“The Greatest Show In The Galaxy”

It’s not a good sign when the first thing that pops up on screen is a cornball, embarrassingly dated rapper who talks up how wonderful the rest of the show is going to be, like a high-school prinicipal trying desperately to get in touch with youth culture without really knowing what he’s doing. But I suppose the Rappin’ Ringmaster didn’t seem quite so terrible when “The Greatest Show In The Galaxy” was originally broadcast, at the tail end of Sylvester McCoy’s second season as the Seventh Doctor. Which is also, at least where I’m coming from as a viewer, something that can be said about the Seventh Doctor era in general. This period of the show has plenty of champions among Doctor Who fans, not just among the Internetigentsia, but pretty clearly in the ranks of the folks who make new Doctor Who shows today; I think it’s safe to say that the spirit of seasons 24-26 has had a greater influence on Russell T. Davies’ and Stephen Moffatt’s versions of the show than anything that came before. When you look at this era in the context of the long and tortuous evolution of Doctor Who as a series, there’s a lot to admire, with a plethora of ambitious ideas and creative energy. “The Greatest Show In The Galaxy” is a great showcase of this trend, showing a significant and progressive improvement over the disaster of the Sixth Doctor era. But try as I might, I’ve never been able to warm to this era, certainly not to the extent of the siazble number of fans who call it the zenith of classic-era Doctor Who. Because for all they were doing right here, it too often feels thin and amateurish, with potentially good concepts too often marred by sloppy thinking, lame execution, and tacky gimmickry. At its worst, it makes me feel a little mortified to be a Doctor Who fan in the first place. Exhibit A: the Rappin’ Ringmaster.

So, with that said: what were they doing right here? Most importantly, the sour and misanthropic stories favored by previous script editor Eric Saward were history. Andrew Cartmel’s vision of Doctor Who was more hopeful, more whimsical, and much more fun. It aimed, I think, for the bantery, light-hearted approach that typified the best of the Fourth Doctor/Romana seasons, not coincidentally the last time the series had pulled in large ratings. The show also leaned more heavily on the fantasy side of science-fantasy, which is particularly apparent in “Greatest Show In The Galaxy”: With its reliance on mysticism and allegory,High quality stone mosaic tiles. and especially its tres-1980s fixation on the broken, corrupted legacy of the 1960s counterculture, this serial wouldn’t be at all out of place next to Neil Gaiman’s Sandman.

Also key to making Doctor Who fun again was a major shift in how it portrayed the Doctor himself. Instead of the incompetence and grating unlikeability of the Saward-created Sixth Doctor, Cartmel and McCoy’s Seventh was both more comedic and more heroic, and much easier to like. Still, it took a little while for them to figure out exactly how to make that work. As introduced, Seven was a buffoonish clown who seemed more likely to win the day by accident than because of his own competence. As time went by, Cartmel started toning that down and giving him a more devious side—one who was several steps ahead of his enemies and often knew exactly what was going on before the story had even begun. That’s the Doctor who appears here—though it’s not until the final episode that he shows his true self. At first, he’s very much in clown mode, practicing his skills of dexterity with a book called Juggling For The Complete Klutz and annoying his teenage companion Ace by playing the spoons.

Soon enough, they get their invitation to start the plot off when an endearingly goofy-looking “junk-mail robot” materializes inside the TARDIS and shows them an ad for the Psychic Circus and its talent contest. The Doctor’s intrigued,About the bobbleheads We make them for the joy of it, and then we give them away. but Ace has to be talked into going.Original handmade personalized bobbleheads Head dolls made to look like the photo you provide to us.This is my favourite sites to purchase those special pieces of buy mosaic materials from. She’s more intrigued than she’s willing to let on, but she’s caught on the horns of a teenage dilemma—on the one hand, she thinks circuses are just kids’ stuff, and on the other hand, she still thinks clowns are scary. But with a little gentle cajoling from the Doctor and a dare from the little ‘bot, she’s convinced to put her courage and curiosity ahead of her fear.

