In a lot of ways, my working relationship with Nikki is like a story from Doctor Who, with her as the Doctor (as companions go, I think I’m more a Harry Sullivan type). She’ll call or text me out of the blue one day and invite me to join her on her latest adventure. And that’s really the best word for it: adventure.
Sometimes the way through the project is a straight path. Far more often it’ll have all these twists and turns before we get to the end of it. But we always end up where we need to go. And we always have a lot of fun getting there. I’m proud of all the things we’ve accomplished together.
And now, I’m especially proud of the work we’re doing to pass that sense of adventure on to the next generation.
“Clara, be my pal. Tell me… am I a good man?”
“I… don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
- from “Into the Dalek,” by Phil Ford and Steven Moffat
It was the central question of Series 8 of Doctor Who. What kind of man is this new Doctor? Is he a hero? Does he still care? Is he even capable of caring anymore?
It’s to the show’s credit that it dared to ask those questions, to explore the darker sides of life with, and as, the last Time Lord. Asking those questions gave us stories like “Listen” and “Flatline.”
And it’s to the show’s credit that in the end, it found a way to answer them.
The world is full of possibilities.
If your experience with that truth is anything like mine, then it’s a lesson we all learn. And forget. And relearn. But I have to believe it’s worth the constant trying.
That truth is so much at the heart of what Monarch Academy is about. And it’s at the heart of the school’s latest [ad]venture.
There’s something about barbershop music that makes the genre so unique. It’s at once wholly American and wholly global, as the existence of organizations like Sweet Adelines International demonstrates.
In San Antonio, we have the Alamo Metro Chorus, a local chapter of Sweet Adelines. AMC and its affiliated quartets regularly travel and compete regularly in international showcases. I’ve heard them, so I can tell you they deserve it.
Which brings us to last weekend. Continue reading
Since I’ve committed to life as a Doctor Who blogger, I’ve often surprised myself with the connections I’ve made. Not so much within the show itself – it’s easy to find traces of a past story or a past Doctor in the current series. It’s Doctor Who – there’s always going to be at least a piece of its past in its present.
No, the surprise comes from the connections I find outside of the series, the things an episode reminds me of as I’m watching it. Last week’s episode is a perfect example. I didn’t go into “Flatline” looking for a Bourne Identity parallel, but once I found it, it just made perfect sense to explore that.
With all that in mind, you really have to wonder about the kind of mind that goes from Doctor Who to Talking Heads…
One of the many assets of Doug Liman’s The Bourne Identity (spoilers ahead) is Clive Owen’s character, called the Professor. Like Jason Bourne, the Professor’s one of the Treadstone program’s assassins, a laconic piece of work who says nary a syllable until he finally catches up with his quarry. And once Bourne has gunned him down, he uses his dying words to reflect on the terrible bond they share:
Look at us. Look at what they make you give.
Bourne himself will repeat those words in The Bourne Ultimatum. It’s a commentary on the way Treadstone has leached the good from them both, in the name of a supposed higher purpose.
And after seeing the latest Doctor Who, the road from the Professor to the Doctor might not be as far as you’d think. Or hope.
Spend the briefest length of time with me, and you’ll know that I love film music. I’ve been in love with film music for the better part of my life. It’s effectively permeated my DNA.
Spend a slightly longer length of time with me, and you’ll know that it all started with Jerry Goldsmith and his iconic score for Star Trek: The Motion Picture. Since I first heard “THE score” all those years ago, music has been a huge part of my Star Trek experience.
And last night, that experience took me to a whole new dimension.