As a PS3 owner, my main area of interest are the titles that are exclusive to the platform. One of my favourite PS3-only titles is one that, up until now, I haven’t written about – thatgamecompany’s Flower. I appreciate that it's been available for some time now, but having played through Flower again a couple of times recently, I am again in awe of just how good it is.

Designed by Jenova Chen and Nicholas Clark, Flower is seen as the natural successor to the pair’s 2006 Flash game Flow, which lead to thatgamecompany recruiting the designers to adapt it for the PS3 and PSP. Once that was completed, work began on Flower, which was their first full project after leaving full-time education.

Chen was behind the decision for Flower to elicit a range of emotions not normally experienced in the majority of videogames, and have the focus on enjoyment rather than challenge.

You start off controlling a single petal with a gust of wind, and as you fly through the landscapes and interact with flowers and other objects, you gather an increasing number of petals, creating a colourful tail. Should you interact with the requisite number of objects, new life blooms in the areas you pass over.

In its final stages, Flower takes a turn towards more objective based gameplay, and introduces a darker tone that seems at odds with what preceded it. However, this adds a nice change of pace, and introduces a greater challenge. The darker tone ties in with a depleting environment, which aids the game’s message that beauty can come from even the bleakest landscapes.

I fully acknowledge that, from this description, Flower won’t be a game that will appeal to everyone, and I admit that I was sceptical prior to taking the plunge and buying it. My scepticism proved to be unfounded within minutes. Flower has been labelled as more of an experience than an actual game, and I feel that, in the nicest possible sense, that’s an accurate description.

When I first started playing Flower, everyone who came into the room while it was on asked what it was and questioned the point of it, but were compelled to stay and watch it for prolonged periods of time.

It’s testament to the game’s charm that describing the game to people may cause them to balk at the prospect of playing it, but when they see it in action, from my experience, they have been eager to try it for themselves.

There hasn’t been a game before or since that has made such effective use of Sixaxis technology – Flower can seem awkward at first, but after a couple of minutes you’ll be controlling the breeze at high speed and clearing targets and obstacles with very little effort. The controls feel incredibly natural.

Playing the game is an incredibly relaxing experience, which is partly due to the simple controls and gameplay, but largely thanks to the wonderful music by Vincent Diamante. There’s a soundtrack that evokes the settings of each level, with each set of instruments correlating with specific natural elements.

All of these set pieces are beautifully composed, and match the mood of the levels they accompany perfectly, while certain player actions add musical flourishes, allowing you to score your own gaming experience. This also means that it’s unlikely that the game soundtrack will be the same on subsequent replays. The soundtrack is available separately from the game via the PSN store, and is also well worth picking up.

The only downside is that Flower is relatively short, and can be completed in a little over an hour if you rush through. However, there’s some replay value, as playing through any of the levels proves to be an enjoyable experience for me when I’ve got a few minutes to kill and looking to unwind. Plus, it’ll take a lot longer than an hour if you try to attain the platinum trophy.

In a world where games are dominated by competitive conflict and carnage, Flower is a breath of fresh air. It’s brave and unique game that goes against the grain and is, in essence, an arthouse game and, as such, won’t be for everyone. But for those willing to embrace something a little different and succumb to its charms, Flower will prove to be a wonderfully rewarding experience.

If you own a PS3 and have yet to give Flower a go, I can highly recommend spending £7 on it. Flower really is a wonderfully unique and interesting game that’s a refreshing change of pace from the usual fare that dominates the release schedules.

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Warning: this review contains spoilers

Well, that was bleak.

Topped and tailed by some poetry reading that had me thinking that Outcasts was about to become the most middle class science-fiction series on the telly (that’s not to say I have a problem with young people reading poetry: rather, it’s not necessarily the first thing I’d imagine them to reach for when the fit has been hitting the shan), the BBC’s expensive new drama is going to have to fight to get people back for episode two.

The reason? Because its opening episode gave few concessions, choosing to keep the mood bleak, the tone downbeat, and the conversations long.

It’s presumably done this with a strong eye on the seven episodes that follow, but it’s asking the audience to take a bit of a leap of faith to go with it. Hopefully, they’ll do so, as grown-up science fiction drama on British television is hardly in bountiful supply. And there are reasons to stick with the show, which I'll come to shortly.

However, what makes the difficulty of getting an opening episode right even tougher in the case of Outcasts, though, is the obvious comparison to be made with the recent take on Battlestar Galactica (and, going back further, Earth 2), which also tells the story of the survivors of Earth looking for a new home. It’s not a contrast that favours Outcasts so far.

I distinctly remember watching the first, post-pilot episode of Battlestar Galactica, 33, and being utterly blown away by it. Rarely in just over 40 minutes of television had I been so on edge, as a group of people faced a very desperate situation. Rarely had hopelessness been conveyed on the small screen so convincingly. Yet even appreciating the Battlestar had had a pilot episode beforehand to set up its characters, 33 was outstandingly downbeat drama.

Outcasts, right now, isn’t. It’s got promise, certainly, but it’s not burst into life, and it's had to devote much of its opening episode to talking. Yet it does have a few things in its camp.

Firstly, it’s clearly straining at the edge of what a modern day BBC budget can buy you. Shot in South Africa, the world of the planet Carpathia is realised really quite well. It’s bleak, and has a kind of scaled down take on the Judge Dredd’s Cursed Earth surrounding the main habitat on the world. It’s in that habitat that the remaining survivors of Earth lie, awaiting a transporter that may or may not bring more if it can survive the entry into Carpathia’s orbit.

Given how moody the build up to that event is, and given that the Beeb has clearly spent a lot of money just to get this far, it comes as little shock when said transporter fails to make it to the planet’s surface in one piece (via some solid special effects work). Yet there’s an escape pod that looks like it’s going to be the source of trouble ahead.

In fact, there’s certainly no shortage of threads for the show to build on from here, not least in the hints dropped as to the dark past that has led humanity to the planet in the first place, and the unpleasant choices that have been made since they arrived.

Also, I really warmed to the interaction between the President, and the captain of the incomning transporter, with their conversations offering a human heart to the episode. This is where the show slowed just a little, to let us take information in, and these scenes were certainly welcome.

Let’s not overlook, too, that Outcasts has already proven its ability to pull a surprise. The quick demise of Jamie Bamber (whose character was arguably the most interesting of this opening episode), for one. This is a neat, almost Hitchcock-esque device: you get the apparent star of the show (at least that's how many Battlestar fans would see him!), and stick a bullet (or fancy phaser blast) in them right near the start of the adventure. After that, surely anything goes.

I also admire that Outcasts refuses to treat its audience as idiots, hitting them with lots of storytelling in double quick time. Arguably, it takes things too far the other way, asking a little too much as it introduces us to a bunch of characters and gets across a good chunk of story in an hour. It does get quite tricky to follow as a result. But you can’t fault its ambition.