The planet Segonax, where the Circus has set down its roots, is an awfully bleak spot, apparently consisting of mile upon mile of rocky but otherwise featureless white landscape—probably a budget-induced consequence of filming all the location footage in a quarry and a parking lot, because the dialogue implies that there should be a city, or at least a bunch of local townsfolk living nearby. This odd underpopulation doesn’t help the story’s verisimilitude, but at least it focuses your attention on the main plot, since there’s almost nothing else to catch your eye. Ace, it turns out, wasn’t wrong about the clowns. The talent contest is a deadly ruse, drawing an interplanetary parade of contestants like flies to a spiderweb, and killing them off in much the same way. (There’s even something a little spiderlike about the circus tent seen from outside.We are porcelain tiles specialists and are passionate about our product，) All the acts are judged by the audience—consisting entirely of what appears to be a small middle-class family, all oddly unemotional and easily bored. And if they don’t like your act, they’ll turn you into dust.

Road rage reality sinks in after close call

Forget the two flight-related scares I experienced during my three decades working in sports: a plane suddenly losing cabin pressure as it dropped more than 1,000 feet on a flight home from a UNLV basketball game in 1989, or a flight two years later when the plane got caught in the wake turbulence of a jetliner approaching Los Angeles International Airport and we were whipped back and forth and then jerked down like a chew toy in a dog's mouth.

In the latter instance, an airline official I spoke to told me we were lucky our pilot was able to pull out of the dire predicament.

Frightening? Yes. But those were brief instances of deathly fear. They were gone as quickly as they came.

They were nothing compared to what happened a late Friday night last spring as I drove home on U.S. Highway 95 as that stretch of freeway was under construction.

Although traffic was particulary heavy,Handmade oil paintings for sale for sale at museum quality, I was enjoying life in the fast lane - fast, that is, being what traffic and construction speed zone restrictions would allow. Just as I approached Cheyenne Avenue, I noticed a large white SUV zooming up behind me, high beams flashing.

Normally, I would've pulled over to the right lane, thinking perhaps the driver was facing an emergency. But since traffic to the right was thick, there was no way to do so safely. And, considering he wouldn't back off his extreme tailgating, I questioned why I should even move over to accommodate him.

By the time we closed in on Craig Road, traffic to the SUV driver's right had spaced a little. He jerked into that lane, tailgated the person in front to speed up in a bid to get back into the left lane, and then whipped his vehicle in front of me, almost clipping the right front of my car as he did so.

As we passed the exits for Rancho and Ann roads, traffic thinned and the driver took off in a roar. More than a little miffed, I briefly flashed my high beams at him. If I had known Morse code, I would've flashed a choice verb and pronoun.

When I approached the top of the offramp to Durango Drive - my exit home - I finally had started to calm down. But that's when things really turned ugly.

The SUV driver had gotten off at Durango, too - something I had not considered - and he was held up by a red light for a left-hand turn. I was the only car turning right.

Once he saw me, the driver quickly pulled out of his lane, crossed over two to mine and tried to pinch me in against the barrier wall so I couldn't turn. As I saw him approach, I ran the red light , turned and raced to the next intersection, Farm Road, where I and a few cars in front of me were stopped by another red light.

The SUV driver followed, stopping slightly in front of me to my right. He jumped out of his vehicle, slipping and falling to the pavement as he did. He pulled himself up and raced to the passenger window of my car where, with the demonic face of Jack Nicholson in the "Heeere's Johnny!" scene of "The Shining," he began violently pounding on the window and shouting incoherently.

I quickly backed up - there was no one behind me, thankfully - and put my car in drive and swerved to my left into the lane for oncoming traffic as the SUV driver slipped and fell again. I sped through the intersection - fortunately, no cross traffic - and made it to Grand Teton Drive, where I prepared to turn right as I faced yet another red light.

I don't know how, but the SUV driver caught up to me, and again tried to pinch me in against the curb. I escaped a third time,Find the best prices and variety of natural hair weave extensions, this time blowing through the light and,We offer over 600 landscape oil paintings at wholesale prices of 75% off retail. instead of turning, I stayed on northbound Durango as he was held up by a stream of traffic going east-west on Grand Teton.

