Don’t mistake appearances for the reality, baby.

The Avengers

3.19: The Wringer

A first-rate little screws tightener, as Steed not only comes under suspicion but is also found guilty of treason. He’s accused of exposing the Carinthia pipeline (a route for spies on the Austro-Hungarian border), leading to the deaths of six agents. While The Wringer is guilty of a sin common in the series – having the villains discuss their plan and reveal themselves early on, when there might be more to gain from keeping motives and machinations unclear – there’s much to enjoy here, including Steed coming under full-on psychotropic conditioning and a marvellously deranged performance from Terence Lodge (as the titular character).

Charles: The disposal of agents who have outlived their usefulness is not a matter we concern ourselves with – very closely.

Paul Whitsun-Jones returns for the second and final time as Steed’s boss Charles, and he’s entirely lacking in endearing qualities, particularly since he’s so quick to find our hero guilty and have him sent to his death, merely on the say-so of Anderson (Peter Sallis; Wallace, of course, some dreadful long-running comedy about hurtling down hills in bath tubs, and Penley in The Ice Warriors). Who has been conditioned by the Wringer and his off-message associates at the organisation’s now-rogue highland interrogation centre.

The Wringer: Time is what you care to make it, baby. Reality is merely a causal affair; we all know that. In reality, there is only the void.

Lodge (three roles in Doctor Who, two of them directed by producer Barry Letts who plays Oliver here, most notably as Moss in Planet of the Spiders) was memorable but a little erratic in the opening scene of Man with Two Shadows, required to switch multiple personalities over the stretch a few minutes. Here, though, he’s in full flow, relishing the chance to dive into a sinisterly enthusiastic beatnik operative with a penchant for hipster patois and mind expansion, questioning the nature of reality, dropping Wittgenstein into conversation, inducing his only little MK-Ultra, and crowing that “We could go on forever. No one in the service trusts each other”.

The Wringer: Don’t mistake appearances for the reality, baby.

Sallis is also very good, as a man who has lost his memory in resistance to the implanted lie of Steed being a traitor; Steed refers to Anderson as reliable, although he shouldn’t be, since he’s lousy shot and can’t swim. Also on hand is Gerald Sim (the Rector from To the Manor Born as well as four other Avengers appearances, including one in The New Avengers).

We’ve had Steed come under suspicion earlier this season in The Nutshell, and Martin Woodhouse’s teleplay wisely doesn’t labour the interrogation side. Rather, it’s a case of Steed being assaulted by sound and vision recordings, including familiarly psychonautically swirling concentric patterns, lapping waves, explosive assaults, and manifest darkness accompanied by sinister pulsating sounds.

If there’s a weakness, it’s that Cathy infiltrates and springs him remarkably easily (albeit she gets shot in the arm, and they come up through a convincing storm drain set). It’s nice to see her righteous defence of Steed, however (“If there’s any clearing up to be done, I suggest it’s on your side” and asked where Steed is, she rebukes “I imagine he’s doing your job for you”).

A memorable ending too (well, aside from the subsequent business of Cathy struggling to pour tea), as the clearly unhinged Wringer is unapologetic for his behaviour, repeating the mantra “Question of time, isn’t it? Question of time, it’s all a question of time”. One of the best of the season.

Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.

Comments

She writes Twilight fan fiction.

Vampire Academy (2014)
My willingness to give writer Daniel Waters some slack on the grounds of early glories sometimes pays off (Sex and Death 101) and sometimes, as with this messy and indistinct Young Adult adaptation, it doesn’t. If Vampire Academy plods along as a less than innovative smart-mouthed Buffy rip-off that might be because, if you added vampires to Heathers, you would probably get something not so far from the world of Joss Whedon. Unfortunately inspiration is a low ebb throughout, not helped any by tepid direction from Daniel’s sometimes-reliable brother Mark and a couple of hopelessly plankish leads who do their best to dampen down any wit that occasionally attempts to surface.

I can only presume there’s a never-ending pile of Young Adult fiction poised for big screen failure, all of it comprising multi-novel storylines just begging for a moment in the Sun. Every time an adaptation crashes and burns (and the odds are that they will) another one rises, hydra-like, hoping…

My name is Dr. King Schultz, this is my valet, Django, and these are our horses, Fritz, and Tony.

Django Unchained (2012)
(MINOR SPOILERS) Since the painful misstep of Grindhouse/Death Proof, Quentin Tarantino has regained the higher ground like never before. Pulp Fiction, his previous commercial and critical peak, has been at very least equalled by the back-to-back hits of Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained. Having been underwhelmed by his post Pulp Fiction efforts (albeit, I admired his technical advances as a director in Kill Bill), I was pleasantly surprised by Inglourious Basterds. It was no work of genius (so not Pulp Fiction) by any means, but there was a gleeful irreverence in its treatment of history and even to the nominal heroic status of its titular protagonists. Tonally, it was a good fit for the director’s “cool” aesthetic. As a purveyor of postmodern pastiche, where the surface level is the subtext, in some ways he was operating at his zenith. Django Unchained is a retreat from that position, the director caught in the tug between his all-important aesthetic pr…

Something something trident.

