Running Scared (1986)

Not to be confused with the movies of the same name that came out in 1972, 1980, 1986, and 2006 (it's a popular title), this Running Scared is a British TV mini-series that was written by popular children's author Bernard Ashley. Around the same time he wrote a tie-in novel of the same name, but I haven't read it.

By chance, fourteen-year-old Paula Prescott's grandfather is in the wrong place at the wrong time, witness to a crime by local gangster Charlie Elkin (Christopher Ellison – yes, DCI Frank Burnside), a vicious type involved in car theft, jewellery heists, protection rackets, etc. Charlie and his moll (Hetty Baynes - the future Mrs Ken Russell) will do anything to prevent the old man from informing the Filth.

For reasons I won't spoil, Paula (Julia Millbank) gets involved. The young girl has a mystery to solve and a moral dilemma to overcome, so she enlists the help of her best friend, Narinder Sidhu (Amarjit Dhillon). Together the two girls uncover more than they bargained for, about both the wider world and their own families.

It's set in London's East End and more often than not resembles a soap opera of the era. It's even possible to imagine that in a Square not too far away Arthur Fowler is slowly going off his rocker while sitting alone in front of a blank TV screen.

While the mystery is what drives the story forward, it's equally a study of working class London and the racism that was rife within it. Because it's aimed at teens it doesn't get too violent, but anyone that's witnessed British racism in action knows that what is threatened and implied in the series was often actualised in real life.

It won't please everyone, but I don't recall many other kid's shows from the era being as open about such a subject matter, so for that it gets a thumbs up.

6 episodes, approx 25 minutes each.

3 cockney toe-rags out of 5

The Witches and the Grinnygog (1983)

A miniseries based on the children's book of the same name (1981) by Dorothy Edwards. I've not read the book. I had, however, watched the series back in the 80s when it was first screened on British TV. Once the actual Grinnygog appeared onscreen the memories of that time came flooding back to me - almost literally, I felt like I'd been hit by a driving wave of forgotten salad days.

The Grinnygog is a horned, cheeky-faced stone statue about the size of an average garden gnome. The little guy doesn't actually do very much besides look cool, but the majority of the important events that subsequently occur in the lives of the main protagonists happen as a result of his sudden appearance. Without seeming to do so directly, he influences and twists the threads of fate so that the correct people are in the correct place at the correct time.

The witches appear later, and for a while their motivations are a mystery to the children that the story centres around most and, by extension, to the viewers.

There are five kids in all, four of whom are working together to create a museum of local history, a place where the town's past can be viewed and appreciated by everyone regardless of age. Their research not only educates them in the obvious manner but also proves useful in other ways.

It's both a fascinating and enjoyable exercise for me to look back at children's television from yesteryear and note how often the makers of the shows tried to scare the crap out of us and feed us compelling tales of Britain's pagan past.

TWatG doesn't tread the scary route but does take the other, and it does it in such a way that neither condescends nor elevates the importance of one individual belief system over the other. I feel that's an important point to stress because being a children's show means its target audience is typically more suggestible than viewers in some other genres, and kids should always respectfully be allowed the freedom to form their own opinion about such matters.

6 episodes, approx 25 minutes each.

3 of the wayside faith out of 5

Family (1994)

A four-episode miniseries set in Dublin, Ireland, written by author Roddy Doyle and directed by filmmaker Michael Winterbottom. I've read a couple of Roddy's novels and watched the films based on The Barrytown Trilogy. I enjoyed them all. None of the films were big budget ventures, so I had no reason to suspect that a TV production would be any less engaging or personal. Sure enough, it wasn't, the working class Spencer family were just as well-written and presented as Roddy's movie characters. In fact, it was an exceptional TV drama.

Four of the six Spencers have an episode named after them, within which they're the main focus even though, with the exception of the two youngest, all members play an important role each time. Episodes in the order presented:

Charlo: The father. A typical day involves reaching for a cigarette before he's even opened his eyes in the morning, followed by afternoon petty theft, boozing and being condescending to his wife and kids at meal times. It may sound like he's one-note, but there's more to Charlo than I've room to say, almost all of it selfish.

John Paul: A thirteen-year-old son who worships his shit-bag father despite often witnessing the terrible things he does. School is a chore, if he even goes. Loves football, drinking and smoking. In short, a portrait of a troubled youth.

Nicola: A daughter, the eldest of the four kids. She hates her father and has difficulty respecting her mother Paula because of the shit she takes from Charlo.

