And yet the trappings of science fiction are just that- trappings. This is essentially a spy novel full of clever twists and turns but no mind-boggling science fiction idea. While the plot twists are clever and entertaining, and I enjoyed the novel, Asimov’s limitations here in terms of prose and characterisations loom larger here in the absence of big ideas. This is a fairly good novel but, I fear, not touched with greatness.
This isn’t so much a novel as a rather obviously serialised sequence of linked short stories. The prose is basic and functional. There are few women in it. This far future, to the reader of today, quite obviously has the mores of the mid twentieth century, with everybody smoking and no women in professional positions. Characterisation is no less functional than the prose.
Yet this is quite possibly the greatest science fiction novel of all time, and a real joy to read.
This is a novel of big ideas. Tens of millennia in the future, humanity has spread throughout the Galaxy, and comprises a Galactic Empire. Yet this empire, in terms Gibbon May recognise, is falling, slowly but inevitably. But one Hari Seldon, mathematician and “psycho historian” plans a Foundation on an obscure planet which will slowly grow in power, shortening the Dark Ages to come. And he does this via a mathematical science of predicting future historical trends, on the basis that, given sufficiently large populations of people, individual foibles cancel out.
It’s a superb central idea, and seeing how Terminus progresses over its first few centuries of Seldon Crises is utterly gripping. Who cares about prose and characterisation when the ideas are this good.
“An interactive CD-ROM!”
I had a vague impression I’d seen this film 🎥 before. I hadn’t. It is, to avoid all beating around any bushes, brilliant. Oh, the cast is superb. Sam Neill and Laura Dern star with great brightness. Dickie Attenborough gives us a real career highlight. Jeff Goldblum gives us the prototype of the splendid maverick scientist role that he would come to own. Bob Peck, a find actor, finally makes it in Hollywood.
The CGI is dated. The science, perhaps, too: dinosaurs ARE birds. And, yes, Ian is highly charismatic. Yet his spiel against John’s sci-fi dinosaur DNS nonsense is subtly religious, objecting not only to John’s playing around with the ecosystem but to his perceived blasphemy- and “blasphemy” is a concept accepted only by tyrants who despise freedom and crave theocratic absolutism. Also, there’s an amusingly obvious subplot of getting the kid-hating Alan to begin to tolerate the little soda.
That aside, though, this is a solid blockbuster from the esteemed and too often snobbish my dismissed Mr Spielberg. Long may he direct.
"It's declined. Can I get a selfie, please?"
As ever, this is a thought-provoking episode with lots to unpick, centred around Terri's birthday party and the fact that Bella, still needing to earn a living despite the rapes, is broke.
Bella's treatment by the publishing boss she'd previously idolised is horribly, patronisingly casual: an advance isn't forthcoming. And she's to fulfil the contract, not write things about rape. All of which follows from humiliation in the supermarket.
We also see Kwame beginning to process what has happened to him, telling Terri about it. And we get some awkwardly racialised stuff about climate change. The pastor spouts absurd climate sceptic conspiracy theories bases on colonialism and white exploitation of resources which is, on the face of it, absurd and harmful..,. but then Theo confesses she got paid more for introducing Bella as an influencer because she's a "person of colour". Yet Theo is honest, and very frank about the ethical problems. She very much seems a decent person... but, as Terri mentions, the sins of the past have yet to be acknowledged. There are no easy answers here.
Terri and Bella pronounce their undying, and rather drunken, love for each other at the party... but an earlier conversation with an aggrieved Simon indicates that Terri may have more to do with the abandonment of Arabella to her eventual rape that night than previously thought. The plot thickens. Again, this is good, ethically nuanced, uncomfortable yet sublime telly.
"It hurts a lot. It's like trying to push out a kid..."
After last episode being so drama-heavy, this is all about the island, the mysterious masked people, and the game- which an impressive 187 people out of 201 have returned to play after their respective bruising encounters with the real world.
We start with the undercover cop, Jun-ho, who is searching for his brother. In showing how he smuggles himself on the island and disguises himself as a masked underling, we get to see how these underlings are treated- unable to speak, highly regimented and living in horribly spartan and featureless cells on on site, never able to remove their masks for any reason, thereby symbolising their identity as corporate drones. This is maintained even to the point that the boy who is taken hostage, and his mask removed, is shot by the boss. These people need to get unionised pretty sharpish.
The game is, of course, evil, and therefore hugely enteryaining. The tension is incredible, and the shooting free and wide-ranging. Yet, as ever, this is all about the characters. There's our resourceful North Korean defector, and the wonderful Sae-Byeok, with her resourcefulness and her potty mouth, who may be rivalling the old man as my favourite character. Interestingly, she seems to be throwing her lot in with the gangster.
Teams are forming- and Gi-Hun is with Sang-woo, the old man and Ali, a mostly likeable bunch. It's becoming clear that, yes, the games are a glorious bit of grand guignol. But at its heart this is a series about people. And is, beneath it all, quite angrily political.
“This game we're playing? You don't got the street cred to survive it."
This ewpisode really raises the stakes and moves things to a higher level. The pressure is on, not only for Walt in keeping both his lives together (Or is it Heisenberg? It's increasingly ambiguous which is the alter ego, with a lot of credit due to Bryan Cranston's facial acting, as ever) but for Jesse and Walt in maintaining the meth dealing in the face of increasingly hostuile competition.
The first scene- with one of Jesse's underlings being killed- is extraordinary in how bloody tense it is, and the horror of the eventual killing (by a kid on a bike with a gun!) really hits home. It hits home for Jesse too, who falls completely to pieces, his rewaction being a total contrast to the now clearly sociopathic Walt. It's clear that Jesse is far from cut out for the role he's occupying- and, implicity, the role that may partly have made Jane fall for him- and he's only there because, as Walt later says out loud, he does what he's told.
Except, of course, having fallen to pieces, he doesn'r- with consequences not only for Walt but for Jane, the poor girl, who has fallen for him hard. After so much effort to give up, she gets back on the heroin wagon for him, and we get a deeply disturbing scene straight out of Trainspotting.
Meanwhile, Walt's life continues to be complex. His improved condition means that further surgery looms- and, this being America, this means forking out a six figure sum, which is a lot of meth. I can't help feeling that the NHS must be keeping this country's drug problem from reaching quite the same level. His relationship with Skyler continues to be deceptively smooth; there's no conflic, but they're increasingly distant, and both have secrets. Noonly is Skyler clearly close to affair territory with her boss, but a bit of forensic bookkeeping seems set to lead her to dabble in criminality, rather neatly paralleling her husband.
Oh, and the baby is due. Speaking as a father, I can say that this is the biggest thing that can ever happen to a bloke.. yet Walt, with more superbly subtle acting from Cranston, clearly cares about this much less than the meth.
More the focus of the plot, though, is our introduction (via Saul, becoming more and more Hyman Roth) to Gus, a distributor who is professional, risk-averse and, I'm sure, important. I know this more, perhaps, than would have been obvious in 2009 as Giancatlo Esposito has since become a well-known actor, courtesy of The Boys and The Mandalorian.
The end shows how clever the plotting is: with Jesse out of it, Walt is under pressure, taking huge risks to get the meth to Gus' underlings. And that's when Skyler's waters break....
An extraordinary, and pivotal, episode.
“Out here is worse!”
