E.G. Wolverson's Blog, page 13

Film Review | Cobain: Montage of Heck directed by Brett Morgen

They say that you should never meet your heroes.


They’re right.

Academy Award®-nominated Brett Morgen’s acclaimed Kurt Cobain biopic, Montage of Heck, has finally demystified one of my teen idols, humanising him in a way that’s enthralling if not particularly desirable. For years I’ve watched other filmmakers spin theories and try to piece together a picture from second-hand puzzle pieces that never seemed to fit, and read unauthorised biographies that did much the same. I’ve even delved into his journals, only to find the same organised confusion and dejection upon which Nirvana was built, and little besides. But throughout all this, the poster image of the cool, long-haired and stubbly-chinned “better looking than Brad Pitt” rocker persisted in my mind; the rock ’n’ roll suicide who burnt out, rather than fading away.


For better or worse, that image is gone.

 
There are a number of key elements that set this movie apart from the likes of Nick Broomfield’s incendiary Kurt & Courtney and AJ Schnack’s more pensive About a Son, the most obvious of which are Brett Morgan’s access to Cobain’s music and his family’s (surprisingly substantial) home media library. The latter offers viewers a less fettered impression of the star-crossed genius; the former, context, on both a global and an intimate scale. 


Morgen’s selection of Nirvana songs and soundbites instantly transport viewers back through their memories to the early 1990s, making the movie’s drama all the more immediate. Yet, placed as they are at significant moments in Cobain’s life story, their lyrics also offer an illuminating view into their writer’s state of mind when he wrote them. Songs that I thought I knew inside-out have suddenly taken on new meaning for me - an unplugged, clearly heartfelt Lead Belly cover now begs questions of fidelity as Morgen uses it as a backdrop to Courtney Love’s confession to temptation in London; “Serve the Servants” is suddenly a proclamation of adulthood - “I’ve had a year off, I’m ready to be a rock star now.”

 
Montage of Heck (which takes its name from a 1988 mix tape made by Cobain) is also a technical triumph, dextrously weaving together a variety of media of varying quality to provide a complete multimedia portrait. Ancient voicemail messages, drawings and diaries are blended with high-quality Super 8 film and low-quality VHS through Stefan Nadelman and Hisko Hulsing’s all-new animation, providing the sort of immersive experience that no number of books or second-hand documentaries could ever match. I was particularly impressed with recurring little touches like being able to watch Cobain’s handwriting appear on the pages of his journal, or see his manic, polarised art morph into spectacular animated set pieces (the highlights for me being Incesticide’s cover coming to life, and [presumably] Francis Bean in utero set to the sound of one of my favourite Nirvana B-sides, “Sappy”).

 
Another strength of the movie is Jeff Danna’s score, which reinterprets and reframes key Nirvana riffs and themes. Most notably, a melodic version of “All Apologies” poignantly bookends the film, and Cobain’s life, while haunting renditions of  tracks like “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Lithium” underscore his angst-ridden teenage years and early experiments with drugs, serving as a prelude for what’s to come. Watching him with a spliff in his bedroom, strumming away on his guitar as a version of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” that sounds like “Eleanor Rigby” broils away ominously in the background is a little like hearing those telling few bars of “The Imperial March” in Attack of the Clones after Anakin’s confession - it creates an almost tangible sense of inexorability.

 
What warrants the most praise though is not the wider source material or even its spectacular presentation, but Morgen’s incisive cut to the heart of Cobain’s story, which strips away the image of the now almost mythic grunge god to expose a physically and mentally frail – “fragile” is the word that keeps recurring throughout the film, visually and aurally - individual, whose professional triumphs flowed from wallowing in insecurities and neuroses that this film lays bare. Indeed, Montage of Heck paints a moving picture of a prodigious but troubled young man who attracts great sympathy despite his never-ending catalogue of poor and selfish choices. Even as he talks of manipulating and stealing from, even taking advantage of, a girl who his classmates had labelled a “retard”, he speaks with such honesty and dignity that it’s easy to see how he unwittingly - and unwillingly - became the spokesman for a generation.


But as the film progresses, and his life becomes little more than a drug-fuelled orgy with Courtney Love, such poise and candour is harder to find amongst the silliness and squalor. Particularly as someone who’s had his views on Love coloured by other sources, I was really taken aback by Morgen’s candid portrayal of the skag-addled Cobain in his final year or so of life, which from the clips chosen is hard to reconcile with the loving father as he appears in his journals. The press - and indeed the courts - were, quite rightly, quick to chastise Love for her use of heroin whilst pregnant with Francis Bean, but as Montage of Heck creeps towards its inevitable end, it wasn’t so much her that I was silently  judging, but the mortal remains of her husband who couldn’t even keep his eyes open long enough to get through his daughter’s haircut. Overall it might have been “six of one and half a dozen of the other,” as my old mum would say, but this film stirred some previously absent sympathy for Cobain’s widow - and not just ’cos she has her tits and arse out a lot.


Perhaps the greatest praise that I can give to Morgen’s masterpiece though is that, from start to finish, it is a film about the life of Kurt Cobain. Previous films have treated him like Benjamin Button, starting with that legendary death – such a bore - and working their way backwards through his life, whereas Morgen only really dwells on Cobain’s suicide in the final frame, focusing instead on the man as he lived.


Whether you are or were a fan of Nirvana or not, this is a film that you have to see, if only to serve as a memento mori like no other; a reminder that it’s definitely better to fade away than burn out.
Cobain: Montage of Heck is available to download from the iTunes Store in 1080p HD for £13.99. It will air tonight on HBO in the USA.
If you’ve watched the film and are wondering who the “interpretative dancer” is in the Reading Festival scenes, check out my old friend Polish Paul’s interview with him at LeftLion.

Book Review | Star Trek: The Next Generation - Cold Equations, Book I: The Persistence of Memory by David Mack

It’s difficult to die in Star Trek. 

