Articles in “Television”

I think I may have dialogued (for want of a better word) the wrong episode of Sanctuary, judging by what happened in episode two:

NICK: Wow, that was . . .
ME: I know. Did you see the bit where she admitted to voluntarily having Jack the Ripper’s baby?
NICK: Yeah. What’s a combination of “terrible” and “awesome”? Ter-some?
ME: That’s not really euphonious. I think we can settle for “craptacular.”
NICK: Yeah.
ME: You know, for a doctor, she had a really shaky grasp of genetics.
NICK: There was some mumbo [redacted] going on in that show.
ME: So she froze the foetus for one hundred years. What kind of cell degradation would happen in that time? I mean, you can’t even freeze chicken for more than three months.
NICK: Mumbo [redacted].
ME: And then she has Jack the Ripper’s baby because she thinks he’s gone for good by that point?
NICK: Yeah.
ME: That’s a crazy bad grasp of genetics right there.

(This, by the way, is Sanctuary, if you haven’t come across it yet.)

ME: Does it have The Cult in the soundtrack?
NICK: I don’t think so.
ME: They had it in the trailer.
NICK: I think they missed a trick in the show.

ME: Oh, CGI city!
NICK: Yes.
ME: Wait, is that part of the episode or a logo?
NICK: I don’t know.
ME: It’s not a good sign when you can’t tell the episode from the logo.

NICK: Does this hospital have an interrogation room?
ME: Maybe the police station has a gurney?

ME: Oh no, it’s Voldemort!
NICK: Yes!
ME: Wait, maybe it’s Peter Garrett.

HERO: Who are you?
NICK (speaking for Amanda Tapping): I’m Batman.

ME: Wait, we’re twenty-five minutes through, and nothing’s happened yet?
NICK: The pacing is a bit flabby.
ME: It’s hard to tell because nothing has happened yet.
NICK: Of course, the humourlessness doesn’t help.
ME: Well, maybe there’ll be some jokes when something happens.

NICK: I don’t think that hat’s doing Amanda Tapping any favours.
ME: I don’t think it would do anyone any favours. I think it’s trying to evoke something, but I don’t know what.
NICK: Vampire Hunter D, maybe?

NICK: Let’s just walk across this completely empty soundstage.
ME: Completely empty soundstage with grand staircases.
NICK: Yeah.
ME: It’s all a bit Skydivers, isn’t it? “Walk, walk, walk: we shall start the scene here.”

HERO: You’re a doctor of what, precisely?
HEROINE: The actual discipline depends on the specific patient.
NICK: What?
ME: What?

HERO (faced with a mermaid): How is this even possible?
NICK: CGI. Lots of CGI.

HERO: What is that?
HEROINE: His exact classification is less important than his actual existence.
NICK: What?
ME: What?

HEROINE: He’s been relatively isolated since I first treated him.
NICK: Oh, the dialogue is so ponderous.
ME: Yeah.
NICK: “Relatively isolated.” It’s so flabby.
ME: And also? Most of it doesn’t make sense.

HEROINE: I’d like to offer you a place here.
HERO: What, helping you catch monsters?
HEROINE: We prefer to call them “abnormals.”
NICK: Oh, yes—because that’s much better.

HEROINE: I need someone who can see the world as it really is.
HERO: I lock up criminals, not monsters.
HEROINE: And you can’t see the irony in that statement?
NICK: No. Because there isn’t any.

HEROINE (talking about a child with a tentacle growing out of his chest): Such abnormal children are often adopted by well-meaning immigrants.
ME: What?
NICK: What?

HEROINE: What frightens you more, Dr Zimmerman? That frightened boy down there . . .
NICK: Or his disgusting tentacle?
HEROINE: What do you see when you look at him?
NICK: Apart from his disgusting tentacle?

ME: Even the end-title music is humourless.
NICK: Yeah, though I don’t mind it.
ME: Why on earth not?

Well, I say no spoilers. I’ll qualify that: nothing here counts as a spoiler if you’ve seen the Doctor Who episodes that have thus far aired on Australian television—which is to say, all of them.

1. If Torchwood were actually a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, Captain Jack would definitely be a rogue. Say you’re fighting the boss. Do you think Captain Jack would be standing next to you? Or is he more likely to pop up behind the enemy and stab him in the back for twenty-five points of damage? Sure, my base comparison there is more Puzzle Quest than Dungeons and Dragons, but the analogy still holds.

(If you prefer to play Fallout 3, I don’t think you’d have any trouble seeing Jack as the Mysterious Stranger. As Nick says when he’s playing Fallout 3, the Mysterious Stranger isn’t the most useful bonus you could enable, but when he turns up, it’s always awesome.)

2. And still on a Dungeons and Dragons theme, not only would Captain Jack be a rogue, he would absolutely be Chaotic Good. He’s the sort of character who has a basic good alignment, but is entirely unpredictable in how he manifests that.

As Nick points out, the Doctor is basically Chaotic Good, as well. Lawful Good is always by the book, like The Middleman. (And if you’re not reading that, or haven’t managed to see the excellent television series—now sadly axed—what are you waiting for? Who doesn’t want to watch something in which the hero says to his sidekick, “It’s bad apples like you that put J. Edgar Hoover in a dress”?)

But Chaotic Good has more of a mischievous side. And we’ve seen more of this with the Doctor in the last season or so—I’ve mentioned elsewhere on the blog that I’ve been disturbed on more than one occasion by the glee that the Doctor takes in chaos and disaster.

He hasn’t always been that way: I would argue that the fifth Doctor, for example, had far more of a Lawful Good alignment.

The touchstone episode, for me, is increasingly becoming “Warriors of the Deep.” I don’t know when this started, but more and more over the last season or two of Doctor Who, I’ve been drawing comparisons in my mind with that story and particularly with that last shot of the fifth Doctor and that last line: “There had to be a better way.” It doesn’t seem to me that the Doctor always looks for that other way, these days.

And Captain Jack doesn’t, either. Watch season two of Torchwood and tell me that he’s always looking for the better way. (Or, for that matter, let’s just think about the time he fed Ianto’s ex-girlfriend to a pterodactyl, shall we?)

3. And that brings me to my final point: Captain Jack is now basically the Doctor. Don’t mistake me on this: I think that’s fabulous. And now that Torchwood is increasingly—in Nick’s words—“grown up” television rather than simply being “adult” television, now that it has found its feet, we’re seeing this more.

True, Captain Jack is a fixed point in time, something that the Doctor fears rather than something that the Doctor is. But he’s directly analogous to a Time Lord, these days: though his regenerations come faster and always bring him back to the same body, he has the same distance from humanity now that the Doctor has always had. Like the Doctor, he will not age or die—at least, not by any means measurable by or conceivable to the human mind.

Captain Jack is the Doctor without a TARDIS.

He’s the Doctor trapped in a single location.

He’s the Doctor who can’t just leave after he’s reduced another planet to chaos.

He’s the Doctor, in short, who has to stay and clean up his own messes.

Poor man.

(Please, feel free to shred my Torchwood/Dungeons and Dragons analogy in the comments, but keep them spoiler free.)

Do you know, I completely forgot this was on tonight. And then Nick didn’t fancy watching it—and there’s still some avoidance behaviour going on with that, frankly—and then I had an incredibly complicated conversation with my mother about this show that basically ran around in these circles:

MAM: Well, we thought we’d watch it anyone.
ME: Oh, sure. I don’t think it will be your cup of tea, though.
MAM: Anyway, we thought we’d watch it.
ME: I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I just didn’t think it was your cup of tea.
MAM: Anyway, we thought we’d watch it.
ME: I’m not saying you shouldn’t . . .

And so on.

Anyway (as my mother would say), here we are, after all.

I’ll be honest, while Rob Brydon is talking on this show I’ve never heard of: I had some serious concerns with the tone of Torchwood the first time I saw these episodes. I’m wondering whether I’ll have the same reaction this time around—and, if I do, if I’ll have time to talk about them while live-blogging.

I also felt, the first time I watched this, that it didn’t really hit its stride until episode five, “Small Worlds.” So we’ll see how I feel about these early episodes on a re-watching.

On a slightly hysterical note, why didn’t I know that Being Human was on tonight?! Why am I so out of the loop?

Ah, here we go.

Pan over lovely Cardiff—lots and lots of pans over Cardiff, and down onto a body, lying in the street in the rain, surrounded by SOCOs and some uniformed policemen, including Gwen. (We don’t know she’s Gwen yet, but she is.)

