Et In Arcadia Ego

Two film reviews, and a plea for sanity. Lets call it one film review, and one public execution.

Fight Club is jam-packed full of pithy epithets, but one in particular came to mind about half an hour into Domino: this is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time. I like to think I'm a hard girl to offend. I like most movies, virtually every episode of Doctor Who, virtually any Genesis track - when friends recommend me music, I always get to like them. Because of its subjectivity, I try to be open to art in all its forms, and I genuienly can't think of the last time I gave a film a proper lashing.

Well Domino bloody offended me, to the very core of my being. My parents read this blog, so I must kennel the expletives - but to get the full brunt of my anger, imagine this post peppered with cuss words. What WAS that? I mean, apart from godawful cinema. The experience was akin to having my eyes slowly peeled out of my head with a rusty spoon. At several points, I had to clutch my belly in pain - I once considered vomiting, at the gratuitously nasty camerawork. At least it was 15-rated, so the grot won't corrupt young, innocent audiences.

For those of us unfortunate enough to be over that benighted age - for those of us unfortunate enough to be huge fans of Tony Scott and his sweaty pop-vid cinematography - I urge you not to make the same mistake as I. The critics were not lying. Except Ebert and Roeper, who gave it two thumbs up. They were lying. Or watching a different flick. Wikipedia lists it as Domino (film), which is a designation I contest. I've seen episodes of Midsummer Murders more involving.

The - I don't want to dignify it with the word "plot", or "story". The situation is simple - Domino Harvey Dent (oops, sorry - wrong "heads you live, tails you die" flick) is a socialite who becomes a bounty hunter because her goldfish dies. That's all the character development we get, before the pouting, explosions, guns, boobies and slo-mo starts. The Coens could have made it surreal (they did, in Fargo or Raising Arizona) - Tarantino could have made it clever (he did, in True Romance) - frankly, even Pixar would have done a better job, with an anthromorphised rat taking the central role. At least the film doesn't try to apologise for this, with a cunning title which reads: THIS FILM IS BASED ON A TRUE STORY. SORT OF.

In fact, the saddest thing is, I get the impression the Domino we have is exactly the film they set out to make. It's just too much. I get it - it's visceral, it's frenetic, its the feeling of being young, reckless and coked up with nihilism. In principle, that's fine, but the relentless pace quickly tired me, and I felt over-saturated with experience. A rollercoaster is fun for two minutes, and no longer.

That's not the only thing that didn't work; but why reject a dog because you hate the colour of its fur, when the creature is dying of rabies anyway? I like hot girls hefting firearms and shooting the hell out of stuff as much as anyone, but this failed on every level it was possible to fail on. I usually get a fantastic kick out of big-screen gunfights, but these were badly shot, confusing and lacked any sense of immediacy. I like over-directed films, where you can really feel the director showing off - I'd pick them over subtle realism any day of the week. It's just a personal preference. But here, it went way too far, and I was busy being distracted by the directoral pyrotechnics when I should have been getting a handle on plot, characters, anything really. The worst thing is, after sitting through this mess, I fear I may love Man on Fire less - a favourite Tony Scott film which exhibits many of the same stylistic traits, but on a budget. A student budget.

These scenes were twinned with a sountrack which was damned awful, from my sometime favourite composer Harry Gregson-Williams. In the film's defence, my time for hip hop has always been limited - but using an artform so dependant on lyrics necessarily draws you out of the film to concentrate on the music. And even the big-orchestra hits, the sub-Hans Zimmer zingy-generic-foreignness, the steel guitars seemed so awfully wrong, too loud or too discordant. As if the visuals alone weren't confusing enough.

I'm a closet Keira Knightly fan, and she was good - but still woefully miscast. Maybe the extras could act, I don't know - any subtleties were just lost in the mess. All failed at creating characters you cared about, believed in, having an emotional investment in in any way. I felt left out in this world of pumped up manly men and implausibly sassy supervixens. A film doesn't necessarily need to give the audience an easy reference point - the vicarious experience of a life nothing like your own is one of its charms - but it does need to translate some empathy.

Incidentally, script writer Kelly claims "...Domino might be one of the most subversive films released by a major studio since Fight Club" - which can only be true if the definition of "subversive" has been interchanged with "shit" without my notice. Sometimes, when people shun your movie and "don't get it", it could just mean there is everything about it to shun - and nothing there to get.

My father, who braved this endurance test with me, suggested that directors should have a points system, like drivers. They get points every time they commit cinematic crimes, and these add up to an enforced period where they are taken out of the director's chair. So, Mr Scott ("You broke my heart, Fredo. You broke my heart."), ex-respected and -beloved director of mine, I hereby charge you on 208 counts of pointless and distracting flashy camerawork, 48 instances of concentrating on Ms Knightly's scantily clad appendages, 1 huge weird divine metaphor, straight out of the Galactica finale, 19 counts of inappropriate noise when there should be silence, for potentially taking the "worst sex scene of the year" trophy off Watchmen and killing off not one but two goldfish, then expecting to believe both were metaphors for something-or-other.

Punishment is eternity spent at the Mallard cinema, watching only Meet the Spartans on loop. I'll have him beg for mercy, before I even consider giving him a camera again. I let Harry Gregson-Williams off for good behavior.

In a single word? Unecessary. Unecessary noise. You know that feeling when it's seven in the morning, when you've just started having interesting dreams, and then the twit next door starts mowing his lawn? That, in microcosm, is the Domino experience. Come back, Batman Forever! All is forgiven!


In a bizzare reversal of fortune, I did watch one good film today, and that was Behind the Waterfall, the film I bought for 30p at a Church fete. I intended either to enjoy it, or mock it merciless - and it turned out to be really quite marvellous, in a soft-focus, "but mom...!" sort of kiddie movie way. And I cried at the end. Shhhhh, don't tell any one.

The plot is simple: Tommy and Becky go to stay with their country cousins to heal from the death of their father. Tommy becomes convinced oddball shoemaker Mr Connors is a leprichaun. Hilarity ensues as the entire town learns to believe in things they cannot see or touch.