Unless you’re wearing a red shirt and nobody knows your name, you can be irradiated or ascended or assimilated or even detonated and, the odds are, sooner or later someone will concoct a way to bring you back to life. It’s Roddenberry’s snare - his perfect future’s refusal to be wounded so ultimately. Yet Star Trek: The Next Generation’s Lieutenant Commander Data managed to remain deactivated for a real-life decade following the moving, on-screen sacrifice depicted in Star Trek: Nemesis – and despite being the only major Star Trek character to have the mechanism for his return so explicitly set up prior to his noble end, too.
But, just like all the heavy-hitters from Spock to Janeway, Data had to come back eventually. And, despite my early reservations, I’m very glad that he has, first and foremost because it has given us The Persistence of Memory - the first instalment in David Mack’s Cold Equations trilogy and one of the most exceptional science fiction novels that I’ve read in a long while. It’s so good, in fact, that I’d put it up there with the often-lauded “Measure of a Man” episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, to which it serves as a thematic sequel.
Unlike his seminal Star Trek: Destiny series, which completely reinvigorated the literary Star Trek universe,  The Persistence of Memory is a story that’s capable of standing alone despite its catalysing effect on ensuing TNG arcs. What begins with the Enterprise-E’s investigation into a high-tech heist very quickly collapses into the life – and, indeed, afterlife - story of the Federation’s most controversial cyberneticist, Dr Noonien Soong.
“What if this isn’t a transfer of consciousness but just a duplication? What if the true me dies on this table and the me that gets up inside that android body is just a clever copy? Will I really have cheated death – or merely created a new being that thinks it’s me?”
Picking up just prior to Soong’s apparent death in the TNG episode “Brothers”, through gripping first-person prose Mack guides us through Good Old Often-Wrong’s conveyance into the most perfect android body that he’s ever created. As Soong knows that he’s killing his mortal self when he locks himself into his synaptic scanner, Mack is able to tackle head-on the issues that the television series swerved when we encountered the oblivious android Juliana, Soong’s ex-human ex-wife, in “Inheritance”. There’s an astounding passage in which Soong describes, blow by blow, exactly what it’s like to feel his consciousness seeping out of his fragile remains and slowly filling an artificial vessel. The author fascinatingly pushes Soong’s expected worries over his unique form of suicide to their natural limit before appeasing them somewhat with a fascinating sequence in which Soong experiences being in both bodies simultaneously. This clever continuity of consciousness convinces, if not confirms, that the android Soong is just as much Soong as the decrepit old scientist was, and it’s upon this conceit that the Cold Equations trilogy, and indeed Data’s second coming, is built.
Mack’s handle on Soong is dazzling; he captures perfectly both the dry humour and penchant for melodrama that Brent Spiner vested the character with on screen, while at the same time bringing to the fore the character’s love for his “sons” and ex-wife, as well as an unbridled ambition that I don’t think TNG ever really explored. The central section of the book utterly immerses us in Soong’s new life, building a bridge between “Brothers” (2367) and the book’s start (2384). Much of the story delves into the intricacies of Soong’s business empire-building, which makes for extraordinary reading given the unusually long game that the now-immortal Soong is playing. In these chapters, reading about him assuming and maintaining myriad personalities across the quadrant, out-negotiating Ferengi and standing up to the Orion Syndicate, it’s difficult not to build up a healthy respect, if not admiration, for the once-cloistered genius. However, when it comes to “family matters”, it’s difficult not to condemn him. The human Soong’s abandoning of Data, his forsaking of B-4 and Lore, and his stealing of Juliana’s consciousness away from her dying body pale in contrast to the sprees of “creative destruction” that the android Soong unleashes here. Yet these atrocities are carried out in the hope of saving his one surviving son and reactivating another, as well as reanimating and rejuvenating the deactivated android body of Juliana. And so even without approval there’s understanding; the reader can see the method in the madness.

Having caught back up to the novel’s opening section, Mack then teams up Soong with the Enterprise-E’s covert away team to infiltrate a Breen factory that’s producing blank-slate Soong-type androids and attempt to destroy it.  The Breen involvement here is an exciting development, particularly on the larger canvas of Deep Space 9’s recent destruction and escalating Typhon Pact hostilities, and Mack does everything possible to build upon their already well-established wickedness.
The novel’s dénouement proves to be as sickening as it is sweet as, to my shock, it isn’t ready-made-spare-body B-4 but the Enterprise crew, and Worf in particular, who are made to pay the highest possible price for return of their fallen comrade. And the bittersweet agony doesn’t stop there - the joy of Data’s reappearance is blighted further by the android himself who, in his new form, finds himself struggling with the same questions that once troubled his father, only with a disturbing and potentially even schizoid edge. Is he really Data? Or “the contents of an old computer transferred to a new one?” Or is he someone new?
Well, that’s where book two comes in.
Cold Equations Book 1: The Persistence of Memory is available to download from iTunes for £4.99 or from Amazon’s Kindle Store for £3.99. The cheapest online retailer for the paperback edition is currently Amazon, where you can order a copy for £6.99 plus postage and packaging.

First-hand Fitness #3 | On Independence: Day 601

A lot can happen in six hundred days. The world can go from Spocked to Spockless, leap unceremoniously from the middle of the Clone Wars into the Rebellion, and even send Nickelodeon’s newly-minted Ninja Turtles scurrying from their sewer lair to take refuge in a house; a very big house in the country. Six hundred days ago, I could rattle off Doctor Who production codes from memory, quote Star Wars scripts verbatim; I could even use semi-colons properly. Now, such crucial skills may not be as sharp, but I can tell you how many grams of protein you’ll find in an average pea, and what you’d need to eat with it to get all the necessary amino acids to build and maintain muscle (it’s wheat, as it goes).


Indeed, for me, the last 1.65 years have been about experimenting on myself through nutrition and exercise. Partly to control arthritis (which I’ll discuss in great detail in a later post), largely to look good, but mostly to give myself a hobby that doesn’t involve drawing upon my toddler-knackered brain too much, I’ve bulked up and trimmed down and even grown half an inch taller (?), aided all the way by apps the calibre of MyFitnessPal and Runtastic.
But now I’ve been as big as I can be without getting fat (or taking drugs), and as lean as I can be without losing muscle and being “skinny fat” (or taking drugs). My colleague-offending, largely plant-based diet has now become so ingrained that I know by heart what I need to be scoffing each day, and, perhaps more importantly, what to steer well clear of.
And so, for my next experiment, I’m going to go sixty days without using any of my beloved apps. If I can cope without them (i.e. maintain or improve upon my current vital statistics and stay symptom-free), then I’ll do away with them for good, but still recommend a six-hundred day course on them to anyone looking to improve their knowledge and/or condition. If I can’t, then they’ve proven themselves to be truly indispensable, and I’ll still be annoying the missus with them for many years to come.
The MyFitnessPal app is free to download from the App Store. Since my 2012 review, it has been updated to encourage weight gain as well as weight loss, depending on your goal. Runtastic is also free to download from the App Store, with the more feature-packed Runtastic Pro costing you £3.99.

Blu-ray Review | Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles directed by Jonathan Liebesman

“You’re... ninja mutant turtle teenagers?”

Little did she know when she was performing it, but Megan Fox’s self-referential one-liner would hold a mirror up to everything that’s wrong with Jonathan Liebesman’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The ingredients are all there, and there’s no denying that they’re looking better than ever, but they’re confused to the point of absurdity.