Paula: The mother. Paula's situation is the most complex. She's guilty of many sins, the majority of which are actions not taken as opposed to ones that are, but she's a mother and she's the best hope the family has of ever finding peace, if only she can pull herself together in time and stay strong thereafter.

It's primarily a hard-hitting drama but makes room for comedy too, oftentimes triggered by brash actions and/or relatable embarrassment.

With regards the principal cast, I don't know enough of their work to judge if they can be as convincing across a wider spectrum, but they were all excellent here.

4 episodes, approx 45 minutes each.

4 vodkas before breakfast out of 5

Quatermass II (1955)

If you're wondering why I skipped the first Quatermass and went direct to the second, it's because, unfortunately, two-thirds of Series One, named The Quatermass Experiment (1953), is lost. Episodes Three, Four, Five and Six are gone, believed to no longer be in existence. It's possible to watch the first two episodes as filmed and finish up by reading the available photocopied scripts of the remaining four if you really want to, although it's not necessary because, while QII does reference what came before, it's a new story with an entirely new threat.

If you did watch the previous two episodes, however, you'll notice that Professor Bernard Quatermass is no longer played by Reginald Tate. Tragically, Tate died less than a month before shooting was due to begin. Instead of respectfully postponing the project the producers moved forward and quickly recast the role, which is how John Robinson came to be the titular scientist. To his credit, Robinson did a fine job despite having had little time to prepare. He struggles in the final episode, but it's the weakest of the six and most of it is easily forgotten anyhow.

The Professor's daughter, Paula (Monica Grey), is employed at the laboratory. She's perhaps the most emotional one but only to a certain degree and often as a necessary foil to the driven men. Otherwise, she's the type of strong, intelligent female equal that 1950s TV series were capable of including but rarely did.

It seems as if the actors sometimes—if not at all times—had a single chance to get it right, one take and job done, as evidenced by the infrequent line errors being present in the final cut; but so too are the quick recoveries, just like stage actors do, pushing onward, making it seem like a real situational solecism.

It's easy to pick apart the occasionally amateurish production methods in comparison to contemporary ones, or even to its big screen remake, because the settings have the wobbly backgrounds you often see in stage productions that are operating beyond their budget, but if I'd been alive and watching the series when it was first screened I'd have been absolutely, utterly hooked.

Each episode opens with a title card (pictured above) and a super-dramatic/stirring rendition of part of Gustav Holst's Mars, the Bringer of War (1914) that really gets you psyched. It's fair to say that it's perhaps the best part, but five of the six episodes don't disappoint. They're suspenseful, respectful to the topic, and at times even damn creepy, the latter being something that British sci-fi excels at.

6 episodes, approx 30 minutes each.

3½ stone shells out of 5

Lipstick on Your Collar (1993)

You've maybe already guessed by the cover that Lipstick is set in the 1950s, which means music plays an important role. Dennis Potter has a peculiar knack for making existing music and lyrics fit his narrative in unusual ways. He plays with them, opens them up and in doing so changes the intent in an often playfully ironic way. It's so successful that in the future when I hear many of the tracks used in the production I'll be smiling while thinking of the scenes they're attached to.

Of all the Potter TV Miniseries I've reviewed so far, Lipstick is my favourite for a number of reasons, the first of which is mentioned above.

There's also the top-class characterisation to consider, and the way some of the principals drift into their own fantasy realm when life bores or distresses them. In a few of the author's other works the fiction spills over into the reality, but here the reality becomes a part of the fiction; boring old farts who would rather be dead than caught dancing in their underwear are launched into spotlights to spin and twirl their stuffy stuff in a hilarious manner.

At the centre of a majority of the daydreams is Pte. Mick Hopper (Ewan McGregor), a clerk who's desperate for his national service term behind a translator's desk at the Foreign Office in Whitehall to end so that he can live life to the full.

The blonde girl is Sylvia Berry (Louise Germaine), the kind of beauty they paint on the side of bombers, but she's as common as muck when she talks. Nevertheless, a number of people are utterly besotted with her, which invariably leads to trouble.

The lives of workers and residents intertwine at various points along the timeline, deepening our understanding of their situation and even on occasion changing our opinion of them. There's occasional nudity and the politically incorrect notions of the era aren't overlooked, so folks that are easily offended probably will be.

6 episodes, approx 60 mins each.