This is an interesting way to do a second episode in many senses: we’ve seen the premise, and now it’s suddenly taken away as the surviving players (narrowly) decide to leave the game and return to their lives. Yet the episode is crucial in getting us to know the characters and where they’re coming from; to believe that they are so desperate, by the end, to return to the games; and to show yet again the grinding effects of poverty that form the underlying theme of the series.
So we have Ali, the polite and good immigrant trying to make a decent life for his wife and child in a society that seeks to rip him off and keep him down at every turn. Yet his boss (nicely done industrial accident, incidentally) has not been able to afford to pay anyone for months
We have Sang-woo, high flyer turned embezzler who is wanted by the police, in more debt than anyone and has all but gambled away his mother’s home.
We have the desperate North Korean defector who wants to bring her family across, and is prepared to be as badass as she has to be in order to achieve that.
We have the nice old man, dying and lonely, who can either find meaning with the games or end his days alone.
And finally, we have Gi-hun, whose mother is desperately ill with diabetes but cannot afford to be treated because South Korea, incredibly for a first world country, has no health system. And if that’s not bad enough, his estranged wife will soon be taking his daughter out of the country with her new husband and he will never see her again- because of poverty meaning he is unable to support her. To add insult to injury, his ex’s husband tries to throw money at him to go away.
We don’t need the games, or the death. The Dickensian poverty of modern South Korea- just like the UK- is horrific enough. This is gripping and well made telly, games or no games.
.
This is the second in Moorcock’s Eternal Champion and, if rather less unified in its structure than the previous novel, is a very interesting- and, in my experience, very fast- read.
There are lots of ideas here- a dying, frozen future Earth where humanity has become decadent, knowing that there is no future. Threre are some nice touches in describing such a culture: the visual arts and the prose of this society are absurdly over-complex, as is the architecture. Less fortunate is the kink-shaming description of their somewhat adventurous and painful sexual habits as a sign of decadence, but this is 1970.
We have a Moon that has long since crashed to Earth and become a mountain range, We have a scarlet fjord. We have long-lost technologies. We have a baddie who is a most worldly bishop and makes me think of those popes of the time of the Borgias. We have tantalising habits of the Eternal Champion's many existences and his ultimate backstory.
Yet the ideas here are all brilliantly imaginative rather than the sorts of ideas than may raise a novella of science fantasy weirdness to aspire to the literary. Unlike its predecessor, I don't think Phoenix in Obsidian does that.
That, however, is no crime. This is a hugely enjoyable piece of pulp fiction that can be read by a time-poor reader in the space of four or five days. We do not need to ask for more.
Right. One more Moorcock to go, then something else...
“Would you like to play a game with me...?"
Yes; I've finally jumped on to the bandwagon. All the other series I'm blogging will continue, but Mrs Llamastrangler and myself will be watching this on most Fridays until we've done all nine episodes. So at last I'm starting to know what the fuss is about and hopefully understand some of those ubiquitous memes.
Essentially, before we even get to the premise, characters and themes, this is very well-directed, written and acted telly. Our main character, Gi-hun, is a poverty- and denbt-stricken fortysomething deadbeat dad and failure in life, who lives with and off his elderly mother. He has all sorts of character fkaws but means well, and is played superbly in an alternately comial and tragic performance from Lee Jung-jae, in a performance that had to be pitched perfectly for the whole thing to work.
We'll get to the gore in a bit, but this sereies is really about poverty. The poverty that grinds you down, steals your dignity, destroys your soul, removes your freedom and wastes yoiur life. There's some subtle politcal subtext here, in allowing us to see the unpleasant sides of desperate poverty, with its loan sharks, violence, humiliation and magical thinking that leads nowhere. Gi-hun getting slapped in the face for losing the game may be darkly funny, but the loan sharks are no better. There may be no humanity within the game, but there's none outside either.
The aesthetics of the games island are brilliant, with its bright, childlike colours, masked baddies and big boss ("Front Man") with his V mask and glasses of scotch. And the game itself is creepy; essentially What's The Time, Mr Wolf? with a big, creepy, plastic little girl. At first it's just eerie, but one player can't say still... and then he's shot. And things slowly build towards a massacre in which over half the debt-ridden, desperate players are killed.
This is brilliant. It reminds me, and I'm sure many others, of Saw. But the real horror here is poverty. A society without an adequate safety net is not a free society.
“I’m going to get YOU…”
This is not the greatest episode so far but, after the misstep that it was its predecessor, it's a solid return of form for this tale of a voodoo curse emanating from a sinister African fetish. Hey, it's 1980: the phrase "cultural appropriation" doesn't exist yet. African art may be valuable and admired, but it's seen to come from a mysterious, exotic and somewhat magical culture.
The way the story unfolds is utterly predictable, but that's exactly what makes the whole thing so enjoyable: we know which characters are going to die, and in which order, so it's a question of when and how. There's a clear influence here from The Omen; the deaths are all due to pleasingly gory incidents.
The cast is good, too, especially Angela Bruce as the sensible (and Geordie) Sarah, and Marius Goring as the slightly sinister German stereotype Heinz. It's also fun to see a young Jeff Rawls in a minor part.
This episode is good, not great: it isn't going to be one of those episodes that lingers in the mind. But it's a solid and enjoyable piece of telly.
"I'm here to learn how to avoid being raped..."
We see yet another angle on rape and sexual assault in tghis clever and subtle episode. Arabella finds a support group run by Theodora, an old friend, who appears to be awesome, and a survivor of sexual abuse. There's no denying that Arabella benefits from being there, even if the words she says are utterly heartbreaking. She's terrified of being raped yet again.
Yet Theo's past, seen in a flashback to 2004 (surely just a couple of years ago...?), is full of ambiguity. On the surface, she falsely accuses a boy, Ryan, of rape- and it is, sadly, not exactly immaterial to how the complaint is treated that she has her "white girl tears" and Ryan is Black. Ryan is exonerated when the phone footage is found, and his friends, including a young Terry and Arabella, help him celebrate as Theo mutters a racist epithet under her breath.
Yet there's more to it; it seems this isn't the first time Theo lied about such things, being coached by her mother to lie about her father sexually abusing her and domestically abusing her mother for reasons of custody. Making a child do that is itself abuse, and Theo's behaviour is part of a cycle of abuse.
And, it must be said, Ryan is a dick. Theo wanted love, but she got a cheap shag for money, with photos taken without her consent in what is arguably a kind of sexual assault. Things are ambiguous, as ever. This is excellent, thought-provoking telly.
"You cannot beat the thermal efficiency of the C3!"
This episode may not have the high concepts or dramatic incidends of recent instalments, being very much a character piece. But it's an utterly superb, and very subtle, bit of drama, getting to do subtle little things with all these characters that are made possible by the previous gradual development of all the characters.There's some interesting stuff with Jesse and Jane, with her reluctance to introduce him to her dad seeming to indicate that she likes this stoner with criminal connections, wants to sleep with him and spend time with him, but doesn't see a long term future in the way he does. Ouch.
But essentially the episode is all about being an alpha male, Walt's need for it, and the places he can find it.
He can't find it at home. There's Hank, competing with him as father figure to Walt Jr as well as at being a man generally. His fight with Hank about how much tequila the sixteen year old Walt Jr should drink may be petty, but it's about status, not how much a teenager should drink. And it's revealing that, in the heat of the row, Walt should look at Hank with Heisenberg's eyes- which shows where this is headed.
