When the entertainment colossus which is The Simpsons finally hove into view on the BBC, the commercial network feared it’d take out Baywatch, which ran in the same slot. And so, instead they sent in a sacrificial lamb, in the shape of new American series, Sabrina, the Teenage Witch. But, verily, a miracle took place in the ratings: Sabrina improved the audience over what “the world’s most popular TV show” had managed, and pulled in better figures than The Simpsons too. So it was they who were sent packing from Saturday evenings, replaced by that popular icon of youth culture, Dad’s Army.
The reason for this was simple; Sabrina is far better than you expect. Indeed, there’s a good case to be made for putting it above the early Simpsons which the BBC screened. Video permitted a straightforward comparison on a show-by-show basis: about 70% of the time, I found Sabrina more entertaining. But perhaps a more accurate comparison is with another teen-com, the series based on Clueless, which appeared immediately before Sabrina on ITV. It is so stultifyingly unfunny, it might have been specifically chosen to make Sabrina look like a comedic supernova.
It’s a curiously subversive show, replacing the well-tested nuclear family unit with three women – a physicist, a concert violinist and a schoolgirl, all of them witches. The first two, Zelma and Hilda are Sabrina’s aunts, her parents being…elsewhere [I missed the pilot episode!]. The only man in the house is a cat: Salem, turned into a feline for a failed attempt at world domination. Hmm, pick the psychosexual bones out of that cosy little household.
Sabrina is coming to terms with her, um, witchiness, but rather than using magic to, say, stop world hunger, is more interested in getting boys to like her. Such disinterest isn’t really plausible; actress Melissa Joan Hart sets more than one gentleman of my acquaintance drooling — though we’d better draw a veil over the identities of those who prefer the younger Melissa from Clarissa Explains It All…
Anyway, putting teenophile lust aside, this scenario could be an excuse for patronising dogma of the obvious sort, but generally isn’t. While there may be a moral, it has a pleasing tendency to go against the grain: one episode could be summed up as “helping people isn’t necessarily a good thing”. For American TV, this is only marginally less revolutionary than “it’s okay to slaughter your parents in the name of Satan”.
It benefits from a rapid turnover in episodes. With The Simpsons, we get material the best part of a decade old, whose best jokes have already been repeated by every bastard with satellite TV. Instead, the gap between first American and British transmission for Sabrina can be as little as 48 hours, which helps the frequent cross-references to other pop culture. Like The Simpsons, there’s also usually a gratuitous celebrity cameo; some, notably Penn Gillette’s wildly OTT appearances as the witches’ boss, work better than the apparently random baseball or pop star appearances. Other highlights include Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa (the bad guy from Mortal Kombat), and Raquel Welch in a costume definitely unsuitable for family viewing…
While by no means perfect, even its weaknesses seem to warp into something that approach strengths; the laugh track is dreadfully grating, but only bespatters the obvious lines, the more subtle, and better, humour is left for you to enjoy in splendid isolation. It has its fair share of naff episodes, but that’s inevitable when you take risks, especially in the sterile world of the American sitcom. And Salem is played by a moth-eaten animatronic puppet, yet the effect is charming rather than pathetic (and it improves drastically as the series progresses, to the point where a Frank Sinatra impression is plausible). For, as with all shows, it lives or dies by its characters, and in Sabrina, they are plausible and memorable creations.
The series is a notable prime-time hit on American television, regularly in the top 30, and reaching #14 over Christmas. But ITV decided to ignore the ratings on both sides of the Atlantic, and replaced Sabrina with, yep, Baywatch, largely relegating the superior show to re-runs during Children’s ITV on Wednesday afternoon. Doh! No matter; as far as I am concerned, the name ‘Sabrina’ is no longer exclusively linked with a large-breasted Italian singer in the Trash City Hall of Fame.
An interesting variant is the TVM which predates the series; while Hart still plays the central character, her aunts are different actresses and the overall feel is darker. The absence of a laugh track is a genuine pleasure, allowing you to pick up on little things like the sound of a jet engine, tucked in to accompany Sabrina’s magic-enhanced javelin throw.
The discovery of her supernatural powers is charmingly handled, with more deftness than you’d expect from Tibor Takacs, director of naff 80’s horror Hardcover. However, this is probably down to Melissa Joan Hart’s highly personable performance, which is sweet without ever slipping into schmaltz. This is the stuff of which teenage dreams are made: the ability to take on the richest, prettiest, most popular girl in school and win.