Further down Durango, I made a random series of residential street turns to a place where I could pull over and cut my lights and engine.Find the best prices and variety of natural hair weave extensions, I leaned down into the passenger seat, out of view, and called 911, my body and hands shaking, my mouth drier than chalk.

I explained to the 911 operator what had happened,Buy Crystal tile online, and she advised me to wait five minutes and then drive to a nearby shopping center where there were plenty of lights and people. She said she would dispatch an officer.

I did as I was told, parked my car and walked to the front of a supermarket where I would look like just another customer, albeit one still shaking. I had waited about 10 minutes for the officer when I got a call from the 911 operator who said the nearest officer was responding to an emergency call and couldn't get to my location for a while.

One-of-a-kind inventions for one-of-a-kind disabilities

Three guys named Bill walk into an Eastside LaRosa’s. They order some hoagies and a round of beers. Over dinner they hatch a plan: Create one-of-a kind devices to help kids and adults with one-of-a-kind disabilities.

The three Bills decide to call their unique, nonprofit, volunteer venture May We Help.

Equal parts Santa Claus, Good Samaritan and Rube Goldberg, the three Bills – Bill Sand, Bill Wood and Bill Deimling, two engineers and an injection mold maker – take a pledge. Their gizmos and gadgets may be made by a guy named Bill, but the people on the receiving end will never, ever get a bill.

The work they’ve done for free over the last six years has helped two sisters without arms play the cello and a paraplegic man feed himself. Their inventions turned a woman who couldn’t turn a page into a bookworm. Their creations enabled a paralyzed roofer to play harmonica in a blues band and a wheelchair-bound boy to take a shower by himself.

Just this year, May We Help’s good deeds and four devices, including a scooter and a portable iPad stand, have given 9-year-old Ireland Reed the sense of independence every kid craves and deserves. They have helped her go from class to class in school, learn new words, go to the grocery store with her mom and dance while sitting on the green, specially made scooter she calls the Shamrock Express.

“This guy named Bill is an angel, a godsend. I can’t find the words to express what he has done for my little girl,” said Amy Reed. Standing in her Colerain Township living room, she looked appreciatively at Sand and lovingly at Ireland.

Ireland had just finished performing for the 65-year-old man she calls Bill. She did a dance routine on her scooter, spinning around and bowing at the end of the tune blasting from her iPad, “Put a Little Love in Your Heart,” a piece that could be May We Help’s theme song.

Ireland scooted across the floor to the computer that speaks for her. She was born with a rare condition called Miller syndrome. Affecting one in 1 million newborns, this genetic condition hampers development of the face and limbs. “Ireland was born without eyelids, missing fingers and toes and the tibia bones in her legs,” her mom said.

Turning on her computer, Ireland pecked at the keys to give her thoughts on Sand, who sat across the room.

“He’s nice,” Ireland’s stand-in voice said.

She paused. Then she started typing again and her computer said: “Bill makes me better.”

Sand waved his hands, as if to ward off the compliment. Then he brought his hands to his face to wipe away some tears.

“I just like to help people,” he said.

“He’s done this as long as I’ve known him, and we’ve known each other since high school,” added Karen Sand, Bill’s wife. She came from their Delhi Township home with her husband as he paid one of his periodic house calls to see Ireland.

“He’s always thinking about how he can fix something to help someone,” Karen Sand said. “He’ll be driving along, deep in thought, and then, suddenly, he’ll say out loud: ‘That’s how I’ll do it!’ ”

She always knows what he’s talking about: Another project for May We Help.

“I don’t know how those guys at May We Help got together,” Amy Reed added. “But we need more people like them.”

The three Bills met because of two torn rotator cuffs. Deimling and Wood tore up their shoulders and wound up going to the same physical therapist, Ben Sherman. Asked what he did for a living, Deimling told the therapist about making a device for a friend’s son paralyzed by a car wreck.

“His son drove his wheelchair by putting a device made of wood in his mouth,” recalled Deimling, 69, of Clermont County. “The wood got wet and swelled and fell apart every six weeks. The thing didn’t even cost a buck to make, but it cost $130 to buy. I made one for him out of aluminum. Fifteen years later, he’s still using it.”

Sherman told Deimling he had another patient “who does the same things you do. His name is Bill, too, Bill Wood.”

