Everybody Walk the Dinosaur

There seems to be a pre-programming in young boys that states that the early years of childhood simply must be accompanied by a fascination with prehistoric beasties. Teaching elementary school children for the last three years, I have been able to show off with pride a deep knowledge of dinos acquired from hours upon end of playing with Early Learning Centre plastic figurines, avidly studying Dorling Kindersley guides and wearing out the tape on my Jurassic Park VHS.

Most people get over this pre-adolescent obsession. Unfortunately I did not.

Dinosaurs have been a major part of pretty much every period of my life; my early years collecting that plethora of plastic playthings; my childhood following Baby Sinclair’s hysterical misadventures; my tweens walking with beasts, and eventually, my early adulthood running around the Forest of Dean in search of glittering anomalies...

And so, it has been with apt anticipation that I have been awaiting the latest series of the oh-so-twee and yet utterly transfixing dino-fantasy Primeval. Playing off the success of the Kenneth Branagh narrated Walking With Dinosaurs, creators Tim Haines and Adrian Hodges had the ingenious idea of bringing prehistoric monsters into the modern world (and not in a lame last twenty minutes of The Lost World kind of a way). Put together a cast of charming characters (including, but not limited to, Hannah Spearitt’s underpants), each with a well-plotted back story, and send them on a hunt for beautifully rendered raptors and rexes and you’re in for success.  Indeed, over the last five years, Primeval has rapidly made its way to the top of my TV listings.

And then it moved to Canada.

Well, not so much moved, but took an extended vacation. Primeval: New World is billed as a sister show to its predecessor, co-existing in the same world of anomalies and awesomeness. There’s even a cameo from resident geek Connor Temple (the ever delightful Andrew Lee Potts), just to make sure we don’t forget our roots. Unfortunately, what’s lacking is the heart and humour of the original. I understand that every remake/reboot/reimagining must insist upon being “cooler and sexier”, but removing the lighter side of a show and making your cast grimace more does not automatically make something better (see my SilverScreenLining review of The Amazing Spiderman). Having watched the first episode twice now, I can honestly say there's not a single character whose name I recall, nor whose role in the company (whose name escapes me) I remember. The plot is predictable, and the script clunky. That said, the graphics are a half-notch better than last season, and they do seem to have learned the lesson of "a threat kept secret is much scarier than one shown off at every possible moment". And let’s face it; it has dinosaurs in it.

And at least it's not Terra Nova.

Shaken and Stirred

Whenever one goes to see a new Bond film, it is always inevitably followed by the age old question that has bugged film critics both of the professional and the pub variety since the dawn of cinema; Who is the best Bond?

Having attended a delightful screening of Daniel Craig’s latest 007 outing this evening at the wonderful Tyneside Cinema (one of the few proper old-school independent cinemas still in existence), said question has very much been the topic of today’s conversation.

Admittedly, up until this point, I had not been impressed by Mr. Craig… For me, having grown up watching Connery and Moore on Sunday afternoons with my father, he simply was not Bond for me. Far too high octane explosiveness and not enough espionage-y silliness. That said, Skyfall left me rather awestruck. I shan’t give too much away, as the plot does twist and turn more than Blackpool Pleasure Beach’s Big One, but safe to say it’s a highly impressive addition to the Bond legacy.

But back to our question; the greatest Bond.

A theory that strikes me is that, much like with Doctor Who, an opinion is drawn most strongly from the actor with whom we have grown up. My brother, for example, sees Daniel Craig as the best, whilst many of my erstwhile classmates rate the (in my opinion at least) ruddy awful Pierce Brosnan. It all seems to depend entirely on the Bond to whom we were first introduced.

And so perhaps that is why I have such a soft spot for the oft forgotten entry in the Bond canon, James Bond Jr. Starring in his own animated series throughout the early nineties, ”Junior” allegedly “learned the game from his uncle James”, thwarting the evil plans of the villainous S.C.U.M., whose roster consisted of numerous classic Bond villains, such as Jaws, Oddjob and Dr. No, as well as, for some reason, a pirate with a grappling hook hand… Amongst young James’ cohorts are younger versions of his uncle’s colleagues, such as whizz-kid inventor IQ, and American chum Gordo (son/nephew/somethingorother of Felix) Leiter.

All in all, it was a jolly good romp with a cracking theme tune and a wicked collection of action figures – I recently investigated and discovered that I actually had all of them save for Oddjob, and that included the submarine bike AND the convertible with headlight missiles!

So, after careful consideration, I submit that James Bond Junior be my favourite Bond. Even if he did look a bit like Philip Schofield…

Gotta Catch 'Em All

It’s funny really. One gets to a certain age and begins to reflect upon the things that once were, and, perhaps more importantly, the things that once were better.

As such, I find myself in my late twenties, back in the house that sheltered my teenage years, out of pocket and returning to a profession that frankly, I’m not all that excited to be returning to, wondering what happened to those simple bygone days that, at the time, seemed so very stressful and downright awful and yet now reveal themselves to be more carefree than I could ever have imagined than to be.

So it’s time for a new blog. As any of my Instagram followers will know, I’ve been doodling a lot lately. Pokemon mostly, inspired by my recent viewings of the anime that was so very capitalistically spewed from the Nintendo game of the same name.

Right now I’m watching it in Japanese in order to try and re-hone my currently waning skills in the Niponese tongue, but let’s face it, who wouldn’t, given the choice, go back to those Saturday mornings of the late nineties and get lost for a blissful twenty minutes in the adventures of Ash, Brock and the annoyingly alluring Misty? What my thirteen year old self would have given to have been a Togepi at young Misty’s blossoming bosom…

But there is something beautifully innocent about Ash (or Satoshi as he is known in the original Japanese) and his quest to “catch ‘em all”. There’s a dream there; a longing to take on the world that we all hold in our late childhood and yet so few of us take into adulthood. Granted, we don’t all have a cuddly mouse by our side (and unfortunately those of us who do tend to find them toddling off this mortal coil once returned from extended travels), but for the most part, if we’ve played our cards well thus far, we’ve managed to accumulate a merry band of travelling companions that will remain stalwart and true throughout our battles.

I digress in the most sentimental of ways.

That said, that’s what this blog is about. Not so much the reviews of Silver Screen Lining, but rather a sometimes sentimental, but (hopefully) oft thought-provoking reflection on nostalgic tosh that perhaps you may have forgotten and might just get a hint of a smile for drudging from the depths of your RAM.

I hope you enjoy.

Pokemon geto da ze!