Is there food?

Sci Fi Wire have posted an article on the US release of An American Haunting. This is the first confirmation I’ve heard of the new version (rather than hearing forum gossip and speculation).

The article lists some interesting changes: For starters, the terrible voice- over has been replaced with a Sissy Spacek commentary, which eliminates one of my gripes with the UK version. Second: it sounds like the entire explanation for the haunting has been altered in this cut. Both of these changes might indicate that the modern book-end has been dropped - if the explanation isn’t the same, the modern coda won’t make any sense. The film has been rescored, and director Solomon says he’s also re-done the “colour design” - which presumably means the terrible black and white transitions have been dropped. It sounds like most of James D’Arcy’s part has been dropped too, which is no bad thing.

The most significant aspect of these changes is the suggestion that the film now plays less as a horror film, and more as a documentary on the haunting. Considering that the film’s inability to scare was my biggest problem (which isn’t to say that my other complaints weren’t fairly sizeable), this sounds like a change for the better.

I know I said “I’d rather face the entire British army than watch this crap again” but I can’t help but be intrigued; these changes would appear to address every one of my complaints. I’ll have to wait for the DVD release to compare the two.

I had a bad feeling about this: I really did have my doubts as to whether this was going to work, whether Singer might have made a really bad choice opting for The Man of Steel instead of the mutants he’d taken care of twice before.

I think the [trailer](http://www.apple.com/trailers/wb/supermanreturns/trailer 2/large.html) has dispelled most of my doubts. Most of them. My apathy is completely gone though; I have to see this now.

Maybe Kevin Spacey looks a little bit over-the-top though.

Many years ago, when I was significantly younger (not to mention smaller) than I am now, my Dad would play John Martyn cassettes in the car. There’s no doubt that my Dad has been and continues to be a massive influence on my musical tastes (as all fathers should be), but back then I didn’t think I liked the music very much, couldn’t understand a word of it, and was bemused by my Dad’s enthusiasm for it; to me, this seemed like nothing more than a shouty incomprehensible man. It must have left an impression though as a few years ago during a flight to Barcelona, I was scrolling through the vast array of music on my iPod. As I reached the Js (and just why is it that I have so many artists beginning with J on my iPod?) I came across Solid Air. And so began my musical re-evaluation of John Martyn. He’s not incomprehensible, I discovered; you just have to pay attention. And this is music that’s well worth paying attention to.

Flash forward a few years to the present day, specifically Wednesday the 3rd of May 2006. My father, my uncle and I (a trio who regularly go to gigs around the Midlands area of Britain) travelled to Wolverhampton to see John Martyn perform at the Robin 2. My father had seen him perform before (and has the t-shirt to prove it), I hadn’t. As a result, I didn’t know quite what to expect.

The last time I visited the Robin (to see an entertaining performance by Nils Lofgren) it was being renovated. The renovations are now complete and the venue is perhaps one of the finest I’ve been to. The ceiling slopes down on one side of the hall, an architectural feature which I suspect enhances the acoustics significantly. It’s not too big, not too small, and has a good sized, raised stage to provide the audience with a better view of their performer. Future acts at the Robin include Jeff Healey, and The Blue Oyster Cult.

The support act for the evening was a young guy called John Smith; A common name, but an uncommon talent. He was superb, arguably one of the best support acts I have ever seen. The first song he performed involved using his acoustic guitar as a percussion instrument: Drumming with his right hand, while his left played notes on the fretboard. Three fingers were used for melody, one finger provided occasional bursts of bass. Subsequent songs were performed in a slightly more traditional (albeit no less impressive) manner, with the exception of “Winter”, his final song. For this, he placed the guitar on his lap and used it to provide percussion for the duration of the song. During the chorus he would hit strings to provide short bursts of other notes. The track can be heard on John’s MySpace page here.

Smith has a voice and style that’s clearly influenced by Martyn, but vocally he reminds me more of Ben Ottewell (Gomez) with occasional bursts of Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder - this is perhaps unsurprising given that Ottewell himself has been compared to Vedder. Impressive as Smith’s vocal and musical talents are it’s his charisma that makes him come across as well as he does on stage. Between songs he joked with the audience and thankfully doesn’t take himself too seriously. After his first song he commented on how nice it was to play at a venue where the crowd were visible: “We were in Milton Keynes the other night - have you seen Milton Keynes? It’s like Dawn of the Dead down there!”. Later in the set he burst into The Fine Young Cannibals’ “She Drives Me Crazy”, and enthusiastically told us how pleased he was to have figured it out. He conveys an enthusiasm and warmth that’s refreshing in a young artist, particularly one as talented as Smith clearly is. Following his set I rushed over to the merchandise stall to grab a copy of his CD, and got the opportunity to tell him how good I thought his performance had been. He seems like a nice guy in person, and I hope to see him on stage again soon. He’s supporting Robert Cray in a few days; now there’s a line-up…

And so to the main act: The last time I saw John Martyn was in the BBC documentary [Johnny Too Bad](http://www.bbc.co.uk/bbcfour/music/features /john-martyn.shtml). This was filmed a few months before and after what must have been a life changing operation: due to an infected cyst, John’s right leg was amputated below the knee. During the documentary, John looked surprisingly well for a man who’s been as unwell as he has. At every gig, moments before the artist you are about to see appears on stage, you construct a mental image of them. The mental image I had was of the John Martyn in the BBC documentary; these days the reality is shockingly different. In the years since the BBC documentary, he’s gained a massive amount of weight. He was helped onto the stage, lowered himself into a chair that only moments before had been cautiously tested to ensure it would take his weight, and an assistant handed him his guitar. I was initially shocked; this man was so different to the image in my head, how could he possibly sound like the John Martyn I knew? Was he still the good-natured man the BBC had portrayed him as being?

In a word: Yes. Within moments of appearing on stage, as the audience applauded and he carefully made his way to his chair, John Martyn flicked his hand at the audience in a camp “ooh, stop!” gesture which set the tone for the duration of the performance. He was joined on stage by Alan Thompson on bass, Spencer Cozens on keyboard, and Arran Ahmun (or as I misheard “Aaron Baboom”) on drums. Every member of the band came across as a talented musician in their own right, particularly Thompson on bass.

