Reading/Watching Log #35

This reading/watching log is a little late: I usually like to have it posted before the month in question has passed, but it's been a busy few weeks and a pretty long month. For all that, I managed to get a surprising amount of reading done – in fact, I think I read more than I watched! As well as that, I managed to sneak in a ballet and an Agatha Christie play, so it's been pretty productive four weeks all things considered.

Along with nutcrackers and crime, it's also been a time for the fourth books in ongoing series, the book or movie counterparts to children's classics, a bunch of superheroes in their formative years, a few spins on traditional fairy tales, and of course: SHE-RA!

The Nutcracker (Isaac Theatre Royal)

Christmas is nearly upon us, and The Nutcracker was playing at the Isaac Theatre Royal, so naturally I had to go. The best part was going with one of my work colleagues who had never been to the ballet before – and loved it. (In fact, she liked it so much, she's since read Hoffman's fairy tale, gone to see The Nutcracker and the Four Realms, keeps listening to Tchaikovsky's score, and is coming with me to see A Christmas Carol later this month, another Christmas story she's unfamiliar with, if you can believe that).

The last time it played in Christchurch, the story was set in a children's hospital in the 1950s, but this was a much more traditional take – with one exception that I'll get to in a moment. E.T.A. Hoffman's original fairy tale can get frankly quite bizarre at times, and so it's no surprise that Tchaikovsky significantly cut down on some of the stranger twists in the tale, leaving us with a pretty straightforward Christmas story:

The Stahlbaum family are preparing for a Christmas party, and their daughter Marie (sometimes called Clara, but originally Marie) is particularly excited, despite the mischievousness of her brother Fritz. The children's godfather Drosselmeier appears with wondrous gifts, among them a nutcracker that he bestows upon Marie.

She's so enamoured that she creeps out of her bed at night in order to find him again, only to discover that her nutcracker and Fritz's toy soldiers are battling against a hoard of mice. The nutcracker rids the house of the terrible Mouse King, and after transforming into a handsome prince, invites her to travel with him to the Land of Sweets.

That encompasses the first act; the second is simply the inhabitants of Land of Sweets entertaining the couple with their distinctive dances: Spanish chocolate, Arabian coffee, Chinese tea, and of course the Sugar Plum Fairy. (The one concession to its location was that the Waltz of the Flowers was performed by specifically Pohutukawa flowers, a lovely New Zealand touch).

Though I found it interesting that this ballet returned to Marie instead of Clara as the name of the protagonist, they missed a couple of other traditional beats: this Dosselmeier had no eyepatch, and the Mouse King had only one head instead of the usual three. The famous mice vs soldiers battle was done in the near-darkness, so if Marie got her famous slipper-throw in, then I must have missed it. 

But as ever, it's the music that makes it special: you know the Waltz of the Flowers and the Sugar Plum Fairy theme, and when they're played by a live orchestra, it's like you're hearing them for the first time. So those caveats aside, the whole thing was beautiful.

The special effects in particular were impressive: I told think I've ever seen this much snow fall on a stage before, and it opened with the exterior set of Drosselmeier's workshop and Marie's bedroom, only for the outer walls to fade away and allow us to see the action happening inside. Later on, Marie's dream is signalled by the clock face growing (thanks to a spotlight) and spinning around the stage.

The first act is the only one that has an actual story to it, and amongst the giant Christmas tree and the jewel-like clothing of the guests, this production foreshadowed Marie's impending dream by having Fritz and Dosselmeier play at soldier/mouse (complete with masks and tail), Fritz getting a creepy mouse puppet that he chases Marie with, and the Sugar Plum fairy and her Chevalier being initially introduced as wind-up dolls that appear magically out of seemingly empty doll-houses.