4½ barely bloody drinkables out of 5

Dennis Potter’s Cold Lazarus (1996)

The second part of Potter's final work requires you to have seen all four episodes of the first part, Karaoke (HERE). I won't drop ruinous spoilers about CL's plot, but I'll need to refer to Karaoke, so please think carefully before reading anything beyond this point if you've any interest in watching Karaoke and have yet to do so.

As we saw previously, armed with the knowledge of his failing heath, Daniel Feeld prepared for the future of the people he felt close to. In contrast, the author was unprepared for what awaited him in his own future, 374 years after his death.

The introduction of cryogenics into Karaoke's plot may have seemed odd in isolation, but it makes sense when you consider CL. Scientists unearth the frozen remains of Daniel and plug him into a machine that translates activity in his brain into visual images that can be recorded and analysed by a people who've lost sight of what it means to be human. Their society is in chaos and, for reasons that aren't fully explained, their historical records are inadequate. They believe that memories of the past may help them better understand their present.

The fact that memory, being the subjective construct that it is, is an inherently unreliable source of information is addressed a little but not enough to build a foundation for the entire process to stand solidly on. Similar criticisms can be applied to various parts of CL's plot. At times its reach overextends the length of its component parts, and the whole suffers. When it isn't doing that, when it sticks to more relatable concerns, it explores the nature of free will and deepens our understanding of why Daniel was the person he was in Karaoke.

The scientists are an odd bunch, only a few of whom are any good at acting, but luckily it's those few that get the most screen time. They're at the mercy of a hedonistic evil bitch named Martina Masdon, played with zeal by Diane Ladd. Martina is one of the most memorable characters, and yet many of her scenes are largely superfluous. I'm unsure if that was a kind of commentary in itself, but I'm convinced that some of the subtext is purposefully imbalanced.

On the flip side, some views are so blatant that they're like a punch in the face. I can imagine the author having one final laugh as he contemplated the BBC's reaction to a story about a corporate attempt to control a dying writer's mind.

4 episodes, approx 50 minutes each.

3½ button pushers out of 5

Dennis Potter’s Karaoke (1996)

The first part of Potter's final work was broadcast two years after his death. He wrote it with the full knowledge that he was dying, which makes viewing it a deeply poignant experience. You might expect the situation to have pushed him towards tapping into the bleaker side of his talent, but there's a huge amount of darkly wry humour in the script. There's also a feeling that inevitability can't be conquered, so it should be thoroughly mocked instead, as best we can.

The main protagonist is a screenwriter named Daniel Feeld. Daniel, played with intensity by Albert Finney, is diagnosed with the same painful medical condition that killed Potter in real life, so it's fair to assume that it's at least partly autobiographical in nature. His most recent work is causing grief for both himself and the director of the TV adaptation (Richard E. Grant). It's fiction but, as is already established, fiction often has a modicum of reality in it.

When Daniel, in his real life, encounters people who resemble his written characters he begins to feel somehow responsible for what happens to them.

The director, the one filming Daniel's burgeoning fiction, is tethered to a single scene that repeats over and over for both him and us. As he struggles to make sense of it, the wider story and the parts each person plays within it, like we do in our actual lives everyday, begins to resonate more and more, driven forward by Daniel's need to prevent his words becoming someone else's reality.

The journey toward completion sends tendrils of consequence into the fates of everyone involved. The people at the centre of the drama obviously get it the worst, but even the ones on the periphery are affected.

I mentioned at the beginning that Karaoke is the first part of Potter's final work. The second part is Cold Lazarus (see HERE), which came out the same year.

4 episodes, approx 50 minutes each.

4 artistic temperaments out of 5

A History of Horror with Mark Gatiss (2010)

A three-part TV documentary in which author/actor Mark Gatiss explores the evolution of Horror in cinema from a biased perspective. I don't mean that in a poisonous way; he's upfront about the focus, admitting that it's "unashamedly selective". I was personally disappointed that the German Expressionist movement was completely overlooked, but I found myself agreeing with his choices the rest of the time. There's only one film that I'd not seen, so I had to skip it. Why skip it? Because there's MASSIVE spoilers every time, mostly by showing the ending of each film. If you're comfortable with that, then there's much to enjoy.

Pt 1: Universal Studios: The golden era of American horror, Lon Chaney, Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, et al. The 'Universal Monsters', as they've come to be collectively known, reflected society's needs at the time. It examines the stories in a social context, exploring why scares that stopped when credits rolled were both thrilling and calming for different reasons. The episode contains mini-biopics of each actor, interviews with surviving cast members or their descendants, and an occasional rummage through the archives and props of the day.