Deimling invited Wood to his shop. A customer of Deimling’s, Bill Sand, happened to be there working on another project. And that’s how three guys named Bill met.

“May We Help was Bill Wood’s inspiration,” Deimling said. Wood died in 2010. “We are maintaining the two main tenets he established: We don’t do home improvements. We build, for free, one-of-a-kind things that didn’t exist before.”

This little-known but greatly appreciated nonprofit has gradually raised its public profile since Wood’s death.

For years the three Bills shunned publicity. As the chief financial officer of Tire Discounters, Wood did not want anyone to think he was doing good deeds to get business for the family firm that was founded by his son, Chip Wood. The younger Wood donated the company’s former Columbia Township headquarters to May We Help to house the nonprofit’s offices and workshops.

Deimling “went along with Bill Wood’s wishes” for anonymity. “I grew up poor,” he said. “But I have been very lucky with my company. I don’t need any attention. Or praise. Just helping someone get something that’s not available anywhere else is enough for me.”

With Wood’s passing, May We Help’s workload increased. The two Bills decided they needed help. They put out a call for volunteers. A core group of 15 creative types, mostly engineers, responded.

May We Help also received another assist from Tire Discounters. During the Cincinnati Reds’ just-concluded 2012 season, whenever the home team scored its first run of the game, broadcaster Marty Brennaman told his millions of listeners: “With that run driven in, Tire Discounters will make a donation to maywehelp.org, engineers creating devices to help the disabled.”

The exposure paid off. The good deeds business is booming. May We Help has so many projects in the works, the two Bills hired their first two full-time employees: executive director Terry McManus and project director Chris Kubik.

Hoping to expand May We Help’s reach and share ideas, McManus and Kubik conducted a worldwide search for similar operations. They found like-minded nonprofits in Israel, Canada, Australia and South Carolina. But they were not exactly alike. They were either affiliated with a university, received government money, restricted their client list or charged for their services. That makes May We Help an independent, one-of-a-kind outfit doing one-of-a-kind work.

“We give people independence,” Deimling said. “Everything we do allows someone to accomplish something they could not do without what we did. And it lets them do things we take for granted.”

Things such as relax in the shower, read a book, walk down a hallway. Bill Sand came up with gizmos – a shelf for a plastic shower-proof wheelchair, an adjustable bookstand/clipboard, a walker that won’t automatically go in reverse – that enabled 9-year-old Mason Murphy of Mariemont, who has cerebral palsy, to do just that.

“Before Bill came along, Mason didn’t want to get in the shower. I had to help him,” said Mason’s mom, Page Murphy.

“Now, thanks to Bill’s device, I can’t get Mason out of the shower. Mason has trouble reading things when they are flat on a table. Bill made the adjustable stand. Now, Mason can do his homework with his books at just the right level. Mason had trouble stopping his walker from going backward. Bill fixed it. Now, Mason zooms right along the halls at school.”

“When I think about the difference May We Help has made in Mason’s life, and that people like Bill do this out of the goodness of their hearts,” she said, “I always get choked up.”

After leaving Mason’s house, Bill Sand drove in silence for several minutes. For once he was not thinking about how to solve a May We Help project. He was contemplating why he does what he does.

The Books That Can Be Judged by Their Covers

Whenever anyone drafts a hit list of familiar things that are likely to be rendered obsolete by digital technology, the printed book is almost always near the top.

And why not? Who can justify wasting paper to print bulky books whose pages are prone to staining or tearing, when the digital and electronic versions are so much more convenient to use and store? But even though we don’t need printed books as much as we once did, we can always be persuaded to want them, if they are cleverly designed.

If a designer produces a printed book that is compelling, possibly because it is luscious to look at, or presents its contents in an unusually ingenious or lucid way, we will still long to read it. Here are four recently published books on art and design whose designers have done just that.

Whenever Paul Neale and his colleagues at the British design group Graphic Thought Facility mentioned that they were designing a book about the work of their French counterparts, Michael Amzalag and Mathias Augustyniak of  (Paris), the response was the same. “Everyone said: ‘Why aren’t they doing it themselves?”’ Mr. Neale recalled. “Designing a book for other graphic designers is always tricky. We wanted to avoid producing a pastiche of ’s work or a neutral response. Our guiding principle was to make their work look great and as digestible as possible.”