Martyn and band opened the set with “CoolTide”: An odd choice, and in comparison with the rest of the set one that didn’t really have much of an impact. It was undoubtedly good, but coming so soon after the unease and shock of his appearance, it struggled to make a significant impact on me.

When “CoolTide” finished, John started to chat with the audience. It soon became apparent that the guy in the BBC documentary was still around. He joked - both with the band and the audience, he laughed at himself and the other members of the band, bursting into “Happy Birthday” when he announced it was Thompson’s birthday, and at one point insisting that, between them, Thompson and Cozens simulated the sound of fireworks while he played the part of the cooing spectator. Banter was plentiful, and like his support act Martyn doesn’t take himself too seriously (he was reduced to fits of giggles during a drum solo). Just as with his singing, you have to concentrate when he talks; often there are virtually no gaps between words and your brain has to slow things down a bit. I didn’t have too much trouble understanding him, but I overheard several members of the audience remark at how difficult he was to understand. I suspect a few years of trying to make sense of The Fall’s Mark E. Smith helps.

At this stage, I should point out that I might not recall every track that John played. I’m reasonably certain he followed “CoolTide” with a brilliant rendition of “Couldn’t Love You More_”._ I know he played “Glorious Fool” - a song which is just as relevant today as it was during Ronald Reagan’s presidency, when Martyn wrote it, and followed that with Ben Harper’s “Excuse Me Mister”. The problem is this: I discovered that a strange thing happens when John Martyn plays. For large parts of the performance I found myself to be completely absorbed, unaware of the people around me, or of the venue I was in. And no, I hadn’t smoked anything - the performance was just that good.

When John Martyn plays, the age, weight, and weariness fall away. I’ve heard the cliche “it takes years off him” applied to many performers, but John Martyn is the first person I’ve actually seen that embodies it. He’s magnificent, whether performing glorious (yet somehow understated) guitar solos, or plucking away unconventionally during “Big Muff” (one of many high points).

After performing several songs on the electric guitar, Martyn switched to acoustic. “Oh, how very folky!” he exclaimed, shrugging his bulk into the guitar strap that his assistant had placed over his head. With the shift to the acoustic guitar, his voice became more subdued, yet retained the trademark John Martyn growl. He performed older tracks like “Don’t Want To Know”, and “Solid Air” (something I’ve always wanted to see live: that’s another one off the list), “Sunshine’s Better”, and “Rock Salt and Nails”. His performance was even more impressive during this part of the set.

I’m told he doesn’t perform “May You Never” any more; apparently he’s sick of playing it. It’s a privilege then to have heard him sing it here. It’s a beautiful song, and the audience agreed; it seemed that the whole room sang, which on other occasions I might find tacky but which felt quite moving here.

As the evening came to a close the electric guitar returned, and we were treated to one of the most astonishing live performances I have ever seen. Earlier in the evening, when Martyn commented on the heat (something he did many times throughout the set; he was dripping with sweat when he finished) someone shouted “Too hot for John Wayne?” - “He might make an appearance later” he replied. And what an appearance! I would ask any John Martyn fan to try to imagine the impact of a full-on performance of this song, but I doubt your imagination could come close - to actually see this unfold before me was genuinely breathtaking. The riff, the growling vocal, the power present in this performance was mesmerizing.

I felt certain that “John Wayne” would be the last track of the night; how could he possibly better it? His assistant returned and removed the guitar, leaving John looking strangely vulnerable without it. As the band played a gentle backing track, John used his most powerful instrument, that voice, to sing a heartbreakingly beautiful version of “Never Let Me Go”. He seemed to be imploring the audience to remember him fondly, and yet almost seemed apologetic in some way. Once done he was helped off the stage to a roar of applause. I didn’t expect an encore, and didn’t get one - it’s clearly an enormous amount of effort for him to move around._

_

John Martyn is a unique talent: Massively influential, wonderful to watch on stage, an incredible guitarist and with a voice that transforms both sentences and songs into fantastic bursts of sound. This is music that is worth paying attention to - I just hope I get the chance to pay attention again.

Let’s just get one thing straight from the start: I love the Sisters Of Mercy. They’re an important band for me - the soundtrack for some fond memories from my childhood is provided by Andrew Eldritch and co. One such memory involves the first paper-based role-playing game I ever acquired (Nightlife, thanks for asking) and the track playing in the background as we rolled our first characters was “Vision Thing”.

And I’ve continued to love them. Despite my wandering preferences, and lack of enthusiasm or tolerance for some of the bands I favoured back “then”, I’ve continued to listen to, and enjoy, “Vision Thing” and “Floodland” in recent years. And so, it was with much excitement that I made my way to Nottingham to see them perform at Rock City. Little did I know that discovering a new car park would be the most exciting event of the evening…

It doesn’t start well. The support act, The Ivories, give an uninspiring performance full of jangly, haunted-house guitars and screeching vocals. Their front- woman’s painful lack of charisma renders the whole performance deeply tiresome after the first few songs. Credit where it’s due: The drummer does a nice job, and her backing vocals are far better than the lead’s.

During the relative calm of the post-support interval, I pick my way through the assembled crowd (one of the largest I’ve seen at Rock City) to the bar. After much dodging and weaving I arrive and wait keenly, elbows perched on the bar, for a member of staff to catch my gaze. My eyes wander to the full-length mirrors behind the bar and I realise with some amusement how bizarre I look. I’d made a half hearted attempt at “goth” for the night; an old Vampire:The Masquerade t-shirt had been dusted off and pulled out of the wardrobe. This proved too small (I’m sure it must have shrunk in the wash or something), and so I switched to my faithful grey Bullseye t-shirt. As a result, my reflection in the mirrors makes me look like a darts fan at an Addams Family convention, surrounded as I am by frilly white shirts, black sequined dresses, and large amounts of leather.

