Reading/Watching Log #61

At the end of this month, my New Year’s Resolution kicks into gear: no more library books. Instead, I have to focus on the hundreds and hundreds of books that I own that have been languishing on my shelves for the last ten-plus years. So this month was a last hurrah for books from the library (okay, one book and a series of graphic novels is going to carry on into February) before I seriously start delving into my own collection.

There are plenty of graphic novels under the cut, along with yet another superhero show (I will get to Crisis on Infinite Earths, I WILL), two Jungle Books, the latest Wonder Woman, the final season of Vikings and Trollhunters, and offerings from both Diana Wynne Jones and Philip Pullman…

Bloom by Kevin Panetta and Savanna Ganucheau

My co-worker handed this to me and I thought: “eh, why not?” It’s a graphic novel, so it’s not exactly a time commitment, and reads pretty much like a hurt/comfort fan-fic. Not that that’s a bad thing, but it’s easy to imagine this as a text that certain demographics will be happy to simply project their favourite ship of choice onto (it’s set in a bakery for heaven’s sake).

It has no ambition other than to recount the burgeoning relationship between Ari Kyrkos and Hector Galeai, both of whom are employed in a bakery belonging to Ari’s parents. The former is eager to leave the bakery and live his dreams of becoming a musician in Baltimore, whereas baking is the latter’s passion, and his recent breakup with a clingy ex-boyfriend drives him to spend more time away from home.

Savanna Ganucheau’s illustrations are depicted in an anime-esque style, with distinctive big eyes and round features, but also in varying shades of turquoise, which give the entire book a very mellow, relaxing vibe. Like I said, it’s essentially a coffee shop AU for your characters of choice!

Snow White: A Graphic Novel by Matt Phelan

Much like Snow White and the Huntsman, this is a take on the old fairy tale that makes me want to kick myself for not coming up with it first. But where SWATH was Snow White as an action movie (which wasn’t that great anyway), this graphic novel casts the familiar beats of the story into 1920s Depression-era New York City with a definite film noir sheen.

It fits perfectly: Snow White has a bob cut and a fur jacket, the Evil Queen is a glamourous Ziegfried girl, and the magic mirror an electrical telegraph machine. The seven dwarfs are a bunch of street kids, the forest is the streets of New York, and naturally the prince is a hardboiled, toothpick chomping detective.

Matt Phelan’s watercolour illustrations are moody and atmospheric, mostly in shades of black and grey, but occasionally in bright colour (as you can imagine, the apple is bright red). It’s fascinating to see how the story unfolds in such a markedly different setting, but it has its own moments of innovation as well – like how the seven street kids keep their names to themselves, or the reimagining of the glass coffin, or how the Evil Queen meets her demise.

Nicely done.

Aster and the Accidental Magic by Thom Pico and Karensac

So someone was a big fan of Luke Pearson’s Hilda graphic novels, because this new series vibes so well with those books that when a young library patron asked for the second (as yet unpublished) Aster volume, I was able to placate her with all the Hilda books.

Like her predecessor, Aster is also angry at the fact her family has been relocated – though in this case, it’s to the country instead of the city. Also like Hilda, she’s quickly distracted by magical phenomena going on around her. This story is largely divided into two distinct tales: the first involving a wish-granting spirit in the forest (complete with all the consequences that come with badly-phrased wishes) and the second dealing with the seasonal cycle, in which the passage from summer to autumn is disrupted (with more terrible consequences).

There are some interesting ideas here, particularly that all the seasons are personified in a distinct form (autumn is a somewhat unsettling fox) and engaged in a very careful balancing act, and some neat little characters – the Chestnut Knights come to mind: diminutive warriors that are literally made of chestnuts and summoned at the autumn spirit’s will.

The illustrations are simple but stylistic, and the colour palette in particular is gorgeous – the word “autumn” is coming up a lot in this write-up, but those shades of orange, brown and yellow are what give this volume its distinctive atmosphere. Looking forward to the next one.

Teen Titans: Beast Boy by Kami Garcia and Gabriel Picolo

I read each graphic novel in this series as they’re released, though I couldn’t tell you why exactly. Chalk it up to my need to just finish everything I start, no matter how long it takes me. That said, I enjoy these takes on the younger members of the DC canon, as freed from any obligations to the comic continuities, they can focus on the characters and the familiar metaphor of superpowers = the struggles of adolescence.

And some of them are truly, genuinely good (Zatanna and the House of Secrets).

Garcia and Picolo collaborated on Teen Titans: Raven, and there’s a third instalment planned that has Beast Boy and Raven working together, so there’s clearly a plan in place. This very much serves the same purpose as Raven: introduces our young hero, establishes his power set, and has him move towards an understanding of who he is and what he stands for.

Beast Boy naturally has his roots in environmentalism and animal rights issues (which makes him rather an odd fit for Raven, who is all about sorcery and demonism, despite how often they’re paired together), so it’s fitting that this story takes on the matter of animal testing. There’s also an explanation of where his powers come from, and a look at his immediate circle of friends and family.

Picolo’s artwork is really what makes the story come together: in his hands we get the quintessential look of Raven and Gar, what with his dark lines and monochromatic shading (with a few splashes of colour: in Raven’s story is was purple, in Gar’s it’s naturally green). Even if the story does nothing for you, the illustrations are so iconic and true to these characters that they’re necessary reads for fans of Ravens and Gar.

April Fools by Richie Tankersley Cusick

I grabbed this on a whim at the second-hand bookshop because sometimes you’re just in the mood for trashy horror. I honestly can’t even remember the names of the characters; suffice to say it’s another take on I Know What You Did Last Summer in which a gang of teenagers are in a car accident, run away from the scene of the crime, and bury the secret of what they did (run another car off the road, which subsequently exploded).

And yet this doesn’t dwell on the group dynamics, but rather the internal conflict of the lead heroine, who ends up getting a job as a tutor/companion to a young man that has recently been badly injured in a car accident. Is it the same one she was involved in? This is a Point Horror book, so of course it is, but until that’s confirmed she has to deal with creepy notes, escaped snakes, and ominous butlers.

I mean... you don’t read these books expecting anything other than trashy nonsense, and to this one’s credit there’s is a relatively decent non-twist at the end. I liked the protagonist better than I thought I would (though not enough to remember her name) and in a few instances the story improves on the whole “teenagers are desperate to cover up a crime” premise than Lois Duncan’s original novel.

Serpentine by Philip Pullman

If this hadn’t been brought to my attention I probably wouldn’t have realized its existence, as it was published just this year with minimal fanfare – possibly because it’s such a slender offering (that said, it comes on the heels of HBO’s adaptation of the original material AND Philip Pullman’s second trilogy set in the same continuity, so what gives?)

The afterword reveals that it was actually written back in 2004 as part of a fundraising auction, and only now has made it to book-form, acting as a nice but non-essential little bridge between the original trilogy and The Secret Commonwealth, Surprisingly (taking into account the events of TSC) it ends on a reasonably upbeat note regarding the changed nature of the bond between Lyra and Pan – though perhaps that’s because Pullman’s next trilogy hadn’t been conceived yet.  

Lyra is a teenager when she joins in a Jordan College-sponsored archaeological dig in Trollesund, and yes – there are some shivers to be had when she returns to the places she first met Lee Scoresby, Iorek Byrnison and Dr Lanselius. In that last case, he’s still in his old abode, and still acting as consul to the witches, when Lyra goes to see him. Her conversation with him makes up the gist of the story, in which she asks some pertinent questions regarding the rising difficulties between herself and Pan.

There are a few tantalizing glimpses of what happened to Pan (and Will’s daemon) while Lyra was in the Land of the Dead, as well as a few more extraneous bits of randomness (apparently Lanselius and Serafina are a thing... whuh?) but Tom Duxbury’s linocuts are as gorgeous as ever, and I can’t imagine any fan of His Dark Materials passing on this insight into Lyra’s life.

Corbenic by Catherine Fisher

A take on Arthurian legends by one of my favourite authors? Hell yeah. Corbenic is obviously a retelling of the Grail mythos in modern days, but with Fisher’s trademark ambiguity and mysticism, which may not go down well with everyone, but – well, at this point that vibe is almost essential for an Arthurian retelling. There have been so many variations over the years that writers are well-served by leaning into the tradition of multiple, contradictory retellings.

Cal is traveling on a train to a new job, thankful to get away from his alcoholic mother, when he gets off at the wrong stop and finds himself directed toward a great castle hotel. There the gathered guests seem eager for him to complete some sort of task, especially the injured hotel manager, though his steadfast refusal leads to him awakening in the next morning in a ruin.

Having rejected the call to adventure, he gets on with his life feeling oddly bereft, haunted by his experience and burdened by the sword he took with him from the castle. The sharpest bit of Cal’s characterization is his desperation to escape the poverty and shame of his childhood, specifically his mother and her illness. In this I was in two minds: personally I don’t think less of anyone who wants to cut a toxic individual out of their life, and passages in which Cal feels (and is made to feel) guilty about leaving her didn’t sit right with her.

Fisher walks a thin tightrope between understanding and sympathy for Cal, and the underlying sense that his quest for monetary security and a stable living environment is somehow a bad thing. It doesn’t take a long-time Arthurian scholar to realize that he’s a modern-day version of Percival, and in both cases the character’s relationship with his mother is its most interesting aspect, and its most unpleasant. The more you know about the Fisher King and Grail legends, the more you’ll get out of this, which definitely takes a turn for the heavily symbolic as the story wraps up.

Fisher is one of my favourite authors largely thanks to the intricacy of her prose. It’s never anything other than clear and concise, and yet she can spin a sentence like few other writers I know, always divulging just what the reader needs to know and no more, and making descriptions of even mundane objects and events completely fascinating. This is a dark, difficult story, but one that will get under your skin.

The Ship That Flew by Hilda Lewis

Another work colleague suggested this to me, as part of a deal that I would read her favourite childhood book if she would read mine. If this didn’t have another author’s name on the cover, I would have sworn Enid Blyton wrote it, as it vibes incredibly well with stuff like The Wishing Chair and The Faraway Tree. A young boy finds a strange junk shop and goes home with a model Viking ship that not only grows to life-size, but has the ability to transport its passengers through time.

What follows is a series of vignettes of the boy and his three siblings going back through time on a variety of adventures, with the expected dose of sexism and racial insensitivity (it’s not that bad, but definitely a product of its time). They visit a young Egyptian Pharaoh, the Norse gods in Asgard, a nobleman’s daughter in the wake of the Norman invasion, and even manage to pull off a few Stable Time Loops. And what do you know, the bittersweet ending is surprisingly effective!

It’s always a worry when someone enthusiastically recommends a book to you, but in this case I can honestly tell my co-worker that I enjoyed it... for what it was.

The House of Many Ways by Diana Wynne Jones

Having read the first two books in the somewhat unofficial Moving Castle trilogy (unofficial because Wynne Jones wrote them as the mood took her, across the course of two decades) I obviously had to finish things up with the third and final book. It was quite a shock to realize it was published in 2008, as it feels like only yesterday that it was released, even though Wynne Jones herself passed away a full decade ago.

Time, where does it go? Knowing that she died only three years later, it was tempting to assume that The House of Many Ways was written in the shadow of either age or illness, and the truth is that it’s hardly Wynne Jones at the height of her powers. But it is this author at her most comfortable: quirky magic, fascinating insights, and a twisty-turny plot that’s difficult to discern. There are meddling relatives, hilarious mishaps, a dash of time-travel, and the art of understatement. How the BBC hasn’t secured the rights to these books and churned out television adaptations is a mystery to me.

Charmaine is roped into housesitting for her Great Uncle William while he’s off getting medical treatment from the elves, only to find that – surprisingly for her, not so much for the reader – that his cottage is magical. Its doorways can lead to any number of places, from other rooms to underground caverns to the distant past. As in the previous two books, some kingdom-threatening shenanigans are going on, and much like Sophie and Abdullah before her, Charmaine ends up solving them almost entirely by accident.

There are also some lovely nuggets of human insight here and there. I enjoyed Charmaine realizing that her father is more of a king in his bakery than the actual weak-willed king is in his own palace, or how she’s forced to take a small dog along with her to a job interview because it will not stand to be left at home by itself. For all her plot flourishes, her real gift was always seeing the charm of everyday life.

That’s also found in her distinct brand of humour, as when Charmaine is being roped into doing the laundry: “Charmaine wiped sweaty hair back from her face with an exhausted hand. “[The copper boiler] must work like the kitchen fire,” she said. “I’ll go and see.” She led the way to the shed, thinking: and if this doesn’t work, we can stop trying. Good.” I honestly put down the book in order to laugh.

Sophie, Howl and Calcifer have reasonably important roles to place, though aren’t major characters in any sense of the word, and Princess Hilda and Jamal from Castle in the Air have roles as well – along with the latter’s dog. That Wynne Jones could keep tabs on all these characters so long after writing the previous books is pretty impressive, though if I’m being honest, it isn’t the creative tour de force that Howl’s Moving Castle was.

But it’s still a fun setoff for the famous moving castle and its inhabitants, if not a poignant one given that it’s close to being her final book.

The Sleeper and the Spindle (2020)

This is the first time I’ve featured an audio-play on this blog, and I wasn’t entirely sure where to place it: before or after the books? It’s technically halfway between a book and film, so here it sits.  

Based on the story by Neil Gaiman, it’s essentially a mash-up between Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, both a prequel and a sequel in ways that become clear as the story proceeds. A young queen who remains nameless (though whose identity can be deduced by context) postpones her wedding day in order to answer the call for assistance from three dwarfs who have noticed something rather strange in the kingdom: a sleeping sickness that’s expanding from one village to another.

The cast was what attracted me to this project: the queen is played by Gwendoline Christie, the narrator is Penelope Wilson, and one of the dwarfs is Ralph Ineson: three consummate professionals whose work on this only demonstrates their skill. Lesser performers would treat this material like a storybook: overaccentuating or going full-pantomime – but Christie and Ineson in particular deliver their lines with complete naturalism and no affectations whatsoever. At times you feel you’re eavesdropping on private conversations.

It’s a great story, and all the sound effects help make it an immersive listening experience – I usually avoid audiobooks because I end up daydreaming halfway through a sentence, but perhaps I should try another one soon…

Batman vs. Robin (2015)

This is possibly the best Batman-centric movie this particular branch of the DCU has produced so far, based as it is on Night of the Owls, a comic book run that deals with the existence of a Lovecraftian cabal that has been controlling Gotham City for centuries. It has everything you’d expect from such an organization: creepy masks, underground headquarters, secret identities, femme fatales and at least one grandmaster.

It’s creepy, atmospheric and feels like a quintessential Batman story: one perfectly tailored to his skill-set, personal history and the general ambiance of Gotham itself. Back in his childhood, a young Bruce Wayne was told the story of the Court of Owls, a secret society said to pull all the strings in Gotham City from behind a veil of anonymity.

As an adult, Bruce is trying to adjust to his newfound role as a father to Damian, and not doing a particularly good job of it. Trust issues abound, as after the two of them cooperate on a rescue mission to save several kidnapped and – as is heavily implied – sexually abused children (yeah, this movie does not fuck around) Bruce blames Damian for the murder of the perpetrator.

Known only to Damian and the audience, the real culprit is a masked and hooded man who identifies himself as Talon, and offers him a new way of fighting crime outside the high expectations of Batman’s strict moral compass. Having been raised in the League of Assassins and chafing against his father’s disapproval, this clearly appeals to Damian.

Alongside this personal drama is the gradual uncovering of the Court of Owls and their masterplan, though it largely serves as an effective backdrop to Damian’s inner turmoil. There’s a genuinely interesting rapport between him, Talon and Batman, and enough suspense to leave you wondering where they’re all going to end up. I get the feeling Damian has a lot of detractors, and perhaps he’s not as well-written in the comics, but so far he’s exactly what you’d expect if you trained a young child for combat since birth.

The aesthetic is great, the action scenes are well done, and it also came with a short teaser (like really short, it clocks in under a minute) involving Nightwing and Robin cleaning up after the events of Justice League: Throne of Atlantis, with a brief glimpse of Talon.

The Jungle Book (2016)

The Jungle Book is one of those stories in which its myriad adaptations across the years have overthrown the original text in the imaginations of most people. Much like Peter Pan, we remember the way movies and retellings have dealt with the material, with expectations and assumptions ground into us that bear no resemblance whatsoever to what Rudyard Kipling actually wrote.

For instance, I’m sure that most people have no idea that The Jungle Book is actually divided into two parts, published a year apart (the second one is imaginatively called The Second Jungle Book). It’s also more of an anthology rather than an overarching story, with some chapters recounting the adventures of Mowgli, but just as many having nothing whatsoever to do with him (or indeed, the jungle itself: The White Seal is about a fur seal living in the Bering Sea).

Other surprises might include the fact that Kaa is actually one of the good guys, acting as a wise and mysterious mentor to Mowgli, or that (rather than being the climax of his story) Mowgli introduces himself to the man-village three chapters in, or that the best book character is one that seldom appears in any films: Tabaqui the jackal trickster.

Disney’s animated Jungle Book is best known for Phil Harris’s Baloo, a character so beloved and iconic that they wholesale recycled him as Little John in Robin Hood, and gave him an alt-world spinoff in TaleSpin in which he’s a cargo delivery pilot. And in writing this review I’ve just discovered that a show called Jungle Cubs existed, in which all the established Jungle Book characters are in their youth. Seriously, did anyone else know this show existed??

I watched the animated version as a child, but I really grew up with the 1994 version with Jason Scott Lee and Lena Heady, a film that bears almost no resemblance whatsoever to Kipling’s original work.

But what about this version of The Jungle Book? It’s more of a remake of the Disney animated film than an adaptation of Kipling’s book, though I was impressed by the fact that they did incorporate some elements from the original text, namely things like the Water Truce and the mysticism of the elephants.

Whereas the animated version is largely a series of vignettes in which Bagheera repeatedly insists Mowgli must leave the jungle and the rancid little shit keeps refusing, this one is more streamlined and thematically coherent. Characters like the elephants and the wolves don’t just drop out of the story, but become an integral part of Mowgli’s motivation and the story’s resolution. Mowgli himself is adorably played by Neel Sethi, and they cleverly set him apart from the rest of the animals by his “tricks” – using natural resources to create tools and solve problems.  

Mercifully the vultures have been dropped, and despite the rather inexplicable decision to a. gender-flip Kaa, and b. have Scarlet Johannsen do the voice, they do bulk up the role of Raksha (voiced by Lupita Nyong'o) as Mowgli’s wolf mother. But speaking of female characters, they drop the final segment of the animated movie in which Mowgli sees a pretty girl and follows her back to the village... which I have mixed feelings on. I mean, the original scene is pretty ridiculous, but its absence means that the ending falls a little flat. Mowgli just... stays in the jungle. Huh.

It also wasn’t a great idea to incorporate the songs (though I can understand why they might think The Bear Necessities was essential) and despite how enjoyable it is, its success meant we’ve been bludgeoned with live-action Disney remakes ever since. But of all those live-action remakes, this one is definitely the most worthy.

Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle (2018)

Before looking it up, I was under the impression that these movies came out in the same year, though even with that not being the case, it’s fascinating to contrast and compare two adaptations of the same source material. But whereas the Disney version was essentially a live-action remake (with a few tweaks) of their animated classic, Warner Brothers goes for a retelling that adheres much closer to Rudyard Kipling’s book. This means Baloo is more of a teacher than comic relief, Kaa isn’t a villain, the wolves are far more prevalent characters, and – wonder of wonders – Tabaqui is an actual character! (Though now a hyena rather than a jackal).

Of course, Kipling’s book was essentially a series of vignettes, which is very difficult to streamline into a film that follows the three-act structure, and towards the end of this film, things start to go off the rails with the introduction of a white Big Game Hunter and the destruction he brings to the village and jungle.

The CGI on the animals simply doesn’t compare to the naturalism that Disney was able to achieve (with what was undoubtedly a much bigger budget) and it’s much darker than the Disney take, with plenty of blood and violence (when Mowgli is brought to the wolves as an infant, he’s covered in his mother’s blood). This take on the Monkey City is excellent, and though both child actors were very good, but I think Rohan Chand just has the edge over Neel Sethi – though to be fair, he’s given more material to show off his range.

It keeps the married couple quality of Baloo and Bagheera (which is essential at this stage) and Shere Khan is legitimately terrifying – well, all the animals are when they start fighting. Most interestingly, they also gender flip Kaa into a female, though I have to assume it’s a coincidence given how closely these films were made to each other.

There’s also a fascinating conceit that has Akela point out to Bagheera that his decision to bring Mowgli into the pack wasn’t just out of kindness, but because mankind is encroaching ever-further on the jungle, and Mowgli could make a useful mediator between the two worlds. That’s unique to this film, and a good creative decision... only it doesn’t go anywhere, which is a shame.

Unlike the Disney version, Mowgli does end up going to the man-village, and there’s a lovely sequence in which he starts to realize that humanity has its perks: there are baths and inventions and festivals... and a man called Lockwood, the aforementioned white hunter that’s been brought into the jungle to hunt the tiger. I wasn’t sure where they were going with this, but was initially impressed that they were avoiding making him Clayton from Tarzan. Instead, he’s gentle with Mowgli, and takes him under his wing as he adjusts to the village.

And then, about twenty minutes from the end, the film makes a horrific mistake. Mowgli goes into Lockwood’s cabin and discovers the severed head of Bhoot, the young albino wolf-cub that was his best friend within the pack and who he parted with on bad terms after screaming that he “came out wrong”. Mowgli starts to cry at the sight of his dead friend, knowing he’ll never be able to make things right with him.

I just… what the fuck were they thinking? Here I was thinking that Bhoot would be the one thing that accompanied Mowgli from the jungle to the village, the two being two outcasts that didn’t belong anywhere but with each other, and instead we’re treated to the puppy’s decapitated head on a pike. He’s even got the same happy smile on his dead face. Reader, I almost puked.

Just like that, it went from one of the best adaptations of The Jungle Book to something I never want to see again. And it’s a shame, as you can tell this was a labour of love on director Andy Serkis’s part, with plenty of nods to the book (Bagheera’s background for example) but ultimately too dark and unpleasant to be enjoyable.

The Death of Stalin (2017)

If you thought that a comedy couldn’t be written on the subject of Soviet Russia and the ruthless scramble for power in the wake of Stalin’s death, you’d be... right? This has got to be the blackest of black comedies, in which wholesale slaughter and rape of underage girls and all other types of depravity exists alongside the hideous absurdity of fascist regimes, in which guards are too afraid of consequences to check on odd noises, officials have to out-cry each other in the wake of death they’re secretly celebrating, and a doctor can’t be called because they’ve all been executed.

Armando Iannucci is quite possibly the only writer on earth who could pull this off, and the blend of comedy and horror is truly something to behold. I don’t think I’ve ever been this confused by my reaction to a film before, and yet you can’t deny it’s remarkably true to life. We’ve spent the last four years watching the buffoonish antics of a narcissistic man-child and his deranged followers, whose ineptitude has alienated his allies, deliberately torn families apart, killed four hundred thousand Americans and crashed the economy, but whose reign nonetheless culminated in an attempted coup.

As someone on Twitter said: what on earth was their plan? To execute elected officials, reinstate their leader, and then go back to their lives as though they hadn’t just overthrown their own democracy? It was as horrific as it was absurd, and though it didn’t rake up the same death toll as Soviet Russia, it’s impossible to watch this film and not think of America’s last four years.

It is the inversion of Edmund Burke’s famous quote, revealing that systems of abuse and cruelty exist because ordinary, unremarkable men are committed – either through the lust for power, the denial of reality, or their own lack of spine – to simply standing by and letting chaos happen. It’s a chilling film, but one that holds a cautionary tale for us all.

Wonder Woman 1984 (2020)

Going to see this on the big screen was my Christmas present to mum (though not that big a screen – seeing it on Imax would have cost me seventy-six dollars for two tickets) which was partly born out of my appreciation of actually being able to see it at a theatre. That said, I’m sure most people ended up being grateful that all it took was an HBO subscription, as it’s definitely a step down from its predecessor.  

The oddest thing about this film is that the undeniable best parts are the very beginning and the very end, with sequences that don’t involve Gal Gadot at all. The opening depicts the Amazonian Olympics, with various athletes and a teenage Diana racing through a magnificent obstacle course that involves swimming, horse-riding, archery and a range of other challenges that is truly exhilarating to behold. The coda is a Bait and Switch in which a woman you assume is Diana saves a mother and child from a falling pole, only for her to turn around to reveal it’s actually Lynda Carter (playing an actual character, an Amazon called Asteria).

The rest of it is a pretty standard Be Careful What You Wish For plot, in which Diana wishes on a magical rock Steve Trevor to be returned to her, while the likes of Maxwell Lord and Barbara Minerva make their own wishes with the inevitable dire consequences: the former sows more and more chaos across the world in his acquisition of power, and the latter... turns into a cheetah. Basically, there’s one too many characters at work here. Maxwell, Barbara and Steve – the movie could have featured TWO of these characters. TWO. Three just bloats the whole thing, and Barbara in particular is underserved: the friendship between her and Diana is barely established before they become foes, and her final transformation really should have been held off until a third movie.

And there are some truly baffling creative decisions at work here, though I’m sure you’re already well into the bizarre consent issues when it comes to Steve taking over the body of another man, and Diana having sex with him while he’s in that body. I mean... why? Why not just have Steve magically return; no possession required? The implications to this are staggering, and so easily avoided. Then there’s the treatment of Middle Eastern characters, who are obsessed with weapons and heathens and walls – also baffling in the wake of the sensitive portrayal of Sameer in the first movie. What the fuck happened??

I think some of the backlash regarding the rest of the story is a little over-the-top: I liked that there was no true villain and that Diana faced a personal test of integrity and was able to save the day through non-violent means, but I suspect most of the negative reaction has to do with the sheer amount of hype that preceded it. What a shame, as we were all really looking forward to this one.

But whatever the future holds, I sorely hope it involves Diana returning to Themyscira. A single flashback of the Amazon nation, no matter how good it is, just isn’t enough. Go home Diana, and take Lynda Carter with you.

Trollhunters: Season 3 (2018)

There’s a desperate sadness to season three of Trollhunters: about three episodes in Jim Lake’s voice unmistakably changes, and you know it’s because of Anton Yelchin’s tragic death. Emile Hirsch steps in to take over the role, a task I wouldn’t envy anyone, though apparently the two of them were friends, and the show itself does all it can to accommodate the work Yelchin had already contributed (there are a couple of flashbacks featuring his voice, and the final scene is set to an early monologue from season one).

Watching this season concurrently with the first season of 3Below was a strange experience: clearly they’re meant to be watched in tandem, but one show is wrapping up while the other is laying down its plots and arcs, which makes for a definite contrast in tone and content. The crossover episodes are pretty fun, and I was surprised just how much the protagonists of the spin-off figured into the plot of the mothershow (not overwhelmingly, but their own finale ties into the circumstances of this one).

Anyway, season three properly introduces Morgana as the show’s Big Bad, someone even Gunmar and Angor Rot are in thrall to, and her plan to conquer the world with an Eternal Night. As the school year wraps up, Jim is even more stressed out by his dual responsibilities as student and trollhunter, though at least Toby and Claire are fully on board with the mission, each with weapons and skill-sets of their own (it’s very sweet when they start referring to each other as the trollhunters, plural).

As the episodes wrap up, we get one of those rewarding finales in which almost every supporting character gets something important and interesting to do, in which all the plot threads are spread out across several missions, each with their own obstacles and stakes, and which finally converge for the final victory. Nicely done, show.

But the season’s – and perhaps the show’s – standout scene is the one in which Jim is told that he must make a physical transformation in order to stand a chance at defeating his enemies: to lose his human body forever and become a troll. It’s treated as the big deal is surely is: that a teenage boy is being asked to give up his chance at a normal future, as part of the ordinary world, and commit himself forever to his role as a trollhunter.

And as he grapples with the decision, we get a beautifully edited montage of his experiences up until that point: all the people he loves, the victories he’s won, what’s at stake if he doesn’t go through with this – and it’s not just his immediate friends and family that’s featured, but a circle of trolls and humans that he cares about in one way or another, including long-term frenemy Strickler and the troublemaking changeling that’s been impersonating Claire’s brother.  

It’s such a poignant look at what makes a hero: not violence or cunning or the biggest weapons, but simply making the hard calls and the necessary sacrifices.

Jim’s mother Barbara and anti-villain Nomura are still underserved, though Claire gets some good focus, and I continue to be surprised at the amount of voice talent they’ve got on tap: Angelica Huston, Mark Hamill, Clancy Brown, Lena Headey, Colin O'Donoghue... even Tom Hiddleston turned up for a brief cameo!

Strickler’s redemption arc is more obligatory than meaningful (at one point Barbara points out: “you tried to kill my son”, which seems like a pretty massive dealbreaker when it comes to taking back your ex-boyfriend) and there’s a running theme in which Jim is being told he has to do things on his own that doesn’t get resolved in a satisfying way, but you can tell that each element of the story was plotted out in advance, with more to come in Wizards of Arcadia...

3Below: Season 1 (2018)

The third season of Trollhunters begins with a view of the township and what looks like a meteorite falling from the sky, just one of several little or big crossovers that are strewn across both it and the first season of 3Below. The opening sequence is incredible by the way, and pretty much sums up the story in a nutshell: three aliens are forced to flee their home and find refuge on Earth, disguising themselves as humans on the way.

The reason for their refugee status is that their home planet has been taken over by an evil dictator (is there any other kind?) called General Val Morando. The royal siblings are called Aja and Krel, and are accompanied in exile by their bodyguard Varvatos Vex and their doglike pet Luug. In the attack that overthrew the ruling family of Akiridion-5, their parents are left in a near-dead state, and can only be saved through a lengthy process of regeneration in the siblings’ crashed ship.

The contrivances that see Aja and Krel enrolled in Arcadia High School certainly require a lot of suspension of disbelief (I don’t know why this, and not the whole aliens from another planet is the thing that sticks in my craw) but the ball gets rolling when Morando starts sending bounty hunters to track down and exterminate the royal children.

Aside from the great alien designs and the fluorescent colours schemes, there’s not a huge amount here that’s entirely unique or innovative (much like Trollhunters, it’s built comfortably on well-established tropes). But it’s still engaging and gorgeous to look at, and some of the alien designs are fantastic.

I’ll give the show the benefit of the doubt and assume that the slightly-off look of the aliens in their human forms was deliberate (Krel’s face is too narrow, and Aja’s eyes too far apart), though I’m afraid I was a little more skeptical of the “disguises” that they take on, which are deliberately chosen because (apparently) a senior citizen, a Latino and a girl are overlooked in society. Okay, the senior citizen I could buy, but a Latino and a cute girl? Really?

The supporting cast extensively features Steve and Eli (jock and nerd respectively), who get much larger roles here than in Trollhunters – and in a great subplot that carries across both shows, they’ve noticed that there are plenty of weird things happening in Arcadia, and form their own monster-hunting investigative club, only to realize that they’re becoming friends. Aww.

The voice cast is just as impressive as Trollhunters (Tatiana Maslany, Diego Luna, Nick Offerman, Glenn Close, Hayley Atwell, Nick Frost) and the colour palette just as sublime, though different. In place of the mother show’s bright gemlike shades are luminescent shades of blue, white and purple.

Like I said, it’s strange to watch this show kick itself into gear while the mother-show starts to wrap up, but also fascinating to see an equally rich and complex story play out alongside all the world-ending dramas of the troll kingdom.

Black Lightning: Season 1 (2018)

I will catch up on these shows, so help me. Like Supergirl, this show is winding up after its next season, which is mildly suspect given that Arrow ran for eight seasons and The Flash is still going strong. The eternal problem with shows that feature women or people of colour as their leads is that by the time studios get around to mandating them, all the original stories have been told, and they garner less excitement as a result. There’s not a lot in the first season of Black Lightning that isn’t in a million other stories: shady government conspiracies, kidnappings of children with meta-abilities, friends turned foe due to misunderstandings, gang warfare… we’ve seen all this before.

The big difference here is that the lead character – and his family, and the villains, and essentially every other major, supporting or minor character bar one – is Black. And I had to smile when someone on Previously TV compared the Pierce family to the Wests over on The Flash, saying that Iris and Joe are Black, but they’re not Black. The characters of Black Lightning are living in a profoundly different context and dealing with problems that are specifically race-related. Everything from their syntax to their clothing and hairstyles and choices in music is about a million miles away from Central City.

That’s the show’s strength, and the family dynamics between Jefferson Piece, ex-wife Lynn, and daughters Anissa and Jennifer is the show’s trump-card. There’s real warmth and chemistry between every combination, and the reassertion of them as a family unit is the thematic thoroughfare of the season.

Another interesting difference is that Jefferson isn’t a teenager that’s just discovered his abilities (in his case, generating and shooting lightning). Rather, he’s a grown man in his late forties who retired from the superhero persona when he realized the toll it was having on his family. It apparently came to late to save his marriage, but his daughters have grown up without realizing who their father really is.

Naturally they find out over the course of the first season, when their own meta-powers start to materialize, just in time for a father/daughter team-up to investigate gang warfare and government coverups in regards to a new drug filling the streets of Freeland.

It’s deeply unfortunate that the crux of the bad guy’s plans involves the distribution of vaccines, which is absolutely the last storyline the world should be absorbing at the moment (though it’s clearly inspired by the bad history Black Americans have with health services) and it runs into the same problem that Luke Cage did when it kills off their most interesting bad guy. Twice.

Lynn is in the unfortunate position of the main superhero’s love interest (technically ex-wife, though there are clearly some residue feelings left between them) who has a completely and utterly and 100% reasonable desire to NOT see the father of her children go out every night playing vigilante. I really don’t have the words to despise how much I hate this particular character trope, as she – like Laurel and Iris and any number of other female characters before her – is treated like a nag and a scold by the fandom, even though (like I said) not wanting to see one’s husband or children DIE doesn’t come within a million miles of being an unreasonable request.

And the show deals with the problem in the same way they always do – realizing that there’s no easy answer, and that any sane woman would lay down an ultimatum and stick with it – simply have Lynn come around to the situation and accept that her family might one day end up dead. And let’s be honest, Jefferson is doing more good as the principal to a low decimal high school than he is as a vigilante. But then, there’d be no story, would there.  

Doctor Who: The Revolution of the Daleks (2021)

In my head, Jodie Whittaker’s Doctor, Brie Larson’s Captain Marvel, and Rey and Michael Burnham from Star Wars and Trek make up a quartet of women whose mere existence as the protagonist in an established sci-fi series is enough to enrage a particular segment of fandom. I also think that Michael is the only one of these four female characters that hasn’t been failed, in one way or the other, by their respective writers.

Like I said in the entry for Black Lightening, women and people of colour have to wait so long to finally get a chance at the spotlight, and often by the time it happens, much of the novelty and innovation of the project has waned – and with that comes a certain level of dispassion in both the writing and the audience reactions. I love Jodi Whittaker as the Doctor: she’s kind and witty and quirky and intelligent… but is there anything in this story we haven’t seen a million times before?

The Daleks are taking over the world. Again. There’s an American businessman doing shady dealings. Again. There’s a space prison, and some international travel, and plenty of explosions. Again. The Doctor briefly alludes to the events of the last finale, in which she learned that she didn’t original from the race of Time Lords, but since it’s only briefly touched upon, there’s a good chance that the entire story is going to be jettisoned due to the backlash from whiny fans. Again.

Chris Chibnall did one excellent season of Broadchurch, but the rest of his repertoire is hardly inspiring: Torchwood, Camelot, the other two seasons of Broadchurch… I’m not entirely sure why he was handed Doctor Who with that track record, and I’m deeply annoyed that our first female incarnation of the Doctor is stuck with it.

Graham and Ryan decide to leave the Tardis, and I don’t think that two modern Companions have ever made less of an impact than these two, and though Yasmin is sticking around there’s been an announcement that John Bishop is joining the team next season. Why? Three companions were already a crowd, and this was a great opportunity to flesh out Yasmin and her relationship with the Doctor a bit more (that’s what’s really missing here: a decent rapport between Doctor and Companion).

As with 2016’s Ghostbusters and Ocean’s Eight, I appreciate seeing women in roles and franchises and IPs that they aren’t usually allowed to inhabit. Both those movies are fine. But I’m tired of the material being subpar. I’m tired of whiny fandoms being able to dictate the quality of any given work. We deserve more stories like Mad Max: Fury Road. That’s how you gender flip an existing IP.

Vikings: Season 6 (2019 – 2021)

The first half of this season actually started at the very end of 2019, and was the first exception to my New Years Resolution of 2020: only woman-based projects. But it was the final season of Vikings! I had to see it through, right? Well, I paid for my decision considering the first episode has Ivar bond with a Russian king over the death of his wife, both having murdered their respective spouses and feeling really sad about it. Gawd, men just love this shit, don’t they.

The final season isn’t mind-blowing, but given that the easiest thing to compare it to is Game of Thrones, it had a very low bar to cross in regards to a satisfying finale. Season six covers a lot of ground: the death of Lagertha, the ultimate fates of Ragnar’s remaining sons, the kingship of Kattegat, and the final invasion of Essex. For the most part, it delivers, and if there’s anything that weighs it down it’s the perfunctory nature of the wrap-ups rather than any creatively bad choices that lower the quality.

I thought Lagertha’s death was handled beautifully: letting her defend a village of women and receiving a hero’s funeral as a response – in light of those two points, it didn’t really matter that Hvitserk was the one to land the killing blow in a drug-addled stupor. More disappointing was the show’s treatment of Gunnhild, a mighty shieldmaiden and queen who ends up committing suicide so she can go to Valhalla and be with her cheating husband. Come on, this character deserved so much better than that.

And why on earth would you have her make promise to kill Harald for raping Ingrid, then deliberately show her hiding a dagger in her clothing, and then not have her follow through with it? I was pleased that a woman eventually ascends the throne of Kattegat, and I think Ingrid proved herself pretty effective in the role when she took care of Red Erik and convinced the jarls to help fund a defensive wall, but the truth is we barely know this character, and it’s difficult to muster up more than a “huh, okay” at the sight of her being accepted as queen (controversial opinion: it was still more satisfying than Queen Sansa though).

I mostly enjoyed Ubbe and Torvi’s journey to North America, despite all the misery and hardship they have to suffer along the way, and it was genuinely heart-warming to watch as their first contact with the First Nation people is communicative and productive instead of violent and suspicious: they exchange gifts, they learn each other’s language, and they eventually swap clothing and hairstyles. Of course, there’s one malcontent who stirs up trouble just to demonstrate that nothing is ever easy, but for the most part this was a surprisingly upbeat conclusion for Ragnar’s best son and fan-favourite Torvi – especially with the reintroduction of Floki, who holds the honour of the only character to feature in the show’s first and last episode.

The Ivar and Hvitserk storylines are a bit more frustrating: they spend way too much time in Rus, which short-changes their more interesting adventures in Essex, and I never really cared enough about their relationship to feel particularly moved when they finally acknowledge their brotherly love for each other. I mean, Hvitserk spent a long chunk of time in a drug-enhanced psychosis after Ivar brutally murdered his girlfriend, but... bygones be bygones, I guess?

But the return to Alfred and the Essex court was rewarding, and I may have let out a cheer when both Ivar and Alfred bring out their chess pieces from that long-ago game they played against each other. Michael Hirst clearly always planned to have the two of them face each other in battle, and though Alfred doesn’t get a huge amount of screen-time, he’s clearly the product of Athelstan, Ragnar, Judith and Ecbert, speaking with surety, compassion and self-confidence. It’s a shame they didn’t make more of the fact that this was Ragnar’s youngest son versus Athelstan’s only son, but I don’t really have any complaints here.

The show in its entirety has never been particularly kind to women or children. As wonderful as Lagertha was, I never really forgave her for shooting Aslaug in the back, and the likes of Judith, Ingrid, Aslaug, Gisla, Freydis, Yidu and Elsewith were never given enough time or space to make a strong impression. This was partly to do with the fandom, which naturally hated any woman who wasn’t a shieldmaiden or who got in the way of their shipping preferences, and partly because Hirst just had no idea what to do with them. I appreciate all those wonderful scenes of shieldmaidens kicking ass, as well as the fact they were required to do far less nude work than the women over on Game of Thrones, but there was still much left to be desired.

Star Trek Discovery: Season 3 (2020 – 2021)

The writers of Star Trek Discovery set themselves up with a great premise with their third season: flinging themselves forward in time to the furthest chronological point in the Star Trek timeline: after Enterprise, after Voyager, after everything.

Michael arrives first, having led the way in her Red Angel spacesuit, only to find that one of those pesky time anomalies has left Discovery and its crew behind. They’ll get there eventually, but there’s not telling when: days, weeks... years. So she does the only thing she can do, and gets on with her life. Teaming up with a courier named Book, who transports endangered animals to places of safety, she tries to investigate a mysterious occurrence called The Burn, in which all dilithium (used to power vessels of space travel) went inert and subsequently resulted in the detonation of all active warp engines.

The Federation as she knows it – the piece of home she was sure they would find on the other side – is all but gone, and what’s left behind is essentially the Wild West. Planets and species are all out for themselves, and so by the time Discovery does turn up there’s a galaxy-changing mystery to solve.

Like I said earlier, among the quartet of the Thirteen Doctor, Rey, Carol Danvers and Michael Burnham, it’s Michael that’s been treated the best by her respective writers (fandom on the other hand...) She’s written consistently as curious, compassionate, and perhaps a bit too intelligent for her own good, but always moving in the direction of the greater good, no matter what the personal cost (and my God, is there a personal cost).

Granted, after an entire season of watching her chafe against the regulations of the Federation and get into serious trouble with her friends and crewmates, it was a little jarring to see her take the captain’s seat. What was this season if not to establish that she’s more of a wild card than she would like to admit, and works better as a free agent? Especially when Tilly gets to fulfil her longstanding dream of acting as captain, and is really good at it.

It just feels like the writers assume any Star Trek protagonist arc must move in the direction of leadership and captaincy, even though that’s clearly not the right fit for Michael.

But the seasonal arc is pretty good, with the remnants of the Federation valiantly trying to achieve peace and order without compromising themselves, and several reasonably complex villains pursuing their own justifiable goals. All the supporting cast get good material and at least one scene to shine, and newcomer Adira Tal who – thanks to a Trill symbiote – goes by “they” and “them” pronouns. (Thankfully the whole subplot is treated with much more grace than the Bury Your Gays screw-up in season one).

Doug Jones, acting from beneath several pounds of prosthetics, is as excellent as ever, and I loved seeing Oded Fehr as a Federation Admiral (he should have been a superstar after The Mummy in my opinion). Michelle Yeoh’s Phillipa Georgiou departs for her own spin-off, as does Rachael Ancheril’s Nhan, who I think just wanted to move on, and so gets much less fanfare.

It’s a solid season, and even though it never reaches true greatness, I’m always done to watch a well-acted and beautifully produced sci-fi series. Bring on season four...

Disenchantment: Season 3 (2021)

It’s a bit of a miracle that Disenchantment actually made it to season three, as Netflix is notoriously fond of axing shows after their second season if they’re not runaway successes (I still mourn for Sense8). But Disenchantment certainly doesn’t play like it’s slowing down, with the writers in no hurry to wrap up the increasing number of story threads and subplots, and another cliff-hanger to end the season. I hope you guys know what you’re doing...

The show is still struggling a little with its balance of standalone episodes and overarching plot (and... yaknow, the fact it’s not really that funny) with Bean in the clutches of her sinister mother Dagmar, clearly being groomed and gaslit for some unknowable purpose. Realizing her designs, Bean makes a run for it, embarking on an adventure that involves a return to Steampunk Land, a love affair with a mermaid, and her ascension to the throne of Dreamland.

The plots themselves are getting evermore impenetrable – there’s a character who turns up at the end of the season with no small degree off fanfare... and I had absolutely no idea who he was, even though it’s clear he’s featured in the show before. The High Druidess disappears about halfway through the season, and whatever Dagmar and the three-eyed guy have planned still remains a secret...

The reason I’m still watching is 100% Bean: she’s such a great character, and I’d follow her wherever she chose to wander. Elfo is still annoying and Luci is still bizarrely underused, but Bean’s clumsy attempts to do the right thing, her inability to hang on to her boots, her understated loyalty and boundless sarcasm – I just love her.