Written by the British design historian Emily King, “M to M of  (Paris)” is organized around the particular alphabet, a defining theme of ’s output, though this alphabet runs from “Mi” for Michael, to “Ma” for Mathias. The book begins with Mr. Amzalag’s interview with Ms. King on page 311, and ends with Mr. Augustyniak’s on page 310. Placed in alphabetical order between them are visual depictions of each design project and interviews with ’s collaborators, with page 1 falling near the middle.

When Valeria Napoleone decided to make a book of the recipes she had learned from her mother and grandmother as a child in Lombardy, northern Italy, she determined to combine her favorite family dishes with another love, contemporary art. Now based in London, Ms. Napoleone has an extensive collection of work by women artists and chose to illustrate her book with relevant works by them, including Tomma Abts, Spartacus Chetwynd, Aleksandra Mir and Francis Upritchard.

“The book has over 180 recipes and over 150 images, but I didn’t want the connection between them to be literal,” Ms. Napoleone said. “I wanted the designers to act as curators by orchestrating the location and lay-out of each image in a fresh and unexpected way. When I looked into different designers, I felt that Ab?ke really got the book.”

Ab?ke, which is also based in London, wanted the book to reflect Ms. Napoleone’s character and the personal nature of the project, and devised bespoke typefaces for the cover and inside pages. The former is inspired by the font used in the video game Pac-Man, and the latter based on the elegant typography designed by Giambattista Bodoni in northern Italy at the turn of the 19th century. The cover is bound in cloth like old-fashioned cookery books (though this cloth, called “Pepperoni,” shimmers) and the paper is one that will age beautifully, especially if splattered with food.

Samuel’s Swinton Park, Masham

What, I wonder, is there left to say about a place that has received so many plaudits in recent times. The praise for the splendid castle which is Swinton Park Hotel in Masham is lavish. There is barely an award, regionally and nationally, they and Samuel’s, the three AA rosette fine-dining restaurant at the hotel, hasn’t scooped up, including restaurant of the year last week at Welcome to Yorkshire’s White Rose awards.

It is worth visiting Swinton for the drive in, alone. The splendour of the castle sitting perfectly in its landscape, the free-roaming deer, magnificent trees and manicured grass, gets me every time. It is just so, so British.

The car park for the hotel is set a short walk away from the main entrance and I do appreciate a car park in front of the hotel would not work but can be annoying when, like on my visit, it is raining and I have to totter in my best heels. If there is valet parking, no one mentioned it.

Escorted by the doorman, I continued to totter down the long, carpeted hallway toward the Georgian drawing room where we were handed over to another member of staff who seats us. Another quickly arrives to welcome us and offers menus and requests for drinks, then shortly after, someone else with a plate of canapés which we respectfully enjoy surrounded by the Downton-esque grandeur of colossal oil paintings (presumably family ancestors), fine rugs and brocades.

Chef Simon Crannage leads the brigade in the kitchen. He has been considered one of the finest chefs in Yorkshire just now, which is probably just as well given the palette of ingredients he has to hand at Swinton. The 20,000-acre estate boasts game, fish and an abundance of fruits, herbs and vegetables in, what is reputably, the largest hotel kitchen garden in the UK. What chef wouldn’t like all of that to play with? Added to this, Simon has scoured Yorkshire for the best suppliers and embraced seasonal cooking at its core and all is strongly reflected in his menus.

At dinner there are three to choose from; a seven-course signature tasting menu (60 plus 28.50 for sommelier pairings); Samuel’s classic with three courses on offer (52); garden produce menu, again three courses but with less choice (also 52). The latter two are interchangeable, which send me into a spin, not for a long time have I wanted practically everything on offer. There is a comfortable wine list devoid of eye-wateringly expensive bottles, instead there’s plenty of old-world familiar names and the odd three-figure price tag for those wishing to impress.