I do feel, ultimately, that it could have used that aforementioned pilot episode, though. This is something that British television hasn’t cottoned on to in the same way that US broadcasters have. Lost opened with a two hour (80 minutes, once you take the adverts out) maiden episode. Battlestar Galactica had a longer pilot. 24 always used to blast off with two episodes at once. And whilst the BBC has made a concession to this by scheduling episodes of Outcasts on consecutive nights, I do feel that it would have reduced the task on writer Ben Richards’ shoulders somewhat had it just given us a 90 minute special to get things started with.

It would have given some welcome extra space to get used to the show, the way it does things, its deliberate pacing, and the situation we're being presented with. It also, crucially, would have spared some time to expand beyond establishing work, and to break up the talking a little more. As it is, it feels like 90 minutes of business packed into 60, and more space to do more things would have helped.

It's a tricky start for the show, then. But still, opening episodes of genre shows are brutally hard to get right, and there's enough in this maiden hour to get me back for more tomorrow night. It's got work to do, but there's an interesting foundation put in place, that suggests those who write off the show for its tone this early on (as I suspect will happen) might just be missing out slightly further down the road.

And good on the BBC for commissioning the show, too. I'd far rather have Outcasts than another routine detective drama (unless said police drama involves Gene Hunt, of course).

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With True Grit about to hit UK cinemas, I thought now would be an ideal time to look at the numerous collaborations between the Coen brothers and Carter Burwell, who composed music for all but one of their films.

Blood Simple

The start of the long and successful working relationship between Burwell and the Coen brothers started with his work on their debut, as he was the cheapest composer they could find. The fact that they found a composer of such high quality on the cheap was fortuitous, considering the fantastic results their collaborations have produced over the years.

The score is understated and simple, utilising a piano motif that carries much of the piece. There are also synth passages that add extra layers to his work here, which is haunting, but with a strong sense of playfulness.

Raising Arizona

The playfulness hinted at in the score for Blood Simple is explored further here, but whereas the previous score was a haunting and dark piece with a playful undercurrent; the score for Raising Arizona sees the roles reversed, as the dominant playfulness is underpinned with darkness, which is particularly evident in the nightmare sequences.

The majority of the score, though, is as madcap and off the wall as the film it accompanies, as a number of styles collide to create an infectiously entertaining and layered score that really showcases Burwell's versatility and his ability to compose the perfect pieces to accompany the action playing out on screen.

If all that wasn't enough, it features some damn fine yodelling.

Miller's Crossing

Not ones to repeat themselves, the Coens follow up their noir and comedy outings by tackling the gangster genre and, for me, the film and the soundtrack rank amongst the highlights of both the Coens' and Burwell's body of work.

Not only does Burwell compose a rich score that really evokes a sense of time and place, but it also reflects the mood and feel conjured up by the Coens through the setting and choice of colour schemes throughout the film.

Some of the sourced material used here doesn't quite do it for me, but the score itself is a master class in composing. Whilst it may not match the variety of his previous work in Raising Arizona, it more than makes up for it in the quality of the pieces that effectively elicit the required moods.

Barton Fink

Barton Fink showcases some of the finest use of sound out of any of the Coens' back catalogue and the sound used contains hints to the meaning of certain scenes and recurring effects reflect the moods of characters.

Burwell's score accentuates said effects, particularly through the violin work accompanying the mosquito effects. There's a strong sense of experimentation through much of Burwell's work here, making listening to his compositions a compelling experience.

Like many of the other scores on this list, this hasn't been given a great release and is bundled in with the Fargo score, so experiencing it with the movie is the best way to approach Burwell's work here.

The Hudsucker Proxy

Another score that sees Burwell in a playful mood, the Hudsucker Proxy sees the composer capture the comedic and satirical tone of the film.

His original compositions are supplemented by Russian composer Aram Khachaturian's work from his Spartacus ballet. Much of the score has an ethereal feel to it, with set pieces to portray the journeys of the protagonist.

Playful and dramatic, it's a shame, then, that there isn't a better release showcasing Burwell's work here, as the one available, which currently clocks in at around thirty minutes, misses out a lot of great material.

Fargo

Much of Burwell's score here is based upon a Norwegian folk song titled Den Bortkomne Sauen (The Lost Sheep), which isn't unusual, given the fact that many of Burwell's compositions for the Coens have a focused point of inspiration.

The pieces inspired by this folk song act as the leitmotif that carries much of the film to great effect, utilising different arrangements and offering variations of the theme, all of which are at their core heartbreaking. But they also convey the sparseness of the Minnesota landscape.  

The Big Lebowski

The Coens had a number of songs in mind for use in the film and enlisted the help of T-Bone Burnett to assist in picking out other material to reflect the mood that they were looking to convey. With that being the case, Burwell's score also had to compliment the material, so his score takes on a Sixties / Seventies feel, which is very much in keeping with the character of The Dude.

It's not just The Dude who has a musical signature, though, as other characters such as the Stranger, the German Nihilists and Jackie Treehorn all have distinct musical motifs. It's a case where Burwell's compositions get overshadowed by Burnett's contribution, but what he did compose was of his usually high standard.

T-Bone Burnett was the subject of a previous column and can found in the Music in the movies list which is linked at the bottom of the article. He also had a huge involvement in the only film of the Coens that Burwell wasn't involved in with, O Brother, Where Art Thou.

The Man Who Wasn't There

Burwell's score for the Coens' modern noir is not his strongest effort and is overshadowed by the use of sourced classical pieces by Mozart and Beethoven in the film, which seem to play out in the key scenes. Classical pieces aside, though Burwell uses a variation of a simple theme to carry his compositions, which are downplayed pieces that capture the tone of the film.

There's nothing showy here, but that's not what the film calls for, and although this is not my favourite of Burwell's compositions for the Coens, I acknowledge that what he produced here services the film, which is what's most important.

Intolerable Cruelty

Another film where Burwell's score isn't the main focus of the use of music in the film, as the Coens opted for a number of sourced tracks. This is also the case with the accompanying soundtrack, which features six of Burwell's compositions, missing out a number of great pieces as a result.

Admittedly, this is perhaps not one that will appeal to anyone other than Burwell completists, hence the focus on sourced material. His compositions have a strong sense of fun and whimsy with occasional dark and dramatic undertones.

The Ladykillers

As is the case with The Big Lebowski and Intolerable Cruelty, Burwell's contribution here isn't as significant as many of his other collaborations with the Coens, but his talents can still be heard nonetheless.

T-Bone Burnett was called upon to source a number of classic and contemporary gospel, soul and R&B tracks, to make a soundtrack that is far superior to the film itself.

No Country For Old Men

I think this is one of my favourite examples of a lack of a score benefiting the mood and tone of a film. The Coens wanted a minimalist approach to the score from Burwell, which set their long-term collaborator an interesting challenge, as he soon found that many of the techniques he employed early on in the writing process didn't fit with the filmmakers' vision.

In total, there's around 16 minutes of music in the entire film, which is unusual by Hollywood's standards for a film of this length. But, then again, both the Coens and Burwell aren't ones to shy away from breaking convention.

