TV Review: The Fades on BBC 3

I don't often wax lyrical about TV shows, largely because I don't have a TV and am therefore limited in my viewing, but something excellent that I came across recently via iPlayer was The Fades, described as a fantasy horror series. Having been disappointed with Being Human, True Blood and other potential Buffy successors in that vein, I didn't have high hopes, but was intrigued enough to give it a go. I'm glad I did. In just six episodes, the Fades managed to dispense with a whole lot of tired fantasy cliches, rolling up and reinventing the vampire/zombie/apocalypse genres into something refreshingly different and really rather good.

A short, six episode series, it was truly disturbing in places, laugh out loud funny in others. The combination of fantasy and humour is something I've craved since Buffy finished in 2003 and while others have tried and failed to achieve it, The Fades hit the right note exactly. A solid cast of stalwarts (including an all too brief appearance from Daniella "This Life" Nardini as a gun slinging lady vicar) and sterling performances from the younger leads - especially central character Paul and his best friend Mac - made for absorbing viewing.

The Fades to which the title refers are a breed of ghost-come-zombie-come-vampires, stuck on earth since the ascension process got broken by too many deaths in the Second World War, desperately bitter and hungry for justice. Noone can see The Fades except The Angelics, who become their nemesis by default as much as anything. About as far from the white-frocked, golden winged biblical vision as you can imagine, the Angelics are a rag tag bunch brought together only by their common ability to see and interact with the Fades. 17 year old Paul is special amongst the Angelics, with additional powers including the ability to heal, and a touching compassion for the Fades. The lines that have traditionally separated goodies from baddies are wonderfully blurred as the the Fades' motives are explored and the accepted interpretation of heaven and hell ripped up and re-imagined.

In between this apocalyptic unravelling, there is plenty of real life emotion and interaction as Paul tries to get on with the business of being a teenager (losing his virginity, getting through college), all the time haunted by terrifying visions of inevitable despair and destruction. I don't want to spoil the outcome for those who haven't seen it, but let's just say the ending is not as one might expect. And all the better for it.

Expect to be unsettled, challenged, disturbed and entertained. Here's a little taster:

Sound like your cup of tea? You can still watch The Fades for another week on iPlayer: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0129tkw/episodes/guide Or you can always go old school and buy the boxed set, of course.

The Grand Glee Finale: End of Act One

Warning: Luvvie Alert (if you have have an aversion to campery or showbiz of any kind, you may as well stop reading right now. If however you are fond of a showtune or two, or like me, are a fan of Glee, welcome to the party...)

Since I first raved about it back in January, Glee has become my only must-watch TV show (oh, OK, there's Mad Men too), providing wry satire and sparkling musical entertainment every Monday night, which, I think you'll agree, is just what Mondays needed. Like any long-running series, it's had its occasional 'nothing much is happening this week' episodes and a few ill-conceived or just plain vomit-inducing musical numbers. But on the whole it's been first-rate.

We've followed the ever more complicated fates of a group of High School misfits and their equally troubled teachers as they prepare for Glee Club sectionals, an inter-school musical performance competition traditional in America. We've wondered who will end up with who, whether the club will survive its many slapstick bust-ups and whether they will make it through to the next stage of the competition.

There's decent eye-candy in the form of mohicaned bad-boy Noah 'Puck' Puckerman (or pretty boy Finn Hudson if that's your thing), but the undisputed comedy star of the show is cranky sports teacher and cheerleader coach Sue Sylvester, whose cutting one-liner comebacks are legendary. My favourite from this week's episode: "You'll be adding revenge to the long list of things you're no good at, right next to being married, running a high school glee club and finding a hairstyle that doesn't look like a lesbian." Genius.

The highlight of each episode for me is invariably the big showstopper number, generally performed by the group or two main characters in the midst of a poignant storyline. The episodes that fall flat are always those in which they get the showstopper wrong. Thankfully for the mid season finale this week, they got it very very right with a magical rendition of 'Don't Rain on My Parade' from Funny Girl:

As someone who performed in many musicals as a youngster and harboured aspirations towards professional singing, I was right there with (the talented but irritatingly fame-obsessed) Rachel as she stole the show at the Glee Club competition sectionals. Her heartfelt performance perfectly encapsulated the hunger and drive I so vividly remember experiencing as a teenager treading the boards; it was thrilling, infectious and rousing - bringing back a rush of teenage yearnings.

