John Walker's Electronic House

By unpopular demand.

Shows that haven’t survived, or survived my interest:

30Rock
I feel like the world has been hypnotised. What the HELL is going on with the gushing reviews of this miserably unfunny mess? Tina Fey’s writing is almost as awful has her gurning acting, while Alec Baldwin farts out the most abysmal gibberish with far too much pride. It’s dire bilge, and will probably outlive Studio 60 thus bringing about the end of the world at my hand.

The Class – Tried two, but don’t hate myself enough to endure another. I think it’s important for a sitcom to contain at least one joke.

Kidnapped – I feel bad for this, but as soon as I found out it wasn’t going to carry on after the first 13 episodes, I lost interest. It was only moderately good to begin with, and now it will be all rushed. It might be worth looking at once it’s all out there.

Shark – I’m really surprised by this one, but all my worst fears came true of what should have been a really fun show. As I said originally, “I can see it working if they don’t overplay the teenage daughter crap.” Guess what. With the Who Cares Plot of the Year, with his daughter’s cheating at an essay, running to at least three episodes, following the achingly stupid story of Stark’s blackmailing a driving examiner to pass her, I was done. If people tell me it becomes super-fun House-alike entertainment, I’ll check it out on DVD.

Smith – About a minute after I declared I wouldn’t bother with it again, the network cancelled it and took it off air immediately. That’s the kind of influence I wield.

Torchwood
Oh good grief. I knew RTD was a bad writer, but I didn’t think he could be this hideous. Imagine the worst episodes of Doctor Who from his hand, and then divide it by 4000. I could barely bring myself to finish the second episode, about an alien that had to have sex with people for energy – OH GOOD GRIEF! How? How can he have sunk to that ghastly idea already? And look, they can say “fuck”! Well they’d better say it a lot then! It’s extremely unnerving to be watching what to all intents feels like the lamest of children’s television, and then hear someone bellow out “FUCK OFF!” Ooh, and boys kissing boys and girls kissing girls! Russell, you naughty old queen! It’s all so pathetic, like a naughty teenager trying to shock his bored mum. Also, if you’re working for an organisation above the government and beyond the police, er, why would you hire the STUPIDEST WOMEN IN BRITAIN to work for you? And I heard a rumour that it’s set in Cardiff. Go away Torchwood, for ever and ever and ever.

Everything else:

Battlestar Galactica – SciFi Channel
After the WHAT THE HELL moment at the end of season 2, all right-minded people could be forgiven for having at least a small glimmer of worry over where the show was heading. But push it all aside – season 3 is… it’s what science fiction television always should have been. Rather than eschewing the main motifs as with the wonderful Firefly, BSG embraces them but with the cunning notion of doing them really well. Anyone who saw episode 4 will understand as it became pure SPACE ROAR, with ships falling out the sky, rebellions, murders, angry robots, tragedy and elation. Whether the series can hold onto this now that things are slightly more under control will be interesting to see, with the valid fear bubbling that it might go where season 2 found itself, and slip into the generic. I’ve high hopes that it will not, as right now this is one of the best things on television.

Bones – Fox
I’ve only just caught onto Bones, catching up with season 1 and now waiting for season 2 to come back after its break. I love this silly show so much, with a fantastic cast making what might otherwise be a mediocre murder mystery show into something completely engrossing and delightful.

Dexter – HBO
I didn’t cover this programme before, but along with BSG, Studio 60 and Heroes, this is in the Must Watch list. Based on a series of novels, it’s the story of a blood spatter forensic specialist working for the police, who also happens to be a sociopathic serial killer. Episodes consist of the ongoing case against the ‘Ice Truck Killer’ – a murderer who removes all the blood from his victims and then carefully chops them up into sections and lays them out in specific patterns – and Dexter’s vigilante murders of those he deems to be evil. There are flashbacks to various points in his childhood as his adopted father, who recognises his son’s inherent drive to kill, trains him to take control of the urges and put them to what he deems good use. These illustrate the nature of Dexter today, while his cold narration explains his confusion at a world driven by emotions while he has none of his own. It’s beautifully shot, compellingly performed, and causes all sorts of conflict over the fact that you’re empathising with the emotionless murderer.