Burn After Reading

I know there are some that don't hold this film in high regard, particularly when compared to the Coens' work that bookended it. However, it's a film that I enjoy a great deal.

The film captures a sense of a classic spy caper in almost every sense, from the Saul Bass-esque poster through to Burwell's brilliant score that perfectly captures the sense of paranoia.

Although there are some light moments and the action on screen is often played for laughs, Burwell plays the score straight, which is a large part of its effectiveness. The contrasts between Malkovich's gradual breakdown and the general cluelessness of the other characters, with Burwell's score behind them, are such a huge part of why I enjoy the film.

A Serious Man

Such a large part of the film relies on Jefferson Airplane's Somebody To Love, as the opening lines of the song pretty much encapsulate the mood of the protagonist and sum up the tone of the film. So, it's easy for Burwell's work here to get overshadowed, which is a shame ,considering it's easily among the finest compositions he's produced for the Coens.

His score is delicate and restrained, but hugely affecting, and sits well alongside some excellent sourced material, never seeming oppressive. Perhaps not the best standalone listen, but certainly one that works incredibly well as an accompaniment to the film.

• See all the Music in the movies

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In 2008, Joaquin Phoenix made the surprising announcement that, with his reputation at its height following a Golden Globe-winning performance in Walk The Line, he was leaving the field of acting to pursue a career in rap music.

Over the next 18 months, celebrity magazines charted Phoenix's apparent descent into madness. He was putting on weight, cultivating an increasingly unruly beard, and footage of his abortive attempts at hip hop was repeatedly appearing on the Internet.

One clip in particular, which showed Phoenix falling off the edge of a stage after a particularly bizarre performance, scored hundreds of thousands of hits on YouTube.

Phoenix's breakdown appeared to reach its nadir when he appeared on the Late Show With David Letterman in January 2009. Dishevelled and monosyllabic, Phoenix mumbled quiet retorts while he chewed gum. When a noticeably perturbed Letterman asked, "So, what can you tell us about your days with the Unabomber?" the question was probably only half meant in jest.

Actor and filmmaker, Casey Affleck, charted Phoenix's doomed musical career in his film I'm Still Here, from the actor's early recordings in his homemade music studio, to his farcical last gig in a Vegas nightclub, in which he infamously screamed, "I got a million dollar bank account and you're makin' fun of me?" before launching into a furious fistfight with a member of the audience.

I'm Still Here is a warts and all, unflinching and sometimes shocking documentary. Except, of course, it's all entirely fabricated. The prostitutes, drug taking, violence, vomit and tantrums are all either scripted or improvised. While Phoenix, Affleck and his collaborators were all in on the act, those outside this close circle weren't, and that reportedly included even the actor's own Beverly Hills agent.

With I'm Still Here, Affleck and Phoenix appear to have invented a new form of gonzo filmmaking. For both actor and director, the film represented a huge risk to their reputations and careers. Making it meant that neither party could commit to much else for the best part of two years.

"I went broke," Affleck told the Telegraph last year. "I hadn't worked for more than a year, and I was pouring money into the movie. I had to stop for a month to do The Killer Inside Me. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to finish the film. I was out of money. There was a lot at stake financially and, if we had left [the hoax] there, it would have been very damaging to Joaquin's career."

Viewed from every angle, I'm Still Here was a bizarre enterprise, its intentions further confused by the fact that Affleck admitted that the documentary was a "planned, staged and scripted work of fiction" mere days after its American cinematic release last September (and days before it opened in the UK).

There were those, however, that saw through the pair's fake celebrity breakdown from the very beginning. Fellow celebrities, including Gwyneth Paltrow, who worked with Phoenix on what was apparently his last film appearance, Two Lovers, said she "wasn't convinced" that the actor had retired at all. "There may be something going on - I don't know what," Paltrow said in an interview with ITN in March 2009. "I don't know what he's doing. Maybe it's just a big performance art piece or something."

"Performance art piece" was, as it turns out, exactly what I'm Still Here is, a sporadically fascinating, if misfiring experiment in postmodern movie making. There's evidence everywhere that Affleck's film hasn't quite gone to plan. Phoenix's aggressive rant at his audience in Las Vegas was, as the director later admitted, a calculated attempt to turn the crowd against him, but their reaction was stubbornly apathetic.

This feeling of awkwardness and indifference pervades much of their film. Suspicions that Phoenix's breakdown is a hoax are voiced almost from the beginning, and despite the repeated appearances of celebrity friends such as Edward James Olmos and Ben Stiller (all of whom were in on the act) to give the story validity, their presence actually has the opposite effect, and merely underlines the artificiality of everything we're seeing.

Nevertheless, there are moments in Affleck's film where his attempts at getting under the skin of celebrity culture actually work. Like the much-publicised breakdowns of Britney Spears, Robert Downey Jr or, most recently, Charlie Sheen, Phoenix's apparent meltdown is treated more with scorn than pity. Press photographers and celebrity journalists circle the actor, capturing or commenting on every pratfall with insatiable hunger, while his Hollywood peers gleefully mock his dishevelled appearance at awards ceremonies and on talk shows.

The film serves as an obvious, yet pertinent indictment of the public and media's obsession with fame, and how quickly adulation can mutate into something far more ugly and malevolent. In any other walk of life, it would be utterly unacceptable to poke fun at a person suffering from issues of mental health. For those unlucky enough to be a household name, it's open season.

I'm Still Here's exploration of creativity and the desire for adulation is more fascinating still. The film's fictionalised version of Joaquin Phoenix (who behaves uncannily like a young Jeff Lebowski) is a man constantly colliding with the limits of his talent. Hardly a natural musician, Phoenix nevertheless responds to his audience's heckles with bewilderment and irritation.

Having enjoyed years of awards and compliments as an actor, this alternate-world Phoenix fails to comprehend why the public refuse to take to his tuneless doggerel with the same rapturous applause. More than any other film of recent years, I'm Still Here shows just how painful the process of artistic creation can be, and how vulnerable it leaves the artist when their endeavours go hopelessly wrong.

I'm Still Here opens with a piece of (fake) archive footage that depicts a young Phoenix jumping from the top of a waterfall, and plunging into the jade waters below. In the foreground, his father looks on with pride. It's an incidental, yet quietly brilliant moment which, along with its final scene, crystallises the themes of Affleck's film better than its staged arguments ever could, of the childlike desperation for approval and validation from others that many artists crave.

Interestingly, I'm Still Here's critical and commercial reception was as tepid as Phoenix's brief career as a rap artist. Earning less than $500,000 according to IMDb, the film was a commercial flop, despite the considerable publicity that surrounded its release. An unfortunate example of life imitating art, Affleck and Phoenix's kamikaze essay on celebrity culture was treated not unlike the actor's final gig in Vegas, with a mixture of bemusement and apathy.

As a piece of cinema, I'm Still Here is both self-indulgent and depressing to watch. Phoenix's assumed character is also, at times, extraordinarily unpleasant, a self-obsessed, malfunctioning monster.