While the white-and-middle-American-ness of the cast assured me "Feature Films for Families" was effectively a Christian organisation, the messages are generic ones of hope and belief - ones parents of any faith would appreciate. Or hippie suckers like me. If anything, it would best suit Pagan parents - hence some rather awkward Christian trappings cemented on here or there, as if someone gave the script a once-over and got alarmed by the talk of tree spirits, animal-visions, and little people. Particularly the scene where the children basically do a shapeshifting visualisation meditation, which could only be more Shamanistic if they'd ingested mushrooms beforehand. So when Mr Connors advocates talking to the wind, he's not referring to Boreus, Aeolus, or the primal element of Air - it's heavily hinted what they really mean is angel-messengers. Our hero Leprichaun is actually working on behalf of St Patrick, who (we are told in a clumsy title screen) was told by his own guardian angel that listening to the pagan Irish stories was OK. So we're safe then.

If I'd wanted to rip it to shreds, I'm sure there was plenty material there, but I let myself be enchanted and have an urge to go on an adventure in the natural world and sit under a tree somewhere. There was only a single moment of serious guffawing - the moment at which Alex works out the true meaning of all the little stories: "Fairies and leprichauns and stuff aren't real - Mr Connors was trying to teach us to believe in something bigger! Our Maker!"

Oh, right. Real stuff like that. Glad you've got that sorted out...I am awfully tempted to order the tie-in book from their website.


Finally, please for the love of humanity, vote in this poll:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/poll/2009/jul/28/best-tv-show-noughties

You're not seriously telling me Top Gear is the greatest televsion achievement of this decade? I admit I have an unnatural dislike of it, based on the number of pianos it has destroyed in recent weeks. I advocate voting Band of Brothers whether you have seen it or not - it's the TV show so good it makes Oscar-winning Saving Private Ryan look like a bad film. It's even better than Doctor Who. Anyway, vote for what you like, then tell me what you voted for.

Just watched the finale of Battlestar Galactica - all three parts of it, in one long sugar-laden marathon. I'll preface my comments by saying: Battlestar Galactica was never the show I wanted it to be. It was far more interested in sitting at home and debating Contemporary America than forging out into the galaxy, and making the most of being in space. It explored aspects of science fiction handled better in Blade Runner, hinted at surrealness, without ever going the whole way, and subsituted angst for drama. I've never thought it was a bad show: it just did a lot of things that tend to irritate me. And I was amused to see the pivotal scene of the finale, and thus arguably the whole show, involved my much-hated trope - everyone pointing guns at one another.

Nevertheless, I couldn't help becoming involved over five series, and now it's all gone away I'm feeling weirdly bereft. That and my cheeks are sore from having a good sob ten minutes from the end. I get the feeling

There are plenty of people who hated the finale, but it was everything I expected it to be. Maybe it's a symptom of not really liking the show. Look up Children of Earth. It's the Torchwood which non-fans adore, and which actual fans can't stand. I think it's the best damn piece of television ever, period, but those who agree seem to be those who (also with me) criticised the first to seasons. Go find a hub of proper fans, however, and their feelings are far more mixed.

I feel some of their pain. Those flashbacks. While they were nice (particularly Gaius' final one, particularly Starbuck saying she had no fear of death), they were also strangely meaningless. There were too many endings which felt final, but they were tying up some 90 hours of television so I'll let that pass. The future bit was just egging the pudding too much. "Does it have to happen again?" Ugh, remind me of the heavy-handed political subtext again? I'm also aware that the many threads were not so much tied up as Pritt-sticked, but I'm not fan enough to be bothered by the intracacies. Thematically, it seemed to work.

I was very happy they didn't kill characters unecessarily - I was kinda expecting a nihilistic slaughter. Everyone who died needed to go and was sent off suitably, in a way that befitted their ongoing plotlines. I loved Starbuck's casual "there must be some way out of here", and the moment they almost explained the Opera House Thing was spine-tingling.

On the whole, it united most of the things I have enjoyed about the show - Gaius' invisible girlfriend, his relationship with Caprica, the Admiral and the President being adorable, great music and such a strong element of belief. I found The Pivotal Speech very moving, but then as a Doctor Who fan, I'd spent the entire show fervently hoping the cylons and humans would unite and live in peace and harmony. War isn't the answer! "There should have been a better way"! and all that. So the prospect of the End Of War and a Peaceful Resolution made me very happy. I'm also a believer - in what, I'm not sure, so the rather fuzzy theology of said Speech struck me as rather beautiful, despite its ambiguity. I loved the lack of answers and Disappearance of another major character. Daft it may be, I liked Humanity's ultimate fate. I loved the celebration of truth, love, honesty and beauty - oh! how it touched my hippy heart! It was romantic, hopeful, and I suspect fans of hard SF would be less enchanted.

How can you not love a serious show that ends proposing that not only does God exist, that he is watching out for us - but that he is also a Jimi Hendrix fan? I'll get my coat...

Today: Doctor Who ramblings, and how I've spent my week

Reputedly, RTD and David Tennant are gonna announce a Doctor Who movie at Comicon. This is a phenominally stupid idea for almost every reason: it doesn't work at cinematic structure, it'd have no imagination, it wouldn't be fair to the legacy of the show, wouldn't be fair to Matt Smith or the Moff. Most likely, it'll be the opening scene of the next special Waters of Mars.

I'm fairly sure I trust them to work this out themselves ("Whatever they say about him afterwards: Russell T. Davies is a good man"), but just in case here's five announcements which would be better:

1. The Children In Need special will feature all 10 Doctors!
Very unlikely, but not as unlikely as last few times the Daily Mail ran this story. Previously, the biggest stumbling points have been the death of actors 1-3 and Tom Baker's reluctance to get involved. The 1983 special The Five Doctors actually only involves three original performers - William Hartnell, deceased, is replaced by Richard Hurndell, and they use stock footage and deleted scenes to shoehorn Tom Baker in. Death is still insurmountable, but Tom Baker has just recorded Big Finish audio plays for the first time suggesting he is now open to involvement. Still unlikely, but better than a movie.

2. David Tennant and Christopher Ecclestone have signed to Big Finish
Peter Davison, Colin Baker, Sylvester McCoy and Paul McGann (5-8) all regularly record new radio-play adventures for their Doctors, all of which are rather marvellous. The BBC have made clear they want to keep the classic series and new series paychecks separate, but we can live in hope. This is the best possible news that could come out of tomorrow.

3. They're bringing back the Past Doctor Books
Again unlikely, because they're trying to clear the air for the changeover to Moffdom as much as possible. But it'd make my week if they announced a new series of old-series novels, in the modern hardback kid-friendly style.

4. Georgia Moffet is getting her own spin off show
A.k.a. The Doctor's Daughter, and easily the greatest thing in that episode. I'd watch it.

