And another thing…

I’LL BE POSTING a review of part two of The End of Time on Sunday. Why Sunday, you ask? Because on that day I will have been a Doctor Who fan for precisely 40 years.

In the meantime, here’s a taster of Matt Smith as the new Doctor, courtesy of the BBC’s official Doctor Who website.

Russell "the T" Davies

ACCUSATIONS of a particularly nasty nature were chucked at Russell T. Davies during his four-year tenure as executive producer on Doctor Who.

Some of those accusations made their way onto this blog last week when I wrote about the first part of this year’s Christmas special. DW is now “too politically correct” and (God help us all) “gay imperialist” (what does that even mean? I have visions of stormtroopers breaking down people’s doors, charging inside and holding the residents at gunpoint while they re-arrange their furniture and populate their music collections with Scissor Sisters CDs…)

So, according to the uneasy-in-the-modern-world brigade, it is now offensive to portray gay or black people in positive ways. It’s unrealistic, they claim; not accurately representative of today’s society.

Presumably they’d be happier if there were no gay characters at all (yeah, because that would be so much more realistic, wouldn’t it?) and all the black characters were serving in McDonald’s?

What is so offensive about black actors finally being given a fair chance to play major roles? Black people were so excluded from television and film roles when I was a kid that when they started appearing more frequently, I noticed. I noticed the increasing number of black faces, and “black” was what defined them in my mind. Ronnie and Reggie, on the other hand, are so used to seeing black and Asian faces on TV (and yes, on Doctor Who) that I doubt they even register the characters’ colour. All they’re interested in is whether the characters portrayed are goodies or baddies or are entertaining.

Why shouldn’t fictional (even science fictional) scenarios be populated with at least a few gay characters, characters whose main function in the plot is not confined to their sexuality? Straight characters have been free to be straight since TV was invented, but no-one ever accused the makers of Z-Cars of being “straight imperialists”.

My gay friends grew up in a society where there were precious few positive gay role models on television. How awful it must have been for them to be given the unintended but very real message that they were abnormal and that there was no-one else out there who felt the way they did. And how fantastic that young, gay men and women can now see gay characters on TV who aren’t defined by their sexuality. Yes, Captain Jack is gay, but more importantly, he’s a soldier, he’s brave, he’s clever, he inspires love and loyalty, he’s a leader. He’s also gay. So what? Get over it. Donna Noble is brave, clever and funny. She’s also straight. Got a problem with that? No-one cares.

I don’t believe for an instant that black actors were hired by Russell T. Davies (brilliant writer and producer. Also gay, incidentally) out of any desire to “meet quotas” or anything so silly and offensive. He’s far too smart a guy to do anything other than hire the best actors available. But what I also have no doubt about is that, in the past, black actors were turned down for parts because of their colour. If those days are now behind us then I see no reason to do anything other than cheer.

And what does it say about those who are able to suspend disbelief enough to accept that Earth has endured alien invasions a dozen times in as many years but who can’t accept that black people can be successful, powerful or accepted as friends and equals by white people, or that gay people exist in the future?

RONNIE, who started his primary education this year, will be appearing in his class’s nativity play soon.

He will not be playing Joseph. “Good!” said I to his mother. “Rubbish part. The best part is the innkeeper.”

“How so, oh wise husband of mine?” said Carolyn (okay, that’s not exactly what she said, but you get my drift).

So why does the innkeeper play such an important part in the whole First Christmas broo-haha?

Well, remember that part where the Imperial Star Destoyer captures the rebel blockade runner in its tractor beam at the very start of Episode IV? And then the droids escaped to the surface of Tatooine with the Death Star tapes in the escape pod? Well, remember the Imperial gunner who almost shoots the pod down? And then he doesn’t because “there are no life forms on board”?

Well that bloke is recognised among theologians Star Wars fans everywhere as the most crucial, pivotal character in the whole original trilogy. If he had followed his orignal instinct and blown the escape pod to bits, then the droids wouldn’t have made it to Tatooine or into the ownership of Luke Skywalker. Obi-Wan would have stayed in retirement, Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru wouldn’t have been slaughtered by storm troopers and Princess Leia’s execution aboard the Death Star would have gone ahead as scheduled. The Death Star’s fatal weakness would not have been uncovered and would not have been destroyed, so, eventually, would have destroyed the Rebel Alliance.

All because that gunner opened fire on the escape pod. Which he didn’t.

“Are you drunk?”

So, anyway, back to Bethlehem 2000 years ago. The innkeeper could easily have gone that extra mile for his last-minute customers, Mary and Joseph. He could have found a room somewhere. Or he could have sent them packing with a warning not to use his stable or else he’ll get the centurions onto them. Where would the Nativity have been then?

