We now return to Big Stinkin’ Rocktacular, already in progress.

You know what I hate? Bogus job interviews. I’m gonna “high road” away from the rest of the story, but man…that shit is frustrating. I will say there are few things in life that can brighten a bad day like your wife waiting for you with a batch of homemade fried chicken. This isn’t misogyny, I just really love my wife. And fried chicken.

What of this weekend? Well, recent events really screwed my week up so I didn’t watch nearly the amount of stuff I normally would’ve. Thankfully the “Chicken and a Nap Saturday Extravaganza” ended just in time for this week’s installment of Doctor Who!

Previously, you learned that I am recently hooked on The Doctor, with no chance of recovery in sight. American audiences were treated to the third installment in the new season this weekend, a little episode entitled “Victory of The Daleks.”

CAUTION…SPOILERS AHEAD!

You learned at the end of last week’s episode that something was coming this week involving…wait for it…Winston Churchill and THE DALEKS?! Word around the Intertubes was that this week’s episode was the weakest of the new shows. I can see how people would think that, but this episode served a much more mechanical purpose than the others. This episode introduced the new race of Daleks! In short order, they cleansed the Dalek race of the inferior original Daleks (and no, the obvious Third Reich overtones were not lost on me) and set their sights on our resident Time Lord.

Seems as though a British scientist had convinced Churchill that his “Project Ironsides” would be the best weapon with which to defeat the Nazis as they attempted to seize the UK. Of course Winston calls the Doctor, and OF COURSE the Doctor freaks out, because this is clearly not his first rodeo with The Daleks. (Side note: I suddenly want to go to a Dalek Rodeo.) As the episode unfolds, we find out that the British scientist fella is actually a Dalek construct and a walking, talking bomb, t’boot. He was sent by the Daleks to infiltrate British intelligence and cause Churchill to summon The Doctor so they can get all Daleky and exterminate all the non-Daleks and such. The Doctor makes his way to the Dalek ship only to find out that they have secretly been cloning Dalek DNA and–taadaaa–there is a new race of Daleks, all in shiny iMac colors.

Long story(?) short(?), The Doctor stops the bomb doctor from exploding, but the Daleks get away. This is exciting, because you just KNOW they’re gonna be back this year. But not next week. If I’m not mistaken, next week we get the return of the Weeping Angels! Again, I’m kind of a newbie, but I know enough to be terrified.

The discussion around Big Stinkin’ World HQ since then has been on the relevance of the cracks we have seen at the end of every episode so far. And why is it exactly that Amy Pond should remember The Daleks?
It’s THEORY TIME!

(Bear in mind, I’m watching these on BBC America, so I’m running a week behind.)

So, it’s been established that Amy doesn’t have parents, only an absentee aunt. The wife and I have put our heads together, and we’ve come up with something along these lines: The Daleks killed Amy’s parents, explaining why it would be a huge deal that she doesn’t remember them, and Amy’s aunt is in fact a future version of Amy herself. Somehow or another it’s Amy causing the cracks in space and time. Whether it is because of Future Amy imposing on Past Amy or vice versa, I’m not sure just yet. But I think it’s safe to say that is isn’t The Doctor or the TARDIS doing it, so Amy has to be the only option. There is also another theory that Amy’s aunt could be a former companion of The Doctor making time and space go all wonky. Again, we’re both still new to the Whoniverse (I feel like I’m probably not the first person to call it that, but I’m giggling as I write it nonetheless.) so everything I think I know could be completely wrong. And that is a huge part of the appeal.

“A Nightmare On Elm Street” came out this week. As promised, I didn’t see it. You can just consider me the Sergeant-At-Arms on “Team Robert.” And no matter what a hack Wes Craven has turned into over the last fifteen years, there is no filmmaker I hate worse than Michael Bay. (Maybe Renny Harlin, but to call him a filmmaker is like calling me a hair model.) And I know, he didn’t necessarily direct the new “Nightmare,” but that’s just like saying George Lucas didn’t direct “Empire,” He did, even though he didn’t.

I talk from time to time how much I’d like to see Rob Zombie direct a completely original script that he didn’t write, and shoot it all on the same cameras (or film stock, in some cases), with no creepy lighting, without Sherri Moon, and with someone else doing the music. I firmly believe the guy can direct movies, but he’s stuck so far up his own ass that the good ideas rarely see the light of day anymore. (H2, anyone?) I have a similar opinion of Michael Bay. I’d love to see what he could do with unknown actors, no explosions, no fucking CGI, and a budget in the thirty million dollar range. I’m sure he’d be exposed as nothing more than a hack computer programmer, and couldn’t figure out a way to tell a simple story in a compelling way. I’m just so tired of his “SlamBangSplosionOhMyGodTiresAreSquealingAndTheWorldHangsInTheBalance” crap. Between that and his systematic remaking of my youth, the guy just irks me. Can you tell?

Meanwhile, George Romero still can’t get a budget. Or DePalma. Or Coppola. And Robert Rodriguez has yet to need one. (I’m aware that I bring up that Romero/budget thing fairly often. I do that in my day-to-day life, too.)

You look Time Lord.

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