Telly tattle

Thursday, September 8th, 2011 10:40 am
caddyman: (Default)
There seems to be some attempt to start a scheduling row between the BBC and ITV over the scheduling of the final season of Spooks and the second series of Downton Abbey, both of which air at the same time, starting on 18 September.

The BBC said that since they are entirely different shows, they are offering viewers a real choice. ITV haven’t said anything, as far as I can see.

It’s clearly a sign that the silly season is not yet over. Who cares if two programmes clash in this day and age? For 35 years give or take, VCRs have been widely available and for the past six or seven the BBC have has iPlayer online. More recently ITV have introduced their own ITV Player online and if you have satellite or cable it’s all available on demand anyway. You don’t even have to record it any more; you just watch it when you feel like it.

I shall watch both shows. And I doubt I’ll watch either of them on 18 September, just because.

(no subject)

Sunday, April 26th, 2009 05:11 pm
caddyman: (SC-Fi)
Oh well, I can tell the Summer is on its way in: the telly manages about 100 minutes before it gets too warm and turns itself off for a breather. I guess I am going to have to think about the fan behind it again, like last year. Actually, I've never moved it, but I think we would be best served putting the fan on a chair behind the TV and placing the fan closer and more accurately. It did work last summer, propped up as it was on books, but after a while then TV still got too hot. We have a spare chair and the space behind the TV is being wasted, so there's nothing to lose trying.

This plan came to me after watching DVDs this afternoon. I managed to get through the programme itself, around a 100 minutes, but shortly thereafter the TV arsed around while I was watching some of the extras. I've left it to cool down for now and will go back in a few minutes to implement my masterplan.

The DVD in question was an old William Hartnell Doctor Who story from 1965, one of my favourites: The Time Meddler, with the 'Meddling Monk' the first example, other than the Doctor, of the (as yet unnamed) Time Lords, complete with his fully working Mark IV TARDIS, which left the Doctor somewhat envious. There are times when the action is a little slow by modern standards, but it is an excellent story and far better executed than many from 20 years later.

(no subject)

Sunday, April 26th, 2009 05:11 pm
caddyman: (SC-Fi)
Oh well, I can tell the Summer is on its way in: the telly manages about 100 minutes before it gets too warm and turns itself off for a breather. I guess I am going to have to think about the fan behind it again, like last year. Actually, I've never moved it, but I think we would be best served putting the fan on a chair behind the TV and placing the fan closer and more accurately. It did work last summer, propped up as it was on books, but after a while then TV still got too hot. We have a spare chair and the space behind the TV is being wasted, so there's nothing to lose trying.

This plan came to me after watching DVDs this afternoon. I managed to get through the programme itself, around a 100 minutes, but shortly thereafter the TV arsed around while I was watching some of the extras. I've left it to cool down for now and will go back in a few minutes to implement my masterplan.

The DVD in question was an old William Hartnell Doctor Who story from 1965, one of my favourites: The Time Meddler, with the 'Meddling Monk' the first example, other than the Doctor, of the (as yet unnamed) Time Lords, complete with his fully working Mark IV TARDIS, which left the Doctor somewhat envious. There are times when the action is a little slow by modern standards, but it is an excellent story and far better executed than many from 20 years later.

Tony Hart

Sunday, January 18th, 2009 02:32 pm
caddyman: (Vision On)
A lot of people are noting the passing of Tony Hart and rightly so. There are few true kids icons these days and most of those that remain are retired and remembered with fond nostalgia.

Being a few years older than most of those on my friends' page, I tend to remember Tony Hart from his days as resident artist on Vision On with Pat Kaysell. Vision On predated Take Hart and ran from 1964 to 1977. It was broadcast for the deaf and all communication was visual.


Vision On Logo


I have to say that most of the programme didn't appeal to me, being rather slow (deliberately so, so that deaf kids could follow the subtitles and hand gestures), but Tony Hart and the Gallery - which he retained in Take Hart were highlights. Tony Hart was also the man who introduced the nation to Morph, the mischievous and accident prone plasticine character created by the embryonic Aardman Animations.