5. They're getting married
All we really know is that there is going to be a "big announcement". It could happen. It would also STILL be a better idea than a movie.



UPDATE: it's safe to come out! They're not doing a movie! Hurrah! Here's a sum-up of the panel, which is vaguely spoilerific but fine if you're careful. RTD on the regeneration: "As for the trauma coming up for you, that's quite fearful". Apparently, Murray Gold (composer) sobbed f0r the last 20 minutes. What hope there is for me! I'm also interested to note DT's comment, again slightly spoilerific: "There's a sequence in the final episode where one of the jackets gets slightly compromised."

Now that might not count as a spoiler of huge proportions to you, but it makes me instantly worried again. Earlier this year I wrote an essay about the Doctor's costume, apparently for publication. I haven't heard anything back, but the essay stands as something I'm enormously proud of. The basic premise is this: the Doctor IS his costume. I defended the statement in various ways, but the argument clustered around regenerations. For example, Peter Davison's first episode involves him unravelling the famous Fourth Doctor scarf. The metaphor is fairly clear. More subtle, but also more terrifying is Caves of Androzani, his last episode, where his impeccably clean beige jacket gets covered in black dirt, and he explains away then subsiquently loses his iconic stick of celery. They destroy him and the costume at the same time, and as one comes to pieces so does the other. There's a lot of scary stuff in that episode - a terrifying villain, a surprising amount of violence, effective direction, great writing - but if you asked what upset me most about it, it'd be the dirt on the jacket. Which is why the destruction of the Tenth Doctor's costume stood out for me as an interesting development. And I'm worried. Ironic, because it was my happy reaction to Matt Smith's costume last week that made me suddenly excited about the prospect of a new Doctor.

IN OTHER NEWS!

This week, my family have been over. There's enough of us to make a Fellowship, or a Firefly crew: 9 - enough to make up the cast of Reservoir Dogs. But luckily the atmosphere never got that bad. So far, the highlight has been me catching Supersquirrel writing. Turned out she was writing basically an essay on why doctors should be paid more than footballers. She is 9! Last week she told me she wanted to be a politicician, and recieved the full brunt of my Torchwood: Children of Earth paranoia. But I am impressed like you wouldn't believe! I'd vote for her!

I've fallen very hard and very fast for Blake's 7. I always think of my obsessions in terms of romances - caprices, lifelong passions, unhealthy-but-unstoppable lusts. If me and Blake's 7 were a Facebook status, we'd be "it's complicated". One of those relationships you know might eventually result in tragedy, but is worth taking a risk on anyway because it could be wonderful. For now, I am still in the honeymoon-happy period of first love. Long may it remain!

And my job at Oxfam has finally struck gold. What, you thought I was doing it out of the goodness of my heart? Well, maybe. Mostly, I like to think. But being behind the scenes at Oxfam also gives me a first chance at raiding their stocks. I came in this morning, and was immediately glared down by the two teens sorting the clothes. They're only there for their Duke of Edinburghs, which in turn they are only doing to buy their way into uni. So I'm justified in judging them (:p). But behind them, the dress! They left for lunch after five minutes, at which moment I pounced. 1980s wedding dress, white, HUGE, size 16 and a bit too long - but it fits well enough. Halloween and the Cosplay ball is my excuse - I can do Christine Phantom of the Opera, Liezel Sound of Music, Cecilia Virgin Suicides and any number of ghost-brides, ghost-maids and drowned souls from beyond the grave. But mostly, I got it because I'm no longer comfortable in normal clothing. After working as a Tudor for two hours a day, I feel weird without a huge skirt. Oh! It's the most marvellous thing. I haven't taken it off yet. A photo will follow very soon! I sailed around the house happy as a dream - a dream which cost £10. I wondered who it had belonged to, and was reminded of Marla Singer from Fight Club.

I got this dress at a thrift store for $1. It was worth every penny. It's a bridesmaid's dress. Someone loved it intensely for one day. Then tossed it. Like a Christmas tree. So special. Then bam! It's on the side of the road. Tinsel still clinging to it. Like a sex crime victim. Underwear inside out. Bound with electrical tape.

Which depicts the fantastic nihilism of that film perfectly, but mine is even more creepy because it used to belong to a bride. At that point, I did creep myself out catching sight of myself in a mirror.

Almost as exciting, I went to Herm. That's not the exciting part. Herm itself was Hermlike. The exciting part is my new pair of sunglasses, which are effectively Nite Owl's owl-goggles. They don't suit me at all, but I'm still very happy.

1. Utilitarianism doesn't work
If "the greatest good for the greatest number" was applied universally, then you get some sticky moral problems - and not simply "if I have to blow up New York to save the world, then is the world really worth saving?". The Peeping Tom scenario gives us a happy voyeur, and a happy woman unware she is being watched. The right thing to do here is obviously to stop the peeping, but under strict utilitarianism it wouldn't make sense: the woman would be unhappy to learn she was watched, and the voyeur's fun would be taken away. And that's why utilitarianism doesn't work. Or something.

2. Carrots used to be purple
They were bred orange by some patriotic Dutch guy about 500 years ago.

3. You can milk an extra six working hours out of a day
All you have to do is work out what hours you are most productive. For me, that's 9 in the morning to about 12 midday. Work as normal. When you hit the end of productive time, turn back your watch and work the same hours over again. And then do it a third time. It's amazing how this simple trick of the mind really does make it seem like you've perfected the art of time travel. Don't attempt this more than one day in a row, or prepared to be exhausted and confused. As Calypso pointed out, you are effectively giving yourself jetlag....

4. A man can be beaten to death with a copy of the Big Issue
Or London Paper, or Metro, or any magazine given half a minute's work. It's known as a Millwall club or Millwall brick, and makes me feel about 0.8% safer walking home at night.

5. It's worth making a point, even if it's pointless
I've always rejected vegitarianism because it doesn't make a difference. It still doesn't make a difference: my sacrifice isn't bettering the life of a single chicken, nor extending that of a single cow. That doesn't matter any more: I do it because it is better to do so. I think a lot of human apathy would be cured by that mindset.

6. Artists everywhere!
Feliks Topolski, the Decemberists, Rainer Warner Fassbinder, the Manic Street Preachers, Lewis Klahr, Amanda Palmer, Peter Tsscherkassky, Bat for Lashes and Martin Arnold. To name a few.