And yet, as repellent as the fictionalised Phoenix is, his performance is extraordinarily committed. Hollywood, and the Academy in particular, has long been obsessed with the idea of the transformation, of actors altering their appearance to assume a character.

Charlize Theron won an Oscar for her performance as dowdy killer Aileen Wuornos, while Robert De Niro won Best Actor for his portrayal of boxer, Jake LaMotta, in Raging Bull. Phoenix's turn as a spoiled, bloated actor, a kind of distorted self-portrait, almost feels like a parody of those Oscar-winning, transformative performances that Hollywood loves, and is almost as praiseworthy as Theron and De Niro's.

Affleck's film is a brave, one of a kind piece of work. Far from the money grabbing publicity stunt that many have suggested (a sentiment that probably explains the film's meagre box office takings), I'm Still Here is a flawed, yet sometimes fascinating experiment that shows moments of insight amid the extended scenes of shouting and squalor.

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Here's a spectacularly brisk Superbowl trailer for the forthcoming sci-fi thriller, The Adjustment Bureau, which manages to cram in lots of running, exposition, and even the arresting sight of John (Mad Men) Slattery's hat blowing off as he sprints down a busy street.

Philip K Dick stories have long been a rich breeding ground for movies, and the plot of The Adjustment Bureau, in which Matt Damon plays a politician whose attempts to form a relationship with ballerina, Emily Blunt, are perpetually thwarted by mysterious forces, contains all the weirdness and paranoia you'd expect from the author.

A more understated take on the writer's work than, say, Blade Runner, Minority Report, or the rather dreadful Paycheck, there's a cool 40s vibe running through The Adjustment Bureau, with its stylish New York locations and excellent hats. We genuinely love those hats.

The Adjustment Bureau is due for release on 4 March.

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It might not be a full-on sequel to the 90s comedy hits Wayne's World and Wayne's World 2, yet Mike Myers and Dana Carvey have nonetheless reunited on screen as Wayne and Garth for the first time in eons. And from the reaction to the segment on Saturday Night Live it got, it certainly seems to have whetted the appetite for a Wayne's World 3.

The duo came together on SNL as part of an episode hosted by Dana Carvey, as they went through their Oscar picks. Oddly, they seemed quite keen on Winter's Bone...

You can see the clip below. And with Bill and Ted planning a reunion in the years ahead, we wonder if Wayne and Garth might just head back to the big screen too...

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5.12 ¡Qué Sorpresa!

Inelasticity is the daily bread of sitcom characters. That these people don't really change, develop or grow is a big part of why they're funny. Whatever happens inside the space of one episode, we expect, even rely on sitcom characters to be back at square one the following week, behaving in the same way and making the same mistakes in different scenarios.

That last bit's crucial, because watching unbending caricatures facing the same problems in the same scenarios isn't an episode, it's a repeat, which is exactly what some parts of this week's 30 Rock felt like.

30 Rock has always let absurd characters, pop culture parody and punchlines win out over realism or continuity, stuffing episodes full of self-referential nods to its own lack of follow-through as it does so, but ¡Qué Sorpresa!'s Tracy and Jenna storyline came out less like a cheeky nod and more like barrel scraping filler. Locking horns over a promotional sweatshirt, the pair's toddler spats were a mainstay of the first couple of seasons, but surely we've seen enough now. Luckily, that was just one small part of an otherwise solid episode, with a Liz Lemon payoff that was completely worth the wait.

The good people of 30 Rock were preparing to meet their new boss, Kabletown's, Hank Hooper (a man whose homespun folksiness could almost make Kenneth seem jaded), who set about replacing the cutthroat NBC empire that Jack built with humour, homilies and a whole lotta hugs.

Introducing a monthly 'co-worker pitch day', so every member of the NBC family could feel included, Hooper had Jack wincing through a series of staff suggestions and generally watching his corporate world crumble around his ears. After a fun gag involving Jack's own suggestion, a voice-activated TV that still had a couple of gremlins to sort out, it was Kenneth who came up trumps with his idea for an TV modesty bar to cover up onscreen naughtiness.

Executive shark that he is, Jack stole Kenneth's idea then spent the rest of the episode trying to provoke the guileless page into retaliation for the theft. Faced with losing everything that made NBC great (private dining rooms, murdering strippers, the usual), Jack contemplated jumping ship in what might just be the setup for a Baldwin exit sometime in the future.

Meanwhile, Liz was faking a pregnancy to help Avery keep her own eight month bun in the oven a secret from a vindictive work colleague (Vanessa Minnillo). Being fake pregnant seemed to suit Lemon who, predictably, took to eating for two like a duck to water. Another perk of pretending to be knocked up was finally being treated nicely by the writers, and even Tracy, who started behaving himself since he knows stressing out a pregnant woman will turn their baby into a dracula. 

Liz's tangled web of utero-deception led to a masterful conclusion where she revealed her earth mother side by posing for a topless pregnancy photo shoot. Now, we've seen Lemon do some pretty undignified things to help Jack out in the past, but pelvic thrusting to dance music whilst caressing her oiled up baby-free stomach was pure Tina Fey magic.

It's the kind of performance that needs more recognition than a few measly Emmy Awards, which is why I'm hereby proposing we nominate April 20th, Hitler's birthday and fictional due date for Rufus T Barleysheath-Lemon, International Liz Lemon Day, which is to be spent wearing a slanket and eating cheese stew in front of a mirror.

This season might have come under a little bit of fire and one or two accusations of losing its shine from some corners, but 30 Rock is still more than capable of holding its own and providing the odd flash of brilliance.

Dan Harmon's excellent Community may be having a great second season (read Emma's Community reviews here) and is certainly pumping fresh blood into Thursday nights on NBC, but Fey blazed a trail for the whip-smart, pop culture referencing sitcom, and we should salute her.

Read our review of episode 12, Operation Righteous Cowboy Lightning, here.

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This review contains spoilers.

2.12 The Trouble With Harry

Our second helping of Human Target in a week kicks off in a bar where Chance is sitting handcuffed when our old friend Harry (Tony Hale) walks over and sits beside him.

To explain why he's there, we get a flashback to a client, Sarah (Nicole Bilderback), briefing with the team. The client's fiancé, Henry Claypool (Michael Massee), has threatened to kill her. He is the head of a large security company who lives in a private compound. His fiancée has just found out that Henry also runs hitmen.

At this point, Ilsa interrupts. She's been having Guerrero find out who the girl from last episode's photo was and he's come to the conclusion she was a mistress.

To protect their client from Claypool, the team had decided they needed to break into the compound and, moving to the current time, Chance explains to Harry that he got caught on the mission and he's to be exchanged for the information the team stole from Claypool, and he relays the sequence of events to Harry.

The plan involved Ilsa distracting Claypool and trying to find out a password from him while Chance and Ames break into his office.  Claypool's head of security, Mr Vaughn, then took Ilsa in to meet Claypool while Guerrero, posing as a driver, hacked into the CCTV.