He's not a man at home, where his over-the-top DIY hardly impresses Skyler. He's at the back of his own party, delivering an embarrassing speech. He's very much the beta male- and, if he only knew, Skyler's boss is being the kind of sensitive, attentive, caring man to Skyler that he isn't. And Skyler is very much noticing.
And yet he's top dog with Walt, who is totally dependent on "Mr White". And he seems to effortlessly switch to being Heisenberg at the end as he warns competitors off his territory. This shows that, much as Walt may imagine he can leave his new life as a budding meth godfather, he can't. It was never really just about paying for the cancer. It was always about being a man, an alpha male.
He needs that. And always will. This, I suspect, is the seed of his destruction.
Superlative telly, as though that needed saying.
"Don't be what they made you..."
My knowledge of Marvel comics is fairly comprehensive up to circa 1993, and fairly nonexistent after them. So I know of Caliban- played here (and rather well) by Stephen Merchant of all people, and of course of Donald Piercxe and the Reavers, from the late 1980s stories by Chris Claremont in a rather differrent context.
But the situation here is different. Logan- more than two centuries old in a fairly depressing life- is dying of a myserious ailment; Charles Xavier is dying and suffering from dementia, a terrifying outcome for someone with his mental powers, and something which led, a year ago, to the "Westchester Incident" in which several, including multiple X-<Men died. And this is a world in which, for reasons ultimately explained, no mutant has been born for a quarter of a century. Oh, and, unexpectedly, by means of a test tube baby and sperm theft, Logan has a daughter. With claws.
This is a superb film, with superb acting elevating a quite good script to somewhat more than that. Hugh Jackman is excellentt but Patrick Stewart is sublime. The best X-Men film yet and, I suspect, unlikely to be bettered.
It’s a highly satisfying read, both philosophical and full of unexpected yet entirely logical twists and surprises as what is, on the surface, a very simple narrative deals with heave themes of the ethics of war, the darkness of human nature and its propensity for atrocities, and a devastatingly bleak view of racism and ethnic conflict.
And yet, I confess, I found the opening chapters difficult. The idea of John Daker somehow having multiple existences in multiple realities and being cursed with that knowledge is fascinating, but it serves as texture rather than as the focus of the plot. We begin with Erekose exploring an unfamiliar Earth with continents and cities unknown to us, at a time in history (past or future?) which is equally unknown. Despite the subtle prose and characterisation this presents Gigi unties for the reader, yet the novel soon settles down and hooks the reader with its prose and characterisation.
The ending is extremely satisfying-and leaves all sorts of questions which will, I’m sure, be echoed in other novels. Is this our Earth, or another Earth of the Eldren, colonised by humans in the far future? Or is history just cyclical? Regardless, this novel is fascinating.
"I've been trick or treated to death tonight!"
There's some interesting stuff here, not least of which is the intriguing twist at the end. It's leaned into, but not made explicit, that Michael Myers may be a bit supernatural. After all, Loomis does shoot him six times, and he may have mentioned it once or twice.
There's also some nice use of Night of the Living Dead being shown on the telly in one of the killings, a nice echo of the parallel use of The Thing from Another World in the first film. The acting and dialogue are decent, and there's a reasonable amount of character stuff for this sort of film.
Still, there's not an awful lot here that's fresh, and a lot of that is down to the decision to make this the story of the few hours immediately after the first film. These events feel like an extended postscript, and they are exactly that. A fairly decent slasher but, disappointingly given its predecessor, no more than that.
"House prices are ridiculous these days..."
Ah, 1980. When, apparently, a hospital porter and a housewife could get a mortgage on a house that needed doing up... or could they?
This has the finest title so far, but despite some nice twists, a nicely creepy and mysterious Milton Johns, and some nivce set pieces with loads of blood, it drags a bit and, for me, doesn't quite manage to pull it off or, indeed, grab the attention. I suspect that has much to do with the relatively flat direction, as well as an uninspiring performance from Nicholas Ball as William, a character who needs to be portrayed with much more nuance in order for the conclusion to work.
Spoliers. Read on only if that's ok.
The twist at the end sort of works, although surely the shock of William and Emma not being married must surely have been old-fashioned even in 1980. But the clues that they are not really a couple, at first, are nicely and subtly done. And the ending is appropriate as the couple get their comeuppance.Yet the set pieces don't really work visually, and the miscasting of Nicholas Ball is a disaster.
I don't think it's the fault of the script. But this one, I'm afraid, is a relative dud.
“Yes, Jeffrey, you sex god!”
This episode is bloody eventful, and bloody good. On the other hand, it made Mrs Llamastrangler cry.
There's some strong use of humour tomundercut a lot of the real darkness here, from the cat that was killed by shagging to the way Aimee unburdening herself to Jean about her sexual assault (and how to love her vulva) is swiftly followed by the goat having a poo on the floor.
It's an episode with Jean and Otis adjusting to Jakob and Ola as new members of the household, and making compromises. It's about Maeve reconnecting with her mum, and forgiving Isaac after his heartfelt and rather lovely speech. It's about Hope dragging the school into the rip off industry that is the school uniform, an institution that exists only to extort money from parents.
It's also about Viv abandoning all principle in pursuit of power and Jackson's disgust, as well as his anxiety now he's no longer a swimmer, an actor or head boy. And he seems to get on rather well with the ambiguously queer Cal... and their weed.
It's about the double date, and Adam not yet feeling ready to say to his mum that Eric is his boyfriend... and his concern at Eric's forthcoming trip to horribly homophobic Nigeria. Already that's a lot going on, but we also haveLily's obsession wth alien conspiracy theories driving a wedge between her and Ola... and Otis being allowed into Ruby's unglamorous but sweet home life. Sweetly, we gradually learn how Ruby is more besotted with Otis than she lets on... but when she declares her love, he doesn't say it back. Ow.
So much going on here- but the episode doesn't feel crowded. This is a real leap of quality that gives me real hope for this season.
“You made poison out of beans, yo!”
This extraordinary episode could be summed up quite easily, I suspect. Walt is expecting bad news from his CT scan and expects he doesn't have long to live, with little to leave for his family. So he and Jesse go to the desert and cook, but end up stranded there (after cooking $672,000 worth of meth- each!) and nearly die of dehydration before Walt pulls some chemistry teacher Macgyver superpowers out of his arse and saves them with science.
But there's a lot more going on than that, and I'm not just thinking of the extended meth cooking scenes which no doubt improved the quality of meth in the USA for years to come. There's Walt's death wish, and deep down shame. There's the fact this is an extended two hander between him and Jesse, giving a bit of depth to their relationship. We see them bond over how much they've cooked: they are potentially very wealthy man if they can keep it up long term. And Jesse may whinge, but he sees "Mr White" as an authority figure and subconsciously accepts his subordinate position, as well as marvelling at his cleverness. Walt thinks Jesse is a bit of a prat- but a trustworthy prat, and one with necessary connections.
Meawhile Walt and Skyler have made up, but the easy, natural couple stuff has gone and the affection they show each other is much less coded as sexual. It's not the same. And even Saul says exactly what we viewers are thinking: this double life of Walt's is simply not sustainable. I suspect that this season will end with a dramatic demonstration of that.
It is, needless to say, peerlessly good.