Pt 2: Horror Europa: The second episode crosses the waters to focus primarily on the British horror industry, of which Hammer Productions were the most prolific. After Universal had run their Monsters into the ground with increasingly-weakening sequels and diminishing returns they allowed Hammer to have a go, expecting them to fail just as hard. But Hammer dug up the sleeping corpses and gave them new life in glorious Technicolor. It was within that framework that Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing emerged as genre greats.
The X Certificate promised danger and cleavage, so Hammer delivered. For a time, at least. The same waning of interest happened to them years later, but they carved out a well-deserved place in history right alongside Universal.

Pt 3: New Wave USA: Episode three returns to the States for a look at films by the likes of George Romero, Tobe Hooper and John Carpenter, men who pushed the genre further than ever before into realms of dubious acceptability. It gives the Independent films the credit they deserve while acknowledging that the Majors were also doing their bit to herald change with films like The Exorcist (1973) and The Omen (1976) hitting mainstream theatres.

3 episodes, approx 60 minutes each.

4 suggestive shadows out of 5

Blackeyes (1989)

Apologies for the blurry picture used above, but in some ways it emphasises a point about the availability of Dennis Potter’s 'Blackeyes' miniseries: no proper box art exists because it's been denied a commercial release. It's been hidden away in the BBC vaults for twenty-six years. An image search returns precious little other than a bootleg DVD and the covers of Potter’s original novel (1987) to work with, hence my crude cut-n-paste job from a VHS copy.

The story's typical of the author's work, which is to say it's a complex arrangement of layers presented in an unconventional, creative manner; a non-linear narrative that ebbs and flows; a sensual tide that takes as much as it gives.

The titular character is a representation of a writer’s fascination with his niece’s past profession, unattainable except in fiction. He takes parts from her time as a fashion model and creates a tragic, self-reflective, male fantasy that walks off the page. She's a sullied depiction of reality whose very existence taunts.

Her blank slate personality is being written and rewritten by more than one author at any one time, from various perspectives, including, but not limited to, ownership and revenge. Some of the character types are lifted piecemeal from other genres, further blurring the lines between what’s written and real, what’s imagined and what’s being or has already been lived. Nothing is simple.

The unseen narrator—the voice that critiques even itself—is the voice of Potter, uncredited in the role, but inherent, more than just a passive element in his own fairytale playground. The shifting voyeuristic and intimate commentaries are by turns enlightening and disturbing, but always controversial.

Potter was also the director, so the camera is his eye, a part of the space it helped create, moving god-like through it and inside of it. In that, he also excels.

Many critics of the era panned it. The need to label it as either misogynist or satirically damning of misogyny placed them on an uncomfortable fence. Perhaps they recognised elements of themselves in it or it highlighted their own slavish failings? It's even possible that the dislike was unconsciously fuelled by a sociopolitical consciousness change that was happening at the time. But most likely—in not having the benefit of hindsight that we have now—they simply didn't understand it. That's nothing of which to be ashamed. Achieving complete understanding isn't a prerequisite for viewing. I suspect Potter is the only one who ever really could've comprehended every daring facet of it.

4 episodes, approx 50 minutes each.

4 tangles of prose memories out of 5

Cilla (2014)

I was born in the decade after the swinging sixties had swung their last, so my experience of Cilla Black while growing up was primarily as the woman on TV who said “lorra lorra laughs,” and “…here’s our Graham with a quick reminder.” I knew her musically from having performed the emotionally stirring theme song to the film Alfie (1966), the UK version at least, but I knew nothing of how she rose from being a music fan to embracing fame as a singer, so watching 'Cilla' was a real eye-opener. It’s also damn good. It ought to be because it's from the same writer, producer and director team that made Mrs Biggs (2012).

It begins in 1960, Liverpool, the same year and location in which The Beatles formed. Cilla’s own evolution runs parallel to theirs and even overlaps on occasion. As you’d expect, almost everyone speaks in a Liverpudlian accent. The hard ‘g’ and ‘–ckk’ sounds are better performed by some of the cast than by others, but everyone is easily identifiable as being Scouse.

Cilla is played by Sheridan Smith. She’s not a dead ringer, but when topped with the famous red hair and outfitted in the correct period fashions she definitely looks the part. The aesthetic trappings could've been all for naught if the voice wasn't authentic. Thankfully, Sheridan can really sing. She performed all tracks live on set, in both of Cilla’s unique styles, and it’s genuinely superb. I’d link an example on YouTube but removing them from context wouldn't be a good idea.