Drinks finished, off we set again, this time to the dining room where a hushed reverence greeted us. This was an alarmingly long room to walk through in high heels on a wooden floor with no music or loud conversation to soak up the clatter. As expected with fine-dining, the amuse bouche was a mushroom velouté and a tarragon foam (I didn’t realise foams are still doing the rounds…). Quickly on its heels came my starter plate of beetroot and blackberry, and across the table, a slow-cooked Greedy Little Pig ham with butterbean purée, and piccalilli-spiced vegetables.

Simon Crannage is yet another chef to eschew the white plate. My starter was served in a dark, moody, stoneware bowl, which perfectly cupped the assorted textures of a feather-light mousse, shards of beetroot crisps tiny, tiny beetroots, purée and sharp-flavoured pickled blackberries (a first for me). I was giddy with delight. The Greedy Little Pig ham – greedy little pigs are dry cured bacon, fresh sausages and hams from a farm near Holmfirth – fell into chunky threads of tender, salty meat and came dressed with popcorn shaped crackling. A cracking dish I was informed.

Having stuck closely to the garden produce menu I went from dark earthy to the lighter textures of leek and potato. This dish fared less well for me as there was simply no wow. Equally, there was nothing wrong with it – soft potato, baby leeks and crispy leek on top – but I couldn’t help thinking that this dish has no protein and yet costs the same as one with a slab of meat or fish. I expected more for my money.

Bang for buck a-plenty with the roast loin of estate venison, grapes (good choice) crispy quinoa and squeaky, fresh garden kale bathed in a generous wash of game sauce. There were smiles in abundance for the flawless cooking and expert balance of tastes and textures.

Desserts did not disappoint. Meltingly soft blackcurrant and coconut financiers with a spiky blackcurrant sorbet was only bettered by the Granny Smith concoction of an apple mouse, crisp, and a face-sucking lemon sorbet. Two great desserts to both sweeten the taste buds and cleanse the palette at the same time. Very clever.

Service throughout dinner was as clean and sharp as the Granny Smith dessert, but with an added smile. And, it is the smile which moved this meal from a stiff, hushed-up, bow to gastronomy, prim and properness, through to a thoroughly pleasing, dinner, as staff chatted with guests and the atmosphere lightened.

Much Ado About Nothing

Following the No?l Coward theatre’s African makeover, the clamour and bustle that has replaced it – which is apparent before you’ve even entered the auditorium – immediately sets the scene for the RSC’s next London transfer Much Ado About Nothing.

After more than 400 years, Shakespeare’s tale of one happy and another sparring couple never ceases to lack originality. While the play’s 2011 reincarnation at the Wyndham’s theatre saw two Tardis travellers take on the lead roles of Benedick and Beatrice, Iqbal Khan’s production has itself taken a journey through space and time to modern day India, where the Bard’s famous words are weaved seamlessly through unconventional oriental surroundings.

In front of intricate latticed windows and impressive stone-effect walls stands the central focus of Tom Piper’s elaborate set, a towering tree laden with ropes and an abundance of shiny paraphernalia, which later in the production – like a children’s hiding place – is to play an integral part in facilitating the mischievous antics of the comedy’s characters.

Himani Dehlvi’s elaborate costumes range from the spectacular, with Hero’s stunning, jewel-adorned wedding dress, to the functional, with her vibrant scarves serving as a cunning disguise. While the production ran the risk of straying into the realm of tacky Bollywood, Dehlvi’s traditional garments paired with Niraj Chag’s emotive music bring authenticity to the location at the same time as giving the Bard’s play a unique and interesting edge.

The multi-talented Meera Syal moulds her movements and emotions to the role of the fiercely independent Beatrice; her infectious and humorous cackle at the mere thought of taking a husband easily morphing into uncontrollable sobbing at the destruction of her cousin Hero’s relationship with Claudio. Her comic flouncing around the stage evolves equally effortlessly into tightly choreographed dancing while her delivery of the Bard’s words proves as powerful in song as it does in speech when she gets the opportunity to showcase her vocal talents during the show’s musical moments.

While Paul Bhattacharjee seems to let a hint of Welsh creep into his Indian accent, he contributes more than just a few “remnants of wit” to his performance as bachelor Benedick, who unwittingly finds himself having to cope in all manner of situations, from tree climbing to boot polishing.

