Reading/Watching Log #36

The New Year is just around the corner, and the most surprising thing about this December was how much time I spent at the theatre – between this month and the last I've seen five stage productions, which has to be new record for me.

And despite the business of the Christmas holidays, I managed to get a lot of books, movies and shows under my belt – a lot of light, cheerful stuff to keep me buoyed, especially filmic adaptations of children's books that I read earlier in the year.  Pretty much everything under the cut has a happy ending, and to paraphrase Anthony Trollope (who is featured below): if you're going to make someone sit through your story, you owe them a happy ending.

I don't know how true that is, but I was grateful for it this month.

Jesus Christ: Superstar

I first saw Jesus Christ: Superstar when I was a little girl, after my mum had to drop out because of a migraine. I can't remember much beyond Jesus getting whipped with red laser beams and Mark Hadlow as King Herod, but coming back to it all these years later, I was amazed at how familiar the songs felt – perhaps an indication of how fundamentally catchy they are.  

This was performed at the Court Theatre, which is a theatre that has no bad seats, and it was excellent. Everyone has been raving about how good it is (I was telling a colleague at work about it, and a customer joined in the praise) and it really was excellent. It embraced the whole "punk-rock/gospel choir" aesthetic by having the actors sing into hand-held microphones, and the costuming was an incredible mix of the old and new (imagine Roman Centurion armour covered in glitter, or Judas as a punk-rocker).

For those that aren't familiar with the musical, it covers the last seven days of Jesus's life, exploring in particular his relationships with Judas and Mary Magdalene. It ends with his betrayal, arrest, trial and crucifixion, and though the whole thing delves more into the relationships between the characters and the theme of martyrdom, the final scene is one of hope for the resurrection. As was said on pretty much all the promotional material, the point of the musical is to explore the human side of these characters, and appeal to as wide an audience as possible.

All the cast members were outstanding, and there were lots of little touches that made the whole production more rich and interesting – like how Mary Magdalene is allowed to sing "I Don't Know How To Love Him" without any musical accompaniment, and the marked visual contrast between Jesus and Judas: the former was played by a slight man with white robes, the latter was tall and broad-shouldered in black leather. I was a little perturbed at this, as naturally it's Judas who comes across as more powerful and intimidating – but it works in the long run as he eventually succumbs to his fear and guilt (looking smaller as a result), whilst Jesus remains gentle and dignified (which of course, makes him appear infinitely stronger).

There were also little scenes, which I'm not sure were added by this particular production or something that have always been part of the show, but there was one part in which Judas arrives on stage just as Mary leaves Jesus sleeping, and (despite having complained of Mary's presence in an earlier song) he makes a silent play at her. She's horrified, and he gets angry, and the whole thing could have ended very badly if Jesus hadn't awoken and intervened. It was electrifying.

And of course, King Herod's number, which is so catchy and so funny that it almost threatens to steal the thunder of everyone else (almost).

Beauty and the Beast

So this was a funny one: though it took place at the Isaac Theatre Royal, it wasn't from the Royal New Zealand Ballet, but the Southern Ballet Company, which is more of a school than a working company. Which meant that I was in an audience that was fill of parents and other family members, watching an entire cast of children and teenagers (one of the ushers actually asked me who I knew in the cast, and I suddenly felt weird telling her that I just wanted to see the ballet!)

But it was cute, and reminded me of going to see my little sister's ballet recitals when she was a kid. A lot of it was incredibly weird: this was a version of Beauty and the Beast that involved completely irrelevant sojourns into the lives of rabbits and chicks (because all the children in the company have to be given something to do) as well as dances set to the likes of Queen and Lady Marmalade.

But it was very sweet, with an eye towards the Disney take on the fairy tale given some of the costumes, and some incredibly good dancing from such young people.

A Christmas Carol

I organized myself and two work colleagues to see this as a Christmas treat, and was surprised to get to the theatre and realize it was a comedy! The posters made it look like a straightforward retelling of Dickens's famous story, but it soon became apparent that it was a two-person show involving plenty of jokes, costumes and audience participation.

