Relationship Spotlight: Aaron & Jaye Tyler (Wonderfalls)

 

Strictly speaking, Wonderfalls is my least favorite Bryan Fuller show, but that speaks more to the quality of the other series than to the faults of this one.  I get that it can be a little to insular for its own good, and that Jaye’s acerbity sometimes overtakes her better traits, making it hard to relate to her.  Still, it’s a highly original, entertaining series in its own right, and nowhere is it more successful than in the various Tyler family dynamics.

 

The Tylers are great because you can pick any two members and find a distinct and believable dynamic between them.  This is rare enough on TV, even more so when the show doesn’t actually center around the entire family – while Jaye’s parents and siblings get plenty of screentime and characterization, the youngest Tyler very squarely drives the narrative.  I like pretty every character combination within this family, but my favorite remains the brother-sister duo of Aaron and Jaye.  Caroline Dhavernas and Lee Pace have pitch-perfect sibling chemistry, and the writing for these two is fun, funny, and endlessly interesting.

 

Like most of Jaye’s relationships on the show, her interactions with Aaron change considerably over the course of the far-too-short series.  At first, Aaron, while mildly ridiculing of her “trailer park, hillbilly lifestyle,” doesn’t concern himself much with Jaye, and that’s the way the antisocial retail clerk likes it.  She thinks her family spends way too much time in her business and appreciates that Aaron doesn’t bug her about her life or her increasingly-odd behavior.

 

Until the day Aaron catches her talking to his mother’s cow-shaped creamer (quick tutorial for the uninitiated:  at the start of Wonderfalls, inanimate objects – usually animal tchotchkes – begin talking to Jaye, giving her cryptic instructions that ultimately lead to helping others.  Only Bryan Fuller, people.)  Suddenly, he’s worried that she’s losing it, and when she tries to bluff her way out of his accusations, he resolutely decides to get to the bottom of it.

 

This is where the good Jaye-Aaron stuff really starts.  Aaron is almost more concerned that Jaye won’t confide in him than that she was talking to the cow creamer in the first place.  Though admittedly out of practice, he wants to protect her and gets upset that she won’t let him in.  From here on out, Aaron is the closest thing Jaye has to a confidante – one she doesn’t want, one that she spends a fair amount of time trying to avoid, but a confidante none the less.  When she’s at her most desperate, it’s Aaron that she turns to.

 

Not that either of them turn into Siblings of the Year.  No, a lot of their entertainment value comes from their oddly-compatible dysfunctionality.  Both frequently snipe and insinuate at one another, having unspoken conversations in the middle of family game nights or fondue fests that fly under the others’ radar.  Jaye’s sullen snarkiness goes well with Aaron, who tends to vacillate unpredictably between in-control laidback and panicked.  And, like all Tyler relationships, when the chips are really down, they’re there for each other.  I think of “Crime Dog,” where, despite implying pretty hard himself that Jaye is off her rocker, Aaron is quick to defend her against someone else side-eyeing her mental health.  And when Aaron’s championing gets him in trouble, Jaye jumps in with a less-tactful rebuttal of her (it involves her fist.)  She’s as surprised as anyone to discover it, but “you don’t screw with [her] family.”

Favorite Characters: Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games)

 

I can’t help it; I love Katniss.  Like Buffy, she’s one of those teenage girl characters I wish I’d had to sustain me through high school.  Not that much could’ve been done about it in this case, since she didn’t exist until after I finished college, but I digress.  Today’s post is about giving a little love to this flawed, fierce heroine.

 

Katniss is one of the latest to join the ranks of the butt-kicking Strong Woman (or rather, Teenage Girl) archetype, and she definitely falls in line with the associated tropes.  She has a natural affinity for archery and shoots wild game and enemies alike with deadly precision.  She’s small but strong, and what she lacks in bulk she makes up for in agility and sharp hunting instincts.  Whether she’s laying a trap or scaling a tree, she gets the job done.  Other tropes are less impressive but expected – she’s a gorgeous tomboy who has no idea that she’s beautiful, and she has no patience for “girly” things.  Yeah, it’s a bit rote and eye-rolling, but she makes up for it elsewhere.