After hearing horror stories about its script and development (Colonel Schrader, planet of the Turtleoids... – the list goes on) I was wary about this franchise-rebooting movie, but nonetheless keen to have my prejudices dispelled. A couple of thrilling and really quite funny trailers (“Don’t freak out! It’s just a mask,” says Mikey to a terrified April, unfastening his bandana to reveal his grinning, mutant face); a beautiful, comic-inspired animated intro sequence; and the sight of Megan Fox in cartoon-homage yellow leather helped to get me on side, and when I saw the Ninja Turtles for the first time in the light of day, I was absolutely shell-shocked. “Photo real” isn’t the half of it; these motion-captured, CG-rendered mutants don’t just look real, but feel real. Each turtle is unique, with tattered real-world gear that reflects their respective personalities, but still stays broadly true to the well-established Ninja Turtle paradigm. You get the impression that these hulking monstrosities are the truth behind a sweetened fiction - the real-life, rough-around-the-edges inspiration for the comic books and cartoons. I think that’s what Liebesman and his team were gunning for, and they’ve demonstrably excelled themselves on this front.


The impressive visuals extend to the rest of the movie, from the detail of the Ninja Turtles’ sewer lair (with its pizza-box sofa and innovative boom-box wall) to snowy set pieces involving eighteen-wheelers and rooftop showdowns where even the camera never takes a moment’s breath. The damn thing never stops rolling; it’s always circling, zooming, retracting, spinning. Moviegoers who care only for popcorn and high-octane action cannot have a complaint here; I, however, do.


A movie is nothing without a half-decent story, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles simply doesn’t have one. Worse, what it does have strays far from the well-established Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles origin stories, and to the detriment of all but April’s once-camp camera man. In this iteration, the Ninja Turtles and Splinter are no more than lab rats turned loose, learning ninjutsu from a conveniently-tossed-in-the-sewers book rather than an ill-fated human sensei. Oruku Saki, meanwhile, is now the charming all-American, Eric Sachs, and his Shredder accomplice is a visually terrifying but ultimately hollow creation, the victim of a last-minute rewrite (the lesser of two evils, in every sense).


Fortunately the five mutants’ finely finessed portrayals and Will Arnett’s far-from-pink-shirts-and-braces Vernon Fenwick are strong enough to save the movie from utter calamity, but ultimately the headline is exactly the same one that I’d apply to co-producer Michael Bay’s Transformers series: spectacular but soulless, a feast for the eyes but nothing else.


The bonus material on offer is a cut above the standard of most action movies, but far below what you’d expect for something with such a huge cult following. The extras on the Blu-ray total less than an hour, which even when compared to some of the Michael Bay Transformers Blu-ray releases, is decidedly underwhelming. The obligatory ‘making of’ features are spread across three smaller programmes, one of which examines the technical aspects of bringing the Ninja Turtles back to the silver screen, and another which focuses on the men behind the motion capture. The third then looks at the role of computers in film-making a little more generally, but with obvious emphasis on the instant motion picture. The most intriguing featurette though is entitled Evolutionary Mash-Up. What I thought would be a throwaway programme turned out to be more enjoyable than the feature presentation, as historians and biologists convene trace the ancestry of the shinobi / ninja throughout the ages in parallel to the evolution of the planet’s many species of turtle and tortoise.


The rest of the material is much less substantial – the extended ending clocks in at well under a minute, leading me to question why it was cut, particularly when it seems such a nice coda to the April / Vernon thread, and the three musical features average just a few minutes each.

Overall neither the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Blu-ray nor the download are easy to recommend. Unless you’re a real sucker for action and have more money than sense, you’d be best advised to spend a fiver more and get yourself an iTunes series pass for the ongoing Nickelodeon series, which seems to have effortlessly accomplished everything that this movie should have done, but with a fraction of the budget.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is available to download from iTunes in 1080p HD for £13.99, along with around sixty minutes’ worth of iTunes Extras. The Blu-ray contains the same bonus material, and some stores’ copies also include all four replica Ninja Turtle bandanas. The cheapest online retailer today is Amazon, who are selling the disc for £13.00 with free delivery.

He Am Not Spock

Few artists transcend the niche of their genre and become icons of popular culture.

Famed for his portrayal of Mr Spock in Star Trek, Leonard Nimoy has become not just the face of Paramount’s premier franchise, but the face of science fiction itself.

He might now be dead, but true to his character’s signature sign-off, he’s lived long and prospered, and as my good friend Daniel Tessier counts down his top ten “Am Spock” moments for Immaterial, in this iReckon companion piece I celebrate the man’s prosperous work outside Trek with my top five “Not Spock” Nimoy accomplishments.

5. THE BALLAD OF BILBO BAGGINS

Before Peter Jackson’s live action Lord of the Rings was even a pipe dream, this camp but quaint single from Nimoy’s second album had fans clamouring for a film series with the Enterprise’s incumbent first officer swapping phaser for sword to play Aragorn.

4. THE TRANSPORTER MALFUNCTION /
THE SPRINGFIELD FILES

It’s inevitable though that Nimoy’s most noted works after Star Trek were in some way borne of it, and his 2012 cameo in The Big Bang Theory is a brilliant example of this. A hilarious payoff to almost five years of fact-accurate Spock jokes and jibes, Nimoy’s appearance as the voice of Sheldon’s Spock action figure in “The Transporter Malfunction” was a dream come true in every sense. And this wasn’t Nimoy’s first comic cameo; my favourite dates back to the mid-1990s, when he successfully hijacked a supposed X-Files episode of The Simpsons, outshining the then-red hot David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson at every turn.

Quite rightly, “The Springfield Files” was recently heralded by The Guardian as “one of the best Simpsons cameos ever”, which is not faint praise given the three star-studded decades that the series has spanned. Indeed, Nimoy’s second appearance in The Simpsons reinforces his rightful place as the face of sci-fi, while at the same time showcasing his penchant for the driest of humour.

3. I AM NOT SPOCK / I AM SPOCK

Not quite the rejection of the part that its title implies, Nimoy’s first autobiography set out to separate the playful poet, passionate photographer and occasional singer / songwriter from his typecast part, unintentionally sparking a maelstrom of controversy that gave the mooted Star Trek II television series and Star Trek: The Motion Picture far more column inches than they would otherwise have had.

Twenty years on from its controversial first instalment, Nimoy then buried his tongue in his cheek to complete his autobiography. Though the follow-up’s title of I Am Spock seems to contradict that of the earlier volume, it’s actually thematically identical, continuing to explore the gulf between actor and character, at times even pitting the two against one another as the Vulcan questions the actor’s illogic. I don’t generally pick up an actor’s biography expecting to find innovative literary devices in use or thought-provoking psychological schisms buried at the book’s heart, but in this outwardly Trek-friendly sequel, Nimoy delivers both.

  2. THE TRANSFORMERS

Nimoy’s tones of liquid silver lent themselves perfectly to the part of Galvatron - the incoming Decepticon leader in Hasbro’s 1986 toy line, and thus the main antagonist in one of the bloodiest (well, oiliest) and most underrated movies of the 1980s. Alongside screen legends the like of Orson Welles and Eric Idle, this spectacular animated feature saw Nimoy carve himself a place in the next generation’s childhood memories.