So it was a lot of fun, and surprisingly faithful to the text. Seriously, they covered everything, from the haunted doorknob, to the portly gentlemen collecting for the poor, to Scrooge's failed engagement, the Fezziwig Christmas party. As one of the actors said, even the appearance of Ignorance and Want beneath the robes of the Ghost of Christmas Present was true to the book.

Naturally, the best part was the audience participation, even if everyone was secretly hoping they wouldn't be called up to the stage. But all the ghosts were from the audience, as well as most of the supporting characters, and as much as we might cringe at the idea of this sort of thing, it is pretty funny to see it in action (props to the guy who played the polar bear that leapt out at Scrooge as he made his way home).

Star Wars: Poe Dameron: Volume 1 – 4 by Charles Soule and Phil Noto

I've got about reading this series in entirely the wrong order: I started with Volume 2, then 3 and 4, and finally 1. Oh well, I got the gist of it. In the lead-up to The Force Awakens, this series focuses on Poe Dameron and Black Squadron, an elite team of Resistance fighters who take their orders directly from General Leia. Although the main underlying story is the search for Lor San Tekka (who'll you remember as being played by Max Von Sydow in the opening minutes of The Force Awakens) there are plenty of side-quests and subplots, and some nice nods to the wider continuity (like Leia looking over Padme's wardrobe).

I enjoy the series, not only for filling in some of the blanks surrounding the emergence of the First Order and the way the Resistance is run, but for a better look at Poe Dameron as a character. One of the greatest complaints of The Last Jedi is that he was out of character, and yet it's obvious from these comic books that he was always a brash hot-shot pilot who continually disobeyed commands – he just doesn't get in trouble over it until Episode VIII.

(Honestly his characterization in The Last Jedi was the least of my worries, and it's not like we got a good grasp of his personality from the fifteen-odd minutes he actually appeared in The Force Awakens).

The Book of Never by Ashley Capes

In April of this year I read the first part of The Book of Never, a story that's divided into five distinct parts. This is actually the second book, which contains volumes four and five (the previous instalment was comprised of the first three).

The oddly-named Never is a likable character with an unusual problem: a curse (or gift?) inherent in his blood means that every time it mingles with that of another person, he temporarily takes on their memories and personality. For his entire life he's been trying to find out what this means and where he comes from, though another part of him is afraid to find out.

Making things worse is that his brother Snow seems to be ahead of him in controlling his powers, and determined to combine them with ancient knowledge in order to impose his will on the world. Never is therefore torn as to whether he should join his brother and learn what he can about his past, or stop him (even if means killing him) and live on in ignorance.

It's an original premise, and a swift little read, with each volume focusing on a particular fantasy location that Never must traverse as part of his ongoing quest – in this case, a mountain range and a bustling metropolis (the last book involved an island, a forest and a swamp).

Bella at Midnight by Diane Stanley

Have you ever read a book that's so utterly inoffensive that it's immediately forgettable? That's this book. The story is best described as a fairy tale retelling, though it doesn't easily match up with any well-known story. Instead, a lot of different elements are taken from a variety of tales.  

In a village known as Castle Down, a little girl called Isabella is raised by a loving peasant family, with no idea that she's actually the daughter of a knight. Her best friend growing up is Prince Julian, who was also fostered by the family before he was called away to his duties at the palace. When Isabella discovers her true lineage, she too must leave the only home she's ever known and learn to become a lady.

But the dark clouds of war are forming on the horizon, and Julian is taken from his home to become a hostage in a neighbouring kingdom – leaving him unable to part with Isabella on good terms. And when she discovers that the new king is planning a treacherous attack on his allies, it's up to her to don a disguise, travel the kingdom, and seek out her old friend in order to warn him.