Drawn Together – Comedy Central
Take all the offensiveness of every episode of Family Guy ever and put it into 22 minutes. I adore Drawn Together, despite watching it with my fingers over my eyes and my jaw hanging open in horror. Eight cartoon characters in a house with a million cameras, an then the most astonishingly inappropriate jokes, references and murders. It shows no sign of running out of ideas in its third season, only more shocking. Hooray for rudeness!

Help Me Help You – ABC
Perhaps I had stupidly high hopes for this one based on the pilot. I’m still enjoying it very much, but really wish it would stick with its own formula, and stop deviating off into the tiresome world of Danson’s ex-wife. When they follow the week’s events of one of the therapy group it’s magnificent. When it’s Danson hiding in closets with mattresses, or fighting over a barbeque, it’s every sitcom ever.

Heroes – NBC
It’s great being right. Yes, the pilot had some problems, and without doubt something went incredibly, horribly wrong with the continuity into the second episode, but wow, Heroes is bloody excellent. Clearly the pilot was hacked to death by NBC so deeply stupidly that rather important events were somewhat missed out. Like, how did the artist get his hand put back on? And, how did the kid suddenly get back after stealing the wallet and running away? But forget all that because from there onwards it’s flipping excellent. And thankfully, there are enough people agreeing to hopefully give the show a full run. Everyone’s fallen in love with Hiro, as they well should, but what makes Heroes stand out is that every character is interesting enough to care about. While so many mysteries remain, Heroes remembers to deliver enough answers every week. Plus there’s flying and people stopping time and you know – superhero stuff!

How I Met Your Mother – NBC
Season 2 continues where the first left off, in terms of story and quality. What’s most impressed me about the second run is that it hasn’t lazily relied on the conceit of the first, will-they-won’t-theying Ted and Robyn. While we know they ultimately won’t, right now they just are, and it’s not being messed with. And further, the other major relationship is being left in its broken state, with the episodes generating interesting and funny stories based simply on the characters within. Barney’s continued deviance is still celebrated in a way I’ve never seen a sitcom try, and last week’s episode had more penis jokes than anyone could hope for. But most of all, it’s a sitcom about nice people having a good time, which is oddly unusual and well worth enjoying.

Jericho – NBC
Oh dear, what a silly programme. That I can’t stop watching. I can’t work out what’s wrong with me, because it really is rubbish. One recent episode featured the library catching fire, delivered as if no programme had ever featured a building catching fire before. A building? On fire?! What will they do?! The following episode introduced the intriguing notion of some corn needing to be harvested. But somehow I stick with it. I guess I’m being suckered in by wanting to know what’s going on with the nuclear war, how serious is it, and who exactly are the two mystery men and what do they know? I’m rubbish, but then so’s Jericho. We make a good pair.

My Name Is Earl – NBC
It’s great to report that season 2 is still superb, the episodes wonderfully constructed, playing with time lines and maintaining the fairytale world of Earl’s small town. Definitely the best episode so far has been about the bearded lady and her fellow freaks, but the “I won’t jump for Joy” joke comes a close second.

Runaway – CW
This show has one last chance. It’s going to have to feature that explosion I talked about before very soon, because so far all the big events have been about anticlimax. And if I have to see one more spelling contest I’m done. Come on Runaway – blow shit up.

Six Degrees – ABC
I’ve tried to justify why I like this show so much, but I can’t find the words. It’s something about the combination of the very ordinary, with the background rumblings of intrigue. As the episodes progress, more links appear between the six main protagonists, although most remain completely unaware. Certainly a lot is to do with the strength of the performances (especially Campbell Scott’s artist Steven), and the honesty of the relationships. What’s surprised me most are the mistakes it hasn’t made. It didn’t drag out the cheating husband story for the entire damn season, but rather had him rumbled very early on. It didn’t keep Mae’s background a meaningless mystery, but instead presented it pleasingly soon, while still keeping the contents of the box a secret. It seems to revel in taking dramatic cliches, and then making a good job of them. I think, perhaps, I’ve found my regular relationship drama that I enjoy, and I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that.

Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip – NBC
Oh, precious Studio 60, will you survive? I’m guessing not. The negative criticism of this show bemuses me, but I think is captured in that frustrated utterance, “Smart as a pejorative.” While Studio 60 has, very sadly, lived up to the main criticism levelled at it – the sketches just aren’t funny – there’s so much more happening here that it makes this a weak stick to beat it with. However, that doesn’t mean it can be ignored. Sorkin’s asking us to believe that this is the recovery of satirical comedy on network TV, and yet only shows us glimpses of some really crappy sketches. Obviously nothing would be good enough to match the hype, but at least something that’s funny would be helpful. And showing endless shots of the director laughing at the laugh-free scenes isn’t helping. My other concern is the dip into predictability that’s occured of late. The first few episodes were wondrous beyond words, my mouth agape as lines I could never have dreamed of cascaded from the characters. In the last couple of episodes, I’ve been mouthing the script along with them. I still love it very much, and still believe it could be the best programme ever. But Sorkin, hire some comedy writers – use McKinney properly, and get Odenkirk on board. Fix the hole so it stops leaking, because otherwise we’ll never see the Christmas episode.

by John Walker

Introduction

This is the first in a seventeen thousand part series on becoming a games journalist. In this part we will explore what writing about games journalism is, and the “easy” way to enter the anus of the industry. In the following sixteen thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine parts we will explore why I am so important. Some would recommend that you not read this, and instead get on with what must be the most painfully obvious job of all time, but they are stupid and wrong. Read on to find out why I am the greatest ever, ever, ever.

Mark Blowhard gave a very complicated view of the profession of games journalism in his introduction to the games industry, “Who Am I Again?”. In the spirit of not thinking for myself, I’ll quote it hear as it saves me doing any work:

“The games journalist is someone who plays videogames and then writes down if they’re good or not.”

Why I Am Great

I’ve met over seven people in my life, and of the four that would speak to me, two of them wanted to be involved in games journalism – that’s at least 50% of the population of the world. No career is more coveted, not even being an astronaut or the president of an incredibly important company. Simply put, I am one, and you are not, and it is important that you note this. I play games for a living, while you probably have to put things on shelves, or even use a mop. You poor things, you must so desperately want to be me. I play games for a living.

But don’t think it’s simple to play games and then write down if they’re good or not! Oh no! It’s incredibly difficult.

And don’t even get me started on what it’s like to have to go to America for free and stay in a hotel for free and play games at a conference for free while getting free food and all the alcohol you can drink for free because sometimes you have to queue up for stuff, which is way too awful to even think about. Could you cope with all this? I doubt it, but I can.

If you thought I wasn’t amazing yet, and that you could possibly be a games journalist, you haven’t even thought about “deadlines”. See, because when you do games journalism you don’t just get to do it when you like, but you have to get the work done by a certain time! Some people actually die because this is so hard. I don’t. For example, one time I had to stay up an hour past my bedtime to get a review finished before the “deadline”, and it was incredibly tiring.

what Will it Take to Make me Go away?

To be like me and a games journalist who plays games for a living while you don’t, there are some things you have to be able to do that you wouldn’t have thought of if I didn’t tell you.

1) You have to have a computer or a console machine.

2) You have to have at least one hand.

3) You have to be able to write as good as I.

You wouldn’t believe how many rubbish idiots think they could do the job I do but can’t because they write stuff that’s just rubbish. This does not mean, however, comma, that if your grasp on the language in which you will be writing is tenuous at best and at worst that the least at which you’ll have will be that you will never be a games journalist.

—

And on and on it goes. How sick I am of these guides to “getting in”, as if being a games journalist is some insurmountable achievement, beyond the possibility of all but the Grand Few, and only accessible once one has followed the prescribed route of another. It’s so ridiculous – this industry, with its head so far up its arse that it patronises all outside with the belief that they must surely want in, but couldn’t possibly fathom it for themselves.

