A Televisual Comic-book Cocktail with Chloe Bennet

I remember when I was younger, I used to pride myself on my vast knowledge and time spent with a variety of different tv shows. Indeed, my love of television is what initially propelled me to do a masters in scriptwriting, in the youthful hope that one day I could be up in the screen-writers' pantheon with the likes of Joss Whedon and Russell T Davies.

During university, my screen-time continued to flourish, with hours spent digesting any semi-acclaimed (and indeed any completely off-the-wall) series that happened to be talked about that week, finally culminating in over 400 hours of "research" for my MA dissertation, "The role of the ensemble sidekick in supernatural tv drama since 1993". Lot of use that turned out to be...

In recent years, however, I've begun to notice that I make little time anymore for television, with even my stalwart go-to comfort shows such as Masterchef and the Bake Off (shush; I used to be a chef... These shows are like porn to me...) getting cast aside for a decent book, or, quite frankly, a good sleep.

If you were to ask me what I'm watching at the moment, I would genuinely have to take a moment to think; I tried Game of Thrones (sorry, dull), Breaking Bad never appealed, and I'm still waiting in vain hope for a sitcom to come along to trump How I Met Your Mother.

So what am I watching? Well, there was, until two weeks ago, Glee, whose passing still makes me sad, and then, to be honest, everything else is comic book adaptations and spin offs, most of which I am weeks behind in due to an aggravating combination of livin in the UK and a crack-down on upload sites online.

It was a joy yesterday, therefore, to have a day, for the first time in over a month, where I had absolutely nothing to do. True, the weather was beautiful, and a little voice inside me kept saying I should be outside getting some vitamin D, but you know what, little voice? It's my dad, so shut up!

Six episodes of Agents of Shield later, and I'm almost up to date, relishing in a series that started oh so badly before finally becoming something Mr Whedon should be proud of. Throw in a large side Chicago Town pizza and I'm halfway through the fantastically macabre Daredevil series on Netflix, and then pour a glass of scotch before finishing with a couple of shots of Gotham for good measure.

Complete our cocktail analogy with a delightful sprinkling of Chloe Bennet's Skye to garnish and I am a happy man.

None of it could truly be classes as high-brow entertainment, and I'm still a good fortnight behind all of my friends that I'm putting off talking to due to possible spoiler leakage, but hey, these shows make me happy, and at the end of the day, I'd rather be watching a series because I actually want to than because the world tells me I should.

Now, dear Marvel, about that Howard the Duck tv series I pitched...

The End of an Era with The New Directions

A friend recently ridiculed me for being a rock singer with a not-so-secret passion for high school musical comedy drama Glee.

I responded accordingly, telling him "good day" before storming out of the room in a strop.

The fact is, Glee has been a bizarre comfort to me over the last six years; yes, I will freely admit that I am a fan of the music (a capella has always been one of my favourite musical genres), but more than that, its perpetual underdog tale has struck many a heart string throughout it's six season run.

At its best, Glee is emotionally charged and touching, at its worst, it's saccharine and inherently twee. Fortunately, for the most part (save for the inevitable season five slump - find me a long-running TV show from the last few decades that did not take a seasonal nose-dive somewhere along the way), the good has outweighed the bad, and it's one of the few shows that has not only kept me coming back week after week, but also managed to keep me emotionally invested for its entire run.

The main reason for this lies in its original premise; teacher searching for creative output re-starts school glee club and leads them, against expectations, to victory. It's simple, but in its execution, it works beautifully. Mr. Schuester's struggle to balance his rocky private life, wavering bank balance and passion for his students pretty much rings true to every beat of my own life.

Why do I love Glee so much? Because I am Will Schuester.

Whether it's trying to juggle home life with work life, work life with creativity, or, most importantly, education with inspiration, I have connected with Mr. Schue from day one, and although the stories of the students have been touching; Kurt's coming out to his father (a scene which will always have resonance due to my own family circumstance), Puck's realisation that he will never amount to anything more than a Lima Loser, and Coach Bieste finally coming to terms with who she really is; it has always been Will's journey (excuse the pun) that has kept me watching week in, week out.