Both Ant and I have been humming the tune ever since and going back to watch this video of said performance to re-experience the tingling sensation all over again. It was so powerful that I can't even recall what the other songs in the episode were. Now that's what I call showbiz.

If you are still reading and have yet to experience Glee for yourself, you can catch up on the last few episodes via 4oD, or order the DVD from Amazon.

Leaving January Behind with Glee

I don't know about you, but I can't wait for January to be over and done with. It's not been a bad month exactly, just a completely uneventful and torpid one; I've barely socialised since New Year's Eve and what with the bank balance recovering after Christmas excesses, there hasn't even been a decent retail therapy session to perk me up. The most exciting thing to happen was the snow and even that turned out to be a royal pain in the arse once the initial novelty wore off. But now as the first month of the year draws to a close, the invitations are starting to trickle in for February and March, giving me something more diverting to look forward to and I am willing away the last dreary days.

There really has been so little going on these past few weeks that I've been carving through the DVD box sets (24 series 6, Six Feet Under series 3) at an unprecedented rate and even getting hooked on current TV shows - like the outstandingly entertaining Glee. For most of the year I barely turn on the TV except to watch films and haven't been bothered enough about anything lately to get into watching it religiously, but for Glee I make an exception. On first glance you might presume it to be a schmaltzy High School Musical wannabe, but actually it veers much more towards being a parody of such cheese-fests. To me it is also enormously nostalgic, since I was a member of the UK equivalent of High School Glee Club and the politics and histrionics take me right back. Even Ant, who is not a fan of musicals or American teen drama, is enjoying it immensely. If you have yet to catch on, you can catch up via 4oD - it's well worth it, honestly.

While we're on the subject of TV highlights, this week saw the return of the glorious Mad Men - an altogether different, but equally compelling affair. I have yet to watch episode one and am dying to discover how things will pan out following season 2's tumultuous ending. Will Betty take her incorrigible gigolo of a husband back? Will the frocks be even more fabulous than last series? Who will have an affair with who? How will I ever cope with having to wait a whole week between episodes? In fact I'd better stop writing and settle down for my fix right now. See you in February, when I will hopefully have more to talk about than what's on the box.

Being Human, Heroes, Lost... TV's All Gone to Sh*t

Once in a while, when I'm not off cavorting at gigs, skulking around seedy cabaret clubs or entertaining the unsuspecting streets of Kemp Town with impromptu showtunes outbursts, I sometimes quite like to stay home and watch TV. Ever hopeful for something new and exciting on the box, a few months back we downloaded and watched the pilot episode of Being Human, a new BBC3 drama about a vampire, a werewolf and a ghost sharing a house in Bristol. It sounded fun, and the pilot was excellent - a bit This Life, a bit Buffy, a bit ER (the werewolf and the vampire both work in a hospital) - in other words everything I could possibly want in a the way of televisual entertainment. At last, I thought, a decent fix of intelligent dark-humoured fantasy drama and with eye candy to boot.

To my immense disappointment, when the actual series finally launched some time later and the two strongest main characters had been replaced with new actors - including a distinctly less edgy and not at all sexy vampire - it just didn't do it for me any more. It wasn't just the actors though, the whole thing just felt cheaper and lacking in the essential cool factor which the pilot had delivered in spades. Somehow they had managed to break what I hoped would be my new TV addiction. I don't watch a lot of telly, but I do love to have something absorbing and distracting on the go and there hasn't been anything that ticked all the boxes since Joss Whedon's ill-fated Firefly.

Last night I half-heartedly started watching the new series of Heroes, knowing full well that just like the previous ones, it would be certain to disappoint. When Heroes first came on our screens it had all the makings of being exactly my kind of show, but then just kept going round and round in tedious circles, ever dangling the promise of something better over our hopeful little heads. It so should be good, but in reality it never quite hits the spot. Nevertheless, I keep watching and hoping until something better comes along, sucker that I am. And judging from the largely dissatisfied Twittering going on during last night's episode, I am not the only one trapped in this endless cycle of disillusionment.

On the DVD-front, we just finished season seven of Smallville (big 'meh') and are currently watching series one of The Sarah Connor Chronicles (whose duo of boot-clad leading ladies keep Ant happy) as well as season four of Lost. Despite having jumped the shark some time ago, Lost at least keeps the heart pumping with non-stop action-packed adventure, and plenty of bare-chested male totty action (yes I am that shallow), and I am intrigued to see where they will take it from this confusingly convoluted point. Next up on our LoveFilm rental list we have (in no particular order): Mad Men, Six Feet Under, more Dexter, True Blood, Wonderfalls, Dollhouse and Veronica Mars - all recommended by friends with SkyPlus who get to watch all these things as they come out and go on about them until I am worn into submission. And let's hope I'm not being led astray, because if there's nothing decent in amongst that lot, I may have to throw the TV out of the window and take up cross-stitch instead.

