THE LAST SONTARAN

Written by Phil Ford

Directed by Joss Agnew

A delightful season opener: fast, furious, and rarely pausing for breath.

In that respect, it leads to the only unsatisfying component of the story: the departure of Maria Jackson and her family. Because of real-life circumstances, Yasmin Paige is choosing to leave the show, which should have offered the chance for a solid good-bye and emotional closure to a key component of the success behind The Sarah Jane Adventures. However, the furious pace of the story seems to leave this as an after-thought. Even Elisabeth Sladen seems stunned by the warp-speed nature of the goodbye. Maria informing Luke of her departure is handled much better (with a wonderful performance from Thomas Knight). Overall, the farwell isn’t handled all that badly, but it should have been so much better for such a long running character.

The rest of the story functions much more smoothly. The chase scenes are brilliantly shot (the lush forest cinematography is first rate). The effects are all up to snuff, and the regulars deliver the usual goods. There’s also a lovely surprise that will catch you at the very last moment.

But the greatest kudos go to Anthony O’Donnell as Commander Kaagh, the last survivor of the Sontaran taskforce from the Doctor Who 2-part epic The Sontaran Stratagem/The Poison Sky. He may very well be the best Sontaran character since Linx — the original member of the race — was introduced, so long ago in 1973’s The Time Warrior. He’s delightfully vindictive, proud, arrogant, devious and — at times — hilarious. His anger towards various doors starts to become an absurd joy to behold. There’s also something quite comforting about watching Sarah Jane face what could be called one of her arch-enemies. After all, they both started out together…

So…more of the same quality we came to expect from the previous season, in spite of dropping the ball with the Jackson family’s departure. It’s unpretentious action-adventure, with liberal dashes of wit and charm. As a way to ease us back into the Sarah Jane universe, it holds up rather well.

As I slowly recover from my nasty flu bug (I still feel woozy), I will take some fresh air and head for the advanced poll, open today.

I will be voting Liberal…as if any of you really doubted otherwise. ;-) Allow me some post-sickness, random rambling…

After watching the English-language debate (under the influence of many cold meds), I believe that Stephane Dion did well. He looked calm, content, and he committed very few English flubs. He managed to make his points, and he even managed to shut Jack Layton up on two occasions…a rare talent. Hell, he even laughed and smiled with the most genuine warmth of anyone at the debate table.

Green Party Leader Elizabeth May was even better. If she achieved anything, then I hope it was the the fact that she proved she could be a better MP for her Nova Scotia riding then the wanna-be-Dauphin/yes-man Conservative Defence Minister Peter McKay. I hope she drives him AND his little dog out of town.

Gilles Duceppe looked like he was going to throw off his jacket, crawl across the table, and throttle Stephen Harper. What was going on? Jacket undone, lazing back, looking irritated and agitated…did someone put itching powder into his suit? Was there a new poll indicating Quebec supported Federalism over Seperatism 10-to-1 that took him by surprise?

Jack Layton was smarmy and annoying. Nothing new there. Move on…

Harper looked ill. His eyes looked dead (then again, this isn’t the first time he has modelled corpse-chic). He actually spun around in his chair, like some sort of trapped, tired animal. He looked at Elizabeth May as if he couldn’t even believe she had the audacity to speak to him…and he never once addressed her in return. In no sense did Feckless Leader look Prime Ministerial that night.

It was an outcome I was satisfied with…and it was a debate that actually felt like a satisfying discussion…and not a form of annoying, reality-TV roundtable combat.

With ten days to go, the question is…Conservative majority or minority? Thinking rationally, I believe the debate sealed a minority for the country…but I’ve been wrong before. There’s a cynical, frightened core within me that says Canadians might abandon all sense and deliver us our own version a Reagan/Thatcher neo-con nirvana we will all come to regret. Then again, it could be my cold meds doing the thinking…the grey matter has been through quite a bit of physical and emotional turmoil over the past week. Let’s hope such bleak thoughts are the dregs of sickness, and not the fruits of reality.

But let’s keep it simple: don’t vote Conservative. Don’t even consider voting Conservative. Drug anyone you know who is planning on voting Conservative and lock them in your basement. Then…we will be safe. :D

But let’s leave the last word to Margaret Atwood — Canada’s Queen of Letters, who tore a strip off of Mr. Harper in a recent Globe and Mail editorial:

“Mr. Harper has demonstrated that he has no knowledge of, or respect for, the capacities and interests of “ordinary people.” He’s the “niche interest.” Not us.”

It’s been a VERY rough few days. Thankfully, the news I was expecting to hear was positive and nothing of what I was dreading. Believe me, it was hard not to dread the worst…

Mind you, I did have a little breakdown yesterday…but I’m allowed one of those every once in a while. Luckily, there was only one witness…making sure I didn’t pass out.

On the blog front, I’ll be silent until the weekend. The flu I have is still wringing me dry, and after the emotional turmoil of the previous few days, I need a great deal of regenerative sleep…and the endless consumption of oceans of Vitamin C-rich liquids. But I will make it back to the land of the living (complete with a review of the 2nd series premiere of The Sarah Jane Adventures)…just give me some time.