In the moments before the main act appear, vast amounts of smoke are pumped onto the stage. Vast amounts; just as I think there can’t possibly be any more smoke, there is. Eventually, veiled by an obscene amount of smoke, three figures “appear” on stage and launch into their opening track. The energetic, thrusting guitar sounds pretty good, but Eldritch’s vocals are quite low in the mix, and I have difficulty making out which song this is. I come to the conclusion that it’s a new track called “Crash and Burn”.

From here, things start to go wrong. The sound guy (let’s call him Bob) is furiously playing with his knobs and dials, and at this point I still have sufficient faith to think that he’ll fix the sound. A fan appears behind me, shouting at a bearded guy who is busily pushing buttons behind Bob. “Why’s he so quiet?” he shouts and Beard frantically points at Bob - “Not me! Him! Him!”. The fan moves away; Bob is clearly engrossed in his knobs.

The second track kicks off - “Ribbons”. A rather large, female goth is hoisted onto the shoulders of someone in front of me and, in silhouette against the lights and smoke of the stage, starts to perform elaborate actions to the words of the song. She’s obviously decided that, as Eldritch is pretty much inaudible, she’ll sign the lyrics for everyone. How nice of her.

Third track: A sort of Dr.

Jeep/Detonation Boulevard medley. I begin to wonder just what exactly is going on with the vocals? Eldritch is way too quiet, and yet the backing vocals provided by his God-awful shouty nu-metal guitarist are horribly loud. A new track follows. At least, I think it’s a new track - by this point things might as well be instrumental. The stage is now so full of smoke that the band are no longer even silhouettes. I think I catch a section of the chorus, something along the lines of “if it makes you happy”. I don’t think this is a Sheryl Crow cover, however.

Next come two popular tracks, “When You Don’t See Me” and “Flood I”. A large (male) ponytailed goth is hoisted up in front of me, and I can’t help but wonder what the guy holding him looks like. Finger wiggling, wrist crossing, and some sort of kung-fu style punching (think: the training scene from Enter The Dragon) ensue. Ponytail is having a good time, at least.

Three more new tracks follow, and by this point I’m so bored that I check my email and send a few text messages. There are now three finger wiggling goths silhouetted against the stage; every one of them more enthusiastic than Eldritch. I remark to myself how much one of the new tracks sounds like “Sweet Dreams”. Bob is still frantically flicking switches and twirling knobs. I still can’t hear Eldritch and the rest of the noise from on-stage hasn’t changed at all - I become convinced that they’ve given Bob a desk that isn’t plugged in.

After what seems like an age of unidentifiable noise, they play “Dominion/Mother Russia”. Things sound slightly more impressive for a while, but tedium soon returns. I still can’t hear anything, and the idiot on guitar is shouting into his microphone again. I do manage to figure out what the floaty goth dancers are doing by this point though; They are clearly as bored as me, and are doing the old linked-thumbs, wiggle-fingers “Look - it’s a butterfly” shadow puppets routine.

At this point the will to live has pretty much departed as five more mysterious tracks are played. I can appreciate the urge to play new material, but when the lead singer isn’t introducing anything to the crowd, and when you’ve not released an album for nearly ten years, it gets quite tedious. Eldritch hops about for one track making loud gargling noises, which sound exactly like The Cookie Monster doing the Tarzan yodel. What’s particularly surprising is that the gig is being filmed; a guy wanders over to change the tape just after the Tarzan track, and squints - in that “I know what I’m doing, me” type way - through the eye piece. I’m sure, just like the rest of us, all he can see is a stage full of smoke.

“This Corrosion” is played and the crowd, for the first time all night, become animated. Slightly. The band then promptly depart from the stage. A few moments later they return for an encore of “Something Fast” (with accompaniment from a mysteriously absent female vocalist) and “Lucretia”. The audience react well, Ponytail is hoisted above the crowd again (although this time he’s taking a leaf out of the large female goth’s book and is signing to the words), and Bob is still leaping from one end of the mixing desk to the other, desperately looking for the volume control. Or the off switch.

They finish again, Eldritch bows and they leave. Then they return again. Except something is wrong. There is no smoke, and no Eldritch. The two guitarists leap about for a few minutes, performing what I believe they think is a spirited instrumental track but which actually looks very silly. Particularly as shouty Nu-metal guitarist manages to propel his sunglasses across the stage mid-leap. The smoke returns, as does Eldritch, and I start to wonder whether he’s had some sort of horrible disfiguring accident and can’t bear to have the crowd look at him. Or maybe the mist just follows him around, like some sort of bad b-movie monster? For their finale, the band perform a Sisters of Mercy tribute-act quality version of Temple of Love, and are gone.

This gig was, without doubt, the worst I’ve seen in a long time, maybe ever. And I never thought I’d say that about the Sisters Of Mercy. I really wanted Eldritch to be as magnificent live as he is on the albums, but based on this gig, he’s not. Will we ever see a new Sisters of Mercy album? I have to wonder. Some of the “new” tracks have been part of the set since 1993, and Eldritch still hasn’t released them. I also have to wonder whether the bad vocal mixing and the ludicrous amounts of smoke weren’t intentional; all part of Andrew Eldritch’s attempt at self-mythologising. One things for sure: I’ll never pay money to see them again.

It’s important to remember that Doctor Who isn’t just for adults. There’s a great deal for adults to enjoy, that’s always been the case, but this is television that’s not exclusively aimed at us so-called grown ups. Quite the opposite in fact. School Reunion, by grown up standards, isn’t that great.

[](/wp- content/uploads/who3a.jpg)But that’s missing the point, surely? Episode three of the second series of new Who clearly has the children in mind; Anthony Head plays an evil head master in a school where something odd is going on, and the unpopular child ultimately becomes the hero and saves a school that’s over-run by bat-like aliens. Is this not a classic children’s adventure story? But there’s unquestionably something for the adults too - Elisabeth Sladen returns as Sarah Jane, and K9 isn’t far behind - a creation which surely today’s audience of children will find laughably poor. But then, did anybody ever really think that K9 was anything but poor?