With Winston guiding them, Chance and Ames made it to the office, but their first problem was heat sensors, which Ames took care of. While this was going on, Ilsa was talking to Claypool. She had taken with her a bottle of wine laced with truth serum. To get Claypool to drink the wine and reveal his password, Ilsa was forced to drink it herself first.

Back at the bar, Harry is slowly helping Chance with his escape.

Under the influence of the drug, Ilsa told Claypool why they were there and Chance was running into problems with the office., forcing Guerrero to help Ilsa get the password, which Chance used to steal Claypool's files.

Ilsa eventually gave herself up so that Guerrero and Sarah could escape while Chance set off the security alarms so that Ames could get away.

Chance stayed behind to rescue Ilsa and took out half of Claypool's security staff to accomplish this. He then caused a distraction, allowing Ilsa to escape on horseback.

Firmly back in the present, Chance explains what's going to happen to Harry. Ilsa shows up to exchange the files for Chance, but Claypool decides to keep both of them. Using a bottle of whiskey, Chance, via shootout, manages to rescue Ilsa with a little help from the team.

The episode ends, as quite a few have this season, with just Ilsa and Chance talking, this time ending in a kiss.

That's the recap, then. So what was the episode like?

Well, for me, this episode just never really got going, like most this season. The use of flashbacks as a narrative device was a welcome return, as was Harry, and the action was, as usual, very good.

The whole episode, though, only really seemed to be used to continue the somewhat out of place Chance-Ilsa romance,  with everything from Chance allowing her to go on the mission up to Harry explaining it to him in the bar.

Ames, again, was underused, as were Guerrero and Winston, but we're getting used to that by now.

It looks highly likely that the next episode will not only be a season finale, but a series finale of a show that lost its identity. Let's just keep our fingers crossed that they can make it go out with a bang.

Read our review of episode 11, Kill Bob, here.

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We're up to week five of the BBC's LA comedy of errors, Episodes, and by now its theme tune has begun to do terrifying things to my psyche. The knock-about, parping trombone signature melody has, to borrow an expression from Dinner For Schmucks, laid eggs inside my brain.

Rushing for the train last week, I accidentally dropped my wallet as I struggled to get it out of my coat pocket, spilling its load of loose change on the floor. For some reason, my brain immediately selected the Episodes theme from its playlist to accompany this moment of mild humiliation.

Come to think of it, the flatulent brass of this most uneven of sitcoms has become a default soundtrack, a mocking backwash, to everything ridiculous or embarrassing that occurs in my frenzied little life. Bag strap caught in lift doors? Barrrrupp. A bumbling trip over a cracked paving slab? Toooodle parp. It's driving me quietly insane.

Worse still, I have to try to come up with different ways of describing Episodes week after week, a sitcom that slides drunkenly, like the boozy tones of a trombone, from mildly amusing to desperately unfunny. One highly amusing spike of inspiration aside, Episodes' other instalments have all been broadly the same: uneven. Attempting to review each episode is like reporting the UK weather. It's dull, with the occasional sunny spell.

At first, Episodes episode five (there's another problem, incidentally. The sheer number of times the word "episode" can appear in a review of a show called "Episodes") trundles along at the show's now well established pace. British writer couple Beverly and Sean's sitcom is making its slow, seemingly irrevocable descent into mediocrity, and all they can do is stand and stare as their dreams deflate like undercooked Yorkshire puddings.

This week opens with a typically awkward scene in which Sean attempts to avert his eyes from a shapely actress's barely concealed bosom. Right on cue, wife Beverly wanders in from stage right.

In a more conventional sitcom, this would be the moment where the canned laughter kicks in. But this being a modern, sophisticated take on an ageing format, Episodes replaces a tittering audience with interminable bickering.

Later events are just as signposted. Matt LeBlanc, who's now slipping comfortably into the villain of the piece, invites both shapely actress and Sean to a charity benefit, and as the wine is imbibed, Sean's faithfulness to his wife is stretched like a banjo string. Is LeBlanc deliberately trying to destroy Beverly and Sean's relationship for his own cruel, obscure reasons? Whatever his motives, they fail to make the series any funnier.

Episode five of Episodes appears to be slipping into the same joke-free nadir as episode four, that is, until the narrative mercifully cuts away from Sean's moment of temptation, and Carol (Kathleen Rose Perkins) arrives to brighten things up with a gigantic spliff. Her stoned moments with Beverly are the show's unexpected highpoint, evoking both sympathy and genuine, laugh-out-loud amusement.

And then, just as Episodes lets you warm to it again (a little bit, at least), it concludes with an implausibly daft scene that involves Sean enthusiastically masturbating over Internet porn.

Once again, the series totters from the sublime to the ridiculous, like its infuriating signature theme. Toodle parp.

Read our review of episode 4 here.

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In his own lifetime, Howard Philips Lovecraft was a virtual unknown. His stories appeared in pulp magazines such as Weird Tales and Astounding Stories, alongside contemporary genre writers such as Robert E Howard and August Derleth, and wouldn’t be published in book form until long after Lovecraft’s death.

It was only after HP Lovecraft's passing in 1937 that his work began to be reassessed, and even then his distinctive, verbose prose was scorned by the literary establishment. The critic, Edmund Wilson, infamously dismissed the author's tales as "bad taste and bad art" in 1945.

Gradually, however, Lovecraft's reputation grew, and he's now rightly recognised as one of the 20th century's most important American authors. In 2005, a collection of Lovecraft's stories was collected together for The Library Of America, securing the author's place in history, even as the pulp magazines that first published his work crumble into dust.

My induction into the weird world of Lovecraft was indirectly thanks to Jonathan Ross, of all people. In the late 80s, Jonathan Ross hosted a programme called The Incredibly Strange Film Show, in which he enthusiastically introduced a range of cult horror and action movies from around the world, from Mexican wrestling features to the gore epics of Herschell Gordon Lewis.

It was on 20 October 1989, when I'd just returned from a school disco, that I caught an episode of the programme based on the films of Stuart Gordon. One of the clips Ross introduced was from Re-Animator, specifically, the moment when crazed scientist Herbert West revives a cat with an injection of luridly glowing serum. "Don't expect it to tango. It has a broken back," West says, just before the cat starts screeching and leaping around the room.

This was the most remarkable thing my 12-year-old eyes had ever seen, and I immediately knew that I had to see the rest of the film. Sadly, my mother had other ideas, and expressly forbade me from even attempting to get hold of a copy on videotape.

It was mere days later that, while rooting through a box of books at a jumble sale, I happened upon a horror anthology with a lurid painting of a skull on the cover. One of the stories inside was called Herbert West: Reanimator by HP Lovecraft. I'd never heard of the author before, but I knew immediately that this must have been the tale Stuart Gordon had used as the basis for his film.

I might not have been allowed to see Gordon's movie, but surely, I thought, the story would be the next best thing. I handed over my ten pence, and whisked the book home, and read it in bed that same night.

I was terrified by it. I'd read horror stuff by Edgar Allan Poe before, but this was the first piece of fiction I can remember genuinely scaring me. Reanimator's premise, of a mad scientist bringing the dead back to life with a life-giving potion, was gripping, the violent behaviour of the revenant test subjects mesmerising. 

Chapter three, in particular, concluded with a sentence that left me shuddering beneath my duvet:

"Looming hideously against the spectral moon was a gigantic misshapen thing not to be imagined save in nightmares - a glassy-eyed, ink-black apparition nearly on all fours, covered with bits of mould, leaves, and vines, foul with caked blood, and having between its glistening teeth a snow-white, terrible, cylindrical object terminating in a tiny hand."

Ironically, Herbert West: Reanimator is one of Lovecraft's least appreciated works. The author himself disliked its structure, and Lovecraft biographer, S. T. Joshi, once wrote that it was "universally acknowledged as Lovecraft's poorest work."

Nevertheless, Reanimator was my entry point into Lovecraft's stories, and even having read it several times since that first encounter in the late 80s, I still maintain that it's a strong tale, though perhaps not the best example of his style.

For the time, Lovecraft's blurring of horror, science fiction and fantasy genres (creating a subgenre he described as cosmic horror), was extremely original and it's little surprise that, for many years, few editors appeared to know quite what to make of his stylised, elaborately written little tales.

His best and most well known story, the novella, At The Mountains Of Madness, was rejected by Lovecraft's usual venue, Weird Tales, for the crimes of being both too long and not containing enough horror, and ended up in Astounding Stories instead.

It's a brilliantly woven story and exemplifies everything that's great about the writer's style: a chilly, atmospheric setting, unspeakable creatures that defy rational explanation, and fevered accounts of a long forgotten race of god-like beings.

It's unsurprising that Mountains has had such a lasting effect on those who've read it, whether it's as inspiration, as was the case with John W. Campbell's Who Goes There, later made into The Thing From Another World and The Thing, or direct adaptation, such as the forthcoming movie from Guillermo del Toro.

At The Mountains Of Madness was one of several tales that all formed what was later termed the Cthulhu Mythos, a fully realised alternate universe in which seemingly omnipotent aliens (all with brilliantly exotic names such as Yog-Sothoth and Nyarlathotep) ruled the ancient world before the rise of humankind. Evidence of their existence lurks in quiet places beneath the sea and far underground, and according to the mythical book, the Necronomicon, these gods will one day return to reclaim the planet.

Lovecraft's best works, such as The Dunwich Horror, The Case Of Charles Dexter Ward and The Colour Out Of Space, are all woven into this fictional fabric, giving his stories a distinctive air of the forbidden.

It would be wrong to suggest that Lovecraft's work was without flaw, or that some of the criticisms against his work were entirely unfounded. If there's one thing you can't accuse Lovecraft of, it's brevity. Like Poe, he wrote in a verbose, adjective-ridden style that, in his lesser stories, was borderline infuriating. He favoured words such as cyclopean, gibbous and scoriac, words that left young lads like me reaching anxiously for a dictionary. Still, reading Lovecraft was great for improving the vocabulary, at least.

Rather more serious are the xenophobic undercurrents that permeate some of Lovecraft's writing. Some of the passages in lesser stories, such as The Horror At Red Hook, make uncomfortable reading, and there's no glossing over the fact that, even for his time, Lovecraft's opinions were particularly unenlightened, and his insular world view permeated much of his work.

This ignorance is particularly sad when you consider that Lovecraft was, in many other areas, extremely learned. He had a keen interest in most branches of science, and spoke and wrote at length on all kinds of academic matters, from history to linguistics.

It's an unfortunate fact that good writers, musicians and artists often harbour beliefs and habits we find difficult to relate to. Richard Wagner held particularly obnoxious views, and few of us would want to sit and have a pint with the man if he were still alive, but few would deny his abilities as a composer. By the same token, I can still appreciate the best pieces of Lovecraft's writing, even if I despise his ignorance surrounding the issues of nationality and race.

Accepting these flaws in Lovecraft's work and thinking, many of his tales are nevertheless enduringly readable. His ability to generate atmosphere, and to use his knowledge of history and science to create a believable air of realism, even as his characters were knee-deep in alien tentacles, has given Lovecraft's work a timeless, page turning quality.

Lovecraft tapped into scientific attitudes that were quite new at the time, but are now widely accepted: the insignificance of humanity's place in the universe, and of the incomprehensible vastness of space. The concept of prehistoric aliens, and their possible influence on human evolution, was also a Lovecraft invention, predating a similar concept at the heart of Nigel Kneale's Quatermass And The Pit and the, frankly, nutty theories of writer Erich von Däniken.

Even Lovecraft's harshest critic, Edmond Wilson, eventually found praiseworthy elements in his stories. The Color Out Of Space, Wilson pointed out, predicted the horrible effects of the atom bomb, while Lovecraft's extensive essay on macabre tales, Supernatural Horror In Literature, was described as "a really able piece of work."

Since his untimely death at the age of just 47, Lovecraft's stature has soared, thanks in part to his old pen pal, August Derleth who, along with a group of fellow writers, set up Arkham House, specifically to publish and preserve the late author's work.

Lovecraft's life may have been tragically short, but his macabre tales of old gods, forbidden lore and indescribable terror continue to echo down the decades, inspiring filmmakers, musicians and artists, and evoking shudders in readers of all ages.

If nothing else, I have Lovecraft to thank for my enduring affection for science fiction and horror, and without him, I'd probably never know the meanings of such words as cyclopean, eldritch and gibbous.

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Since the Superbowl spots all appeared online yesterday, there's been a degree of forensic analysis applied to them all. And what's been spotted with regards the promo for Transformers 3: Dark Of The Moon is the fact that Optimus Prime might just have been fitted with an extra modification. Or at the very least been drinking Red Bull. In short, he's been given wings.

If you look closely at the trailer, which you can find here, you can just about see it. And over at io9, the flying Optimus Prime appears to have been confirmed with a look at one of the tie-in films to the summer movie.

The toys are being produced by Hasbro, and it describes the add-on that makes Optimus Prime able to fly as 'mechtech'. The official explanation of it reads:

"The Mechtech Ultimate Optimus Prime figure features three modes of conversion - vehicle, robot, and robot with "mech suit." The trailer, which serves as a weapons depot and command center, also converts into a "mech suit" that Optimus Prime shows off when it's time to rumble."

Giant robotic things flying through the air? Ah, it makes you hark back to the, er, glory days of RoboCop 3...

You can read more about the new toy here at io9.

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The last few days have seen rumours surfacing with regards to an addition to Marvel's upcoming movie, The Avengers. And specifically, it was with regards to the character of S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Maria Hill. Hill is Nick Fury's sidekick, and given that Fury is being played by Samuel L Jackson, and is down to appear in nine films, Maria is clearly an important piece of casting.

And now, the part has been cast.

The job has gone to Cobie Smulders, best known for her work in How I Met Your Mother. She's officially signed on the dotted line to appear firstly in The Avengers, and it's also been reported that she's being tied down to the same nine-movie deal as Jackson.