While Syal and Bhattacharjee almost certainly lead the way in the comedy stakes, there is undoubted support from Simon Nagra’s talkative Dogberry, whose interaction with the audience sends ripples of laughter through the auditorium throughout the evening, Anjana Vasan’s irratic maid, who takes delight in waving one of Dehlvi’s traditional scarves like an inebriated football fan at a World Cup final, and an ensemble cast that enjoys provocatively gyrating at every available opportunity.

If it weren’t for the well-known story of Claudio’s love for Hero, which is broken apart by the deceiving Don John, and determined singletons Beatrice and Benedick, who are tricked before falling in love for real, you might forget that the play unfolding before you was penned by the hand of Shakespeare; the 16th century language placed within such an unusual context has a mystifying effect, disguising itself as something altogether more accessible.

Back-to-basics trend boosts cut-price brands

Renault's boxy Logan sedan had rear-view mirrors as an option - or so the joke went after its 2005 launch under the low-cost Dacia brand.

Its similarly cheap replacement, unveiled at the Paris auto show, has a chrome dashboard finish and other stylistic flourishes worthy of a mid-market rival. Touch-screen GPS and parking radar feature in all but the simplest versions.

In a brutal auto sales slump, "crisis cars" are coming of age in Europe, narrowing the gap with mainstream brands in everything from esthetics to fuel economy.

"The differences are becoming more subtle," said Renault saleswoman Chloe Gomez as she showed off Dacia's Lodgy minivan.

"We're getting customers who have plenty of money," she said. "They might have owned a (Renault) Scenic, but now they're looking for simplicity, and to save some cash for other things."

Dacia's success echoes a recent survey by Britain's AA motoring association, which found that a sizable majority of drivers would prefer to do without such extras as heated seats, electric parking brakes and rainsensing wipers.

The back-to-basics trend has lifted other cut-price brands, including Volkswagen's Skoda, General Motors' Chevrolet, Hyundai and affiliate Kia. It has also put the squeeze on Fiat, Ford, PSA Peugeot Citroen and GM's Opel at a time when their compact cars are being challenged by a wave of new rivals from luxury makers.

Renault's so-called Entry models were an initial flop in target markets such as India and an accidental hit back home. They have since become the French automaker's biggest earner, with profit margins above six per cent and heading for nine per cent soon, some analysts say.

Wage costs at their assembly plants are 5 euros an hour in Romania and 3 euros in Morocco compared with 30 in France. The factories also use hand-me-down tooling from other Renault plants to save on investment.

"There may have been an element of luck in the success of the Entry strategy," Barclays analyst Kristina Church wrote in a recent note. "But management certainly hasn't been slow to capitalize on it."

Badged as Dacia in Europe and Renault elsewhere, the Logan family has spawned variants including the Lodgy and bestselling Duster 4x4, drawing ripostes from GM, Peugeot and Volkswagen.

Among budget-conscious cars on show in Paris are Chevrolet's Trax compact SUV and refreshed Spark mini, alongside a Peugeot 301 and Citroen C-Elysee - new spartan models from France's larger mass automaker.

Pending a promised lowcost range from VW, the Skoda division is wheeling out its own answer to the Logan: the Rapid sedan, aimed squarely at demand for functional four-doors in Central and Eastern Europe and around the Mediterranean.

In France, where Renault employs about 50,000 workers, the core brand's car sales fell 21 per cent in January-August, cutting market share by 1.8 points to 18.4 per cent. Imported Dacias claimed 4.4 per cent of the market, up half a point.

Global entry range deliveries are set to rise almost a quarter this year to top 1 million vehicles, or 37 per cent of the group total, compared with 15 per cent five years ago.

By 2014, French-built models will dwindle to 20 per cent with Renault's "silent metamorphosis into a low-cost automaker", Morgan Stanley analyst Stuart Pearson predicts.

The original Logan did, in fact, include mirrors - but no power steering or electric windows.

Its engines and fuel economy were a generation behind, and the Soviet-hangover styling imposed a hard, drab interior and black plastic bumpers of the kind last seen more than a decade earlier on mainstream models.