 

Like all the best Strong Woman archetypes, Katniss’s most admirable qualities go beyond her lethal abilities.  She’s a survivor through and through, used to having responsibility on her shoulders.  Since her father died when she was young, she’s been holding her family together and keeping herself, her mother, and her younger sister fed in poverty-ravaged District 12.  Over the years, she’s nurtured her hunting skills and become a savvy black-market barterer, breaking the law for her family’s sake. 

 

I also love Katniss’s smarts.  First in the Arena, and later going up against the Capitol, she frequently faces conundrums and deceptions, and the careful way she works through them is fantastic.  One of her most memorable achievements in the first book is figuring out how to destroy the Careers’ stockpile of food, and I wish the movies had found a way to incorporate the way she discovers the unspoken messages in the gifts Haymitch sends her.  It’s so clever; she reads his intentions almost as well as she follows an animal’s trail.

 

Her most driving characteristic is her need to provide for and protect her sister Prim.  It’s what lands her in the Hunger Games in the first place, and it’s what keeps her going in the Arena – she’s worried that Prim won’t make it at home without her, and she’s determined to get backWhen she’s at her lowest and most wants to give up, she thinks of Prim watching her on TV and forces herself to continue fighting.  Though she’s often prickly and distrustful, her unselfish love for those she cares about, and her continual sacrifices on their behalf, is incredible.

 

Since I mentioned prickly and distrustful, it’s good to point out that Katniss is very believably flawed for someone who’s had to grow up quickly in a harsh world.  She tends to form unfavorable snap judgments of most people and is almost pathologically unable to believe that someone’s trying to help her.  She doubts other people’s kind observations of her and keeps them at arm’s length, and she frequently doubts herself as well.  She’s a pretty internal person, but despite that, she doesn’t know herself very well and wastes time trying to determine what she ought to want rather than what she actually wants.  It’s a real treat to watch her struggle and grow throughout the course of the trilogy – in the face of tremendous odds, she’s a hero and a fighter, and she surprises even herself with everything she’s capable of.

Hate Review: Free and Easy (1930)

 

Generally, this is a blog for celebrating things I love – Who, Sondheim, the Avengers, and so on.  As I’ve said, I like liking things, and I like writing about things I like.  But this is a potent bit of appalling that I simply have to rant about.  Spoilers ahead.  (Also, length warning:  ire is wordy.)

 

I’ve seen Free and Easy, Buster Keaton’s first talkie, before.  I watched it years ago, when I first got into Buster and a load of his movies were on TCM.  I remember thinking it wasn’t very funny, that it was nothing compared to his silent stuff.  I remember noticing that it didn’t let Buster do what he did best – it was all jokes, many of them labored, and hardly any physical comedy.  On the few occasions when he did get to tumble, the focus wasn’t on his slapstick skill but on the tremendous crashing noise picked up by the super-sensitive 1930s microphones.

 

So, unfunny, didn’t use its star well, and clunky sound technology – that’s what I remembered.  But I didn’t know as much about Buster’s history then as I knew now.  I knew he didn’t do well during the transition to sound, but I blamed it on the culture of talkies, a cinematic obsession with dialogue over action.  I didn’t understand the changeover that accompanied this transition:  against his better judgment, Buster signed with MGM, after which he lost all his independence and creative control as an actor, writer, and director.  The Cameraman and Spite Marriage, his first two studio films, feel off compared to his previous work, but Free and Easy is just horrific. 

 

While Buster was still an uncredited director in the two preceding films, on Free and Easy, he was only there to act.  The arguments that wrestled Bustery gags and touches into the other two movies were absent here.  In fact, watching it now, I can practically hear MGM putting Buster in his place after defying them.  It’s utterly un-Buster, trading all creativity for heaps of indignity.

 

Buster’s go-to arc in his own films is as follows:  a boy starts out clumsy, kicked around by circumstance, and grows into a quick-footed hero who saves the day and the girl by his doggedness and inventive problem-solving.  Free and Easy, on the other hand, gives us Kansas yokel turned would-be Hollywood manager Elmer Butts, a bumbling dope who can’t be talked through the recital of a single sentence.  Elmer’s klutziness isn’t his chief fault – rather, it’s an uncanny ability to bring disaster to everything he touches.  He ruins numerous takes on multiple movies that he isn’t even in, and while his good-hearted budding starlet (the girl for this film) takes his catastrophes in stride, her strong-arming mother constantly tells Elmer how stupid he is.