The most interesting aspect is the switching points-of-view from chapter to chapter, not only Julian and Bella, but Bella's aunt, foster mother, stepmother and two stepsisters! So we end up getting a lot of backstory that's not necessary to the main plot, and yet the book itself is so inoffensive that it just feels mean to complain.

Street Freaks by Terry Brooks

I'll admit I'm a lowkey fan of Terry Brooks. After he got over his first few formulaic novels (and if you can forgive the terrible television adaptation of the Shannara series), he ended up writing some pretty good stuff – and Running With the Demon is legitimately one of my favourite books.

Here for the first time he turns his hand to sci-fi, and the result is...fine. This is hardly a game-changing or genre-bending novel, but a fast-paced, reasonably interesting story that belongs as much in the dystopian genre as it does science-fiction. Brooks's distinctive prose (clear but liable to repeat itself) is matched well with a collection of interesting characters and some fun world-building.

Teenager Ash Collins receives a warning from his father through his vidview, telling him "Go into the Red Zone. Go to Street Freaks. Don't wait..."The connection ends before the message is complete, and minutes later Ash's apartment is invaded by men in hazmats. He makes a dash for is, and manages to escape into the polluted streets of Los Angeles, with only a limited amount of his medication and very little idea of where he's going.

Without giving away too much more, Ash falls in with a typical ragtag bunch of misfits: those that've been reworked by science and rejected by society, forming their own little family in the heart of the Red Zone. Having won their trust and heard their stories, it's to them that Ash turns when he's ready to seek out answers to his mysterious father.

Unfortunately, Ash never really comes alive as a character, and most of what happens to him is pretty predictable, from parsing out who he can and can't trust, to the secret that his father was hiding from him. The Street Freaks (some of which are given ridiculous names: I can't take a guy who calls himself "the Shoe" seriously) are enjoyable but not particularly interesting, and Ash's love story with Cay Dumont – a pleasure synth designed to service men – is about as deep as a paddling pool.

It's interesting to read a familiar author in a new genre, but I gotta say I prefer his fantasy so far.

City of Dark Magic by Magnus Flyte

Well this was a weird one. Involving time travel, Beethoven, amulets, drugs, Nazis, musical prodigies, alchemists and four-hundred year old dwarfs, it pretty much throws in everything but the kitchen sink. Though in saying that, it's not like you'll ever be bored reading it.

Music student Sarah Weston has just been offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to travel to Prague and help organize a newly-discovered trove of Ludwig van Beethoven's manuscripts. With them, there's even a chance she might discover the identity of Beethoven's mysterious "Immortal Beloved."

But already a pall hangs over her trip: Sarah's mentor Professor Sherbatsky has apparently committed suicide, having leapt from a tower in Prague Castle. Sarah can't believe it, and so sees the opportunity to investigate his death while getting paid to research her life's passion.

Things only get stranger from there, from the ominous warnings about how Prague contains portals to hell, to the mysterious little man who leave her boxes filled with toenails, to the arrival of a ruthless American senator who seems to know much more than she's letting on. It can get hard to keep track of what's going on in any given chapter, what with all the mistaken identities, secret agendas and (eventual) time-travelling shenanigans.

So many balls are thrown into the air that it's inevitable some of them get dropped along the way, but like I said – it's certainly original!

The Fairy Doll by Rumor Godden

The cover was cute and it was only a few chapters long, so I thought: why not? It's a cute little book about the youngest of four children who considers herself clumsy, stupid and dull until she's given a fairy doll by her Great-Grandmother. In her desire to provide the doll with clothes and house, Elizabeth ends up listening to a "ting" noise inside her mind that leads her to all sorts of creative innovations (a bicycle basket for the doll's house, various flowers for her clothing and so on).

Things get better in other areas as well, such as riding her two-wheeled bicycle and remembering things at school, but when the doll inevitably goes missing, so too does Elizabeth's newfound confidence. But much like Dumbo and the magic feather, Elizabeth learns the lesson that she was perfectly capable of doing things on her own (though the story doesn't discount the possibility that the doll was indeed magical).