7. IMAX is cinema
Why settle for anything smaller?

8. Dinner tastes best after 8PM
At home, we tend to have an early dinner. I've never known why. Late tea means late lunch, extending the productive working hours in the morning. The rest of the evening after Late tea can be given to chatting, and not interrupted because there's no time for something more constructive. And late tea doesn't interfere with Doctor Who broadcast times.

9. Other people don't matter
I have the right to wear what I like, love who I want to, choose my appearance, my presentation, my life, and damn the rest. I know I've never really cared about opinions, but now I really don't care. It's awesomely liberating. Before I went to London, a few of my relatives worried how I'd cope in such a cold, unfriendly atmosphere - but there's no where free-er than a place where no-one gives a damn is.

10. Twitter
Nuff said.

11. You can get from Victoria to St Pancras in under 20 minutes
Without a mobile phone, Oyster card, cash or bankcard. Go figure.

12. You can get tickets for sold-out plays at less than face value...
...provided you have the strength, nerve and patience to queue in the early morning cold.

13. Patrick Stewart can't act on stage
I'm about to be shouted down here, but I'm sorry: I don't get it. I saw him in Hamlet, against David Tennant. Strictly, my mind should have been going "it's Doctor Who!" - but it didn't, and after five minutes he was simply Hamlet. Patrick Stewart, however, remained Patrick Stewart and I didn't like his interpretation. Similarly in Waiting for Godot, against a man who will always be Gandalf to me, I barely even remembered it was Ian McKellan under the top hat - whereas again, the other actor was always firmly in mind.

14. Butler's Wharf and Shad Thames
There are lots of cool places in London, but the Southbank is my second home and this part especially. Doctor Who filmed there in the 80s, but that's not what keeps drawing me back. Several reasons have since occured to me, all of them weird, but agree the place has great atmosphere?

15. Everyone sounds better live
The way to appreciate a band is to actually see them. Fan for life.

16. Pokemon was actually a Gameboy game, before a TV show or card game
Apparently, I'm the only person who didn't already know this.

17. Current 93 is the ultimate test of nerve
"The huge tree bubbles in its arms / And long processions / Kill the kings and cover / The babies in soap paradise / Pure glass in the cactus smile / Of the Madonna of Chandeliers..."
I can cope about 8 tracks into the album before giving up a shuddering wreck. The one time I actually got to 15, the computer crashed as protest.

18. Doctor Who fans are nuts
Yes, you are the only one under 20. Yes, you are strangely female. And yes, you are the only one without that half-vacant stabbity stare beloved of tramps and bus-weirdos everywhere. Be afraid, be very afraid.

19. Movies and TV shows set "in London" are rarely ever filmed there
Feeling homesick when you only have a very nebulous concept of "home" is a strange experience. Right now, "home" tends to be groups of people, not places. But as I treat London as a living entity (like the dreaming city from Sandman), it does come under that definition. I've found myself getting really, really excited whenever it turns up in movies. Only to have a bucket of cold water dashed upon me when I realise it's only central Cardiff and some very clever editing. Once you live there, you can tell - because they shoot like I shot Mordor on Cobo Beach. Tight angles, lots of cuts, no recognisable landmarks. A few stock establishing shots of major landmarks. It only bothers me because I want it to be proper London so much.

20. I was right about the direction of sunrise over the Thames
Always have been, always will be.

"I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire - why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me: no, nor woman neither..."

~ Hamlet

Whenever I feel emotionally under the weather, this speech occurs to me. It seems such a perfect depiction of melancholy, so perfectly phrased. This state of being is the biggest bane of my existance - like Hamlet, I recognise how fantastic the world, the miracle of life, of nature, of art, take your pick. And yet, some days, I just don't feel it. Now within Hamlet, this speech can be performed however you like. In Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, it's played as nonsense to confound the spies - in Branagh's "Eternity Version", it is a moment of honest clarity in a stream of lies. My heroic English teacher points out that he explains how he is feeling, but not why to prevent R and G discovering his secret.

Whether or not Hamlet is being sincere, the speech still stands as perfect. Were you to ask me how I was feeling for the last six days or so, this could be my only response. But I'm sure it'll go away soon. It usually does.

This morning Friend 4 and I went to a "tabletop sale" at a local church hall. It was 25 pence to get in, had teas and cakes in the back room, and a bliss of sorts.

My ostensible motive was looking for a cat badge for my Sixth Doctor Costume. This has been harder than I expected it to be. There was a gold lioness, nothing like the real thing, but a possibility in the absence of something better. As I was putting it back, the lady said "That's a lucky cat badge", at which point she had me by the neck. I flashbacked to Attack of the Cybermen and had to have it. It'll do for now, and I'm already very fond of it. It reminds me of Friend 1's cat Tigger, who a long time ago we decided was a lioness who had been turned into a cat by an evil wizard. I also got a gold Lorien leaf badge, with a green stone. Speaking of costumes, last night Team Traken watched neglected classic The Ribos Operation. Fantastic episode - the only Doctor Who story to ever have me in tears without killing off a major character. Castellanne - the artist formally known as Friend 3 - has decided she wants a Romana costume.

I found The Best of Beautiful South and Everything must Go by the Manic Street Preachers for 30p each. While there's something unhealthy in buying two CDs of friend's favourite bands, I still feel a sense of achievement. I do adore Everything Must Go in my own right as well though, since listening to it on Spotify. I also found a new wallet, 30p well spent. Though I love the Death Proof one, there's no room for change. This one is far better structurally, and has a steampunk Mickey Mouse on the front. Indulging my love of Disney without actually supporting the company. Friend 4 also picked up an Angela Carter book.

The real coup was Behind the Waterfall. I was delighted to discover this piece of adorable kiddy trash in the video box. I have a love for the adorably bad. The woman said "oooh, it's really good - they don't make films like that any more", at which point I had to have it. After buying it, she commented "I hope they enjoy it". "They" are presumably my children. I smiled at her nicely, but inside felt the terror of eternity and maternity all rolled into one. Behind the Waterfall was made by "Feature Films for Families". Their motto is "strengthening family values through entertainment", and if that's not damn sinister I don't know what is! Here is the delightfully saccharine trailer:

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=8208526180778616717

The plot is as follows: Tommy and Becky have lost their dad, and are sent to stay with their aunt in the country. After a wonderful journey, and meeting with a Mr Connors, they "discover the importance of faith an imagination, teaching them to believe in something greater than themselves". Alice has already commented that "Oh, so he touches them, then? In a very special way?" Oh joy of joys, the back of the box has a "Parents Guide for Family Discussion":

"4. Mr Connors told the kids to watch for fairies and listen in the wind. What was Mr Connors really trying to teach the kids to believe in? Is there anything you believe in that you can't see?"