On 28 December 2006, it was announced during It Started with Swap Shop that he was in poor health, though this was not elaborated upon until an interview with The Times published on 30 September 2008, revealing that two strokes had robbed him of the use of his hands and left him unable to draw. He described this as "the greatest cross I have to bear."

Rest in peace, Tony Hart.

BBC Obituary

Tony Hart

Sunday, January 18th, 2009 02:32 pm
caddyman: (Vision On)
A lot of people are noting the passing of Tony Hart and rightly so. There are few true kids icons these days and most of those that remain are retired and remembered with fond nostalgia.

Being a few years older than most of those on my friends' page, I tend to remember Tony Hart from his days as resident artist on Vision On with Pat Kaysell. Vision On predated Take Hart and ran from 1964 to 1977. It was broadcast for the deaf and all communication was visual.


Vision On Logo


I have to say that most of the programme didn't appeal to me, being rather slow (deliberately so, so that deaf kids could follow the subtitles and hand gestures), but Tony Hart and the Gallery - which he retained in Take Hart were highlights. Tony Hart was also the man who introduced the nation to Morph, the mischievous and accident prone plasticine character created by the embryonic Aardman Animations.

On 28 December 2006, it was announced during It Started with Swap Shop that he was in poor health, though this was not elaborated upon until an interview with The Times published on 30 September 2008, revealing that two strokes had robbed him of the use of his hands and left him unable to draw. He described this as "the greatest cross I have to bear."

Rest in peace, Tony Hart.

BBC Obituary

Damn Fine Coffee

Thursday, January 8th, 2009 10:44 am
caddyman: (telly)
Neither of us wanted to get up this morning. In fact, the alarm went off as usual, then the radio came on 10 minutes later – as usual and then suddenly it was nearly 40 minutes later. That gets the blood moving, I can tell you.

I’m in the office now of course and still I don’t want to get up.

I was late to bed last night, which is part of the problem. I didn’t mean to wait until around two before turning in, but something I ate yesterday or the day before clearly had repercussions, so I felt happier sitting in front of my PC rather than turning in until I was sure that the ructions had finished.

We have been watching season one of Twin Peaks on DVD over the past few days. I only saw the odd bit here and there, probably not even a full episode when it was originally broadcast in the early 90s. Viewing it now, I have two observations:

a) it is probably the oddest TV drama I have ever watched, though its influences on later shows are quite obvious; and

b) I have seemingly misplaced my CD of the Twin Peaks soundtrack, which I bought many moons ago on the basis of the rather marvellous theme with that bass…

If Twin Peaks had been filmed in England, it would have to have been set in one of the Isles of Scilly, the Forest of Dean or rural Norfolk. Somewhere where there is a lot of inbreeding and a high incidence of webbed toes in the population.

Everyone in that programme is just plain odd to some extent.

Damn Fine Coffee

Thursday, January 8th, 2009 10:44 am
caddyman: (telly)
Neither of us wanted to get up this morning. In fact, the alarm went off as usual, then the radio came on 10 minutes later – as usual and then suddenly it was nearly 40 minutes later. That gets the blood moving, I can tell you.

I’m in the office now of course and still I don’t want to get up.

I was late to bed last night, which is part of the problem. I didn’t mean to wait until around two before turning in, but something I ate yesterday or the day before clearly had repercussions, so I felt happier sitting in front of my PC rather than turning in until I was sure that the ructions had finished.

We have been watching season one of Twin Peaks on DVD over the past few days. I only saw the odd bit here and there, probably not even a full episode when it was originally broadcast in the early 90s. Viewing it now, I have two observations:

a) it is probably the oddest TV drama I have ever watched, though its influences on later shows are quite obvious; and

b) I have seemingly misplaced my CD of the Twin Peaks soundtrack, which I bought many moons ago on the basis of the rather marvellous theme with that bass…

If Twin Peaks had been filmed in England, it would have to have been set in one of the Isles of Scilly, the Forest of Dean or rural Norfolk. Somewhere where there is a lot of inbreeding and a high incidence of webbed toes in the population.

Everyone in that programme is just plain odd to some extent.

Me again!