1. RISING ABOVE “SPOCK DEAD: LIVE”

There are reasons I try to avoid the news, and sickening online headlines the like of, “How is Stephen Hawkins Still Alive?”, and, of course, The Mirror Online’s “Spock Dead: Live” are just two of them. But, with a dignified and stirring tweet (above) that rose above the insensitive media cash-in, Nimoy left us ruminating on his touching words that, quite fittingly, muddied the waters between the myth and the man for one final time. LLAP...

Star Wars LEGO Review | 75052 Mos Eisley Cantina

This set was top of my wish list for years before its 2014 revisitation finally came. There’s not a vista out there that screams Star Wars as much as Tatooine’s, and there are few scenes in the whole saga as iconic as Han’s indifferent despatching of Greedo. Having recently given Jabba’s Tatooine operation and the Jawa’s sandcrawler long-overdue facelifts, LEGO have now brought the site of Han’s infamous Rodian showdown up to spec. The 616-piece Mos Eisley Cantina now sits beautifully beside all the other recent Tatooine sets, leaving us only a homestead away from a clean sweep.

Perhaps the most impressive thing about this particular set is how expansive it is, particularly for its relatively low piece count. Beyond the eponymous “hive of scum and villainy”, builders are also treated to the most accurate representation to date of Luke’s soon-to-be-sold landspeeder, as well as a giant dewback megafigure, storm-weathered sandtrooper and all.


The landspeeder is very nearly identical to the 2009 rendition that renewed my interest in LEGO; the only (welcome) difference is that the paint scheme has been inverted back to match that of the film. As before, there’s enough room to sit both Obi-Wan and Luke in the cockpit (and, indeed, stow their lightsabers in the trunk), but there are still no back seats, so you’d be hard-pressed to squeeze the droids in there (not that they’re included here, mind).


The Obi-Wan and Luke minifigures have undergone their obligatory re-release redesign, and once again probably for the better. The “crazy old hermit” looks more haggard than ever, though the absence of an optional cape and hood is sure to annoy those who can’t just pluck them from an earlier Obi-Wan in their collection. Luke looks unreservedly excellent in his finely detailed legs and torso, and the designers have got the style of his hair nailed now, if not the shade, which in my view is closer to really light brown (as has since been acknowledged in the spectacular Ewok Village set) than the LEGO blonde generally favoured. His face is perhaps a little too detailed now, though; the extra detail and expression only serve to make him look older than he should be (at least pre-Wampa).


The dewback is one of my favourite components in the set. Fashioned with the same love and finesse that has brought us the updated Jabba and Rancor megafigures, the detail on the beast of burden is incredible. Its mouth even opens to chew - and, if required, hold and pose with - its bone. In the time-honoured style of LEGO horses, it’s up to the builder whether to brick up the creature’s back to give it a natural look, or - as I prefer - to build the saddle that carries the set’s sandtrooper and his small arsenal of weaponry. With his sand-speckled armour and flesh-coloured face, the Imperial agent is the set’s finest minifigure by far; I’d even goes so far as to say that he’s the most realistic-looking LEGO stormtrooper that I own.

Of course, the set’s real selling point is the Cantina itself which, whilst much smaller than I would have liked, has been deftly designed with a number of hinges that allow the roughly 18cm2 building to open out in a 32cm playset. Its distinctive booths, which are probably too small for even a young player to get his or her fingers into, benefit from slide-out floors, allowing even those of us at triple the maximum recommended age to get our eager protuberances in there.


The level of detail both inside and out the building is duly impressive. The distinctive-looking moisture vaporator is wonderfully redolent of Star Wars, and I love the sliding-door entrance and door scanner which, again, reek of the original movie. The set would have been better if it would’ve had a more complete roof though - one dome, however evocative, looks a little lost and incomplete.


The Greedo and meaner-looking Han minifigures make up for any minor shortcomings in the set though; both are flawless. And I don’t blame LEGO at all for giving us the hard-sell with their, “Recreate the famous showdown between Han Solo™ and Greedo™ from Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope!” because it is such a seminal scene in the saga. I haven’t had such fun recreating a key moment since I finished building the Death Star. I just wish I could decide who shoots first...


The set is completed with a near-identical trio of Bith musicians with whom I can find no fault. Like Greedo, specially-moulded headpieces ensure that they are the spit of their silver screen selves, particularly when adorned with wind instruments cleverly crafted from LEGO City taps. It would have been preferable to settle for a brace of Bith, and get a unique alien barfly in place of the third, but as it is I’ve just had to draft in a few minifigures from elsewhere to fill up the place.

Overall, this set is excellent value for its price tag, offering builders at least as much good stuff as they got with the similarly-styled Echo Base and Battle of Endor sets, but for far less money and with none of the surplus. A must.

The Mos Eisley Cantina is available to buy from LEGO directly for £64.99 with free delivery. However, today’s cheapest retailer is John Lewis, who are selling the set for just £51.99 with the option of free delivery to your local John Lewis or Waitrose.

App / Streaming Service Review | The WWE Network in the UK

After a controversial delay and an even more contentious false start, the WWE Network quietly launched in the UK on 13th January. Being amongst the first to sign up on its release date, despite the surprising lack of promotion (in January, at least), I’ve now had nearly seven weeks to enjoy the streaming service without paying a penny for  it. This extended free trial has given me ample opportunity to attest to the network’s incredible, game-changing potential, as well as its unprecedented value for money (particularly here in the formerly Sky-headlocked England), but I’m afraid that it hasn’t made a paying subscriber out of me - yet.

For die-hard WWE fans in the UK and Republic of Ireland, the question of whether to subscribe to the service is almost a no-brainer. Even at £9.99 / €12.99 (rather than the rest of the world’s $9.99), it’s significantly cheaper than a monthly pay-per-view on Sky, which in of itself should justify a subscription, but not everyone’s primary focus is cost, and whilst my eyes can’t easily see a difference between the network’s native 720p and Sky’s sharper 1080p, those will larger televisions might. Those unlucky enough to still be in areas with poor broadband speeds might also suffer from buffering issues, or perhaps even find the streaming unviable completely. There were even early reports of the stream failing at the WWE end during live streams in the US when the network was first rolled out last February, though this is less likely to be an issue over here as fewer viewers stay up until the early hours to watch a pay-per-view live; I haven’t done so since WrestleMania XIX in 2003, though as a casual viewer, perhaps I’m not the best example.