Snapshot of a Weekend

Seven o'clock Sunday night: We're huddled in the lounge - the only warm room in the house - fire blazing away. It seemed sensible to switch off our central heating earlier when the boiler started rattling like there was a malicious pixie in cloggs lurking inside. We've been putting off getting the thing replaced for months, knowing it was on its last legs, but reluctant to stomach the cost and inconvenience of having a new one fitted.

Freakzone is on the radio as I move from place to place around the room, trying to pick up a weak wireless signal. Another domestic job we have failed to accomplish lately is the installation of our own wi-fi router, and while my new MacBook Air(I know, far too cool for me) is both stylish and practical, its sleek design leaves no space for an ethernet socket, so this is the only way to get online at home for now.

I realise it has been nearly a week since I last blogged (apart from for work), but then I have had little of interest to report. It is my general policy not to blog about work (apart from occasional anecdotes about office Christmas parties), and working is pretty much all I have been doing for the last couple of weeks. Not that I'm complaining; I've been in my element learning all sorts of geekery for the new job, and it's fun in it's own way, but I do need to let my hair down once in a while.

A girls' night was on the cards for Friday, followed by a dinner party at ours on Saturday (all work and no play makes Ro a grumpy girl), until I was struck down with the lurgy and had to cancel my playtime plans. I haven't been out properly (house parties don't count) since my birthday bonanza back in September, and am just itching for some dancefloor action. Cue major sulk on my part.

So instead I spent Friday night at home and most of Saturday curled up on the sofa watching DVDs. Today we did venture out briefly - for Sunday lunch at the Juggs and a wander round the Antique shops of Lewes. We bought a new bookcase for the bedroom from the Flea market, and were very nearly tempted by a 1950s Danish teak table nest that we didn't need, but really really liked.

7.54: Ant has stopped reading The Rough Guide to Germanyand is now shooting Germans on his laptop(I'm hoping there isn't a direct link between the two activities). Freakzone is nearly over, reaching its usual climax of weirdness right before the end. Leftover curry and a final Wallanderepisode await; gosh we're so rock 'n roll. As if to purposefully compound my party yearnings, 'Rhythm Is a Dancer' kicks off Dave Pearce's Dance Anthems show. Memories of Kerry and me larging it at the end of the pier circa 1992 come flooding back. Sigh.

8.13: Time to microwave that massala and find out what mysteries are in store for the brooding Swedish detectivethis time.

*******

11.00: I'm brushing my teeth, listening to the news on Radio 2. Tony Hart has died. The sound of his voice and the music from 'Take Hart' - so warmly evocative of my childhood - bring tears to my eyes. I break the news to Ant as I get into bed and we spend a good 20 minutes reminiscing about the man who gave us 'The Gallery' and Morph, and made us all believe in our own creative potential. Ant remembers most fondly the string of art school assistants who appeared with Hart - invariably willowy young ladies with floaty hair, a different one for each series. I remark on the hitherto overlooked similarity between Tony Hart and Doctor Who...

One of my art teachers at Ratton, Mr Rowe, claimed to have been a college contemporary of Hart's - certainly both men shared a sweet gentlemanly demeanor and charmingly non-ironic love of cravats that sprung from a bygone era. Strangely, Ant was given a 'Make Your Own Morph'set for Christmas; he resolves to do so at the next available opportunity. I switch off the light; the weekend is ended.

Further reading
Tony Hart's Obituary in the Guardian
Official Tony Hart Website
Twitter Tributes to Tony Hart

A Merry-go-round of Words (and a Picture)

A couple of months ago I met children's author and illustrator Sam Lloyd, to interview her for the book review magazine Carousel. Although I've been reviewing for Carousel for a couple of years, this was my first full article for them, and the cover story no less! Having worked in children's publishing for many years, it was strange to be on the other side of the fence - actually interacting with the interviewee rather than being the publicist/minder in the corner. Sam was a great subject, and we chatted easily about all sorts of things, from writing and illustrating, to the imminent arrival of her first baby. I was already a big fan of Sam's Mr Pusskins books, being myself the custodian of a cantankerous fluffy ginger mog, so it was a real pleasure to talk to her in person, and even meet Mr Pusskins (well, a stuffed version of him made by Sam). The above photo was taken (by me) in her studio during the interview, and appears in the published piece (in the Summer 08 issue - just out), which you can see here. The editors must have been happy with the finished result, as they've asked me to interview Kristina Stephenson for the next issue.