Here’s how I got started: I sent some writing to a games magazine, and they liked it so they gave me work.

And that’s true of everyone I know in the industry, whether they were spotted on a forum (you young flibbertigibbets) or submitted spec pieces on paper by mule. There’s no great secret, no moronic 12-step programme to follow. If you can write, and care passionately about your writing, then you’ll get work. You’re not getting work? Then you probably can’t write, or don’t care.

The only piece of wisdom I feel willing to give is this: If you want to have a job that’s all about playing games, then give up. If you want to have a job that’s all about writing, and you have a particular interest in games, then keep going.

It’s a bloody excellent job, though not well paid for most involved. I never stop feeling incredibly lucky, and incredibly scared. Er, that’s it. Apart from this lot:

Affectionate Diary
Cobbett’s peculiarly helpful one
Kieron going sensible
The Triforce
Log
Tracker Bill
Mathew Kumar
Bill Harris
Stuart Campbell
Tim Edwards
Jonty
And this one.

Apologies for the quietness around here. I’ve been busy and/or lazy.

Now it is my birthday. I am level 29.

And again…

I remember writing about the trailer for this film, and then managing to miss it completely at the cinema. I bought it on DVD, and tonight was finally the right night to watch it.

This stood out:

A complete distillation of the internet, in one blog post.

I’m obliged to tell the story of how I explained to Leo Tan PR Man that Byron had slept with his sister.

Tom F celebrated his hatefully youthful birthday last Friday by hosting a Pizza Party, where a select group of the very finest writers, and some other people Tom knows, gathered together for an evening of making pizzas and playing Guitar Hero in black and white. Said party hosted said moment.

So it seems the problem was, I was talking about the poet Byron. Leo wasn’t.

It’s remarkable how sincere you can sound when you’re telling the truth. Just, not the truth the other person is hearing.

“Byron slept with his sister?”

“Yes!”

“He REALLY slept with his sister.”

“YES! He’s famous for it!”

“Well, she is hot.”

At that point the twig snapped.

“Oh God! No! You’re thinking of Simon Byron! HE hasn’t slept with his sister!”

“Well, she is really hot.”

Something’s been holding me back from writing about Studio 60. I’m a bit scared to. I’ve become like some sort of crazed Pharisee, unwilling to say the name of their God as it can only demean him.

I don’t care if you think this is hyperbole. I do care if you pronounce that “hyper-bowl”. It is the most exceptional writing I have ever seen.

So, a thousand people tell me at once, that’s because I’ve not seen The West Wing. Well, I’ve started watching it, and it’s phenomenal. The West Wing is, without question, one of the best written television programmes ever. I care about politics, but I’m in love with comedy. So you’re going to have to forgive me for picking Studio 60 over it.

Three episodes in, and I don’t know what to do with the emotional response I have to it. Not to the story, because the story hasn’t attempted any huge emotional waves. But the quality. It’s more good than I realised television could be. It’s pure television drama, embracing the rules. Rather than the naturalism that’s necessary for a British drama to not sound like pantomime, here everyone takes their turn to say their perfect line, in a manner which cannot happen in real life. And that’s what television is for. And their lines are perfect.

Set in a parallel version of NBC (the channel on which the programme is shown), called NBS, Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip is their flagship live sketch show, shown on Friday nights. It’s Saturday Night Live. And Saturday Night Live hasn’t been funny for a very long time. It’s a cold, flat, soulless mess of corporate drivel, lacking any balls, bite or comment. And so is Studio 60 in episode 1, until the producer walks on set during the live broadcast to decry the state of a programme that once mattered.

He’s fired, and a producer and lead writer who had previously worked on the show, until some unrevealed falling out, are brought back by the new president of the station. And they care. As does the new president.

And then comes the finest acting and dialogue I’ve ever seen, as the process of making television good again, against the pressures of sponsors, right-wing Christian groups, executives, ratings, focus groups and people’s pasts.

Writer Aaron Sorkin sets himself a challenge that few could ever achieve. Because not only does he have to write a brand new show in the shadow of The West Wing’s massive success, and one that must face all the pressures of sponsors, right-wing Christian groups, executives, ratings, focus groups and people’s pasts, but he has to write a sketch show inside it that’s consistently extremely funny. Three episodes in, he’s outdone anything I could have hoped for.

The Larry Sanders Show, certainly a close second when it comes to finest television writing ever, got out of it cleverly – they deliberately had the sketches be poor, the writers weak. Sorkin can’t do that, and thankfully doesn’t need to. The lines, in the hands of the biggest and finest cast I can think of, blossom, the sketches outstandingly funny. Anyone who sees the end of the second episode, the song, and doesn’t laugh until their face aches, is an empty human. (“We’ll happily do the favour of an intellectual reach-around.”) Forget your prejudices against Matthew Perry – he’s fucking incredible here. The only person better than him is Bradley Whitford (West Wing), who makes me gasp out loud with his delivery. Sarah Paulson (American Gothic) is so wonderful, so incredibly believeable, and the only bearable Christian character in anything (since Firefly got cancelled). Amanda Peet, who you would assume would be the weak link, is superb. Everyone. Everyone is brilliant. There’s no weak link.

I have never, in my life, watched a programme twice in a row. I tend to never watch anything twice, unless in the company of someone who hasn’t seen it before, so I can absorb their enjoyment like some sort of entertainment vampire. The second time I watched the Studio 60 pilot, I started it again the moment it ended, and watched enraptured for a third time.

This is the sort of thing that makes me feel like I’m a useless writer, and want to write. It overwhelms me with its quality. It’s the best thing on TV right now, and certainly one of the best things on TV in the last few million years.

I feel proud of being slightly ahead of the curve when it comes to blogging Olbermann’s Special Reports. Now I’m just one of the tens of thousands doing it. Which makes me feel proud too.

Yes, the pilots keep on piling in.

It’s funny, people saying, “You watch a LOT of TV.” Actually, no. I don’t watch any straight-to-air TV, and never, ever watch whatever’s on. Bear in mind that this all equates to about two programmes a day, and that’s only in the opening weeks of the new season, and it’s a fairly average amount of television, minus any drivel that one might sit through at the end of the day. It’s refined viewing, overwhelmed at the moment as the process of discovering what’s worth watching is performed. And it’s all in the interests of Science, and letting you – no, not you – you, know what might be worth watching. I AM LIKE JESUS.

How I Met Your Mothers – Season 2 – NBC

Not a pilot, I admit. The new season picks up splendidly, running with the same energy that saw the previous finish so well. The programme does some important things very well.

First, it doesn’t frustrate with the ‘will they won’t they?’. It’s more ‘they will they won’t’, which works an awful lot better. Season 1 finished with a defininte ‘they will’ (of course, HIMYM’s secret is that you never need to invest yourself into hoping the relationship survives – the narrator constantly reminds us that this is “Aunt Robyn”, and not the wife-to-be) and continues without feeling the need to mess around with that. The focus is moved over to the other couple, and not ludicrously tied up, even after the first two episodes. But of course with these two we know, they will.

The second secret to its success is still not having succumbed to giving Barney (Neil Patrick Harris) any redeeming features. It’s hard to think of another network sitcom that’s had the good sense and stamina to keep a major character such an arse. Season 1 had its excellent tease when he was found working for the homeless shelter on Sundays, and hopefully they’ll remember how much fun ruining it was, and keep teasing. It’s a lovely running joke to have Barney appear altruistic, and then reveal, and episode 2 of the new season does a splendid job.

The programme still deserves no special awards or accolades. It simply fills a very worthwhile position: a decent sitcom worth watching.

Runaway – CW

At last the newly formed CW reveals a new drama. But uh-oh. Runaway is going to have to do something, and it’s going to have to make it explode when it does it. The opening episode’s story of a family on the run, new names, new city, new school, new friends, new jobs… It’s hard to imagine how it could have been more dull. Of course the downside of Lost Syndrome is it means every new programme is going to try and create what it must imagine to be intrigue by just being woefully vague. This is ideal for the likes of Jericho (episode 2 revealed what the programme is going to be – hilariously bad. But hilariously, so well worth sticking with – the gurning escaped criminals dressed as cops were definitely the highlight) and Kidnapped (suddenly dropping in ridiculous suggestions that Mr GRRRR might have had his brain or body meddled with by scientists in the desert – hooray!) but disastrous for what is otherwise a remarkably boring soap. Why are they on the run? Who is leaving the threatening messages? Will the local diner get its window fixed? Will anyone find the energy to care?

You can’t just be vague to elicit interest. You have to be intriguing. Runaway was certainly not, and it gets one more episode to either write an incredibly interesting story, or start blowing shit up.

Help Me Help You – ABC

What a wonderful surprise. Ted Danson’s looked a bit lost since the end of Cheers, and while Becker had some beautifully written rants, it was always sitcom-lite, clearly written for the sake of existing, rather than because of any burning passion to tell a story. Help Me Help You looks like it might be somewhere he can stretch out and enjoy himself.

It’s another one camera sitcom shot on film, but wonderfully without the needless studio laughtrack. Freed from this restriction it opens itself up to much more subtlety and lets people speak in sentences rather than one-liners. Ted Danson is Bill, a genius psychotherapist (his twelve degree certificates hang on his wall) who runs a weekly group therapy session. Programme = following the lives of him and his patients. The pilot does a really splendid job of introducing each character, wasting no time on laboriously cramming exposition into the dialogue, but takes the much more sensible route of just blitzing through clips of each character’s prefered neuroses in a superbly funny extended montage sequence before the opening titles.

Jonathan is gay, gay as can be. But in denial. Sounds like it should be a crappy idea, but somehow works brilliantly. Perhaps it’s because Jonathan is by far the most likeable character, and perhaps because, let’s just be honest, it’s funny to laugh at super-camp people trying to act straight. Inger has no social skills at her disposal, unable to speak anything other than that which is on her mind, which is always beautifully honest. And therefore offensive. Darlene has a list of issues as long as the screen, including an addiction to addiction support groups, and an obession with father-figures. Michael is a bastard, businessman forced to attend by a court order, and with what one might consider anger difficulties. And then, because these writers know how to write, there’s the new guy, our doorway into the group, Dave. Dave’s problems are still more obscure, but he does throw himself out a window when caught playing Solitaire on his work computer.

All the above sounds far too stereotypical, far too cartoonish. And it only gets worse when you say: Of course, Bill has more problems than anyone else in the group. And yet Help Me Help You (which I’ve decided to believe is named after one of Scrubs’ funniest moments) embraces them all in a convincing and engaging way. This is a huge part due to the vastly high calibre of acting, and some of the finest timing I’ve ever seen, both spoken and visually. If each episode is as good as this pilot, it will be without question one of the best comedies in years.

It also has the best theme tune ever.

Smith – CBS

It’s hard to pin Smith down. The pilot presented itself as a super-serious heist drama, following a group of really quite horrific high class criminals, who think nothing of murder. The second episode suddenly became a dramatisation of the GTA games. Hopefully it will settle to something between the two.

It’s a good job no one but me watched this summer’s FX six-part drama, Thief, or there’d be some serious court cases. Smith is Thief with the black people removed. Ray Liotta plays the leader of the criminal gang, who’s also a dedicated family man, father of two. He has to juggle both! But perhaps it’s not quite as cliched as the pilot suggests. His wife is far more canny than you first imagine, the relationship far more complex. Thief took a much bolder move, killing the wife in the first episode and creating a terrifyingly volatile relationship between father and daughter. It also had Andre Braugher, one of the finest actors in the world. Sadly it stretched one heist out over five of its six episodes, and lost momentum. Smith looks like it might make the same mistake.