"Rapebusters!"
This is an incredible bit of telly, genuinely groundbreaking and meaningful. It's taken a few episodes for I Will Destroy You to introduce and flesh out its characters and themes, but now we are properly into a sublimely constructed dramatic exploration of sex, consent, and all those nuances of behaviour, orf attitudes to sexual assault, of what we may or may not define as rape.
Bella goes through the wringer here. Still under pressure to write her new novel- life, and work, must go on- Bella soon learns that a DNA sample has been taken and a suspect arrested, which seems wonderful. Yet it also means the DNA of consensual partners must be taken, which means Biagio. Ad this seemingly caring and decent man starts to blame her for not being careful about her drinking rather than blaming, you know, the rapist that actually raped her. Wanker. It's a powerfully written and devastating scene.
Yet she gets a triumph, of sorts. Learning that what zain did- craftily removing the condom during sex- is rape both morally and legally, Bella plays on his mind for a bit before dramatically, and publically, outing him at the ens, in a victorious moment.
For Kwame, though, there are no such mixed experiences as his reporting of his own sexual assault to the police turns out, despite good intentions on behalf of the somewhat inarticulate policeman he speaks to, to be a humiliating embarrassment.The law seems not to be well-aligned with casual gay sex.
There's a lot to think about here. This is superb, serious drama.
"IP's and sequels. That is what people want."
Guy- a clever name for an NP-is a piece if sentient code devised by Keys and Millie. Yet he is also a genuine incidence of AI, a phemomenon that will, barring my outrageously premature death, be made manifest within my lifetime.
This is a film full of of humour amd witticisms.The tone is light. Yet, at its core, it is very philosophical indeed, being focused on a character (Ryan Reynolds) who is a sentient AI. And the film, with a real lightness of touch, really explores the idea of artificial sentience.
Look, I realise the '20s (yes, i know, none of us can quite believe it;'s the 2020s.), and we can quite be legitimately raise an eyebrow at how the film at the end uses such properies as lightsabres (in a scene where it could, of corse, symbolise,,, ahem) and Captain America's shield. Also, I appreciate the metatextual fun in characers such as Buddy and Dude. but, ultimately, this is a film which cheerdfully disregards and, indeed, freely attacks the fourth wall throughout, right until the romantic ending.
A rather good first film of 2021.
"You're not going to paint over the Wall of Cocks, are you?"
Things are getting interesting this episode. The casual sex thing between Otis and Ruby is increasingly hilarious as Ruby becomes increasinly controlling, but we end with the two of them as a proper couple. Eric and Adam have an equally sweet virginity-losing subplot, as a spat turns out simply to be because of a top/bottom misunderstanding, although it'd rather fortunate that Eric should happen to be a top. Actually, I've always wanted to know how gay male couples sort ut the whole top/bottom thing, but it's not the sort of thing one can easily ask.
Equally sweet is how soon Jean and Jakob agree to get together, and that Jean so readily agrees to help Aimee recover from the sexual assault. It's also good that Isaac confesses to Maeve- still upset about her mother's stupid blaming her for everything- what he did at the end of last season, and suffers the consequences, as Maeve quite rightly doesn't trust him.
There's a lot else going on, though. Adam is trying todo better at school. His dad seems to be in the midst of a redemption arc- living with Colin will be good for him- while Hope is turning out to be frighteninglyauthoritarian, leading to Jackson being sacked as head boy and replaced by the crafty Vivienne. Ooh.
Oh, and Aimee had a poo which came out "like a gigantic orgasm". Which is nice.
I'm enjoying this. Lots going on already.
"For all the unloved children..."
Well, they can't all be good. Four episodes in, an attempt to do an episode with a creepy kid, and frankly it's a bit of a dud.
There are some good things here, in this tale of a workaholic couple whose neglected son dies, resulting in their adopting a creepy replacement. I like the clever bit of misdirection as we're constantly made to see James as creepy but he's just a red herring, his emotionless behaviour just thowing him to have experienced trauma. The subtext is nice, too: William felt neglected by his parents and seeks revenge from beyond the grave.
Yet it doesn't quite work. The story beats are awkward, there's the foregrounding of a character, in James, who sort of has to be played in a way that is robotic and charisma-free. And the direction shows a strange reluctance to employ any of the visual tropes of horror.
Still, one bad episode of four so far is not bad at all.
“I'm not drinking anything."
This episode shows a real deepening of the themes, the arcs and the characters as it carries on exploring the more distressing side of sex and consent. We see Bella struggling to adjust to therapy, to flashbacks, to being alone with her thoughts. We see society's uncaring side: the publisher still demands a first draft and, without it, she has no income.
Yet there are more things going on too. Unexpectedly, Bella has sex with the posh and entitled Zain who himself commits a massive consent violation by sneakily switching to doggy and removing the condom, which is an utterly contemptible thing to do even if he does
We also see Kwame and one of his sexual encounters, too, also addressing the additional diffuculties of being a gay man from a culture (Ghanaian) that doesn't accept such things. He ends up alone, and sexually assaulted, by the deeply uncomfortable Malik, who plays musuic with deeply homophobic lyrics as a power play. And he's deeply, deeply affected.
This is not exactly pleasantviewing. But my God, it's powerful.
“Sir, I need to take the goat out for a wee..."
So it's back, beginning with a rather well-shot sex-themed montage of all the characters we know up to all sorts of mainly sexual hi-jinks, although the highlight is without a doubt "The Colin Hendricks Experience".
And a lot has been happening. Eric and Adam have been rather sweetly seeing each other as a couple. Jean is now very pregnant indeed. Otis has been having secret sex with... Ruby. Yes, Ruby. And there's a new headmistress in town, one who seems quite cool on te surface but shows hints of evil peeking through. Mr Goff, increasingly desperate, is living with his rich wanker of a brother, played by him off of Harry Potter with less hair.
This episode is cleverly metatextual, based on a fraudulant new sex advisor whose silliness is brought to an end by Otis, leading to the demolition of the old toilet block, symbolically destroying the original format of the series. And there are some nice charactermoments all round. Yet it never really seems to catch fire.
Still episode one.Plenty of stuff to happen before the arcs get moving.
"The Jackals of the Backwards Clock..."
I don't have time to blog a full episode of anything tonight (real life stuff) but, as RTD will be returning to Doctor Who and I have a spare thirteen and a bit minutes to watch at least something, this seems an appropriate thing to blog.
It's one of those unique little short video productions that emerged out of the early days of lockdown last year, made with rigorous social distancing. Hence the format is a narrated script with actors doing the odd solo scene, a kind of Big Finish "Companion Chronicle" with a camera pointed at it. And yet, as with all drama, this essentially stands and falls by the writing and performances.
And, yeah, in this case it most certainly stands. RTD's script is magical, poetical, tear-jerking, full of heart and full of life. Sarah Jane gets the perfect funeral in an affectionate and beautiful tribute to the late Lis Sladen. There are lots of little chances to be nosey into various characters' lives- Luke, Clyde and Rani are all successful young adults. Luke has a husband. Tegan and Nyssa are seemingly a couple. But it's not really about all that- it's about a character, and an actress, whom we in fandom miss very much. And tributes don't get much better than this.
"What is that?"
"Sounds like a lot of monks exploding."