Monday, January 5th, 2009 02:40 pm
caddyman: (Alternative Tardis)
Having remained sanguine and even optimistic about the casting of Matt Smith as the eleventh Doctor from 2010 onwards, I find myself rather less enthusiastic about this report that has appeared on MSN, suggesting that Lily Allen could be the new assistant for the Steven Moffat era.



This is the sort of casting that plagued the latter years of the John Nathan-Turner era in the mid to late eighties. Still, it doesn’t appear on either the BBC News website or the Who website, so maybe it is just idle speculation.

(Can you tell I'm bored yet?).

Me again!

Monday, January 5th, 2009 02:40 pm
caddyman: (Alternative Tardis)
Having remained sanguine and even optimistic about the casting of Matt Smith as the eleventh Doctor from 2010 onwards, I find myself rather less enthusiastic about this report that has appeared on MSN, suggesting that Lily Allen could be the new assistant for the Steven Moffat era.



This is the sort of casting that plagued the latter years of the John Nathan-Turner era in the mid to late eighties. Still, it doesn’t appear on either the BBC News website or the Who website, so maybe it is just idle speculation.

(Can you tell I'm bored yet?).
caddyman: (Poorly adapted movies or telly)
As I still haven't arranged TV reception in the Carpathia I am on the torrents again.

Based on a mere two reviews, by two LJ friends, [livejournal.com profile] failing_angel and [livejournal.com profile] pipsytip who do not know each other, I have decided to download the BBC's latest effort, Bonekickers. Indications are that it may well be transcendentally bad and consequently worth my time and bandwidth.

And of course, with [livejournal.com profile] ellefurtle here to be suitably appalled, it may just be the entertainment event of the week!

Then again it might be utter shite...
caddyman: (Poorly adapted movies or telly)
As I still haven't arranged TV reception in the Carpathia I am on the torrents again.

Based on a mere two reviews, by two LJ friends, [livejournal.com profile] failing_angel and [livejournal.com profile] pipsytip who do not know each other, I have decided to download the BBC's latest effort, Bonekickers. Indications are that it may well be transcendentally bad and consequently worth my time and bandwidth.

And of course, with [livejournal.com profile] ellefurtle here to be suitably appalled, it may just be the entertainment event of the week!

Then again it might be utter shite...

Lots of Telly

Monday, April 7th, 2008 12:20 am
caddyman: (telly)
Well I survived the meeting with Clan Furtle. It seemed to go well enough: the simple expedient of buying the drinks, making small talk about the relative merits of hoppy beers over heavier brews, a couple of comments about this and that and nodding sagely a lot of the time seems to have done the trick - by which I mean no obvious gaffs. As far as I am aware there have been no telephone calls, texts or emails telling Elle to run for her life or anything like that, so maybe I passed muster. Or maybe the family is in shock and intervention will come later. Who knows?

After about three hours we made our excuses and disappeared into the driving rain for a quick charge to the West End, where we bought fresh coffee beans from Monmouth Street (having taken delivery of a coffee grinder). We have since discovered that Whetstone is oddly bereft of anywhere to buy a cafetiere, so I may have to nip into Finchley tomorrow and attempt a purchase from there.

Weekend viewing started with the Torchwood finale on Friday (reviewed on video for Furtle who missed it); barely a dry eye in the house. The season premiere of Doctor Who, which was light weight fun: entertaining but not especially deep - one for the kids (which, to be honest, is good as it is actually a kids' show) but with a little foreshadowing of future plot. To my pleasure, Catherine Tate was restrained enough not to stink the show out and the choreography for the fist part of the episode was fun, just stopping before the joke wore out. Beyond that, further DVD episodes of the X-Files taking us deeper into the rather unfairly maligned seventh season (we're on a timetable: Furtle needs to complete her X0Files education before the new movie is released). My memory is going. I'm sure we watched a movie on Saturday night but I cannot for the life of me remember what it might have been. Maybe we just talked about it? Blimey, it was only a little over 24 hours ago...

