:: a toe in the water... ::

farscape, fandom, little pebbles rolling around in my brain
:: welcome to a toe in the water... :: bloghome | contact | people have gotten their feet wet since 28 August 2002::

[::the imaginary universe::]
The Candybox
X-Files Essays and Fiction


Farscape Fiction

[::the world
according to blog::]
Ally's BBQ
Feldman
Jesemie's Evil Twin
Maayan
Marasmus
Melymbrosia
Sab/Makiko
Shaye
Sheridan
SuelaC
Sunshiner
The Max Factor



[::archive::]


:: Wednesday, May 21, 2003 ::

and so it goes

(For some reason this didn't post the day I wrote it. Ah well, better late etc.)

Farewell to the Buffster, farewell one and all.

To comment without specific spoilage: close enough to what I expected to satisfy, different enough to surprise. All hail the return of Clever Dialogue Saving Us From Sentimental Hogwash And Just In The Nick of Time. While I still think 'The Gift' would have been the perfect way to end Buffy's story, this ending makes sense for the redefinition of certain central themes that has taken place since then. Largest disappointment: having coaxed ASH back from England, they utterly failed to give the poor man something to do.

And in that, there are echoes of FS season 4: the story grew too big for the confines of 42-minute installments, pushing everyone but the lead character to the edges of the screen. John/Buffy spread too thin, taking up too much space, leaving no room for the others to breathe. Their angst becomes repetitive while the other characters fade away -- until the final run of eps when they're frantically pulled back and herded into place. Never mind the how and wherefore; if the midseason didn't flesh things out it's too late. Everything is movement now.

Buffy, knowing it was ending, did a fair job, but like Farscape, the season felt uneven -- the story moving in fits and starts, the character development less organic and more strategic than earlier seasons. Again, too much sense of pieces being moved into place. I forgive Farscape a bit more, as they didn't know it would be their last season, and uneven as it was, this was a good way for BtVS to go out. Somewhere, there is an ode to the Buffster, but it doesn't look like I'm going to write it. I refer you to Cofax, left, for a wonderful elegy to what has been, overall, a wonderful show.

A genre series coming to a planned, willing end before it outlived itself...in this year of untimely cancellations, that's a gift right there.


:: fialka 11:58 AM [+] ::

:: Tuesday, May 06, 2003 ::
Oh dear.

Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

Welcome to the one and only review I'll ever do of CSI:Miami (unless some other Farscape alum turns up on it, of course).

First, let me tell you I've solved some mysteries of my own. Yes, I finally found out where the blonde Republican lawyer went when she fled the Democratic White House. Apparently Miami was an extremely popular destination this winter: she's hooked up with Isobel's left-behind hubby, who's abandoned his own lucrative law practice in Boston (or someplace leafy) to head for that year-round geriatric sun. Lawyers sifting soot, mmmm, can't say it doesn't appeal. And in khaki coveralls, how wonderfully outre after all those tedious Armani suits. Do you think they met at some shindig during the hiatus, decided to ditch the firm and head to Maui, only they were terribly drunk when they booked the tickets? (Doesn't seem like they got to keep the Porsche either, but at least they can be each other's supermodels, 'cause they really don't get to do much here besides nod their heads and look good.)

But hey, Chakotay seems to have made quite an (ahem) expansive life on Earth, apart from prostitutes dropping dead in his shower (I guess non-replicated food is a little too rich for the system after all the years in space). John Crichton looks remarkably fit for having been turned into jujubees just a few short months ago, and he even brought Harvey along to play a DJ called Scorpius. Great latex on Harvey there, btw, he could almost pass for human.

Yeah, okay, so I was a bit punchy at 3am after a couple of Happy Jacks. And if you pegged all those references, you probably need to go to bed earlier too.

Seriously though. I can't remember if the original series was trying this hard to be in the cool crowd (since I think I've seen it all of twice, and inadvertently, many moons ago), but watching CSI:Miami is like watching MTV do an hour docu-drama on forensics. I was expecting Ozzy Osbourne to lurch through at any moment (Why not? Everyone else was there). All it needs is a slug across the bottom to identify band and track.

What else can I say? The crime scene processing is, I guess, close enough for television. It better be, that's all there is. There's no characterisation, so I wouldn't dream of assuming there's arc. The leading guy (whose name I do not know and refuse to look up) appears to have been given a character description consisting only of the word 'hardboiled' and has tendered himself no futher. This means he has all the charisma of, well, a hardboiled egg (and far less culinary appeal), leading to a great desire to crack, peel, and pour salt on his head.

Oh yes. Please, pretty please, may I do that?

So. No characters. Plot? Not really. Not unless you consider a checklist of "We're So Clever" set next to a checklist of "Dumb Things Crooks Do" to be actually storytelling. And yes, how terribly convenient to have villians who open the boot of their car to look for the loot while it's still in the impound lot, while Hardboiled Egg is cleverly standing right there to catch him at it. Not to mention how convenient to have cops who impound the car, but neglect to actually check it for evidence. Though actually, to see this ep, you wouldn't imagine there is such a thing as a cop: since when do the criminalists also do interrogations?

Actually, to see this ep, you wouldn't imagine there's such a thing as writers on this show. CSI:Miami plays like it was shot from a three page outline, not a full script, and no one actually noticed. Fire pretty, dialogue bad, bad, bad.

I shan't even mention the absurd resolution (This guy wasn't good enough for the fire department? For the calendar alone they would have snapped him up), the completely inadmissable (not to mention conveniently coincidental) evidence used to provoke a confession in oh, about three point two seconds (someone must have dropped that outline card on the way to the set and made it up as the cameras rolled). The eventual culprit doesn't even get a line to indicate whether he was a raving psychotic (my vote) or just really really really dumb (their vote, apparently, since all he gets to say is 'oh, ya caught me, huh?') Whatever happened after that, I didn't see -- by that point I was completely fascinated by my split ends.

But really, who cares? Is anyone watching this for any reason other than Ben? Ah, Ben, Ben, my darling Ben, what dren we wade through for you for a mere glimpse of you.

So, Ben. Well, he's not in it much, I'll warn you, but he does do the good ole boy with his usual charm for the five minutes he's there, and he does look awfully cute with that extra inch of hair. Check out BritAngie's site for the evidence. It's nice to see Ben onscreen again, I'll say that much. I'll just cross my fingers that next time he gets something a leeeeeeeetle more interesting to do. Perhaps something involving a dark willowy Sebacean?

Ack. This is your brain. This is your brain on NoFarscape.

Crawling back to my couch and Babylon 5 now.


:: fialka 1:37 PM [+] ::

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