While the miniseries is primarily about the titular character, she didn't make the journey alone. It’s also the story of the devoted Bobby Willis, who played a pivotal role, and to a lesser extent the record producer Brian Epstein.

Directly after viewing the final episode I went looking for clips of the real Cilla singing in the studio to see how Sheridan compared. Doing so was instrumental in my developing a new appreciation for Cilla's talents. I see her now first and foremost as an artist, whereas before it was as presenter of crap TV.

3 episodes, approx 45 minutes each.

4 edge of the step moments out of 5

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (1981)

THGttG is an adaptation of Douglas Adams’ most famous work and provides proof positive that you don’t need a huge budget to create entertaining television science fiction, you just need a really good script and a towel.

Somewhere there’s someone who hasn't seen it, heard it or read it (it was a radio play and a novel before being turned into a show), so a quick synopsis: it’s the tragic tale of a regular Joe who wakes one morning to find his house is to be bulldozed that very day. The Joe is named Arthur Dent. Unbeknownst to Arthur, that particular toe-stub is small change in the galactic sense of the word because high above Earth hangs a Vogon ship with an even more destructive intent.

The Hitchhiker's Guide itself contains information to educate the galactic traveller and help them steer relatively clear of danger, or at the very least avoid the kind of embarrassing faux pas that taints even their unborn grandchildren. When read aloud it’s accompanied by cheap illustrations that appear to have been created on a two slice toaster powered by a potato; they somehow won an award. The voice is actor and radio broadcaster Peter Jones because if you’re going to give a book a voice it better be a damn good one. Quite often scrolling text extrapolates or expands upon what the voice is telling us. If you want to read it all you’ll need to make use of the pause button. It might seem like a chore at first but it's well worth the small amount of effort required. Stop being unfathomably lazy.

Everything has a very British parlance, so expect dry humour, comedy cynicism and cups of tea. At times it resembles a less tangential version of Monty Python's Flying Circus, particularly the episode which takes place at the restaurant.

If you're too busy to sit and watch a TV show, the radio play is equally as good and provides much the same experience minus the visuals, obviously.

6 episodes, approx 30 minutes each.

4 strange coincidences out of 5

The Day of the Triffids (2009)

The BBC had successfully made a more faithful adaptation of John Wyndham’s excellent Triffids novel (1951) almost three decades before (1981), so they can be forgiven for straying from the path a second time around. The same thing with better production values might appeal to people allergic to the past, but it would be largely pointless from a creative perspective. What they did instead was team up with a Canadian production company, set the story in modern era Britain while somehow eliminating any real sense that it's actually British, and then foolishly shift much of the underlying focus away from Wyndham’s original intent.

Leaving aside the deviation, it was made at a time when the channel was trying hard to keep up with stylistic trends set by the kinds of US TV shows that were screening almost unceasingly on rival channels. Auntie wanted a piece of that audience, so they began to employ ‘edgy’ filming techniques that can be summarised as wobbly, handheld sickness. The most infuriating trend was the use of quick zooms in scenes that didn't require any such thing, scenes in which there’s nothing of importance to highlight. It’s as if a toddler has gotten hold of an expensive video camera and discovered buttons for the first time.

Making what’s essentially a walking carnivorous plant appear scary would be no easy task, but the Triffids are really quite good and believably frightening. The music does much of the work, but it helps that they tower over the humans by a few feet or more and have an extended reach. With skill and some luck it would be possible to outrun one, but when they shuffle around in packs like hoodies at a mall then escape becomes more a wild dance of defiance for most victims.

Comedian Eddie Izzard is cast in a serious role. He does a decent job despite his character being written as nothing more than a dozen clichés personified.

2 episodes, approx 90 minutes each. Episode 02 has some of the best individual scenes but is the weakest and most infuriating half overall.

2½ reaction tests out of 5

Mrs Biggs (2012)

An ITV miniseries based on the life of Charmian Biggs (played by Sheridan Smith), wife to the most well-known of the Great Train Robbers, Ronnie Biggs (played by Daniel Mays). If you don’t know the historical aspect, in 1963 Ronnie and fifteen other men robbed an English Royal Mail train that was carrying £2.6 million (approx £48 million in today’s money) and they did it without using guns.