 

The one Busteresque thread is that Elmer does make good in the end, though not at what he sets out to do.  All attempts to find work for his starlet are utter nonstarters, but for whatever reason, people keep throwing movie roles of various size his way, and it’s ultimately decided that he’s a comic genius destined to become a big star.  He doesn’t try to become an actor and doesn’t really want to be one, but it happens as everything does to Elmer:  foisted upon him with very little say.

 

And that, of course, brings us right back to being un-Buster.  Elmer isn’t resourceful or tenacious.  He doesn’t solve a single problem that he has – eight or nine times out of ten, he makes it infinitely worse just by showing up, and on the off-chance that things turn out, it’s because that’s how the wind blows.  Case in point:  when Elmer, his starlet, and her mother leave Kansas for Tinseltown, he’s separated from them on the train.  Since he has their tickets, he wants to get back to them, but after a few weak protests to the conductor who won’t let him change cars, what does he do?  Distract the conductor and slip by?  Jump off the train, take a shortcut to race ahead, and leap back on?  Scramble on top of the train and get in from above?  Nope.  He sits down to make awkward small talk with the conductor until he’s allowed to change cars at the next stop.  Seriously?!  Even if you don’t want him to succeed, at least have him try.

 

I mentioned indignity earlier, which might seem a weird complaint in the context of slapstick, but it’s true.  Normally, Buster’s tumbling is so eye-catchingly hilarious and impressive that it’s clear he’s the man.  When he falls, he falls spectacularly, flipping through the air and landing on a shoulder with flailing limbs everywhere.  And more than that, he springs back up, climbing and leaping his way out of trouble with an expression of calm in the face of the chaos around him.  Nothing undignified about that.  Not so with Elmer.  When he falls, he disappears from frame and we’re left to see others laugh at him or look embarrassed on his behalf.  In the one segment where he’s allowed to tumble capably and athletically, he’s painted with clown makeup and wearing enormous “comic” trousers, as if MGM doesn’t want you to notice what he can do.

 

After literally dressing him as a harlequin clown, rigging him with strings, and making him do a puppet dance (geez, why not just whack him with a hammer that says “We own you, Buster – never cross us again?”), Free and Easy makes its final departure from Buster’s usual arc:  for the first time in a feature film, he doesn’t get the girl.  Oh, Elmer works up the nerve to declare his love for the starlet, in a roundabout “What would you do if someone said he loved you?” way.  The starlet assumes he’s talking about the suave, womanizing movie star with his eye on her, and because this movie hates Buster Keaton, it ends, not with her realizing her mistake and opening her eyes to the guy who’s only ever tried (and, albeit, failed) to help her, but with her getting engaged to the movie star and Elmer putting on a tragically brave face under the clown makeup.

 

I mean, what the frak?!  Who ends a comedy like that?  That’s a third-act pre-resolution mishap at best, and not even a very original one.  It smacks of such ignorance – about movies, about comedy, about underdog stories, and about Buster.  I don’t get how anyone could have conceived it as anything other than a “you’ll do what we tell you” slap in the face of its assertive lead actor. 

 

It’s just gross.  This is a film that takes everything Buster wove into cinematic magic for nearly a decade and takes a crap on it.  Later, when I get around to posting a poem I wrote about Buster’s time at MGM, think of this review.  Metro Goldwyn Morons.

Mr. Wakefield’s Crusade: Episode 3 (1992)

 

The last installment of Mr. Wakefield’s Crusade brings the story to a fairly satisfying conclusion.  I correctly guessed certain twists early on, and I suspected the big answer about halfway through this episode, but that’s all right.  Luke is much slower to catch on, and some good tension is pulled from concerns that he’ll get it wrong and do something stupid, dangerous, and/or insane.

 

Here, his crusade leads him to several people closely connected with Marion, and we see, more than anything, how eager Luke is for company.  Throughout the miniseries, he indulges a habit of rigging his phone to call his own number, so he can have conversations with imaginary people on the other end.  He uses it to fill the space, to talk through his confusions, and even to bluff others, but it’s nothing compared to the anxiousness and energy he pours into his investigative work/burgeoning friendships in this episode.  He rehearses every conversation numerous times before he has it and fantasizes about becoming the inseparable friend of a man who may or may not be an accomplice to murder.

 

I won’t get much into the resolution.  Suffice it to say that it works for me and seems plausible for the near-surreality of Luke’s world.  Overall, I’m definitely pleased with the series.  Fun, watchable, and interesting, and PC plays Luke with terrifically-unhinged vigor.  This is why I enjoy exploring the filmography of actors I like – while there are always some clunkers, I inevitably find the reverse as well, great works that I never would’ve found otherwise.

 

Wrapping things up:

 

Accent Watch

 

Considering that this role is fairly early relative to PC’s career, I’m impressed with his RP here.  It stays on track, and if I didn’t know he was Scottish, there isn’t much to tip me off that he’s putting on the accent.

 

Recommend?

 

In General – Yeah.  Engaging story, entertainingly told and well-performed.  Definite thumbs up!

 

PC-wise – Of course!  It’s a fantastic, funny leading role with a lot of range.  What are you waiting for?

 

Warnings

 

Nothing further to be added.

Mr. Wakefield’s Crusade: Episode 2 (1992)

 

In episode 2, “more than a little off” increasingly becomes Luke’s dominant trait.  The man is rapidly unraveling at the edges, thanks to the one-two punch of his crusade and a lot of unfinished business with his ex-wife.  The police have picked up the Marion trail, and Luke is convinced that they’re wrongfully trying to string him up for the murder.  As such, he can add paranoid to his laundry list of neuroses, which also includes unhinged, hypochondriac, and delusional.  If he doesn’t solve his mystery in the final episode, the guy might actually implode.

 

Even aside from the obvious mental instability, Luke and his story continue to be tons of fun.  This episode involves surreptitious calls to an anonymous tip line, a sanatorium siesta, and the full undercover monty (we’re talking hair dye and false mustaches – Luke don’t mess around.)  There’s also a brief appearance from Miranda Richardson (Queenie!) as a prostitute/potential lead, and I should mention the late Richard Griffiths (Uncle Vernon from Harry Potter) in a supporting role as the porter for Luke’s building.  The jocular doorman seems well-meaning and friendly, but Luke clearly regards him as one of several banes of his existence.

 

PC is delightfully off-kilter in this, just balls-out crazy but still kind of sweet and sympathetic.  While I don’t know if this role could unseat any of my top ten performances of his, it could definitely make its way into the top twenty.  I’m so glad that PC’s casting as the Doctor has brought these little-known projects to light, because some of them are really great.  It’s wild, the kind of stuff that can slip through the media cracks (although at least PC’s work has survived better than the Second Doctor’s!)

 

Plus, that hair ought to have its own screen credit.  Ah, the ‘90s…

 

Warnings

 

Add prostitution to the sexual content – no sex scenes, but plenty of talk and implications.

Mr. Wakefield’s Crusade: Episode 1 (1992)

 

And here’s the start of what I imagine will be the final Capaldi Fall entry before Who starts up again – at least, I assume another rare Peter Capaldi project won’t surface on the interwebs before next Saturday.  I’m certainly glad this one did, though.  Not only is it a starring role, it’s a highly entertaining one that, if I didn’t know the miniseries was based on a book, I’d suspect of being tailor-made for PC.  A third of the way through the series, and I’m having a bang-up time.

 

Luke Wakefield is a lonely, awkward man whose life is changed at the post office.  When a fellow mailer drops unexpectedly dead, Luke pilfers the letter the man had been planning to send.  One steamed envelope later, and he has a mystery on his hands:  the late Sebastian was writing to his wife Marion at their shared address.  Initial inquiries reveal the more disquieting fact that Marion died six months before her husband, evidently at his hand.  Luke takes it upon himself to pinch the couple’s complete correspondence and discover the full truth.

 

If episode 1 is anything to go by, Luke is one of PC’s most substantial roles not written by himself.  He’s the undisputed lead (just in case the title didn’t tip you off,) and in addition to appearing in every scene and playing opposite all the other characters, he has long stretches where he’s alone onscreen, talking to himself or monologuing via voiceover. 

 

Beyond that, Luke is a dynamite role right up PC’s alley.  He’s a potent combination of deeply awkward and starved for company, resulting in plenty of priceless exchanges with complete strangers.  He’s also sensitive, a bit full of himself, slightly fussy, obsessive, and, on balance, more than a little “off” – prone to flying off the handle at inopportune moments.  He’s a character that lets PC play all over the place, both large and small, and allows his eyebrows to operate on their own agenda.  I get a huge kick out of Luke and can’t wait to see more of him.

 

As for the miniseries itself, I love the premise, and I’m fond of the cheeky storytelling and filmmaking.  In particular, hard cuts are used to great effect.  For instance, after some fiddling with the stolen letter, Luke resolutely shuts it in a drawer.  Followed instantly, of course, by a shot of him steaming the envelope open.  Clever, fast, funny, and off the wall – loving it.

 

Accent Watch

 

A crisp, almost prissy RP.

 

Recommend?

 

In General – So far, a definite yes.  I’m having a great time.

 

PC-wise – Undoubtedly.  Massive amounts of screentime, comedy, drama, and everything in between, and a bit bonkers.  What more do you want?

 

Warnings

 

Sexual references, implied nudity, lots of drinking, and references to violence.

Top Five Stories: The Second Doctor

Two is undoubtedly my favorite classic Doctor.  I just adore the little cosmic hobo – he’s wonderful and funny and Doctory and has fantastic companions.  It’s insane that so many of his stories were scrapped.  Yet, even though I’ve recently started listening to audios of the lost episodes, I’m not including them here.  To be honest, it was hard enough narrowing down the seven serials I’ve seen; the audios might need their own separate post later.  Despite Two’s limited extant episodes, there’s still too much to love!
 

“The Mind Robber” (Series 6, Episodes 6-10)

 

This is just a delightfully creative serial.  The Doctor, Jamie, and Zoe find themselves flung out of our reality into the Land of Fiction, where the trees form words and storybook characters and monsters alike make their home.  Zoe kicks some serious butt, and it takes the Doctor two tries to put Jamie’s face together – love it.

 

“The War Games” (Series 6, Episodes 35-44)

 

Two’s last story has another remarkably original premise.  What seems at first to be a World War I battlefield soon proves far more complicated, what with all the British redcoats, Confederate soldiers, and Roman centurions running around.  Plus, we get our first look at the Time Lords!  The Doctor, Jamie, and Zoe are all fantastic, and the final moments are heartbreaking.

 

“The Invasion” (Series 6, Episodes 11-18)

 

This almost-complete serial (filled in with two animated episodes) is an awfully nice Cyberman yarn.  We get an early Brigadier appearance as vintage Cybermen terrorize London.  While the Doctor and Jamie get amusingly captured, Zoe is all kinds of amazing – she wears a fabulous boa and blows up a computer with her words.  Really, though, this is one of my favorites because, at the start of the story, a cloaked TARDIS is left invisible in a cow field, all so we can have the incredible visual of our intrepid heroes groping around trying to find it at the end.  So much love.

 

“The Tomb of the Cybermen” (Series 5, Episode 1-4)

 

The sole story I’ve seen with Victoria.  While I love Zoe more, Victoria’s no slouch, and she works well with the Doctor and Jamie.  There are low-budget Cybermats, an amazing frozen Cyber-hive, cool Cyber-hieroglyphics, and one awesomely terrible Cyber-pun.  The Doctor mocks Jamie’s kilt, has a lovely conversation with Victoria about his family, and accidentally opens the door to a Cyber-tomb because he just can’t help solving puzzles.  What’s not to love?

 

“The Dominators” (Series 6, Episodes 1-5)

 

Okay, so the plot is a bog-standard “team TARDIS saves a race from a group of robot-wielding oppressors,” but that’s not important.  What’s important is Zoe grumbling about the ugly local clothes she has to wear, the Doctor playing stupid to stay under the radar, and Jamie bending the heavens to get back to his friends.  Also, the sonic screwdriver is actually used on screws!