Altogether now: awwwww.

The Lion, the Unicorn and Me by Jeanette Winterson

I'm a big fan of Jeanette Winterson's writing for adults (she can write a beautiful turn of phrase) and so was intrigued to see that she had written a children's book about the Nativity – not just that, but written it from the point of view of the donkey that carries Mary to Bethlehem.

And it's just lovely – truly lovely. Perhaps its most rewarding feature is Winterson's ability to place the earthiness of the tale (hay, dung and childbirth) with the numinous (angels, miracles and the suspension of time) in such a balance that one doesn't feel more or less important than the other.

There's also a certain sense of whimsy (Bethlehem is so full that "even the mice were renting their mouse-holes") and folklore (the story begins with an angel trying to choose the best animal for the job of carrying Mary – the three finalists are the lion, the unicorn and the donkey), as well as Biblical events such as the visitation of shepherds by an angel and the arrival of the three wise men.

I came for Winterson's poetic-prose, and was not let down.

Skeleton Key by Anthony Horowitz

My reading of the Alex Rider series continues at its glacial pace, as now I've finally reached the third book nearly eight years after reading Stormbreaker (the first). And for the first time I realized why these books are classified as Young Adult as opposed to Older Fiction, as it does get surprisingly dark this time around, with plenty of grisly deaths, a villain with an incredibly messed-up plan, and Alex falling into what is clearly a state of depression at the end of the story.

It's to Horowitz's credit that he plays the spy-adventures as something that has a detrimental effect on the mind and soul of a teenage boy, rather than treat everything as a high-spirited lark. Alex doesn't enjoy his job all that much, despite the glamourous locations and inventive gadgets, and there's more than one conversation about the ethical implications of sending a teenager into such dangerous situations. So I'm interested to see how the Alex's story will continue – and at the rate I'm going, I'll probably find out in about ten years or so.

The Secret of Moonacre (2008)

Having read The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Gouge earlier this year, I wanted to check out its film adaptation, curious as to how it would adopt a fairly unusual book. Unsurprisingly, the film opts to focus on the major plot-points rather than the Christian spiritualist underpinnings, but it's still a take on the material that was more faithful than I thought it would be.

After the death of her father, Maria Merryweather and her governess Miss Heliotrope make the journey to the house of Maria's uncle, a curmudgeonly man who resents the presence of women in his household and forbids Maria from entering the woods due to the roaming bandits. Gradually she wins him over, though an old book left to her by her father tells her the history of Moonacre and why it's so important.

Ioan Gruffudd and Natascha McElhone gamely swallow their pride and play rather the ludicrous roles of thwarted lovers Benjamin Merryweather and Loveday de Noir; meanwhile Tim Curry (who is more used to this sort of thing) handles the evil Sir William de Noir (though is never really given a chance to cut lose). Poor Juliet Stevenson on the other hand is reduced to comic relief as Miss Heliotrope, whose main contribution is a running gag about how she's got wind (the character had much more dignity in the book).

Perhaps the most amusing thing is that everyone acts like they're in a completely different kind of movie: Dakota Blue Richards plays it straight, Ioan Gruffudd thinks he's in Shakespeare, Tim Curry does his usual scenery-chewing, and the array of supporting characters (most of which are Merryweather's servants) believe they're in a children's pantomime. It's actually kinda amazing to watch them all in one scene.

It's pretty by-the-numbers fantasy-fare, and yet had I watched this when I was a kid I'm certain I would have adored it. A moon princess in lavish fairytale gowns? A curse that only she can break? A typical goth bad-boy with eyeliner that she wins over? Magical pearls and pretty white horses and cute little animals? Man, it's a dream come true for every six to eight year old girl.

Monsters University (2013)

This was around the time Pixar films stopped being must-see (okay, so I never saw Cars in theatres either) and yet has there ever been a truly bad Pixar film? (Okay, the Cars ones).

This is actually a prequel to Monsters INC, which makes sense considering it's difficult to know where the story could go after the end of that movie – though I still hold out hope that we'll get to see a teenage Boo at some stage – and instead focuses on Mike and Sully during their campus years.

The film is at its most Pixar when it comes up with the lesson that sometimes, despite passion and hard-work and drive and dreaming – you don't always get what you want. Mike wants to be a scarer more than anything, and yet as is perfectly clear from the moment we see him as a child – he's just not scary. The whole story therefore becomes a story about how sometimes you have to change your dreams to better suit your talents – and how rare is that in an industry that usually caters to the line: "you can be whatever you want to be as long as you want it enough".

(Oh how I wish they had done a similar thing in How To Train Your Dragon 2, which completely missed the obvious fact that Astrid was born to be chief, while Hiccup is better suited for teaching and training).

When Marnie Was There (2014)

The most astonishing thing about this movie is how faithful it is to Joan Robinson's novel. Studio Ghibli has adapted Western books by English/American authors in the past, but any fan of Diana Wynne Jones or Ursula le Guin knows that they weren't particularly interested in being true to the original text. But When Marnie Was There is practically a scene-by-scene retelling of its source material, capturing nearly every moment that takes place between Marnie and Anna.

There are a couple of differences of course: the setting has been moved from Norfolk, England to Hokkaido, Japan, and some of the characters' screen-time has been considerably cut down, but the essential plot – and more importantly, the spirit – of the book has been kept intact. (Though it's a little strange that Anna and Marnie keep their English names, while everyone else has been given new Japanese names).

And because it's Studio Ghibli, it's beautiful, and carefully-paced, and poignant and bittersweet. Definitely track this one down.

A Wrinkle in Time (2018)

Well, they tried. A Wrinkle in Time was always going to be a nightmare to adapt, because the source material is just so weird. Apparently there is an earlier take on the material out there, but I'm not really enough of a fan of the book to track it down.

Meg Murray's father – an astrophysicist – has been missing for several years, leaving Meg as a self-loathing introvert who is naturally bulled at school by pre-teen girl who appear to have walked straight out of a Stephen King novel.

The film feels like it's bitten off more than it can chew: despite all the weird and wonderful things in the novel, it also wants to stamp its own mark on the story, and what we're left with is a series of vignettes in which Meg and her cohorts stumble into one bizarre situation after another, with very little understanding of just what the heck is going on. I wanted this to be good, I really did – but it just isn't.

Mission Impossible: Fallout (2018)

Having watched Ghost Protocol, Rogue Nation and now Fallout these past two months, (which together make up the good Mission Impossible trilogy), I 'm gonna say Ghost Protocol was the best, though this instalment certainly keeps up the quality levels.

The revolving door of teammates continues: Simon Pegg and Ving Rhames return, but Jeremy Renner is nowhere to be seen, and Alec Baldwin is replaced by Angela Bassett (good trade). They were also smart enough to bring back Rebecca Ferguson as Ilsa Faust, who is clearly being set up as the new female lead of the franchise (Ethan's wife Julia returns, but is given what feels like a definitive send-off here). It seems likely that Sean Harris will be back in some capacity, though I still hold out hope that we might see Maggie Q and/or Paula Patton again (do the writers realize they could have more than one woman on the team?)

The franchise has settled into a workable formula by now: bad guys are trying to do something terrible, Ethan and his team are called in, there's a sceptical agent overseeing things, a possible turncoat among the new characters, tons of crazy stunts, beautiful international set pieces, and Tom Cruise running frantically. The plot itself is nearly impenetrable – I think I got the gist of it, but one can never be sure and no one really comes for that, do they? Here's Tom Cruise dangling from a helicopter! I can't complain, and I'm already looking forward to the next one.

The Incredibles 2 (2018)

Here's the thing about The Incredibles 2: it's not bad – it's just that after a fourteen (!!!) year wait, it really should have been mind-blowing. And the weird thing is, I wasn't even all that thrilled with the first movie, though I recognized the sophistication of its commentary and themes.

Had this sequel come out five or six years after the first, then fine – but to wait this long and give us a solid and likeable film that nevertheless doesn't match the depth of its predecessor? That's a bit odd.

Picking up directly after the events of the last movie, with the Underminer attacking a sport stadium, the Parr family leap into hero-mode and ... create a lot of damage without even catching the bad guy (who escapes arrest and is never seen in the rest of the movie – that's also rather odd). But their re-emergence was witnessed by a pair of "corporate sponsors" who want to bring superheroes back into the light of day – and they want Helen to be the face of their movement, much to the chagrin of Bob.

Needless, to say this bugged me. I don't mind Bob getting jealous of Helen going back out into the field while he's left to mind the kids – that's just human nature. But as the film goes on, it begins to pall for three reasons: 1. He's never proud of Helen. When he turns on the news to see reports of her stopping a runaway train, he reacts with frustration and sulkiness. Really Bob? You can't be proud that your amazing wife saved dozens of lives? 2. There was a heart-warming line from Bob in the trailer that changes entirely in context: "I have to succeed so that she can succeed." This seems sweet at face-value, but it turns out there's a personal motive: Helen's success will allow him to get back out into the field – and that's all he cares about. Really Bob? Fathering isn't enough of its own reward? 3. The film never really does anything with Bob's character on this issue. He never comes to the realization that he was being an ass and that he should be happy for Helen and proud of his own achievements as a stay-at-home dad.

It's bizarre, especially for Pixar Studios: that a character lesson is set up but there's never any pay-off for it. Yet everything else is pretty fun: Helen gets some amazing set-pieces, Edna Mole and Frozone are as fantastic as ever, and the best conceit of the film is mind-controlling goggles that leave every adult superhero under the villain's thrall, leaving it up to the Parr children to pool their resources and free their parents.

To All the Boys I've Loved Before (2018)

This Netflix movie really has no right being as good as it is. And in a way it isn't – it's packed full of clichés, the trailer is totally misleading, and there are so many stock characters it's not even funny (the alpha bitch, the hapless dad, the precocious little sister, the quirky best friend). Yet for all of that, I was completely charmed.

Lara Jean is the middle of three sisters who would rather fantasise about romance than actually pursue it, having written five unsent letters to five of her greatest crushes – one of which is her sister's boyfriend Josh (and the family's next-door neighbour). When her little sister sends the letters to their recipients, she's so mortified at Josh knowing her true feelings that she agrees to a plan concocted by Peter Kavinsky (another letter recipient) to fake-date each other in order to put Josh off the scent and make Peter's ex-girlfriend jealous.

Yup, it's the old "fake date and maybe fall in love for real" scenario – and yet I was in genuine suspense over what couple would be endgame, and pretty charmed by all the main characters (especially the main pairing).

There are some hiccups along the way. Firstly, the alpha bitch character is a stock figure I'm heartily sick of (she turned up in A Wrinkle in Time too) and I'm old enough now to look at these girls and hope they get serious psychiatric treatment for the issues that are only briefly hinted at in their respective movies, but which make them more pitiable than loathsome, especially compared to our spunky protagonists.

Secondly, a fight erupts between our would-be lovers over an easily-explainable situation after an obvious manipulation by said alpha bitch that a simple conversation would have cleared up in seconds had Lara Jean just let the guy explain himself. But of course, that breaks the miscommunication rule of all rom-coms.

Thirdly, no teenage boy is as ripped as the one we see in the hot tub (I checked, and the actor is twenty-four).

But I loved Lara Jean's warm family environment, that both her main love interests are decent, honest, respectful guys (none of this "jerk with a heart of gold" bullshit), that there is a realistic depiction of diversity at the high school, and that Lara Jean ends up with the right guy – who was somehow also the unexpected guy.

Poldark: Season 1 (1975)

The DVD set was sitting in the second-hand bookstore where I work, and my curiosity at watching a different, older version of the story I'd been following for a few years now was piqued. Okay granted, I didn't exactly give it my full attention, but it was still fun to see a different take on the likes of Ross, Demelza, Elizabeth and Warleggan.

The first season stretches all the way from Ross's return to Cornwall to Francis's death in the coalmine and Elizabeth's remarriage to Warleggan; events that were saved until the second season in the 2015 version – in fact there are sixteen episodes in all, which is a huge amount for a British television show (again, the latest version encompass only ten episodes per season).

Possibly the biggest difference in style is that this version tends to put a number of characters in a room and have them act out the scene like it's a stage-play, with very little in the way of close-ups or camera techniques. They just walk in and go for it, and it's quite impressive to watch everyone remember the cues and dialogue, for if just one person messes up, they'd all have to do it again.

But it's fascinating to see what different actors bring to the part: Robin Ellis is a dashing Poldark, with the usual amount of social conscious and wild temper, while the women playing Demelza and Elizabeth are intriguing too: this Demelza is much more childlike, while Elizabeth is more self-aware and (astonishingly enough) has more agency as well. Sure, she makes the wrong decision in marrying Francis instead of Ross, but she owns her choice in a way that Heidi Reed's version simply isn't allowed to.

And for those interested, here's Robin Ellis commenting on his role in the 2015 version as Judge Halse, playing opposite a brand new Poldark forty years after he was in the very same scene as Poldark. What a trip that must have been!

Doctor Thorne (2016)

This is a perfectly serviceable and entirely forgettable adaptation of Anthony Trollope's novel, which ticks all the boxes of any self-respecting period drama: sumptuous costumes, beautiful houses, attractive people, and witty dialogue. Say what you will about Julian Fellowes, he knows how to bring characters to life in ways that feel organic to the period while remaining universal in their thoughts and feelings.

Mary Thorne has lived in the care of her uncle Doctor Thomas Thorne for her entire life, though she knows there's a shadow that lies over the circumstances of her birth. The fact that she's illegitimate means she's an unsuitable match for her childhood sweetheart Frank Gresham, though he's determined to marry her despite the protestations of his mother.

There are other complications: that Doctor Thorne knows more about Mary's heritage than he lets on, and that Frank's family home is under threat after years of his father squandering the family fortune. But an early-foreshadowed plot-point makes the outcome of the story clear: it's just a matter of waiting through polite and not-so-polite conversations in parlours before we get to the all's well that ends well.

Doctor Thorne is described in the behind-the-scenes material as "the gentle hero" who embodies "charismatic goodness", and I agree that it's nice to have a protagonist who isn’t flashy or flawed, but a quiet, decent man. It's a different kind of role for Tom Hollander, but one that still allows his comic timing (though here it's channelled through his amusement at other people).

Some of the supporting characters aren't particularly fleshed out: Frank has two (or maybe three?) sisters that never become much more than window dressing, and as lovely as Alison Brie is as an American heiress, she's not given much to do. But it's a totally inoffensive, utterly light period drama and sometimes that's all you want. I watched it Christmas Day with a box of chocolate truffles and it was GREAT.

The Good Place: Seasons 1 – 3 (2016 – 2018)

This show had been popping up a lot on my Tumblr dashboard, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I tracked it down. It's best described as a blend of the whimsy and philosophy of Pushing Up Daisies with the character development and dynamics of Community or Parks and Recreation.

Eleanor Shellstrop (Kirstin Bell) opens her eyes in a peaceful waiting room, only to be informed by a benevolent divine being called Michael (Ted Danson) that she's been in a fatal accident involving a margarita mixer and a truck. The happy news is that she's made it to the Good Place, where you can meet your soulmate, enjoy a custom-made house, and wander around in perfect bliss.

However, Eleanor has a secret. During her lifetime she was rude and selfish, and she knows perfectly well that she doesn't belong in the Good Place. The comedy is derived from Eleanor's desperate efforts to deserve her place in paradise, calling upon her soulmate Chidi (an ethics professor) to teach her how to be a good person so she can avoid going to the Bad Place. However, her very presence in the Good Place is having some nasty side-effects, and her sense of self-preservation is constantly at war with her newfound conscience.

On a more serious note, the show is deeply interested in the moral and philosophical questions that are raised throughout all three seasons, which really raises the show from a quirky comedy into something far more thought-provoking. That said, the show is completely uninterested in any questions regarding the nature of God, which is a bit surprising given the subject matter and the experiences the characters go through.

(It reminded me of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, in which the characters would arm themselves with crucifixes, fight a myriad of demons, and openly believed in the existence of Heaven and Hell, and yet never once gave thought – in either a positive or negative sense – that there might be a higher power at work).

Of course, we're only three seasons into The Good Place, and there's every chance the subject will be broached next season – especially given where the characters find themselves at the end of season three.

Anne with an E: Season 2 (2018)

I feel like a real Grinch for not embracing this show, and it's not like I don't enjoy it – but it really has practically nothing to do with the novel on which it's based. And sure, there have been Anne of Green Gables adaptations in the past, so why not do something different? But this is so profoundly different, that it's unclear why they didn't just make up their own period drama, like Downton Abbey in Canada.

It feels like the show doesn't have faith in Montgomery's series of vignettes that depict the gentle course of Anne's childhood years – so they replace things like the Haunted Wood and the Lady of Shalott, which are only very briefly touched upon – with stuff like a couple of grifters running a long-con on the town, Gilbert going on a sea voyage to Trinidad, Matthew rekindling a relationship with his lost love, Miss Stacey getting in trouble with the community for her unorthodox teaching methods and so on.

Now look, I'm all for any show that enrages the usual assortment of racists, misogynists and homophobes. But this show just tries too hard to tick every single box. I don't doubt that its heart is in the right place, but in this season alone we've got an original character called Cole who grapples with his sexuality and school bullies, Diana coming to terms with the fact her Aunt Josephine is a lesbian, and Mr Phillips as a closeted gay man full of self-loathing who demands his wife-to-be give up her college education, leading her to run out on him at the wedding ceremony and dance with the other girls in the snow.

Meanwhile Miss Stacey is a culottes-wearing modern woman on a motorized bike who scandalizes the town when she accepts a lift from a married man and has her students sit in a circle on the floor, while Anne grapples with her terrible flashbacks to the orphanage while shouting at the boys about consent, and Gilbert befriends a Trinidadian man who comes to help out on his farm and falls in a love with a woman who has an alcoholic son...

Just... take it easy, show. It's all about as subtle as a sledgehammer and has nothing whatsoever to do with Montgomery's text.

And sometimes the show just isn't written that well, either in characterization or in plot. Gilbert in the book for example, is jovial, easy-going, and a little mischievous. Gilbert in the show is deeply introspective, sensitive and wise-beyond-his-years – which isn't a bad thing, except that it renders the famous scene in which he grabs Anne's pigtail and whispers: "carrots" as completely out of character. They couldn't leave out such an iconic moment, and yet it jars horribly with the way he's portrayed in every other scene. Heck, I'd go so far as to say this Gilbert is far too good for the immature and occasionally obnoxious Anne, who is growing up at a much slower rate than he is.

Then there's the episode with the school play, in which Matthew rushes out in search of a shovel to use as a prop, only to end up taking one from the house of an old man in a wheelchair. When he explains what he needs it for, the man expresses enthusiasm for seeing the play for himself, and so Matthew wheels him all the way to the town hall, just in time to watch – I dunno, maybe the last twenty seconds of the production? The writing tries to sell this as one of those big, uplifting, heart-warming moments even though we have literally never seen this old man before and never see him afterwards.

Like I said, I feel like a Grinch for not completely embracing Anne With an E, and there are people on my dashboard who completely love this show, but in my opinion it’s a case of "if it ain't broke, don't fix it."