Keeping my fingers in as many journalistic pies as possible, I'm also busy writing reviews for The Detour and reviewedonline.co.uk, which is my excuse for having watched the whole of Weeds series three in a week. Well they are only short! I'm actually sorry that I had to carve through it so quickly in order to get the review done, as I'm now in withdrawal. There is so little television that captures my attention and makes me laugh, that Weeds is a rare treat. I won't go on about it though, because you can read my review here. But if I stay indoors watching DVDs too much I get restless, so it's just as well that festival season is almost underway, taking me all over the country in pursuit of live entertainment. This year I'm giddily looking forward to writing about and/or photographing BooshFest (Kent), Latitude (Suffolk), Kendal Calling (Cumbria), and of course the unmissable Green Man (Wales). And thanks to my fabulous new camera bag (both practical and stylish, oh yes) I hope to not look too conspicuously hack-like, unless it's in a Lee Miller vintage explorer/correspondent type way, which would be cool.

Photograph of Sam Lloyd Copyright © 2008 Rowan Stanfield - www.jadedladyonline.com

Desert Island Addiction

It's rare that a whole week goes by without any cultural/sociable happenings in the diary, but every now and then I like to have a quiet stay-at-home week indulging in some lowbrow DVD action, and making the most of our LoveFilm subscription. Last night we watched the final three episodes of Lost Season 3 back to back - a nailbiting couple of hours of corking fantasy adventure. I hardly watch any TV as a rule, but have been known to become hooked on the occasional above-average series - usually fantasy or off-the-wall comedy; often a combination of both, e.g. Buffy, Spaced, Black Books, Heroes, The Mighty Boosh. Even then, I tend to wait for them to be available on DVD, as I hate being tied to a particular viewing time each week, plus my VCR is broken and I have yet to make the transition across to new-fangled digital recording facilities (though this is becoming increasingly inevitable).

Lost came along during something of a hiatus in what I think of as chewing gum for the eyes, and I remember being excited by the classy trailers featuring scantily clad beautiful people on a stunning tropical beach, and the promise of dark fantasy adventures. Season 1 was pretty good, good enough for me to stay home especially to watch it once a week, but by the end of Season 2 I was getting bored of the repetitive storylines and lack of fresh blood. Thankfully, Season 3 managed to claw its way back to being the cutting edge drama we'd all hoped for. This was partly down to the introduction of a whole new set of characters, including the fantastically hammy Bond-style Russian baddie Mikhail (pictured above) - complete with clichéd villainous eye-patch - who I find strangely attractive in a sexy-ugly kind of way. And I was starting to get bored of oggling at the pectorally perfect and ever-brooding Sawyer, so it was good to have an eye-candy alternative. All the original protagonists seemed to go through some sort of significant personal development or life-changing epiphany, making them generally more likeable as a result. I almost regret carving through the whole series so quickly, but it was such compelling viewing that it was impossible not to, and for me to say that, it must be good. The ending was cleverly enigmatic - resolving certain issues, but leaving enough in the air to guarantee your attention for another series. I believe Series 4 is currently showing on Sky One, but I shall have to wait a good few months before it comes out on DVD to get my fix. Meanwhile, my week of lowbrow indoor entertainment continues this evening with the latest series of Smallville, the first disc of which should be waiting on the doormat when I get home.