You can see how this would work on Marie's subconscious, and how the dream would take subsequently shape.  The costumes, the special effects, the satisfying clunk of toe shoes, the falling snow... *deep sigh*. It was a lovely night out, I scored myself a silver nutcracker necklace, and I wasn't even bothered by the cellphone going off behind me, the guy who had a coughing fit, the inexplicable pop music that briefly played in the second act, and the man who thought it was a good idea to bring his baby to the ballet (it wasn't).

And sometimes watching beauty can be a spiritual experience. At the end of the snowflake dance in Act I, as the dancers slowly dropped to their knees and lifted their arms as the snow fell upon and around them, a great sense of peace fell over me. It was one perfect moment in time, and I'll remember it forever.

The Hollow (Repertory Theatre)

SPOILERS

This is one of my favourite Agatha Christie novels (and the David Suchet adaptation is also one of the best) so when I saw that it was already playing at the Repertory Theatre, I had to act fast: I booked my ticket, and was sitting down to watch it two nights later. It's perhaps the first play I've ever been to by myself, so I was able to snare myself a great seat without worrying about anyone else (second row, centre).

I had no idea that Christie herself had adapted The Hollow as a play, and though the production took the liberty of moving the story from the 1950s to the 1930s, I'm going to assume that the script itself remained intact. Poirot is replaced with two police inspectors and there's an extra detail involving the location of the murder weapon and an attempt to frame a third party, but the gist of the plot remains faithful to the book.

They had a nice set with the big house on prominent display in a painting, and the cast was strong. Lucy Angkatell in particular stole the show, what with her flighty, fey-like behaviour, but that's no surprise – she's one of Christie's best characters. In comparison, Midge and Edward are still very boring – they were minimized for good reason in the Suchet version – and when placed next to the likes of John Christow, Gerda and Henrietta, their scenes felt even more superfluous.

As it happens, Christow and Gerda were played much older than what I was expecting, and though Christow had the forcefulness he had none of the magnetic charm that's so essential to the character. It also wasn't made entirely clear that Lucy and Henrietta were deliberately trying to protect Gerda, and so the reveal ends up being a little anti-climactic (usually you hear an "oooh" from the audience when the murderer is exposed, but there was none this time).

But it was a fun night out – I never say no to seeing Christie on the stage.

(Oh, and I took my niece to see the annual Christmas Parade on Sunday, having seen this play on Thursday, and recognised that the actress playing Veronica Cray was in the parade as Disney's Belle. Small world!)

The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater

The fourth and final book in Maggie Stiefvater's The Raven Cycle, which I obviously liked enough to keep reading, but never felt particularly enraptured by (despite so many Tumblr mutuals believing the contrary). All the components were in place for something I would have dearly loved: the search for the resting place of Owen Glendower, the dynamics between five eclectic young teenagers, a household full of psychics – and yet I constantly struggled with Stiefvater's prose.

It got so unbearably pretentious at times, simply because everything has to be witty; not just the dialogue, but the narrative itself.

Here's one of the opening paragraphs:

Once upon a time, there was a girl who was very good at playing with time. Step sideways: Once upon a time, there was a daughter of a girl who was very good at playing with time. Now skip back: Once upon a time, there was a king's daughter who was very good at playing with time.

Here's a text that one character sends to another:

Parrish wants to know if you killed yourself dreaming just now please advise

Here's a line taken directly from one of the later chapters:

The bathroom was empty. Of course it was empty. Of course it was empty. Of course it was empty.

And it's like this all the time. Everything has to be devastatingly clever, and it comes at the cost of a story that's just told to the reader in a straightforward manner. Obviously your mileage may vary, but I found it tedious, as well as rather difficult to read.

So it'll be interesting when the rumoured television adaptation comes out, which will naturally cut out all this convoluted prose, leaving only the plot, characters and themes (which were very sound, just hidden behind writing that got on my nerves). There's every chance I'll like it a lot better on the screen than on the page.

DC Icons by Marie Lu, Sarah J. Maas and Leigh Bardugo

I can't resist a good novelty, and these three YA novels had it in abundance: stories about famous DC heroes in their adolescence, several years before they don the capes and cowls that turn them into superheroes. I was also surprised at the authors that had been commissioned for the project: Leigh Bardugo, Sarah J. Maas, Marie Lu – these are big names in the YA circuit!