Shepherds are rarely allowed into hotel lobbies, for a start. The Wise Men (the number of whom is not specified in Scripture) would have been hard pressed to track down the actual room number. So no Frankincense, gold or myrrh – and no tradition of prezzies at this time of year!!

Theologically speaking, the Lord being born in a manger provided a powerful message about the humility of His beginnings; a Travelodge doesn’t quite have the same impact.

So, to sum up: the innkeeper’s the part you want to go for, son.

“He’s playing a king,” said Carolyn. “And I fell asleep during Star Wars.”

Right.

♫ "... and a Happy New Year!" ♫

I ALWAYS thought Princess Leia was just a tad irresponsible in the first film. Seems I’m not the only one.

WHEN some Scottish political bloggers – including Jeff Breslin, Malc “in the” Burgh, “Yapping” Yousuf and others who have clearly been using a computer keyboard so long that their handwriting has become indecipherable – had a get-together a few weeks back, they kindly invited me, despite the fact that I’m clearly twice as old as their combined age. Maybe they wanted someone who, unlike them, looked old enough to buy alcohol…

Anyhoo, I was unable to attend, so used the miracle of PayPal to make a contribution to a round in my absence. I have only just received this thank you card (it was sent at the time but went astray in my constituency office until yesterday).

However, let me make two observations about the illustration:

First of all, the choice of a Doctor Who theme suggests I am some sort of sci-fi anorak. This is unfair and untrue.

Secondly, as any fule kno, Daleks are perfectly capable of progressing up stairs and, indeed, of flying. This was first demonstrated not, as some might think, in the episode “Dalek”, by Robert Shearman, first aired on 30 April 2005 as the sixth episode of the “rebooted” series starring Christopher Eccleston, but in the first episode of “Remembrance of the Daleks”, broadcast on 5 October 1988, when the lead role was played by Sylvester McCoy.

So there.

THERE was much excitement in the Harris household when the American sci-fi series V was broadcast in the 1980s.

The effects were state-of-the-art and the image of massive spaceships hovering over major world cities was gob-smackingly impressive, 15 years before Independence Day. The actual plot, where beautiful aliens (very eighties, with big hair and shoulder pads everywhere) offering love and peace turn out to have rather darker motives, quickly turned into a clumsy and subtlety-free metaphor for the fight against fascism. The TV series that followed the original mini-series plumbed the depths of credibility when budget restraints saw the alien occupiers swapping their space-age shuttle crafts for motorbikes.

Now the Visitors are back in a “re-imagining” (don’t American TV execs just love that word?) of the original V. I have no idea whether it will be a hit or a miss; if the producers follow the example set by the re-imagining of Battlestar Galactica, then it will be worth watching whenever it arrives on British shores. On the other hand, if it’s more like the Bionic Woman re-boot, probably better give it a miss.

Anyway, here’s an initial taster.

THIS week I took advantage of Carolyn’s short absence from home to watch Charlie Brooker’s excellent Dead Set.

There have been so many zombie movies in the last three decades and it has clearly proved difficult for writers and producers to come up with new angles on a well-worn theme. Brooker’s novel approach involved placing the action on the set of Big Brother (mindless mobs outside the gates blindly craving the delights contained within that famous studio: geddit?).

Davina McCall yesterday

But there are quite a few consistencies (I won’t call them clichés) when it comes to the-dead-coming-back-to-life-and-eating-living-flesh scenarios. This seems to me an interesting phenomenon — a symptom of the communal human “hive mind”, if you will, when Great Truths of Humankind become part of the mass subconscious. Hence, we know simply by instinct that when the zombie holocaust — or Zomfest — arrives, our survival will depend on a number of factors:

1. Are the dead returning to life as “runners” (as in 28 Days Later and Dead Set) or as “walkers” as in Shaun of the Dead and George A. Romero’s classic “Dead” series? (And further to 28 Days Later, memo to self: must write blogpost about films that everyone thinks are great but are in fact totally rubbish.) This is clearly of the utmost importance; however “menacing” a slow shamble might look on the big screen, it’s a hell of a lot easier to deal with than a resurrected Linford Christie.

2. Are the re-animated seeking living flesh (Dead Set, Night of the Living Dead) or are they being more picky, specifically going after the brains of the living (Return of the Living Dead)? If they’re settling for dead corpses, you’re in luck: there’ll be plenty of dead neighbours/colleagues/family members lying about to act as diversion bait. On the other hand, if they’re after human brains and you happen to be stuck at Conservative conference, you’re really in trouble (wah-hey! I’m here all week, etc…).

3. Is the zombie virus spread by bites alone or by blood infection (28 Days Later)? If the latter, you really are in trouble. But then, if you’re facing a plague of the living dead, then it’s all degrees, isn’t it?