Indeed, not being all that passionate about the product these days (I didn’t watch it all between 2004 and 2011, when the Rock returned, and the peerless CM Punk rose to prominence), I generally just buy the odd big event (or individual match) via iTunes and rent the Blu-rays through LOVEFiLM. As such, £9.99 per month for me is a huge increase in what I’ve spent on WWE programming each month over the last few years. My existing £7.99 LOVEFiLM subscription covers most pay-per-views and Beyond the Ring documentaries, and the odd £2.49 - £17.99 to iTunes over the year doesn’t even come close to the £119.88 WWE are asking for their subscription. Admittedly, being a few months behind in the so-called “Reality Era” isn’t ideal – were I to ever venture into the world of social media, or even Google something WWE-related, then I’d instantly be bombarded with spoilers. Hell, most main event results are given away by their home media covers (see right for a criminal example from a couple of years ago!) Nonetheless, for me, the pay-per-views alone don’t sell the WWE Network.

What really makes the network appeal to me are three key things: being able to revisit Attitude-Era RAWs and SmackDown!s (so good it had an exclamation mark back then); enjoy The Monday Night Wars and other WWE Network original series and specials; and, most importantly, being able to watch relatively recent (and until now, always Sky-exclusive) RAW and SmackDown episodes in date order amongst the relevant pay-per-views. For instance, I’ve just watched the Royal Rumble and its subsequent RAW this week, when the latter was finally added, some four weeks after its broadcast on Sky. Effectively opening up the whole world of WWE programming without the need for a Sky dish or Sky Sports subscription – something people don’t often consider when thinking about the subscription’s true value for money; the real cost of following WWE on Sky is far more than just the cost of monthly pay-per-view – should, in theory, easily justify my £9.99.

In theory.


My first, and perhaps biggest, disappointment with WWE Network is the dearth of exclusive in-ring content from the eras that I’m interested in (mainly Attitude and early Ruthless Aggression). I can happily fill my boots with whole seasons of Prime Time Wrestling from the cheesy 1980s, and even RAW from the shockingly-poor early to mid-1990s, but 1999 - the then-WWF’s finest year, in my view - has only eight of its fifty-two RAWs available currently. More will be added over time, of course, probably to discourage “hit and run” subscribers, but I’m unlikely to come back until at least November 1997 – August 2002 has its full complement of RAWs and SmackDown!s available to stream.


As to the RAW and SmackDown replays, these are great - except that there is no sodding rhyme or reason that I can see to their release schedule. A Thursday-night SmackDown might appear before that Monday night’s RAW; three RAWs might then pop up all at once. It’s infuriating - if WWE can’t settle on a weekly release date for their replays (which are generally added four to six weeks after broadcast), then they at least could give subscribers a “Notify Me” option so that they can opt for an e-mail alert whenever an episode is added to one of their favourite series. Every so often I get an e-mail from iTunes reminding me to download the latest episode of Star Wars Rebels or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (yeah, I basically just watch cartoons) and it really takes the sting out of their haphazard arrivals.


I got on much better with The Monday Night War series, which finally delivers the detailed, blow-by-blow and fairly impartial account of the WWF vs WCW battle that I’ve craved since the DVD of the same name was released in 2004. My only possible criticism of it is that if you watch all twenty hour-long episodes in just seven weeks, you notice a lot of key sequences, and even anecdotes, being repeated or recycled. I was similarly impressed with the Daniel Bryan and Shield “Journey to…” documentaries, though the (so far only) episode of WWE 24 was less interesting than I’d hoped - the most revealing part is shown in the opening teaser and isn’t really expounded upon later in the programme. Furthermore, the Stone Cold podcasts, whilst superb, are available for free as audio podcasts on iTunes, and with extra content there to boot.


A lot of viewers in the same boat as me, who care far more about yesterday than they do today, are signing up on the strength of the WWE Network’s vast pay-per-view library, which boasts every single pay-per-view in the history of WWF/E, WCW and ECW, not to mention countless hours’ worth of vintage programming from all the companies and territories whose video libraries have been usurped by WWE. However, as I’ve long since been a hoarder of home media, everything that I’d be likely to watch again I already own. The only notable exception is the infamous 1999 pay-per-view, Over the Edge, which has been made commercially available for the first time on the network, albeit with its terrible tragedy tactfully edited out, and a fitting in memoriam dedication to Owen Hart at the programme’s start (see right).


I did think that the convenience of being able to stream retro pay-per-views might see the network commandeer the place of my vast video library, and perhaps even raise a few months’ subscription funds in a lucrative eBay sale, but, whilst the network’s standard-definition video quality is very good indeed, the video itself has been heavily edited. I’m pleased to see that the World Wildlife Fund has apparently relented in its mission to make WWE “keep the F out” of its retro programming, which marred countless home media releases between 2002 and 2013, but many Superstars’ memorable entrance themes – the biker-gimmick Undertaker being a prime example – have been removed, utterly killing the feel of many shows (the end of Judgment Day 2000 is butchered beyond belief, sans Kid Rock), and a few Attitude Era-defining moments, like the Kat’s cheeky flash of her “puppies” at Armageddon 1999, are also gone. Most annoyingly of all though, if I’m watching an old 4:3 programme (and WWE was a good decade or so behind the rest of the world when it came to adapting a 16:9 picture format) on my iPad or iPhone, whenever I press the apparent “zoom in” button (highlighted above), the video just stops. I have to then start it again, and again endure the annoying certification sequence that precedes every single programme, and for which there appears to be no “I’m over 18 – always skip!” feature. I’m therefore stuck being bombarded with certifications that are irrelevant in the UK (TV 14 D L V?) and only able to watch a tiny square picture in the middle of my phone or tablet.


The interface is lacking in many other key areas too. As demonstrated by the screengrabs (above), even the most general of search terms yield few results, and those that do return results that are usually spoiler-laden as they often give away a match’s finish. Moreover, whilst on my PC – which is by far the least likely device that I’d ever stream the network on! – most programmes have chapter markers, on Apple phones and tablets you are only able to skip forwards or backwards thirty seconds at a time. Most pay-per-views are three hours long, so if you just want to watch a main event, that’s a lot of skipping you’ve got to do to get there. More annoyingly still, certain programmes – last year’s TLCS, this year’s Royal Rumble, the first episode of WWE 24, and probably many, many more – aren’t ever marked as “Watched” once you’ve finished them (see below) as the WWE App thinks that they’re longer than they actually are. Once you’ve started watching them, then, you’re forever reminded that you need to continue watching them, even if you don’t. It’s schoolboy stuff to get fixed, but nobody bothers.


One feature I’d also need to see to get my money’s worth is a temporary download option, similar to that featured with the BBC’s iPlayer App, whereby you can download a programme to watch on your phone or tablet whilst you’re out and about, which then expires after a set amount of days (to protect the Beeb against piracy). Being able to do this would make a programme like the Legends of Wrestling roundtable, for instance, that I’d probably never sit down and watch, an added attraction for me, as it’d be perfecting listening material for a commute.


