Relationship Spotlight: Daisy Steiner & Tim Bisley (Spaced)

 

Spaced has many assets, and one of its greatest is the friendship between Tim and Daisy.  The show’s kooky sense of humor and gift for homage make it stand out from a lot of sitcoms about 20-somethings, but these two are unique as well.  Few sitcoms hinge on a mostly-platonic relationship between a man and a woman, and I can’t think of any that are as delightful.

 

From the minute they meet, Daisy and Tim have an easy back-and-forth with one another, casually companionable.  It’s what allows them to become flatmates almost seen unseen, and it’s what helps them live together with relatively little drama.  They have, separately and together, relationship drama, career drama, and friendship drama, plus all manner of off-the-wall crises, but they don’t have many problems living together as near-strangers.  They’re pretty much instantly in sync, and their flat can be a reprieve from some of the other craziness in their lives.

 

This is no small feat, since their personalities are quite different.  At their core, both are equal parts dreamer and slacker, with personal issues that hold them back from achieving their goals.  This core, however, comes through to the surface in different ways.  Tim is fairly laidback; he likes to hang around the flat working on his comic book in-progress or playing videos, and his idea of fun is paintball and pubs.  That’s not to say he doesn’t care about anything – his ex is a hot-button topic, and people who praise The Phantom Menace in his presence do so at their peril.

 

On the other hand, Daisy is a would-be go-getter.  She’s always cooking up ideas and throwing herself into them before discarding them halfway through.  Whether it’s hosting a party, getting a pet, or planning a big night out, Daisy isn’t content to sit still for very long.  None of her plans fully hatch, however; due to disinterest or distraction, or because she realizes it’s not turning out the way she wants, they’re forever losing steam.  (Part of this tendency comes from her dread of working.  A lot of Daisy’s ideas come about in hail-Mary attempts to avoid her typewriter.  Interesting that, while Daisy appears to be the more industrious one, it’s Tim who we regularly see at work on his comic book.)

 

Despite these differences, they make a good pair.  Daisy can get Tim to try new things he wouldn’t ordinarily bother with, and he can get her to relax when she’s too worked up.  When they argue, it’s clear how well they understand each other – Tim recognizes that Daisy’s fear of failure is what keeps her from writing, and Daisy sees how Tim’s relationship with his ex-girlfriend causes him to sabotage new prospects.  They know these things about one another, and what’s more, they’re not afraid to get in each other’s faces in their respective efforts to look out for their friend.

 

That, and they’re just fun.  They have movie marathons and fake gun fights (epic ones, I might add,) and when it comes to concocting schemes, both are inventive and generally game.  I like that they’re protective and supportive of one another, and I love the way each sincerely tries to make the other happy.  The final scene of the series makes me “Aww” like a dork, and I’m not even ashamed of it; Tim and Daisy are that cool.

Top Five Stories: The Seventh Doctor

Seven is an intriguing Doctor, a shrewd conniver who has his fingers in a lot of pies and always has a few tricks up his sleeve.  His era is marked by long-running plans and a surprising lack of communication between the Doctor and his companion – so many secrets.  It also more deeply explores the mythos of the Doctor, emphasizing his alienness and suggesting that what we’ve seen of him so far only hints at what he’s capable of.  It’s an odd time for Who, culminating of course in the end of the classic series, and here are my favorites from the Seventh Doctor’s tenure.

 

“Remembrance of the Daleks” (Series 25, Episodes 1-4)

 

Seriously, when a companion beats up a Dalek with a baseball bat, you earn a slot in the top five.  Ace is in excellent form here, scrappy and characteristically “explosive” (good old Nitro 9.)  The Doctor has a good showdown with an old foe, and the 1963 London setting brings the nostalgia factor off the scale, with a bit of meta thrown in for good measure.

“Paradise Towers” (Series 24, Episodes 5-8)

 

I always love me a good post-apocalyptic society, and the inhabitants of this serial are tons of fun.  There are roving teenage girl gangs, cannibalistic old ladies, and something living in the swimming pool.  As a companion, Mel gets a lot of flack, and I’ll concede that she can scream something fierce, but I like her.  She’s observant and clever, and she and the Doctor are an interesting pair.