My dad is rather partial to Kenny Everett, and I watched and enjoyed a lot of his stuff as a kid. But he seems to have largely disappeared from the zeitgeist, his friendship (and patronship of the London gay scene) with Freddy Mercury aside. Puzzlingly, he's not a gay icon, perhaps because he was (it seems with tongue at least partially in cheek) a Thatcherite Tory. I am, I can say with some confidence, no Tory. but political affiliation, within the bounds of democracy, decency, tolerance and patriotism, should not disqualify an artist from acclaim.It's fair to say I will never blog Triumph of the Will, but let's have a sense of proprtion here. Kenny Everett was a damn good comic performer, as this film makes very clear.
Of course, Pamela Stephenson is magnificent too. Sex therapist she may be these days, but I certainly can't think of a thespian who can portray being pleasurably ravished by a poltergeist Beelzebub woth quite the same elan. And yes, I agree: that sentence may very possibly never have been written before.
Vincent Price is, of course, magnificent as usual, with a comic talent very much on display, despite looking shockingly old and unhealthy. And the cast is, in general, superb, as is the direction. And the script, while having no pretensions to greatness, is very funny indeed in this alternately witty and very silly horror spoof. I want to see more Kenny Everett.
Let’s not beat around the bush here: I’m bloody ecstatic. This is fantastic news. That said, though, it’s interesting that a past showrunner has been put back in charge. This is a possible sign that the BBC, feeling that the current iteration of the show is not quite right, is looking back to past glories. Yet this is RTD, who since his first stint as showrunner has improved his already stellar reputation with such masterpieces as Cucumber, Years and Years, and the superlative It’s a Sin. This is not a writer you bring in for reasons of self-indulgent nostalgia. He’s radical, brilliant and is going to really annoy the people who don’t like Doctor Who to be “woke”. These are all very good things.
RTD is not my favourite post-2005 showrunner. That would be Steven Moffat. Yet the reason for this is that the Moff wrote first class clever science fantasy for male, middle aged geeks like me. RTD may have been (slightly) less to my taste, but he had a firm grip of how to get the show to appeal to non-geeks, children, women. He’s a showman.
When RTD revived Who in 2005 there were reasons for him to be cautious. He downplayed the show’s mythology and had to live down an ill-deserved reputation of wobbly sets, wobbly scripts and wobbly acting, whereas Moffat was able to take more risks and be less formulaic.
This time things are different. RTD- now the RTD of It’s a Sin rather than Casanova- will have very different ideas and want to do something new. I’m not expecting seasons of thirteen episodes with a present-future-past opening tryptich.
RTD has mentioned spin-offs in the vein of Marvel shows such as WandaVision etc. He clearly has big ideas, and they are 2021 ideas, not 2005 ideas.
This is very exciting news. Let there be much imbibing of alcoholic liquids.
Yet the Huxley is not the Huxley of Brave New World or The Doors of Perception: it is the younger Huxley, he of the novels of ideas of the Twenties and Thirties, which are suich fascinating records of the lives and the thinking of that fascinating period between the wars- war-scarred, Bohemian in a way, at least for a certain class of people, and replete with new ideas- of Freud, of Modernism, of the motor car- and new anxieties- of technology, of another war, of class conflict.
This, Huxley's first novel, which I've just reread after many years, is a shocking hundred years old and feels instantly modern. This may be far more comedic than its successor novels, but it perfectly captures the tenor of the time, where youn twentysomethings (such as Huxley himself) could be no less pretentious in their angsts and solipsisms than you or I were, or perhaps in your case are, at that age.
The pretentious Denis, the Freudian Anne, the determined introvert Henry Wimbush, the authorial mouthpiece (complete with predictions of the main concept of Brave New World...) Mr Scogan are all splendid comic creations, expressing the ennui and humanity of people who have abandoned God but not, despite their Freudianism, able to escape the extraordinary sexual repression of their society. This may be a novel in which literally nothing happens, but it is no less fun, and no less instructive, for that.
"You shouldn't have killed your wife, Mr Shenley..."
For the second time in succession we have a superb episode. Yes, it helps to have a charismatic lead in Denholm Elliott, cast against type as an estate agent in the least posh role I've ever seen him in, but this script is superb, layering dream within dream and horror upon horror, leading to out increasingly deluded protagonist killing his wife in the belief that it's only a dream.
The structure of dreams within dreams, denying us a stable grip on what is and is not reality, works superbly, and allows the episode to play effectively with form, structure and tropes. Yet beneath it all is something fearfully desperate. This is an episode set within the psyche of one unhappy man.
There are such subtle touches here, beyond the obvious yet well done obvious scares as the creepy voice on the telephone, the collapsing building or the body in the dumb waiter. Yet cleverest of all is the revelation that Norman's secretary, with whom he's been carrying on an affair in a series of implausibly sexy outfits, is in fact just a young and unattainable women whom this unhappy man secretly likes. This is tragedy as horror, puncturing the delusions of a man whose life is without colour. And it's quietly excellent telly.
"The privilege of the underprivileged..."
An unexpected flashback this time, as we go back in time three months to Ostia, one time port of Rome and modern day seaside of Rome. Terry visits Bella and gets to see the relatively luxurious life she's getting to live, on expenses.
And it's an interesting episode, exploring how the millenials live and their sexuality without telling us what to think. We see how Bella first met Biagio, and how he's essentially a decent chap. We see how Terry has a threesome while on lots of drugs (Bella and Terry spend much of the episode out of their heads on stuff that I, my drugs of choice being real ale and red wine, know nothing about. I mean "molly" sounds like a Georgian gay brothel), and we're left to wonder whether she's living the life, being sexually exploited by creepy men, or whether we may perhaps be overthinking this in denying women agency in their own sexuality and falling intothe trap of seeing sex as something men do to women.
A lot of this is the sort of realism you don't usually see in dramas- the artificial awkwardness of sex during a heavy period for example. It's just ordinary blood, exactly like the substance running through my male veins, but there's such cultural awkwardness around it.
This is very good stuff, leisurely and not overwritten.
"I don't know why we have a women's page. We don't have a men's page!"
Last episode was the fun and silly sort of Hammer Horror. This second episode could not be more dissimilar. Superbly and inteligentlly scripted and shot, it is a masterpiece of suspense that starts with a macabre mystery and ends with a truly nightmarish shot.
The opening scenes seem to promise, despite the witty and likeable nature of protagonist Ruth (the excellent Julia Foster), little more than an unusually brutal weight loss regimen presided over by Renton's dad from Trainspotting.Yet when Kevin Stoney appears we know that something's up and, by the time we meet the gang including Von Smallhausen from 'Allo 'Allo, the script is cleverly feeding us the morsels we need to work out exactly what it is that is happening and why, in a masterly use of the art of plotting.
This is subtle, intelligent, gripping horror and the best thing I've seen from Hammer since The Devil Rides Out. I have absolutely no idea what to expect next.
"The Jew thing I just do for the homeboys..."
I was, sadly, aware of the spin-off in advance of watching the episode, so I can't quite say I was completely unspoiled. But Saul is an immediately likeable and cool character, and I hope we see much more of him. He's clever, delightfully crooked, and steals the show completely. That last scene, as he accosts Walt in the classroom and warns him how easy he is to track down, is an act of sheer balls, but gets Walt's attention. He can see, as I think I can, that Walt may not be Don Corleone yet, but promises to be. Saul is clearly an important character, but so is what he represents: another step on the road to what Walt is to become.