And here’s what really gets me: WWE explicitly advertise Apple TV as being a platform on which the WWE Network can be viewed. Yet, just like the two missed UK release dates, both of which insultingly passed without any sort of reasonable explanation, the WWE Network App remains absent from UK Apple TVs, and we’ve no indication of when – or even if – this will appear. Now as most WWE Network Apple TV subscribers will know, you can get round this if you change your iTunes Store setting from the UK to the US on your Apple TV, but of course then you have to go through the rigmarole of switching it back to the UK every time you want to buy something or stream some iTunes Extras for a film. WWE’s superlatively annoying Apple TV apathy also means that you can’t purchase the subscription through iTunes either, which is a big factor for me as I buy all my store credit at 75% of its worth whenever a retailer has the vouchers marked down (which is about half the year!), and so could potentially pay a fairer price for the network that’s closer to what everyone else in the world pays outside these ill-treated isles.


More positively, I haven’t experienced any major issues streaming content. If your broadband connection wanes for a few minutes, as mine seems to for about half an hour every night around 10pm, then like Netflix and other reputable streaming services, the network adjusts the quality of the streamed content accordingly to minimise any buffering. I can even maintain a good HD stream in my garage on my 2.4GHz network, which is some distance and several thick brick walls away from my router. I’ve also had few interruptions from ads – all I’ve experienced is the thirty-second WWE Immortals ad, and even this has only been three or four times over nearly seven weeks.


Overall then, the potential is there to revolutionise the consumption of sports entertainment, and create a powerhouse of a service that would truly make the “Immortal” Hulk Hogan and his peers exactly that. But there’s a long, long way to go before I’ll be spending any of my money on it, and if WWE wants to attract subscribers from outside its die-hard fanbase and start turning a good profit on the WWE Network, then it’ll need to address the technical points that I’ve raised here at the very least, and perhaps reconsider its attitude towards Attitude too.

To subscribe to the WWE Network, visit WWE.com. It’s $15.42!

The First Great Time War | 1987 vs 2012: A Battle of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

An appalling, Thatcher-led act of censorship has unwittingly provided me with a handy means of disambiguation here - one that, in of itself, seems to encapsulate my feelings about the earliest and most recent Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles television series. Whilst Fred Wolf Films’ 1987 cartoon and Nickelodeon’s ongoing CG series are far from being the total sum of the franchise, for me they are the two finest representations of it, and so inevitably this “shellabration” will dwell on them at the expense of the movies, other TV shows and even the Eastman and Laird-inked comic books from which they first emerged.


What was known in the UK as “Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles”, is a lightweight and bodaciously colourful kids’ cartoon that bears only the most obvious of resemblances to the Mirage Studios comic books that gave life to it. Its mutant turtles and resident rat are heroes in the traditional sense of the word, prone to the occasional “cool but crude” quip and anchovy ice cream-topped pizza, but otherwise painted in as bright a white as one could imagine, and pitted against two-dimensional adversaries whose cartoon evil is eclipsed only by incompetence that would (and in my case did) beggar even a child’s belief. Yet for several years, for me it represented the pinnacle of television excellence, and even when I’ve revisited it in adulthood - and by “revisit”, naturally I mean obsess over it all, even the final five seasons that I missed out on the first time around, thanks to puberty - I’ve found it embarrassingly compelling, forcing my long-suffering wife through seemingly never-ending marathons of Region 1 imports teeming with fourth wall-breaking asides and fights set to scores that have never been bettered in a children’s show.


The continuing Nickelodeon animated series, by contrast, is defined by its ubiquitous (and appropriate) darkness and more adult characterisation; not to forget its inspired, comic book panel stills and slow-mo sequences. Ninjitsu is placed right at the heart of the series, not merely as a combat style to be practised, but as a state of mind. Yet the show does not eschew the wacky, outer-space sci-fi that set the original series apart from the first few films. Indeed, it could be argued that the Kraang are in fact the show’s main antagonists, particularly in the first season, most of which shrouds the seldom-seen (and thus much, much, much, more menacing) Shredder in mystery. Most importantly of all though, the show’s turtles live up to every word of their “teenage Mutant ninja” billing as the series’ creators take the characters’ comic book cores and cartoon selves and fuse them into something clearly greater than the sum of their parts. 


There are, however, a few aspects that Hero Turtles did better than the current series, and to appease my inner child I’ll start this piece by looking at them. One of my favourite things about the original series was the Technodrome - Krang’s mobile technological fortress that looked like the lovechild of a Death Star and a Dalek. At full strength, it would have given Shredder and Krang a decent shot at world domination - but, of course, it was rarely seen in such a state. The show’s finest seasons were driven by the baddies’ schemes to “raise the Technodrome” from the Earth’s core or seabed, or find enough power to open a portal large enough to bring it back from its exile in Dimension X. Even in late ’80s syndication, the baffling nuances of which prohibited the progressive and labyrinthine story arcs of today, the spectre of the unstoppable Technodrome lent each season of Hero Turtles its drive. The Technodrome of the 2012 series, whilst a visual spectacle, lacks the sense of importance and personality that its predecessor had in abundance.


Another big advantage of the original series is its music. Chuck Lorre’s theme song is almost as remarkable an achievement as his superlative geek comedy, The Big Bang Theory. Suitably epic, cool and unforgivably catchy, it has become such a hallmark of the franchise that the 2012 series’ own theme is a modern take on it that shares the signature “der ner ner ner, ner ner”; even the Turtles’ T-phones’ ringtones chirp it out in polyphonics. The show’s incidental music is every bit as good, especially in the show’s early years. The baddies / action theme, for instance, whilst no “Imperial March”, is absolutely phenomenal for a kids’ cartoon. If there was a soundtrack album, I’d buy it.


I should also highlight that many of the current show’s strengths have their roots in the Hero Turtles series. From the Turtle Van turned “Shellraiser” to the Turtles’ differently-coloured bandanas (that have since become entrenched across the media) and Splinter’s former life as Hamato Yoshi (rather than Hamato’s rat), which gives the personal vendetta at the heart of the current show its heat, as well as the Splinter / Shredder / Korai relationship its pathos, many of the 2012 show’s foundations find their roots in 1987.


Yet the Ninja Turtles series is visually, and perhaps even tonally, closer to the original graphic novels, though it doesn’t limit itself to them or Hero Turtles when it comes to plucking stories and characters. The show selectively borrows from almost every iteration of the franchise, even The Secret of the Ooze and, more recently, the highly-rated 1990 movie, while all the time contributing incredible ideas of its own, such as recasting Channel 6’s most famed female reporter as a High School student who’s unwittingly central to the Kraang plot, and painting dentally-challenged vigilante Casey Jones as a troubled teen too. Even Irma - April’s habitually lovesick sidekick from days of old - is brought down to school age, albeit with a slow-burning twist that’s impossible to foresee and absolutely mind-bogglingly brilliant. All these elements from all these disparate inspirations are dextrously woven into a logical, linear and frankly spellbinding story that I think could, if the audience is there, run until young April is old enough for that Channel 6 newsroom.

