Arrested Development Season 4

One of the reasons The Office works is that Ricky Gervais's self-flagellating cringe-inducing antics are approached in part from the perspective of Martin Freeman's normal dude in the madhouse, and his sweet relationship with Lucy Davis (Stephen Merchant's influence, I'm sure). The contrast between the likable and the horrific is what makes the series so poignant. Rightly or wrongly, I approached the first three seasons of Arrested Development in the same way – the absurd family nonetheless being kept together by the one son who acted as the straight-man for all the japery. We even had a kind of doomed romance between Maeby and George Michael to invest in.

Season 4 ends all sympathetic attachment with any of the characters – Michael and his son become just as bad as everyone else in the family. I guess this is what everyone means by the show becoming "darker". But I wonder whether Mitchell Hurwitz really finds nothing of worth in the characters he writes. Hungering for some sweetness in the season's black liquorice flavour, I found it in several of the characters choosing to waste their energy on projects they clearly have no hope of achieving rather than leaning back on their legal or medical qualifications and leading comfortable, responsible lives. I think there is a fondness for the resolute rejection of normality the Bluths represent. The satiric elements in the show (the corrupt Republican politician, the software companies built on nothing, the sub-prime mortgage crisis) are reminders that the real world is far from free from the idiocy, delusions and petty jealousies the Bluths display.

The comedy isn't even the point anymore. It's true, there are fewer LOL moments than before. Rather, the new structure where the same events are revisited and retold from the perspective of different characters forgrounds the tangled plot above everything. The lightning-fast assembly of hair-brained schemes is what the show is all about. This was always present in Arrested Development, and in fact I remember thinking that Michael was probably the true crazy for not embracing the lunatic freewheeling energy of his family. In season 4, he finally has.

Flex Mentallo

As a treatise on the history of superhero comics, this has the virtue of brevity. I'm not well-versed in the distinctive qualities of the golden-silver-copper ages of comics, only really being interested in stuff that came out in the 90s and 00s. Flex Mentallo does provide some clues as to the different properties and enjoyments of each age, tho in general the narrative links up all four issues pretty tightly so the distinctions aren't especially clear (the introduction does help a bit in getting more of the flavour of each age).

While the comic's formal and thematic content is pretty interesting, the central character isn't especially accessible – perhaps because unlike Grant Morrison, superhero comics do not have the ability to fundamentally alter my perception of reality. Wally's suicide attempt is due to a fatigue at how bleak and depressing comics (and by extention the world) has become. Oh, and nagging from his girlfriend – not v well explained, that. All of which makes me think that All-Star Superman is a more affecting statement of Morrison's case.

What's most interesting in Flex Mentallo is the villain – the 16 year old teen dismissing superheroes as "pathetic fucking power fantasies for lonely wankers". The source of this ire is actually self-hatred and envy at the guys with girlfriends and awesome life experiences. What's missing is Morrison's belief that ideas are there to be realised and superheroes are there to be emulated. You can become that power-fantasy, basically, if you will hard enough (and have the appropriate sigils).

One little craft effect I liked is the way one panel would bleed across the whole page, with the other panels being laid over it – quite a nice way of emphasising how the different strands of the story intersect together. Also the great opening sequence across the first two pages – muddling up the creation of the universe and the creation of the comics page while also linking in with the later symbol of ideas as eggs. The comic ends on a splash of a kind of apocalypse-turned-rapture, with superheroes finally coming down from heaven to save us from our imperfections and construct utopia. It's a superhero holy text, starting with Genesis and ending with the Book of Revelations.