As Saul says, Badger won't be the last time an underling is caught.Walt needs to be ready for this, and a thousand other things. The opening scene with Badger and a narc, both sat on a bench filmed by an unmoving camera, is a masterpiece of acting and scriptwriting. This sort of thing is now part of the territory, which is why we need a character like Saul, with his hilarious adverts.
Walt seems again to get away with it at the end, but Hank- whose PTSD is masterfully explored here as he tries to pretend to be his usual self- clearly suspects something is up. Hank can only get close so many times, but the premise of the show means Walt can't be caught. Calling it now: Hank dies at the end of the season.
The family stuff is not much emphasises here, although Skyler is very much getting used to her job, but we discover that Jane (who is getting very close to Jesse) is a former addict, something of which I'm sure we will hear more. There are lots of things subtly happening, but everything points towards Walt Corleone. A superb episode of television.
"That is why I shall have to employ someone for whom eythics have no significance..."
Not that the production can be much faulted: Freddie Francis directs and Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee star in a horror film, not actually by either Hammer nor Amicus, yet which evokes both. The question is not whether or not the film is well made; it's about to what extent the last minute twist redeems what has until then been a ho-hum film.
There, I suppose, feminist subtexts here, about how feminine expressions of sexuality are seen, in quite horrifying scenes involving mother and daughter, about how expressions of female sexuality are seen firstly as invitations to rape and, upon resistance, as insanity.
The poster decives in that the skeleton, while impressive-looking, is not seen moving until a brief, dramatic scene at the end of the film. Yet there is an interesting feminist subtext here in a script which takes its time to reveal what is really going on while appering really quite silly for most of its length. It's alsoa film in which awidowed Cushing is made to mourn his late wife.
This is an interesting curiosity, perhaps. But the last minute twist does not save it from mediocrity.
"There may be an air raid, but it is not likely to be a dangerous one."
It's bloody good. That's dealt with. But far more interesting is to look at how the future was seen in 1936 by the seventy year old H.G. Wells. This is no Whig version of future history with uninterrupted progress, but nor do we see the socialist utopia we may perhaps have expected from Wells. Mercifully, there's no hint of any of that eugenics nonsense.
What there is, though, is a war beginning eerily close to when the Second War would actually start, perhaps not hard to guess at the time: the international politics is kept intentionally vague, but the identity of the enemy was, I suspect, clear to the original audience. The devastation of the bombing of the city reflects, perhaps, a "the bomber will always get through" mentality and the prediction that there would be no declaration of war (such barbarism!) predicted not so much the Second War but every single war ever fought since then.
The war lasts for twenty-six horrifying years, and is followed by a plague- interesting viewing in 2021. We see a near-collapse of civilisation with much warlordism and philistine dismissal of culture and technology as everything declines... until a bunch of grim, sonorous airmen save us all with their friendly chemical weapons. We then get a progress montage until it's 2036, mankind is set to fly around the Moon for the first time... but a load of luddites riot against progress for some reason.
Yes, it may be described as po-faced. But it's gripping, really well-made and a fascinating look at a time, eighty-five years ago, when the future looked like this and a wife could say that she wanted to "serve" her husband and make him "heppy" without raising too many eyebrows. A unique and wonderful film, and a true visual triumph.
It's a thing of beauty, at once a coherent soundscape and a collection of killer songs like "Aces High" and "Two Minutes to Midnight". This is far from the last time the band will master that little trick, but never again will they do it quite so well. And never again, to date, have they produced an epic to rival the rather long "Rime of the Ancient Mariner", even if they do decide to bloody butcher Coleridge's words, the philistines. Yet, given how bloody good the album is, I shall graciously forgive them.
And doesn't Eddie look good as a pharaoh?
"I had a threesome once..."
This subtly devastating episode begins with Bella trying to convince people, not least herself, that she's all right. But this narrative slowly collapses as the lies of a defensive Simon and flashes of memory lead to the sense that something definitely happens. And Bella does what sexually assaulted people in TV drama don't do and goes to the police- something far too few women feel able to do. But, with the massive invasion of privacy (they take your phone for months, and a woman's sexual history is for some reason seen as relevant) and the low conviction rate, I can't say I blame them.
Coel is superb with her devastatingly understated performance of a woman in horrified denial, and the reactions of those around her, preoccupied with their own lives, are realistic too. Sadly, this includes Alissa's rant at Bella in a nicely awkward scene.
This is compelling, quietly upsetting, devastatatingly human television.
There's a tendency, with long-established artists, for their early work to be popular and their later work neglected- sometimes justifiably so, sometimes not. It's true that the Rolling Stones haven't done anything interesting since 1972, but the likes of the late lamented David Bowie and the thankfully still with us Neil Young have released albums of varying quality over the years, some of them very good and others not so much. Quite often, though, even the failures are failures for interesting reasons and, well, I'll never stop defending Bowie's jungle period in the '90s.
Alice Cooper, while some albums are better than others, has been consistently good. His hits of the '70s and '80s are justly perennials of rock radio. But Vince is, at heart, an album artist, with both the alchemy required to move with the times and the sureness to remain himself, regardless of whom he collaborates with. This album, for instance, heralds a shift to a harder style of metal which is more or less retained from this point.It does not feel out of place in 2000. Yet nor does it feel so much of its time as to feel dated today, or pandering to fashions. It is simply a confident, quality, contemporary heavy metal record. No more, no less.
In a sense, then, the fact that "It's the Little Things"- Mrs Llamastrangler's favourite Alice Cooper track ever- makes blatant lyrical references to his past hits in the context of moving on stylistically, is revealing. The esteemed Mr furnier does not reject his past, nor does he wallow in it. The title track may be the one that has grabbed the most attention here, yet this is an album without filler.
It's an album worth listening to. And so are its successors.
"You want me to burn!"
This is the first of thirteen episodes made in 1980, a few years after Hammer stopped making films, and all of which I shall be blogging. Superficially, given the age of the production and both the directorial style and the period's signature switching between videotape and film for location sequences (as Monty Python said, "This building is entirely surrounded by film"), this feels a bit like those '70s BBC M.R. James adaptations, a couple of which I've blogged.
Except this is Hammer, and things are not taken anywhere near as seriously. This is how you do it: with that nicely ambiguous gap between high and low camp that the later Hammer films did so well.
So we have an affluent, upper class couple working in the media, probably in the Home Counties, alng with a tawdry yet rather ho-hum affair of a very middle class kind. And into this we throw the magnificent Patricia Quinn to ham it up gloriously as the out-of-time seventeenth century witch Lucinda. There ensues some highly enjoyable set pieces, from poltergeist-type stuff to a pyre to a vicar played by Grandad from Only Fools and Horses talking about exorcism.
Looking forward to the rest of these...
“Never, ever interrupt me when I'm booking my seat for the opera, Lewis."
Yet again I should start by saying that I've read all of Colin Dexter's novels, albeit some time ago. This includes The Jewel That Was Ours which, in a reversal of the usual pattern, was actually written for the telly first and only later novelised.
I remember only moments from the novel, which has not stayed with me much. I didn't remember the outcome, but don't recall being, as I was here, mildly disappointed with the resolution. I suppose there's a certain red herring cleverness in the Wolvercote Tongue having nothing to do with the killings, but there's something unsatisfying in there being two unrelated events in Laura's death and the theft of the jewel versus Theodore Kemp's shagging and its consequences- although Simon Callow is superb, as always. He's one of those actors who chews the scenery with aplomb, and most certainly in a good way.
I'm also enjoying the further fleshing out of Mose and Lewis, whose relationship is by now fully-formed with obligatory scenes of Lewis being whisked away from the pub when he's hardly started his pint. I'm also very much enjoying the sparring between Morse and Max, as much as the writers clearly are. Peter Woodthorpe's performance has made quite the impression.
We have here a mildly disappointing episode which nonetheless confirms the series is going in pretty much the right direction. John Thaw is superlative, better than any previous episode, with signs that scripts are being written with a known performance in mind. I look forward to the second series proper.
So, Michael Moorcock. This is one of only two of his works I’d previously read. I first read this novel on a long flight between London and Los Angeles in 2008 or 2009, I forget in which direction. The initial meeting with Lucifer had stayed with me, as well as the idea of the Mittelmarch. But rereading it this time round it felt fresh and new, with the world, characters and subtext much richer.
I’m aware, of course, that this is part of Moorcock’s Eternal Champion sequence, of which I know little at this point. It isn’t the first novel within this sequence which Moorcock wrote, but seems to have been retrospectively decided as a starting point, perhaps because of its historical setting within the Thirty Years War. I suspect the references to God, Lucifer, the Grail etc are Christianised versions of Moorcock’s own cosmology, but I’m sure I shall eventually see whether I’m right about that.
The novel is superb, on one level a typical quest narrative but subverting the cliches of such rather nicely, and on another a metaphor for the Enlightenment, a powerful argument for Reason over faith. The world is, indeed, better off with gods and devils leaving it alone. Von Bek is an intriguing protagonist, an amoral cynic who has commuted his share of atrocities yet who gains wisdom through both knowledge and suffering, leading a happy and long life in the end. It may well end in oblivion. But is that not so for all of us?
I’m very interested to see what other directions Moorcock takes. We shall see.
"Planning on smoking dope, having pre-marital sex and getting slaughtered?"
It isn't, of course. Nor is it the promised exploration of Jason's backstory, which is superficial indeed. It's a B movie. Yet, in the context of this franchise which, in an inversion of the usual pattern, started as nothing special and took until the sixth instalment to get good, this is fairly decent in context. It has no stars, no actors I recognise whatsoever, nor does it have anthing other than B movie performances, yet it pretty much manages to be entertaining enough.
It makes token attempts to be self-referential, most notably the opening sequence with a trap for Jason, but ultimately relies on the conceit of Jason (only briefly a returning Jason Hodder) jumping from body to body. It also relies on both melodrama and the intriguing, behatted, moderately charismatic, if cliched, character of Creighton Duke, as much as it relies on the usual jump scares.
It works. It's not a bad film. But I wouldn't use higher praise than that.
“Trial by twelve good men and true... is a sound system
I have read, probably, more of Agatha Christie's ouevre than not, although all of it- and it startles me still that I should happen to be of an age to say this- not much less than thirty years ago. Her plots are of course unparallelled: writing in an age where the tropes of the whodunit were well-estabished, she subverted and played with them, and did so with unmatched cleverness. In that respect, she was a genius.
Alas... he characterisation and prose were bloody awful, and she kept her snobbishness close to the surface of her writing. I, in turn, have become rather more of a prose snob over the last few decades. Functional prose I can cope with. Bad prose I cannot. I prefer Margery Allingham.
However, there are always screen adaptation, which provide the wonder of Christie's plotting without the pain of her prose. This is a particularly sublime example, with a cast to die for, partly- Lauren Bacall, Ingrd Bergman- from Hollywood's golden age. Yet Albert Finney is incrddible. At first, having known only David Suchet as a screen Poirot, I didn't want to like him. Hercule Poirot, unlike Sherlock Holmes, is not a part known for many actors. Yet Finney's subtle and mannered performance makes the film. So does Sidney Lumet's visually creative directing style which nevertheless serves the plot well, masterfully combining subtly sublime camerawork- the backstory of the baby at the strt is particularly well done- with clear storytelling.
Sadly, I remembered over the decades who killed the late Mr Ratchett, so I was unsueprised, and noticed a few of the clues. But this is a hugely successful and enjoyable adaptation.
"People love what I have to day. They believe in it. They just don't like the word "Nazi", that's all."
Wow. That was even more eventful than last season's crammed finale, and bloody good bit of telly. Where to start?
Of course, it was clear Stormfront was going down. She's the season Big Bad who can be defeated in the end while still leaving Vought and Homelander to do theit nefarious stuff- this time without any of that Nazi baggage, which isn't good for business. But her exposure, and how it's Ryan who permanently disables her as she tries to kill his mum, is dramatic and cathartic. Rebecca's death is shocking (it's not Ryan's fault; she would still have died if he hadn't have lashed out), but she dies reconciled with Butcher after he couldn't bring himself to betray her- and Billy Butcher, the ultimate supe hater, now seems to have a stepson of sorts, even if Ryan is in the hands of the CIA.
Maeve gets redemption, finally using her blackmail footage for good. The Deep's hilarious journey with the not-Scientologits ends hilariously as it's A-Train, not him, who ends up back in the Seven, rewarded for his "initiative" in exposing Stormfront, the new convenient scapegoat for everything. There's a reset button of sorts, at least supeficially, with Annie and Maeve back in the fold, while the Boys are now legal- and official? None of this feels like a stable status quo, though, especially with the shocking reveal as to who exactly was blowing up all them heads.
This was damn good. How long till the next season...?
"You know I can't socialise after I ejaculate, so..."
This is, especially at the end, not always a comfortable thing to watch. But Michaela Coel has written an extraordinary chronicle of our #MeToo times centred on a sexual assault which is experienced, as are many sexual assault, through an alconolic and druggy (spiked drink?) haze. The whole thing is written, acted and directed with real brilliant, and the sexual assault happens only towards the end, and through the hazy memories of Arabella herself.
Quite rightly, we get to know and like Arabella first. A successful writer, she happens to live in London where no one who isn't a millionaite can afford decent living conditions. The episode is by no means all about the sexual assault. It's about the agonising pressure, procrastination and adrenaline of being a writer. It's about the uncertainty of whether her Italian boyfriend is going to commit. It's about Black writers negotiating the very white world of publishing.
Most of all, though, it's devastating and sublime. The final scenes, with Arabella waking up after the night before, not really aware of her own traumatic shock, are wonderfully directed and acted to pack a real punch, and to represent the trths of so many women. This is a very impressive first episode.
"You're the cuck fluffer!"
It'd the penultimate episode, and it's... explosive. After last episode's revelations we get plenty of rallies from Homelander and Stormfront in which, being Nazis, they cheerfully use the dog whistling slang of Nazi-loving MAGA types today "snowflake", "SJW", etc. Just to drive the point home, we begin with one of Stormfront's online zealots being slowly radicalised online until the point he murders someone, of course from an ethnic minority. It's clear what the subtext is here. And this series was released in October 2020, shortly before, thankfully, Trump was humiliated.
Yet the very final scene has uncomfortable echoes. The Boys, Mallory etc have done their best- including Billy Butcher being quite the unhinged psychotic- to expose Vaught by democratic means... and the congressional hearing is brought to a bloody end by those exploding heads. Is it Stormfront? Homelander? Either way, this ends-justify-the-means assault on democracy very much echoes the terrorist attack on the US Capitol.