They were clearly given a lot of leeway in terms of what they could write and how they could write it, as none of the stories fit into any established continuities of film, comic or television adaptations. So we've got Selina Kyle romanced by Luke Fox, Diana leaving the island of Themysicra long before Steve Trevor turns up, and Bruce Wayne... okay, his story fits in reasonably well, despite a first meeting with Commissioner Gordon that doesn't match with what we've seen in other versions.

Titled Batman: Nightwalkers, Catwoman: Soulstealer, and Wonder Woman: Warbringer (soon to be followed by one focusing on Clark Kent) the stories are pretty quick reads, but fun enough while they last.

I was particularly interested by what Sarah J. Maas would do with Catwoman: I knew her work best through reading Celaena Sardothien in the Throne of Glass series, and though I can appreciate a wish-fulfilment character for female readers, I still found Celaena quite insufferable. Would the same fate await Selina Kyle? Well, Maas doesn't go too overboard, and thankfully her interest in female relationships overrides the abject glorification of her main character this time around.

Time Lord Fairy Tales by Justin Richards

The title of this book is a little misleading: when I read "Time Lord Fairy Tales" I imagined these would be the stories that Time Lords told their children: tales of space and time, of strange creatures and impossible feats, of timey-wimey tricks and intergalactic travel, told with plenty of fairy tale traits such as princesses and the threefold law, twists of fate and wise old men.

Instead it's just fifteen traditional fairy tales told through the prism of Doctor Who. As such, we have The Three Little Pigs with Sontarans instead, Cinderella with the Doctor in the role of fairy godmother, and Sleeping Beauty in a cryogentic pod. They're all sci-fi takes on familiar tales, guest starring different incarnations of the Doctor and the various alien life-forms and planets that populate the series.  It's an interesting read, even a fun one – just not one that makes the most of its potential.

A Flight of Angels by Rebecca Guay

This was a beautiful graphic novel by one of my favourite illustrators, with contributions from Holly Black, Bill Willingham, Alisa Kwitney, Louise Hawes and Todd Mitchell. Framed with the discovery of a fallen, unconscious angel by a motley group of fairies (an old hag, a noble courtier, a beautiful nymph, a fox-headed intellectual, a tiny gnome, and a goat-legged slave) they decide to hold a tribunal in order to figure out what to do with him.

So they each have a turn in telling a tale concerning angels: the warrior angel who keeps messing up, the angel of death who promises not to visit a certain woman without her permission, the guardian angel who falls in love with a mortal woman, the fall of Lucifer and the effect it had on the world...

Guay adjusts the style of her art accordingly, resulting in a range of short stories that are distinctive in narrative and appearance, even as they fit into the framing device of the fairy tribunal.

There's nothing I love more than the melding of Biblical lore with fairy tales. Truly, I adore it. That I found it done in Rebecca Guay's illustrations was only an extra bonus, and it covered almost everything I could have asked for: the duties of the heavenly host, the origins of the fey folk, a fresh take on Adam and Eve... it's heavenly.  

The Little Broomstick by Mary Stewart

Having watched Mary and the Witch's Flower, I thought it was worth tracking down the book upon which it was based. Mary Stewart is best known for her Merlin Trilogy (which are included among the seminal retellings of Arthurian legend, and probably the only ones I haven't read) though I've only ever read A Walk in Wolf Woods (a time-slip adventure).

This was an odd duck of a book, beautifully written, with plenty of haunting passages, but with a story and setting that would have been served well with a lot more detail and background. It's like Hogwarts School without any sense of context or history, and Endor College lacks any sense of realism or stability (for what it's worth, this book also predates the planet of the Ewoks – perhaps its greatest achievement is inspiring more famous works).

Though it's impressive how closely the film adhered to the book's plot, and managed to flesh out several of the stranger elements – introducing Peter a lot earlier, and making more of the significance of Mary's name for example.

When Marnie was There by Joan G. Robinson

In the exact inversion of The Little Broomstick, I decided to read the book before watching the Studio Ghibli film. I knew very little about the story beyond the fact it was considered a children's classic, though the blurb managed to give away the main twist by comparing it to Tom's Midnight Garden.

Anna lives a sad, lonely life. Sent from her foster home to a house on the seaside, the change of location is a way of coping with her increasingly distant behaviour at school. But it's on the marshlands that she meets Marnie, a strange, old-fashioned girl that she has an instant rapport with. Suddenly she has a friend – but it's a friendship that's destined to be a secret.

According to the postscript written by Joan Robinson's daughter, this was one of her mother's most personal books. Drawing upon her own knowledge of Norfolk, she creates a vivid picture of its salt marshes, sandhills, marram grass and sea gulls, not to mention the strong characterization of Anna herself.

It's a poignant, haunting story, one without a strong sense of closure despite a relatively happy conclusion. Though not without hope or joy, it still strikes a deeply melancholy tone, and I'll be interested to see how well Studio Ghibli maintains that distinctive mood.

The Nutcracker by E.T.A. Hoffmann

So in the lead-up to seeing the ballet, I naturally had to revisit the original fairy tale. As it happens, there are really two takes on The Nutcracker, those picture books that simply retell the story of the ballet, and E.T.A. Hoffman's original text. I remember reading the latter years ago, though I forgot just how bizarre it really was.

I've already recounted the plot of the ballet above, and the first act of the stage show is reasonably loyal to Hoffman's story: Marie Stahlbaum receives a nutcracker from her godfather Dosselmeier, and she discovers that he comes to life at midnight on Christmas Eve in order to fight a dreadful three-headed mouse king.

What the ballet doesn't go into is the whole backstory of why and how he became a nutcracker in the first place. It involves a princess called Pirlipat, an evil mouse called Frau Mouserink, a curse that can only be broken if someone breaks the Krakatuk Nut, and Dosselmeier's own nephew. (Also, there is no Sugar Plum Fairy).

More than that, Hoffman's prose is just plain weird. It dances all over the place, making pointless asides and comments that have nothing to do with the actual story, and most of the adult characters come across as utter lunatics. It's... a bit hard to know what to do with it. Tchaikovsky deserves most of the credit (if not more so) in making nutcrackers a traditional symbol of Christmas, and yet one can't deny that it was Hoffman who came up with the story in the first place.

I feel like it should come with a warning: this won't be what you expect, so read at your own risk.

Night Flights by Philip Reeve

What's better than going to the library shelf to pick up your favourite author's latest book, only to discover he's written a stealth-book you never even knew was coming? No doubt inspired by the release of Peter Jackson's adaptation of Mortal Engines, Phillip Reeve has written three short stories set in the Hungry Cities world, focused on Anna Fang – easily one of the best characters in the series.

In fact, I was immensely touched by the book's dedication. It reads: "To Jihae, who plays Anna Fang with such style and grace that I realized she needed some more stories." Aww. The whole thing is a short-but-sweet return to the post-apocalyptic world which hasn't been visited since Scrivener's Moon in 2011, and Reeves's prose is as crisp and clear as ever.

Of course, it's not a good starting place if you've never read one of the books before, as Reeve assumes you know the basics of Municipal Darwinism, the Anti-Traction League, and the massive, mobile cities that roam the earth, but it's a great companion piece for long-time fans.

The Girls at the Kingfisher Club by Genevieve Valentine

As far as fairy tale retellings go, mingling the story of The Twelve Dancing Princesses with the 1920's New York speakeasies makes a lovely kind of sense. The prohibition, the dance halls, the high society – it all fits perfectly with the story of twelve princesses who sneak out of their rooms every night, much to the bewilderment of their father when he sees their worn-out shoes every morning.

I've enjoyed Genevieve Valentine's essays and reviews for many years now, but this is the first time I've read one of her books, though I suspect I would have recognised her writing style and the particular themes that interest her. The story is mostly told through the point-of-view of Josephine Hamilton, the eldest daughter of Joseph Hamilton, a powerful Fifth Avenue magnate.

It's she that organizes her sisters on their secret journeys into the city, though there's another obstacle to overcome when her father decides to start marrying off her sisters to complete strangers. It's a story of surviving and escaping abuse, all wrapped up in a fairy tale that's reasonably well-known, but never really explored for some reason.

Snow & Rose by Emily Winfield Martin

This was a beautiful hard-cover retelling of Snow White and Rose Red, illustrated as well as written by Emily Winfield Martin, who (according to the afterword) has always been fascinated by this story. It keeps things fairly true to the original tale, what with the two impoverished girls living in the forest with their mother, their attempts to assist a bad-tempered dwarf, and the appearance of a giant bear at their door in winter.

But she fills in some of the blanks left by the Grimms Brothers' retelling: the reason for their father's disappearance, the motives of the ungrateful dwarf, and a couple of changes to fit with her own understanding of the story (as you may have guessed, she gives a new identity to the giant bear).

There are some elements that feel like padding, such as a library that deals with trinkets and mementos instead of books, which doesn't really add anything to the plot beside an extra dose of whimsy, but I enjoyed reading a straightforward take on an old tale – and you could tell the author enjoyed writing it.

Lethal White by Robert Galbraith

This is the fourth book in the Cormoran Strike series of detective novels, written by Robert Galbraith (who as you all know by now, is actually J.K. Rowling). It’s nice to continue with the series: I've enjoyed the previous books and the subsequent BBC television adaptations, and was invested in the characters of Strike and Robin Ellacot – their partnership as well as their turgid love-lives.

I always felt the Harry Potter books were best described as fantasy whodunits, and that Rowling went on to write crime novels is certainly playing to her strengths. These books contain the same puzzle-box plotting, colourful characterization and surprising twists you'd expect from any of the Potter stories, though in a series geared at adults she can also tackle the issues and themes she's interested in.

So in order, we've seen her critique celebrity culture, the publishing industry, domestic violence, and here, in Lethal White, politics. Strike's latest case begins when a mentally distressed young man enters his office, pleading for help in solving a crime he witnessed as a boy: the strangling of a child, "up by the horse." Before Strike can get any concrete information, Billy disappears in a panic.

During his attempt to track Billy's down, Strike finds himself with a very surprising new client: politician Martin Chiswell (pronounced "Chizzle") who wants Strike to gather counter-information on Billy's brother – the man who's blackmailing him. What does this have to do with Billy's story?

As well as the mystery that needs solving, Strike and Robin also have to negotiate their own relationships: Robin's spectacularly disastrous marriage and Strike's ex-partner of sixteen years turning up to cause drama. Knowing what I do about Rowling's past, it's easy to speculate that she's exorcising some demons in her depiction of Robin's toxic marriage to her jealous, controlling partner, though a lot of this material will inevitably be cut when it comes time to adapt it for television.

It's a huge tome of a book, yet I raced through it in a matter of days. I know Rowling is in the hot seat at the moment what with the release of The Crimes of Grindelwald and certain casting choices, but she certainly knows how to keep the pages turning. This was probably my favourite Strike novel since The Cuckoo's Calling.

Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol (2011)

You have to admit this is a funny franchise: starting back in 1996, it produced three successful but rather unpleasant movies, only to then churn out three really good ones. You can usually rely on the pattern of a good first entry, excellent sequel, and lacklustre third offering that sinks the franchise for nearly every other trilogy out there, and that Mission Impossible has becomes such an outlier makes it stand out (the only other comparison that comes to mind is The Fast and the Furious).

I actually watched Rogue Nation some time ago (and rewatched it this time around), but for my money Ghost Protocol is better. It has a very clean, concise story that doesn't get bogged down with shocking twists or double-crosses or trying to outsmart the audience.

With the exception of a little ambiguity surrounding Jeremy Renner's character (and having seen Rogue Nation, I already knew he was on the level), this is a clear-cut case of good guys versus bad guys, with all the action sequences, crazy stunts and grand set-pieces you could wish for. It also avoids the pitfall of a villain that's a MI agent gone rogue (can you believe that describes all three past bad guys in this franchise?) and a revolving door of disposal team-mates (okay, we're not quite there yet, as Paula Patton goes the same way as Maggie Q after this instalment, but it's an improvement).

Of course, these days it's hilarious listening to these hyper-competent, uber-specialized agents discussing "the President" and realizing they all work for an utter buffoon, but hey – they can't help the timing.

It's all beautifully constructed, from making the most of the beautiful locations, to making sure all the team has credible motivation, to Tom Cruise's commitment to the stunt-work, to little things like the running gag of Ethan's goggles and the reveal about his wife which would have won her a place on my Women Who Defied the Fridge post had I known about it.

Oh, and my favourite detail: that after Ethan specifically states all the team is needed to win the day, the script makes sure that this is actually true, culminating in short sequence in which all four members have a crucial role to play, each working in a chain reaction of events that leads directly to taking out the bad guy. Great stuff.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power: Season 1 (2018)

Believe the hype! She-Ra is the latest in a long line of targets in the increasingly ludicrous culture war that valiantly fights against the encroachment of women in everything from Star Wars to Ghostbusters to Mad Max. What makes it funny in this case is that She-Ra was a spin-off originally designed to appeal to (and sell toys to) girls, though that fact didn't stop the usual suspects from complaining that the new character designs weren't sexy enough. Because apparently even stuff for girls still somehow stuff for men.

And with that observation, I've already wasted enough time talking about it. The show itself is a lot of fun, best described as a mix between Avatar: The Last Airbender (in regards to characters) and My Little Pony (the aesthetic), though the animation style is a blend of Miyazaki and Moebius (which is also apparent in showrunner Noelle Stevenson's other work).

Adora is a teenager raised amongst the Horde, a group of young warriors trained to fight against a group of insurgents, each side fighting for dominance over the planet of Etheria. She lives a tough but satisfying life, and has companionship with one of her fellow fighters: Catra. But when the two friends sneak out on an unauthorized adventure, Adora ends up discovering a magical sword that transforms her into the warrior She-Ra.

Also on the scene are two members of the Rebellion that fights the Horde: Princess Glimmer and her best friend Bow. Either one are particularly pleased at their legendary warrior is actually a member of the Horde, but Adora is astute enough to realize that she's been on the wrong side this whole time. She throws her lot in with the Rebellion – but it's easier said than done to win the trust of her former enemies, learn to control the powers of She-Ra, and fight back against the only home she's ever known.

Of course, the name on everybody's lips when the first season finished was Catra. She's a fantastic villain, one who is indifferent to other people's suffering, but deeply invested in what Adora thinks of her. (Yes, you can bet that this is the major pairing that came out of the show). The heart of the show is very much the relationship between the two girls, and what the loss of their friendship does to each of them: Catra can't understand why Adora would abandon her for two people she barely knows, and Adora can't fathom why Catra would stay with the Horde after learning the truth about them.

I mentioned this on my Woman of the Month entry for She-Ra, but what I love is that the show really embraces the "sparkly, cutesy-poo, glitter and rainbows" aesthetic of the original show (in which Bow literally wore a love-heart on his armour) and just runs with it. So we've got princesses fighting in sparkling purple dresses, Bow rhapsodizing over the expansion of his "best friend squad", a talking rainbow unicorn giving sage advice, and characters managing to weaponize everything from flowers to clouds.

As with the best reboots, it takes what was good – and often neglected – in the source material and expands upon it. Bring on season two!