It’s another one of those days…

I’ve traded back pain for an irritating cold. I’m trying to get through the day.

I also need to get through tomorrow. Good news or bad news for someone close to me will arrive, and I’m worn out with praying/wishing/hoping for positive news.

I’m sick of bad news. I’m sick to death of it. I’m sick of the shadow that threatens to engulf my family at any moment. Didn’t I go through enough of this LAST September?

Outside, it’s grey, wet and miserable…mirroring my mood. Hell is, no doubt, the living embodiment of the current state of my sinus cavities.

Everything is in limbo. The big “pause” button of life has been hit, and I sit here…waiting, sniffling, dehydrated, and trying not to be terribly worried. By this time tomorrow, I’ll either be in great despair, or wondering why the hell I was so over-excited.

Let’s hope it’s the latter.

Positive energy. Think positive. Fingers crossed, rabbit foot rubbed, rosary prayed…

&

A CRACK IN THE EDGE OF THE WORLD: America and the Great California Earthquake of 1906

Written by Simon Winchester

Two reasons why reading both Krakatoa & A Crack in the Edge of the World makes for a worthwhile experience…

(1) The research — incredibly thorough, minutely detailed, highly organized…but easily presented in a concise, relaxed manner & prose style. You never once feel overwhelmed by information, yet it doesn’t exist to merely act as a boring old info dump (I’m looking at you, DaVinci Code). These are works of research that warm the hearts of anyone who thinks good research — both fascinating AND easily understood by the masses — is a dying art.

(2) The storytelling component is wonderful. There’s a reason that Krakatoa in particular was chosen by the BBC to be turned into a docu-drama for television. The research is always telling a story. All the facts, all the observations, all the measurements…they’re all presented to us via the lives of the memorable people most affected by the disasters related in each book. It’s easy to becomes swept away — more than once — by the awesome, terrifying power of nature. It’s also a perversely joyous feeling to realize that real-life presents us with the better disaster stories than anything Jerry Bruckheimer can produce for film or TV.

Two reasons why Krakatoa & A Crack in the Edge of the World are incredibly frustrating reads…

(1) Tangents, tangents…tangets everywhere you look. Is it a history book? A science book? A geography treatise? A personal memoir? The problem is that it’s primarily history, bamboozled on all sides side by memories, science & geography…and not in a pleasant manner. Just when things get interesting, side-bars explaining how we got to this point seem to go on for ages and ages…sometimes, a glacial age! Many of the side-bars are interesting in their own right, but they are always too long (on one occasion, UNBEARABLY long), and always seem to break the main action at the most inopportune moments. Very much like George Lucas’ less-than-desirable additions to his original Star Wars films…

(2) The occasional “What the hell is he thinking?” moment at the conclusion of both books…particularly Krakatoa, where the author makes an audacious (at times, even astonishing) attempt to somehow link the rise of nationalistic Islamic fervor in South-East Asia to the eruption of the Krakatoa volcano and its aftermath. I’m not necessarily dismissing the entire theory, but it’s presented to us in such a fait accompli manner that it makes the mind (and the eyes) boggle. Ambition is one thing, but this kind of reaching is an entirely different ball game…

Read them, enjoy them, be frustrated by the experience. It’s all worth it in the end, especially if you’re both a history junkie and a connoisseur of epic cataclysm. But be prepared to hold your nose as you turn more than one of their pages…

7

I was going to rant further, but to be honest, I’m tired, dispirited, and just plain worn out today. It’s another trying time in the personal world, and it keeps interfering with most of my attempts to try and rant on any sort of continuous basis.

So, I’m taking a bath, going to bed early…and hopefully, a new day brings a better outlook.

THE MANY HANDS

Written by Dale Smith

This is, hands down (excuse the pun), the best of this batch of books. It’s dark, it has a historical setting, it’s full of creepy-crawly body horror, mad scientists, angry soldiers, disembodied hands, and Benjamin Franklin…what more could you ask for?

Most likely you’ll be asking for a plot. Luckily, there’s plenty of it: rich and well structured. The author’s previous book (the much underrated 7th Doctor novel Heritage) created a world of dry & dusty secrets, full of hidden pain. On this occasion, Dale Smith plunges us into the busy streets of 18th century Edinburgh. Having a ready-made world to play with in this novel allows him to embellish the gothic nature of the city (which is positively dripping from the ramshackle buildings of the Old Town), adding layer upon ghoulish layer to the story and its characters. He then sends the story off at a breakneck pace; we join the action already in progress, with a scene that would have looked spectacular on television, but feels equally spectacular on the printed page.

The Doctor and Martha are far more mature here than in the previous novels. Clearly set during the latter half of their TV adventures, they are expertly handled by Smith’s pen. The Doctor is full of his usual manic energy, but there is an equally brooding and contemplative element on display. Martha is far more confident about herself and her abilities, and she wastes no time getting into the thick of things. That said, there is plenty of fear and terror in her character, which makes her reactions even more natural and sympathetic to the reader. Believe me, she has much to fear about the horrific mess in which she finds herself…

The setting and tone are very reminiscent of the Big Finish audio play Medicinal Purposes, but The Many Hands is the far superior work. It flies by at an incredible rate, yet it’s packed with so much detail, so much nuance, and so much character that it’s bursting at the seams. Easily the best of the 10th Doctor novels to date.