This is an episode with much to enjoy if you can disengage your brain: Anthony Head is magnificently over-the-top, munching on all the scenery he can stomach, and having a fantastic time into the bargain. He gets some delightfully crap lines (“Bad Dog!”), gets to run around screeching like a bat, and provides more than his fair share of giggles. While part of me still yearns for a Giles spin-off series (imagine the wondrous things that the combined might of Joss Whedon and Russel Davies could achieve) and finds parts like this to be beneath an actor of Head’s calibre, I can’t help but lap up any cheesy villain roles he takes. It’s also nice to see Elisabeth Sladen back, even if Sarah Jane’s part is a little underwritten. There’s some nice companion banter between her and Rose, but that’s really as far as it goes. Mickey makes a reappearance here too, and I’ve still not managed to warm to this character. There’s just something about him that I can’t overcome - perhaps it’s the way we’re supposed to accept that he’s become some sort of master hacker since his early brush with The Doctor. Another nice Torchwood reference crops up during Mickey’s scenes, a thread that’s nowhere near as subtle as last season’s Bad Wolf, but is nonetheless well executed. And K9 is back, sadly. Still, he provides the material for a fair few gags, and is on the receiving end of Head’s aforementioned “Bad Dog” line, so I can tolerate his return.

Tennant gives a good account of himself. This is the first time we’ve really seen the tormented side of his doctor, a side which Ecclestone seemingly managed to cram into every episode, for better or worse. Tennant is clearly overjoyed at sharing screen-time with Sladen, and his “My Sarah Jane!” exclamation could be as much from the Who fan in him as The Doctor himself. There’s a great clash between Anthony Head and Tennant which highlights The Doctor’s unforgiving attitude towards this hostile alien race. This episode also starts to introduce some tension between The Doctor and Rose; is this an attempt to reduce Rose back to a simple side-kick role, and play down the romantic elements?

Effects-wise things are pretty poor in School Reunion. The bat creatures were nicely animated and fun, but they’re just not really very creepy. Head and his pod-person teachers are actually more unnerving than the aliens are; it would have been nice to develop this aspect a little more. Still, hopefully any children watching will be convinced that at least a few of their teachers are actually aliens.

As Who goes, this is fairly average. I can’t condemn it as being a terrible episode, because in fairness it’s not - the entertainment provided by Head alone is worth an hour in front of the television, and that’s before you factor in Tennant, Piper, and Sladen. And I’m sure the children will enjoy this particular episode far more than us, ever critical, adults.

Steven Moffat wasn’t a writer I associated with Doctor Who. I enjoyed Coupling, but I couldn’t quite grasp how writing a sit-com about the lives and loves of four friends qualified you to write an episode of Doctor Who. That said, Russel Davies’ previous writing credits don’t exactly scream “TIMELORD!” Despite my concerns, Moffat’s two parter from last season (The Empty Child and The Doctor Dances) are possibly my favourite episodes from Ecclestone’s stay in the Tardis. They’re unsettling and edgy, even for an adult audience, and the performances and effects are superb across the board.

The Girl in the Fireplace, Moffat’s only episode this season, is every bit as good as his last two episodes but in a totally different way. The whole episode is one lovely juxtaposition of science fiction and period drama; taking place in both eighteenth century France and several thousand years in the future. The concept is one which is so genuinely baffling that it shouldn’t work. The two time periods are so diametrically opposed that any attempt at blending them should result in an unwatchable episode. And yet this is such a compelling hour of television.

[](/wp- content/uploads/who4b.jpg)The responsibility for the success of TGITF lies with three people. The first is Moffat; without his script, concept, and skill as a writer this episode would be a confusing, laughable mess. David Tennant and Sophia Myles complete the trio. Myles is delightful as Madame Du Pompadour, conveying every emotion with enthralling conviction. The chemistry between Myles and Tennant is electric, although this should come as no surprise - back in the real world, the two are apparently engaged. Speaking of Tennant: He has arrived! Finally I am totally convinced by his portrayal of The Doctor. I have no complaints with this episode at all; he owns the role here and I can only hope that he’s equally superb in future episodes.

Mickey and Rose don’t get a great deal to do here, but as a result this is the first episode where I don’t really mind Mickey. Their fire-extinguisher/rifles appear to be silver painted rolls of cardboard, and surely qualify as some of the worst props yet seen in new Who?

The villains of the piece are a strange mix of good and bad. [](/wp- content/uploads/who4a.jpg)Beyond the first appearance, they aren’t the scariest of Who creatures, although I suspect anyone with a fear of clowns will be terrified. They are well conceived though, and when their mask is removed, the work of the design team is a wonder to behold. Where can I get one of those mechanical heads?

None of the above matters though, really. This episode is purely about Tennant and Myles; The Doctor and the woman who, for the briefest of moments, he is in love with. I can forgive the episode its somewhat indulgent use of The Doctor’s new-found Vulcan mind-meld technique (a trick which I don’t think we’ve seen before) as it is so well executed. It even has a fantastic punchline, which is timed to perfection and allowed to simply float past the viewer without the heavy-handed “look how clever we are” finger waving that would usually accompany an ending like this.

This is my favourite episode of the season so far, and possibly my favourite episode of the last two seasons. Next week: Cybermen!

[](/wp- content/uploads/slither_1.jpg)They don’t make films like Slither any more. Or perhaps more accurately, they don’t make films like the ones that have clearly inspired Slither any more. At a time when every recent horror film seems intent on proving itself to be the most extreme film you’ll ever see (a fact which Slither mocks in its trailer) James Gunn has created a bona fide, card-carrying B-movie, and it’s more than happy to show you its impressive credentials.