The series begins a few years prior to that, though, in 1957. Charmian Powell is an innocent, dependable young woman who holds a steady job and has a strict, controlling father. Ronnie is a part-time petty crook, a Jack the Lad, Jimmy Chancer, etc, and also a bit of a charmer. The inevitable happens.

The journey from youthful innocence to reluctant accomplice avoids pure melodrama. It’s often difficult to sympathise with a criminal and easier to have those feelings for a criminal’s wife, but covering up the truth even for noble reasons is still an immoral act. The series doesn't force you to abandon the judgements you’d naturally have toward that kind of behaviour, so you’re free to dislike Charmian's choices if you choose to and still enjoy the ride.

Sheridan is radiant—when she smiles she lights up the entirety of a scene—but it’s not all smiles and money spending, there’s plenty of tears and hardship too, because they’re on the run from the law every minute of every day. Even when it seems as if they've gotten far enough away, it takes only a knock on the door or a second of doubt to bring it all rushing back to mind.

It drives home the truth that an influx of money doesn't instantly wipe away existing domestic troubles. In some cases it can even cause them. Speaking of truth, the disclaimer at the beginning of each episode tells us that creative licence is in play, so bear that in mind while viewing. However, the real Charmian Biggs was a consultant on the series, so that gives it some credibility.

It’s not the type of series I usually watch, but after taking a chance on one episode there was no way I wasn't seeing it through to the end. It’s a quality Sunday evening style drama that doesn't glamorize its subject matter for extra thrills.

5 episodes, approx 50 minutes each.

4 good runs out of 5

The Andromeda Strain (2008)

At time of writing, director Robert Wise's 1971 version of The Andromeda Strain is one of the better films that I've seen based on the works of Michael Crichton, so there was some trepidation when I decided to watch an updated version made for TV, but curiosity won me over. Happily, it turned out to be pretty good.

The previous film had a distinctly 70s appeal with a fascinating visual look, whereas the new one just looks like every other modern TV show that features shady governments run by self-important, ambitious pricks with more money than morals; but it looks great, if that’s your thing.

The team have a lot more high-tech equipment at their disposal this time and consequently the danger level within the lab is lessened. When you see multimillion dollar mechanical marvels your first thought is no longer, 'That shit could break any minute! Emergency exit, please, timely manner!'

A second story runs concurrently outside the underground lab environment. I can’t say if that was in the original novel or not, because I've not read it. It injects some action scenes into what could've been an otherwise static display of scientific methodology by having a journalist poke his nose into the military’s response on the surface. The aura of secrecy is carried through into the low key way they respond to the external threat. It was my least favourite aspect but that doesn't mean it was in any way irritating, because it wasn't.

My only real dislike was the way the story (or the final cut) neglected to follow up on the human subjects that were held in the lab. Did they survive? Are they still under quarantine? Did they become overnight reality TV sensations?

The music by Joel J. Richard is good on occasion. The action moments in particular reminded me of John Murphy’s work and anything JM gets my attention.

2 episodes, approx 90 mins each. Alternatively, split into 4 episodes, approx 45 mins each in some regions.

3 growing concerns out of 5

Stephen King’s The Shining (1997)

A TV miniseries directed by Mick Garris, based on Stephen King's 1977 novel of the same name. It's essentially the story of a family forced to confront the underlying feelings that threaten to tear their already not very happy home apart. The addition of a supernatural aspect turns the process dial up to dangerous levels.

Jack Torrence (Steven Weber), a struggling writer, ex-alcoholic and regular screw-up takes a job as caretaker of a remote hotel that's routinely closed over the winter months. He brings his wife, Wendy (Rebecca De Mornay), whose over-protectiveness of their seven year old son, Danny (Courtland Mead), is justified somewhat because young Danny has a gift, or a curse depending on your point of view: he can sense emotions, danger and even occasionally see the future.

The quiet, creative retreat for three that Jack was hoping for turns out to be more eventful than he'd predicted. The Overlook Hotel has many ghosts and they'd just love to get to know the Torrence family better.

The teleplay was written by King, so all the little things carry over in a natural way, such as Jack telling people what he thinks they want to hear because it helps him stay in the game; the accusatory glances and subtle, snide remarks orchestrated to recall lingering guilt; a mother's jealousy of the bond between her son and his undeserving father; and the changing mannerisms of each family member as the story progresses and obsessions take over.