Joss Whedon is set to start rolling cameras on The Avengers in April, ahead of the film's release in May 2012.

Variety

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Yesterday, we saw the first official moving footage from this summer's upcoming movie of Captain America. Up until that point, it had been, if we've got this right, the only major movie of the summer to have not even enjoyed a trailer of any form yet.

However, off the back of the Superbowl spot, Empire has released a batch of new images from the film, which mix in some from its current issue, and one or two more on top. As usual, just click on the one you want to make bigger, and your bidding will be done...

Empire Online

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Off the back of a terrific reaction at the Sundance Film Festival a few weeks ago, Richard Ayoade's Submarine is building up a sizeable head of steam as it heads towards its UK release.

The film is adapted from Joe Dunthorne's coming of age tale of the same name, and stars Craig Roberts, Sally Hawkins, Paddy Considine and Yasmine Page. Ayoade makes his directorial debut with the film, and wrote the screenplay too.

And we've got our first official glimpse at it here, with both the poster up there, and the trailer down below. The film is earmarked for release on 18th March 2011, and might just be worth marking down as one to watch.

Here's that trailer...

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Remember Wayne Knight? He was sat in the interrogation chamber with Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. And he was also Dennis Nedry, the man who kick-started the chaos in the original Jurassic Park.

Now? He's the latest addition to the cast of Torchwood: Miracle Day.

We can confirm that Knight is definitely on board the new series, as has been hinted by a couple of Twitter feeds relating to the show. As Doctor Who News reported, the BBC Torchwood account sent out a Tweet saying, "We've got Alexa Havins here with us today with a special guest, here's a clue 'Uh uh uh didn't say the magic word.'"

Furthermore, Alana Stone, the costumer on Miracle Day, sent out a Tweet saying "Dodgson! Dodgson! We've got Dodgson here! See? Nobody cares. Nice hat!"

If you know your Jurassic Park, then those are clues you won't miss. And while we're not sure at this stage how many episodes of the show Knight will appear in, and just what his role is, we're absolutely certain that he's on board the show (we've got a very good source!).

Doctor Who News

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Warning: this review contains spoilers.

If last night’s opening episode was about setting up the board and pieces for Outcasts, then this second episode sees writer Ben Richards start to gradually move those pieces into significant places. And now that the establishing work is done, he’s freed a little to pen this more sure paced instalment of the show, which gradually builds towards the promise of some big moments ahead.

There’s plenty to wrap our heads around, and the show is already establishing that every character has secrets, or blood somewhere on their hands. None more so than President Tate, it seems, who ordered the execution of carriers of the C23 virus. The problem? He gave the job to Mitchell, played by Jamie Bamber. The same Mitchell who was killed in last night’s episode, and the same Mitchell who didn’t kill the people he was supposed to. Thus, we have the outcasts of the show’s name, led by the gloriously menacing Langley Kirkwood.

At first, I thought he had a touch of The Others from Lost about him, but it soon becomes clear that his motivation for disliking the occupants of Forthaven is a real and understandable one. Condemned to death, he’s a man who doesn’t have Tate on his Christmas card list. And, more to the point, he has Stella’s daughter. He also has a sick baby, and a trade is done to return said daughter, Lily, once the baby is cured. Easy.

Only, of course, it doesn’t turn out that way. The uneven relationship and distrust between the characters, no matter what side of Forthaven’s wall they fall, is paramount here. And it manifests itself with the spurt of violence that sees Daniel Mays’ Cass with more blood on his hands, and divisions broadening still further.

Yet, this is just a fraction of what this second episode dealt with. For we’ve also got the survivors of the transporter crash, and amongst them is the none-too-pleasant Julius Berger. Again, maybe I’m playing hunting-the-sci-fi-show reference, but my first thought was that he had a bit of Battlestar Galactica’s Gaius Baltar about him. However, he quickly turns perhaps more sinister than that, albeit under the surface. And no one is more hating of him than Aisling, whose mother he condemned to death in the young girl’s eyes.

Elsewhere, we have Stella, who came across like she’d been given a deep brain visualisation kit for Christmas in this episode. Twice she threatened to use it this episode, and while she was clearly desperate to see her daughter – a daughter who, it turns out, isn’t keen about seeing her – her toolkit seems quite limited at this stage. I suspect it won’t be long before we see someone subjected to her DBV fetish, mind, but that’s for the weeks ahead.

For now, President Tate also has the problem about the population of survivors, as one of the broader arcs of the show comes into play. Namely, the mysterious C23 virus. Outcasts is hammering home the fact that Tate lost his own family, and it seems keen to present him as the upstanding man who’s been faced with extraordinary decisions and impossible choices.

I wonder how long that will stay, though. Will Ben Richards be tempted to subvert him a little, as he continues to cloud the lines between who seems to be good, and who seems to be bad? The potential is certainly there.

As it stands, the only people seemingly capable of producing healthy babies are the outcasts themselves, and as we leave the episode, Tate realises that he’s got to return the baby to them. Even though they’re not likely to be pleased with him at all, given the fresh casualty at the hands of Cass. It's a situation that's been set up here that's best described as 'tricky'.

There’s room for a couple of unexplained moments, too. The row of bodies: who killed them? Are we supposed to be believe they died in the shuttle craft (the likely outcome)? Or was there an implication that the outcasts killed them? We were certainly pointed towards the notion that said outcasts, or Lily, may have arranged them in order. If it wasn’t them, then who could it be?

And also, what caused the drawing of Tate’s family on his desk to start turning round? Is there something there we’re supposed to be reading things into?

If you’ve not guessed by now, Outcasts is throwing a cocktail of science fiction ingredients and real life issues into the mix (we've not even touched on Fleur), and episode two finds it simmering gently to the boil. There are threatened flashpoints, certainly, but the show has resisted the urge to put its foot down just yet.

As such, it’s still a show finding its way. This is certainly a more confident episode than the opener, albeit one that’s still requiring a greater than expected amount of buy-in from the viewer to keep on top of it all. For it’s a show dealing with impossible situations, with constantly dark tones to it. How dark is it willing to go? That’ll be interesting to see. Because if Outcasts has the courage of its convictions, then this might be as bold a piece of science fiction that the BBC has commissioned in a long time. Outside of Cardiff, anyway.

The teaser for episode three seems to bring the opposing factions into conflict, and hopefully, off the back of the maiden two episodes, the show will carry over its viewers to see just what happens. We’ll certainly be there.

Read our review of the series opener here.

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Kick-Ass and War Heroes writer Mark Millar's violent and blackly funny Nemesis starts with the destruction of a speeding train in Japan and continues at a similarly blistering pace for the remainder of its 80-or-so pages.

Like an inverted Batman, the titular Nemesis is a bored billionaire who uses his wealth to wreck havoc across the globe. Having terrified the populace of Tokyo, Nemesis' focus switches to the US, where veteran cop, Chris Morrow (a ringer for Viggo Mortensen), becomes the target of his torment.

Apparently influenced by the antics of Seven's John Doe and Saw's Jigsaw, Millar's tale writhes like a serpent, and the punishment he metes out on his characters is, even by his own standards, remarkably, imaginatively cruel.

As a comic book thriller, Nemesis is genuinely compelling, the battle of wits between Morrow and his enigmatic, slippery quarry both engrossing and unpredictable right up to the final page.

It's hardly surprising that Tony Scott is interested in adapting Nemesis for the big screen. Along with Steve McNiven's lurid, detailed art, the book reads like the storyboard for an expensive action blockbuster. Buildings explode and jumbo jets tumble from the sky in scenes worthy of a Michael Bay flick, and Millar's story will give Scott plenty of opportunities to employ his frenetic style of direction.

Dynamic though Millar's storytelling is, the characters in Nemesis are barely given time to breathe beneath the explosions and bloodshed. Nemesis himself is a necessarily obscure, one-dimensional antagonist, but crumpled law enforcer, Chris Morrow, is a disappointingly stock hero, a generic male cop with a good aim and the usual family problems.

There are signs, however, that Morrow's rather flat depiction may be intentional. Much of his dialogue is hilariously pompous. After preventing an armed robbery with deadly efficiency, he glibly reassures the freed hostages that a team of counsellors are on standby, and there are hints in McNiven's art that he wears an ill-fitting wig.

Pitting a complacent, oddly unsympathetic cop against a lycra-clad tycoon with too much time on his hands is a neat riff on the usual good versus evil struggle typically seen in comic books, though it's a pity that, in this instance, none of Millar's characters leap off the page as memorably as they do in Kick-Ass.

At any rate, there's barely a moment to analyse the motives of Nemesis' characters, its writer, or the story's sometimes baffling leaps of logic. Relentlessly forging on like the introduction's Tokyo express train, the story entertains right up to its final, delicious twist.

This collected, hardcover version of Nemesis may also be the perfect way to read it. As a serial, the constant interruptions to the story's flow would, no doubt, prove frustrating, and its lean, simple narrative is arguably more effective when taken as a single slab of relentless action.

If Tony Scott can maintain the compelling, irresistible pace of Millar's story, and perhaps find some time to round out its characters, Nemesis could also make a great big-screen action thriller, and Viggo Mortensen would be the perfect actor to add a little flesh to Morrow's bones.

Nemesis is out now and available from the Den of Geek Store.

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Now that Outcasts has got itself up and running, the BBC's new science fiction drama is set to cut loose a little in episode three, an installment that's being widely reported as the one where the concept of the show really begins to pay off.

To give you a little taster as to what's in store, the BBC has released a batch of images from episode 3, which you can feast your eyes on here. And Outcasts returns to our screens next Monday night...

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For a legion of movie geeks, 1987’s RoboCop is an action cinema classic, jam-packed with absurd violence, quotable lines (“I’d buy that for a dollar!”) and an iconic central character in the shape of its titular tin law enforcer.

Even the pair of meagre sequels and a poverty-stricken television series hasn’t sullied the memory of Paul Verhoeven’s lip-smackingly satirical film, and while there’s been talk, in recent years, of a reboot with Darren Aronofsky at the helm, the Reagan-era RoboCop remains an enduring favourite.

On Twitter, one user, known simply as @MT, made the not unreasonable suggestion that the city of Detroit (the setting for the movie’s unforgettably brutal antics) should erect a RoboCop statue in the law enforcer’s honour. After all, Philadelphia has a statue of Rocky…

Woking in Surrey has a gigantic Martian sculpture to commemorate HG Wells’ War Of The Worlds (which, incidentally, is quite spectacular)…

Stirling, Scotland had a 12-ton statue erected in remembrance of Mel Gibson’s iffy historical epic, Braveheart…

The Braveheart statue (which makes poor Mel look like one of the aliens out of Battlefield Earth screaming at a seagull) was so unpopular that it was removed in 2008, but we’ll gloss over that.

Anyway, we’d maintain that a statue to RoboCop would be a fitting tribute to its contribution to the cultural history of Detroit – after all, who can forget the moment where Robo walks away from an exploding petrol station, or the bit where he kills dozens of bad guys in a disused warehouse? Admittedly, much of the film was actually filmed in Dallas and Pennsylvania, but we’ll gloss over that, too.

Sadly, the mayor of Detroit has nipped any suggestions of a RoboCop statue in the bud. Responding to the idea on Twitter, Mayor Dave Bing said, “There are not any plans to erect a statue to Robocop. Thank you for the suggestion.”

We recently contacted Mayor Bing with a further suggestion – that while a RoboCop statue was perhaps beyond the pale, maybe a monument to his hulking nemesis, ED-209, might be feasible. Sadly, we’ve yet to receive a reply.

More news on the RoboCop statue campaign as it develops.

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I’ve smashed my piggy bank, sold a kidney and traded in my family heirlooms to cobble the funds together for Nintendo’s forthcoming wonder machine. The prospect of a faster DS with the added novelty of a 3D screen is exciting enough, but it’s the quality of the games coming out for it is more enticing still.

The trailer for Paper Mario looks genuinely marvellous, as does the big N’s 21st century overhaul of The Legend Of Zelda: The Ocarina Of Time. Then there’s Kid Icarus: Uprising, a potentially stupendous reboot that mixes ground-based combat with rail shooting, a 3D iteration of the classic Mario Kart, two Resident Evil games, plus a revisit to the furry utopia of Animal Crossing.

Sadly, none of these games will be ready for the 3DS’ launch date. There are, however, a few gems among the 13 games that will hit the stores at the same time as the system – we can’t say we’re terribly excited about Nintendogs + Cats in any of its guises, which include an entire dog pound full of mutts to look after, but we’re most definitely excited about the prospect of a handheld Super Street Fighter IV, and early word is that it’s a faithfully executed port.

Pilotwings Resort looks like a nifty little title too, though it’s perhaps a little disappointing that Nintendo has chosen to create a series of Wii Sports-inspired mini-games rather than a full-blown remake of the Super Nintendo flight simulator.

Elsewhere, we have the port of EA’s eerie doll’s house simulator, The Sims 3, Pro Evolution Soccer 3D, a miniature version of Super Monkey Ball, and as a rather more violent change of pace, a 3D remake of Splinter Cell.

The Nintendo 3DS arrives in the UK on 25 March. In the meantime, here’s that launch line-up in full:

• Pilotwings Resort
• Nintendogs + Cats: Golden Retriever & New Friends
• Nintendogs + Cats: French Bulldog & New Friends
• Nintendogs + Cats: Toy Poodle & New Friends
• Super Street Fighter IV: 3D Edition
• The Sims 3
• PES 2011 3D - Pro Evolution Soccer
• LEGO Star Wars III: The Clone Wars
• Ridge Racer 3D
• Super Monkey Ball 3D
• Samurai Warriors: Chronicles
• Asphalt 3D
• Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon: Shadow Wars
• Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell 3D
• Rayman 3D

CVG

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