In which an admirable sentiment is somewhat undermined by the execution...
Just...oh dear.
In the meantime, BOOBIES! I am declaring a challenge to the fly-by-night new favourite pairing of the hour, Jack/Meatpoo. Their cheap affection is nothing to the passion thus far exhibited this year between the two real stars of the show, which thanks to
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Thought A2A was
a bit limp in the places I worried it would be - ie including ridiculous shite like a bloke in espadrilles and a pastel suit with the sleeves rolled up, in London, in 1981. Sorry, but no. I anticipate an influx of brick-sized mobile phones and the like, whereas the very early 80s looked a fuck of a lot like the late 70s. The only one who felt really spot on was Ray. Which is not to say that I didn't like Gene's new coat, that I didn't cheer at Chris and his matchy-matchy girlfriend, or that the scary clown reflected in the office table etc were not brilliant. But overall, meh. To be fair, I wasn't all that fussed on LOM S1 for it's failure to really run with the possibilities of the format (to use proper 70s-style instrumentals, to shoot it in the style of a 70s TV show instead of just dressing it up vaguely like one), and arguably you can say that wouldn't have made sense with where they took the mythology. They certainly won me over with S2 regardless. But sod it, I want it to actually feel like I'm watching Dempsey and Makepeace with irony and good scripts, and instead we got oddly contemporary moody titles and an office that looks a bit like an Olivia Newton-John video. Oh well. Dead Sam, though. That's convenient sad. And we may never meet Mrs Guv, alas.
And have new Supernatural to watch this eve, which looks like a bit of a corker.
I should go and do something non-televisual now, I fear. There's sunshine out there and everything!
- Mood:
space-crickety
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