The boiler room gets the attention it deserves; the actual boiler being symbolic of the raging monster inside of Jack, building in force until the pressure is so great that it needs to be manually released or the whole thing will explode. Jack's fury is vented in much the same way. He needs to 'blow off steam,' as the expression goes, or his anger will consume him.

The biggest change to the story is during the finale; questionable coda aside it's not radically different from the original but it's been rewritten, making it tighter and more interesting. It's one of the things that help keep everything from falling foul of the usual third act plummet in quality.

I'm not going to add to the 'which filmed version is best?' debate other than to say if you want an unsettling, finely-crafted cinematic vision then the Kubrick film fits the bill, but if you'd rather see a more faithful adaptation of the novel, with intricacies of character intact, then the miniseries will provide it. If you're open to the possibility of one thing evolving into two uniquely different things, get both.

3 episodes, approx 90 minutes each.

4 party invites out of 5

Neverwhere (1996)

Richard Mayhew is a nice guy who lives in London. (Those two things are generally mutually exclusive, but Richard is a Scotsman who lives and works in the city, so it’s all good.) His fiancée is an asshole. His friends are assholes. If Richard could meet the criteria he believes constitutes success, he’d become an asshole too. But instead he meets Door, a pretty young woman in need of the kind of help that he in his privileged position is able to offer.

Richard becomes aware of London Below, an underworld with its own laws, both societal and physical, that coexist with the London Above. The two worlds can interact from time to time but must inevitably return to their own individual aspects. If Richard is to help himself then he must continue to help Door, and that means stepping into an unknown world of underground passageways, weird happenings and (not very menacing) cut-throat assassins.

It required a believable, fantastical aura to be effective, something like Hensen’s Labyrinth (1986), but instead it ended up looking more like Eastenders. The reason being that all footage was shot on video with a subsequent filmisation process planned, so the lighting needed to allow for that. When the filmisation process didn't happen, the resultant footage was released as is and it looks bad. It’s easy to imagine the morose ghost of Arthur Fowler lingering behind a market stall someplace, which doesn't do it any favours. I've gotten used to it over the years and can easily ignore that aspect, but newcomers might be less forgiving.

What drew me to the series initially was that it was written by the author Neil Gaiman. I was a fan of his storytelling style back then, which was influenced by classic literature. It’s watered down by oceans and time, but there’s an unmistakable element of it beneath the surface, giving it life. Richard is a kind of modern Aeneas; he’s an Argonaut; he’s Theseus walking toward a confrontation with the Minotaur. He isn't consciously aware of any of that, but the workings of fate exist and direct him in the same orchestrated manner. History has shown that even the Greeks viewed their myths as mutable, adaptive to the times and the teller, so at its most basic level only the setting is changed.

6 episodes, approx 30 minutes each.

3 forgotten route stops out of 5

Coma (2005)

A South Korean miniseries set mostly inside a hospital that's almost completely abandoned, having been marked for closure. A young professional woman, Yoon Young (Lee Se Eun), is sent in to check insurance criteria are being met by the few remaining staff members, all of whom are reticent about why there's a single female patient still in the ward. The patient, Lee So Hee (Cha Soo Yun), is in a coma, unable to speak for herself. Why she's there and why she's comatose opens a door to a horror/mystery that leads to a dramatic and creepy conclusion. If you already have a morbid fear of hospitals, then you may want to avoid watching.

The building has ghosts: the dead kind that act independently, with long, face-obscuring hair and a grudge, and the haunting memory kind that are trapped in a moment, destined to replay a tragic event over and over.

Subsequent episodes simultaneously expand upon the sleeping girl's past and offer up new stories with new characters, each somehow tied into it. Within that framework are a small number of different time periods overlapping.

The narrative throws around a lot of what appear to be red herrings as it gathers the disparate threads together, but they weave into a satisfying conclusion, so don't get too frustrated if you feel a little lost from time to time.

It's lit in a very precise way. A lot of the time the colour is either drained out of the picture or the cold, murky appearance of the concrete is extended to every other aspect of production. The closest approximation I can think of is the aesthetic of most survival horror games: the flickering corridor lights, the shit-smeared and blood-stained half-tiled walls, etc.

An over-reliance on the now clichéd Asian horror sounds (clicking/grinding bones and scratching/shuffling corpse) was tiresome, but the series was aired in 2005 and that may have been less of an issue then. Had I been lucky enough to see it in 2005 I'm positive that I'd have liked it more.

5 episodes, approx 55 minutes each. The final episode is the best.