Other stuff happens too, of course. Homelander and Stormfront turn Ryan against Rebecca. Butcher meets his dad, played by a fellow cast member from Lord of the Rings. A-Train is having doubts about the cult as that Archer bloke is fair gamed.
Also, Lamplighter self-immolates and so allows Hughie to rescue the now exposed Annie by means of Lamplighter's severed hand. Yep, only on The Boys.
This is gloriously evil telly. And it' actually about something to boot. I love it.
"You act like you never saw a severed human head on a tortoise before..."
It's an unusual beginning, to have the Mariachi band perform a song that seems to have been inspired by the events of the series, but I love it. Breaking Bad is doing things differently,approprate for an episode that seems to signify a bit of a gear change. The status quo is shifting, and so is the dramatis personae. This feels like a phase shift.
Most obviously, Jesse (the "blowfish"- I love how Walt delivers this backhanded compliment) is now seen as a badass who crushes those who cross him with ATM machines (not a sentence I've ever written before), and suddenly the way lies open for Walt and Jesse to corner the market in all of Albuquerque. Jesse is stunned, his underlings more so as they are promoted to "princes or dukes". Yet Walt remains calm, self-assured, amoral and ambitious. By this point he's moved far beyond being a desperate man who just wants the money for his medical bills: he sees life as having dealt him a bad hand, and is going to get a better one no mtter what. He's utterly ruthless- and, oddly enough, whatshows this most of all is his ruthless refusal to fudge a student's grades at the start. The steel is affecting what he does as a chemistry teacher as much as his new existence as a drug lord. At this point, the future looks bright.
Also, Skyler lands herself a job with a bloke with whom she has obvious history- this can surely only go in one direction. And Hank finds himself very much out of his depth in El Paso, intellectually (he's the only one who speaks no Spanish) and in terms of the potential violence, which erupts shockingy at the end. This way lies PTSD.
On a sweeter note, could Jesse and his landlady Jane be attracted to each other? If so, I can't exactly predict happy ever after. The plates are shifting, but things feel precarious. This is, needless to say, excellent stuff. No wonder they managed to get Danny Trejo.
"I'll never understand these religious types."
"That's because you have no soul, Morse."
I can't quite put my finger on why this episode was good but not great, unlike its two predecessors. I've had four pints of Doom Bar, of which I hope Morse would approve. I enjoyed the novel, years ago. The plot and the revelations were fine. There was even much made of a quotation from St Augustine which has much amused me- "Lord, give me chastity, but not yet." Lord, if by any chance you should exist, in spite of your singular failure to provde empiracal evidence, please do no such thing. The missus would not be pleased.
This episode has persuaded me of one thing. If I were, should faith without proof cease to be a requirement, to become a Christian, I probably wouldn't be a High Church Anglican as I'd previously assumed because of culture and that. Like Morse, I find all that imagery of a tortured Christ to be unpleasantly morbid.
I like this episode, altgough it never quite catches fire. As a carer, I very much identify with the very lovely Ruth, a nicely nuanced character. Morse gets some good development in terms of his relationship with her, too: I'm starting to accept John Thaw's gentler version of the character. I am, perhaps, less inclined to accept that the white-haired Thaw was forty-five years old at this point, just a year older than I am today, with only grey flecks in my long hair although rather more in my long beard, and denying all wrinkles. I am not Gandalf yet.
"I am constantly sutprised that women's hats do not provoke more murders..."
I haven't seen the play, but I read a number of Agatha Christie novels in my youth. I recall her ingenious plots, but also her poor characterisation and unfortunate snobbery- good, but no Margery Allingham. That is not in evidence here, and the dialogue (deliciously delivered by the magnificent Charles Laughton and the sublime Marlene Dietrich) is rather witty. Am I misremembering Christie, or has the script had a bit of a polish?
Nevertheless, this is a triumphant film, and certainly the finest courtroom drama I have ever seen: I can see why Christie herself was so happy with Billy Winder's film. The cast (Tyrone Power is a bit of a weak link, but the two stars are magnificent, and there's a fine comic turn from Elsa Lanchester. It's also fascinating to see the workings of a Crown Court in the 1950s, at least via the medium of Hollywood.
The twists and turns are, of course, sublime, and to say that the ending packs a huge punch is a real understatement. This is quite up there with the great twist endings. Yet beyond this we have a triumph of writing, direction and performance. Sublime.
The series turns a corner here as the dazzlingly complex plot and series of revelations unfolds, compellingly. The ending is a genuine shock. Yet at no point do the constant stream of shocking revelations render the plot in any way difficult to follow, and they all arise out of increasingly well-sketched and constantly deepening character traits.
All this leads one to do er just how much of this Zelazny had in mind at the very beginning.I suspect a great deal, although there were changes here and there. This saga is, by this point, a colossal achievement of character, prose, world building and sheer craft.
And there is still one to go.
"We saved the world... didn't we."
Oh my. It's weird that this is (for now) only five episodes long, but this is a proper season finale and no mistake.
So much happens. The quest narrative moves to Preternia, a kind of good place Eternians go when they die. But this is more of a Valhalla than a Heaven, full of hunts and machismo and old heroes like He-Ro and wise old King Grayskull. But Adam stands out- of all the legendary heroes, only he chooses his weaker form.
There are good character scenes between Teela and Adam, but we have no clue until the end how dramatic things are going to be. Roboto's death is a very big, very emotional scene. Adam's decision to return to Earth to help his friend, knowing he will sacrifice all chance of returning to afterlife, is moving.
But it seems as though all is well. Adam speaks the words we know so well, and magic returns to Eternia.. and then it happens: Skeletor, unsuspectedly hiding in Lyn's staff, returns, and fatally stabs Adam mid-transformation. All is lost, and it's a bloody good cliffhanger.
More please. How long do we have to wait?
"A bigot and a bully..."
Wow. This episode is full of revelations and superb character moments. I mean, scenes such as a bloke dissolving his own face with his own acidic vomit, or MM getting strangled by a bloke's enormous penis- yes, I just wrote that- don't even register.
The bulk of the episode consists of the Boys and Annie following up a lead to a mental hospital in Pennsylvania. Here we learn of the incident, years before, where Colonel Grace Mallory employed Butcher, MM and Frenche to get at Vought via Lamplighter. Her children died horribly, Frenchie had conflicting loyalties, and Lamploghter turns out to be played by Iceman from the X-Men films.
Oh, and Stormfront seems to be behind the facility, which is all about trying to stabilise Compound V. And Annie and Butcher seem to bond a bit courtest of Hughie being badly hurt, and some stupid wanker who pulled a gun on them whinging that "this is a Stand Your Ground state". I've got no sympathy from the psycho whatsoever.
Also, the Deep and his puppetmasters seem to be doing quite well in getting A-train into the cult. And a shocked Elena sees how Maeve was planning to blackmail Homelander with footage from the plane.
All this is dramatic enough, but we end with a bombshell... Stormfront was born in 1919, is Frederick Vought's widow and the firt person ever infected wirh Compound V. And she's a full-on, hob-nobbing with Himmler and Goebells, Nazi, who worships Homelander as the perfect Aryan ubermensch. Well then,