4. Is the government/army on your side? This is a cucial one and will, of course, depend on whether the government inadvertently started the zombie plague in the first place through an accident while attempting to weaponise a virus or whatever. Politicians, eh? What are they like? And bear in mind that the government’s solution to… er, “disinfecting” the affected area might not be one which has your own best interests at heart. They used a nuke on the infected town at the end of Return of the Living Dead. I’m just saying…

5. Location, location, location: Where you hole yourself up will have a major bearing on whether you survive for a few minutes or a few days. TV studios, I would have thought, are not the most auspicious or secure environments when you’re trying to stave off a veritable tidalwave of worm-infested crazies. A shopping mall, as is well known, is ideal; the queues at Starbucks can be expected to be substantially shorter and you can have your pick of the Blu-Ray discs out of HMV. But there won’t be any power to operate your HD TV. D’oh!

However, if you and your friends are fortunate enough to find a fully-stocked and easily-secured shopping mall, try to make sure you’re in America; you won’t find any gun stores at Silverburn or Bluewater. Secondly, be choosy about who you allow into your little community: loud-mouthed mysogynists with violent or psychopathic tendencies and the words “Author’s message: who are the real monsters?” tattooed across their foreheads should be asked to apply in writing, with a 28-day cooling-off period recommended before acceptance.

6. Is the zombie plague confined to Blighty (28 Days Later), or is it international (all the others). If the latter, then I’m afraid you’re screwed. Make the most of the few days of life you have left before you’re either eaten alive or shot by that bloke with the tattoo on his forehead — you know, that tattoo you never got round to reading? If the former, you may be saved, eventually, by Johnny Foreigner or, more likely, Billy Yank who has, after all, more experience in this sort of thing.

An important general point to bear in mind is that the dearly departed-and-returned are still, to all intents and purposes, dead. Okay, they’re running/walking about attacking the living and groaning and being a post-modern metaphor and stuff, but they are nevertheless dead. That means time is on your side. Two words: flesh rots. Especially the eyes. So a few days into the ZomFest you’ll find it much easier to negotiate your way past the buggers, although you’ll still have to outrun them, at least until their ligaments decompose properly. They’ll just start to run into things after a while, providing much-needed slapstick in the midst of a generally humourless situation. And not being willing to attend their regular six-monthly dental check-ups, their teeth will also not last long.

That’s about all the advice I can offer, I’m afraid. It’s all pretty depressing, but on the plus side, you won’t have to go into work again, or sit through Heartbeat on a Sunday evening.

And whenever the tell-tale signs that signal the onset of the ZomFest — oddly vague reports on the BBC News channel about “serious incidents throughout the country” accompanied by shots of fires filmed from the air — start to occur, take solace in the fact that the end will come bewilderingly quickly — somewhere between 90 and 120 minutes, in my experience.

Okay, I’m off to lie down in a dark room now…

UPDATE at 9.40 am: Thanks to commenters Stuart Sharpe and Will for directing me to this outstanding video. You see? Humankind’s hive mind (if you will) in action again…

LAST night, on my return from the Commons, I stayed up well beyond bedtime, eschewing my Horlicks, in order to watch the last ever episode of Battlestar Galactica.

First off: how cool is that name? It was probably the only good thing about the original series which, in most other respects, was as rubbish as a pile of rubbish that’s been dumped in Rubbishville’s municipal rubbish tip. So I was surprised as anyone when it was announced a remake was on the way.

As in the original series, human civilisation, spread among 12 space-travelling colonies, is all but wiped out by an attack by the evil Cylons which, in the newer version, were originally created by the humans themselves as robot slaves. What’s left of mankind — about 50,000 souls — form a convoy, led by the colonies’ last remaining battlestar warship, the Galactica, and attempt to seek a new home, the mythological “13th colony” of Earth.

Battlestar Galactica is a slow burner. I watched the mini series that kicked the whole thing off, and thought it was interesting, intelligent, with great special effects, but also a bit clinical, with very few sympathetic characters. So I didn’t bother watching the subsequent series initially. But word started to circulate that here was science fiction worth paying attention to. I was intrigued, particularly when I saw an advert on Sky which described it as “the only science fiction which explores the war on terror” or some such. So I started watching the box set DVD collections.

Season one was extremely enjoyable; a bit slow but with a tremendous cliffhanger ending. Season two, with the introduction of a battlestar previously assumed destroyed, the Pegasus, and its authoritarian admiral Cain, provided the dramatic and emotional pinnacle of the whole series, with some amazing scripts, acting and moral paradoxes. The “war on terror” parallel reaches a height during the first part of season three, where the surviving humans have established a colony on New Caprica, only for it to be invaded and occupied by the Cylons. A campaign of suicide bombings by the humans against their robot oppressors and a systematic campaign of intimidation, torture and summary execution by the Cylons and their human collaborators ensue, throwing up none-too-subtle comparisons with Iraq. A brave thing for any US-made science fiction TV series to attempt.