Hmmm, one wonders what sort of family values this video advocates. It wouldn't be to do with God's family, now would it? The internet tells me "I highly endorse this product or event. If you don't have anything to do for a while either pray or watch this movie but either way this is as close to heaven as you can get." I can see Me and St Peter now.

St Peter: So, do you pray often?
Me: Ah, no sir - but I have seen Behind the Waterfall hundreds of times!
St Peter: Oh, that's OK then - come straight through!

An Amazon seller is also quick to point out: "Although this movie does intentionally go about the task of teaching moral values to children, it might do this in a manner that is too "Pagan" for members of the Christian-right." Continuing with the theme of "creepy old man makes friends with innocent young children under a rainbow", I also direct you towards question five:

"5. Loving and helping others helps us forget out own pain. How did learning to love and trust Mr Connors help Tommy and Becky to heal from the death of their father?"

Fner fner. Loving and trusting, eh? My sister has made me promise to answer these questions once I have seen it. The way I see it, this film could be hilarously awful - or it could be an unexpected gem. Either would make me happy. I'm sure there are some kids with delighful memories of these things - like how I feel about Through the Dragon's Eye and how mum feels about Escape to Witch Mountain - though I can't find a single dedicated fansite on the web.

After that, we ambled through the Guet - a local bit of woodland about which I have very mixed feelings, for obscure personal reasons. We tend to play capture-the-castle there. Someone had dug out all the German gun emplacements, which had been hidden under ivy, offering some great new hiding places. I was quickly exhausted, but I'm hoping it's from lack of sleep and not protein/iron deficiency. We enjoyed this view from the watchtower, and played snipers with unaware passers by. Then whiled away a few hours listening to "Cult TV theme tunes", and cooing about Blake's 7. I feel like I'm standing on the brink. I've only seen two episodes of it, so can't qualify as a fan. But it's only going to take a tiny push to send me roaring into a crazy obsession. And it's gonna be a big one, if anyone wants to join me. I've always known, ever since coming across it, that Friend 4 would adore Avon. And she does. Normally, knowing what happens at the end of a show really distracts me. But the sheer stunning beauty of the spoiler I know convinces me to keep watching till I see it, because it sums up everything that is brilliant about that show. In short: I am in love, and only require the arrival of the Season 1 boxed set to go into mad fangirl mode.

My pa picked me up mid-squee to hit the airport for the arrival of Grandmama, Grandpapa and my cousin Super Squirrel, aged 10. Rather guiltily, I'd rather be recieving a visit from Snella's cousin - yesterday, I discovered her cousin Mike is Mike Rutherford of Mike and the Mechanics, Mike Rutherford bassist-and-spare-guitarist for Genesis. Pretty darn cool. Rather guiltily, their departure will coincide with the family watching Torchwood: Children of Earth. It's not like I don't want to see them, but I do feel bad, because relatives never see me at my best. An influx of guests always brings out my most anti-social tendancies. I've been practically hugging the piano, Oceanic has been talking soley in geeky quotes - currently, I am blogging in proximity to them playing a board game. Or when I visit relatives, they only see me grumpy, homesick and missing my friends. In addition, Super Squirrel has got to the age with which I'm not sure what to do with her. Too old for running around, or to be charmed by origami. Too young for serious debate and cinematic indoctrination. She's fairly shy, so talking with her is a bit of a trial too - as I discovered when the adults of the family decided to spend 15 minutes yakking about death by swine flu. Now I'm more scared than I should be by the idea of swine flu, so I felt a duty to talk over their bracing discussion of percentage survival rates in the workplace. It's about as comforting as nuclear-warning leaflet Protect and Survive calmly suggesting:

"If anyone dies while you are kept in your fallout room, move the body to another room in the house. Label the body with name and address and cover it as tightly as possible in polythene, paper, sheets or blankets. Tie a second card to the covering. The radio will advise you what to do about taking the body away for burial. If however you have had a body in the house for more than five days, and if it is safe to go outside, then you should bury the body for the time being in a trench, or cover it with earth, and mark the spot of the burial. "

But I very quickly ran out of things to say, so chattered loudly about Doctor Who. It'll be an interesting week.

People fanmix automatically - they can't help it. Music ties you straight to places, times, people, links with the strangest ideas without knowing why. I can't really handle other people's, because their associations are different - and due to my random, eclectic music taste, other people probably couldn't handle mine. I'm also too much of a canon nazi to make full CDs for most of these things - to go out and find songs, instead of picking them up instinctively over a long period of time.

So instead, here's a list of single songs which always remind me very strongly of particular fictional things. And I gift these ideas to anyone making a CD, who needs to make up the gaps.

All the songs I could find, which were mentioned, as a Spotify playlist:
http://open.spotify.com/user/theunmutual/playlist/7jKF8nrqWHZ0Gpbi7qjlYT

1. Doctor Who ~ "The Wonder is All Around Us" by RIAA

This song is actually remixed from Vangelis' "Alpha", Ken Nordine's "Satellite" and bits of radio interview, and isn't one you'd ever have heard except for me mentioning it here. It is a favourite song, however, because it's so uplifting. It deserves a video of happy-Doctors, excited-companions and all the fantastic, magic Doctor Who scenes. Also, at the end it strongly resembles the music from Last of the Timelords. I'm sorta surprised I've never found ANY other songs which would fit a Doctor or "isn't space-time-travel fantastic" CD, but there you go.

You can download it here: http://www.m-1.us/spaceset.html

2. the Master ~ "Almost Sorry", Scissor Sisters; "Clockwork Creep" ~ 10CC; "Tomorrow Never Dies" ~ Sheryl Crow

I've already made a Master-mix which the character might listen to, to inspire me and put me into his headspace for working on the comic. These are the offcuts: songs about him, but which he wouldn't listen to. "Almost Sorry" is a bonus track from Ta-Dah, another I-hate-you-but-am-obsessed-with-you song - but the angstiness of the lyrics are balanced out by the cold, quirky delivery. "Clockwork Creep" is an off-kilter rattle, sung from the point of view of a bomb hidden on a plane, and has always screamed "SimmMaster!" at me. And finally, the most tenuous pick. I was just singing "Tomorrow Never Dies" one day, presumably while angsting about Planet of Fire, and the two just linked in my mind. Now I look at the words again, I can't quite see where I was coming from, but the original impression remains. It also has the problem of being a bit Bond-y.