Gunn’s directorial debut comes with all your favourite b-movie trimmings and plays out in a style that’s very reminiscent of The Blob (amongst others). Fans should have an enormous amount of fun spotting all the tributes to various genre classics; Slither is wall-to-wall with references, from Videodrome, Predator and The Thing, to the more obvious nods in the direction of Shivers and Night of the Creeps. Much like Scream’s slasher movie handbook, Slither plays by the rules and stays faithful to it’s genre. It’s very, very funny in places - thanks to an above average script and the timing and charisma of its actors (particularly Nathan Fillion, who proves once again that he can hold the screen as well as anyone with the right script) - and its inability to take itself too seriously is a tremendous help. And yet for all of the jokes, it still manages to achieve moments of tension and provide some genuinely unsettling and uncomfortable images. Oh, and the whole thing takes great pleasure in being pretty disgusting too. Another item in the b-movie rule book states that some of the effects must be deeply crappy, and Slither is more than happy to oblige here too. Whilst the makeup effects in general are superb, and there are some great cgi assisted kills, there are one or two effects which look dire. I’m fairly sure this is intentional, but even if it’s not, the feel of the film is such that you can easily accept a few crap effects.

Things take a little while to get started; Gunn doesn’t rush things, and instead lets the film establish the history of its characters and relationships during its first thirty minutes. Michael Rooker and Elizabeth Banks are on screen a lot early on, and Rooker in particular seems to be having a great time. I’ve been a fan of Rooker since Henry and its always a pleasure to see him, especially in a reasonably “meaty” role like this one. Once the ball is rolling, things don’t let up; the final hour of the film doesn’t outstay its welcome, and is superbly paced. Slither doesn’t even have time for long-winded exposition, revealing the invading alien’s origin through a very snappy, hard-hitting flashback scene during one of the films most disturbing sequences. Coming so soon after Silent Hill, it was interesting to note the differences in approach.

Slither is the kind of film you used to discover on DVD. It should almost be forgotten about for a few years so the next generation of genre fans can discover it and revel in its grotesque hilarity. I only wish we had drive-ins here in England, as Slither is just the kind of film I can imagine parking up to see. At the very least it should make for hilarious date movie material, assuming your partner is either a) massively squeamish but good natured enough not to stab you for taking them, and b) massively squeamish, not at all good- natured, but in need of dumping anyway.

I think the highest praise I can bestow upon Slither is this: It’s the first film I’ve seen this year that I could enjoy again straight after the credits rolled. And it’s without doubt the most fun I’ve had in a cinema in a long time.

E3 is now well underway; each of the three key players have finished their press conference events and revealed their new toys. Sony and Nintendo - and Microsoft, to a certain degree - arguably have a lot riding on E3 this year. Both Nintendo and Sony have new systems on the horizon, and Microsoft faces a challenging holiday season in the face of competition from their two rivals. But the average gamer must ask: Where does that leave me?

With the launch of the Xbox 360, I took a long hard look at my gaming habits and made some changes. I’ve been an avid gamer ever since I can remember, starting out with a Commodore Vic 20, upgrading to Commodore 64, and then onto an Amiga (with one megabyte memory upgrade, no less). I’ve owned a SNES, a Megadrive (or Genesis, if you prefer), the ill-fated MegaCD, the even more ill-fated Atari Jaguar and more. I’ve been playing games long enough to have played a little game called Karateka, and remember being awestruck by a demo of Jordan Mechner’s _exciting new _game “Prince of Persia” at a gaming conference in London. I still own a Dreamcast, I’ve tried and discarded the PSP, DS, and other handheld systems. My insatiable hunger for every gaming system on the face of the planet knew no bounds. Until now. It seems my insatiable hunger is somewhat satiated.

In the past, the prospect of only owning one system seemed ludicrous. There have always been games which are only available on one system, classic titles like Ico that allow you to easily justify ownership of a system. In order to be able to play _every single __one_ of these titles, it’s necessary to own _every_ system. But these days I find myself with less and less time to play games. Perhaps that’s not strictly true; A more accurate description might be that I find myself less inclined to spend what little free time I do have playing games. Some might say I’ve finally “grown up”, but I’ve never considered gaming to be a childish interest so I wouldn’t subscribe to that. Unless by “grown up” they mean “got a job, had a child, and bought my own home”.

And so, with the release of Microsoft’s next-gen wonder-console, I decided to adopt a monogamous approach to console gaming. I sold my PSP, DS, Xbox, and PS2. I’ve kept my PC, but rarely play anything on it. I’ve also kept my Gamecube, but this is largely down to the fact that it’s not worth the effort of selling it. I’m not anti-Gamecube, it just hasn’t been plugged in for a while due to lack of games. I decided I would cleanse my life of the distractions of multi-platform gaming, and focus my attention on a single platform. Surely this way I’d have more time to focus on the small number of games I have, thus leading to a more rewarding console gaming experience? Apparently not.

After the inital burst of excitement subsided, the 360 has left me a little cold. It’s a great system, and the vast majority of the games are superb. And yet it just doesn’t feel like the shot in the arm that the console world needed. I can honestly say that I’ve spent more time with Live Arcade’s bite sized disposable gaming than any of the epic full price titles. Can the PS3, or Wii bring a new lease of life? With this in mind, let’s look at each company’s E3 press conference:

Sony - Lucky Sony, they were up first. With what seemed like the whole world desperate for concrete information about the PS3, Sony had a lot to live up to. Given my new monogamous approach to gaming, I’d decided that no matter what the exclusives were, I wouldn’t be getting a PS3. But as is always the way with these things, as Sony’s conference approached, I thought maybe I could be lured away from my 360. Maybe Sony’s machine would be so awe inspiring, so irresistibly exciting, that I wouldn’t be able to resist. It seems that the opposite is not only true for me, but for a large part of the gaming world too. I’m reasonably certain that I’ve not read anything overwhelmingly positive about Sony’s PS3 conference. At the event itself, the audience seemed to be largely non-plussed by everything they were shown. After the event, the press have criticised Sony’s feeble attempt at motion-enabling their pads, attacked them for their lack of clarity on the two PS3 models, and been unimpressed by the games on display. The general opinion seems to be that Sony have dropped the ball at E3, and I would agree entirely. Their press conference lacked that vital excitement factor.

