The Lala Way

I was watching Ally McBeal last night and noticed the episode was directed by Rachel Talalay, a director with a very long career in television, perhaps most distinguished for the many episodes of Doctor Who she directed in the Twelfth Doctor era. So I dozed off watching Doctor Who last night, though not episodes directed by Talalay. I started with the first episode of The Ark in Space and then moved on to "The Pilot", the first episode of Twelve's final season, in which we meet his companion, Bill.

How frustrating it is to reflect on how well everything was working in Twelve's final season. "The Pilot" has the wisdom to start small instead of trying to cram a million plot details and special effects into every minute. Bill is introduced and allowed to breathe, the Doctor is allowed to be reintroduced as a mysterious professor. To think it was panic over this season's tendency to be watched by only around five million people that led to the revamp that saw ratings decline to the four million range before settling to-day in the two million range. I guess a lot of what makes a great creator or producer of television is to know when to hold 'em, know when to walk away, etc.

X Sonnet 1944

Spaghetti messes mount above the rim.
The blackened pot could speak in heated tones.
But speaking plain could make the lights go dim.
The kitchen tiles hid the preacher's bones.
Like fingers finding herbs, the roots advance.
A cooking ground defined the lonely house.
A barren garden waits for worm romance.
The lurid scene has shamed the watching mouse.
Some screws of hate are twisting little minds.
With slime, the wretched cauldron bubbles hot.
A des'prate chef prepares some rotten rinds.
A bloated heart would smother infant thought.
The march of stupid men would crush the school.
The imp aspires now to be a tool.