Aquaman (2018)
(SPOILERS) If Aquaman has a problem – although it actually has two – it’s the problem of the bloated blockbuster. There's just too much of it. And the more-more-more element eventual becomes wearing, even when most of that more-more-more is, on a scene-by-scene basis, terrifically executed. If there's one thing this movie proves above all else, it's that you can let director James Wan loose in any given sandpit and he’ll make an above-and-beyond castle out of it. Aquaman isn't a classic, but it isn’t for want of his trying.

I don’t think you will see President Pierce again.

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018)
(SPOILERS) The Ballad of Buster Scruggs and other tall tales of the American frontier is the title of "the book" from which the Coen brothers' latest derives, and so announces itself as fiction up front as heavily as Fargo purported to be based on a true story. In the world of the portmanteau western – has there even been one before? – theme and content aren't really all that distinct from the more familiar horror collection, and as such, these six tales rely on sudden twists or reveals, most of them revolving around death. And inevitably with the anthology, some tall tales are stronger than other tall tales, the former dutifully taking up the slack.

You look like an angry lizard!

Bohemian Rhapsody (2018)
(SPOILERS) I can quite see a Queen fan begrudging this latest musical biopic for failing to adhere to the facts of their illustrious career – but then, what biopic does steer a straight and true course? – making it ironic that they're the main fuel for Bohemian Rhapsody's box office success. Most other criticisms – and they're legitimate, on the whole – fall away in the face of a hugely charismatic star turn from Rami Malek as the band's frontman. He's the difference between a standard-issue, episodic, join-the-dots narrative and one that occasionally touches greatness, and most importantly, carries emotional heft.

Mountains are old, but they're still green.

Roma (2018)
(SPOILERS) Roma is a critics' darling and a shoe-in for Best Foreign Film Oscar, with the potential to take the big prize to boot, but it left me profoundly indifferent, its elusive majesty remaining determinedly out of reach. Perhaps that's down to generally spurning autobiographical nostalgia fests – complete with 65mm widescreen black and white, so it's quite clear to viewers that the director’s childhood reverie equates to the classics of old – or maybe the elliptical characterisation just didn't grab me, but Alfonso Cuarón's latest amounts to little more than a sliver of substance beneath all that style.

The wolves are running. Perhaps you would do something to stop their bite?

The Box of Delights (1984)
If you were at a formative age when it was first broadcast, a festive viewing of The Box of Delights may well have become an annual ritual. The BBC adaptation of John Masefield’s 1935 novel is perhaps the ultimate cosy yuletide treat. On a TV screen, at any rate. To an extent, this is exactly the kind of unashamedly middle class-orientated bread-and-butter period production the corporation now thinks twice about; ever so posh kids having jolly adventures in a nostalgic netherworld of Interwar Britannia. Fortunately, there’s more to it than that. There is something genuinely evocative about Box’s mythic landscape, a place where dream and reality and time and place are unfixed and where Christmas is guaranteed a blanket of thick snow. Key to this is the atmosphere instilled by director Renny Rye. Most BBC fantasy fare doe not age well but The Box of Delights is blessed with a sinister-yet-familiar charm, such that even the creakier production decisions may be vi…

I am so sick of Scotland!

Outlaw/King (2018)
(SPOILERS) Proof that it isn't enough just to want to make a historical epic, you have to have some level of vision for it as well. Say what you like about Mel's Braveheart – and it isn't a very good film – it's got sensibility in spades. He knew what he was setting out to achieve, and the audience duly responded. What does David Mackenzie want from Outlaw/King (it's shown with a forward slash on the titles, so I'm going with it)? Ostensibly, and unsurprisingly, to restore the stature of Robert the Bruce after it was rather tarnished by Braveheart, but he has singularly failed to do so. More than that, it isn’t an "idea", something you can recognise or get behind even if you don’t care about the guy. You’ll never forget Mel's Wallace, for better or worse, but the most singular aspect of Chris Pine's Bruce hasn’t been his rousing speeches or heroic valour. No, it's been his kingly winky.

Never compare me to the mayor in Jaws! Never!

Ghostbusters (2016)
(SPOILERS) Paul Feig is a better director than Ivan Reitman, or at very least he’s savvy enough to gather technicians around him who make his films look good, but that hasn’t helped make his Ghostbusters remake (or reboot) a better movie than the original, and that’s even with the original not even being that great a movie in the first place.

Along which lines, I’d lay no claims to the 1984 movie being some kind of auteurist gem, but it does make some capital from the polarising forces of Aykroyd’s ultra-geekiness on the subject of spooks and Murray’s “I’m just here for the asides” irreverence. In contrast, Feig’s picture is all about treating the subject as he does any other genre, be it cop, or spy, or romcom. There’s no great affection, merely a reliably professional approach, one minded to ensure that a generous quota of gags (on-topic not required) can be pumped out via abundant improv sessions.

So there’s nothing terribly wrong with Ghostbusters, but aside from …

What you do is very baller. You're very anarchist.

Lady Bird (2017)
(SPOILERS) You can see the Noah Baumbach influence on Lady Bird, Greta Gerwig’s directorial debut, with whom she collaborated on Frances Ha; an intimate, lo-fi, post-Woody Allen (as in, post-feted, respected Woody Allen) dramedy canvas that has traditionally been the New Yorker’s milieu. But as an adopted, spiritual New Yorker, I suspect Gerwig honourably qualifies, even as Lady Bird is a love letter/ nostalgia trip to her home city of Sacramento.

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

Search This Blog