Nintendo - I’ll admit, the prospect of the Wii had me intrigued, and Nintendo’s entertaining press conference has pretty much convinced me: I’ll be getting one. I’m also convinced that I need a DS Lite in my life again too - despite having owned the original DS and upgrading to a PSP. I suspect Nintendo’s strategy of concentrating on fun rather than awesome next-gen graphics will pay off. If, like me, you’re somewhat disillusioned with the state of play, Nintendo’s systems might just be fun enough to fix things. I actually miss being able to spend ten minutes playing something on the DS, rather than having to invest large chunks of time in mammoth play sessions. Do I think the hard-core gaming elite will embrace the Wii with open arms? No (although I suspect a few of them might pick them up out of curiosity). But I think with Wii Nintendo might be able to reach the mass market audience it’s always dreamed of. The general press are reacting positively to Wii too (despite the name), any many seem to regard Nintendo’s conference to be the best of the three.

Microsoft - Given that the 360 is already available pretty much everywhere, Microsoft had a tough act to follow. They had no shiny new hardware to show off so their focus had to be on games. Or more specifically, software. Their Live Anywhere plan is an interesting move, and in many ways shares the same goals for mass market domination as Nintendo. As I said, I’ve probably spent more time on Live Arcade than in any full-blown titles, and Microsoft have perhaps found that this is the case for many owners. As a result, they’re seeking to push the Live Arcade experience out to mobile phones, PCs, and potentially other devices (Origami, anyone?). And it might just work. I feel a need to own a DS again to indulge in short bursts of addictive gameplay, and if Microsoft can supply this same addictive element on all of their platforms they could be on to a winner. I’m not convinced by their plan to allow PC and 360 games to interact - the differences in control configurations have always hindered this idea.

Games wise, Microsoft’s event was a little uninspiring. Another Halo sequel. Another GTA sequel. A Fable sequel. Is nobody else bored of this yet? They’ve even taken a classic SNES RPG (Shadowrun) and turned it into another tiresome FPS. Gears of War does look quite exciting though.

The console world seems to be dividing into two sides. First, we have the hard core, uber-consoles with multimedia capabilities and incredible graphics, allowing you to play all your favourite franchise titles in magnificent high definition. Secondly, there are the accessible, fun consoles that don’t really care about graphical splendor, but instead concern themselves with addictive gameplay, innovative concepts, and broad ranging appeal. Microsoft’s machine, potentially, is uniquely placed to straddle both camps, allowing both large and small scale gaming on both the console and numerous third and first party portable devices. It’s entirely possible (and likely, given their shameful “borrowing” of the motion sending controller) that Sony will do the same thing with the PS3 and and PSP. Nintendo fall firmly into the second camp, unapologetically focusing their efforts on fun.

It’ll be an interesting Christmas: Only time will tell which of these two approaches really is the _true _next generation.

Wonderland have posted some very interesting news indeed. As far as I’m aware, this is the first virtual music festival I’ve come across. Regardless, it’s certainly the first virtual festival the BBC have arranged. I can’t seem to find any information on the BBC site, however.

I’ve been meaning to have a look at Second Life for a while now. It’s a fascinating concept and is far more popular than I ever imagined it would become. I might register over the weekend and give this a go. It’s an incredibly intriguing idea, and I can’t help but think that this is something we’ll see more of in the future. I know there have been virtual book signing and other social events hosted within Second Life, but when someone like the BBC starts to host events in there you have to take notice. They’ve even created virtual digital radios for players to take away with them, which can be used to listen to Radio One from within the game.

This whole thing reminds me a little of Tad William’s Otherland books…

Have you tried Second Life? I’d be very interested in hearing your thoughts on the virtual world and this event.

I’ve made a couple of noteworthy changes to the site:

• The Amazon icons have been removed from the sidebar. I quite like them but they were causing the site to take an age to load. I’m not sure why. I might do some experimenting at some point to see if I can figure out what’s wrong, but for now they’ve been removed.

• I’ve added a “notify me” checkbox on comments. This is checked by default, and should mean you’ll get an email if someone replies to a comment you’ve posted. If you don’t want to know, uncheck it.

• I’ve also upgraded to the latest, bleeding-edge version of Wordpress. If anything looks odd, or goes horribly wrong, please contact me via the comments of contact form. So far (and I’ve been running this for a few days now) things appear to be fine.

I had no idea.

No idea just how enthusiastic and adoring the fans are. No idea of the insane distances they’d travel to see him. And no idea just how damn good Dave Matthews is live.

The evening began like many others. We drove to Birmingham, parked the car, and walked over to the venue. Despite the fact that we’d arrived an hour before the doors opened, the line of people queuing to get in stretched further than the eye could see. Despondent, we started to make our way to the end of the line and noticed prominently placed “Jump The Queue” signs. These suggested that if you enter Bar Academy - a diminutive little bar which sits alongside Birmingham Academy, our venue for the night - and buy a drink, they’ll stamp your pass and let you jump the queues. The queue for Bar Academy was approximately one tenth of the length of the main queue and there was a drink at the end of this one. No contest.

We soon entered the bar. The lone barmaid didn’t look terribly happy about the assembled hordes of Dave Matthews fans clamouring for a drink, but I squeezed myself into the crowd in an attempt to get her attention. The bar seemed to be entirely filled with Americans which took me by surprise; it’s not very often you get that when you go to see a band in Birmingham. Indeed, you don’t get that a lot in the UK. While I waited, I did a deal with a couple of local chaps who were at the side of me. “See,” one said to the other, “I told you we weren’t the only people in the UK liked Dave Matthews”. The deal was, whoever gets the attention of the bar staff first buys the other’s drinks and gets their tickets stamped. As luck would have it, I reached the bar first. 5 bottles of water later we had 5 stamped tickets and hurtled into the venue.

I thought we’d done quite well; the main queue hadn’t moved much at all whilst we were getting our tickets stamped, but there were already a significant number of people around the stage. I would later learn that said main queue had formed roughly four hours prior to the doors opening, so in hindsight, I don’t think we did too badly.