 

“Battlefield” (Series 26, Episodes 1-4)

 

Brigadier!  My love for this story, admittedly, is almost entirely down to the Brigadier.  I just love him, and it’s great to see him out of retirement and meeting Seven.  Otherwise, the plot leaves a fair amount to be desired, but I like the conceit of Knights of the Round Table in modern-day (well, ‘80s) Britain.

“The Greatest Show in the Galaxy” (Series 25, Episodes 11-14)

 

What can I say?  I’m a sucker for circus stories, and sci-fi circus stories are the best.  It’s nice to see Ace showing a bit of vulnerability (you’re not alone, Ace – coulrophobia is an epidemic,) and the idea of people having to “entertain for their lives” is neat.  Plus, the Doctor does sleight-of-hand!  I’m always in favor of random Doctor talents.

“Dragonfire” (Series 24, Episodes 12-16)

 

So, there’s a dragon hidden somewhere in a spaceport colony on a frozen world.  Yes, please!  We get a bang-up introduction to Ace – I love that she’s a contemporary Londoner who traveled in space and time before meeting the Doctor – and she and Mel are fun in their only story together.

Favorite Characters: Thor (The Avengers)

 

I love that the Avengers is such a diverse team.  You have heroes with varying abilities/skillsets, people from different times, technological geniuses, chemically-altered superhumans, and, in Thor, a member of an alien species.  It makes for a much more interesting ensemble and leaves room for tons of variety in the solo adventures.  Thor is one of the more atypical leads in a superhero film franchise, and I’m a definite fan of the big guy.

 

The oldest son of Odin and heir to the throne of Asgard, Thor doesn’t have the usual comic book origin story.  There’s no inciting incident that gives him powers, no struggle to maintain a secret identity, and no transformation from underdog to top dog.  He’s the frickin’ god of thunder, raised in a realm of magic and wonder, and he’s the golden boy who strides confidently into battle.  So, nothing to achieve, right?  He’s basically a super-powered That Guy from high school, the sort who’s had everything handed to him from day one.  What’s more, Loki, his main villain, has lived in the shadow of his older, stronger, better-looking, more charismatic brother.  Loki seems like a classic underdog, he’s got a tragic backstory, and he gets by on his wits.  In other words, prime nerd-bait.  Where’s the fun in rooting for Thor?

 

It’s fun because Thor’s character trajectory is entirely different.  It’s a moral education, the story of a god thrown out of heaven for his arrogance and recklessness.  When his showboating lust for battle endangers Asgard, Odin banishes Thor to a dinky little planet and strips him of his loftier abilities.  His story in Thor is about learning to fight for others instead of fighting for his own glory, and he’s deeply humbled by his experiences on Earth.  (That, and the fish-out-of-water-ness of his early interactions with humans is delightful, just sayin’.)  Add in some heavy family drama and deeply conflicted feelings about going up against Loki, and you have quite the arc.

 

One need look no further than The Avengers to see how Thor has changed in the franchise thus far.  The Thor of the first film wouldn’t have done well as an equal member of a team; even though his Asgardian friends accompany him into battle, he’s all about running the show, and he literally has to be dragged away when it’s time to fall back.  His fighting style is audacious and flashy, showing off what he and his hammer Mjolnir can do.  When he faces off against someone, you’d think they were the only two on the battlefield. 

 

By contrast, in The Avengers, he takes orders from humans and fights alongside them.  He truly respects and values what they can do – their strength, their knowledge, and their strategizing.  His fight scenes here (and in Thor:  The Dark World) aren’t as eye-catching, but they’re more in service of the greater good.  For me, nothing is as cool as his fight with the Hulk on the Helicarrier, coming to Black Widow’s aid.  As the lone non-mortal on the team, he’s the only one that can truly engage the Hulk, and he keeps the green rage-monster busy while simultaneously shielding his new friend. 

 

He’s still self-assured, can still be cocky, but it’s been tempered by greater maturity and thoughtfulness.  Also, still bad-ass – during the fight I mentioned with the Hulk, I love the shot of him calmly holding out his hand, waiting for his hammer to come to him, while the Hulk is bearing down.  Dude turns his back on the Hulk because he knows Mjolnir will be there when he needs it; doesn’t get much cooler than that.

