I took the rest of that week off, and naturally spent most of my time catching up on shows and reading as much as I could. Despite my huge TBR pile (including those from my Treat Yo Self stack) I ended up churning through three quintessential "beach reads".
I've also decided that this is the year I actually finish the shows I've started before jumping into anything new - so unless something actually gets released in 2019 (because there's no way I'm missing out on Stranger Things or Young Justice) I'm sticking strictly to my back-catalogue of unfinished shows.
And yes, I did see the third instalment of How To Train Your Dragon this month, but I'm going to hold off on a proper review for a while - I want to do what I'm currently doing with the Toy Story trilogy and watch/review them all in a row.
Aladdin
Though I can objectively concede that Beauty and the Beast is Disney's best animated film, I probably ended up watching Aladdin more times during my formative years. It's lighter than Beauty and the Beast, and there's less at stake, and the emotional heft is nowhere near as powerful (the big tearjerker is Aladdin saying goodbye to the Genie, and let's face it, that doesn't hold a candle to Belle whispering: "I love you," over the Beast's dead body).
But Aladdin is more fun, and its translation into a stage performance seems like a natural choice given the colour and vibrancy of the film. It leans heavily into the aesthetic formulated by the film, which is very much a Western perspective of the Middle East (think harem girls, scimitars, baggy pants, twangy instrumentals) but I saw this at the Civic Theatre in Auckland, a venue which was truly made for Aladdin.
Here are some pictures:
Every stage adaptation has to change a few of a film's plot details (after all, there are restrictions as to what you can do on the stage), but most of what is changed makes sense. Abu is gone, and replaced with three male friends of Aladdin who assist him in his deception as Prince Ali. Iago is no longer a parrot, but a human assistant to Jafar (though there's a fun line in which he's asked: "why must you always parrot me?")
The second wish doesn't involve Jafar trying to drown Aladdin, but simply throwing him in the dungeon and Aladdin wishing his way out. Jasmine has some ladies-in-waiting who encourage her to go out and explore the market place, though (understandably) there's no sign of Rajah. The carpet isn't a character but a prop who only turns up in two scenes.
And though the finale does have Jafar stealing the lamp and Aladdin tricking him into wishing he was a genie, it foregoes the action sequence in which Aladdin is banished to a mountainside and fights a giant cobra (again, understandably).
But the songs are all intact, and that's where the show builds its story. Most of them are expanded to add new verses and interludes - particularly Friend Like Me, which involves magic tricks, long dance sequences, and forays into songs from completely different Disney musicals. In many ways it's the Genie who becomes the main character, providing the narration and ongoing commentary, and breaking the fourth wall on more than one occasion.
But the highlight is naturally the magic carpet ride, which is surely one of the most beautiful and romantic sequences in all of Disney's canon, and visualized here as Aladdin and Jasmine floating across a backdrop of stars with only a candle to light their faces. Ah, it was gorgeous - and totally worth the terrifying turbulence I had to live through on the fight up (I guess they can't all be magic carpet rides).
All things considered, a great way to celebrate your birthday is to revisit your childhood. I guess I'll be seeing these characters again come May.
The Little Barbarian by Renato Moriconi
Please go immediately to your nearest library and put this book on hold as it is DELIGHTFUL. I picked it up amidst a box of new books that had just been delivered and flipped through it - a few seconds later I had all my co-workers doing the same. With no words, it depicts a brave barbarian with a stoic expression mount his horse and go galloping through all manner of dangers: snake pits, falling arrows, rampaging monsters...But there are a few clues in the illustrations that suggest there's more to this barbarian than meets the eye, and when the big reveal comes it's a slam-dunk. I can't say any more than that.
Railhead, Black Light Express and Station Zero by Phillip Reeve
If you want a masterclass on how to world-build, then you have to read Phillip Reeve. In terms of getting raw exposition across to the audience in a way that feels effortlessly organic, in explaining vast sci-fi/fantasy concepts through conversation and casual asides, and in sprinkling little tid-bits of inconsequential colour and favour into his narrative, then Reeve is the absolute master. The only other thing that comes close is the pilot episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender, and that had the advantage of visuals. 
I read Railhead ages ago, then lost track of time and was astonished to find that by the time I got around to the second book, the third one had also been published. Set in the distant future in which intergalactic travel is made possible by sentient trains and the construction of K-gates across a range of planets, a young pickpocket called Zen Starling is approached by a Motorik girl with an offer from her employer/creator: a chance to steal a valuable artefact from the private train of one of the highest-ranking corporate families.
The characters are as three-dimensional as always (in Reeves's hands, there are no true "good guys" or "bad guys") and the heist as suspenseful as you'd expect, but the real selling point of the trilogy is the sci-fi realm that Reeve gifts to the reader. The "gods" of this world are actually advanced computer programmes that have attained self-awareness and occasionally intervene in human lives.
In doing so they appear as a variety of "interfaces", in which their consciousness can be spread across several cloned bodies, though they also exist within the Datasea (a sort of cyberspace) which can be accessed by human beings on portable headsets - though if they want to make an appeal to the Guardians (as these technological gods are called) they can upload prayers at their local shrines, or even download their social media histories to a pilgrimage site in the hopes of living on in virtual reality after their death.
It's a fascinating idea, and it throws up so many possibilities and concepts about religion and its place in human lives. There's no agenda here either: Reeve is quite possibly the most neutral author I've ever come across, one who is content to simply present his characters and worlds as they are without any implicit judgement set upon them.
And it's just one of many amazingly original ideas that fill this trilogy. Along with the sentient trains and world-spanning railway are corporate families (think of capitalism mixed with monarchies, then shudder at the implications), exotic alien life-forms, beetles that merge into single-minded entities, individuals who exist in various locations simultaneously, and humanoid droids called "Motoriks". (Just by that rundown, you can tell big themes in Reeves's books are identity, humanity and consciousness).
Gah, it's so good. If you're after something that captures that very specific "space mysticism" aesthetic found in Star Wars, The Fifth Element and/or Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets, then this is for you.
The Way Past Winter by Kiran Millwood Hargrave
This was a short-but-sweet fairy tale book that was very much in the vein of The Snow Queen, though with the titular villain replaced by a large Scandinavian bear-spirit who steals away all the young men in the village on the outskirts of Eldbjørn Forest.It's been winter for nearly five years, and the people of the village are barely holding on. After their young men disappear, all hope seems lost, but sisters Sanna, Mila and Pipa decide to go out in search of their missing brother Oskar, their parents having passed away some years ago.
So begins the quest through the wintry forests towards the bear-king's castle on the edge of the world. You know the drill. There are dangers and temptations and traps and near-fatal misses, but all's well that ends well. It actually reminded me a lot of Emily Winfield Martin’s Snow & Rose, not just because it was a retelling of an old fairy tale, but because in both cases I was attracted to the beautiful presentation of the book itself.
Poirot’s Early Cases by Agatha Christie
Agatha Christie is my go-to author whenever I'm travelling, especially any of her short story anthologies. There's something weirdly calming about Hercule Poirot solving murder-mysteries in his careful, methodical manner, though this time around even he couldn't stop me from gripping the armrests during take-off. Reading this collection was fun as I'd already seen many of the mysteries on ITV's Poirot starring David Suchet, and it's a testiment to the quality of that show that many of the screenwriters were able to take very slight stories (usually with only one twist) and expand them into forty-five minute episodes.
There's eighteen altogether, and although the title says "early" cases, I've no idea when Christie wrote these and it hardly matters given their standalone nature. This could be Poirot at the start of his career, the height of his power, or his twilight years - it doesn't make a difference, and it's a credit to Christie that she came up with so many different cases for her detective to solve. One of these days I'm going to sit down and watch all of David Suchet's Poirot in order to contrast/compare with the original stories.
Miss Happiness and Miss Flower by Rumer Godden
Along with rewatching the Toy Story trilogy (and assorted tie-ins) I recently read Rumer Godden's The Fairy Doll and ended up getting a compendium of her toy-related stories to work through. Last month I read The Dolls' House, and I've been steadily working through the rest since then.Nona is a newcomer to England who struggles to deal with the culture shock. Though her extended family tries to make her feel welcome, her cousin Belinda is a brat who ridicules her for her accent and shy nature, making it all the more difficult for Nona to acclimatize.
But then their Aunt Lucy sends them a pair of Japanese dolls in the mail, called (as you might have guessed) Miss Happiness and Miss Flower, and Nona begins to find her place as she becomes increasingly engrossed in the task of building her dolls a Japanese-inspired house, drawing various family members and neighbours into the project as she goes.
Every now and then it's refreshing to read a story in which the goals and motivations are so low that nothing more drastic then some hurt feelings are at stake, and Godden's fascination with crafts and handiwork (depicted in how Nona creates miniature props for the dolls) rubs off on the reader.
Some elements are a little dated, usually down gender and racial lines, but the inclusion of a glossary of various Japanese terms indicates Godden's interest in the culture came from a sincere place.
Little Plum by Rumer Godden
The direct sequel to Miss Happiness and Miss Flower takes the focus from Nona to Belinda, who spent the first story as the book's closest thing to an antagonist. This time around she's the heroine, who is immensely interested by the arrival of another little girl in the house next door, especially when she realizes she too owns a Japanese doll. But after she makes a terrible first impression on Gem Tiffany Jones's aunt, Belinda is forbidden from ever socializing with the family - not that that's going to stop her. This is a much more comedic story than the last, and though Nona was a far more likable protagonist, Belinda is definitely the more entertaining one.
She ends up using her brother's tree house and a ladder to crawl across to the fire escape outside Gem's window, leaving a variety of presents for Little Plum (the doll in question). But far from this fostering a friendship between the two, it escalates into an all-out war involving notes, booby traps and other humourous encounters.
The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins
The first of three beach reads I got through this month (even though I didn't go near the beach), Paula Hawkins's debut novel seemed to be all anyone was talking about at one point. Its strongest element is protagonist Rachel Watson, an absolute mess of a woman who catches the same commuter train into London every morning in the hopes of fooling her flatmate into thinking she’s still got a job.She lost it months ago due to her alcoholism, and each day stares at her old house as she passes by, now home to her ex-husband, his new wife Anna and their infant daughter. But there’s another household that also captures her attention: just a few doors down a beautiful couple she’s dubbed “Jess and Jason” appear to live an idyllic life together.
But one day she spots something shocking: Jess in an intimate embrace with a man who is definitely not her husband.
A few days later, Jess (actually called Megan) is reported missing. Rachel is certain the mystery man is involved, but on the day Megan disappeared, she suffered a blackout and has no memory of where she was or why she woke up with blood all over herself. Wanting to solve the mystery for Megan’s sake as well as her own, Rachel begins a private investigation – even as the police zero in on her as a lead suspect.
Yeah, it's a pretty great premise, but the main problem with The Girl on the Train is that you can guess the killer's identity pretty much right from the start. It's so obvious that Gone Girl openly mocks the cliché (which is impressive considering it was published three years prior).
But hey – it’s an entertaining enough read, and I always appreciate female characters that are messy, complicated and (in some cases) deeply unpleasant. This has three (Rachel, Anna, Megan) for the price of one!
Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty
Having been blown away by the miniseries starring Nicole Kidman, Reese Witherspoon and Shailene Woodley, it was only a matter of time that I read the original book, if not just to see how the two differed. As it happens, the show is remarkably faithful to Moriarty's story, and even improves on it in a myriad of ways.The location is shifted from Sydney's North Shore to California, and a few elements are dropped or changed (Maddy originally had a son called Fred; there's an entirely different resolution to Abigail's attempt to auction off her virginity on-line) but for the most part the show added a lot more: for example, the entire subplot involving Maddy's affair with Joseph and the controversy surrounding Avenue Q was created for the show.
It also delves deeper into the lives of supporting characters such as Renata and Bonnie (heck, even Celeste's therapist) and unquestionably has a better ending when it comes to the confrontation with Perry. In the book, all the assorted husbands are present when he attacks Celeste and gets pushed off a balcony by Bonnie (who then admits what she did to the police), whereas the miniseries separates the women, puts them in an isolated area, and then has Perry invade their space, thinking that they won't stop him from claiming his wife. There's no question that the latter is the better scenario.
Still, the book does better in a couple of respects: it does away with the massive coincidence that Jane would just happen to make friends with her rapist's wife (in the book, she saw documents as to where her one-night stand planned to build a house, and deliberately moved there herself in the hopes of finding him) and confirms what was widely discussed in forums regarding the show: that Bonnie was a victim of domestic abuse herself (which is why she picked up on Perry's predatory stalking so quickly at the trivia night).