Watch Clockwork Creep: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ipm2wm5Exik

3. Torchwood ~ "Mrs O", Dresden Dolls

As per usual, when I say Torchwood, I technically mean Children of Earth. Another one of those instances where I sung-it-while-the-other-was-on-my-mind, but I still think this one means something. Less because of the "children" line which caught my attention, than the paranoia, coverups and despair. It's also so good that I want to find another suitable four songs to do a mini-mix. This would be Day Five.

4. Lost ~ "Not about Us", Genesis

My sister is a huge Jack/Kate shipper, so some of that background noise must have filtered through when listening to this, the only decent song from Genesis' worst album. The idea of a personal relationship being knowingly sacrificed for some sort of Greater Cause fits particularly bits of S1 or 2.

5. Random Flame songs

"Lady Moonlight", All About Eve
"Bluebells", Patrick Wolf
"Sad Eyes", Bat for Lashes
"Like a Woman", Bob Dylan
"How Can I?", Steve Hackett
"Creep", Radiohead (Yes. I know. And that's why I haven't actually made this yet)
"I can't decide", Scissor Sisters
"Death Shall Have No Dominion" and "We Don't Have to Think Like That Anymore", Cliff Martinez, purely for the gorgeous titles.

7. Emily
Is this egotistical ? Probably. I've always wanted to do people mixes for presents, made up only of songs with their name, but I've always been derailed by the lack of songs about Bethany, or in particular, Anne. Anne just must not scan pleasingly - there's Barbara Anne, Mary Anne, Lou Anne, but no plain Anne. So I tried doing joint ones, for groups of people, and the only thing it proved was what a singable name "Emily" is. Good number of syllables, and presumably pleasant associations. Some particular favourites are:

"See Emily Play" - Pink Floyd
"Emily" - Joanna Newsom
"A Rose for Emily" - The Zombies
"Like Emily" - All About Eve
"Emily Kane" - Art Brut

and another 200-and-something according to Spotify...

8. Watchmen ~ "Warriors", Hawkwind

In retrospect, this one is very tenuous. But I can still see what I was driving at when I picked it - some of the insanity reminds me of Rorschach's brain; some of the "we are the only bastions of Earth defence" reminds me in turns of Nite Owl, and of Ozymandeus; some of the ash and paranoia reminds me of the Cold War. We are the betrayed. WE ARE THE BETRAYEAYEAYED!

9. Lord of the Rings ~ "My Last Breath", Evanescence; "Stagnation", Genesis

At the time, "My Last Breath" took on Aragorn-Arwen associations, though I haven't listened to the album in years. "Stagnation" I've always thought was about Gollum - and what with it being a prog album, could even be correct. "The ice cold knife has come to decorate the dead" also reminds me of the Barrow Downs.


So. What random-association songs do you guys have?

Well frak me gently with a chainsaw.

What on earth was that? Can this be the same Torchwood that failed to make children + hospital scary; can it be the same show whose chief villain blew up a city because his brother accidentally let go his hand. Can it be Torchwood at all, and still remain the most exciting television event of the year.

What on earth was that?

Must Have

Close transport links. A two minute walk to the Northern line is my top priority.

Four bedrooms, preferably all doubles. I can live in a single room, of course, but I'd rather there was space for all

A rent no larger than £400 a week. Because I'm stingy. That's £100 a week each, before you add TV, gas, electricity, water and the internet. I don't see any point in going more expensive - it is possible to find somewhere perfect for that much

Fully furnished. Makes sense. Otherwise I'll refuse to contribute to furniture beyond a huge telly (see: stingy), and the place will look like a squat.

A lounge. It's important to have space, or I'll go all One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Plus, I've this grand idea to live as a Victorian all next year. This will involve calling cards, a morning set aside as an at-home, dinner parties, and the foundation of an exclusive decadant club in our front room. This will require space.

Should Have

A piano. This is a tall order for everyone - my parents to help out on the transporting budget, my roomates when I declare Chopin can't be played any earlier than midnight. But I'm convinced that the alternative is worse - getting stuck with me, in an enclosed enviroment, sans piano can only be worse. By Holmes, I miss my piano when I go on holiday for longer than a few days. I was gonna use the house as an excuse to buy a new keyboard, but those damn things are even pricier than cheap pianos!

Positive Aura. I am a places person - even my favourite films and music stems from my atmospheric obsession. I don't strictly believe in ley lines, vibes, ghosts and the rest, but I know what I like, and a bad feeling will put me off a house quicker than anything else. Of course, estate agents are such a nuscense about such things. I've yet to see a house description thus:

• 4 spacious rooms
• garage, with easy transport links
• good vibrations

It'd Be Nice if It Had

A Catbus. Beat the traffic easy. My only worry is that it would require Mousebikes for dinner. A sketch of a Mousebike will doubtless follow soon.

Opium den. See: decadant den above. Though as we're students, we may have to substitute the opium with orange sherbert.

Kidnappy basement. We've already decided we need a Patrick Wolf and a Neil Gaiman all for ourselves. The lupine bard can borrow my piano, and his cellmate will be in charge of reading us bedtime stories.




A real absinthe fountain. Calypso has a desktop decanter, but I'm talking a marble-and-bronze structure rising out of the ground, an elegant cornucopia of tritons and dolphins. Think the Trevi fountain, with absinthe. Will also double as a milk fountain when I'm the only one in the house.

Good Names
Because home isn't a place - it's a state of mind.

Arkham
Like the Asylum. It conveys one of the possible atmospheres quite nicely.

The Garden of Earthly Delights
In case I get my decadant club after all. We will indulge in the most exquisite sins and follies, like dining on luxurious £2.50 Basics rhum and

Court of the Crimson King
Calypso and I thought this was a good idea at 2 in the morning, having listened to the album five or six times. We noted there were four "colour" characters in the lyrics. I was to be the purple piper; she claimed the black queen. Vapilla was an easy pick for the yellow jester, who does not play but gently pulls the strings (to summon back the Firewitch TO THE COURT OF THE CRIMSON KING), which left Spirita as the King himself. The advantages of this choice would be huge. My post, when it came, would read "Unmutual - Court of the Crimson King - Whitechapel - London". Plus, I envisage this sort of exchange happening on a daily basis:

"What are you gonna do now?"
"Heading home by secret paths TO THE COURT OF THE CRIMSON KIIIIIIING" *synths*

Belvedere
It's a pretty word. It's also the name of an Escher print, depicting an impossible house. Which is what this search is proving to be.

Torchwood is back from Monday. Hahahahahahahahahaha. Well if I can't say it on the blog, where can I say it? I'm preparing to bite my tongue about it for a whole week, as some of my friends, 50% of my family, and a large cross section of the Great British public actually like it. I go onto auto-sneer just thinking about it - I can't help but be spiteful and critical about it, even the episodes I actually like. It makes me mean in a way nothing else can. Which isn't especially nice (even for me), but something about that show angered me fairly early on and nowadays has to do a lot to gain my respect or attention. I'm fond of it - I'd miss it were it cancelled. It's still poorly written television.

Maybe I'm angry it for exposing the shallowness of my Doctor Who obsession, and that of many others - because we get so desperate in the absence of the MotherShip that Torchwood is a semi-acceptable substitute. Maybe it's misdirected aggression.

All this week, they've been doing radio plays. They're still on iPlayer. If you only hear one I recommend Golden Age - all about 1920s Torchwood India. Asylum might be your bag if you like wannabe-meaningful drama about social issues - nicely done but nothing special. I'm going to listen to The Dead Line tomorrow, but I can already tell my patience for it will be limited. The one line synopsis emphasised it would "result in a very emotional moment for Ianto", which sums up a lot about what I hate on that show - prioritising emotion over plot. In an ideal show, the two should be perfectly blended 80% of the time. Character decisions influence the plot - the organically changing plot impacts the characters. It's not acceptable to create a whole scenario merely to manouver the characters into a challenging moral impasse, and make them shout and cry a bit. Yes, every show needs character pieces, and inevitably those fantastic character moments will be the most brilliant and memorable bits of any series. Yet because they are so much easier (and more fun) writers have lost the faculty of twinning them with a challenging plot. Discoveries, twists, shocks - not just guests taking the regulars on a leisurely tour towards the "moving" climax. Our heros have to do things, not just observe the plot.

And this isn't just irrational Torchwood dislike either - I'm still angry at Journey's End and The Doctor's Daughter for pulling exactly the same stunt. Particularly the former, when Davros' entire plan seemed to be getting the Doctor into his power then making him feel bad. Oooh, scary. I could buy it of some villains - it's the Master's chief M.O. - but not Davros. And while many acceptable Doctor Who episodes aren't quite as shameless as Torchwood in hurt/comfort stakes, they still resort to lazy resolutions. 30 minutes of being chased by stuff, then the Doctor pulls a lever and the "stuff" goes away. The conclusion has to evolve out of everything we've seen before. If the Doctor had seen the lever in the very first scene and spent the whole episode trying to get to it; if the Doctor knows that pulling it will have a terrible cost, so is trying every other option first - but all too often, it's just lazy writing which doesn't give the Doctor anything to actually contribute to the set-up. The new episodes actually have a disadvantage compared to the Classics. The old stories were stretched over 4 four or more 25 minute episodes. Four episodes to a story = four cliffhangers, which in turn translates to four important revelations or developments to hang the plot on.

But obviously, Doctor Who is my favourite show - so even when being a tad lousy, I have far more mercy for it. And even if the plot sucks - ah, it's the TARDIS! Ah, great bit of Doctor-y dialogue! Oh look, a Planet of Fire reference! Torchwood irritated me early on, so now it has to be not only OK, not merely good, but really really special to get a good word from me. I'm preparing for a week of being rotten, and feeling rotten.

"Horrible are the dead when they rise from their tombs; the living who come out of their tombs are more horrible still" ~ Oscar Wilde

Good movies are like good friends. There are the friends you go to for a serious conversations, and they're not always the same ones you go to when you need a shoulder to cry on. Some friends inspire you, others allow you to indulge your stupid side. There are holiday romances too - wonderful at the time, but also quickly forgotten - caprices, one night stands, lifelong marriages. Fight Club remains very close to me, my right hand man. I could not have got through the Sixth Form without it. It and the Prisoner kept me sane - or kept me crazy, which is the next best thing.

I didn't really feel it on a first watch. Knowing the ending really bothered me. Once I'd seen it once, my mind relaxed. It's marvellous, start to finish, top to bottom, script, style, everything. it gets into your head. Tomorrow is our school Speech Day. I am going, because my inner Jedi Master thinks this will be good for my development. I'm not actually convinced, but there you go. There are other reasons too. But my condition for going was that I watch Fight Club the evening before. I'm toying with sticking The Prisoner on in the morning also. Films tend to anethetise my brain - I get stuck in their atmosphere, they influence me for days or more. It's always insane, usually enjoyable, and occasionally very, very useful.

It's one of my dad's favourite films, along with Excalibur and Lord of the Rings. I always thought this fact said a lot about him. Made me wonder what my favourite films revealed about me. To return to the first analogy, I wonder if the friends you choose/find/are left with also say something about you. My mum didn't quite get it - I'm not sure she hates the world enough, and I'm not sure she hates herself either. Now while I don't exactly subscribe to either of those viewpoints - a bit too all-encompassing for my liking - nevertheless, I believe the following to be true.

Humanity is not built to be happy. It's genetic. We've evolved from animals, and the the animals that lived to breed were the smart ones who were worried about every contingency.
Nowadays, broadly speaking, we don't have to worry about where the next meal is coming from, nor freezing to death if Za doesn't produce fire, nor being torn to pieces by dinosaurs. Yet we still have that hunter instinct, the same way we still have the right parts of the digestive system despite no longer needing to process grass. Actually, in a hunter-gather sense, there's not much we afflent Westerners need to worry about. And yet we are not living in bliss - even on days when everything is OK, compared to the myriad ills that one is not suffering, it needs to be really sunny, or good music needs to be on the radio for one to actually feel properly happy. I attribute that sense of disquiet, and the human ability to overreact and let the smallest thing spoil one's mood, to the survival of that "oh no!" instinct. If we're not worrying, we're not alert - and if we're not alert, we might get eaten by dinos.