Tipping the Velvet (2002)

 

Netflix has been dangling this BBC miniseries in front of me for a long time, and I finally checked it out.  I’ll admit that Benedict Cumberbatch has a small role in the first episode, and that’s part of the reason it reached the top of my queue right now, but I knew from the start that I wanted to watch all three parts.  It’s rough but earnest, with an engaging style and an excellent heroine.

 

Set late in the Victorian age (around the 1890s,) Tipping the Velvet is the bildungsroman tale of Nan Astley, an 18-year-old “oyster girl” living with her family in a small seaside town.  Nan’s desires are awakened when, on a trip to the local music hall, she’s transfixed by male impersonator Kitty Butler.  She falls quickly, almost unconsciously, in love with Kitty and soon follows her to London as Kitty searches for big-time stage success.

 

From there, Nan’s life is a whirlwind of show business, joy, heartbreak, poverty, and tentative renewal.  Love spins her around, she explores the wide spectrum of gender and gender identity, and she hangs on for dear life through dizzying highs and crushing lows.  Rachael Stirling (who was wonderful as Ada in “The Crimson Horror” on Who last season) plays Nan with heart, nerve, and vulnerability.  Her tumble into love with Kitty is so open and artless, and her meandering growth into a young woman is fascinating.  I love watching her blossom in her timid first steps toward a music-hall career, I feel for her during her hard times, and I admire her fierce, ever-present yearning for love.

 

Plenty of fine British actors on display here.  Nan’s dream girl Kitty is played by Keeley Hawes from the U.K. version of Death at a Funeral, and Sally Hawkins (Anne in the 2007 Persuasion,) Jodhi May (Mrs. Weston in the 2009 Emma,) and Anna Chancellor (Caroline Bingley in the 1995 Pride and Prejudice – wow, lots of Austen alumni!) also get in on the fun.  (I should mention that, more recently, Anna Chancellor played Lix on The Hour, fabulously.)  It’s a pretty female-centric story, but on the gent’s side, we have supporting roles from Dean Lennox Kelly (Kev on Shameless, Shakespeare from series 3 of Who) and Hugh Bonneville (from “The Curse of the Black Spot” in series 6 of Who, and of course Lord Grantham on Downton Abbey.)

 

I really like the direction here.  The camera work and music do an excellent job of letting you into Nan’s head.  There’s the way the sound fades out and the camera pulls Kitty toward you when Nan sees her perform for the first time, or the frenetic, merry-go-round perspective when she’s desperate and hungry on the London streets.  I’m reminded a little of the chaotic heightened reality of Baz Luhrmann’s work.

 

I’ll warn that the miniseries is somewhat uneven.  The middle episode, rather than merely incorporating sex into the plot, seems to depict sex in lieu of plot, which gets kind of boring.  Also, Keeley Hawes makes the least convincing drag king I’ve ever seen.  I get that male impersonation in the 1890s was probably very different from modern drag performance, but seriously – with her gliding movements, whispery singing voice, and soft feminine features, I scott at all the numerous characters who talk about how great Kitty is at what she does.  Rachael Stirling is worlds better.

Spaced (1999, 2001)

 

This oddball Britcom reminds me a lot of Community.  For one, it’s about the close relationship of a disparate group of socially awkward weirdos.  Stylistically, it creates an ambitious surrealism that always zigs when you think it’s going to zag.  Also, it’s about as nerdy as you can get without actually being a sci-fi or fantasy show, and it’s chockfull of exuberant, loving homages.

 

The quirky show has a surprisingly sitcomish plot.  London 20-somethings Tim and Daisy meet shortly after twin breakups that result in the loss of their respective homes.  In desperation, they pose as lovers to secure a flat that’s only let to “professional couples.”  As such, there are some fake couple shenanigans, but really, it’s just a backdrop to facilitate something a lot more fun.

 

Both Tim and Daisy are charming messes.  Tim is an aspiring comic book artist badly dinged up by his ex-girlfriend, and Daisy is a would-be journalist who’s seemingly allergic to sitting down at her typewriter.  They make an immediately entertaining team, goofing around and getting into/out of outrageous situations.  Additionally, Tim’s best friend Mike, a gung-ho ex-Territorial Army member who once stole a tank and tried to invade Paris, is a loyal, lovable loon, and the ensemble is nicely rounded out by tortured artist Brian, boozy landlady Marsha, and haughty  fashionista Twist.

 

The show employs a heightened-reality style that includes fantasy sequences, amusing hard cuts, and savvy use of music.  In that sense, besides the aforementioned Community comparison, it’s also like a less polished version of early Scrubs.  Over the course of two short seasons (only 14 episodes – darned British), we see work woes, relationships, modern art, clubbing, and dognapping through the lens of its cracked sensibility.  And the geek references – goodness gracious, the geek references!  From the spot-on Star Wars send-ups to Tim’s abiding love for Buffy, this show is a nerd smorgasbord.  What’s more, all the references come from a clear place of love.  Even when fun is poked at Tim’s geekier tendencies, the jokes only land as well as they do because we’re in on them, because we identify with Tim.

 

Spaced, from what I can tell, was the first major collaboration between Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, best known for their films Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, The World’s End, and so on.  (Pegg, by the way, was in “The Long Game” in series 1 of Who and has more recently appeared as Scotty in the new Star Trek movies.)  As Tim and Mike, their hilarious best-friend repartee is evident from the start.  Also noteworthy is Jessica Stevenson (another Who alum: Nurse Redfern in the John Smith two-parter from series 3) in her endearingly goofy performance as Daisy.

 

Besides providing top-notch acting, every episode in the series is written by Pegg and Stevenson.  Frequent Pegg & Frost collaborator Edgar Wright directs, deftly mimicking action, horror, and sci-fi genre tropes as needed.  Fun characters, hysterical performances, amusing dialogue, smart style, and heartfelt nerd cred?  This is so my show.

Jeff Buckley: Grace (1994)

 

I got this CD years ago as a birthday gift from my younger brother.  While I’d of course heard his version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” it had been my only previous exposure to Jeff Buckley.  I still remember the first time I listened to the album – driving to the Cities for an evening workshop after a long day, I started with a distracted ear to the music, but by the time “Mojo Pin” really got underway, I was speechless.  So beautiful.

 

Grace, Buckley’s only studio release before his sudden death in 1997, offers sublime rock tunes infused with a mixture of folk, soul, and blues.  I already mentioned the first track; “Mojo Pin” starts quiet and dreamlike, light guitar and soft vocals.  It’s a fantastic building song, however, and you’re soon introduced to wall-of-sound riffs and Buckley’s evocative vocals, which nimbly leap up and down an impressively-wide range.  It moves like a story, and its lyrics are filled with moody imagery (my personal favorite line in this one is, “Born again from the rhythm screaming down from heaven…”)

 

The title track follows, a wonderfully listenable number that ponders love and mortality.  These are themes that reverberate throughout the entire album.  “Last Goodbye” deals with the “death” of a relationship, a requiem for lost love.  As Buckley makes his final farewell to his lover, he weaves in funereal emblems, such as “the bells out in the church tower […] burning clues” into his heart.  Meanwhile, the rocking “Eternal Life” examines regrets and doubts in the face of the end.  As a point of interest, the guitar is amazing here.

 

“Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” also employs the love ‘n’ mortality couplet, opening on a funeral observed from afar by a man who can’t “keep good love from going wrong.”  This rueful, melancholy track doesn’t ultimately wallow in its sorrow, though.  It’s one of my favorites on the album, in part because of the way it clings fast to hope.  With its twin mantras of “It’s not too late” and “It’s never over,” it invites reconciliation.  The lyrics in this song are absolutely gorgeous – I love the description of Buckley’s lover as “the tear that hangs inside [his] soul forever,” and there aren’t many lines more beautifully wistful than “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder…”

 

I’d be remiss, of course, if I didn’t mention “Hallelujah.”  It’s one of three covers on the album, and it’s easily the best.  With its lovely lyrics, biblical allusions, and gently rising verses, it’s a winner through and through.  The other two covers, “Lilac Wine” and “Corpus Christi Carol,” are more staid – pretty, but not as interesting as the rest of the album. 

 

Really, though, having listened to the entire CD numerous times, “Hallelujah” ranks below most if not all of the original songs I described above.  There’s something so interesting about the way Buckley’s songs develop and shift.  Rather than follow the typical verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus format (or the verse-verse-verse-verse-verse-verse layout of the more folkish “Hallelujah,”) his songs are sweeping, dynamic landscapes, more like dramas with rising and falling action.  It makes this album stand out from most of the CDs I own.

Doctor Who Showrunner Grudge Match: Russell T. Davies vs. Steven Moffat

 

Okay, not really.  This isn’t about picking favorites (though I do have my preferences;) it’s about looking at the two eras of new Who.  Both showrunners have strengths and weaknesses that often seem to be the opposites of the other.  The following are my ramblings re:  RTD and Moffat.

 

Plotty stuff first.  For big episodes, RTD is fond of Giant! Alien! Invasions! with multiple newscasts and Cybermen on the Eiffel Tower.  Each of his seasons has at least one highly visible, modern-day global disaster that gets harder and harder to top – before you know it, there are forty bazillions Daleks trying to destroy the universe, and the Doctor’s victories feel less credible.  Also, it’s absurdly paired with humanity’s continued insistence that aliens aren’t real.  I mean, seriously?  Moffat doesn’t go much for the Breaking News stories.  His present-day episodes are fewer and tend to be smaller-scale – even if the threats are massive, they’re usually thwarted before more than a handful of humans know of them.  Most further-reaching dangers are in timelines that end up getting rewritten.  Therein, though, lies Moffat’s catnip.  He loves a good timey-wimey plot, and while they can be cool (I was so impressed the first time I saw “Blink,”) the returns quickly diminish.  It’s hard to get invested in the stakes when big stuff just gets rewritten, and so much timeline-crossing can feel like cheating.  Most of all, it just gets old.  I like causal time loops as much as the next person, but after the sixth or seventh “I know what to do because I already saw my future self do it!” resolution, you start craving a different trick.

 

Another big component is the emotional punch.  RTD’s era is very emotional; there’s a lot of investment in the Doctor-companion relationships, and both Nine and Ten have a lot of Time War trauma to work through.  People die, important things are lost, and actions have lingering effects.  By contrast, Moffat’s era can feel more flippant.  Major life-changing events happen, but life doesn’t really change.  Take Amy and Rory’s series 6 arc – severe crap goes down, but after maybe one episode, the emotional resonance is ignored.  That’s not to say that Moffat doesn’t do emotion.  A lot gets glossed over, but when he does go for emotional impact, it’s often successful.  I think of Eleven’s goodbye to young Amelia at the end of series 5, or the fantastic “The Girl Who Waited.”  What’s more, his emotional moments rarely tip into overwrought.  Not always (“The Angels Take Manhattan,” anyone?,) but not nearly as often as RTD’s – Ten especially can be soooooo emo.  Honestly, so much weeping and gnashing of teeth.

 

Finally, there’s the companions.  Not gonna lie – this one’s easy for me.  I adore Rose, Martha, and Donna.  Each has certain companion traits in common, like curiosity, bravery, and kindness, but there’s also a subtle specificity to each one.  All three grow during their time with the Doctor, and their narratives are at least as important as his.  These are women who step feet-first into the universe and realize just how much they’re capable of.  To a lesser extent, this also applies to short-term companions like Jack and Mickey.  With Moffat, it seems that character often comes secondary to plot.  Amy and Clara are introduced as mysteries for the Doctor to solve, and at the end of Amy’s first season and Clara’s half-season, I didn’t have a good handle on who they were as people.  Amy improves as she goes on, and I’m hoping Clara will do the same, but Amy still ranks behind all of RTD’s major companions for me.  Despite great acting, Amy feels less developed than her predecessors and gets fewer opportunities to shine.  (The mere fact that Amy and Clara are regularly referred to as girls rather than women is problematic.)  Rory fares a little better, but he’s such a different sort of companion that he sometimes doesn’t feel like one at all.