As the curtain closed on Glee this week, I was safe in the knowledge that tears would be abundant. And I was right. But not for the same reasons as the tweenage audience. I found myself in the shoes of my hero; watching as the students I had grown to love finally found their places in the world, I felt a strange sense of relief and pride as the lessons Schue had taught finally paid off.

In my own reality, I find myself believing once again that perhaps some day, I too can have my dream job, inspiring students and at the same time managing to take care of my own life. Eventually, I too will find that perfect balance between education, inspiration and aspiration...

Don't stop believing...

Who Needs Sleep? with Lorne

Sleep is something I have a pretty love/hate relationship with. Not that I hate sleep at all; indeed in the strangest of ways slumber time is my favourite part of the day. 

When we sleep, suddenly the stresses of the day dissipate. No longer do we worry about money or work, but instead there's a distinct possibility we'll find ourselves on desert islands with Katy Perry or, for some reason, acting as an undercover reporter at a Bruno Mars gig (it's been a funny old week for dreams...).

The problem is, there never seems to be enough time for sleep. No matter what time we intend to get to bed, it never turns out as planned, and despite my recent attempts to combat insomnia (bath before bed, a little light reading, no caffeine after three pm) my sleep pattern is still utterly erratic, leavi me still exhausted when my alarm sounds just after seven. It probably doesn't help that every other night or morning of late has been interrupted by some problem or another from around the country. There are times I hate being so reliable...

So with too little sleep, we find ourselves groggy, needing caffeine and a general grumpus for the rest of the day, longing that we could have tapped the snooze button just one more time. But then win too much sleep, for some bizarre reason, the exact same thing seems to occur. Sleep for more than eight hours and we wake up with a storming headache, just as moody as if we were equally deprived and just as much use to the world that lies ahead.

So what, therefore, is the answer? How do we find that perfect amount of sleep? How do we capture that rare feeling that only happens once in a blue moon when we awaken wonderfully rested and ready to take on the day with a skip and a smile?

I honestly don't think we can. So the answer? Rid ourselves of sleep altogether. Sure, we would sacrifice some pretty awesome dreamtime, and with it those fleeting memories of dates with Taylor Swift, and if the Whedonverse is anything to go by, there's also a strong possibility of unleashing a maddened Hyde-like version of ourselves, but in the end it'll be worth it. We'll be happier, more focused and never filled with that hump day fatigue. And also we'll drink an awful lot less coffee, so we might just topple the evil that is Starbucks. Unless of course they start serving seabreezes for elevenses...

Condominium Life with Joey Tribbiani

I always envied the cast of Friends. For a group of twenty-somethings that rarely seem to go to work (yes we all know they all have jobs that suit their characters and whatnot), they lead a pretty cushty life. Lovely downtown apartment, partying hard at weekends, going to trendy coffee shops, and generally doing what TV has always told us we should be doing in our mid-twenties; enjoying life to the max.

Unfortunately, TV, as much as I love you, this evening I'm calling your bluff. You sir, are a downright liar.

The years of being a twenty-something a far from perk-filled (central or otherwise). Throughout the previous decade, we were told that if we worked hard at school, we'd go to a good university. If we worked hard there we would automatically find ourselves in a good job and living the life of the Gellars and the Bings in no time.

The reality is, however, that unless you have been born into a thriving family business, or you know a guy that knows a guy, no amount of striving will get you anywhere in this post-credit crunch world. I myself have a double bachelors degree, a masters, a teaching certificate and enough brownie points on my CV to open a bakery, not to mention fifteen years in private education with all the top grades to prove it, and yet I still find myself losing sleep as to how I'm going to be able to pay next week's rent.

Don't get me wrong, I don't kid myself that my experiences have any worth nowadays; indeed in the post-Blair regime, a degree is worth about the same as a roll of Andrex (and probably cheaper too judging by my shopping bills!), but I have single-handedly fought my way into a decent teaching post, and on paper the pay isn't all that bad.

And yet here I am on a Saturday night, just back from the laundrette, sitting in a "condominium" flat that would still have looked dated in the nineteen seventies, the floral carpet and brown bathroom suite quite honestly an affront to four out of five senses. My "treat" for this week, save for an after work pint with my colleagues (during which an old man decided to inform me that I looked like a child molester... Great ego boost for a teacher, I can tell you!) has been an M&S spinach and ricotta cannelloni. And a reduced to clear one at that. Paid for with gift vouchers.

I don't begrudge my life at all; I've always said as long as you're happy in what you're doing the rest will follow thereafter. But a few extra pennies here and there might be nice... The ability to order out pizza, to go for lunch with a friend without wondering whether I'll still have enough change for the washing machine... Perhaps one day I might even get a lazy boy. Or a play station, 'cause I hear play station is whack...

Osmosis is... With Sabrina Spellman

Let's face it, the are always a dozen jobs that need doing that we really cannot in our heart of hearts be bothered to get on with. 

During one of my classes today I discussed with some of my Latin students the concept of "mañana mañana", that being putting things off until the tomorrow which, of course, never actually comes. They were delighted to know that we have a word for it in English; procrastination.

pro·cras·ti·nate   (prō-krăs′tə-nāt′, prə-)

v. pro·cras·ti·nat·ed, pro·cras·ti·nat·ing, pro·cras·ti·nates

v.intr.

To put off doing something, especially out of habitual carelessness or laziness.

v.tr.

To postpone or delay needlessly.

---

[Latin prōcrāstināre, prōcrāstināt- : prō-, forward; see pro-¹ + crāstinus, of tomorrow (fromcrās, tomorrow).]

---

pro·cras′ti·na′tion n.

pro·cras′ti·na′tor n.

I'd love to be able to say that I'm not a slave to this dispicable affliction, but indeed this blog itself is often a means to waste time before doing a more pressing task. Over the course of this evening, I've made four cups of tea, taken a bath, watched two episodes of American Horror Story (my new favourite show), Masterchef, and the episode of Sabrina that inspired this post's title, as well as taking various toilet and tobacco breaks, all in the vain hope that the pile of marking that I've been periodically making my way through would somehow disappear whilst I was off doing something more interesting.

But of course it doesn't. I'd like to preach to you, dear reader, on the dangers of leaving things to the last minute, but in all honesty, I would be an utter hypocrite to do so. What I will say, however, is that those dishes aren't going to do themselves, those lesson plans are going to magically fill in, and not even owning a talking feline is going to get those exam papers marked. So sure, stick the telly on, get yourself a cup of tea, but the sooner it gets done, the sooner you can relinquish that little whisper of guilt in the back of your mind.

Learn from the Spanish; tomorrow never comes.

Time For a Top Ten with Tim Curry

Tim Curry is truly a living legend. One of Britain's finest character actors, his career has spanned over thirty years, and brought us some of cinema's finest villains, and animation's greatest voice performances. He has also recorded some absolutely sensational albums (his rendition of Baby Love by The Supremes is an experience one never forgets) and haunted the dreams of anyone with any inkling of a fear of clowns.

This week, through happy coincidence (thank you Film4), I have had the pleasure of sitting through a number of Curry's finest films, and found myself realising that this is a man who has never given a bad performance. Sure, he's been in some bloody awful movies (Garfield A Tale of Two Kitties... Scary Movie 2... Barbie in the Nutcracker...), but hey, he still made the best of the dire scripts.

So to celebrate the awesomeness that is Timothy James Curry, and to thank him for keeping up my spirits over the last week, I decided this evening to put together a run down of my favourite Curry portrayals. originally, it was going to be a top five, but I simply could not narrow it down. So here's ten...

10. Cardinal Richelieu (The Three Musketeers, 1993)

There are two things that always come to mind when you think of this rather lacklustre Disney swashbuckler. The first is the awesome theme song from the musketeers of rock Sting, Stewart and Adams, and the second is Curry's delicious performance as the scheming cardinal. Peter Capaldi comes close in his weaslyness, but Curry will always be the definitive Richelieu.

9. Taurus Bulba (Darkwing Duck, 1991-1995)

Darkwing was by far my favourite Disney Club cartoon; sure Rescue Rangers was great, and Ducktales is more iconic, but as a kid (and even now to be quite honest), the mishaps of St. Canard's blundering superhero were utterly enthralling. The thing that made Darkwing so memorable though was its villains, and none were so sinister as crime lord Taurus Bulba, brought to glorious life by the inimitable Curry.

8. Herkermer Homolka (Congo, 1995)

Don't get me wrong, Congo is an absolutely atrocious film, which is a real shame seeing as Michael Crichton's book, upon which it is based, is one of his finest. It's one redeeming feature however, is. Curry's comedic turn as the overly camp Romanian philanthropist with one of the daftest names to ever hit the silver screen. The fact that the character isn't even in the book makes it a true Curry original!

7. Darkness (Legend, 1985)

Tom Cruise fannying about chasing after unicorns in one of the worst scripted fantasy films of all time... Let's face it, if it weren't for Curry's portrayal of the demon Darkness (obviously not supposed to be the devil!), Legend would have quite rightfully disappeared into the gallery of embarrassing eighties movies only referenced in those "way back when" specials. Unfortunately, Curry was, as always, so damn good in this film that we are cursed forever to sit through endless reruns... You win Darkness. You most definitely win...

6. Mr. Jigsaw (Loaded Weapon 1, 1993)

Loaded Weapon is one of the best, if oft forgotten, spoofs to come out of National Lampoon's calvacade. Emilio Estevez and Samuel L. Jackson solve a spate of hilarious murders all pupeteered by Curry's evil Mr. Jigsaw. Who turns up at one point in the film as a wilderness girl. If you haven't seen it, find it, love it, and thank me later.

5. Long John Silver (Muppet Treasure Island, 1996)

There are few actors who can take a role in a Muppets film (and one of the best Muppet films at that) and actually outshine the Muppets. Tim Curry as Long John is simply wonderful, both touching and treacherous at the same time, and his "only number", Professional Pirate is one of his finest musical numbers to date.

4. Dr. Frank N. Furter (The Rocky Horror Picture Show, 1975)

The role that brought Curry to the world's attention is everybody's favorite sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania. The plot is nonsense, and the second half is famously one of the weakest in MT, but how can you argue with one of cinema's greatest cult movies? And Curry never fails to leave us trembling with antici.....

3. Nigel Thornberry (The Wild Thornberrys, 1998-2004)

The Wild Thornberrys was one of Nickelodeon's most delightful shows, with a concept we can all relate to. After all, who at some point in their life hasn't dreamed of being able to converse with animal? And to have Tim Curry as their father?? Nigel is one of the most iconic cartoon characters of the nineties, and earns his place at number three on the list.

2. Wadsworth (Clue, 1985)

An all star cast in a movie based on a board game? Clue really should not have worked, and indeed still has some stigma surrounding it amongst those who have never dared watch it. The farce is hilarious, owing in abundance to Curry's mesmerising turn as master of ceremonies Wadsworth the butler, who at the same time acts as narrator, hero, comic relief, and, ultimately (depending on which ending you draw) villain.

1. Pennywise the Dancing Clown (IT, 1990)

Having haunted the dreams of anyone who has had the pleasure of watching one of cinema's greatest Stephen King adaptations, and even filling those with no previous fear of clowns with a severe case of coulrophobia, there is no way that Pennywise could come anywhere but top of the list. The embodiment of evil, Curry is almost unrecognisable as he throws himself entirely into the role, every movement, every utterance as terryfying as the last. And gosh darn did he teach us not to accept balloons from clowns in storm drains. After all, we all float down here...

Thank you Mr. Curry for making us laugh, making us sing, and terrifying us to our very souls.

Oh...

....pation!

How British TV Killed the American Sitcom with Barney Stinson

Since the invention of television, the US of A has created countless godawful feel good family sitcoms. Cringeworthy, with an all too wholesome moral conclusion to every episode, the generic, formulaic sitcom has plagued screens globally for decades.

However, there have been some gems. The fifties brought us the iconic Phil Silvers Show, with the following decade introducing us to the more far-fetched adventures of Samantha Stevens in Bewitched, as well as the creepy adventures of The Munsters and The Addams Family. 

And then we fast forward to the nineties, when the adventures of everyone's favourite Friends filled our screens. Friends was a show that gripped the world, making its stars the highest paid television actors of the time (a claim recently surpassed by the leads of The Big Bang Theory). It was a show that made us laugh, made us cry and genuinely defined a generation of coffee-slurping yuppies.

Many will argue that Friends has yet to be beaten in its position as "Greatest American Sitcom Ever", but over the last ten years, there have certainly been a few contenders, for me, they are Scrubs, The Big Bang Theory, and the truly fantastic How I Met Your Mother.

The problem is, with their critical acclaim and popularity across the pond, these shows suffered the same fate as the final few series of Friends. That fate is, of course, endless reruns on digital television,

Now, the rerunning of a great show is not in itself an issue. The thing to remember, however, is that the reason we love these shows so very much is that we engage with them. And how do we do that? We grow to love the characters as the characters grow themselves.

As such, showing random, unconnecting episodes is NOT the way to get your audience involved!

I have met so very many people who claim to hate the three aforementioned shows simply because they have only seen a couple of disjointed episodes. Take any drama, and you need to watch it in chronological order in order to follow the story arcs. Would you watch a handful of random out-of-order episodes of a soap opera and expect to enjoy it? Of course not. So how on earth do the gods of scheduling expect to attract new audiences by throwing random chapters of the greater story at the general public?

Why does the finale (let's forget about "season nine") of Scrubs still to this day reduce me to a blubbering wreck? Because I watched it in order! Why do I find myself holding back the tears at almost every single new episode of How I Met Your Mother? Because over the last nine years, I have grown with these characters and they have grown with me. These shows are well thought out and beautifully crafted. So don't fuck with them! There's a reason they are great, E4, and you are single-handedly destroying them, just like you did with Friends.

So to those of you out there eagerly awaiting the final episode in the life of Ted Mosby next week, then like me I'm sure you have a couple of boxes of Kleenex already on standby. And to those of you who have not yet discovered the comfort that lies within the walls of McClaren's pub, then switch off your freeview boxes and go and buy the first season of How I Met Your Mother. You won't regret it. It's freakin' legen....

Glee Reaches 100 with Brittany S Pierce

I've never made a secret of my love of Glee. I remember when the first season began airing in the US, waaaay before it was even close to hitting UK screens (that's right, I'm a Gleek hipster), I spent my Thursday evenings in my hovelly little Japanese bedsit enraptured by the misadventures of everyone's favourite a cappella show choir.

Glee gets a lot of stick from my personal contemporaries, but in its early years (most noticeably the first season) it really was a great show; character driven with just the right amount of well chosen, if often cheesily reproduced, pop numbers. Indeed, I can remember a good handful of occasions when the show brought me almost to tears. Managing to walk that fine line between touching and hilarious, the first few seasons of Glee were truly worthy of their accolades.

This wee, Glee reached its one hundredth episode and decided to delight its fans with a special reunion show, bringing back all of the (non-deceased) original cast members. Unfortunately, rather than celebrate Glee at its peak, this remixed reunion did little more than make this haggard old writer realise just how far from the tree the Glee apple has rolled.

In a recent conversation with a friend (and indeed a former Glee fan herself), I mentioned that I had been enjoying a marathon catch-up of season five so far. She was shocked to discover that the show is still running. This having been said, I found myself examining the season so far...

Firstly, the current cast. Yes, we still have the "back row" members from the first season, Artie and. Tina, as well as fan favourites Sam and Blaine who made their debuts in season two, but them aside, I find myself struggling to even remember the names of the rest of the utterly undeveloped members of the New Directions.

Then we have the New York bobbins. Fearful of letting go of their characters after they graduated from McKinley High, creators Brad Falchuk and Ryan Murphy decided to split the completely unconnected action between NY and Lima. And you know what? It doesn't work! If they had concentrated on developing new characters rather than holding feebly on to the old ones, perhaps the show would still be as strong as when it began.

Bringing back classic characters this week really reminded me of how very well the original characters were written and developed, and how smart the storylines once were; Terri Shuester's faked pregnancy, Quinn's baby, Kurt's coming out to his father (one of the greatest moments in American TV of the last decade), anything, abso-ruddy-lutely ANYTHING involving Noah "Puck" Puckerman, and, most memorably of all, just how bloody horrible and hilarious Sue Sylvester once was.

So make a choice, creator people. Either move on and accept that you need to spend time and effort on your sophomore cast members, or just bring back the old cast for good and stop fancying about with meaningless drivel.

And many be lets have some more of Brittany being Britney. 'Cause, y'know, that was just the right mix of hilarity and down right sexiness.

Solving 80s Crime with Tom Selleck's Moustache

The eighties was a golden era for the detective drama. In a time when rolled up jacket sleeves were the height of fashion, Culture Club were still in vogue, and Timothy Dalton was proving to be the slickest man to have ever held a licence to kill, television was finding new ways to push the boundaries of explosions and bizarre hooks.

This is the decade that brought us KIT, making us believe that some day each and every one of us could go and fight crime in a talking car. Indeed, if Apple make sure to install Siri into the forthcoming iCar (not to be confused with iCarly, a show I miss even more than many I'm about to mention), it could soon be a reality for us all. I'd like to think that by season twelve of Sherlock, John Watson will have been replaced by a VW running on IOS42. And if not for Knightrider, we might never have been introduced to the Hoff, meaning no Baywatch, and by causality depriving us not only of a weekly dose of Pamela Anderson in her swimwear, but also the greatest scene in the Spongbob Squarepants Movie. Think on that for a moment...

http://m.youtube.com/watch?autoplay=1&v=brTGAgUYnIc&desktop_uri=%252Fwatch%253Fv%253DbrTGAgUYnIc%2526autoplay%253D1

The eighties brought us The A Team, MacGuyver, Quincy, and, of course, the immortal Angela Lansbury in Murder, She Wrote. To this day, I dream of the missing crossover episode in which Jessica Fletcher and Diagnosis, Murder's Dr. Sloan solve the mysterious case of a spate of poisonings at the local county fair. I'd call it Diagnosis, She Wrote. Or Murder, Murder. Either way, it would be the most significant televisual event since Quantum Leap. And I do not say that lightly.

Anyways, the reason for this foray into mystery-based nostalgia stems from an afternoon spent curled up on the couch watching reruns of what is undoubtedly the greatest detective drama of the eighties, if not of all time; Magnum PI.

The reasons for Magnum's awesomeness can be summarised in five simple points:

1. Tom Selleck's moustache.

2. Higgins. Probably the coolest guy to have ever lived.

3. TC's enormous chopper (by which I mean his helicopter).

4. Rick's enormous chopper (by which I DON'T mean his helicopter).

5. Tom Selleck's moustache. That's right, it's so good it makes the list twice.

Throughout the series, Thomas Magnum spends his entire time lounging about his luxurious beachside condo, occasionally solving crimes in between winding up his overly British chum and helping coach the local little league team. And when all this proves too much, he chills out with his bestest buddy Rick at the local bar, picking up whatever lovely lady takes his eye that week. He is essentially living every man's dream. And he's Tom Selleck.

What more could you want from a tv show? Or life for that matter? Except possibly this moustache...