This afternoon we partook of the season premiere for Battlestar Galactica season 4. A solid start, with hope of more shenanigans to come. Finally on the televisual front, tonight we slapped Stardust into the DVD player as neither of us had seen it at the movies. Highly recommended. Nice to see Michelle Pfeiffer again and the dead princes should have their own show. Robert DeNiro must have enjoyed every minute of filming.

I have tomorrow off. A further trip to the dentists, this time for the attentions of the hygienist and then it's done until I decide whether to empty my bank account and endure the root work or extraction on the remaining broken tooth at the back. Whatever, it won't be fore a while until the gum has healed from Thursday's attentions.

I expect that I shall be out of the house when the post arrives and I shall miss the copy of Maximum Power I am hoping to receive from Amazon. Still, we shall see.

Lots of Telly

Monday, April 7th, 2008 12:20 am
caddyman: (telly)
Well I survived the meeting with Clan Furtle. It seemed to go well enough: the simple expedient of buying the drinks, making small talk about the relative merits of hoppy beers over heavier brews, a couple of comments about this and that and nodding sagely a lot of the time seems to have done the trick - by which I mean no obvious gaffs. As far as I am aware there have been no telephone calls, texts or emails telling Elle to run for her life or anything like that, so maybe I passed muster. Or maybe the family is in shock and intervention will come later. Who knows?

After about three hours we made our excuses and disappeared into the driving rain for a quick charge to the West End, where we bought fresh coffee beans from Monmouth Street (having taken delivery of a coffee grinder). We have since discovered that Whetstone is oddly bereft of anywhere to buy a cafetiere, so I may have to nip into Finchley tomorrow and attempt a purchase from there.

Weekend viewing started with the Torchwood finale on Friday (reviewed on video for Furtle who missed it); barely a dry eye in the house. The season premiere of Doctor Who, which was light weight fun: entertaining but not especially deep - one for the kids (which, to be honest, is good as it is actually a kids' show) but with a little foreshadowing of future plot. To my pleasure, Catherine Tate was restrained enough not to stink the show out and the choreography for the fist part of the episode was fun, just stopping before the joke wore out. Beyond that, further DVD episodes of the X-Files taking us deeper into the rather unfairly maligned seventh season (we're on a timetable: Furtle needs to complete her X0Files education before the new movie is released). My memory is going. I'm sure we watched a movie on Saturday night but I cannot for the life of me remember what it might have been. Maybe we just talked about it? Blimey, it was only a little over 24 hours ago...

This afternoon we partook of the season premiere for Battlestar Galactica season 4. A solid start, with hope of more shenanigans to come. Finally on the televisual front, tonight we slapped Stardust into the DVD player as neither of us had seen it at the movies. Highly recommended. Nice to see Michelle Pfeiffer again and the dead princes should have their own show. Robert DeNiro must have enjoyed every minute of filming.

I have tomorrow off. A further trip to the dentists, this time for the attentions of the hygienist and then it's done until I decide whether to empty my bank account and endure the root work or extraction on the remaining broken tooth at the back. Whatever, it won't be fore a while until the gum has healed from Thursday's attentions.

I expect that I shall be out of the house when the post arrives and I shall miss the copy of Maximum Power I am hoping to receive from Amazon. Still, we shall see.

Feeling old yet?

Friday, March 7th, 2008 03:52 pm
caddyman: (Default)
Having just spent a moment or two (ahem) wandering through Wikipedia, I find two snippets of information that will age you.

1 Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV version) is 11 years old next Tuesday, 11 March, and
2 Star Trek: The Next Generation gets the key to the door on 28 September, when it reaches its 21st birthday.


Of course, X-Files hits 16 in September, too.

Feeling old yet?

Friday, March 7th, 2008 03:52 pm
caddyman: (Default)
Having just spent a moment or two (ahem) wandering through Wikipedia, I find two snippets of information that will age you.

1 Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV version) is 11 years old next Tuesday, 11 March, and
2 Star Trek: The Next Generation gets the key to the door on 28 September, when it reaches its 21st birthday.


Of course, X-Files hits 16 in September, too.
caddyman: (Default)
We piled out of the Athenaeum Club, Furtle and I, before 11.30 this morning, which is almost unheard of. I wanted to buy acrylic paints and watercolour pencils and she was on the hunt for a couple of books. We decided then, that a brief foray into the West End was in order and in getting there around the middle of the day meant that we could wander around and visit the various places we wanted before everywhere filled up with the world and His Wife.

The tube journey in was sedate enough, though a squabbling middle age couple got on the train at West Finchley. Once it became obvious to the lady of the pair that her other half was not having any of the furore and minding his own business, she settled down to stare at Furtle and myself in turn. A person really shouldn't get into a staring contest unless they are willing to see it through. Long practice has allowed me to perfect the art of staring at someone and allowing my eyes to drop slightly out of focus as I do so, so I can generally meet there gaze without too much of that uncomfortable feeling that staring at a complete stranger often generates. Anyway, she broke the staring contest first and that was that. Having demonstrated my dominance in a pointless pissing up the wall contest, I was happy to show haughty distain until they got off the train at Camden Town.

Wandering into Blackwells, we managed to find one of Furtle's books - a history of nineteenth century London. Somehow we also managed to come away with three others, too: a history of Prussia for me, a history of the First World War in Africa for Furtle (which I shall read, too) and a shared thriller with the unimaginative name The Shakespeare Code. We ambled to Foyles to find Lady Sale's Journal of the Afghan War, but even they didn't have a copy, which is the signal to give up and get it from Amazon.

Thence to the London Graphic Centre to acquire a brush and the watercolour pencils (entertaining Furtle by pronouncing the word as "pen-sill," just because I could). Next a diversion to Forbidden Planet, which yield a couple of magazines and a comic. A wander then, around the corner to Modellers' World (quondam Beatties) in High Holborn where, after a certain amount of "umming and ahhing" I picked up paints reasonably close to those I wanted. I had to substitute, see. Airfix, even in their new kits, refer to 'Humbrol Paints' and give catalogue numbers accordingly. Humbrol went bust a while back and no longer make paints, so I had to make my best selection from the Revel equivalents. A small thing, but annoying.

Feeling peckish by this time, we endangered ourselves and a rainforest by scarfing back a McDonald's with relish (both actually and figuratively) before deciding to walk back to the tube.

The walk to the tube could have gone one of two ways - either by retracing our steps into the West End and back to Tottenham Court Road for the Northern Line, or we could head of in the other direction and then cut across past Drury Lane and pick up the tube at Leicester Square.

Clearly my knowledge of central London's layout is not as comprehensive as I had imagined. The West End, from Belgravia and Fitzrovia to Bloomsbury, via Soho and Mayfair to Covent Garden is known to me pretty much like the back of my hand. I can make a fair stab at places further west to Earl's Court, too, but the City is pretty much a closed book to me. Clearly High Holborn does not go quite in the direction I thought it did, for when we crossed the road to cut across to where I imagined Drury Lane would be, we found ourselves on Fleet Street via Chancery Lane.

This was unexpected. As was our appearance at Ludgate Circus. It was only when we exited onto the Victoria Embankment next to Blackfriars Bridge that I realised quite how far east we had wandered. Still, it was sunny, if cold and we were next to the river and heading west again. Oddly, it was comparatively warm by the river and we enjoyed the walk past Temple to Embankment, with the vistas of the City and Westminster across the loop of the Thames. It did mean that it was close on 2.30 by the time we got back on the train, though.

Tonight we watched the second half of Manchester United's demolition of Arsenal in the FA Cup (which accounts for why it is so quiet in the pub across the road tonight: all the noise will be in happy Manchester and a little further east in north London in Tottenham, no doubt) followed by the enjoyably lightweight Primeval (watch, enjoy, discard and forget) and then X-Files and the episode of City of Vice we had missed a couple of weeks back (my DVDs arrived this morning). This was unexpectedly difficult as it transpires that Channel 5 had shown a couple of episodes out of order, so we had not missed the episode we thought we had. Confusing.

That then, was our day.