A young English guy called Richard Walters appeared on stage to provide support. He sat alone with his guitar, and plucked away at a few songs. I have to be totally honest and say I didn’t like him at all. He seemed to go down quite well with the crowd (apart from the guy who shouted “IT’S MISTER MATTHEWS TO YOU”) but I just found his tortured, post-Coldplay, minimalist approach slightly nauseating. Having said that, Coldplay do very well for themselves…

I first came across Dave Matthews on a 9/11 benefit concert on TV. Actually, that’s not strictly true: I first came across Dave on the Scream 2 soundtrack, but I digress. I can’t recall which network the concert appeared on, but one of our numerous (five) terrestrial channels repeated it in the UK. In between the sombre readings from a variety of A-list celebrities (amongst them Tom Cruise and Al Pacino, if I remember correctly) this guy appeared with a guitar and played what I thought was a surprisingly upbeat song, under the circumstances. I made a mental note of the lyrics - it wasn’t hard, they were clearly an homage to the Beatles - and the next day I “discovered” Dave Matthews. I bought Everyday and I still think it’s a great album. I was aware of his other work - the recent solo album Some Devil, Stand Up, Crash etc. - but for some bizarre reason I’ve never given them the same amount of attention.

Packed between various members of the crowd, in the surprisingly humid atmosphere of The Academy, it occurred to me that I really didn’t have a great deal of knowledge about Dave Matthews Band. As the realisation dawned, the man himself appeared to a roar of applause. And I do mean roar; the reception was without doubt the loudest response I’ve ever heard (in a venue of this size, at least) to a single guy appearing on stage.

He opened with Bartender, getting another roar of applause about half way through, and then marched straight into Gray Sreet. It was immediately obvious that, musically at least, we were in for a special evening. Matthews has a way of switching from hushed, sensitive vocals and gentle acoustic strumming to full-on driving acoustic guitar and growling delivery that’s entirely captivating. What wasn’t immediately obvious was just how funny Dave is on stage. After Gray Street, he told a surprisingly long winded anecdote about a tribe of bushmen in Africa, and he almost reminds me of Robin Williams; “I always talk a lot when I’m nervous,” he said, but he doesn’t just talk. He winks, laughs, swears, minces (while sipping away at a “delicious blend of herbal infusions” he very camply proclaimed that “I choose them by colour, this one’s mauve”), and insists on slipping into a (reasonable) Enlish accent. He holds the stage just as well while talking as he does singing, and few people I’ve ever seen can hold a stage like Dave Matthews. Most of the set was performed acoustically, but there were brief switches to the electric guitar (most notably for Smooth Rider and Some Devil). Dave did quite a large amount of talking throughout: “We’ve got a place called Birmingham back home, ‘cept we don’t call it ‘Beermingum’, we call it ‘Birming-HAM!’”. And just why does he act like such a fool on stage? “My analyst says I act like this because I’m not in touch with my inner pain….but why would you get in touch with your inner pain when being a fool is so much more fun!” The crowd certainly weren’t complaining - Dave’s clowning produced some genuine laughs from everyone present.

Just after Stay or Leave I was tapped on the shoulder by an American girl who insisted that, as she had flown all the way from Florida, she “had to see Dave Matthews”. I have something of an unofficial policy of, if asked, allowing anyone who’s shorter than me to stand in front of me. Why should I mind? They’re not going to block my view, and I get that warm and fuzzy feeling that only comes with a good deed. In this instance, once I’d said yes (I think it was the fact that she excitedly said “I have to see his feet” that convinced me), the girl called to her entourage and marched them into the small space in front of me. All four of them. They then stood in a circle, talking loudly about anything but the gig. One of them turned and caught the full force of my finely honed Paddington hard stare and offered me a hug. “Watch the gig” I growled. Clearly unhappy that his offer had been rebuffed, he offered me a kiss. Again, I suggested he watch the gig, but with an increased dose of menace. Clearly misinterpreting my lack of enthusiasm he slurred “it’s not gay or anything”, and I had to growl another even more menacing suggestion at him before he got the message. After a while, two of the group staggered off in search of the toilets. After a little more time, the remaining two had some sort of domestic disagreement and stormed off. I’ve tried, but I can’t understand the mentality of flying that sort of distance, only to stand and talk amongst yourselves and get so drunk you can’t last the whole gig.

I’m happy to say that other areas of the audience were far less rude. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard as many people sing along with entire songs before. I’m not just talking about the chorus, or a couple of particularly poignant lines, these guys knew entire songs. And more often than not they were pitch perfect - So Much To Say being a good example (even the “b-b-baby!”). Even more impressive was the audience providing the “honey honey” backing vocals on the intro to Everyday - I didn’t even know they existed! Throughout the course of the gig, Dave made several comments which alluded to bringing the rest of the band to the UK for a longer tour. Please do, Mr Matthews, you’ll find us to be more than accommodating.

Just after the American disturbance, I received a call from my wife to tell me that our son was ill and that she was taking him to the emergency doctor. This is the first time I’ve had this happen, and it filled me with such dread that I found it virtually impossible to concentrate on the gig for a few songs. Here I was, miles away, incapable of getting back within an hour if something terrible happened. Could I do anything if I returned home, anyway? Despite all the awful thoughts running through my head, I was helplessly pulled back into the gig for two songs, Everyday and Gravedigger - it’s a testament to the power of his performance that Matthews managed to penetrate the cloud of worry I was wallowing under for a while. I found Gravedigger particularly moving in the circumstances; it beautifully suited the stripped-down, acoustic solo treatment. Another incredibly moving track is So Damn Lucky, a chilling yet strangely catchy account of a car crash. A few songs later I was relieved to hear better news from my wife and managed to focus enough to enjoy the last few tracks and encore. And what a magnificent encore: After reappearing in a fresh t-shirt (Dave sweats “an almost disgusting amount” - his words) he performed a great new track which appears to be called Sister (about his sister, funnily enough), a funky crowd pleasing rendition of Too Much, and an awesomely powerful solo acoustic version of All Along the Watchtower. I’ve never heard the Dave Matthews Band perform this track, but if it’s half as impressive as Dave performing it alone I have no doubt it will leave a huge impact.