Where the two incarnations meet most closely is in their comedy. Humour is an integral part of both series, though both treat it in very different ways. Hero Turtles’ humour is very much for the mums and dads, most of it delivered in the form of a quick quip directly to the camera, and almost as much again as less-than-subtle self-mockery. Like most kids’ shows of the same ilk, there’s also a generous dose of slapstick and farce, but these elements don’t stand the test of time in the same way that the protagonists’ meta-fictional musings do.


Ninja Turtles takes a very different approach, as its humour works on just one level throughout, though that level is more plainly teenager / nostalgic geek than Hero Turtles’ younger demographic. As the show is generally more mature, its jokes are too, and they come as often from surprising sources, such as Hoon Lee’s decidedly dry Splinter, as they do comic-relief Mikey; loved-up Donnie; or even completely-nuts Casey.

Where Ninja Turtles starts to trounce its ’80s predecessor is in its storytelling, which is as complex and compelling as in any supposedly-adult drama that I watch. The series benefits from being able to spin out its story naturally over many episodes, with its core narrative spanning all three of its seasons to date, rather than having to push the reset button at the end of every twenty minutes. This allows the characters to grow and threads to develop, often leading to shocking scenes with lasting consequences. 


Shredder’s henchmen, for instance, are given time to be developed as human characters before their mutations, and even then they aren’t locked into an eight-season-spanning role, with one of them undergoing a painful secondary metamorphosis early in the second season. Even Shredder’s adopted daughter, Korai, who’s as principal a character as any of the Turtles, is constantly at risk of death or mutation; the O’Neils, April and her dad, similarly so.

Indeed, Ninja Turtles really enjoys the luxury of being able to take its time, rather than rush to get the key players in place. Cases in point are Hero Turtles stalwarts Baxter, Bebop and Rocksteady. We’re well into the second season before the mad scientist undergoes his defining B-movie evolution, and the season is nearing its end before we get our first glimpse of everyone’s favourite mutant warthog, pre-mutation, in the guise of a super-slick master thief. The introduction of Rocksteady is even more remarkable, as he’s present from fairly early in the first season, but it’s impossible at that stage to foresee his mutant-rhino fate. We are almost half way through the third season before Bebop and Rocksteady are ready to take their place at Shredder’s heel, and when they do, there is far more to them and their relationship with both Shredder and each other than there ever was back in the classic series.


Turning to the casts, the Hero Turtles of the 1980s were voiced by a veritable who’s who of children’s voice artists, most notably Cam Clarke of Dogtanian fame, and Rob Paulsen who was - and continues to be - in just about everything that I, my teenage nephews and small daughter have ever spent a childhood moment watching. Those four voices - as well as those of Splinter, Shredder and especially “Jewish mother” Krang - are burned into my brain; a childhood soundtrack marred only by the odd annoying episode featuring a stand-in actor. When I started watching the 2012 series, I remember thinking, “They’d never get away with that these days,” blissfully unaware of the acting merry-go-round to come in the last quarter of the second season.

With no disrespect to the ’80s actors, Ninja Turtles intently set its stall higher, in profile at least, casting high-profile movie stars and even a former Hero Turtle in its main roles. Prototypical silver-screen teen Jason Biggs was cast as Leo, with ex-Hobbit Sean Astin playing his fiery brother and first-season leadership rival Raph. In an inspired move, Rob Paulsen returns but to play Donnie, who’s pitched closer to Hero Turtles’ fun-loving Raphael than its science-fair Donatello. The technical wizardry is still there in Paulsen’s Donnie of course, and complemented beautifully by a sense of lanky awkwardness that his crush on April can’t help but accentuate, but he’s otherwise the lightest member of the team - with one notable exception. Greg Cipes’ Mikey is loveably bonkers, eschewing the surfer lingo of his ’80s incarnation - “Booyokasha!” has replaced “Cowabunga!” as his battle cry of choice - in favour of countless quirks and apparently endless silliness that, incredibly, often contribute to the resolution of a plot. With his big ideas squeezed through the mind of mouth of an buffoon, he’s like a mutant version of Karl Pilkington; an idiot savant with an amazing knack for lateral thinking and, quite amusingly, naming things. 


The stellar 2012 cast went nova when Biggs departed in 2013, leaving us with a sound-alike Leonardo in place until Season 3, when Seth Green took over the role full-time. In a marked contrast to the classic series’ unconvincing precession of stand-ins, however, Dominic Catrambone does a great job of imitating Biggs’ Leonardo, and the dialogue in the second season’s closing, Biggs-less episodes is deliberately Leo-lite so as to mitigate any damage. When Green finally takes over the role in “Within the Woods”, Leo’s new, heavier and much more seasoned voice is not ignored but opportunely tied into a major plot point - one that looks like it’s going to allow Green to really make the role his own as the Turtles’ leader is forced to reinvent himself in the face of injury and invasion.
 
And so, Hero Turtles and Ninja Turtles are - quite literally - like day and night to one another, yet I still find them both incredibly alluring; something that could not be said of The (irredeemably awful) Next Mutation, TMNT or indeed anything else in between. Ninja Turtles is, however, the better product all-round, particularly if you’re more than a few years old and enjoy the more expansive, modern style of storytelling. With all eyes currently on the home media release of the heroes in the half-shell’s latest movie outing, I’d urge you to throw your coins in the direction of Nickelodeon’s first five volumes of the 2012 series instead, which, for me at least, have become the new yardstick for the TMNT.
The first five volumes of Nickelodeon’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are available from iTunes in 1080p HD for £12.99 - £17.99 each. Each volume comprises approximately half a season (thirteen episodes or thereabouts) together with a “Mutation of Scene” featurette for each episode, and a handful of other extra titbits. Regrettably – and inexplicably – only the first two seasons of Fred Wolf Films’ Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are available in the UK in their entirety, be it digitally from iTunes or on DVD, though a handful of episodes from later seasons are available on various compilation DVDs / download packs. The limited edition complete series box set is available in the UK on Region 1 DVD through Amazon for £87.44 plus £1.26 for delivery, though needless to say this will only work on Region 1 / multi-region DVD players.