Now SOCO is leaving the scene, and the police have to ask what’s happening. SOCO says Torchwood are coming in: special access.

And so they are: four of them, with Captain Jack (spoiler!) in the lead, in his World War II trenchcoat, coming up in their enormous black car, and walking straight over to the body, while Gwen and a SOCO chat about the lack of proper procedure these days.

But Gwen is annoyed: she runs up into the multi-story carpark that overlooks the alley in which the body lies, and peers down.

Jack is ranting about oestrogen in the rain: saying he loves this planet, because there’s contraceptives right in the water—he’s never going to get pregnant again, Jack says.

Meanwhile, Suzie (Indira Varma) is telling Owen that her mysterious gauntlet “grants her access” rather than allowing her control: Owen says that if he gets punched again, he’s punching it right back—just before the gauntlet starts moving on its own, and Suzie brings the dead man (John) back to life for three minutes.

They’re asking John who killed him, but they’ve already told him he’s dead, and of course he’s just freaking out the entire time they’re talking to him. When he eventually reveals that he was stabbed in the back (and therefore can’t help them catch the killer), Jack jumps in and asks him what it’s like to be dead.

What did he see? Jack asks. And John says he saw nothing. “Oh my god, there’s nothing!” And he dies again, freaking out about the nothingness beyond.

Well, that was cruel.

Jack knows Gwen’s watching and when he challenges her, she—freaking out, as you would after seeing a man brought back to life—runs. She goes home to her boyfriend, for a scene that seems designed to show the relative ordinariness of her life.

The next day, Gwen, in uniform, is serving mugs of tea to CID (after asking a colleague to look up Jack for her)—though the next scene is her helping to break up a bar fight, in which she’s slammed into what looks like a hardwood bar, which had got to hurt. So she’s not just a secretary!

This means she ends up in the hospital—where she sees Jack going past. Chasing him up the stairs, she comes to a section that’s sealed off. She asks a janitor why it’s sealed, but he says it was that way this morning when he arrived at work: he thought the police had done it.

Gwen steps through the plastic seal—and she sees someone standing at the end of a corridor, and approaches him, looking for Jack. But it quickly becomes apparent that it’s not a man, and that he’s not actually human. Gwen assumes he’s a man wearing a mask, but he’s clearly not. And when the janitor comes in and walks up cheerily to Gwen, chatting away, the creature grabs him and rips his jugular out.

Wow. That is as grotesque as I remember the first time around. Gwen looks a little freaked—well, more than a little. But she’s not vomiting. I’d be vomiting.

And as she’s standing in the street looking freaked, the Torchwood car comes screaming past, nearly running her down. She leaps in the panda to follow, leaving her colleague behind at the hospital.

While she’s in the panda, Gwen’s colleague comes through on the radio, and tells her about the only Captain Jack Harkness on record: an American, who disappeared in 1941 at the height of the Blitz and was never seen again.

Gwen, chasing Torchwood, is told off by a security guard for parking her car in the middle of a plaza: by the time she glances at him and back, the Torchwood personnel have vanished, even though there’s nowhere to go.

Yes, sorry: the man who was killed was a porter, not a janitor.

Gwen’s colleague, who has followed her despite her nicking the panda, tells her that all the hospital personnel are accounted for. He tells her she’s not well, and that he’ll take her home. At home, Gwen tells her boyfriend that she has to work (“Do you forgive me?” she asks. “Say you forgive me.” It’s presumably a refrain in their relationship, but Nick wonders how often she’s been lying to her boyfriend) and she’s straight back to where she saw Torchwood disappear.

She heads to a pizza place, where she asks about “Jack Harkness,” “J. Harkness,” or just “Harkness”—but no such deliveries. On her way out the door, she asks, “I don’t suppose you’ve got a Torchwood?”

“Oh, aye,” he says. “We deliver to them all the time. Good customers they are.”

NICK: It’s like UNIT. With their big sign out front saying “Secret UNIT Headquarters.”

So Gwen grabs a couple of pizzas and is buzzed into Torchwood’s secret underground base by Ianto. (We don’t know it’s Ianto yet, but trust me on this.)

I’ve always found the secret underground base—ack! Hand in a jar!—to be rather amazing. Very steampunky, though it looks as though it would be cold in winter.

And there’s Jack, in his suspenders and leather wrist cuffs—and as Gwen’s walking towards him with the pizzas, Tosh (spoiler!) suddenly bursts out laughing, and sets Owen off. And Suzie says that that didn’t last long. Of course, they’ve been watching her on the monitors, so they knew she was coming.

(In the meantime, Jack has been asking which idiot has been ordering pizzas under the name “Torchwood.” It’s Owen, for the sake of completeness.)

There’s some banter about what happened to the porter, and to John Tucker in the alley—Jack pushes Gwen to admit that she saw John brought back to life—and she’s clearly terrified (even before she sees the pterodactyl, and we’ll talk about the pterodactyl later). She keeps mentioning that she’s a police officer, as though it keeps her safe.

Jack asks if she wants to see the porter’s murderer? She’s does, sort of—and Suzie pushes her to go with Jack. They have the creature who killed the porter—they call him a weevil—sedated in a cell.

Gwen sits in front of the cell and stares into the weevil’s eyes while Jack tells her that it’s an alien, and provides some details about weevils’ lives in Cardiff.

Back upstairs, Jack introduces Owen, Tosh, Suzie, and Ianto—Gwen’s still uncertain about what will happen to her, and Jack tells her to come with him.

GWEN: I’m getting a bit tired of following you.
JACK: No, you’re not. And you never will.

They take the “scenic route” out of Torchwood. It’s a paving stone that rises up like an elevator right into the street. But no one can see or hear them: Jack says it’s a perception filter. People can see them, but don’t really pay attention to them.

There’s some techno-babble here that plays back into the TARDIS’s arrival in Cardiff in “Boomtown,” but Gwen’s distracted: “But there’s a bloody big hole in the ground! Don’t people fall in?”

JACK: That is so Welsh.
GWEN: What is?
JACK: I show you something wonderful, and you find fault.

Sitting in a restaurant, they talk about the other alien encounters the Earth has had recently—you know, the ones in Doctor Who. And they have this piece of dialogue, which I love:

GWEN: You catch aliens?
JACK: Yep.
GWEN: You catch aliens for a living?
JACK: Sure do.
GWEN: You’re an alien catcher?

During the discussion about what Torchwood does, Jack explains that no one is allowed to take alien artefacts off the base—and, of course, we cut to the other members of staff pulling various items out of their bags. Suzie, for example, has taken the gauntlet home with her.

Back in the restaurant, Jack is explaining that their only purpose in bringing John back to life is to test the glove. Gwen thinks they could help find the serial killer, but Jack says they’re busy. Gwen asks if their work is more important, and Jack says yes, it is.

GWEN: Well, that’s tough shit.

Of course, around about this point, Jack tells her that he’s fed her an amnesia pill (with a sedative mixed in) and she’ll have forgotten all about this by tomorrow morning.

JACK: Most tragic of all, you’ll have forgotten all about me.

Jack, is there anyone you won’t flirt with?

Gwen sprints home, and starts trying to write down the information about Torchwood.

Cut to Owen, trying to pick a pretty blonde woman up in a bar. She’s not interested, not least because he says he can’t be bothered with all the chat because he has to be up early. So he sprays something from the bottle he brought home in his mouth—like breath freshener—and she’s all over him.

I have problems with that scenario, but I’ll come back to that later if I have a chance.

Tosh, meanwhile, is using her device to scan books (by touching it on the spine) and download them to the computer. Suzie is bringing flies to life.

Owen is challenged outside the club by the woman’s boyfriend, and uses the alien mojo again—which results in the boyfriend deciding to join in rather than, as had been his original plan, punching Owen in the face.

Ianto, meanwhile, has shut Gwen’s computer down remotely, and she’s so groggy by this point that she hasn’t the faintest idea what’s happening.

And Jack’s standing on top of a building! Jack has some curious fondness for standing on the tops of buildings. Maybe he’s Batman?

The next morning, Gwen wakes up still on her keyboard—only she’s not in her study, she’s in the kitchen now. She can’t really remember what’s happened, and believes her boyfriend’s suggestion that she was out with her friend Diane. Similarly, she blows off the colleague whom she asked to look up Jack, because she can’t remember who Jack is.

Gwen wanders into CID, and sees an artist’s rendition of the murder weapon, an odd pronged implement that clearly resonates with Gwen somehow, though she can’t put her finger on it. But throughout the day, she keeps flashing back to the sketch. Two o’clock in the morning, she still can’t sleep, but now she’s thinking of a physical object. Has she seen it somewhere? Or is she projecting from the sketch?

Well, the answer to that becomes more apparent when she’s sees a brochure for Wales Millennium Centre (Torchwood is under the Millennium Centre) with “remember” written on it.

And when she heads back there, she does start remembering—especially as Suzie comes walking slowly towards her. She’s so beautiful, Indira Varma.

Suzie thinks that Gwen knows what’s going on—that the image of the knife has tripped the amnesia—but Gwen has no idea why Suzie has suddenly drawn a gun on her.

Suzie is freaking out: she says Gwen is the only one who can “make the link.” Well, the only one apart from Torchwood. She’s planning on running, but she doesn’t know how she can do anything else apart from working for Torchwood.

There are strong shades here of various speeches in Doctor Who—except there’s no Doctor here, just the monsters that the Doctor is, apparently, worth.

Suzie’s explaining what she’s doing—trying to get the glove to actually resurrect people—while Jack comes up behind her on the lift. But Suzie says the perception filter doesn’t work on her, and shoots Jack in the head. She draws the gun on Gwen, and Gwen’s freaking out, because she has no idea why she’s going to be shot.

But just as the perception filter doesn’t work on Suzie, guns don’t work on Jack. He rises up behind Suzie again, telling her its over and to give him the gun. And Suzie knows it’s over, and she shoots herself in the head.

That’s enough to counteract the amnesia pill.

And Tosh and Owen give Jack the alien devices they’ve stolen from the lab, before Jack locks Suzie’s body away in Torchwood’s very own vault.

And he and Gwen stand outside (on top of a building, from the looks of it), and Jack explains that he can’t die—not until he finds a doctor, the “right kind of Doctor.”

Gwen’s worried that she’s going to be fed another amnesia pill, but Jack offers her a job instead.

And, of course she accepts.

We pan back from the two of them—yep, they’re standing on a roof—past a pterodactyl (yes, a pterodactyl) and into a trailer for next episode. Until next week!

While I’m waiting for the second semi-final to begin, I’m watching an SBS World News story on gorillas.

And being distracted—not in a good way—by the truly hideous outfit that the fashionista newsreader is wearing. What is that? Some kind of asymmetrical, rigid mesh vest over a heavily ruffled, collared, white blouse? Why?

Maybe it’s an homage to Eurovision?

I’m making sure I don’t start live-blogging too early this time, to avoid the strange rambling that preceded last night’s post.

Although I’m sure you’ll all be interested to know that now the weather is getting colder, my bad ankle—the one I landed on when I fell down the backstairs, and then never bothered to have treated—is really playing me up again.

Damn, I let myself become bored again, didn’t I?

But that’s all right, because now we’re back in Moscow for the second semi-final of Eurovision 2009, to find out who will be the last ten countries to go through to the finals.

Now, we’re starting with the national performances, but I have no chance of writing down the name of this group. Frankly, I’m a little distracted by the beards.

The clothes are fabulous, though—ack! And the giant babushka dolls!

And the fact they’re now playing ABBA on traditional Russian instruments.

Wait, now the babushka dolls are rotating, and showing images of merry-go-round horses. But, then, that’s not as strange as the women who’ve just come out on stage. Or, for that matter, as the fact that this performance is a medley of Eurovision songs.

And now there are bears dancing with each other.

Oooh, apparently they change the images on the babushka dolls by hitting them with sledgehammers! The staging really is lovely.

Did I mention the bears dancing with each other?

Oh, no. We have the same hosts as last night. I’m so sorry, guys: you are truly, truly terrible. Truly terrible.

For example: “Now, Natasha, I hope you have found common ground with the bears.” What? No, seriously: what does that mean?

But now we’re starting the performances!

CROATIA: “Liepa Tena.”
Oooh, one of them’s called Igor? Really? Cool.
Hmm, string instruments. And a man in disturbingly tight pants feeling up his back-up dancers.
Yep, this is Eurovision all right.
Well, now his back-up dancers are feeling themselves up, so there is that.
Nick points out that the women have flesh-toned microphone covers, so we’re hoping for a costume change.
Goodness knows it’s dull enough now.
Ah, and here’s the female singer the song is “featuring”—doing some kind of falsetto wailing while being stared at lasciviously by the male singer.
Am I being a bit harsh on Croatia? His voice is all right. But the song is frankly boring.
And no costume changes! Dammit, Eurovision!

IRELAND: “Et Cetera.”
Will this be better than Dustin the Turkey?
Ah, girl rock band. Girl rock band in insanely tight pants.
Seriously, insanely tight.
No, I’m sorry, Ireland. If I wanted to listen to this, I’d be listening to TodayFM. I doubt even Triple M would play this.
Fantastic staging, as always.
I’m still betting on my “dead billionaire” theory from last night.
Nick is bewildered by the fact that people buy deliberately laddered tights. I told him that that’s so fashionable right now it’s passe. I didn’t further break his heart by telling him they’re actually leggings.
Though he may not have my irrational hatred of leggings.
No, I know I didn’t talk about the song. But did you hear it?

LATVIA: “Probka.”
“Probka” means “traffic jam,” apparently.
Wow.
I think someone just mailed the lead singer a complete set of The Young Ones DVDs. That’s the only explanation for his outfit.
Ah, vocal interlude. Fabulous.
This song is all over the place. Frenetic, now soft and . . . well, a little whingy, frankly.
And now we’re back to frenetic.
Does that guitarist on the left have his jeans rolled up to his knees?
At least it’s not in English.
Frankly, I hope this doesn’t get through. It’s giving me a headache and deja vu. Simultaneously.
Well, that was odd.

SERBIA: “Cipela.”
Hmm, “follicularly enhanced work,” eh?
ACK!
And the shoes!
(NICK: They looks like Blackadder’s codpiece, the shoes!)
And the bride!
Oh, and the hair! The hair!
The afro is amazing enough, but what is going on with the accordian player’s hair? And his leather suit?
Oh, and now some random domestic violence! Fantastic!
Nick hopes these guys get through.
I do like the pixellated version of the lead singer’s face, I admit.
Oh, that poor bride! I don’t know what’s happening to her, but she seems quite affronted. I wish I spoke Serbian.
Yeah, I wouldn’t mind seeing them again.

POLAND: “I Don’t Wanna Leave.”
Oh, good start. Slow-motion people in white doing some kind of interpretive dance in the background.
And our first cape for the night! Admittedly, it’s an elbow cape, but it’s still a cape.
NICK: That top’s giving her quite asymmetrical cleavage.
Oh, Nick’s misbehaving tonight!
SINGER: It’s getting hard to breathe.
NICK: Certainly is, darling.
ME: Why?
NICK: I just . . . wanted to say it.
Key change!
The song itself is a standard Eurovision ballad. They’ll probably get through.
Nick’s singing the Aerosmith song from Armageddon, now. It is a little Steve Tyler towards the end.

NORWAY: “Fairytale.”
This guy looks like Brad Pitt? Oh, save me!
Oooh, high-kicking dancers! And a violin! And some drugs, I strongly suspect.
This is a bouncy little number. Has an oddly Romany feel to it, though I’m not sure what kind of Romany population there is in Norway.
I’m liking this, actually.
Except for the odd leap-frogging thing that’s happening in stage, now.
Well, the female back-up singers have turned up now, and Nick’s thoroughly in favour of this song making the finals. I hope they don’t have to lean forwards at any point.
Ooops, he broke his bow. It’s a good thing he’s not actually allowed to play that thing on stage.
But I’d like this to go through. I’m enjoying this one, especially the acrobatics on stage.
And fireworks! I’m a tart for fireworks.

CYPRUS: “Firefly.”
Right: I want spaceships. And space hookers. And Adam Baldwin. And Gina Torres. And a strangely inappropriate Western theme song.
I’ll be very disappointed, otherwise.
Oh.
I think I’m going to be very disappointed.
NICK (singing): You can’t take my bra from me!
(Yes, I know. I’m thinking of muzzling him next year.)
Nick’s pointed out that the guitar part is very Coldplay. And we’re still waiting for someone to get kicked into a turbine.
NICK: You cannot muzzle me! I will not be silenced!
Is she wearing her rings backwards?
It’s . . . nice, I suppose. Some nice wavering in the vocals. Lovely stage sets. And she’s a beautiful girl.
But I just really don’t like Coldplay.
It’ll probably get through, though. She is terribly pretty. And they have those illuminated cube thingies, which are pretty awesome.

SLOVAKIA: “Let’ Tmou.”
This is a duet, is it? Hmm, in-jokes from the commentators.
Ah, that’s at least the second double-bass for this year’s Eurovision.
White grand piano! Do you think someone’s going to rise up out of that one, this year?
Gorgeous set. As always.
But—and I know this is unfashionable—the male singer, to me, looks as though he just shouted, “What do you mean I’m on stage in thirty seconds?!”
NICK: She’s going through notes no human should have to hear!
This is terribly overwrought, isn’t it? Both musically and emotionally.
I wish I knew enough about music to know if those are real notes, or not.
Remind me to drink out of plastic tomorrow night, if they get through.

DENMARK: “Believe Again.”
Ronan Keating helped write this song? Oh, please no.
What’s he sitting on?
Oh, no. We have boy band. I repeat: we have boy band.
You want to believe in love? I want to believe that this song will end soon. And also that the lead singer will one day be able to straighten his legs again.
And now he’s smirking at me!
NICK: It’s toe-tappingly terrible!
I wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised if this made it through, but I really, really don’t want to have to watch it again tomorrow night.
Ooh, fireworks!
Right, I’ve changed my mind.
I love fireworks.
And he didn’t quite make that last note.

Oh, dear: the hosts are back.

SLOVENIA: “Love Symphony.”
I’m worried about this song already—just based on the title.
Lovely, lovely staging once again. I’m partial to silhouettes on Eurovision.
Plus, I liked this song first time round, when ABBA performed it.
Wow, this is a long build up.
NICK: Is there an actual song?
The silhouette thing is getting a little old, actually, Do you think she’s coming out from behind that thing?
Nick’s waiting for Sutekh the Destroyer to turn up.
For the first time, the staging is completely (Ow! She didn’t make those notes!) overshadowing the performance.
Wind machine! Lovely!
Has anyone taken their kit off, yet?
That was terrible. That was terrible by Eurovision standards. Wow.

HUNGARY: “Dance With Me.”
What is happening with the back of of their skirts?!
Costume change! Finally!
NICK: Oh. Can they change it back, please?
Those trousers are . . . revealing.
SINGER: It’s written on your body as you’re putting up a fight.
That’s . . . really creepy, actually, singer.
As is your shirt.
NICK: He looks like he wishes he was the Irish contestant, actually. He has a kind of pervy leprechaun vibe.
The song itself—if you’re watching Eurovision for the songs—is pure 1980s’ disco.
Mate, you can wink at me all you like: I’m neither dancing with you nor making your body sway.

AZERBAIJAN: “Always.”
I loved, loved, loved Azerbaijan last year. I know there was some distaste for their performance, but it made my heart sing in a special way.
I’m betting this one won’t.
And turns out I’m wrong.
I love it already—just for the vaguely androgynous dancers in gold lame pants, purple chiffon, and corsets.
And I think we have a new contender for “shortest skirt of the competition.”
Nick’s right: this is the most purely Eurovision entry we’ve seen so far this year.
What is the female singer wearing on her knee?!
NICK: She’s got C3PO’s leg!
The song itself is rather boppy, though. It’s no Norway, but it’s not bad. And there’s some kind of steam machine behind the female lead singer—which is redundant, given she’s wearing a napkin.

GREECE: “This Is Our Night.”
Wonderful reveals? I feel a costume change coming on!
Why is everything so black and white this year?
NICK: Was that a Vulcan nerve pinch or a Tae Kwon Do move?
Ha! The leap off the stage is wonderful!
NICK: I’ve always thought Eurovision singer should be judged on the power of their thigh muscles rather than their singing.
Ack! And now he’s on a conveyor belt! Oh, I hope this guy gets through.
NICK: God bless you, Eurovision.
Key change!
This is pure Eurovision, too. Much, much better than last year’s Greek entry, which engendered homicidal fury in the ten-year-old boy I watched it with.

LITHUANIA: “Love.”
I’m starting to think no-one’s going to rise up out of a grand piano at all, this year.
Nick has named this singer “Twat-Hat Man.”
He really is a little sub-Freddy Mercury, isn’t he?
This is insanely dull. And perhaps a little creepy, judging from what little I can hear of the lyrics. There’s the odd little trilling effect to the chorus, which is rather sweet. But it’s too little, too late.
Ah, pefunctory key change. No point drinking for that one.
I’m not holding out much hope for Lithuania.
HE HAS FIRE COMING OUT OF HIS HAND.
Did NOT see that coming.
NICK: I wonder if that was the rehearsal problem?

MOLDOVA: “Hore Din Moldova.”
Folk, eh? I’m hopeful already.
Ah, nice. I’m liking this already. Lovely, controlled, wavering vocals.
Cute, cute little costume.
Men in lovely national costumes doing kicky, twirly dances.
I like the kicky, twirly dances.
This is nice and bouncy—I’d like to see this go through.
And the stage set is one of the loveliest we’ve seen all competition, and that’s saying something. A stunning cross-stitch effect.
Right, Moldova are one of my new favourites.
Yep, “traditional but funky” about sums it up.

ALBANIA: “Carry Me In Your Dreams.”
Oh, dear. This is not starting well.
Nick thinks she’s Nikki Webster.
ACK!
Pygmy. Vampire.
Bright green sequinned bondage gear.
Two pygmy vampires.
Break-dancing pygmy vampires.
And Nick and I are now convinced the sequinned bondage chap is only there to stop the singer from breaking her ankles in those heels.
Did I mention we have a winner for the shortest skirt in the competition?
And a wind machine.
I have no idea what the song is like. I haven’t heard a note.

UKRAINE: “Be My Valentine!”
Ah, unnecessary exclamation mark. I’m quite fond of unnecessary punctuation marks. In a kind of masochistic way.
What? The hell machine?
Oh. My. God.
Can’t blog. Laughing too hard.
Eyes up, cameraman! No, not that high!
NICK: Centurions! Battlestar Galactica style! But naked!
Still laughing too hard.
This is insane.
Strange bondage machines.
Strange bondage boots.
Now she’s riding one of the back-up dancers.
And now she’s drumming!
This is seriously (no other word for it) bat-shit crazy.
And I would say we had a new winner for shortest skirt, but that doesn’t even qualify as a skirt.
Wow.
Words fail me.

ESTONIA: “Randajad.”
Oooh, nice trilling sound to this one. A little shrill, maybe.
I’m loving all the non-English songs this time.
John’s going to love this one—very, very Goth.
Well, we have a winner for lowest neckline.
Honestly, though: this has some lovely harmonies. There’s a nice rhythm to the lyrics. And the fact that I’m concentrating on the song should tell you how dull the staging is.
Wow, this is the Eurovision Of Violins.
Where are the fireworks? And the flamethrowers? And the wind machines? This is barely Eurovision, at all!

THE NETHERLANDS: “Shine.”
Oh, no. They’re talking to the audience. I hate that.
Ack! Disco-ball jacket!
“Love will make us glow in the dark”? I certainly hope not.
Wow, this is my primary-school song! “Let your light shine, let your light shine, let your light shine out for all to see!”
Well, close enough.
What on earth is that woman . . . playing? Does that qualify as playing? I can’t tell, because I don’t know what that is.
Hey, they’re actually disco-ball suits! Those must be uncomfortable to sit down in.
I really, really hope this doesn’t get through.
Key change!
Too little, too late, Netherlands. This is dull—and I don’t think you hit that last note, frankly.
Ha! And bitchy comment from the SBS commentator about how old they are.

Oh, dear: here are the Russian hosts, again. And the damn magic button again. Bring back last year, when they signalled the beginning of voting by hurling a basket of apples into the crowd.

MALE HOST: Are you ready?
FEMALE HOST: No, no, not yet.
NICK: Stop doing that to me, Andrey. You’re very unatttractive man.

And here we are with the recapping. Do you think we’ll get two sets of recaps again tonight?

Still seven minutes to vote: we’ve just recapped everyone, but I’m sure we’ll recap them again in a moment or two.

Actually, the painting montage was rather sweet. But what has the female presenter done to her hips?

And now we recap everyone again. I knew it! I knew it!

And now we’re back with hosts. But we still have thirty seconds to vote for our countries. If we’re in Europe. And have a time machine.

At least they’re counting right this time around, and not several seconds behind as they were last night.

These hosts are truly, truly terrible—but we have some sort of national performance, here. Apparently, they’re the “pride of Russia”—they seem to be a dance company. Honestly, I think Russia are doing a lovely job: the staging is brilliant and beautiful, and the national performances are fascinating.

(These are folk dancers from different nations, apparently.)

It’s just the hosts who are awful.

Ah, and the SBS commentators are being patronising again.

And now we have Greek folk dancing. According to Julia, you can’t not do it. I can, Julia. I assure you of that.

Now Russian folk dancing. Now, those are awfully pretty dresses. Yes, I am getting flashbacks to a couple of truly terrifying Russian fantasy movies (from the 1950s) that I’ve seen recently, but those dresses are so pretty. I would wear those to work.

The films weren’t deliberately terrifying, by the way. Have you ever seen old Russian fantasy films? Shudder.

Will we never run out of jokes about how old The Netherlands’ performers were?

We have to see these hosts again tomorrow night, don’t we? Oh, what a shame. But here we have the top five. Quick: stop Nick from grabbing the remote control this time!

FRANCE: As insanely dull as I remember. It is in French, but it’s still dull.
RUSSIA: As whingy as I remember it from last night. Maybe a little more angsty.
GERMANY: Did I say boppy yesterday? Did I add “slightly creepy”? And “unnecessarily retro”?
U.K.: Andrew Lloyd Webber? Kill me now. Please. But I hope we get more than zero points this time.
SPAIN: Typical vaguely disco Euro-pop.

And now we come to the results!

Wow! There’s more than one magic button? Kinky!

The results:
Azerbaijan! Well, I liked them. The androgynous dancers: we need more of them.
Croatia! Do you think it’s a coincidence that we saw a shot of them just before this result? They were a little waily and dull, for me.
UKRAINE! Oh, thank goodness. The naked centurions will be back.
Lithuania! The twat in the hat? Really? Wow. That was so, so dull.
Albania! Pygmy vampires? What is happening here?!
MOLDOVA! Well, we wanted them.
Denmark! Really? The boy band? I’m losing faith in your voting, Europe! Where’s Greece? And Norway?
Estonia! Dull, dull, dull. Greece now! And Norway! Okay, Europe?
NORWAY! Good. I liked this boy. He was sweet and peppy.
GREECE! Had to be. But I believe Julia when she says it’s not as random as they say it is.

Well, I’m quite happy with that. I didn’t want to watch The Netherlands again. Or (shudder) Hungary. Or Slovakia: so painful.

And that’s the live-blogging of Eurovision for 2009—at least as far as the Circulating Library is concerned. But we’ll do the semi-finals again next year. Of course we will! Where else will we find anthropomorphised bears and magic horses and such short, shirt skirts?

‘Til 2010, Eurovision!

This live-blogging is brought to you by the fact that I think I might be a little in love with my new tracksuit pants. It doesn’t count as infidelity when the co-respondent (so to speak) is a item of clothing, right?

So here we are for the first of the two semi-finals for this year’s Eurovision. Since Russia won last year, I’m hoping we have a reprise of the completely random ice-skater from last year’s competition.

I would like that.

I’m easily pleased.

Aw, vale Bud Tingwell. I watched some “Charlie the Wonderdog” in your memory this afternoon.

As a warning, though, this is a two-hour broadcast—I can’t guarantee there won’t be typing errors before 9:30 p.m. I’ll catch what I can as I type, but there will almost certainly be errors. I only hope they’re humorous ones. Like “agast.”

Of course, now we’re stuck in the pre-programme limbo of advertisements. The problem with that is that I become bored, and then I begin blogging about anything that comes into my mind. I’ll be good.

Or I’ll sit on my hands until the broadcast starts.

Nick will be moderating the blog tonight, so please feel free to comment on the entrants—as here we go! Eurovision for 2009!

We have Julia Zemiro as an SBS host again, this year. I don’t mind her, but I’m also not an enormous fan. She didn’t irritate me last year, though.

You know what will irritate me, though? If we don’t have Russian travelogues during the broadcast. We didn’t have them last year, and it irritated me.

Wait, planets? And beasts and plants speaking to each other? And people learning how to fly? Well, girls: do you think that the flower knows how to fly? Really, do you think it does?

A magic horse? Wait, what? What is happening here? Still, at least the magic horse tells the girls that they should probably be talking to a bird. Do you think the girls should have figured that out, instead of talking to plants?

Now there’s a dragon?! I have no idea what’s happening now. But there are fireworks, so I don’t particularly care.

I’d love to know what this has to do with Eurovision, though.

I do like that firebird.

Okay, now the host has mentioned “the magic world of Russian fairy tales,” I feel a little guilty for making fun of them. No, wait: a song that gives people wings? Are we speaking literally or metaphorically? Why am I worrying about this?

Ack! Are those children dressed as brides?

Oh, no: awkward banter about whether the (fictional, exclusively on a video screen) dragon might or might not have eaten one of the co-hosts. Followed by an incredibly awkward moment where the female co-host froze while reading the cards. And then a James Bond joke.

Welcome to Eurovision!

MONTENEGRO: “Just Get Out Of My Life”
Well, he’s half-naked already! Nope, he’s put his shirt back on.
Her dress is terribly cute—I imagine the people in the front row are appreciative, too.
What are the lyrics here? “Just get out of my head”? Or “just get out of my bed”? And was that really “Get out of my cyst”? It can’t have been, surely?
Well, he’s taken his jacket off.
I’d blog about the dancing, but I can’t stop laughing. Come back, man in the white trousers!
I love it! I have no idea what the song is about, or even what the singer’s doing, but that man has made my day.
I hope they get through.

CZECH REPUBLIC: “Aven Romale.”
Super Gypsy? Seriously? Is he wearing a cape?
Oh my god, he is! He’s wearing a cape!
And flares!
The woman with the violin and the stripey tights is giving me Bosnia and Herzegovina 2008 flashbacks. Not good ones.
This singer’s moustache is rather fabulous, though.
I have to say, though, cape or no cape, I have a feeling there’s something interesting behind this song, whereas I’ve forgotten the last song already.
But the cape! The cape!
I’m loving the Pop Art backdrop to the performance, too.

BELGIUM: “Copycat.”
Let’s see what’s happening here. The singer has had a cold, they say? Well, that’s promising.
Oh, what?
John, I thought you were kidding when you said he was an Elvis impersonator?!
Gold lame jacket, greased-back hair, “Copycat” spelt out in lights—and a double bass, for no apparent reason.
I love the red bob on one of the back-up singers, though. I have a green wig cut like that.
Unfortunately, I can’t make out anything this man’s singing. He’s being completely drowned out by the music and back-up singers—and his own appalling diction. That might be the cold, or it might just be a poorly mixed performance. I don’t know.
Funky lights, though.

Congrats on the staging, Russia! It’s been pretty impressive, so far.

BELARUS: “Eyes That Never Lie.”
Oooh, eerie green lighting.
What the hell is happening now?
Okay, so we’ve opened to someone standing on a table with a white sheet over them and a wind machine aimed directly at them.
No, I’m not making this up.
It’s a coffee table, if that helps.
And the lead singer’s wearing a white leather suit.
No shirt, obviously. This is Eurovision.
I’m not actually minding this song, though. Even with the strange sheet-draped man—but, um, camera? You need to stop twirling around like that, okay? I’m going to be quite ill if you don’t.
Now they’re projecting flames onto the sheet!
Fantastic.

SWEDEN: “La Voix.”
Sweden’s are combining pop with opera? Kill me now!
I swear I’ve heard this song before. John, have you already made a joke about Andrew Lloyd Webber writing this entry?
NICK: Wow. She’s incredibly white.
But, as he points out, she has unearthly black eyes.
Oh.My.Goodness. She’s a Stephenie Meyer-style vampire! And she’s hasn’t eaten in days! Run, back-up dancers! Run for your lives!
The song? No idea.
She does obviously have a well-trained voice. But the song itself is just slipping off my eardrums.
Ack! Except for that note.
And what are the back-up dancers wearing now?
Oh, I see: distract the vampire with shiny things. Good thinking, back-up dancers.
Ow, my eardrums!

ARMENIA: “Jan Jan.”
Hmm, a song and dance that has taken the world by storm? We’ll see about that.
Ah, our first dry ice of the evening! That’s a vote for Armenia.
Actually, I’m loving the costumes—as is at least one of the cameramen. They’re quite fascinating, especially as we swing straight into a terribly MTV-pop chorus.
I’m not seeing much evidence of a dance that could take the world by storm, though.
NICK: Ah, exotic priestesses with garter belts.
Sadly, the costumes are the only part of this that’s interesting me.

Aw, they’re interviewing the white-leather-suited chap from Belarus, and he’s singing for them. That’s rather sweet. And a little painful, on that last note.

I’m thinking that Belarus are my current favourite. That’s out of six countries, mind—so take it as you will.

ANDORRA: “Get A Life/La Teva Decisio.”
Didn’t the Andorran singer last year wear a breastplate? I seem to remember that.
NICK (singing): Because I’m profoundly in love with Andorra!
And, once again, there are people fervently offering up thanks for their luck in obtaining front-row tickets. That is one seriously short skirt.
Actually, let’s not mince words—that’s a belt.
She did just sing “I know I’m right“? It sounded like “I know I’m white“, but that can’t be right, surely?
Ah, no—it was clearer on the second chorus.
Okay—now I’ve stopped to listen to the lyrics, I just have some advice for anyone considering a romantic relationship with the protagonist of this song—RUN!
When did stalking become romantic?

SWITZERLAND: “The Highest Heights.”
Ah, Switzerland. Fill in the Swiss stereotype here.
Hey, it’s U2!
I didn’t know they were in Eurovision! And they seem to have lost at least one of their effects pedals.
NICK: I think they might be a little too good for this.
And, ten seconds later . . .
NICK: They look like the guest band on an Idol live-eviction show.
This is insanely forgettable. I expect it to reach number 25 on next year’s Hottest 100.
Oooh, nice mirrory backdrops, but this song is doing absolutely nothing for me. In fact, I think it may be borrowing a little nothing on advance from the next act—so if I’m unusually excited about Turkey, that’s why.

TURKEY: “Dum Tek Tek.”
There’s much shouting for this act.
And fireworks!
And bellydancers!
No, wait—the bellydancers are wearing knickerbockers. Knickerbockers that are slit to the thigh. That is the most awesome thing I have seen all night.
NICK: Oh, they looked better in silhouette! How disappointing.
Still, the advantage is that you don’t need to be in the front row for this one.
And the dancers are wearing gold cuffs around their ankles!
There’s an onomatopoeic element to this song that I rather like—and now we have a male belly dancer in a rather gorgeous moss-green silk skirt that I covet.
I wouldn’t mind them getting through.

ISRAEL: “There Must Be Another Way.”
Apparently, this is controversial. In Hebrew, Arabic, and English—an anthem for peace.
Me being me, this is reminding me mostly of the final line of the Doctor Who episode “Warriors of the Deep.”
Yes, I know I’m evil. And shallow.
I’d like to talk about the song (and it does have a nice rhythm, and makes the most of the switching between the languages) but I’m distracted by the pseudo-bondage outfits.
It’s all very “extras from Farscape.”
And now there’s random drumming. For about ten seconds. And it looks terribly fake. Which it is, of course—but that’s not the point.
Eurovision shouldn’t look fake.
No, wait: I’ve drunk too much. Or not enough. I forget how it works for Eurovision.

I’m not enjoying these travelogues. They’re not telling me anything! And there aren’t any Moomins.

BULGARIA: “Illusion.”
Wait, has anyone taken their kit off yet? After the jacketless man in the first song.
NICK: Oh, man. He’s on his way to a RenFaire and he got lost! He’s singing for his mead!
Seriously—this is a terribly straightforward pop song, sung by a man in a home-woven blouse and a cape.
NICK (singing): Gimme gimme gimme a joust after midnight!
And there are people on stilts.
If Bulgaria don’t go through tonight, I am so out of here.
Now one of the people on stilts is swinging the other one around by the stilts. I keep waiting for her to go flying off into the audience! Are those stilts glued to her?!
And the lime-green boots!
Wow.
I love them.

These SBS commentators aren’t snarky enough. They’re boring me so much I’m just blocking them out now.

ICELAND: “It Is True.”
Wow, this girl looks familiar—who is she reminding me of?
This is insanely dull. I’m sorry, Iceland: I know you produce excellent detective fiction (but have you thought that, very soon, it’s going to be quite obvious who the murderer is? I mean, you could fit your entire population into one parlour scene) but this is crazy boring.
ACK! FLYING SPACE DOLPHIN!
NICK: How do they breathe?
I think he means the dolphins, not the singers.
I’m sorry, Iceland, but you know how I feel about space dolphins.

I’m seriously digging on the stage set.

FYR MACEDONIA: “Neshto Shto Ke Osta.”
Oh, wow. It’s 80s’ poodle rock!
We don’t get enough of that in Eurovision.
One of them is even wearing a bandanna! And I mean around his neck! Not on his head! I haven’t seen anything like that since—well, since we went to see Spaceballs: The Musical at a local high school last night, but that’s beside the point.
Bog standard rock, this. Soft rock, too. Sorry, Macedonia, but it’s true.
Bring back last year’s Azerbaijan entry!
Oh, wow: synchronised overhead clapping.
Hmm, I might change my mind on this one for that alone.

Damn, that’s a lot of people watching! I had no idea.

ROMANIA: “The Balkan Girls.”
Another child prodigy, eh? The last one of those led us to a flying space dolphin, so let’s see . . .
I’m fairly sure that’s Holly Valance, actually.
And I think we have a winner for the night’s shortest skirt.
Now, this singer has a chair shaped like a tree and her back-up singers are seemingly dressed as nymphs and naiads.
So why is this song about clubbing?
For someone who debuted on the folk circuit when she was three, I was hoping for something a little more, you know, folky.
This is just MTV-pop. There’s been too much of that tonight.
And too few people taking their clothes off.

These SBS commentators are not doing it for me.

Terry! Terry! Terry!

FINLAND: “Lose Control.”
Oh, what?
No.
Just, no.
Rapping? Backwards baseball cap? Well, there are teeny little dresses. And firedancers.
Okay, Finland: so far you’re halfway there.
I need the following: less rapping, more wind machines, and someone to take their clothes off.
And maybe some fireworks.
I’m a sucker for fireworks.
Wait, someone put an industrial bin on stage and then set fire to it? Wow, they have relaxed OH&S rules in Moscow. Apparently.

And we have an ad. break before the final three songs. And then the voting! I hope Finland don’t go through—I’ve forgotten all about them already.

Dear Melbourne,

“Discover how easy it is to lose yourself in Melbourne” is a remarkably stupid tagline for a tourism advertisement. You’re just going to have a bunch of semi-hysterical would-be tourists thinking, “But I’d never be able to find my hotel again! I’d be trapped! Trapped! Like that creepy vineyard advert. with the skipping butler.” Just a word of friendly advice.

Love, Me.

Ah! Czech Republic man in a cape again!

PORTUGAL: “Todas As Ruas Do Amor.”
So, the SBS commentators love this song, do they?
Let’s see about that.
I’m kind of liking this already, but not for a very good reason—I like it because it reminds me of a Bravia advert. that I always loved.
And here we go upbeat!
And a lovely, lovely set: it looks rather like Clarice Cliff pottery, but with sharper, more modern colours.
The costuming is gorgeous, too.
This reminds me rather of Bosnia and Herzegovina’s entry last year, but without the sequel, where I woke up in the middle of the night screaming, “The brides! The knitting! NO, NO NOT THE WASHING LINE!”
Yes, I like this. Very much. And I wish to own her shoes.

Russia? Whoever is staging Eurovision is a genius! How are you managing these displays? They are quite, quite stunning.

MALTA: “What If We.”
Hmm, Malta’s song last year was called “Vodka.” I’m disappointed already.
Um, SBS commentator? When you’re commentating for SBS, you might want to rethink statements such as “She’s due.” Or at least work on your diction.
Why, no: I haven’t mentioned the song yet. That’s because I fell into a brief coma.
No offense, Malta, but this is doing nothing for me.
And suddenly I feel like I’m watching a Disney movie.
And yet no one has taken their kit off. Or did they strip off while I was typing? I’d be very disappointed if that were the case.
Key change. But a very half-hearted key change.
No, I’m not putting my vote behind this one.

BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA: “Bistra Voda.”
This better not be anything like last year’s performance.
“1950s’ Russian propaganda posters will come to mind, but enjoy it anyway.” I beg your pardon?
Oh, wow: this is like Eurovision’s version of The Cure’s “Lullaby.” The costuming is rather lovely. And, as with every single performance tonight, the stage sets are stunning.
Is it just me, or does it look as though sometime in the last year, a billionaire died and left his entire fortune to fund the staging and costuming of Eurovision? It seems so much shinier this year than last year. And I use “shinier” in both a strict denotative sense and a Firefly sense.
The song? I don’t know. I don’t hate it. But it seems as though the lead singer’s incredibly intense, slightly psychotic performance face is at odds with the rather jaunty (in a rather militaristic sense) song.
I wouldn’t mind it getting through, I suppose.

And now they’re pressing the “magic button” to allow Europe to vote.

Of course, we have a delayed telecast, don’t we? So haven’t all the decisions been made?

We’re having a flashback to the performances, now. I’m not recapping that, though. I need a breather before we head to the results.

We still have seven minutes before the voting closes, so there’s a little travelogue of some major Russian successes over the past few years. Frankly, I’m finding these SBS commentators rather patronising here.

But then the Russian presenters do an insanely sexist little skit about voting, and I forget it all.

And now we’re recapping all the performances again. Seriously, again? Can’t we just have the results of the voting? Oh, I see: not for another three minutes.

ACK! FLYING SPACE DOLPHIN!

Sorry about that. I wasn’t going to comment on the recapping of the original recapping of the performances, but, well, it was a flying space dolphin. It took me by surprise. (Yes, the third time around. I’m easily surprised.)

So voting has closed for the first semi-final. And now we go for an ad. break. Seriously, SBS? Now? Why not ten minutes ago, when nothing was happening?

Ooh, I forgot: this is the television station that decided the best way to follow up on the Eurovision semi-finals was to show ABBA: The Movie. Again.

Of course, the longer we pause here, the more I’m remembering how much I’ve drunk over the last two hours.

Do we have the results yet? No, not quite. We have some Russian performers (and the same old James Bond joke all over again) first. I’d like to say who they are, but I couldn’t quite make it out. (Just quietly? The presenters? Not so great.)

Oooh, it’s an army choir! The Alexandrasov Red Army Choir and some other people whose names I missed because “Alexandrasov” is a difficult word to type. And I’ve probably spelt it wrong, too.

Some fabulous dancing, but there’s something wrong with the sound mixing, because the loudest sound by fair is the squeaking of the rubber-soled shoes against the floor. Ooh, but now we have some lovely Cossacks—beautiful, beautiful costuming. I do so like the national performance aspect of the Russian semi-finals.

Sword dancing! Fantastic. And the choir is singing all the way through—they’re lovely, really. I do like a male choir.

Wow! These drummers are fantastic! Sam, are you taking notes? They’re even playing each other’s drums! And I didn’t mention the hip-hop dancers and cheerleaders and flamenco dancers. (Or perhaps they were Romani?)

Oh, what? Do we really have to listen to t.A.T.u.? Even with the military drummers? Nick’s cranky, because the vocals are so heavily processed, and he thought that was against the rules for Eurovision. I pointed out that t.A.T.u. aren’t actually competing, but he didn’t seem convinced by that argument.

Now, the Big Five.

FRANCE: Dull. I passed out and hit my head on the coffe table.
RUSSIA: I missed half because of my fainting spell. The rest didn’t impress me. A bit whingy.
GERMANY: Boppy. But not terribly exciting.
U.K.: Oh, really not my cup of tea. I hope they get some points, though.

And I missed the last one, because Nick changed the channel. Don’t ask me why. I don’t think I’ve missed any of the results.

The results:

Turkey! Well, the knickerbockers didn’t appeal to me, but the song was rather cute.
Sweden! Ah, the vampire woman. Hmm. She’s also freakishly tall. I’m not so sure about that one.
Israel! No surprise there. It was . . . well, I’m not annoyed to see it go through.
Portugal! Now am I am pleased about that. Lovely little song, that was. And I hope it has the same set as tonight, because that was so pretty.
Malta! Malta? Really? Wow. I wasn’t the slightest bit impressed with Malta.
Finland! What on earth is happening here? Finland? With the firedancers in the bolero shrugs? Why, Europe? Why?
Bosnia and Herzegovina! I noticed, during the recaps, that the men in that were wearing pants, but the women weren’t.
Romania! The strange naiads. I thought during the recaps that the chorus included the line “Going to shag all night” but that can’t be right, surely?
Armenia! Really? The costumes were great, but the song becomes more boring every time I hear it.
And last place goes to Iceland! No. No! NO! The flying space dolphins!

But what about Belarus? Oh, and the chappie in the RenFaire gear? He didn’t make is through, did he? Who was that? I forget so quickly.

Well, that’s semi-final one. I’m off, because my back is killing me. But be here tomorrow for semi-final two, when Nick will only change the channel during a key moment on pain of death.

No proper update today, because I have a pile of marking as big as my face. (And, yes: I know that simile makes no sense. But it’s evocative, no?)

But as well as being an apology duck, this is a promise duck.

Starting tomorrow night, we have Circulating Library’s Second Annual Live-Blogging of SBS’s Eurovision Semi-Finals Coverage (to be continued on Saturday night).

(If you didn’t join me last year, semi-final one is here and semi-final two is here.)

And if you fancy a sneak peek at the semi-finalists this year, head over to The Memes of Production here, here, and here.

I can’t promise that this year will bring us the semi-paralysed centaur and mysterious giants of yore, but come along for the ride anyway!

I’ve already mentioned how much I love watching old episodes of The Goodies, when they haven’t aged too badly (and make no mistake: some have). And it will come as no surprise that every episode of the original series of Doctor Who is dear to my heart. Yes, even “Silver Nemesis” and “Timelash.”

Here are some more programmes (and one film) that delight my heart.

In no particular order of importance:

1. Press Gang

Oh, Steven Moffat. My obsession with his writing started here—and this is one show that is just as enjoyable now as it was the first time I watched it. I’ll admit, the characterisation of Linda looks more ’80s now than I thought it did at the time (so high-powered business woman), but that doesn’t mean I love her any less. Or love Spike any less. Or love Linda and Spike as a couple any less.

In fact, any girlish romanticism in my nature (and there may be some, appearances notwithstanding) can be traced back to my teen obsession with this relationship.

On a slightly related note, I happily watched Doom (the movie, not the video game) once I realised it had half of Dexter Fletcher in it. (The top half, if anyone’s wondering.)

2. Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure

RANDOM ENGLISH KING WHO MAY NOT ACTUALLY HAVE EXISTED: Put them in the Iron Maiden.
BILL AND TED: Iron Maiden? Excellent!
RANDOM ENGLISH KING WHO MAY NOT ACTUALLY HAVE EXISTED: Execute them!
BILL AND TED: Bogus.

Enough said, really—though the fact that I didn’t even need to look that quotation up on the Internet probably speaks for itself.

3. Monkey

Seriously, this has to be one of the most surreal programmes ever to air. And that’s leaving out the blatant transvestism, which wasn’t limited to Tripitaka. We just watched an episode in which Monkey questioned the overall wisdom of Buddha: “He can’t even make up his mind whether he’s a bloke or not!”

Then there was that episode with the giant mushrooms—which I think were linked to some sort of Fungus King who, knowing Monkey, was called King Fungus. Or the episode with the unicorn who claimed that unicorns could rule the world “if we weren’t so nice—and mythical.” And the episode where Sandy and Pigsy became pregnant. Or the one with the teenage goblin who could cloud-fly, but his cloud had training wheels. Or my absolute favourite: the episode where Tripitaka believed that his other disciples had induced him to devour Pigsy, and he became possessed by Pigsy’s spirit and went to a disco where he danced to the Monkey theme song.

Sheer brilliance.

But there was also the aspect that never occurred to me as a child: for the late ’70s and early ’80s, this was hands down the least Anglo show ever to be a hit on Australian or British television. It may still be, for all I know. Voice acting aside, the actors are all Japanese, and the mise en scene (the costuming, the scenery, the mythology) is Chinese. Sesame Street always had African-American and Hispanic cast members (I don’t remember Asian cast members in my time), and there were other shows that played with issues of racial tolerance—the oddest example I can think of is Fraggle Rock, with its different races living in sometimes uneasy coexistence. But they were never anything like Monkey. It was fantastic for a child growing up in an intensely white town.

We’ve just seen the new Lynx advertisement, with the little claymation cave dwellers, one of whom finds an aerosol can of the new Lynx fragrance hidden inside a rock, or something along those lines.

(Of course, they may not have dwelt in caves. They may have been any other kind of early human, but mentioning cave dwellers allows me to fondly remember the Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode of Cave Dwellers, otherwise known as Ator L’Invincible 2, which was not only hilarious—“It was the most unrealistic puppet he’d ever fought”—but also starred the genuinely charming Miles O’Keeffe. “How much O’Keeffe? Miles O’Keeffe!” But that’s beside the point.)

The ad. led to this conversation (and, yes, Nick is often this bombastic in the flesh):

NICK: Do my eyes deceive me?
ME: Sorry?
NICK: Was that actually a relatively inoffensive Lynx ad.?
ME: Well, sort of. It’s still kind of . . .
NICK: Yeah . . .
ME: But when they’re little claymation people, it’s less date-rapey.

So maybe that’s a lesson you can take on board, Lynx? Even someone who despises your advertisements as much as I do somehow finds them less offensive when the female protagonists look like animated Bratz dolls from the brief and ill-fated “Don’t We All Secretly Want A Caveman?” range.

I don’t know whether that’s an indictment of me or of you, actually.

Otherwise known as “Why We Sometimes Use Concrete Words As Well As Abstract Words” (from the episode “Pigsy, King and God”):

MONKEY: Well, you know I’m good at magicking things into other things, but not the other way around.

Well, okay then.

We’ve been watching the episode of The Goodies where they take over Pinewood Studios and promptly fire all of the recognised directors working for them (resulting in Tim, obviously, playing Lady Macbeth and turning up to the premiere in a fabulous black sequined dress).

But before that, Bill explains why he likes the old silent films, and actors such as Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton . . .

BILL: And Lavatory Meadows.
GRAHAM: Lavatory Meadows?
TIM: He means W. C. Fields.

And later, when they’re viewing the work of their original directors:

BILL: Whose is this one, then?
GRAHAM: Er… Russell.
TIM: Jane, Ken, or Bertrand?
BILL: Let’s hope it’s the one with the big knockers, eh?
TIM: Yeah. Bertrand.
GRAHAM: This is Ken Russell’s “Life Of Pablo Casals”.
BILL: Load of rubbish.
GRAHAM: Give it a chance.
BILL: Nope.

And that’s not even including the point at which Bill turns up at the premiere in the character of Richard Harris.

Not all the episodes have aged well, but I seriously love The Goodies when they’re on form.

I mentioned in the last post on The West Wing and in the related comment thread that I have an antagonistic relationship with this programme.

That relationship came to a head last night, when we were watching the fifth episode of season two, “Initiation.”

This one, if it’s been a while since you’ve seen it, deals with two concurrent storylines: the first full day of work for Ainsley Hayes, the Republican hired to the White House Counsel’s Office, and the President’s clumsy self-sabotage of the first opportunity he’s had to have sex with his wife since he was shot.

Now, both storylines are nominally dealing with questions of female empowerment. In the case of the former, White House staffers are assuming that Ainsley—whom characters rapidly come to call “the Republican sex kitten,” just to make my argument nice and easy—was hired because she’s pretty. And in the case of the latter, the President ignores the First Lady’s cogent arguments about the fact that pioneering women are memorialised in far fewer numbers than pioneering men, which is, naturally enough, not a form of foreplay that suits Abby.

It’s just that they’re both dealt with in such daft ways.

Ainsley, for example, can’t actually fight her own battles. Sam Seaborn has to come along and beat up the two staffers who subject her to entirely unjustified harassment—well, metaphorically beat them up, by firing them. And, yes, he fires them because he’s their boss not because he’s a man, but then how is Ainsley ever going to work effectively when someone more powerful than her (in a power structure where boss equals man: less blonde, less pretty, and therefore less threatening when exercising power) always has to step in to, essentially, do what she has been asked to do?

Then, in the same storyline, there’s this constant reiteration that Ainsley, because she is attractive, must be stupid and ambitious. No, they really use the word “ambitious”—frequently—as though it’s a bad thing. Certainly, strong ambition without commensurate talent can lead to manipulative behaviour, I suppose—but to simply use the word “ambition” as though its connotations are immediately and inevitably negative is poor writing, and if it’s only used in a negative sense in association with women, it’s something else.

Then there’s the Jed and Abby subplot, which is rather adorable in parts: I am fond of Martin Sheen in this role, when he’s not being too folksy (folksy in the President of the United States often comes across as patronising, in this show).

But this subplot annoyed me, too. Yes, women are memorialised less frequently than men. No argument there, and no surprise either. But using the Statue of Liberty as a riposte, as the President does, is absurd: not only is the Statue of Liberty a French gift to the U.S., and therefore not representative of statues to pioneering American women, but it’s also not a statue of a real historical figure: it’s a representation of an abstract concept that happens to have been feminised in this one instance. And representing abstract concepts such as liberty or justice as women does not go far towards undercutting any real inequality between men and women.

But that’s fine. That’s not what really annoyed me, thought you wouldn’t know it from this post.

No, what really annoyed me was this exchange between Sam Seaborn and the White House Counsel Lionel Tribby, on the subject of Gilbert and Sullivan lyrics, which was a running gag through the entire episode:

SAM: I hate to stick my head in the lion’s mouth, but I gotta ask you, were you the recording secretary for the Princeton Gilbert and Sullivan Society for two years?
LIONEL: No, but then again, I’m not a woman.

Do you see why you annoy me, now, West Wing? What’s the point of ostensibly devoting an entire episode to subplots about the historical and contemporary mistreatment of professional women entirely on the basis of their gender when you can slip such absurd sexisms into dialogue and play them as jokes? Especially since it was Tribby who brought the Gilbert and Sullivan line up in the first place, so why is it now a feminised interest?

Quality of writing and subplotting is one thing, but this casual sexism says something else entirely, and it gets right up my nose.

The new Doctor has been announced.

And it’s not, as we thought it might be, Paterson Joseph. I’m a little disappointed about that, actually.

Instead, it’s . . . well, you can read for yourself right here at Outpost Gallifrey.

It’s not that it’s a spoiler, not now it’s been officially announced; I just think people might like to learn the news for themselves.

For much the same reason, I’m putting my response to this in the comments thread, rather than right here.

UPDATE: Courtesy of the BBC, here is an extended interview with Matt Smith, which the Beeb kindly posted on YouTube.

Seriously, he looks about twelve.

I’m sure it’s no surprise to anyone who has ever read this blog before that I find advertising always confusing and frequently grotesquely offensive.

But I’m seeing more and more ads at the moment, due to thoroughly enjoying watching Australia lose the cricket to South Africa: I normally mute or ignore ads where I can, but it’s never seemed worth it for a one-advertisement break between overs.

So I’ve been watching the smug prat in the Mitsubishi 4WD splattering inoffensive people going about their everyday business with water, mud, and dust, and then grinning about it.

And I’ve been watching the Johnny Walker ads, which always astonish me, because it seems as though their tagline is “It’s amazing what you’ll find yourself doing when you’re ratted.” (My favourite was the one they did a few years ago with Christopher Walken—I think it was Walken, anyway—where the subtext was, essentially, “I always need to get totally off my nut before I can bring myself to step on stage.”)

But the ones that are really driving me nuts at the moment are the Solo ads.

I know that Solo ads are dependent on a particular form of machismo: a selling position that relies on recognisable codes of homosociality and male physical strength, also seen in flavoured-milk and beer ads.

Fine: well and good. I have no problem with that, though it won’t make me buy low-fizz, lemon-flavoured soft drink.

But this new two-part one with the man making the $1000 bet with his mates? I can’t figure this one out. I simply can’t comprehend how it seems ideal to construct an ad around Andrew Symonds—who, let’s face it, is not the most advertising-friendly figure in Australian cricket at the moment—viciously body-checking a complete stranger and then smirking at him.

Add the fact that the complete stranger is cross-dressing, and you add a new, highly unpleasant subtext to the ad.

It seems to me at best thoroughly mean spirited and at worst open to accusations of something far more invidious and dangerous. It strikes me as doubly odd, since Solo ads used to be banal, rather than out-and-out awful.

Perhaps it’s the consequence of adding a cricketer to the mix? We can call it the Max Walker blood-diamond syndrome.

Warning: Do not combine soft drinks and DVDs of Bill Bailey’s stand-up routines.

I know—it sounds like the ideal way to spend a horrifically muggy Saturday night.

But be warned: you may well find yourself aspirating Schweppes Traditional Lime while listening to a description of football players as “vain, illiterate, millionaire would-be rapists whose job it is to shepherd a piece of leather into an outdoor cupboard.”

This has, of course, never happened to me.

Ever.