The most striking thing about the whole gig is that ever since, I’ve been humming several songs. I’ve gone in search of bootleg recordings, and listened to all those albums I’ve neglected. And, despite the brilliance of recent gigs, I’ve never really walked out of one and needed to see the performer again immediately. Before I saw him perform, I would describe myself as quite liking Dave Matthews. Now I’ve seen him, I feel a desperate but inconvenient urge to own everything he’s ever recorded, and follow him around the world. I suspect it might be better to just wait until he comes back to England though. Don’t let us down Dave!

When the ninth Doctor encountered the last surviving Dalek in last season’s aptly named “Dalek”, the weight of their previous encounters was impressively tangible. Setting aside any complaints about sensitive Daleks getting in touch with their emotions, the reunion in the early stages of that episode was, for many, an event. The general consensus of opinion seems to be that it didn’t disappoint, either.

Sadly, I can’t help but think that the return of the Cybermen won’t be regarded as such a huge success. That’s not to say that this episode isn’t enjoyable enough but, perhaps in service to its two part nature, it feels terribly flimsy.

The episode starts in much the same way as last season’s “Boom Town”; an evil mastermind with a dastardly scheme eliminates a particularly troublesome scientist who’s intent of jeopardising said scheme by revealing it to the rest of the world. It’s a clichéd, unimpressive opening to an episode that should have had better. Disappointingly, the script doesn’t ever really move beyond such tired clichés.

There are one or two nice touches; the idea that every member of the populace would be equipped with an ear piece which acts as both a telecommunications device and a information link is a pleasing, if terribly heavy handed, dig at today’s mobile phone dependant culture. I just don’t think that they’d look that silly. The alternate universe, in which Zeppelins float above London and Rose’s father still exists is another nice touch, but somehow still doesn’t feel at all original. It does permit the ever impressive BBC techies to show off some more nice visual effects though.

The lack of originality is further demonstrated by Rose’s desire to (once again) reach out and touch her family, and the inclusion of alternate Earth versions of characters whose personalities are polar opposites to the ones we already know - complete with CGI effects to allow the same actor to appear in the same shot twice (just like Jean-Claude Van Damme in the “classic” Double Impact). Even our friendly neighbourhood mastermind is such a deeply hackneyed character that the whole episode feels like it’s just building up to the first dramatic appearance of the Cybermen.

Except, there’s no drama. We’ve already seen them. In this day and age, it’s virtually impossible to keep anything out of the eyes of the media, but when the BBC’s own TV guide Radio Times features a front page picture of the new- look Cybermen, does this episode’s dramatic ending actually have a chance of working?

The Cybermen themselves are only slight variations on their original form. They come complete with stompy walking sound effects, raspy robotic vocals, and a lethal version of the comedy hand-shake electric shock device. Maybe it’s just me but they don’t seem to be terribly scary, either in concept or execution. Their origin is suitably macabre; human brains are harvested and inserted into metallic bodies in service to their master, but this is only ever alluded to in bits of dialogue, screams from the back of vans full of homeless men, and a poor CGI clip of buzzing saws and other cutting devices.

Despite my dislike for the character in previous episodes, Mickey is easily the best written and most likeable character in this episode. Noel Clarke is clearly enjoying his time as the alternate Earth version, Rickey, and I can’t help but think that this character might make a nice addition to the upcoming Torchwood series. Incidentally, there are two fairly subtle snippets of dialogue which contain Torchwood references this week.

Observant viewers might notice the link to Ecclestone’s Doctor here. He insisted, throughout the last season, on incorrectly using the name Rickey. This implies that the ninth Doctor was aware of the alternate Earth, a concept which is in direct contradiction to the Doctor’s behaviour at the start of the episode, and one which isn’t resolved. Maybe next week.

Other characters and performances don’t work quite so well. With the pathos of last season’s Father’s Day well and truly in the past, the character featured here is little more than a plot device to facilitate the Doctor and Rose’s inclusion in the plot. The worst performance is easily Andrew Hayden Smith’s abysmal portrayal of Jake. The spiky-haired Geordie pretty-boy is incapable of delivering any of his lines with conviction, and does a fine job of destroying every scene he’s in.

Both Rose and The Doctor seem to have very little to do here. Tennant and Piper aren’t stretched at all, but again, they’ll undoubtedly have more to do next week. In fairness to Tennant he does turn in some better scenes in the final moments.

Roger Lloyd-Pack - an actor I have trouble taking seriously thanks to his iconic role as Trigger in Only Fools and Horses - plays John Lumic, aforementioned maniacal mastermind, and (for the purposes of this alternate Earth origin story) creator of the Cybermen. Lumic is incredibly reminiscent of Davros - gliding around in a motorised wheel chair, sucking oxygen from the attached gas-mask, and delivering lines with a off-putting rhythm that’s perhaps better suited to pantomime. Is the Davros comparison relevant? In this alternate Earth, is Davros actually the leader of the Cybermen, and does Lumic eventually become Davros? Does Lumic, as Davros, ultimately create the Daleks as an evolution of the Cybermen? Could I sound any geekier? Time will tell, I suppose. But I hope not, on all counts.

The most annoying element of this whole episode is one tiny line of dialogue. A single utterance, spoken by one of the Cybermen in the final scenes of this episode, but a line which demonstrates just how little care has gone into this script. One of the Cybermen claims that they are “human .2”. Now, I’m a geek - I’ll come clean and state that outright, just in case the fact that I’m writing about Doctor Who isn’t enough of a clue - and so excuse me if this line bugs me far more than it might a casual viewer, but .2? That’s not much of an upgrade. The writer clearly meant “human 2.0” - the next, great version of the human race. “Human .2” implies that the Cyberman are little more than a minor upgrade; a bug fix. And this episode could have done with its fair share of those.

It’s difficult to rate a single episode in a two part story until you’ve watched its conclusion. I almost didn’t bother reviewing this episode on its own, but given that the viewers will have to wait the obligatory 7 days before getting to see the final part, I felt it should be judged on its own merits. Hopefully the conclusion will make up for this episode’s short-comings.