It’s surprisingly unfunny, though deliberately so, preferring to play things straight, and the lack of subversive elements does leave it occasionally suffering from a certain over-earnestness. This is mostly down to the aunts, wishy-washy, new Age characters, rather than the feisty eccentrics they became in the series. Add in a climax that keeps heading towards Carrie without ever getting there, and you do have a highly different view of the Sabrina-verse from the television show.
We get a Melissa with short hair, which I’m not sure about. I’m also deeply unsure about a sequence in which Sabrina and best friend try on swimming costumes for a pool party. It’s both fascinating, and disturbing-because-it’s-fascinating. Worse still, on the laser-disk – yep, I’m that sad – it’s even chapter-stopped. Chapter seven, to be exact. Though at least I didn’t do the accompanying frame grabs; maybe I’m not quite so sad after all…
Certain little things make life worthwhile, providing a warm glow and a spring in your step that lasts far longer than might be expected. The smile of a pretty girl can do this; so can a really good kebab; but both of these pale into insignificance besides the joy of getting a cheque for forty quid in compensation from Her Majesty’s Customs and Excise. Next to that, winning the lottery is but an everyday trifle.
This particular escapade started when I ordered a bunch of laserdiscs and tapes from Tom Routledge in the States. The package arrived here apparently safely, but on closer inspection, it soon became apparent that…well, it had encountered hostile forces at some point along its journey across the Atlantic. And looking at the evidence, it seemed likely that said forces were in the shape of our beloved guardians, HMC&E, clearly taking a swift break from more important business — like making sure no-one brings back too much beer from Calais.
A swift call to my local Customs and Excise office brought me a copy of Excise Notice 1000, which is well worth having, since it tells you who to complain to should they get things wrong. [Of course, not that they ever do, being utterly infallible, but in these Citizen’s Charter days, every public organization must maintain the illusion of being “accountable” and “caring”.] And so, the following letter went off:
Dear Sir,
I wish to register a complaint regarding the recent handling of a package by your department. The package, containing a number of laserdiscs and a video-tape, was opened for inspection — I attach a copy of the sticker from the parcel. The video-tape had been watched, not rewound, and crammed into its case the wrong way round, but worst of all, the officer responsible had lost the inner sleeve for one laserdisk. The disk had been put back directly into the cardboard outer cover, and as a direct result of this sloppy handling, it arrived here severely scratched.
I appreciate that Customs have to examine parcels, but this in no way absolves them from a duty to exercise reasonable care in their handling of the contents. It is clear in this case such care was not taken. According to HM Customs & Excise Notice 1000, “Complaints and putting things right”, reimbursement will be made when Customs “damage…freight or baggage during an examination”, and this case seems to me an obvious example of such carelessness. I therefore request compensation of £40, to cover the cost of ordering a replacement disc from America.I look forward to hearing from you shortly. If you need any more details, please get in touch.
Yours faithfully Jim McLennan
3rd APRIL Get called by a Mr.Porter, who wants to know a) the Trakback number on the parcel and b) if I’m claiming compensation of 40 quid, why I didn’t pay duty on it, since the free limit is only 15 pounds. Ah. Good question. I promise to phone him back with both pieces of information. I suspect they may end up charging me back-duty, which will eat into the compensation. However, I’m not too bothered since the main point of this exercise is not to make money, it’s to aggravate and annoy our moral guardians. And I seem to be doing that!
4th APRIL Mr. Porter isn’t there (which I’m not really too sorry about, since he comes over on the phone as one of those hard-nosed bastard types — I had to keep reminding myself that it was they who screwed up), but I give the information to his colleague. The computer has no information beyond the fact that the parcel was released on March 7th — he suggests it might have been Parcelforce to blame: apparently, they are the ones who open the packages, and pass them on to Customs if necessary. Quite how this made the inner sleeve of a laserdisc vanish, I’m unsure — it seems a trick worthy of David Copperfield. But rather than explain it all again, I just ask him to pass on the details. I am forced to wonder whether pig-sticking Customs and Excise is a Good Thing, given that I’m off to Paris next weekend. On my return, I can foresee them queueing up to greet me warmly with a latex glove: “Let’s see if we can find any laserdiscs in here, shall we?”
12th APRIL I return from Paris – unmolested – to find a letter from C&E, asking me to give them all the information I phoned them up and gave them the previous week! I just about manage to keep a grip on my sarcasm and write them a polite letter giving them the details again. The stamp on the envelope is one of those humourous “Greetings” one, with the caption, “I’m writing to you because you don’t listen to a word I say”. I refrain, however, from putting on the accompanying sticker that says “Whatever it is – I deny it”. Otherwise, it might have been the first case of an envelope being taken down and used as evidence.