Game of Thrones Season 3

I still made time for Game of Thrones despite pretty much quitting television. Why, though, is the question. Perhaps because I've read the first book, I felt like I had a pretty firm grasp of the first season's theme and methods. GRRM's project was to use his medievalist nerd knowledge to inject some realism into the high fantasy genre. We have dragons and zombies stirring over the border, sure, but the real story was at the centre – the political "game of thrones" where the kings of Westeros struggled to assert authority over several powerful barons they nominally ruled. Season 1's beheading of Ned Stark was a shock because it went against trad fantasy expectations – Sean Bean was the Aragorn guy rather than the Boromir guy this time, and in the ASOIAF universe THAT'S what gets you the chop. Season 3's infamous Red Wedding played the same trick over again – and here the lesson of the bloodshed (revealed in the last episode) is that barons also need to manage their knights properly if they want to continue to order them about.

Or it would have been, except that Game of Thrones tends to overlay these (rather interesting) matters about the effective practice of medieval lordship with the OTT trappings of operatic drama. Srsly the look on Roose Bolton's face when his treachery is revealed is straight out of panto. GRRM wants his realism on the level of world-building and social structure, but his characters are cut out pulp figures with only the shallowest of depths. They are all introduced quickly and undergo very slight changes despite being put through colossal hardship and strain (Sansa is now less whiny, Daenerys is more assertive, Tyrion is monogamous). GRRM's style is less to initiate change, but rather to reveal new shades of the same personality in different scenes and conversations, something the TV show has taken onboard. So we have revelations about Jamie, Tywin, Varys and Littlefinger this new season. And part of the joy of watching the series is seeing how this cast bounce off each other.

Nevertheless, what we end up being put through is the blatant maneuvering of characters and tweaking of sympathies over and over again. And to what purpose? How much longer is the show going to keep teasing us before shit gets real and we start to see some meaning behind the madcap adventures. Basically, I'm starting to worry that we're building towards a Battlestar Galactica-level epic disappointment where the threads weaved so far end up in a mess rather than, I dunno, a satisfying tapestry. Bad metaphor aside: what is GRRM trying to do with this story apart from wheel us about the seven kingdoms? However the game ends, whoever wins, will be significant. And I'm wondering whether GRRM will choose to tie everything up with a long-lost king of the north marrying a long lost queen of the desert as per fantasy tradition, or will he end on something real.

The only meaning to be found in season 3 is in the convo between Varys and Littlefinger. The former serves the realm by nudging and balancing the players of the game to achieve as much peace as possible, the kind of thinking the republican Machiavelli would champion. The latter on the other hand is an unprincipled Machiavellian prince climbing up that greasy pole – he confidently calls it a ladder, in fact. Perhaps the game is really between these two opposing wills, one selfless and conserve-ative, the other self-interested and revolutionary. It would really be saying something if Littlefinger is the one who wins, or if Varys is the one to stop him. And we're gonna have to wait an awful long time before we find out. Will it be worth it?

Special Forces

Difficult to tell where the satire begins with this comic. The final page contains what must be a heartfelt dedication to the "mentally handicapped and / or felons who have given their lives in the service of freedom" – awkwardly phrased but laudible enough. But then Kyle Baker also makes abundantly clear that much of the comic is simply a thrill ride stuffed with shooting and explosions, and I'm not sure how much the exploitation elements (the cheesecake Lara Croft heroine, the GTA-in-Bagdad action sequences) is meant to make us feel bad. Even the political stuff is ambiguously phrased. The terrorists' motive boils down to "we hate your freedom" – a laughable characterization dreamed up by the discredited neocons in Bush's White House. But then in the CBR interview, Baker goes on about how his collection of misfits are "bringing freedom and democracy to the oppressed savages of Iraq", hardly a more nuanced viewpoint.

When I visited the World Trade memorial in New York last year, we were shown around by a survivor of the 9/11 attacks, one of the many volunteers who share their story of the day and try to keep the memory of the events alive. His account was very moving (not a dry eye when he described how he ran up Manhattan looking for a phone to call his wife), but when he came to talk about the terrorists he reproduced the unsatisfactory "they hate our freedom" explanation. Baker (also a New Yorker, perhaps even an eyewitness on 9/11) may also have found it easier to accept this "freedom vs. terror" rhetoric rather than probe deeper into the dynamics that produce such belligerent anti-Americanism.

The dedication at the end expresses the hope that "we will someday be worthy of your sacrifice", suggesting that Baker's beef is with the way the war is being fought, rather than the justification for it. There are shots at Dick Cheney, Halliburton and Blackwater, and also the recognition that nuclear weapons are a front for securing Iraq's oil fields. This critique is confused, however, when it turns out that the terrorists do actually have nukes and are planning on using them – exactly the nightmare scenario used to sell the 2003 invasion. Ultimately, it looks like Kyle Baker doesn't know what to believe, and rather than try to tease out the conflicting narratives and arrive at something meaningful to say, he mashes everything together into a kind of grey satirical slurry. "All the best comic books are about fights and teenage angst. You want messages, buy a phone" says Baker. Terrible joke aside, fact is by setting the action in Iraq and calling the comic a satire you suggest that you DO have a message. Indeed, it would be a dereliction of duty as a storyteller to NOT have something to say with such a set up, no matter how enjoyable the shooting and explosions are.

"It is not that we worship Aphrodite. If we did, we should fear these make-believes as a too probable cause of her wrath... The truth may rather be that these things reveal a society in which sexual passion has so far decayed as to have become no longer a god, as for the Greeks, or a devil, as for the early Christians, but a toy: a society where the instinctive desire to propagate has been weakened by a sense that life, as we have made it, is not worth living, and where our deepest wish is to have no posterity" - R.G. Collingwood, The Principles of Art

Iron Man Three

Shane Black definitely leaves his own imprint on the series. It's darker and scarer, but also quirkier: the quick-fire witticisms are present but they form a kind of ambient background for the real standout gags, which feel a bit like something out of Arrested Development, obsessively calling out and undercutting the conventions that structure the narrative. Black also wraps up the series in a really satisfying way: Stark finally lets go of the technology he relied on to stay alive and protect himself from the chaos around him. The film describes the suit as a 'cocoon' from which a whole Tony Stark can emerge from. Indeed, extremis (which he uses in the end to heal himself) serves as internal armour, a nice symbol that could have been developed further.

Unfortunately, Aldrich Killian is too much of a cartoon villain for this to work out. His motive is less an understandable (even sympathetic) drive for self-perfection and more a typical Dr. Doom-like resentment at the successful hero, and we've been here before with Sam Rockwell. Maya Hansen is a more ambiguous character, but doesn't have enough time to establish herself. Perhaps it would have been better to have her as the duplicitous mastermind, as she was in the Warren Ellis comic.

I still prefer Favreau's Iron Man, which maintains a clear thematic through-line and is impressively compact (apart from the robot punching at the end). Favreau was lucky in that Stark was a more interesting character back then, shifting dramatically from apathetic hedonist to troubled hero. Black is dealing with a hero fully-formed, now suffering from anxiety attacks caused by a brush with death. Even this could have been developed further, tho – just steal from Lovecraft. Stark faces down the awesome hostility of the universe and comes back fretting about how the hell the Earth can be protected. You could even add an existentialist twist: have him wondering whether his fellow human beings, trigger-happy with their nuclear weapons, are worth saving. Admittedly difficult to build up all this drama and provide a neat conclusion for the trilogy. Perhaps this stuff is being banked for when Joss Whedon puts everything together again in 2015.

Queen Margot

I watched the 145 minute cut demanded by Miramax, not the 161 version originally shown in Cannes, although I wonder if the extra time would have been able to reveal some sense behind the bonkers characters and the freewheeling zig-zagging decisions they make throughout. Instead of an explanation, what we get is an awful lot of desperate flailing, sighing and crying. The impression conveyed is that everyone in the Louvre is so blinded by passion that they can barely stand up straight, let alone think in a linear or logical way. Two sworn enemies fight each other to the ground, and upon being reunited become sworn brothers in a fit of clutching breasts and kisses. Margot is a bit of a skank, airily flicking through the man-flesh that has congregated for her forced marriage, but just one night of random boinking is enough to change a habit of a lifetime (although she does sleep with Henri, it's to keep the palace quiet, she remains devoted to La Môle). And as for the scheming Catherine de' Medici – swear down she's the most useless Machiavellian plotter I have ever seen. One wonders why she bothers with poisons in lipstick and books when it seems like the entire palace is ready to do her bidding. What's the point of this ridiculous subterfuge (which, btw, keeps failing!) when you've got men ready to stab your enemies into the walls with no questions asked?

But these, frankly, are stupid questions. The important thing is that the film looks LUSH. You don't come to this for insights into the machinations of power or the clash of rival faiths. You come for the outfits! All the actors are perfectly cast in their roles. Isabelle Adjani is like the Snow White who can never be banished away by her wicked mother. Daniel Auteuil's face twitches manically as if he's trying to tip-toe around a pride of ravenous lions. Vincent Pérez is suitably scrumptious as the pretty but dim young whippersnapper. And Pascal Greggory is a walking wave of dark glowering charisma. No expense was spared on the sets and locations either – it's like you're in an oil painting all the time. And the camera swirls around it all, bouncing off looks and nods among the crowds of courtiers, sweeping you along despite the nonsensical intrigue. It's gorgeous. Just don't try to think about it too much.

Boxed

No one here at 1100. Hard to believe as the music being played by Logos is phenom. Solid slabs concrete rumble, hard punches, swung whip-cracks. Spartan.

Some demented 2-step just came on, the rest of the set could just be this, tbh. Voices cheering maybe, but difficult to discern. Oh wait, Wen's Commotion V.I.P. just came on, horror flick pads sounding shrill and cartoony on the club's system

That's more like it. Space between an assemblage of crashes, stabs and clicks. Bric-a-brac glued together by feral engineers.

A swathe of hoovers, a low growl and giant clanging drums. Alien reptile cries over the grind.

Throbbing red membranes coat a collection of whirring clockwork. And now a metal slinky tossed between hollow bass tones, an irate mosquito buzzing through the mix for a couple of bars.

Things fill up slightly as worried strings drone, and then a troll starts pounding a makeshift xylophone and the bass bombs start falling again.

Ears prick up as the swung whip-cracks reappear. Something familiar – a constantly mutating blob of bass winding and wobbling through rolling drums. The chanting gives it away: Benga v Skream - The Judgement.

And then a blaster cannon fires ahead of a cluster of percussive ordinance. A hint of melody guiding the bursts of fire. Best thing I've heard this evening. Logos ends shortly after with some deconstructed near-beatless airy basswaves.

The ritual HAs pipe up regularly as slow enveloping clouds of matter waft through. Then some piano chords. Then two blaring tones, a trill and a third. Slightly nauseating low-end but I guess that's the point. A chorus builds. Darth Vader's marching tune if he had x2 swag.

Barely any percussion left over this disgusting bassline, the sort of thing that winds down your throat and twists into a bed of snakes in your stomach.

And then some heavy 4x4 pounding. Bug, dumb and brutal.

Is this 'trap'?

Asteroids bouncing off spaceship shieldwalls. And the ever-present coating of bass. A shimmer of melody GETS CRUSHED under reverberating colossal mountains of black gooey tar. On and on into oblivion. No one requested a rewind of that. Snatches of gasping breath escape the mangling in the torture chamber. Or is that a perverse pant?

My ears are going to fall off soon if this continues

The Choice of Hercules

Saw this in the Ashmolean in Oxford yesterday, apart from some statues of the god Min (check him out, he's great), this was my fave thing in there. Apparently, Shaftesbury provided detailed instructions for the attitudes and expressions of the figures. Hercules must choose between the hedonistic life exemplified by Pleasure, or Vice, and the rocky path of Virtue – but the choice must be difficult!