal because if I were to do so you’d end up reading a transcript of the episode, and as entertaining as I’m sure reading it would be, that’s not what I’m here to do. But there were just so many moments that I’m struggling to know where to begin. Perhaps, then, I should start at the beginning, which saw the knife-cutting tension of the final moments of the last series broken (or, quite possibly, exacerbated) by the ringing of Moriarty’s phone, which just so happens to have the Bee Gees as its ringtone. Or maybe I should talk about the way Sherlock sits in Buckingham Palace stark naked, covered only by a flimsy sheet. But then I’d also want to talk about how chilling it was to hear Sherlock describe to the annoying American exactly what injuries he’d have, and detailing how he would get them, before he even got them.

Benedict Cumberbatch simply OWNS as Sherlock Holmes, whilst Lara Pulver dazzles as Irene Adler

However, as wonderful as those little elements are, the ultimate highlight must surely be what was essentially at the very core of the whole episode - the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and Irene Hadler. For his whole life, Sherlock has been the cleverest person (and then some) in whichever room he’s arrogantly stridden into. But with Irene Hadler, he might just have met his match. And as interesting as Moffat’s decision to make his interpretation of the character a seductive dominatrix, a woman who elects not to stride arrogantly into a room but calmly glide into it naked, was, what was truly compelling was the way in which the entire episode was essentially an intellectual way of depicting two predators circling each other and trying to size each other up (though Sherlock did appear to have the upper hand on that front). Sherlock and Irene are so incredibly similar that they could be either friends, enemies or lovers – and, quite deliberately, there are elements of all three of those possibilities dispersed throughout the episode, and that makes for truly exhilarating viewing.

A big congratulations also has to go out to the show’s composer, David G Arnold. Composers  - especially on TV shows – don’t get nearly enough recognition, and often when they do receive it its only because somebody wants to complain about their music being too loud/interfering/whatever. I hope that nobody will be saying that about the score of Scandal because it was absolutely superb. There were some (well, a lot) of moments in the episode that were outstanding of their own accord, but when coupled with that tremendous, tremendous score – which struck me as rather evocative of Hans Zimmer’s score for The Da Vinci Code – they just became something else entirely. I’m thinking specifically of the scene where Irene finally figures out what Sherlock knew all along about how the accomplished sportsmen died, but, more specifically, the scene in which Sherlock reveals to Irene how he could tell from both her pupils and her pulse that all the words she’d ever said to him were more than just words.

Which leads me on to one last thing I wanted to talk about it. I like it when TV shows are clever. I like it when they make you think. Shows like The West Wing and Doctor Who are like that. And so’s Sherlock. But I especially loved Scandal because it wasn’t just clever in that traditional sense; it was clever because it was constantly able to fool the audience. When Sherlock typed in the codes 1895 and 221B into the phone, it can be presumed that if the codes weren’t at least the codes that the audience was thinking of, they were certainly the codes that they were sure would  be the correct ones (although I suppose the fact that there were remaining attempts was a big of a giveaway), only to find that they were not. That, I suppose, just made the eventual reveal of what the code actually was all the more satisfying. And as for the code itself…  well, I’m fairly sure that I AM SHERLOCKED is going to be remembered for years to come in Sherlock mythology. The ultimate moment of deception, though (at least for me), came at the end. I honestly thought that, having ‘died’ once, Irene’s death at the hands of the terrorist cell would almost certainly be unavoidable. This was cemented as she resigned herself to her fate, was approached by a swordsmen, and the screen faded to black. But to hear that text alert, and for the picture to race back to the screen, and to see Irene look up and straight into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes… that was the biggest surprise of them all – and what a surprise it was. Absolutely breath-taking, there’s no other word for it.

Legendary.

To be entirely truthful with you, I’m a little concerned about the rest of 2012. I mean, yes, it looks to be a good year in terms of television: there’s another series of Downton Abbey for starters, what I presume is the final episode of Absolutely Fabulous, and hey, there’s even another two episodes of Sherlock! But seriously, when you consider that A Scandal in Belgravia was a masterpiece in every sense of the word, will anything on television in 2012 – the rest of the decade, in fact – actually top it?

I think not.