The cast enjoyed winding up Christians and Dan Brown fans alike

One over-arching thread throughout the series is a religious one, and a debate about whether the human colonies’ traditional multiple gods should be replaced by a single God. There are tons of religious or pseudo-religious allusions and discussions among the characters, and they don’t always sit comfortably with the rest of the space opera.

Nevertheless, Battlestar Galactica is intelligent and grown up. It’s refreshing to see science fiction for adults being produced in an age when almost everything seems to be produced for teenagers. Most of the characters are in their thirties or older, and virtually all of them are morally ambiguous; even the flawed Baltar — the main villain of the original 1978 series — comes across most of the time as sympathetic, though selfish and cowardly.

Richard Hatch, who starred in the original series as Apollo, returned to the re-imagined series, as Tom Zarek, a sometime politcian, hero, terrorist and villain. But the central figure is Admiral William Adama, Galactica’s commander, played brilliantly by Edward James Olmos (known to West Wing fans as President Bartlett’s eventual Supreme Court nominee, Judge Roberto Mendoza). The fact that the producers went to great lengths to secure the talents of so many fine actors is a testament to how seriously they considered their job. The most controversial decision they made was to cast a woman in the role of Starbuck who, in the original series had been played by Dirk Benedict (The Face in The A Team, if you’re interested). The only controversy for me is that Katee Sackhoff irritated the hell out of me in every screen appearance she made in four years.

In the end, as I discovered last night, it’s virtually impossible to provide answers to all the puzzles and mysteries that have been invented by the writers in the previous four years. Elements of the finale were unsatisfying, others quite moving and uplifting.

If you haven’t watched it so far, and if you want science fiction that actually makes you think and care about the characters, then make an effort to catch it on DVD.

So say we all.

CAROLYN and I have just finished watching the last episode of Torchwood: Children of Earth.

For me, the essence of good drama is how much you think and discuss it afterwards, and I can imagine wanting to discuss this a lot in the days ahead. So yes, great drama. But any parent will have found it incredibly difficult to watch. Again, a sign of good writing is when those watching it on screen empathise so strongly and immediately with the situation unfolding in front of them

Yet doubts persist. Children of Earth was clearly meant to be manipulative, and boy, did we feel manipulated; exploited, even.

Despite my love of Doctor Who and my admiration for Russell T. Davies, I’ve never been able to get into Torchwood before. Don’t know what it is, but I just never connected with it, with the plot or the characterisations. But I decided to watch Children of Earth because, with a five-night consecutive run on BBC1, it had to have something going for it.

And it did. It was utterly engrossing from the very start. The story of evil aliens attempting to abduct and then feed off human children, and the even more disturbing narrative concerning the even more evil politicians too cowardly to stand up to them, was just so well written, so well directed and well acted, that I found myself eager to watch every succeeding episode.

I’m glad I did. Carolyn wishes she hadn’t.

John Barrowman: not nearly as irritating this time round

I asked my Twitter friends if there’s a word for hatred of children (in the same way that mysogyny is hatred of women). Apparently it’s “misopedia”. So does that make Russell T. Davies a “misopediast”? Probably not, but really, a very emotional and emotive drama. But I guess that’s a good thing…

The other question is: have we seen the last of Torchwood and Captain Jack? His first appearance in Doctor Who was in a Steven Moffat-penned episode entitled The Empty Child. So maybe Steven has plans to team him up with the new Doctor in the next season. We’ll see.

In the meantime, Children of Earth has made me want to revisit seasons one and two to see what I’ve been missing.

THERE’S a revered summer ritual which sees MPs identify the books they aim to read during the summer recess, books they probably bought a while back but which they haven’t yet had time to open.

I always have similarly good intentions, but usually fall well short of my personal target, especially since the boys – and then the blog – arrived. But this year I’m determined to ignore the many "serious" political works of recent years; I need a break from politics. So instead I intend to catch up on my unread back catalogue of science fiction and, if I have time, some of my favourite historical authors.

So, this summer, I will be mostly reading:

Revelation Space by Alastair Reynolds

Pandora’s Star by Peter F. Hamilton

Perdido Street Station by China Melville

The Battle for Bond by Robert Sellers

Already Dead by Charlie Huston

Time and Chance by Sharon Penman

Devil’s Brood by Sharon Penman

First Man in Rome by Colleen McCullough

The Grass Crown by Colleen McCullough

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy by John Le Carre

And, in accordance with my resolution to read nothing about politics this summer…

Everything You Never Wanted To Know About The LibDems And Couldn’t Be Bothered to Ask by Nick Clegg.

If I get through that lot, I’ll be doing well. Lucky it’s a long recess, which this year will be uninterrupted (for me) by Labour conference.