Nothing to Blog About

It's now been over six weeks since I fell off my bike and fractured my jaw, and I'm still off work, cursed with sleepless nights due to ongoing pain and discomfort. I haven't been blogging, largely because I've had nothing to blog about, being stuck at home. You'd think that having so much time off work would have encouraged me to do something creative - read all those books that have been piling up; learn how to use the swanky new camera I'd just been bought; start writing that novel I've always talked about. But no, the sad truth is, I have done NOTHING for the last few weeks. Well, nothing meaningful anyway. So, what have I been doing when I've been doing nothing? Sleeping, mostly... Since the accident I have yet to sleep through a night, being woken by an assortment of aches and pains – jaw, teeth, head, ears (they just decided to get in on the act in the last few nights), and so I've been laying in most days, and dozing during the day. I have also lost many hours to the various DVD boxed sets with which my good friend Tim supplied me – and am now a firm convert to the compellingly silly '24', in spite of my better judgement. I guess that however bad life feels for me right now, Jack Bauer probably has it worse, as he frantically fights fends off yet another earth-shattering threat to humanity – which rather puts things into perspective! I've done a little bit of work from home, keeping up to speed with my emails, so at least I don't have to face an overflowing inbox on my return. There's been a steady stream of visitors – including my darling 3-year-old nephew Isaac and his daddy (my brother), who came to stay overnight for the first time in ages. This reminded me how restorative the presence of children can be in times of crisis. Unlike my grown-up visitors, Isaac had no real conception of my maladies, and continued with his toddler demands and needs – a refreshing change of focus away from me. I much enjoyed winning the little boy's favour by introducing him to the indulgent joys of watching TV in bed (not something I ever do, but our spare room where he sleeps does have a TV & VCR), at which point any wariness he may have had about his auntie immediately evaporated, as we cuddled up under the duvet watching The Clangers and Bod.

My nephew, Isaac, with Natalie's little boy, Reggie in Queen's Park

I've indulged in a little well-needed pampering, courtesy of Ant, who treated me to a massage for my birthday. Then today I went for a haircut, and decided to change my style completely – a symbolic new start for my imminent return to civilisation. Despite my ongoing grievances, I am planning to return to the office next week, not least to preserve my sanity. It will be a long while before I am 100% back to my old self, as I still have much dental work to get done, and this has to wait until my jaw is fully healed, but being back at my desk and seeing my colleagues again will hopefully give me some semblance of normality. Meanwhile, I still have five more days to try and do something constructive. Or I could just finish season 2 of 24....

Sci-fi snooze

Last Saturday's Guardian 'Guide' supplement described the hero of the BBC's new Doctor Who spin-off as "one of the most pantomime characters ever to appear in Doctor Who...like Buzz Lightyear, but less realistic". A pretty harsh assesment of what was intended to be a flagship programme - much-hyped, and eagerly anticipated by sci-fi buffs, myself included. Up until last night, I'd been keeping an open mind about Torchwood, giving it the benefit of a few episodes to get going, but was sadly so bored by the third installment that I dozed off. So I'm afraid I'm with the Guardian on this one... Captain Jack Harkness is a ridiculous caricature, utterly devoid of charisma or sex appeal, and the laboured attempts to create on-screen chemistry between him and the leading lady were about as sexy as a bowl of cold porridge (thanks to Ant for that analogy).

The recently resurrected Doctor Who series were aimed firmly at children, and yet the scripts were funnier, the characters far more appealing, and the sentiments at times genuinely moving. Having been seduced by the "This Life meets the X-Files" pitch for Torchwood, one of the few prime-time programmes aimed squarely at me (a post-Buffy-DINKY), I feel sorely disappointed that the BBC have got it so, so wrong.

Daddy Luka

Lowbrow alert! I am not ashamed to admit that it is my Monday night treat to stay up past my bedtime and watch ER. I got hooked around the 4th series and have been back to catch up on the early days on DVD. Now in its 12th season, I am delighted to see the swoonsome Dr. Kovac (Goran Visnjic) in the 'top doc' spot, following in the footsteps of Dr Greene (Anthony Edwards) and Dr Carter (Noah Wyle). It's good to see lovely Luka finally getting the attention he deserves, having been smouldering in the background since season 6, with a few interesting storylines, but long periods of character stagnation. Last night's episode "All About Christmas Eve" finished on the shock revelation that Abby (Lockhart - played by Maura Tierney) is carrying Luka's child. The chemistry between the two had been building all series, and I am sure I'm not the only fan who was pleased to see them get it together again a couple of episodes ago (They dated for a while back in season 7). The credits rolled before we could see Luka's reaction to Abby's news, but we know he is desperate to be a father again after his kids were killed during the war in Croatia, so surely he will be jumping for joy. What remains to be seen is whether Abby, with her traumatic family background, can cope with the idea of motherhood. Both characters are long overdue some stability and contentment, so here's hoping for a happy ending...

Season 6 of ER, in which Dr. Kovac first appears, is out on DVD in a few weeks. With only six more episodes to go in the current season, it's comforting to have this to look forward to. Oh the shame of TV addiction!