Thank you for your letter of April 8th. Some of the details you request were already supplied on April 4th, to a colleague of Mr. Porter, as he was not at work that day. The gentleman to whom I spoke told me that the computer system contained no details, beyond that the parcel had been released on March 7th. However, since this information seems to have been lost since then, I will say, once more, that the Trackback number on the package was 0022 4553 594 9.
With regard to the other material requested, I will endeavour to provide evidence of the value as soon as possible — since the goods were paid for in advance, no invoice was sent with them, and I will need to contact the supplier. All the documentation for the order went via electronic mail, so would a print- out of the relevant message be acceptable?
29th APRIL “Unfortunately our computer system has been out of action and I have been unable to retrieve details of your importation, and therefore have been unable to investigate the circumstances fully…it is the responsibility of the Post Office (Parcelforce) to open parcels and to repack them again after Customs examination. It is possible therefore that the damage may have occured at this stage”.
This is the second time they’ve said this. I can hear them whine, “It’s all Parcelforce’s fault!”, in what is very clearly little more than an attempt to pin the blame on the Parcelforce donkey. Next letter, I expect to read “while the parcel was being opened, the laser-disc sleeve spontaneously combusted.” I also note a sentence, “Thank you for your letter dated 14.4.97 which was received here on the 21st”. Seven days for first-class mail? This seems like a flimsy attempt to meet the standards set in the previously mentioned Customs Notice 1000: “we will aim to issue a full response to your complaint within ten working days of receiving it”. Let’s just pretend it entered a time-warp somewhere along the line, shall we?
15th MAY After a catalog of disasters, up to and including my e-mail box being corrupted (are HMC&E sneaking into the house and screwing up the computer?), I get a duplicate receipt from the vendor in the States. I enclose a copy of the receipt as evidence of the cost and, setting my sarcasm to stun, point out that I am not going to let them pass the buck to Parcelforce.
I fully accept that Customs and Excise are entitled to open parcels and packages, but this in no way excuses damage caused to the contents. I am also at a loss to see how Parcelforce may conceivably have caused the inner sleeve to vanish, if their responsibilities are merely to open and repack parcels. However, hopefully you should soon be able to establish definitely what happened, and I look forward to hearing from you in due course.
29th MAY “I am afraid our computers are still down, and as such we have not been able to investigate your claim fully but in order to avoid further delay we will proceed and authorise compensation for £40, as requested, in full and final settlement of your claim”.
I seriously contemplate going down the off-licence and converting said forty quid into rather a lot of Stella Artois. However, it’s not an entirely comprehensive victory. The sentence that follows reads: “I should point out that both duty and VAT should have been charged on this consignment but in view of the inconvenience caused we will not pursue the underpayment of Customs charges in this instance”. They’re not bad at this veiled threat thing, are they?
The other thing that comes to mind is that beyond a “please accept our apologies for any inconvenience caused”, worthy of British Rail on a wrong-kind-of-snow day, they haven’t actually said they were at fault, or explained what happened to the parcel. Could they perhaps be aware that every word they say is being considered for publication in TC?
They also enclosed a copy of Notice 143, which had some interesting sections. As mentioned, if someone from abroad sends you goods, you are supposed to pay duty if they cost any more than £15 — how the hell they thought three video discs and a tape were worth less than that, I don’t know. However, if they are “gifts”, the duty-free allowance goes up to £36. I don’t think I need say a great deal more on what this means vis-a-vis getting stuff sent to you from overseas…
So I waited, with baited breath, for my compensation to appear. And I waited. And I waited. And just when I was about to enquire politely what was going on, what should come through the door but another one of those brown, window envelopes that I’d come to know and love.
16th JUNE
22nd JULY The cheque has now been safely stowed in my bank account, and peace has once more descended. But I am still suffering nagging doubts over the lack of any decent explanation. I thus send their computer system a get-well card, expressing my fondest hope that it’s now feeling a little bit better and asking if they have managed to discover the cause of the damage and what they’re going to do to prevent a re-occurence.