After the flashback structure of the pilot’s introductory museum job, episode 2 only featured discussion of the next big job – the same mistake Thief made. Thankfully it somewhat balanced this with a smaller job by half of the crew, which gave it all the excuses it needed to suddenly go batshit crazy and Rockstar things up. When Jeff (Simon Baker) sees a motorbike he wants, he walks over, throws the rider off it, and drives off. When his clothes stink, he walks into a store and changes. When he prepares for the job, he walks into a carpark, picks the car he wants, and drives off in it.

The complete lack of morals in the crew is peculiarly uncomfortable. Thief went to some ends to make the characters both believeable criminals and likeable people. Smith’s cast appear to be cold-blooded murderers driven only by greed. This may well be more realistic, but it’s quite hard to see how the programme will keep you on their side, rather than rooting for them to be arrested and the show finished after the first few episodes. Although it could be argued that Amy Smart being one of them does make it a bit easier.

Ugly Betty – ABC

I knew nothing about Ugly Betty before watching it, other than the episode code was S01E01. What I know now is that I adored it.

It’s not really possible to identify what Ugly Betty is. It’s not a sitcom, nor a drama. It’s a 42 minute show, but behaves like a movie. And it doesn’t appear to be bothered with pesky notions of reality. In fact, I’m so happy to say, Ugly Betty is a fairytale. And wow, it’s about time someone started making fairytales for TV.

At first it’s impossible to shrug off the annoyance that Betty’s ugliness is a product of bad glasses, bushy eyebrows and traintrack braces. It’s clear she’s rather pretty, if slightly overweight (by TV standards), and surely we’re past this disgusting Disney version of ugliness, that can always be fixed by a five minute makeover at the end of the movie, right before the big dance. Of course, this is on Disney’s TV channel, so perhaps that’s what it is… But then it seems, no. Betty’s not ugly. She’s got terrible dress sense, and indeed bad glasses and traintracks on her teeth, sure. But Betty’s normal. Her new job, however, is at a fashion magazine, and there, Betty is ugly.

Betty is Latino, mid-20s, living in a small, dingy house with her father, older sister and nephew. She adores magazines – the process of their creation – and goes for a job at a large publishing company. Laughed away by the snobbish staff, she’s surprised when she’s given a job as an editorial assistant for one of the leading fashion rags by the owner of the company. (Jim from Neighbours!) It is, in fact, a punishment for his son, editor as a result of nepotism, and prone to sleeping with all his staff. He won’t want to sleep with Betty, see?

The result is a cross between Cinderella and Zoolander. The fashion world in which Betty finds herself is a ludicrous parody of fashion’s idiocy (a photoshoot has wrecked cars in piles, with large crepe flames fluttering all around, the models draped awkwardly across the bonnets and in front of the wheels – even better than Zoolander’s Derilict shoot – I laughed so hard). The staff are outlandish cartoon extremes, faces rigid with collagen, or in one case, lips taking over a face. The building is impossibly chic, the magazine achingly pompous. But what makes it all so perfect is the dead-straight face with which it’s all played. It’s a pantomime world, but believes itself to be perfectly sensible.

Betty’s role is to both reveal the lunacy, and attempt to fit into it. This is made all the more convincing by the presence of Ashley Jensen, Ricky Gervais’ friend in Extras. She is the best thing about Extras, and she’s the second best thing here. Her character, Christina, works in “the closet” – where all the clothes are stored for the magazine’s shoots. And where the company normally hides girls of the likes of Betty. Betty may have friends there. “It’s the bizarro version of Sex And The City,” snipes one of the super-camp assistants upon seeing them to a “Chico” (Closet’s nickname for the “bitches” who work in editorial).

And so the lines are drawn, Betty on the wrong side of them, working for an editor intent on forcing her to quit so he can have an assistant he’d like to pork. And it all merrily tumbles along, daft and beautiful. And a fairytale. Any left in any doubt about this will have to give it up after the impossibly perfect ending, and appearance of a mysterious, evil witch.

What a fanatastic thing.