10

MARTHA IN THE MIRROR

Written by Justin Richards

BBC Books Editor Justin Richards has always been a very hit and miss author for me. He’s nothing if not prodigious and ambitious, and in the past, he’s offered a number of amazing, powerful, and exceptionally well-written adventures (I’d highly recommend both The Sands of Time and The Burning). However, he’s also responsible for a number of dull clunkers, and I’ve found most of his 9th and 10th Doctor output to be extremely forgettable.

That is, until now…

Martha in the Mirror isn’t the deepest, most compelling, most mind-blowing effort I’ve ever read, but for pure entertainment value alone, it’s shockingly enjoyable. It plays with all sorts of standard Doctor Who cliches and set-ups, but makes them feel fresh and invigorating, as if they were being used for the first time.

You name it, it’s here. Evil doubles, important & imposing castles, parallel universes, monks, space opera, an inter-galactic peace conference, a shoot-em-up climax…mixed with all sorts of Alice Through the Looking Glass allusions. All of this should cancel itself out in the biggest literary explosion you can imagine…but nothing of the sort occurs. It’s all wrapped up in an enjoyable adventure that concentrates on atmosphere and pace. Not very deep, but so broad it stretches to the horizon, and helped by a continuation of the maturity of writing for the Doctor and Martha that was present in The Many Hands.

It’s very much in the style of classic Graham Williams-produced, late 1970s Doctor Who. Perhaps not a vintage that inspires a great deal of confidence, but when it was on top form, it produced stories of great wit, imagination and excitement. I’d lump Martha in the Mirror into that era, and it would be sitting comfortably in the company of stories such as The Sun Makers and The Androids of Tara.

8

SNOWGLOBE 7

Written by Mike Tucker

The first two thirds of this novel are in the running for most cliched and dull Doctor Who writing ever. Prose that competes with Terrance Dicks during his most banal, novel-a-month period. It’s full of info-dumps that would make Dan Brown’s DaVinci Code proud, and the characters all appear out of the random-character-generator that I believe must have been kept in the basement of BBC Television Centre, and was transferred to the offices of BBC Books. Only the solid characterization of the Doctor and Martha offer any solace for an otherwise limp experience…

…until we get to the final 75 pages, at which point the book completely transforms…and goes a bit bonkers!

It’s not easy writing action. Action is visual. Bangs, flashes, chases…they all require the senses to be engaged. Writing action is usually akin to trying to dance about architecture; it’s never going to give you any of the same sort of satisfaction as a good TV or film overload-of-destruction. But to his credit, Mike Tucker supplies an astonishing amount of action on the page, and it actually works. More than that…it works brilliantly! The final third of Snowglobe 7 races along at warp speed, and you’ll find yourself breathlessly (and increasingly mind-shredded) turning the pages, determined not to finish until the roller-coaster action ceases.

If only the first two thirds lived up to the conclusion. On its own, the last bit of the novel is as top rate as anything BBC Books have recently produced…wickedly cool family of monsters included. :D But working your way through the first 150 pages is like trawling through a smelly bog, in search of a diamond.

6

The last two weeks have felt as if I’ve been bogged down in treacle. (I was going to type “bogged down in a bog”…but I didn’t want to tempt the writing gods) Work demands (especially one particular group of youthful wanna-be soul eaters), family concerns…good lord, I’m already hankering for the Christmas holidays!

OH…and thanks to the appearance of a jagged, 25cm long CRACK, I have to have my car windshield replaced on Saturday morning. :-(

Trying to be positive for yourself is tiring enough. Adding the effort to be positive for others who need it can be a weight worthy of Atlas.

I was actually planning another election blog today…but now that evening is here, I’d rather ignore the world for a day or so. The U.S. financial collapse, the Conservatie gaffes in the election campaign…there’s no lack of material. But right now, I really really really could use some new Doctor Who to take me away from the brutal & prosaic realities of life, and leave me with some magical (and much needed) inspiration of the soul.

That said, a new season of The Sarah Jane Adventures begins on September 29th…so I’ll have something involving to take my mind off the mundane world. Another round-up of recently read novels is also on the way…soon.

I also have my little Doctor Who video club at school on Friday afternoons. Being in the company of those happy, interested, impressionable, geeky proteges does put one hell of a smile on my face. :D

All is not bleak…just a bit beige at the moment. Harmless, perhaps…but beige doesn’t quite feed the spirit…

…and — for a particularly overpowering reason at this moment — I wish my dad was here. :-/ So I visited the florist and bought my mom a dozen roses…just because I could.

According to one of his advisors, Republican Presidential candidate John McCain (he who doesn’t “get” email and that interweb thing) is responsible for the creation of RIM’s Blackberry. He held up one of the little devices to reporters, and said: “He did this.”

In other news today…what many have suspected has been conclusively proven:

“I’M BATMAN!!!!!”