29th JULY “Unfortunately, we have had a great deal of trouble with our computer system and have only just got it back on line… [Three months! Our users are peeved if their computers go down for three minutes] It was presented to Customs & Excise by Parcelforce on 7th March 1997 when it was selected for an anti-smuggling examination. I have spoken to the officer concerned who cannot recall this specific case I am afraid after this length of time. [Lucky it didn’t go to court then, isn’t it?] It seems likely that in this case that either the officer did not replace the laserdisk in its sleeve, or that the Parcelforce official did not repack it properly… [Yep, still trying to blame someone else]
It would be normal practice for Parcelforce and/or Customs and Excise to keep a record of any damage incurred, depending on who was responsible. I have examined both our records and that of Parcelforce and found no details of your parcel. That is unusual. [=”You are a lying bastard”] I have therefore reminded my staff of the need to record details of any accidental damage incurred… I apologise for any distress that our action has caused, and the damage sustained to your parcel, but hope that you understand our need to be vigilant against smuggling”
My goodness, if I didn’t know better, and that all HMC&E officers are required to have their sense of humour bypassed on joining the organisation, I would say that the last sentence was bordering on the deliciously sarcastic. It’s still not what you would quite call a grovelling admission of blame, but I guess it will just have to do.
I’m sure that readers will appreciate the satisfaction to be gained from the above saga — though I cashed the cheque, naturally, seeing how the disc is still playable, I haven’t bothered ordering another copy [The damage is quite easily visible: while it had actually only been watched once, it looks like a seriously ex-rental purchase] What makes it more ironic, is that the film in question was Hong Kong Category III classic, ‘Sex and Zen’, a film which has since had over four minutes hacked out of it by the BBFC — perhaps making it the kind of evil and immoral material for which Customs were looking. That they ended up paying for my copy, is a sweet victory indeed.
18 months. I suppose this is a small improvement over the nineteen that it took to produce the previous issue; is TC heading back towards being a quarterly? Don’t hold your breath. Not that I’ve been idle: well, actually, I *have* been idle, for quite long periods. But in between times, things have on occasion happened. Some of them have been enjoyable, others have been….oh, let’s say, like having the eyes of your favourite posters gouged out by a small, mildly psychopathic Japanese woman. [Any similarity in this editorial to real people is, of course, purely coincidental.]
But, returning to areas less painful. Firstly, there is now a TC Web Site: www.trshcity.demon.co.uk. This contains a steadily growing archive of articles from past issues, as well as new, exclusive reviews, plus additional items such as a weekly rant on the world in general, our top ten babes, and a major guide to strip-pubs in London. Go visit.
There is also, at long last, the long anticipated next generation of TC-shirts. Readers with long memories may recall the fabled “Nekkid Nastassja wielding a blood-spattered chainsaw” design (a shirt which, funnily enough, I can’t find any more – I suspect it suffered the same fate as my posters). This time, we’ve gone for a b/w design featuring the covers of 16/17 or 18/19 — see the illos at left and right respectively if you’ve forgotten what they looked like. On the back is an A-Z of TC-approved films: to give you some idea, it begins “Aliens, Blade Runner, Cat People…”. Shirts are available in XL only, and cost a mere eight quid including postage. Orders to the usual addresses, I’ve only got a limited quantity so get your skates on.
Finally on the merchandising front, after selling out of Trevor Brown’s postcards last issue, we’ve got an all-new set. This time, there are five full-colour cards, and the price is £3, again including p&p; a sample may be found on the back cover — yes, the one that the granny sitting opposite you on the bus is staring at, mouth agape. Believe me, the colour version is much more…arresting. And it’s not our fault if you do get arrested. Ladies and gentlemen, that brings us to the end of the gratuitous plugs.
Obscure technical department. In our never-ceasing effort to bring you even more, we’ve cut down the gap between lines. This should not impact the legibility, and gives you roughly another dozen pages of content. Let us know if you feel the strain though.
Interesting to note the sudden proliferation of movie magazines, following last issue’s “expression of dissatisfaction”, shall we say, with Empire. This is good. What’s not so good is that Neon, Total Film and the rest seem to be little more than wanna-be Empire clones, by and large clamped on the teat of the Hollywood publicity machine. There remains a gap in the market for a film magazine which is aware that there is much more to cinema than Jackie Brown, yet doesn’t disappear up its own posterior in a cloud of mise-en-scene.
Subscribers will (hopefully) have noticed the presence of a Mansplat in the envelopes, being this issue’s freebie. I think I should probably have a few copies of this fine magazine left over (barring an inconceivably large rush of last-minute subscriptions), so if anyone else wants one, write me a nice letter and we’ll see what can be done. Get it while you can, as rumours suggest that, sadly, t’Splat may not be around for very much longer – unless, perhaps, the editor is deluged with letters from Britain telling him what a fine job he is doing. Hint, hint…
TC cover-god Rik Rawling has unleashed another blast from his unfettered imagination – and believe me, he exercises restraint for us – in the shape of Hog #3. Hardcore violence and brutal sex (or is it the other way round?) combine in epic tales of apocalyptic noir-ishness. £2 from Rik Rawling, 4A Hardy Avenue, Churwell, Morley, Lancs, LS27 7SJ.
This issue’s thanks go first and foremost to Chris Fata for flogging TCs in America, as well as a perpetual supply of distractions, without whom… And while thanking Chris’s, of one kind or another: Chris W (last-minute scanner help), Chris P and Christine H (anime). Of those not called Chris, John Spencer deserves especial praise for his layout work — he’ll regret it when next issue sidles up (“Hello, John, fancy doing all 100 pages this time round?”). And also, in no particular order of non-Chrisness: Steve W, Rob D, Nicolas B, Miles W, Martin D, Brian B, Rik R, Trevor B, Steve L & Mike C, the gentlemen at the Cinema Store, Psychotronik Video and Media Publications, Michael G, Andy W, Gary C, Pam C, Ian A, Jim S. And that’s quite enough initials – I’d better stop before this begins to sound like an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
Distractions
Favoured liquid this issue is Kriek cherry beer, a startling Belgian concoction which cleans the floor with your average alcopop. Chug it back to accompany your microwave popcorn (US only – the British stuff sucks), while watching Channel 5. Despite a cheapskate approach, it’s the TC channel of choice, thanks to Lexx + baseball — weirdo SF with people like Rutger Hauer, and the ultimate sport for stats freaks. About the only other thing worth watching has been on BBC2: Louis Theroux’s Weird Weekends; a Michael Moore spin-off with the best dead-pan comedy since Brass Eye. But keep an eye out for the imminent arrival of South Park, which will leave your jaw on the floor in shock: “That’s sick, dude!”. For slightly better quality animation, hunt down Beast Wars, easily the best computer-animated show yet screened, leaving Reboot far behind. Though I suppose Final Fantasy VIIprobably also counts, and has wasted far more of my time than I like to contemplate.
If you want to take in a movie, Starship Troopers will do nicely – if you don’t, why not spend your time baiting Titanic fans. Cuddle up with Marilyn Manson’s The Long, Hard Road out of Hell– likely to be the most amusing book of 1998 – while listening to Lords of Acid and tucking into the very pinnacle of Western civilization: low-fat condensed milk. This is what 4000 years of progress has been working towards. That and Hamburg, a great place to spend all those weekends when I should really be writing the next issue of Trash City…
At left is a schematic diagram which will either guide you through the next 100-odd pages or, more likely, confuse you utterly. It’s a test. A test, designed to provoke…an emotional response.
UK contact Jim McLennan 34 Perran Rd Tulse Hill London, SW2 3DL jmclennan@trashcity.org
American contact Chris Fata PO Box 8353 Scottsdale AZ 85252, USA trshctygal@aol.com
Subscriptions. In the UK, you pay £4 for two issues; Europe £5; £6 elsewhere. You can sign up for more than that: work the cost out yourself. Subscribers get additional “stuff”. North America is different (as anyone who’s been there will know) – your best bet there is to speak to Chris.
Back issues are also available, albeit in rapidly shrinking quantities. Specifically, TC16/17 and 18/19, both of which contain a similar mix of weirdness. £2.50 each in the UK, £3 in Europe, £3.50 worldwide. Again, US/Canada – see Chris. I’ll happily take payments in dollars in cash from overseas people – I can always use ‘em to buy lap-dances, wrestling tapes or anime. Double the sterling cost to get the dollar price i.e. £2 = $4.
Contributors:
Texts: Jim McLennan, Des Lewis, Lino, John Spencer, Andy Collins, “Max Renn”, SH. Front cover: Rik Rawling. Back cover: Trevor Brown. Layout: Jim McLennan, John Spencer. Printing was, as usual, by the ever-reliable Juma, 44 Wellington Street, Sheffield, S1 4HD.
Next issue
Probably by the turn of the millenium – assuming Nostradamus wasn’t right. Contents are as yet sketchy, but will probably include Hong Kong, all 18 Bond movies, female action heroines, and the delights of watching small Japanese girls getting the shit kicked out of them — which after the past couple of years, probably counts as some sort of therapy. [Bitter, moi? Yep.] Maybe also the long-planned “Best of TC” if time permits? We’ll see…