Either way, it's a solid story and the two mediums compliment each other nicely.
Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn
The third and final "beach read" of the month! More than The Girl on the Train and Big Little Lies, this is the novel that permeated the cultural consciousness with Flynn's coining of the term "Cool Girl", which is so scathing and cutting that I have to cut-and-paste it here:Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size two, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.
Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much!
And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain.
So there are some caveats to take into account here. First of all, the narrator for this monologue is a psychopathic killer, so maybe don't take her opinion at face value. It's also pretty idiotic to assume that women who genuinely enjoy hot dogs, football and casual sex don't exist, or that it's just an elaborate performative act to impress men if they do.
But as a bit of prose designed to spark conversation, in the midst of a story that revolves around a toxic marriage, the battle of the sexes, and the way we present ourselves for public consumption (whether it be to the media, to our families, or to society at large) - it worked, since it's the passage that's most widely quoted when it comes to think-pieces about the novel. I'm still mulling it over.
You probably know the story itself by now: Nick and Amy seem like the perfect couple, but when Amy goes missing on their fifth wedding anniversary, all the evidence seems to point to her husband being the culprit. Nick provides narration that's just a bit off, and we're privy to chapters from Amy's diary that suggest she's a little afraid of him. Naturally there's a mid-book twist, and things only get stickier from there.
It's a good book, and I whizzed through it in record time, though given the sheer volume of discourse that's out there concerning Gone Girl, I find I'm a little overwhelmed at saying anything more about it.
Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman
If you're a girl who grew up in the nineties, then I don't believe you if you say you didn't have a witch phase. It was the decade of The Craft, Charmed, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Practical Magic, and even though only one of those properties can be fairly described as "good", it was still a time of incense, meditation, and pretending that those crystals on our windowsill actually did something. The Practical Magic movie starring Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock was not a particularly good movie, but I loved it regardless for the atmosphere, magic and focus on sisterhood (plus it introduced me to the concept of a phone tree). Years ago I read the novel upon which it was based, which was generally considered to be much superior to the film, and on seeing a reprint at work, I grabbed it.
It's surprising that some of the major conceits of the film aren't part of the novel - namely the curse that ensures any man loved by an Owens woman will eventually meet a premature death. Instead it's story that drifts along, slipping in and out of a variety of subplots and insights into a witchy life, content to keep the stakes low and the ruminations on love regular.
Sally and Gillian arrive at their aunts' old homestead after the deaths of their parents, only to eventually part ways when Sally gets married and Gillian runs away to see the world. Years later they're thrown together again when Gillian seeks out her sister's help after her abusive boyfriend abruptly dies in her car, though after they bury him in the backyard, his spirit returns to haunt both them and Sally's teenage daughters.
Changes from the film include more emphasis on Gillian's love-life than Sally's (the cop love interest barely features here), chapters focusing entirely on Kylie, and much less overt magic. Oh, and you also get to find out what happened to the woman who comes to demand a love spell from the aunts at the start of the film (it didn't end well for her).
It's a nice enough book, though I'm not entirely sure why it's considered such a classic. The romances are about as deep as a paddling pool, and I never really felt I got inside the characters' heads. But the prose flows like water, even as some of the magical-realism elements get steadily more ludicrous as the book goes on (one of the aunts was so beautiful in her youth that two boys ran across an open field during a thunderstorm to impress her and died when they were struck by lightning - kay).
The Rules of Magic by Alice Hoffman
The long awaited prequel to the above novel, and the reason why I picked up Practical Magic in the first place - if you're gonna do something, you may as well be a completist about it. It's been over twenty years since Practical Magic was published, and this goes back in time to explore the lives of Frances and Jet Owens, the sisters who end up as elderly aunts of the first novel. Born and raised in 1950s New York City along with their brother Vincent, they (like all Owens women) are strikingly beautiful and surrounded by mystery. Even Vincent has an irresistible charm, though their parents are determined that they grow up as normal as possible. It's not until they reach adolescence that they begin to realize the truth of their heritage.
Hoffman bends the rules a little when it comes to the histories that were laid out in Practical Magic. There it was implied that both women were spinsters, having had their hearts broken when two young men were struck by lightning after running through a field during a thunderstorm in a bid to impress them.
It was treated as a big deal in Practical Magic, though here it's basically an afterthought, with each sister getting a much more important love interest during the course of her story. Hoffman also borrows heavily from the movie, which invented the idea of a curse upon the Owens women - specifically that their lovers would die due to a spell cast by their ancestor Maria Owens. This conceit was nowhere to be found in the original novel, but here it suddenly exists, including deaths being heralded by the sound of the deathwatch beetle.
This addition surprised me considering the movie wasn't that well-recieved among fans of the book, but perhaps Hoffman liked it more than any of us realized. Towards the end of the story comes the inevitable arrival of Sally and Gillian as bereaved children, at which point Jet and Frances have reached old age.
So it's a book that spans many years, and touches on several historical events across its course (such as Vincent being enlisted for duty in Vietnam, and the family's desperate attempts to save him). After twenty years you can see how much Hoffman's prose has improved, and I have to say I felt so much more invested in Frances and Jet than I did in Sally and Gillian.
They're not perfect, and each make plenty of mistakes across the years, but their devotion to each other and their sincere attempts to do no harm (even when they fail) resonated much more than the lust-at-first-sight insta-romances of Sally and Gillian.
So it was fun to revisit the Owens family saga - perhaps in another twenty years we could get a story on Maria Owens, the woman who started it all...
Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Much like Zootopia, I put off watching this movie despite its popular acclaim due to the concept/setting not really appealing to me. In Zootopia's case it was the whole talking animal thing, and here it was the conceit of being set in a video game arcade. And in both cases, I had the feeling I would enjoy them if I just gave it a chance, and so - years after their respective releases - I finally made the effort to watch them. And loved them. Wreck-It Ralph is the bad guy of an old-school arcade game in which he demolishes a building each night, only for the player (controlling an avatar called Fix-It Felix) to come along and puts it back together again. Then Ralph is thrown off the side of a building to rapturous applause.
It's a tough gig, and finally Ralph decides he's had enough. Talking himself into a bet with the residents of the game's penthouse, he goes in search of a medal that will grant him access to their nightly parties, which eventually leads him into another game called Sugar Rush. There he meets Vanellope von Schweetz, a glitchy character that's managed to nab his medal and use it to enter the race, forcing Ralph to help her if he wants to retrieve his property.
There are plenty of spanners in the works, from Vanellope's limitations as a glitch to a virus that escapes from another game, but it all comes together beautifully. If I have just one complaint it's the inevitable "protagonist feels bad about doing something selfish" scene, even though the scene in question involves Ralph doing the only thing he could do with the information at hand, leading to some undue narrative punishment (and it's pretty damn rich that he gets lectured on it by one of the sprites that spurred him on his initial quest in the first place - if these guys had just been nice to him to begin with, there wouldn't have been a problem!)
But apart from that, it's a delightful movie, especially in its various nods to other video games. I especially appreciated the jerky movements of the sprites, which perfectly matched the eight-bit pixelated art of the time.
And now I can finally go watch the Disney Princess sequence in the sequel!
The Girl on the Train (2016)
Having read the book I thought I might as well. This is a pretty faithful adaptation of the book, with Emily Blunt doing her usual good work as Rachel and not shying away from the ugliness of alcoholism and its assorted effects on a person's life (though I notice they left out the part where she sleeps with Scott - presumably that was just a step too far).The cast is pretty stellar all-round (Rebecca Ferguson, Luke Evans, Allison Janney - even Lisa Kudrow and Laura Prepon pop in for a couple of scenes) and the focus kept on the women. They even made Detective Riley the lead investigator instead of her male partner, as in the book.
All that said, it's a pretty by-the-numbers movie, with things getting steadily more absurd as it goes. The advantages of a book is that things can eventually get explained, either clearly or implicitly, whereas here we only get a few vague flashbacks to fill in each character's motivation. (And as with the book, the identity of the killer is blatantly obvious).
The Lego Batman Movie (2017)
I watched this the day before my flight to Auckland in an attempt to distract myself from the imminent plane ride, and it did the trick: was fast and colourful enough to achieve desired distraction, but didn't have any of the (surprising) depth of The Lego Movie.The Batman of the Lego-verse is best described as a parody of the character as he exists throughout comics, television, film and our collective subconscious. This is a Batman that is pathologically intent on being alone, broody, angsty and mysterious, a mentality that's taken to such ludicrous heights that it almost forgets how essentially sad it's meant to be. (You can't help but feel it's not just a riff on Batman, but any story that pits a tortured lone wolf against the world, and the story milks the bathos of that situation for all it's worth).
The plot is so by-the-numbers that it's hardly worth mentioning: Batman learns the value of teamwork and lets go of his vulnerabilities so he can work with Barbara Gordon, Alfred and Dick Grayson in the field. It should go without saying that if you watch this movie, it's not for the plot but rather the onslaught of gags and in-jokes that are so in that at one point it's literally suggested you Google some of the more obscure cameos.
There are some annoyances here and there: the Justice League is horrifically underused, and every time Barbara shows up, Bruce has one of those slo-motion, hazy-focus reactions. DC, I beg you to stop trying to make Bruce/Barbara a thing. NO ONE HAS EVER OR WILL EVER WANT IT). Also, among the variety of iconic villains that eventually attack Gotham, the lack of Darth Vader is a glaring omission. Could they not get the rights this time around?
Still, I give them point for depicting the Gremlins attacking an aircraft. This is what the original Gremlins were renowned for (that is, back when the term was popularized during WWII) and which never happened in the actual Gremlins movies.
Dumplin’ (2018)
This was a cute feelgood movie I watched with my mum, though I have to admit I went in expecting another To All The Boys I've Loved Before, and came out a little underwhelmed. I think the big mistake a lot of rom-coms make is stuffing too many subplots and supporting characters into the mix instead of focusing on a single problem; a single relationship.TATBILB was surprisingly good because it knew the primary focus was the growing rapport between Lara Jean and Peter. Even though other things were happening between Lara and her sisters, father, rival and initial crush, they all were secondary to the main relationship.
Dumplin' falters a little because it forgets its main issue is Willowdean participating in the pageant and how it effects her relationship with her mother by throwing in a spat with her best friend, a crush on her co-worker, a sojourn to a drag queen bar, and ongoing grief for her deceased aunt. There's just too much extraneous stuff in there, though it all comes together on the night of the pageant.
It's about a plus-size girl called Willowdean (nicknamed Dumplin') whose mother is a local beauty pageant queen. After discovering that her recently deceased aunt once signed up for a pageant, Willowdean decides to do the same, though it's unclear exactly what her exact goal is. (For a while it looks like she wants to disrupt the event, but that pans out pretty quickly).
If it's to be commended on one thing it's the astonishing lack of an Alpha Bitch. I was truly gobsmacked, especially when they introduce a pageant contestant who appears to fit the bill - yet she's never anything but a friendly and polite teenager. Amazing!
Throw in Jennifer Aniston having a bit of fun and Harold Perrineau back in drag for the first time since Romeo + Juliet (at least that I know of) and it's a cute enough way to pass an evening.
Outlaw King (2018)
After watching any historical movie, I usually head to Wikipedia to get a brief overview of how accurate it was, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that Outlaw King adheres pretty closely to the truth. Turns out the costumes and accents were accurate, events such as Robert's assassination of John Comyn really happened, and even the odder details such as Robert being crowned by a woman and his wife declaring "we are but king and queen of the May" are true to life. There are some liberties taken here and there (Robert's wife wasn't put in a cage dangling from the side of a castle, though his sisters were, and there's absolutely no way a valuable hostage such as Edward II would have been allowed to walk free from the battlefield) but it would appear that the screenwriter/director felt the truth was interesting enough when it came to depicting Robert the Bruce's life.
It's a bloody and dirty biopic about the Scottish hero, and though Chris Pine might seem a surprising choice for the role, he handles himself well. I'm not sure whether it's likely a 14th century man would have held off on the consummation of his new marriage in respect for his wife (letting her choose the time and place), but given that the love story between Robert and Elizabeth de Burgh forms the emotional centre of the film, it was wise to make it as romantic as possible.
And I'll admit, I got swept up a little, especially since I had no idea how their story ended. The two make for a strong meeting of minds, their rapport is based on respect, and their reunion on the beach is appropriately heartfelt. Also, keep your eye on actress Florence Pugh. She's good.
Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries: Season 3 (2015)
My year of "finishing what I started" begins with the completion of the third and final season of Phryne Fisher's murder mysteries. There's not much to say that hasn't already been said in my reviews for the first two seasons: Phryne is still a free-spirited twenties' flapper who solves murder mysteries in between having the time of her life.This time the ongoing flirtation between herself and police inspector Jack Robinson is kicked up a notch, yet as much as I enjoy their rapport, it's difficult to see the two of them in an actual relationship. She's too wild, and he's totally straightlaced. It makes for great chemistry and some wonderful scenes, but I hesitate when it comes to picturing them as an official couple (it's kinda like Beast Boy and Raven in Teen Titans. I get why it's a thing, but could they really coexist together?) Can't they just flirt for all eternity?
It also introduces Phryne's father and their tense relationship, and though episodes are usually standalone, there's a ongoing thread involving the trouble he's managed to get himself into. Hugh and Dot are also well on their way to getting hitched, though problems arise due to their opposing religious denominations and the attitudes of their respective families.
As ever, this is perfect lightweight viewing despite dealing with tragic murders. The costumes, the attitudes, the dynamics of Phyrne's found family - it's all here.
Vikings: Season 5 (2017 – 2019)
It's hard to believe this season started back in 2017, and having learned that the sixth is going to be the show's last... yeah, it's time. We're down to only a couple of original characters, and writer/creator Michael Hirst has an increasingly infuriating habit of introducing new and potentially interesting characters, only to kill them off without doing anything significant with them. It started with Yidu, and Heahmund, Freydis, Astrid, Margrethe and Magnus have followed. That last one in particular was bizarre considering they introduced the character as a child into the show years ago. Yet what on earth was the point of him?There are also fairly rote death scenes for the Oracle and Judith, who have been around for a while and surely deserved better than they got.
And don't get me started on Rollo. After his reappearance formed the cliff-hanger for the mid-season hiatus, he only gets a single episode before disappearing once more. Okay, perhaps all this is the point: that the older generation don't go out in a blaze of glory but instead fade away with age and ignominity. But it doesn't make for particularly good television.
The season revolves around the power struggles between the remaining sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, with Ivar on one side, Ubbe on the other, and the likes of Bjorn and Hvitserk trying to decide where they'll end up. (Though honestly, what I'm really looking forward to is the battle of minds between Ivar and Alfred). It's not bad, though a lot of it involves Ivar going all Caligula without any understanding of how it effects the people of Kattegut or why they put up with it.
Lagertha suffers a nervous breakdown (which insultingly is brought on by the death of a man she barely knew, and not killing of her pregnant long-term girlfriend at her hands) and other scenes are just weird and pointless. Was there a reason Alfred's young wife decided to risk her reputation by going to randomly sleep with Bjorn?
It's just become too unwieldly and meaningless; a far cry from the excellence of Ragnar's long-con that took place across the entirety of season two. Time to wrap things up.
Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? (2019)
I'm sure I wasn't the only nineties kid to watch the original Carmen Sandiego cartoon, based on the computer game that sought to teach kids a little something about geography. The player had to chase a glamourous thief across the world, which in the cartoon became two crime-solving teenagers called Zack and Ivy who were monitored by an unseen "player" (a live-action kid sitting in front of a computer). That's not even getting into the game shows...It's a neat concept, and this latest take on the material does some interesting things with it. The biggest change is the alignment of Carmen herself: she was originally a gorgeous international cat burglar who could pull off impossible heists, yet still had something of a moral code and cool respect for the detectives (that is, the players) who bested her.
Here she becomes an orphan raised by a criminal organization, one that she defects from when she realizes what they're really like. When we see her in the present day, she's devoting her time to thwarting their schemes and pitting herself against their other acolytes - her former teammates.
The show also completely does away with any fourth-wall-breaking nods at the viewer. "Player" is now a codename for a young hacker, and Zack and Ivy (the detectives of the cartoon) have become Carmen's friends and allies. At the same time Carmen is hunted by Interpol agents convinced that she's the villain, she also has to avoid the various members of V.I.L.E., the evil organization that raised her.
With so many opposing groups, there are plenty of misunderstandings as to what exactly everyone is trying to do. This gives Carmen the edge in most of her interactions, though towards the end all the secret agendas in play get a little dizzying. But it's a fun show, with genuine attempts to slip in some real facts about the countries that Carmen visits, and some surprisingly complex relationships as well.
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