3 unsanctioned after hours operations out of 5

Mortal Kombat: Legacy II (2013)

The second collection of shorts in the MK anthology has more of a serialised structure than the character-centric vignettes of Series 1. Each story is split over 2 episodes this time, which are in turn part of a larger whole connected by a very specific locale. The contrast between past and present becomes a kind of running theme, while offering up some back story for certain characters.

It starts well. Episode 1 is like a violent HK movie. It doesn't have much of a plot, but focuses instead on showing Liu Kang’s relationship with the world he swore to protect and the one he left behind. It’s like an intro more than anything else, but that’s okay because all episodes have been simultaneously released for stream, so you don’t have to wait from week to week to get your fix.

The quality drops significantly in the middle, with some poor acting from the ladies, but see it through to the end and you’ll be rewarded with some Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa. There are a couple of other interesting guest stars, too.

Each episode of Series One had its own visual look, but things are more or less standardised throughout this time. The lighting that Tancharoen or his DP has opted for puts more emphasis on gritty realism than before. It’s certainly a more unified visual experience but consequently a less interesting one if, like me, you happened to like the fanciful parts of Series One.

10 episodes, approx 7 - 9 mins each (some are shorter, some are longer).

2½ ideals worth defending out of 5

Merlin (1998)

I’m fascinated by the Arthurian Legends, so I admit to experiencing some bias while watching the miniseries. But even without that deeper interest, the writing, the direction and the performances of many of the cast stand out as being somewhat exceptional for the Fantasy TV format of the era.

Merlin (Sam Neill) is wise, sensitive and respectful to the natural order. His inner strength shines through in everything he does. Whereas most other tales of Camelot have him as a supporting character, there to help Kings Uther and Arthur achieve their respective goals, this one focuses primarily on the wizard's own trials. It gets to the very heart of the man, showing that he has hopes, dreams, fears and failings that influence his decisions the same as we all do.

His nemesis is Queen Mab of the Sidhe, played with theatrical aplomb by Miranda Richardson. She speaks in a bizarre croaky whisper, like something that lives underground and far from light might employ.

Merlin receives his power from the same source as Mab, but while her fear of being forgotten has curdled her's to a corruptive purpose, Merlin's is rooted in acceptance. There’s a double dramatic irony at stake, filled with causality.

The remainder of the cast are equally as talented. There’s Helena Bonham Carter, John Gielgud, Isabella Rossellini, Martin Short, Rutger Hauer, Lena Headey and the voice of James Earl Jones, among others. The only weak link is Rossellini’s character. Her role is important to the narrative but she plays it too passive; it needed more passion, given that she's a primary source of conflict.

Beneath the human story is a struggle for dominance between the old Pagan belief system (represented by Mab) and the newer Christian Religion (represented by the Kings of Britain). There will be casualties no matter who wins, but Merlin tries to limit them in number as best he can.

Storytelling is an important factor, and one that it doesn't scrimp on. It’s told in flashback, with a V/O narration revealing the secret things that would normally stay hidden in the human heart. It’s rich in lore but also finds a fitting place for things I'd not seen before in other adaptations.

There’s some dated CGI in places, but it’s there to enhance the action, not take the place of it and it always plays second fiddle to what the cast are doing.

2 episodes, approx 90 minutes each.

4½ turns of the wheel out of 5

Terminator Salvation: The Machinima Series (2009)

The Machinima Series is an animated prequel set two years before the Terminator Salvation (2009) movie. I've no idea if it improves upon or adds additional depth to the movie's back-story because I haven't watched the feature, nor do I think I ever will, so I'm able to judge the series on its own merits, of which there are few.

It's a CGI animation constructed using the game engine of the movie tie-in video game. Already, alarm bells should be ringing in your head.

It's a bold idea but the result is pretty awful. The movement is stiff, limited by the engine's existing parameters. The environments are structured like a game environment, coloured by the seven shades of shit-brown and six shades of concrete-grey that dominate the uninspired action genre.

Its blandness is matched by its obvious padding out of story. There's a story there but it could've been easily told in one 25 minute short. Instead, they stretched it to 6 episodes, approx 12 minutes each.

When the first episode ended there was a fraction of a second when my brain said it was time to pick up the games controller and prepare for some insipid shooty action. I was unconsciously making ready to target exploding barrels for easy kill points. Thankfully. that didn't happen, which was comforting. Although, what that means is that very quickly the Machinima Series feels like it's a game without any actual gameplay. No, not like Heavy Rain.

1 system crash out of 5