That's my uplifting theory. And it is, when you think about it, optimistic. If my theory is correct then happiness is impossible, at least the type of happiness experienced by families in cereal adverts, or couples at the end of rom coms. Instead, we need to accept what we have as it is - continuing, endless (till you run out) it. There's a lot of peer pressure with happiness too - everyone else appears content, because other people's lives have a definition your own lacks. Like Monet paintings - the further away you are, the better sense they make, until you understand celebrities or historical figures perfectly, and your partner/family/friends not at all. Yet close up, there's no order or logic or art to it at all, and the more you analyse the more it simply reverts to splotches of lead on canvas. Your own life is so consumingly close
you can't even recognise it as artwork anymore. In short, I think this obsession with happiness
and visible contentment is making everyone feel worse because everyone else seems better. I think accepting that the world is uniformly unfufilled is not a depressive act. It's liberating. You no longer have anything to live up to, and can get on with simply living.

Or something. It's amazing the insights you get past midnight. In any case, Fight Club really taps into something most people feel. Though not my mum. The key to it's immense popularity is actually the insidious attractiveness of its central theories. Cinematically, too, the drama comes from agreeing with it all, buying into Tyler's nihilistic worldview and all but signing on the dotted line - and having gained your trust, the movie just runs with it.

When I found my Project Mayhem, one of the first things we're gonna do is make "Tyler Durden's Little Book of Life". It'll contain his choicest wisdom, interspersed with photos of kittens and sunsets, and slotted onto shop shelves besides "The Ways of Wisdom", "Poems for my Granddad" and other such platitude books. It'll be a scream.

Tyler Durden on Humanity: "You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world."

Tyler Durden on God: "You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen. We don't need him." [capitalising the "h"s seems horribly inappropriate in this context]

Tyler Durden on Existance: "Our Great Depression is our lives."

I wonder whether I never thought of setting up a Fight Club at the Ladies College? It'd fit right onto their rosta, between Debating and Hockey.

At the convention, we caught the end of Anneke Willis' talk. She played companion Polly in the 60s, and I have yet to see her in an episode. She was rhapsodising on the joys, and indeed recommending, getting an old bath in the garden in the summer time, filling it with a hose and stripping off. At the time, it struck me as a bit of an odd thing to say in a room packed with strange male sci-fi nerds (and for all I know, the few female sci-fi nerds as well) who'd probably had a creepy Princess Leia thing going for her since they were five. This morning I woke up, and it was the first idea that popped into my head, cursing the fact our garden is so visible to the public - the Douzane room on one side, a school on the other.

And that set me off on a rant about how badly the summer SUCKS. The evidence for the prosecution is as follows:

Sleep
My favourite activity in the world, bar none, is spoilt by the hot weather. You can't cosy up in a huge, huggly duvet at this temperature, and you invariably wake up hot, sweaty and miserable.
I can't bear to leave the windows open overnight either, because of...

Insects
Don't like em. Don't like seeing them hurt either, but I'd really rather they got the hell out of my house. Chasing out flies, catching spiders, and watching my poor piano get covered in cobwebs. Not nice.

Air Conditioning
Summer is designed to make my inner enviromentalist panic. The one thing I loathe more than being too hot is air conditioning. I hate it with a firey passion - you're using up electricity, to make the room cooler, which will in the long run result in the world getting hotter. This means I spend much of the summer moooooaning because I'm warm and miserable, yet refusing to use an electric fan or similar. After three weeks, this behavior irritates even me.

Clothing
It's not like I don't have a summer wardrobe - I've loads from that year when I wanted to be Alabama from True Romance, a look that never really worked and I still don't know why. Yet hats, coats and scarfs make up the basis of my style (such as it is), and I've had a rolling collection of long-sleeved-plain-stretchy-tops, usually in white, since the age of 12. Even ignoring the fact warm weather kills any attempt to dress Doctory, I fail at anything which doesn't require layers.

Eating
Another favourite activity, and one I totally fail at for the summer. I'm like the opposite of a hibernating hamster. The warm weather kills off my desire to eat anything more substantial than salad or fruit smoothie, and combined with my general forgetfulness about food, means I spend the entire holiday faintly worrying that I'm anorexic.
Being inside
In this heat, the last thing you want to do is be stuck inside. Which is a bind for me, as all my favourite activities require a controlled enviroment - drawing, reading, collating sheets of paper, watching films, playing piano. Speaking thus:

Film watching
Reflections on the screen mega bother me, and are a large problem at this time of year.

Summer blockbusters
Summer fails at decent cinema. Ignoring the fact cinemas are even stuffier and nastier than usual, studios release all their loud and obnoxious movies at this time. Autumn and winter is far better for my favourite fare, and early spring is the home of Oscar-bait.

Boring weather
Winter. Storms, overcast, hail, snow, just a little gray, unusually sunny, fogs, crisp early morings, chucking it down. Oh, there are so many winters and so many winter skies. Summer is one thing: blue, warm, no clouds. It gets very boring after a week. It easily lacks the variety of the late months, the many different shades of "bad weather".

Music This is a big one, strangely enough, considering it is also totally idiosyncratic. I get very picky about the right atmosphere for music. I've been irritating my family for a year now with my insistance that piano nocturnes only work past midight. My default split is music "warm" and music "cold". Most of my favourite bands and albums fall into the latter catagory: Chopin, Wagner, opera full stop, Pink Floyd, Marillion, Genesis - most prog - half of Kate Bush's Aerial, Suede, the Smiths, 10CC, Kraftwerk, Robbie Williams, the Donnie Darko soundtrack. The music enhances the weather, the weather enhances the music. Sure, there's some music which does cover summer - the Doors, Jefferson Airplane and other hippy-stoner hits, most Led Zeppelin, the Beach Boys, Mozart, half of Kate Bush's Aerial, Tarantino soundtracks (see: year when I wanted to be Alabama from True Romance). But it's a fairly bad tradeoff.
Public transport
Ignoring those times you crank up the stereo with summery music, take the softop down and pretend you're on Ventura Highway or Route 66, transport is just horrible. Opening up the car to find the seatbelts are burning, buses and trains full stop.

Too warm to do anything constructive
I tend to wilt in the afternoons. It's the heat - I cease being useful. When you wake up, and it's hot, and it gets hotter, and then gets slightly less hot later on, I've lost the desire and willpower to fufill any of those projects of mine.

Of course, there are some benefits. Sunlight through the trees ranks in my top five things in the universe, I like early mornings when the sunlight wakes you naturally, and it's nice to give my Doors collection a runaround once a year. Still...