Frozen LEGO Review | 41062 Elsa’s Sparkling Ice Castle

 
I’ve now seen Frozen almost twice as many times as I have Star Wars. This feat is even more remarkable when you consider that the icy Disney epic’s forty-seven viewings to date have all been within the last couple of years, as opposed to being speckled across three decades of man and boy. It’s the opiate of the female under fives, and its insidious appeal has hooked many a parent too. I liken my own begrudging, burgeoning respect for it to a parental Stockholm Syndrome - “Arendelle Syndrome”, if you will. I’ve spent so much time with it assaulting my visual and auditory senses that I’ve nothing else left to blog about.
My then-two-year-old’s first cinema trip was a qualified success - she sat through an hour or so of Ricky Gervais and his Karl Pilkington stand-in, Kermit, before asking to go home. Her second trip, though, was magical. Not only did she endure over forty minutes of adverts and trailers (with Daddy chuntering all the way), but she sat spellbound throughout all hundred and two minutes of Frozen. From its opening “Vuelie” Sámi chant to Demi Lovato’s closing, popped-up rendition of “Let It Go”, she was bolt upright on her mummy’s knee, her eyes glued to the silver-blue screen.
Inspired by Hans Christian Anderson’s “Snedronningen” (“The Snow Queen”) fairy tale, Frozen tells of the queen regnant of Arendelle, whose coronation goes awry when she loses control of her suppressed cryokinetic power and inadvertently freezes her kingdom, which she then flees, leaving her plucky princess sister to pursue her into the snowy mountains in the hope of bringing back both her sister and the summer. As I sat through it for the first time, to my untrained eyes it looked very much like Disney by numbers - everything in its right place, perhaps a little shinier than I would have expected, but with little to set it apart from its peers. But even in that first viewing, I was taken aback at the Steinmanesque grandeur of Queen Elsa’s (Idina Menzel’s) “Let It Go”; I was shocked by a genuinely unexpected character twist; I was even impressed with some humour that, going against tradition, didn’t patronise the young target audience.
In the many viewings since, I’ve also come to appreciate the film’s rich themes, the core tenets of which are embedded in the lyrics of “Let It Go” that my daughter endlessly rehearses, as well as the loud and unsettling “Frozen Heart”, which serves as a powerful reflection on the danger and beauty of ice, and metaphorically on Elsa’s then-latent powers and the then-frozen hearts of all but one of the film’s human characters. It’s empowering, confidence-boosting yet cautionary entertainment that I’m pleased to see my daughter soaking in.

And so with the Wolversons’ appreciation of all things Frozen - Frozen toys, Frozen games, frozen fruit for our Nutri Ninja® Pro - we were understandably excited by LEGO’s long-overdue release of Elsa’s Sparkling Ice Castle. As soon as the first UK retailer started offering it at the RRP - as opposed to massively inflated eBay prices - we snapped ours up and had it built within an hour, sparking several “Just stay at home...” days and hours of delightful daddy / daughter LEGO play. It seems that the tale of “Dark Vader” and his Imperial fleet laying waste to Elsa’s icy fortress has infinite permutations.


A similar price and size to Rapunzel’s Creativity Tower, which has been a centrepiece of our sprawling Disney / Star Wars / Ninja Turtles / Simpsons / Friends LEGOpolis for a year or so now, the ice palace boasts a comparable number of rooms and features, and an extra minifigure too in the shape of Olaf, who’s cobbled together from a few existing pieces and a specially-moulded headpiece with a wonderful, removable carrot nose (parents will be pleased to hear that the set even includes a spare carrot, as our original went astray after about fifteen seconds). The two Friends-style mini-dolls are similarly detailed; Elsa’s cape sparkles on its underside, while Anna’s unique hairpiece captures her distinctive ginger-grey locks and bonnet flawlessly. Both include tiny holes so that various crowns and bows can be applied at your little girls’ discretion, and one of Elsa’s hands comes with an optional “frozen fractal” attachment that makes her appear to shoot an icy bolt at her torch-wielding sister. The only disappointment is that Anna’s bonnet doesn’t come off - not that it stops my daughter trying to prise it off with everything from LEGO brick separators to screwdrivers.


And whilst a £34.99 price tag leaves no room for a clumpy-walkin’ Kristoff mini-doll, or  a duplicitous Prince “Horns” one for that matter, we do get a minuscule version of Kristoff’s sleigh, which is a welcome addition despite only having room for one mini-doll and not having a reindeer named after an old England manager included to pull it.


The palace itself seems to delight my daughter, though even she, at just three years old, questions the inclusion of an ice cream parlour on the ground floor of Elsa’s spontaneous, ice-spun mountain refuge. Whilst the fact that neither this cosy, commercialised parlour nor the picnic area outside it weren’t shown in the movie doesn’t automatically mean that they weren’t there, they are so absurdly out of place that it seems all but certain. The colouring of the bricks used is also open to criticism, particularly when it has been expertly demonstrated what could have been accomplished in this stunning LEGO Ideas submission (right) which is now just eight hundred or so votes away from being considered for production.
However, the set’s differently-coloured pieces are at least loosely drawn from the movie’s palette, and they do make for a far easier build, which I especially appreciate now that I’m trying to get my daughter to follow the instructions and build her sets herself. Other parents of those well under the set’s recommended 6-12 age range will also really appreciate the palace’s many large, almost DUPLO-sized components (though there’s many a fiddly icicle too, mind).
And it isn’t as if the set bears no semblance at all to the film; it’s just not as good as it could and, I feel, should have been. But as the balcony area, snowflake spire and icy staircase all evoke the sense of the film if not the specifics, I’ll... let it go.
LEGO expect to be able to ship this £34.99 set from 18th February 2015 onwards, but in the meantime John Lewis still have one left, with the option of free delivery to your friendly neighbourhood Waitrose.

The History of the Future

In mid-2006, I collected together all of my Doctor Who reviews together and pasted them into a very crude website that I’d cobbled together at the obscure URL www.historyofthedoctor.tk. Stories could be scrolled through in order (from the Doctor’s unique perspective), which for many readers was just as important a part of its appeal as the reviews themselves.

A couple of years and a lot of hits later, The History of the Doctor moved to www.doctorwhoreviews.co.uk, where it spent a few strong years as Google’s top-ranked site for the search phrase “Doctor Who reviews” before I shut up shop in mid-2011 at the height of its notoriety.


Whilst I’ve since reviewed the remainder of the 2 | entertain classic Doctor Who DVDs on there, and used the popularity of the site to plug this blog and in particular its Beyond History’s End series from last year, I have no intention of posting any more new Who material. As such, with my web-hosting contract coming up for renewal this month, I’ve reluctantly decided to archive the site away in obscurity at www.doctorwhoreviews.altervista.org rather than cough up quite a lot of money every January to keep it running at its flashy co.uk URL, only for the site to disappear once I snuff it and breach the contract. This way, I can forget about it, and until / unless AlterVista go bust, it’ll be there forever.

If you’re a History buff, please update your bookmarks and spread the word about the move. If you notice any features not working as they did at the old URL, please e-mail me at doctorwhoreviews@altervista.org with the details and I’ll look into it. Please don’t use this address to ask me about future updates, though, as there won’t be any. Hopefully former site contributors Daniel Tessier and Joe Ford will sate your appetites with their continuing, prolific reviews of all things Who and more besides.

So, forget the old “Doctor Whore Views” trailer; now History’s at: