Reading/Watching Log #15

If there's a common theme in this month's reading/watching material, it would be stories that break their own narrative rules in order to secure a happy ending, and/or exchange their initially creepy premises in favour of saccharine conclusions. In broader terms, perhaps the theme is that of endings, for two of the books below the cut don't even include their final chapters – one is accessible on-line, the other was released after the author's death, and neither one is particularly satisfying.

One thing is for certain: you must never underestimate the importance of sticking the landing – it's the difference between enthusiastic recommendations and repeated viewings, or making the audience feel as though they wasted their time with a story that didn't pay off.

Beneath the cut: masks, time travel, psychological thrillers, period ladies who create scandal, temporal paradoxes, and at least three stories involving Rapunzel. It's amazing how much overlap exists between all these things.

Greatmask by Ashley Capes

This was the third book in a trilogy that had been sent to me by an Australian author, one which managed the rare feat of wrapping up most of its loose ends while leaving room for more potential stories in the universe it created.

The defining feature of The Bone Mask Trilogy is the existence of several bone masks (duh) that allow the wearers to communicate with god-like entities that can bestow power and knowledge as they see fit – at a price, of course. In possession of several of these masks, and knowing that their enemies covet them as well, the main characters grapple with the balancing act of using them for their own ends whilst knowing that prolonged use will have dire consequences.

The extensive cast having been strewn across a wide geography in the previous books, the story is mostly concerned with reuniting them before turning their assorted talents to the city of Anaskar. It was overthrown in the preceding instalment and the good king taken hostage: now our band of heroes must find a way to liberate the city with limited resources and some untrustworthy allies.

It's a solid fantasy trilogy: along with all the staples of the genre it has some nice development for each character, and an interesting conceit of sentient masks fusing with those who wear them.

A Tangled Web by L.M. Montgomery

Like most girls, I grew up reading Anne of Green Gables, though it always surprises me just how large L.M. Montgomery's body of work is. Once you've exhausted all the stories about the red-head from Prince Edward Island, there's still plenty of material left over, all written in Montgomery's distinctive style (one that always hovers on the brink of purple prose).

A Tangled Web is hardly her most famous novel, and in many ways it reads like a collection of half-written stories accumulated over the years before Montgomery finally decided to weave them into a single volume. It concerns two families: the Penhallows and the Darks, constantly marrying and/or feuding with one another, but who are brought together on hearing that the family matriarch is ready to share the contents of her will – including who will be entrusted with the priceless heirloom known as the Old Dark Jug.

Having gathered all her characters into a single location, Montgomery painstakingly describes each of them, and then follows their stories over the next year – the end of which heralds the announcement of who inherits the jug. It's a lot of characters to keep track of, some of whom are more interesting than others, but it's vintage Montgomery: her strange balance of soaring romantic sentimentality and cold hard reality.

It's dated in a lot of respects: the estrangement between Hugh and Joscelyn is pretty hard to swallow, and it's difficult to get too invested in the romance between Gay and Roger considering she's a teenager and he's in his mid-thirties. Also, it ends on a fairly appalling racist "joke," which was clearly a lot more acceptable in the 1930s than it is today, though (given its context) is difficult to extract without leaving the final paragraph incoherent.  Consider yourself warned.

Red Riding Hood by Sarah Blakley-Cartwright & David Leslie Johnson

I know all about the relatively recent Red Riding Hood film (and I'll get around to watching it one of these days) but I was under the false impression that this was the book upon which the movie was based. Turns out it's the other way around: this is the novelization of the film by Sarah Blakley-Cartwright, based on the script by David Leslie Johnson (which was, believe it or not, derived from an idea by Leonardo DiCaprio).

The cover art is pretty misleading in that respect (it's got a sticker claiming that it's "now a major motion picture", suggesting it predates the film) but whatever – bottom line is that it's a retelling of the Red Riding Hood story ... if the familiar fairy tale was combined with all the staple elements of Twilight. Love triangle, check. Supernaturally powerful (and therefore tragically misunderstood) boyfriend, check. Overwrought metaphors of a teenage girl's sexual awakening, check. Billy Burke, check.

Whatever the film may or may not be, it doesn't translate particularly well into book form. The prose is pretty weak and the plot meanders about without any sort of narrative thrust. The gist of it is that the village of Daggerhorn is threatened by a terrible wolf, one that is satiated every month with an animal offering. But when it kills a girl, paranoia sets in when a werewolf hunter arrives and declares that the creature lives among them.

Perhaps the strangest thing about the story is that it has no ending. Seriously. The final chapter is available on-line, though I can't figure out why they didn’t just include it in the book itself – perhaps to keep the identity of the werewolf a secret from those who didn't see the movie? Who knows, but it's an unwelcome precedent for those that like their books to be, you know, complete.

Picnic at Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsay

This is the second time I've read this in as many years (it was actually on my very first reading/watching log) and was just as compelling the second time around – if not more so, as I could pay more attention to the details that I knew were important.

It's best described as a novella given its length, but the story itself is so rich and mysterious that it feels much longer. For those not in the know, it involves the students of an expensive girl's school leaving for a picnic at the famous Hanging Rock – only for three of their number and a governess to go missing. The clues left behind don't seem to add up to anything, and the only witness can contribute nothing of any value.

But though the disappearance sits at the centre of the plot, it's treated as oddly unimportant by the narrative. We never get a solution for where the girls went; the only thing that matters is that they disappeared. The real focus is on the psychological toll that follows for everyone left behind: the schoolmistress, the teachers, the students, the staff, and other individuals who were at the Rock on that fateful day.

It's an intrinsically feminine book in ways that are both obvious and hard to explain: all the most important characters are women, but there are deep undercurrents that hint at female sexuality, intuition and otherness. There's so much symbolism at work: all the girls shed their gloves after reaching the edge of the township; later the missing girls take off their shoes and stockings while exploring the Rock. When one of them is found a week after her initial disappearance, it's noted (with some emphasis) that her corset is missing. It must all mean something, but it's impossible to say what exactly.

Towards the final chapters, the disappearance becomes increasingly less important than the fallout, so much so that Sara's fate almost feels at odds with the rest of the book. Her tragedy reads like a different conflict entirely, though it's directly caused by the loss of her friend Miranda on the Rock. Yet the conclusions that can be drawn about what happened to Sara are much clearer: like Susanna Clark's Arabella chapter in Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, Lindsay gives enough information for us to deduce what happened (and what part Mrs Appleyard had to play in it) much like we can for Arabella Strange's death.

Yet the lost girls and their governess remain a mystery – unless you get hold of...

The Secret of Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsay

It turns out that the author did write a final chapter that revealed the mystery behind the girls' disappearance, though she was convinced by her editor to leave it out of the final product. But she kept the missing chapter and left instructions that it should be published after her death – which it was, along with an introduction and an essay (so that the finished work is a little bit longer than a booklet).

Having read the chapter, I think the editor made the right call in removing it from the original publication. We don't need to know how or why the girls disappeared, and the solution offered is bizarre bordering on incomprehensible. A couple of things are clarified, like how Ima returned and why her hands were scratched, but for the most part things are even more confusing than in the original manuscript. It's best to give this a miss and leave the disappearance as an inexplicable unknown.

Tom's Midnight Garden by Phillipa Pearce

I don't say this lightly, but Tom's Midnight Garden is as close to perfect as a book can get. Every word is in its rightful place, the gradual siphoning of clues and information happens at precisely the right pace, and the emotional dénouement is a slam-dunk. Pearce follows all the rules of time-travel, but takes the opportunity to really explore the subject, not only in capturing the wonder of what it would be like to step into a garden of the late 19th century, but the inevitable themes of temporal transition, growing up, and the inexorable passage of time.

Tom Long is furious at being sent to his aunt and uncle's boring flat while his brother recuperates from the measles. He was looking forward to a holiday of adventure, with plans to build a treehouse in his back garden. But on arriving at the otherwise humdrum block of flats, Tom is intrigued by the grandfather clock in the grand hall. It doesn't keep good time, but after hearing it chime thirteen at what should be midnight, he goes downstairs to investigate – and ends up stepping into a vast garden out the back of the house.

This is time travel done correctly: complex and mind-boggling, but consistent and adhering to the rules of Stable Time Loops (unlike Moffat's Doctor Who and The Flash, which make less sense the longer they go on). I've read Tom's Midnight Garden three times now – years apart – and it yields more insight and detail each time.

Holy Fools by Joanne Harris

This is a little different from Joanne Harris's usual fare (in which the plots are frothy and the stakes never particularly high) not only by being set in 17th century France but in dealing with some pretty dark material. Juliette was a travelling actress and acrobat until she was betrayed by her lover, finding refuge in a remote nunnery where she reinvents herself as Soeur Auguste.

Though she misses her freedom, she has her young daughter to care for and the rest of the nuns for companionship. But when the old Abbess dies, her replacement is a very young and unpleasant eleven-year-old child. Worse, her companion is the very man who abandoned Juliette to torture and death, disguised as a priest and clearly with some sort of plot in place to destroy the abbey.

Juliette has no idea what he's up to or what his motivations are, but she's caught in the middle of his machinations once her daughter is stolen away in the night. In order to see her again, Juliette has to capitulate to LeMerle's demands in preparing for ... whatever it is he's planning for.

The book contains Harris's usual themes of religious intolerance and feminine power, with a vulnerable but determined female lead. It's not my favourite book of Harris's: the plot is a bit messy and I think I was supposed to enjoy the push/pull relationship between Juliette and LeMerle more than I actually did, but her ability to create a vivid atmosphere is always on-point.  

Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)

So the reason I re-read Joan Lindsay's novelette was because I'd finally gotten my hands on the film. At this point it's probably more famous than the book itself, and I know it was the movie that finally put Australian film-making on the map. It's pretty faithful to the text, with the changes more of omission than commission, and it'll be interesting to see how well the forthcoming remake will do against it.

The casting is perfect, especially for the girls: Miranda, Edith, Sara – they're all exactly how I pictured them, played by competent actresses (even though Edith's voice is clearly dubbed over). But it's the atmosphere that the film excels in. Everything is a little mysterious and strange, Appleyard College no more so than Hanging Rock. Repression is everywhere, whether it's one's sexuality, emotions or awareness of the natural world around them.

But there are really so many different meanings that could be ascribed to the film: the revenge of the outback on those arrogant enough to believe they can tame it, the psychological meltdown of weak or corrupt minds in the wake of unexplainable phenomena, or the workings of fate which dictates that everything begins and ends at exactly the right time and place (to quote Miranda). Heck, the whole darn thing could just be a metaphor for the end of the Victorian Era. Or a simple declaration that sometimes children disappear and there's nothing anybody can do about it.  

I said above the changes were more of omission than commission, and to be honest it's a little strange what they decided to leave out. The doomed romance between Mike and Irma is gone, and so too is the eventual fate of Tom (which kind of makes his entire presence a little pointless) but I'm at a loss to know why they left out Miss Appleyard's death – especially since they actually filmed it. What is the grand climax of the book is rendered here as a voiceover, which naturally doesn't have a tenth of the impact it could have had. 

I look forward to seeing how the upcoming remake tackles all this...

Paperhouse (1988)

I have no recollection as to how this movie came to my attention, but it turned out to be an interesting little film, though one that moved from surreal mystery to sentimental Hallmark Special by the end. During an illness brought about by her own misbehaviour, Anna Madden amuses herself by drawing pictures – including one of an isolated house. That night, she has a dream about visiting it, and soon discovers that any details she adds to the original picture manifests in her dreams.

By adding a boy to the window she ends up meeting Marc in her dreamscape, who insists that he too is just dreaming. Like Anna, he's unwell, but his inability to walk suggests his ailment is much more serious. The two form a friendship while Anne tries to find out where Marc might be in the real world (the doctor who comes to visit her talks about a patient who bears several similarities).

It's got an intriguing premise, and for the first two-thirds of the film it builds on the mystery nicely. However, the final act is a little trite, going from a psychological thriller to a rather sappy examination of grief and acceptance (though I have to admit it's the first time I've ever seen a helicopter used as a metaphor for death).

It's not something I'm going to watch again in a hurry, but held my attention throughout, and so is definitely worth at least one viewing.

The Jacket (2005)

Was two seconds of Angel Coulby worth two hours of Kiera Knightley? Yeah, my weird compulsion to follow the Merlin cast around takes me to places I never thought I'd go, including films starring the world's most limited yet inexplicably popular actress.

Okay, I feel bad for saying that since Kiera Knightley seems really charming and witty in her interviews, but as an actress...? Every time she's onscreen I swear my teeth start grinding. The droll monotone, the grand total of two facial expressions (come-hither pout and slack-jawed blankness), the complete lack of range in body language or speech patterns – it drives me nuts that she plays the exact same character in every film she's ever been in, and I've avoided movies I'd otherwise really like to see due to her presence. Whew, I just need to get that off my chest.

The Jacket is a psychological thriller (I seem to have watched a few of them this month) in which Adrian Brody is injured during the war in Afghanistan and ends up suffering from blackouts. After being found guilty of manslaughter when a hitchhiking road trip goes terribly wrong, he ends up in a mental facility where a doctor subjects him to terrible periods of isolation in a morgue chamber while strapped in a straightjacket.

But the treatment has a bizarre side-effect: while in the chamber he ends up catapulted into the future where he meets the little girl who was tangentially involved in the hitchhiking incident – though she's much older now, and clearly taking a beating from what life has dealt her. With foreknowledge of the future he starts trying to help/save the people in his immediate surroundings, knowing all the while that his time is running out.

Like Paperhouse, it trades in its creepy premise for sentimentality the closer it gets to the finish line, but is worth at least one watch. Oh, and Angel Coulby is in it for about two seconds.

Tangled (2010)

I wanted to watch the brand new Tangled animated show, but felt I needed a refresher on the movie upon which it's based. As it happens, Tangled is one of two Disney Princess films I didn't see in theatres (the other being Frozen) and I wonder if that had an effect on how I responded to it.

Here's the thing: I enjoyed Tangled, but it didn't resonate with me on a deeply emotional level. Maybe it was because I never saw it on the big screen, so it didn't feel like a "big event" (ditto Frozen) but I also think it's to do with the lack of exploration into the psychological issues that are raised.

Of the most recent Disney Princess films (and their respective heroines) Moana and Tiana both have goals to achieve and struggles to overcome, but are also well-adjusted young women with supportive families. On the other hand, Elsa and Rapunzel had incredibly difficult childhoods that affect their behaviour as young adults. I think it was established somewhere that Elsa's cryogenic powers were a metaphor for depression, while Rapunzel suffered under the passive-aggressive abuse of Mother Gothel.

Perhaps the most poignant scene that captures the psychological impact Gothel had on Rapunzel is when the latter finally escapes her tower and becomes a bundle of nerves and contractions, zig-zagging between pure joy and panic attacks – a pretty realistic depiction of an abused child struggling with overwhelming emotions.

However, the film never goes much deeper than this, and by the end we're meant to consider it a happy ending that Rapunzel has been returned to her parents (who are complete strangers to her) and become princess of a kingdom – without taking into account the shock to her system this profound change in circumstances would inevitably entail.

I know the automatic response to this is "it's a fairy tale!" And sure, certainly the Rapunzel of the original story never had a similar psychological crisis to the exact same circumstances. But in this case it's Disney that introduces the mental/emotional consequences of abuse, only to drop the subject the moment it becomes inconvenient to the narrative. The same thing happens to Elsa: isolated from her subjects, terrified of her powers, taught to self-hate – and then have it all wiped away in a second by the power of love. If you're not going to handle this material it properly, you probably shouldn't do it at all, for in both cases the payoff doesn't justify the build-up.

When it comes to Rapunzel and Elsa, Disney tries to have its cake and eat it too (psychological realism and perfect happy endings), which is why I think Tiana and Moana work better as characters. Without any deep-seated trauma to be raised and then ignored, the two of them come across as much more realistic as a result.

But other things about Tangled bug me. Rapunzel looks so impossibly young (not just physically but mentally) that pairing her with a more worldly male character, however golden-hearted he turns out to be, feels a little iffy. This is also one of the most uninspiring soundtracks of any Disney movie ever – I can't remember a single song.

And the new backstory given to explain Rapunzel's hair is a little inelegant: they drop the whole thing about her mother wanting rampion from the witch's garden (raising the question of why on earth she's called Rapunzel in the first place) and instead introduce a magical flower that – you know what, I'm not even going to explain it. It works within the context of the story, but by the end they cheat the narrative by relying on the fairy tale's precedence to cover for the healing power of Rapunzel's hair suddenly transferring to her tears in saving Flynn's life.

It's not a movie that I dislike, but a lot of little creative decisions just get on my nerves...

Tangled: Before Ever After (2017)

... so it shouldn't be too surprising to learn I preferred this sequel to the original. Heck, even the songs are better!

All things considered, Tangled is a movie ripe for continuation. Though it ended on a happy note, with Rapunzel reunited with her parents and reclaiming her title as princess of Corona, it doesn't take much to realize this scenario is bound to come with plenty of problems. A girl who lived her whole life in a tower, visited only by an abusive foster mother, now has to adapt to society, royal responsibilities, and parents.  

So Rapunzel finds herself in a gilded cage, surrounded by friends and family that love her, but longing for that single day of freedom and adventure that brought her home. Desperate to see the world, she sneaks out one night with her lady-in-waiting Cassandra, only for a series of strange events to leave her with her trademark long, blonde hair.  

(I can understand wanting to give Rapunzel her signature look back, but how they do it is a little contrived, and they're going to have to get rid of it eventually considering she's gone back to the short brown bob in the Tangled Ever After short).

Naturally any fairy tale kingdom comes complete with plenty of magical creatures/events/surprises to deal with, though the show builds on the movie's groundwork by making the aftereffects of Mother Gothel's abuse the real enemy. Rapunzel wants to spread her wings, but her father is terrified of losing her again and so confines her to the palace. Her mother is more understanding and gifts her daughter with a journal she can record her adventures in – but as heart-warming as this is, it's also a little wearying to watch yet another variation of the "overprotective father, more laidback mother" dynamic. Why shouldn't Queen Arianna be just as afraid of losing her long-lost daughter as her husband?

In any case, there's a chance that my major grievance with the movie could be rectified in the show: exploring the nitty-gritty of the issues it raised. There are already plenty of nice touches that reflect the characters' personalities, such as Rapunzel's aversion to shoes, social clumsiness on meeting strangers and desire to travel beyond the city walls, in sharp contrast to Eugene's enjoyment of the palace's luxury and security.

Cassandra is a great character (despite her somewhat inexplicable aversion to Eugene, which seems to exist simply so she can warm up to him later) and Lady Caine has the potential to be an interesting villain (though her attempted coup is very awkwardly staged). Lastly, the animation is lovely to look at, even as it's much more stylised than that of the film. In a perfect world every animated show would have a budget big enough to match the splendour and detail of its big screen counterparts, but Tangled: Before Ever After manages to be the next best thing.

Oh, and I also ended up watching Tangled Ever After (2012), a mini-sequel which depicts Pascal and Maximus's tribulations on getting the rings safely to Eugene and Rapunzel's wedding. It's funny but non-essential, and like I said above: opens up a potential continuity error on the state of Rapunzel's hair.  

The Clone Wars: Season 4 (2011)

Watching the fourth season of The Clone Wars made me realize just how dark it gets at times. The words "death" and "kill" aren't censored like they usually are in your typical after-school cartoon, and I'm pretty sure this season goes one step further in actually depicting dead bodies onscreen. This is particularly harrowing when our heroes start fighting on Mon Calamari (the ocean planet where Admiral Ackbar comes from) and there are dead bodies floating in the water around them.

So yeah, season four definitely takes things up a notch. Its highlight is a pretty spectacular four-part arc that explores the dynamics of a clone battalion which finds itself under the leadership of a Jedi Master who cares very little for their personal safety. The prequel trilogy had zero interest in the thoughts and feelings of its Clone Army, but this arc takes the time to examine how sentient beings bred and raised for war might react when they realize their general sees them as little more than pawns to be sacrificed.  

Mutiny, betrayal, free will – the episodes tackle all these juicy topics, but the clones' decisions and actions are all the more heart-breaking when you realize they've long since been programmed to unquestioningly obey Order 66.

For the most part the season drops standalone episodes in favour of arcs that span three or four episodes, including the old sci-fi favourites: faking your own death to infiltrate the enemy camp, getting captured by slavers and inspiring a slave revolt, and hearing about the whacky side-adventures of the comic relief.

But the show isn't afraid to leave the heroic triad of Obi-Wan, Anakin and Ahsoka in order to explore the Dark Side of the Force. The season ends with episodes that focus on Asajj Ventress and Darth Maul – a pretty daring move considering both are firmly on the Dark Side, yet each one ends up deserving some degree of pity.

Constantine: Season 1 (2014)

It's always fun watching an actor play a character that you know they enjoy playing, and Matt Ryan was clearly having the time of his life as Constantine. For him alone I feel sorry that the show never made it past the first season, as he really was the highpoint in what was otherwise a rather lacklustre supernatural procedural. Not bad, but not really bringing anything to the genre to justify its existence.

And when it comes to supernatural procedurals, it practically is its own genre now: two partners go hunting across America to investigate weird phenomena. There are certain episodes that turn up in all of them: the bug-demon, the hitchhiking ghost, the possessed child, the haunted hospital, the one where they get trapped in another dimension, the one where the killings are the work of a normal human being (much to the horror of our heroes) – and Constantine ticks each and every one of them.  

I'd seen so much of it before, and that's coming from someone who hasn't watched a single episode of The X-Files. Likewise, the cast is likeable without being particularly compelling and there's an odd switcheroo after the first episode: initially Liv Aberdine (Lucy Griffiths) is introduced as Constantine's sidekick/protégé/possible love interest, only to get written out and replaced with Zed (Angélica Celaya).

I'm not entirely sure why the switch was made: in terms of personality, psychic abilities and acting talent the two were practically identical, and it seems odd that an entire episode was devoted to introducing Liv to the world of the supernatural before promptly writing her out.

In any case, Constantine is a standard supernatural procedural with a rather weak overarching plot that's left totally unresolved (I hate it when that happens). The reason for watching is Matt Ryan's take on the character, and I'm genuinely happy for him that he's been able to continue the role in Arrow and the WB animated films.

The Scandalous Lady W (2015)

However much broadcasters tried to project The Scandalous Lady W as a risqué 19th century romp, the reality is that it's a desperately sad story about a sexually abused wife who can only free herself from her husband by degrading herself further in the public eye. Though Natalie Dormer is well known for her sexpot roles (Anne Boleyn, Margaery Tyrell), she plays against type here as a young ingénue who is gradually corrupted – entirely against her will – by her husband's voyeuristic proclivities.

Sir Richard Worsley has little physical interest in his wife, instead arranging for a succession of titled nobles to bed Seymour while he watches through the keyhole. At first Seymour submits to the indignities, but when she's introduced to Richard's friend Captain George Bisset, an escape route reveals itself.

Of course, elopement is not that easy: Richard promptly sues George for £20K in compensation while flatly refusing to allow Seymour a divorce, and the court proceedings are only a further humiliation for all involved. That's not even mentioning Seymour's daughter, who legally belongs to Richard despite her claims that George is the father.

The whole thing is based on a true story, in which Sir Richard Worsley did indeed drag his wife into a high-profile criminal conversation trial which he lost (the bit about the jury awarding him only a shilling in compensation actually happened!) but given the heartache and notoriety Seymour endured, not to mention her exile to France and estrangement from her children, it's difficult to see her courtroom triumph as any lasting victory.

Lady Chatterley's Lover (2015)

Another period drama, another adulterous lady! Like Seymour Worsley, Lady Constance Chatterley is supported by the narrative as a long-suffering wife in an impossible situation; unlike Sir Richard Worsley, her husband Clifford Chatterley is afforded some sympathy – at least at first.

I actually knew very little about D.H. Lawrence's novel beyond the fact it was controversial in its time, and so had no idea how the story would unfold. After her husband Clifford is paralysed in WWI, Constance seeks the companionship of the gamekeeper Oliver Mellors – discovering some truths about the British class system and the relationship between the mind/body along the way. Seriously, the show isn't subtle about it.  

As with The Scandalous Lady W, the love scenes are not nearly as racy as the promotional material implied, and I suspect a lot of the themes and ideas in Lawrence's novel that were once so shocking to contemporary readers aren't quite as relevant to the 21st century. Or heck, maybe they are. Like I said, I haven't read it.

So I've no idea how faithful this adaptation is to the novel, but towards the end poor Cliff (who is depicted as surprisingly understanding of his wife's sexual frustration and who is initially willing to overlook any extramarital affairs) undergoes Character Derailment and becomes a classist boor in the space of a single scene. It's hard to imagine that Constance and Oliver will enjoy a happy ending after they run away together: one only need imagine the culture shock Constance will go through when she realizes the dramatic change in her financial situation.

The Flash: Season 2 (2015)

Of the four DC/CW shows, The Flash is my favourite, though it's hard to say why exactly. There's just something about its vibe that appeals to me, along with most of the character dynamics.

For the most part season two drops time travel and focuses on alternative worlds instead – that's probably just as well since none of the show's time travel makes any sense. If Eddie Thawne killed himself to prevent Eobard Thawne from ever being born, then the Reverse Flash would have never existed in the first place, Nora Allen would have never been killed, and Barry have never grown up with Iris and Joe.

And yet despite Eobard being wiped from existence, things remain exactly as they would have if all the above had happened. The character even turns up again in the form of a "time remnant": a concept that makes very little sense, even if it does have payoff later on. Argh, my head hurts. This is why time travel comes with very strict RULES (see: Tom's Midnight Garden).

Another thing that bugged me is that the show wastes no time in killing off Ronnie, even though a significant part of the first season involved tracking him down and reuniting him with Caitlin. The two characters are barely married five minutes before Ronnie sacrifices himself, retrospectively making most of his season one arc feel pointless and cruel. (Writing tip: never permanently kill off anyone who has already come back from the dead once before – it's redundant).

Also, Barry's father is finally released from prison ... and promptly decides to leave the city, a decision I don't buy for a second. After fifteen years of separation no decent father would abandon their son to go walkabout, and it's clearly just a way to keep John Wesley Shipp as a guest star and not a regular.  

However the show finds a fairly ingenious way to keep Tom Cavanaugh on the show: after his character (who was Eobard Thawne disguised as Harrison Wells) is disposed of in the first season finale, they replace him with the real Harrison from another dimension. It's a nice way of establishing a slightly off-kilter dynamic at Star Labs while allowing the actors to retain their old chemistry, and Cavanaugh's performance is impressive. Whereas Eobard Thawne was quietly sinister beneath an air of paternal concern, Earth Two's Harrison Wells is an arrogant jerk who clearly hates spending time with a bunch of twenty-somethings. You can tell from the performance that it's two completely different people.

Earth Two ends up being a lot of fun, seeing variations on all the characters in the form of their doppelgangers, and the vague steam-punkish ambiance of the place (complete with sepia filter) is a great aesthetic.  And even though there are some inconsistencies in his master-plan, Zoom is a genuinely frightening villain: much more physically imposing and scary-looking than the Man in the Yellow Suit.

As it happened, I watched the first season of Legends of Tomorrow before this season of The Flash, the latter having aired first on television – making The Flash a kind-of prequel: now I know how Jefferson Jackson became Firestorm, and the way Kendra Saunders awoke to her past as Hawkgirl. I actually kinda like watching things out of order, as it means I get to go back and see how future events all came together.