I have a couple more pictures of Opus' doings across the Pond, which I must upload and then I can tell the entire story of his American holiday. They are sadly rather small pictures, having been taken on a relatively old camera phone, but they serve to show that a plush toy gets better holidays than Furtle and me at this stage of our finances.
caddyman: (Default)
We piled out of the Athenaeum Club, Furtle and I, before 11.30 this morning, which is almost unheard of. I wanted to buy acrylic paints and watercolour pencils and she was on the hunt for a couple of books. We decided then, that a brief foray into the West End was in order and in getting there around the middle of the day meant that we could wander around and visit the various places we wanted before everywhere filled up with the world and His Wife.

The tube journey in was sedate enough, though a squabbling middle age couple got on the train at West Finchley. Once it became obvious to the lady of the pair that her other half was not having any of the furore and minding his own business, she settled down to stare at Furtle and myself in turn. A person really shouldn't get into a staring contest unless they are willing to see it through. Long practice has allowed me to perfect the art of staring at someone and allowing my eyes to drop slightly out of focus as I do so, so I can generally meet there gaze without too much of that uncomfortable feeling that staring at a complete stranger often generates. Anyway, she broke the staring contest first and that was that. Having demonstrated my dominance in a pointless pissing up the wall contest, I was happy to show haughty distain until they got off the train at Camden Town.

Wandering into Blackwells, we managed to find one of Furtle's books - a history of nineteenth century London. Somehow we also managed to come away with three others, too: a history of Prussia for me, a history of the First World War in Africa for Furtle (which I shall read, too) and a shared thriller with the unimaginative name The Shakespeare Code. We ambled to Foyles to find Lady Sale's Journal of the Afghan War, but even they didn't have a copy, which is the signal to give up and get it from Amazon.

Thence to the London Graphic Centre to acquire a brush and the watercolour pencils (entertaining Furtle by pronouncing the word as "pen-sill," just because I could). Next a diversion to Forbidden Planet, which yield a couple of magazines and a comic. A wander then, around the corner to Modellers' World (quondam Beatties) in High Holborn where, after a certain amount of "umming and ahhing" I picked up paints reasonably close to those I wanted. I had to substitute, see. Airfix, even in their new kits, refer to 'Humbrol Paints' and give catalogue numbers accordingly. Humbrol went bust a while back and no longer make paints, so I had to make my best selection from the Revel equivalents. A small thing, but annoying.

Feeling peckish by this time, we endangered ourselves and a rainforest by scarfing back a McDonald's with relish (both actually and figuratively) before deciding to walk back to the tube.

The walk to the tube could have gone one of two ways - either by retracing our steps into the West End and back to Tottenham Court Road for the Northern Line, or we could head of in the other direction and then cut across past Drury Lane and pick up the tube at Leicester Square.

Clearly my knowledge of central London's layout is not as comprehensive as I had imagined. The West End, from Belgravia and Fitzrovia to Bloomsbury, via Soho and Mayfair to Covent Garden is known to me pretty much like the back of my hand. I can make a fair stab at places further west to Earl's Court, too, but the City is pretty much a closed book to me. Clearly High Holborn does not go quite in the direction I thought it did, for when we crossed the road to cut across to where I imagined Drury Lane would be, we found ourselves on Fleet Street via Chancery Lane.

This was unexpected. As was our appearance at Ludgate Circus. It was only when we exited onto the Victoria Embankment next to Blackfriars Bridge that I realised quite how far east we had wandered. Still, it was sunny, if cold and we were next to the river and heading west again. Oddly, it was comparatively warm by the river and we enjoyed the walk past Temple to Embankment, with the vistas of the City and Westminster across the loop of the Thames. It did mean that it was close on 2.30 by the time we got back on the train, though.

Tonight we watched the second half of Manchester United's demolition of Arsenal in the FA Cup (which accounts for why it is so quiet in the pub across the road tonight: all the noise will be in happy Manchester and a little further east in north London in Tottenham, no doubt) followed by the enjoyably lightweight Primeval (watch, enjoy, discard and forget) and then X-Files and the episode of City of Vice we had missed a couple of weeks back (my DVDs arrived this morning). This was unexpectedly difficult as it transpires that Channel 5 had shown a couple of episodes out of order, so we had not missed the episode we thought we had. Confusing.

That then, was our day.

I have a couple more pictures of Opus' doings across the Pond, which I must upload and then I can tell the entire story of his American holiday. They are sadly rather small pictures, having been taken on a relatively old camera phone, but they serve to show that a plush toy gets better holidays than Furtle and me at this stage of our finances.
caddyman: (telly)
I should be working, it’s not as if I don’t have stuff to do, but I find instead, that my mind is wandering on to more important topics.

In particular I have been pondering something that has vexed both [livejournal.com profile] colonel_maxim and myself for a not inconsequential length of time. Watching the X-Files recently and then an episode of Without a Trace brought it all back to mind. It is the use of technology in TV (and film) drama. I am not talking here, about fantastic technology, the sort you find on Star Trek or Babylon 5 and that genre. I mean instead such items as the desk top computer and the humble telephone in all its forms.

The first point concerns the computer – and I would appreciate visual examples of where I am wrong, rather than confirmation. This came back to mind because both agents, but primarily Scully in the X-Files regularly type up reports on a computer.

Does nobody in TV drama feel the need to use the space bar or return keys? No matter how much they write, it is always tappity tap on the alphanumeric keys, never the space bars and return keys (nor, indeed, the ‘shift’ key). Despite this clear typing deficiency, what appears on the screen is always properly punctuated, spaced and formatted.

And the telephone. This has become a problem more in the past few years, I think, as writers try to cram more dialogue in. The phone rings, is answered. The listener may answer a couple of times with single syllables and then hang up. They will then spend a couple of minutes relating the contents of the fifteen second phone conversation. This can only mean that characters in TV drama routinely receive their telephoned information by data burst.

So my question is, why do they not have regular mind numbing headaches given that they must have small modems implanted into their ears. I know they are much quieter now than in the days of my old 1440 dial up, but really.
caddyman: (telly)
I should be working, it’s not as if I don’t have stuff to do, but I find instead, that my mind is wandering on to more important topics.

In particular I have been pondering something that has vexed both [livejournal.com profile] colonel_maxim and myself for a not inconsequential length of time. Watching the X-Files recently and then an episode of Without a Trace brought it all back to mind. It is the use of technology in TV (and film) drama. I am not talking here, about fantastic technology, the sort you find on Star Trek or Babylon 5 and that genre. I mean instead such items as the desk top computer and the humble telephone in all its forms.

The first point concerns the computer – and I would appreciate visual examples of where I am wrong, rather than confirmation. This came back to mind because both agents, but primarily Scully in the X-Files regularly type up reports on a computer.

Does nobody in TV drama feel the need to use the space bar or return keys? No matter how much they write, it is always tappity tap on the alphanumeric keys, never the space bars and return keys (nor, indeed, the ‘shift’ key). Despite this clear typing deficiency, what appears on the screen is always properly punctuated, spaced and formatted.

And the telephone. This has become a problem more in the past few years, I think, as writers try to cram more dialogue in. The phone rings, is answered. The listener may answer a couple of times with single syllables and then hang up. They will then spend a couple of minutes relating the contents of the fifteen second phone conversation. This can only mean that characters in TV drama routinely receive their telephoned information by data burst.

So my question is, why do they not have regular mind numbing headaches given that they must have small modems implanted into their ears. I know they are much quieter now than in the days of my old 1440 dial up, but really.

Torchwood S2 ep 1

Thursday, January 17th, 2008 10:24 am
caddyman: (Torchwood)
A series review based upon one episode. Views may change.

Lighter than season one, it seems. Toned down in some ways, unchanged in others. More humour. Still too much gratuitous snogging and far too much Gay Lib: come on, Rusty, we get it. Now get on with telling a story instead of preaching. Or go the other way and hire Julian Clary. Just decide what the show is going to be.

Better structured than season one; worth watching if you’re in, not worth worrying if you miss it. The ultimate disposable telly programme. On the other hand, a blowfish driving a sports car.

Profile

caddyman: (Default)
caddyman

April 2017

S M T W T F S
      1
234567 8
9 101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
30      

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags