Reading/Watching Log #43

This is very late, but I've had a busy month. Plenty of books and films this time around, as well as two plays, a handful of miniseries, and a game from the nineties. Naturally the big theme has been The Phantom of the Opera, as every few years I'm drawn back into its glorious Gothic melodrama.

As well as that there's been Shakespeare, superheroes, 19th century lesbians, Spanish princesses, angels and demons, fairies, diviners, and of course, Stranger Things. I think the third season has maintained the quality of the first two seasons, though I found myself a little less invested this time around. Perhaps the influx of material spread my attention a little thin...

Measure for Measure

The Pop-Up Globe came to Christchurch this year, though they took advantage of the Isaac Theatre Royal and staged their performances there instead of any outdoor venue (can't say I blame them in the middle of winter). Having already seen Hamlet some years ago, I opted for Measure for Measure, and it was great fun. Audience interaction, ad-libbing, throwing in modern-day references: this is Shakespeare as it's meant to be staged.

(My favourite addition: when Duke Vincentio is trolling everyone as Friar Lodowick, and the entire company finally tear off his disguise, only to step back and realize who it truly is. In perfect unison, they fall to their knees and cry: "OH SHIT!")

Measure for Measure is one of those "problem plays" (as described in the programme) which involves a lot of misogyny that the performers try to alleviate in a myriad of ways: in this case, Isabella is allowed to accept Duke Vincentio's offer of marriage in very clear terms, despite the play having her remain silent on the matter.

Its subject matter is sadly relevant: Isabella is a novice nun whose brother is sentenced to death, and when she goes to plea for mercy from the town official who has passed the sentence, he offers to free her brother only if she gives up her virginity to him. He only laughs when she threatens to expose his lecherous blackmail, for she says to herself: "Did I tell this, Who would believe me?"

Oh Shakespeare, you precognizant bastard.

But a big part of why I enjoyed it so much were the two teenage girls behind me, who were totally engrossed. When Angelo makes a big display of locking a door, thereby trapping Isabella in the room with him, I heard one of them whisper: "Shit." Later, when Isabella approaches Angelo with a lit torch, the other muttered: "Burn him alive!"

The Snow Queen

During the school holidays I took my niece to see this at our local theatre: a take on The Snow Queen as performed by children and a few adults. Tickets were cheap and it was at the quality of your average school play, but there was a certain charm to that.

Obviously the original story had to be heavily abridged (no princess or ravens) as well as "Disneyfied" with songs and dancing, but hey - it was fun to tick off my internal checklist: the magic mirror, the Queen in her sleigh, the talking flowers, the little robber girl, the reindeer - even the Lapland woman made a cameo appearance.

The Snow Queen herself was aptly regal and commanding, and the young actress playing Greta poured her heart and soul into it. Do you know how hard it is to be sweet and innocent without coming across as cloying? She pulled it off, so mad respect.

And at its conclusion, the children in the audience were invited to come down and meet the cast, leading to Emma's first encounter with a bonafide celebrity:

The World of Fire and Ice by George R.R. Martin, Elio M. Garcia and Linda Antonsson

Dammit, I want to just cleanse my mind and soul of Game of Thrones, and yet there's something about it that just gets its hooks into you. So I'm doing a slow process of detoxing by reading through this, the in-depth history of Westeros and Essos, as written by one of the citadel's Maesters.

And honestly, you can't help but respect the sheer breadth and width of Martin's world-building. Even if he never finishes the actual series, it's truly incredible what he's already managed to accomplish.

Divided into different chapters which outline the Targaryen Dynasty, the Histories of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Lands Beyond Westeros - though there are other shorter chapters about places and people lying outside these categories, and plenty of maps, time-lines, family trees and illustrations.

Reading through the histories of the Valyrian kings was a bit of a slog, and yet as familiar characters start to appear (beginning with one Olenna Redwyne) you can't help but sit up a little straighter, seeing the pieces fall into place: why Barristan Selmy is such a badass, how the madness of Aerys started, and the full backstory behind the Rains of Castamere song (and yikes, it's a doozy. I knew it involved the Lannisters destroying an entire House, but wait until you find out HOW it's done).

And there is so much delicious intrigue: the hints that the Children of the Forest were behind the White Walkers, the mystery behind the tornament at Harrenhal (that there was a "shadow host" funding it all that no one can identify), that the tragedy at Summerhall was perhaps deliberate arson, the disappearance of Bryden Rivers and his strange relationship with his half-sister, the mysterious letter from Dorne to the Targaryens that ensured their independance. It's all so rich and intriguing and "ooh-some".

Sometimes Martin even has a little fun, such as identifying three generations of Tarly lords as Kermit, Grover and Elmo.

But what always intrigued me most about this world were all the connections and mysteries strewn throughout, specifically the fundamental dualities and contrasts at work: the Doom of Valyria with the Long Night, the citadel of Winterfell (Starks) and that of Summerhall (Targaryans), the fiery R'hllor with the icy Great Other, and of course, that of fire and ice itself. There's a real poetry of interconnectedness in this world, and the show's failure to capitalize on it was one of the several disappointments of the final season.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard by J.K. Rowling

Did you know there are two illustrated versions of Rowling's wizarding world fairy tales? I didn't until we had a Harry Potter Day at the library, leading me to order in all the supplementary books I could get my hands on.

Of the two, the one illustrated by Chris Riddell is infinitely preferable; not only using his quirky style to bring these characters and magical situations to life, but also infusing it with some diversity that was sorely missing in the Harry Potter books as a whole.

For example, the three witches in The Fountain of Fair Fortune are clearly Asian, Indian and African, as denoted by their skin tone and clothing.

On the other hand, Lisbeth Zwerger's are both minimalist and surreal: she chooses to depict the foolishness of people in love by portraying them with heads of birds, animals or flowers, walking around blindfolded or on leashes. It's pretty weird, and not at all the right match for Rowling's imagination.

The book itself is a cute little idea, being a copy of the actual storybook Dumbledore leaves for Hermione in The Deathly Hallows. More than that, Rowling adds some interesting footnotes and annotations by Dumbledore himself, commenting on the origins and meaning of the stories - almost like the ancient figures the Maester writes of in The World of Fire and Ice: Lann the Clever, Bran the Builder and Garth the Gardener: semi-legendary figures that didn't really exist even in the fictional world they're a part of. Gotta admit, I love this kinda thing.

Once Upon a Wild Wood by Chris Riddell

Yup, I picked this up at the same time as Riddell's take on Beedle the Bard. There's just something about his work that's so well-suited to fairy tales, and given all the crossover craze that's happening across media right now, it made me realize that there's no better mingling of stories and characters than those found in fairy tales.

Little Green Rain Cape (GET IT?) is heading into the wild wood to attend a party: on the way she'll meet  trolls and wolves and bears and pigs and witches, Thumbelina and the Beast and Rapunzel and the Seven Dwarfs and Jack who climbed the beanstalk. They will help or hinder her, and she'll do the same to them in turn, and it all culminates in a party at the top of Rapunzel's tower.

It's akin to Allan and Janet Ahlberg's The Jolly Postman, and a lot of fun.

The House on Cherry Street trilogy by Rodman Philbrick

I had a weird inkling that I had read this trilogy as a ten-year old, as there was something deeply familiar about the name "Cherry Street". Yet it didn't ring any bells once I started, so I must have been thinking of something else entirely.

A single story that's divided into three parts, with cliff-hangers ending the first two instalments (I hate it when they do this; it's clearly meant to be just one book) it involves a boy called Jason moving into an old creepy house with his parents and little sister Sally for the summer. Almost immediately - as in, before he even sets foot in the place - he's convinced that something is very wrong.

The problem with the story is threefold. Firstly, it's told in first-person narrative, which means that unless there's some R.L. Stein-esque twist coming which reveals that Jason and his family were dead all along (they're not), we know that he's going to live to tell the tale.

Secondly, there is absolutely NO slow burn to the haunting that takes place. Usually you start with a few creepy coincidences, a few easily-explained occurrences, things that escalate gradually so that you feel like a toad sitting in boiling water - by the time you realize you're in serious trouble, it's too late. But this not only jumps STRAIGHT to the terrifying noises, voices, and shrouded figures stalking the hallway, but is unrelentingly scary.

Thirdly, his parents are so obtuse and useless that it comes across as child abuse. Look guys, even if they don't believe in ghosts, the fear and panic with which Jason repeatedly tries to warn his mum and dad of supernatural phenomena that's putting his little sister in danger is CLEARLY a red flag of some kind, and their consistent refusal to listen to him is downright disturbing.

Without the nostalgia factor that would have let me the weirdness, I'll recommending you miss these ones.

Before the Devil Breaks You by Libba Bray

So concludes my "finish what you started" reading pile - at least until the next lot of books by the various authors I'm struggling to keep up with are released. The Diviners is a planned four-part series involving an assortment of misfits with psychic powers living in 1920s New York, which is also something of an exploration of America itself.

We've got a black boy who can heal people, a gay pianist that walks in dreams, a fire-starter on the run from her abusive husband, a Jewish thief that can make himself unseen by others (the Jedi mind trick, basically), a vivacious flapper that reads objects, an Asian-Irish asexual girl with her legs in braces who can communicate with the dead - whew, there's really not a single minority that Bray doesn't tick, but because each one is carefully drawn, with unique flaws, fears and aspirations, none of it comes across as box-checking.

Having banded together twice in the past to defeat a serial killer and a mysterious sleeping sickness, the Diviners now face the figure known as "the man in the stovepipe hat", a devil-like creature who makes deals, manipulates others and corrupts everything around him. He has a history with a few of the Diviners, but also a grand scheme of which they can only see the edges.

I've never actually read anything that so deeply reminded me of a season of television, containing as it does a series of subplots, separate character arcs, rising and falling action, and the definite sense that it's just one part of a much larger story. I could very easily see this unfolding as a TV show, right down to the end of chapters serving as appropriate ad-breaks.

They're also surprisingly big books, with the Lovecraftian vibe of the first Ghostbusters film (it's not just the setting of New York, but also the emphasis on old buildings and dark history). For the atmosphere, the characters, and the obvious care Bray has taken with the era, these are great reads, and hopefully she'll stick the landing with The King of Crows.

Sylvie and the Songman by Tim Binding

I have to admit I only picked this one up because Angela Barrett provided the illustrations, and I'm a big fan of hers. But man, this was bizarre. The story itself is a fantasy tale like those I read in my childhood - it oddly reminded me of Margaret Mahy or Bruce Coville or Jane Langton's Hall Family Chronicles. Strange and whimsical and almost a little surreal, in which things start happening to a pair of children, with a definite dark edge when it comes to the danger they're in.

Sylvie Bartram lives with her father and dog Mr Jackson, all three of them still grieving for the death of Sylvie's mother, who drowned at sea. But one day her father doesn't return home from work, at about the same time Sylvie realizes that various animals in the neighbourhood are falling silent.

Together with her best friend George, Sylvie begins the search for her father, avoiding creepy train passengers and a sinister hot-air balloon that's circling the neighbourhood. She suspects it all has something to do with her father's work: he's a composer who invents strange musical instruments.

To be honest, the whimsy of the book borders on random at times. Characters and concepts are introduced seemingly at whim and without explanation, and it takes an extremely long time to get a clear understanding of what exactly is going on. I couldn't help but feel that the author was simply making it all up as he went along - which isn't necessarily a bad thing, so long as the end result makes sense. Which this doesn't.

I mean, would you believe me if I said that Sylvie's mother wasn't dead after all, just living in the ocean? And that she pops up at just the right time to help her daughter escape from an island before disappearing from the story again, with no explanation whatsoever? Yeah. Weird.

It's told in beautiful prose, and is certainly packed full of ideas and creativity, but you can't get fully invested in a story when most of the time you're struggling to figure out just what the hell is going on.

My Sweet Audrina by V.C. Andrews

Urgh, why did I read this? Well, I know why: because I'm listening to a podcast called Teen Creeps and this particular book sounded so batshit insane that I HAD to read it for myself. I actually read a few V.C. Andrews' books when I was a teenager, and I can't say I enjoyed any of them very much; they always had such sordid, deeply unpleasant undertones.

This certainly isn't any exception. Audrina lives in a creepy mansion with her philandering father, languorous mother, bitter aunt and crazed cousin-who-is-actually-her-half-sister. All this is weird enough, but Audrina also lives in the shadow of her older sister, also called Audrina, who died on her ninth birthday after an accident in the woods.

Her parents refuse to give her any details, but her father often has her sit in the first Audrina's old room, in her rocking chair, hoping that she'll absorb the qualities of her kind and talented older sister, constantly referred to as the First and Best Audrina.

The Second and Worst Audrina (yes, that's literally what she calls herself) lives in isolation, not attending school and being frequently confused about the passage of time. Often weeks seem to pass in a matter of hours, and she's even unclear about how old she is.

Is that Gothic enough for you? Well, let's throw in weekly tea parties with a photograph of Audrina's aunt who was cannibalized in Africa, a former ice skater with diabetes and no legs, a mentally disabled girl who may or may not be faking it AND killing people by shining refracted light from prisms in their eyes, and no less than three murders that take place on the SAME spiral staircase. You'd think this would throw up some red flags with the local police force, but... nah.

It's lurid and creepy and more than a little ludicrous: basically, vintage V.C. Andrews. Having revisited her again, I'm more determined than ever to never do it again.

Sleeping Beauty (1959)

Introducing my friend (who had a Disney-free childhood) to the Princess movies continues, this time with one of my absolute favourites. Every time I see Sleeping Beauty I like it more, from the stylized backdrops to the evocative colours to the surprisingly feminist bent. Honestly, how many times can you say you've watched a fairy tale in which three little old ladies with magical powers get to kick ass?

Of course, the film compensates for this somewhat by ensuring that Princess Aurora is easily the least interesting of all the Disney Princesses (though if you follow me on Tumblr, you're surely sick of me saying that she has my favourite design) who doesn't utter a single word from about the midpoint of the story onwards.

In saying that, neither does Prince Phillip - though granted, he is the most fleshed-out of all the early Disney Princes, and gets to slay a freaking DRAGON in the film's climax. Heck, you've probably already seen this post on how awesome he is...

And then there's Maleficient, easily the greatest of the Disney villains. It's not even a competition. We've all have a laugh over the recently-released Game of Thrones's script which refers to Daenerys as "her Satanic Majesty", but that term truly sums up Maleficient in all her diabolical glory. The horns, the cape, the voice, the eyes, the musical CUE, the green FIRE, the way she summons ALL THE FORCES OF HELL.

Whew, excuse me. The fact that she's so terrifying is why Flora, Fauna and Merryweather are so impressive. I mean, these rather fuddy-duddy old ladies go up against this pillar of pure evil and come out better off! The only comparison I can think of off the top of my head is Princess Leia refusing to be cowled by Darth Vader.

And given that the original fairy tale only has the fairies show up for the Christening, the fact they have such a large role to play here is amazing.

Watching it with someone who had never seen it before was interesting, as my friend pointed out the tragedy of the King and Queen giving up their daughter as an infant for no reason considering the fairies' plan to keep her hidden utterly failed, and that there's no time spent on Aurora's inevitable identity crisis once she realizes she's actually a princess (they don't even let her keep her true name, as the fairies refer to her as Rose throughout).

But I'd forgotten just how good the whole thing was, from the way Merryweather wriggles her entire body when she's angry, to the awful magnificence of the dragon battle, and the true PASSION with which Flora cries: "let evil die and good endure!"

That this comes from the same woman who breezily says: "that's because it's on you, dear" after Merryweather complains that the dress she's making looks awful is my favourite thing about the whole movie. Because yes: of COURSE the bitch who helps slay a dragon is equally capable of verbally slaying people who diss your dress-making skills.

Hell, it's FORESHADOWING.

It's not perfect, as the time spent on Kings Stefan and Herbert getting drunk together would have been better used on fleshing out the love story between Aurora and Phillip a little more (or giving us something - anything! - on the Queen) but then Disney has never done anything as suspenseful or heart-pounding as Aurora's hypnotized march towards the dreaded spindle. I get chills every time.

The Phantom of the Opera at the Royal Albert Hall (2011)

July was The Phantom of the Opera month, and after reading the novel for the first time, I had to reacquaint myself with the musical. This was a performance to mark the show's twenty-fifth anniversary, with Ramin Karimloo, Sierra Boggess and Hadley Fraser as the Phantom, Christine and Raoul, respectively (and not that I'm an expert, but it's difficult to imagine better casting).

There are some problems with the way the performance is staged and shot: for example, the falling chandelier is impossible to recreate, so they simply have it "explode" via some fireworks, and the use of LED screens to create the backdrops, which become horribly pixelized in close-ups. Also, no elephant. Boo.

Likewise, whoever did the editing for the DVD release needs to be fired. It does close-ups when it should do wide-shots, chooses odd angles when a simple panorama of the stage would have sufficed, and cuts perspectives way too quickly.

Also, did the performer who plays Charlotta slip them a fifty? Because the editing lingers on her to the exclusion of practically everyone else (I guess that's in keeping with her as a diva, but it's clear that we're missing out on the nuances of the other performances).

But apart from that, it captures the Gothic opulence of the melodrama I love so much. The costumes, the wigs, the fog-machine, the ballerinas, the operas-within-the-opera, the special-effects... The Final Lair in particular is done to perfection, and is what I had foremost in my mind during the Woman of the Month post on Christine.

God, if I ever end up as a tortured ghost, please let it be as one that haunts productions of The Phantom of the Opera. I feel I could really contribute to the ambiance.

A Simple Favour (2018)

This had been on my radar ever since finding out it featured Blake Lively in a business suit. I didn't really know what to expect, but it turns out this is a dark suburban comedy (I've also seen it described as "mummy noir") that's very much in line with the tone and content of Desperate Housewives. Honestly, this entire plot could have easily been a season-long arc on that show.

The story is about Stephanie Smothers, a widowed single mother who runs a vlog about recipes and home crafts, and her unusual friendship with wealthy, beautiful, mysterious working mum Emily Nelson. The two hang out after their sons become friends, though never become truly close (mostly there's something a undeniably disconcerting about Emily).

But when Emily goes missing, Stephanie starts investigating... which leads to all sorts of crazy shenanigans. The plot gets increasingly more ludicrous as it nears the finish line, which is a little disappointing considering the beginning hits just the right note of serious with a hint of lunacy, but  Anna Kendrick and Blake Lively (in a business suit!) are great. I'm always saying I want more female relationships that aren't best friends or sworn enemies, and this certainly delivered on that front.

I'd recommend for a girls' night, as long as you don't get caught off-guard by the shift from unsettling drama to bonkers soap opera.

The Kid Who Would Be King (2019)

I don't think Hollywood will ever make a worthy King Arthur film that successfully chronicles his life and times (and importance), but the stuff that plays around with his legend in different contexts... they usually work out a little better.

Joe Cornish's first film since Attack the Block definitely feels like a follow-up to "aliens in council estate", dealing as it does with a fatherless boy called Alex pulling Excalibur from a construction site. Now the target of mysterious dark forces, he teams up with his best friend Bedders (totally adorable and with a tendency to stare lovingly at his best friend), two local bullies (Lance and Kaye) and the wizard Merlin to save the world from the newly awakened Morgana.

It's not exactly clear whether Alex is a reincaration of Arthur or not, and there's no sign of any Guinevere, Gawaine or Galahad, but there's really nothing to complain about here. It's completely charming and inoffensive, with great performance from the child actors, some cute twists on Arthurian tradition, and a rousing finish that's very reminiscent of Buffy's Graduation Day.

The main weakness is its stunningly wasted use of Rebecca Ferguson as Morgana (she spends most of her screentime as a CGI harpy) though the team-up of Patrick Stewart and Angus Imrie as Merlin is a treat. The scene in which he not-so-subtly surveys Alex at school had me in stitches:

It's a shame it didn't do better at the box office, as it's the kind of movie everyone keeps insisting they want: an original idea, an upbeat tone (though not without its darkness), snappy dialogue, some fist-pumping hero-moments... wow, we all really slept on this one.

Shazam! (2019)

As with The Kid Who Would be King, there is a strikingly similar tragedy at the heart of Shazam: a parent who profoundly fails their child. In The Kid it was Alex's father, who remains entirely off-screen; here it is Billy's mother, whose abandonment of her son comes as a gut-punch. But whereas Alex at least had his mother, Billy has no one but a string of foster families that he abandons in favour of the rose-coloured memory of his mother.

In fact, there's a surprising thread of profound sadness that runs through this entire film, from the villain's origin story (that poor kid got totally screwed!) to a throwaway scene in which the kids have to go through a metal detector at the entrance to their school to make sure they're not toting hidden firearms with which to gun down all their classmates. It's jarring in just how casual it is.

This is all the more disconcerting when you put it into the context of a superhero movie in which a twelve year old boy is given super-powers that transform him into a grown man, and goes about using this combination of gifts in exactly the way you'd expect of a twelve year old boy. You'd think it would be a light and fluffy family film, right? Some of the time it is, but when it goes dark... it goes DARK.

There are also some missed opportunities - for instance, the demon hoard in this movie are based on the Seven Deadly Sins, yet apart from Greed and Envy (which didn't have green eyes, weird) this doesn't turn out to be important at all. They may as well have been interchangable demons. It's especially weird when the foster kids keep returning to a strip joint. The writers didn't think Lust might be pertinent in this scenario?

But apart from an obnoxious bumper sticker on their car ("I'm a foster mum, what's your super power?" - oh, SPARE me) the foster family dynamic is warm and appealing, and the moment in which Billy shares his powers with his siblings pure magic. Heck, I almost teared up at the sight of their aged-up bodies appearing through the smoke.

It's a fun little movie, but definitely worth it for that one scene.

Good Omens (2019)

If you have a Tumblr, you'll have almost certainly been inundated by Good Omens gifs, meta and fan art for the past month. Given that it's a Neil Gaiman/Terry Pratchett collaboration, my feelings weren't quite as effusive as everyone else's - I'm a fan of the former, but never really clicked with the latter. So naturally this was a 50/50 split between the stuff I liked, and the stuff I could leave.

Due to a mix-up with baskets at a Satanic nunnery, the Anti-Christ ends up being raised by a normal couple in a small English village, unbeknowst to all the angelic and demonic hosts. A lengthy montage across time fills us in on the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley, an angel and demon respectively, who have enjoyed a friendship/love affair across the centuries and are not looking forward to the inevitable end of the world. They enjoy life too much.

There are other subplots too, involving a witch-finder, the descendant of a seer, the friends of the Anti-Christ, and various angels/demons trying to bring about the end-times, but the focus is very much on Aziraphale/Crowley and their charged dynamic.

Tumblr has exhausted conversation on nearly every conceivable scene, nuance and minute gesture between these two, so it feels redundant for me to continue - though I will say I would eventually like to see a dynamic like this one in which the good being is laidback and sardonic, while the bad one is fusty and jittery. You'll find that this is more often than not the case in real life.

The Spanish Princess (2019)

Time for another round of Phillipa Gregory's whackadoodle take on 15th century history, in which no rumour or plot-twist or tidbit of apocryphal minutia is zany enough for her to pass up. Yeah, I love this trash.

This follows Catherine of Aragon in her youth as she travels from Spain to England in order to wed Prince Arthur and (eventually) becomes Queen of England. This plan comes to an abrupt end when Arthur dies of illness, leaving her bereft of an heir, a dowry and any long-term value to the royal family.

But believing this country to be her destiny, she sets her sights on Prince Henry, despite all the complications of such a match (namely that a man cannot marry his brother's widow, requiring Catherine to lie through her teeth about the consummation of the marriage). There's a poignancy in watching her fight so hard to marry a man we know will betray her, and a particularly striking moment in which she interacts with a little girl called "Anne", who is surely her future rival. The scene is underplayed, and all the more powerful for it.

As ever, there are a couple of subplots at work throughout: a pointless one for Catherine's youngest lady-in-waiting, who gets pregnant out of wedlock and then leaves the country, a promising one involving Princess Margaret's marriage to the Scottish king, which is abandoned pretty quickly at its most interesting point (her arrival in Scotland), and a love story between another of Catherine's ladies-in-waiting and a Muslim soldier, which is... fine.

These miniseries have always been only tenuously linked to one another, with different actors taking the roles of historical figures each time around, so this is the third iteration for some of these characters. Laura Carmichael is a good match for Rebecca Benson's Margaret Pole (they have the same nervy hang-dog expression), as are Elliot Cowan and Alexandra Moen as Henry Tudor and Queen Elizabeth (though both are a little de-toothed in comparison to their younger selves).

But this is our third Margaret Beauford, and sadly the least interesting despite being played by the wonderful Harriet Walters. The others had a hint of fanaticism about them, leading them to truly cruel and ruthless acts, but Walters mostly comes across as an imperious housekeeper. Granted, this is almost certainly more true to the real Margaret Beauford, but the character just ain't the same without that glint of crazy in her eyes.

But Charlotte Hope as Catherine and Ruairi O'Connor as Prince Henry (significantly aged up, with the right hair and attitude) are the standouts, so hopefully ITV can hang onto them if they move forward with their story.

Gentleman Jack: Season 1 (2019)

The most extraordinary thing about this show is that it's main character was a real person. Anne Lister lived from 1791 to 1840, a landowner in Halifax, Yorkshire, whose extensive diary-keeping is the inspiration for this show (many of her entries are read out verbatim, which also leads to plenty of fourth-wall breaking).

That she was a lesbian and not just a tomboy with "gal pals" there can be no doubt, as her diary contains explicit detail on her love-life, albeit details that were written in code. This first season focuses on her relationship with Ann Walker, an heiress in delicate health with whom she strikes up a friendship, then love affair.

There are other subplots too, most of them incredibly pointless, involving Anne's servants, tenants and neighbours - I would have happily traded them for more of Anne's personal life, especially given the aching slowness with which a lot of this season moved. Apparently there's going to be a season two, though this could have easily been a one-and-done if we'd spent less time on the farming lad who murders his father and feeds his body to the pigs and gets engaged to Anne Lister's land-steward's daughter without telling her about what he's done, only for his father's identical brother (played by the same actor) to turn up before the wedding and start casting suspicion about... if this sounds incredibly weird and superfluous, that's because it is.

It was Anne Lister's wealth more than anything that allowed her to live without a huge amount of censure, and I appreciated that the show doesn't shy away from this fact. Throughout the episodes she demonstrates her Tory leanings and her class values, which are clearly a way of maintaining her safety and freedom. She can flout certain social mores, but knows she must adhere to others should she want to remain an eccentricity instead of a threat.

(It reminds me of how Sansa ultimately had to support the status quo of the patriarchy instead of the revolution promised by another woman in order to gain what power she could - it's a sad reality, but an honest one).

Basically, it's a good watch and an interesting one - just incredibly sluggish in its pacing. But Gemma Whelan as Anne's sister is delightful, even if it's disconcerting seeing her as a prim little lady so soon after her role as Yara Greyjoy.

Derry Girls: Season 2 (2019)

The girls are back, and just in time. There's something about their intensity, that combination of passion, stupidity, frustration and terrible life choices that has made this show such a hit. This time around they deal with the other half of staple adolescent dramas: creeping over to the boy's dorm, getting stood-up by your prom date, trying drugs for the first time, sneaking out to a concert, and preparing for a visit from President Clinton when the Troubles finally come to an end. Okay, so that last one is pretty specific to Northern Ireland.

The other great thing about this show is just how topical it is. I had no idea that the President Clinton visit was A Thing, but it really happened - so did the escaped polar bear and the exuberance with which guests danced Rock the Boat at weddings.  

This time around there's more emphasis put on the parents as well as the girls, such as everyone believing Erin's mother is capable of laying curses, or Grandpa Joe's attempt to track down Clinton by tapping the FBI. They're not quite as amusing - though when are we going to get a Sister Michael-centric episode??

In all, the show gets the vibe of teenage friendship just right: on the one hand you would die for each other, even as you were constantly at each other's throats.

Killing Eve: Season 2 (2019)

I actually watched this last month but for some reason forgot to write about it! Killing Eve falls into the... I don't want to say "trap", so let's go with "unavoidable development" when it comes to cat-and-mouse games between a law official and their target - eventually said target has to be caught. And then what? Only one of these two characters can win, and the longer any chase gets drawn out, the stupider one of them will seem.

So they go for the whole "you have to work for us in order to catch another killer" angle. It's not entirely unsuccessful, just a huge strain of credibility - though granted, that was as true of the first season (regarding Eve's inexplicable refusal to tell her husband what she was up to) as it is of this one.

Jodie Cormer as Villanelle is clearly having the time of her life with the various wigs, outfits and accents, though her best episode is when she's unexpectedly vulnerable, and ends up in the home of a man who's ultimately much more dangerous than she initially gives him credit for. It's an excellent hour of television as your sympathies abruptly switch between the two of them.  

Henry Lloyd-Hughes pops up; I haven't seen him since Indian Summers, and he's doing what he does best: unsettling asshole, though sadly Elena has disappeared without warning (along with Tom in Big Little Lies, she marks the second popular character that's gone missing between seasons in my current shows).

This isn't usually my genre, and a lot of the time I don't know what to think about some of the show's creative choices... but two messy, complicated women caught in a weird mating ritual that involves all kinds of murder and mayhem? How can I say no to that?

Big Little Lies: Season 2 (2019)

For everyone who thought a second season of Big Little Lies was unnecessary at best and a terrible idea at worst, especially after the perfection of the first season, and who deemed it a blatant money grab which would undermine the integrity of the story that had already wrapped up on a satisfying note... yup, you were right. Pour yourself out one.

The first season worked with a single, brilliant premise: that there were dark undercurrents in the otherwise idyllic seaside town of Monteray, totally ignored by the oblivious helicopter mothers who spent most of their time squabbling viciously with each other over meaningless shit... until a predator enters their midst and they immediately and instinctively work together to protect each other.

It was an absolutely perfect example of set-up, misdirection, and gloriously satisfying pay-off.

But where was there to go in a hypothetical season two? Well, there was naturally the fallout of Perry's death and Celeste struggling to cope with raising her boys on top of the arrival of her suspicious mother-in-law (played by Meryl Streep, no less). There was Madeline's infidelity, that went surprisingly undiscovered by her husband throughout the first season. Jane could grapple with the death of her rapist/father of her child, Bonnie would naturally suffer PTSD after committing manslaughter, and Renata... well, they come up with a bankruptcy plot in order to give her something to do.

And of course, the toll that the subsequent cover-up would have on all the women. This last one had the most potential, and I did appreciate the way all the women fell apart in their own unique ways, but at the same time, the writing never does it justice. For instance, nothing much is done with Jane besides replacing Tom with another guy whose name I can't remember to get her back in the dating game. 

But the story which should have brought them all closer together never really draws any meaningful conclusions about solidarity or friendship - especially in regards to Bonnie, who is clearly the most vulnerable of the group and yet is largely left to her own devices.

At one point Madeline swears at Bonnie and says: "I'm so tired of taking care of you and your fucking feelings", even though she's done no such thing over the course of the season, and is the person who came up with the utterly pointless idea to say that Perry tripped and fell in the first place, something that would have worked if the show had ended things with that final scene of the mothers and children at the beach, leaving us to infer that it was the right call, but which becomes yet another example of her ghastly meddling when The Lie has so many negative, far-reaching psychological consequences.

(They also don't bother to try and justify The Lie, since it's perfectly obvious there would have been no serious consequences given that a) Celeste had clearly been attacked, b) there were four witnesses to said attack, and c) both Renata and Celeste could have provided Bonnie with the very best defense attorney money could buy. Perhaps they could have done something with Bonnie's vulnerability under the law regarding her race, but this is never touched on. Oh, and the black investigator who spends the entire season following the women around? Doesn't do anything, and isn't even a part of the final episode. How incredibly pointless).

It all gets worse when Madeline tells her husband about it, and he asks: "during all this solidarity, is this when 'fuck off' came up?" He's not wrong, but why the hell is HE pointing this out in a show all about women?

Because this is where the show really drops the ball. Or not so much drops the ball as totally destroys it in a terrible gas explosion. The first season was a compelling and uncompromising look at the effects of domestic abuse, one which makes absolutely clear that it is never the victim's fault, that Perry was responsible for his own behaviour, and that the women were about as justified as anyone could be in taking his life.

This season, through the loathsome Mary Louise and Celeste's assertion that Perry's violence was her fault, and the reveal that Bonnie's mother was an alcoholic and Bonnie's confession that it was her mother she was really pushing down the stairs, decides that the entire Perry situation, from his abuse of Celeste to his death at Bonnie's hands, was in fact the fault of women. Bad mothers, to be more specific.

And I just... how do you get here? How do you write a show about how women overcome abuse through finding strength in each other, and then turn it into something which throws the blame for that abuse BACK on women? Did no one stop to think about this for even a second? I mean wow. Just...wow.

For the record, the season also throws in the "Renata's husband was sleeping with the nanny" cliché, which was in the book (and actually used as a way to punish Renata, who is a vastly different character there) but thankfully removed from season one. But I guess Liane Moriarty really liked that for some reason, because it's needlessly inserted here.

So aside from all the yelling Renata memes that this season spawned (which strangely never led to an examination of how her level of high-strung hysteria would never be tolerated in a male-dominated workplace) you'd be much better off pretending Big Little Lies was a one-and-done.

Stranger Things: Season 3 (2019)

What's to say that hasn't already been said? It felt as though the hype for season three wasn't quite as intense as that for season two - or perhaps that was just me spending less time on-line. The whole thing unfolded in an entertaining though fairly predictable way, and it's clear that the Duffer Brothers have settled on a particular formula: our protagonists are separated into separate subplots, each investigating a different angle of a mystery that eventually pushes them altogether.

It's not a bad formula by any means, though it has its weaknesses. On the one hand, I loved some of the dynamics, especially between Max/Eleven and the Scoops Troop. On the other, the distinct storylines means that some characters aren't interacting when they really should: I missed Dustin's rapport with the rest of the gang, and Nancy/Mike continue to be the world's most disinterested siblings. Heck, I'm not sure the Byers family had any interactions at all this year.

They also try to get an emotional reaction from the audience in regards to Max/Billy, even though he's been nothing but verbally abusive to her from the moment he arrived in Hawkins. And Hopper is just relentlessly angry - not without reason, but it gets exhausting after a while. And for the third year running, Nancy and Jonathan are stuck in the show's least interesting storyline.

But it's easy to nitpick. Ultimately Stranger Things is a feel-good nostalgia trip that mingles great characters with eighties references, and there are some great set-pieces throughout. The kids trapping Billy in the sauna, the terrifying chase through the hospital, the cat-and-mouse games at the fairground, the battle in Hopper's cabin and then Starcourt Mall - what's not to like? Everyone got their moment to shine, and there wasn't a single dynamic on-screen that didn't have crackling chemistry.

I especially appreciated the friendship between Max and Eleven; not just because it happened but due to HOW it happened. I was afraid the Duffer Brothers would jump straight to the girls being besties, despite El's rather cool reception of Max last season - which made perfect sense in context, though fandom immediately started complaining about it. Obviously I still wanted them to end up as friends, but was worried about the execution.

It ended up that I really liked the way the Duffers handled it: the two girls had clearly been in each others' orbits due to their boyfriends, but also not really friends themselves... until El fights with Mike, and ends up going to Max for some answers. From there they get embroiled in the search for the missing lifeguard, and their own personal rapport grows from there.

El mimicking some of Max's reactions (such as her "jeez!" when Hopper bursts through her bedroom door) was a particularly nice touch.

So the good definitely outweighed the bad, though I can't help but feel that the Duffers are definitely taking copious notes from the internet when it comes to mapping out their storylines. I mean, is it a coincidence that Eleven/Max had a significant subplot after the complaints that they should be friends? Or that Joyce/Hopper is now pretty much a thing? Or that Billy haters AND stans were both accomodated? Or that Erica's role was significantly expanded? Or that there was no mention of Kali or the other laboratory kids?

And the fact that Max/Lucas never once kissed on-screen this season just HAD to be due to the trouble the Duffers found themselves in after word got out that they sprung a kissing scene on Sadie Sink at the end of last season.

Look, I'm not saying that creators shouldn't be aware of fandom reactions... only that it can get dangerous if they start taking ALL their cues from an on-line committee. (As much as we hate to admit it, audiences are NOT the best authorities on how a story should unfold. We don't have to like certain developments, but for us to dictate terms on what should happen and how only leads to pandering and mayhem. Writers: trust your own judgment. You may end up with crap, but at least it will be YOUR crap).

All things considered, I enjoyed myself, but find I wasn't quite as enchanted this time around. The scattering of the cast into so many distinct subplots meant that there wasn't a true protagonist or central dynamic as in previous seasons, which meant every character felt a little thinly spread. For the first time Mike, Eleven and Hopper felt more like components of an ensemble than the leads - heck, the most emotionally charged moment of the season was between Steve and Robin when she outed herself to him; something that had absolutely nothing to do with anyone else in the cast.

For the record: I loved The Neverending Story scene, and genuinely feel sorry for anyone who can't find the joy in it. It was worth it for Hopper's face alone.

Return of the Phantom (1993)

You can tell I've had a Phantom month, and a part of that involved tracking down the game I played back in the nineties (thanks ClassicReload!) in which a modern-day detective called Raoul investigates the mysterious falling of a chandelier at the Paris Opera House.

As he explores the (beautifully rendered) theatre, he interviews various stagehands and performers, discovering that a lot of the strange occurrences that happened in the lead-up to the chandelier disaster are eerily similar to events described in The Phantom of the Opera (which is treated as a true story, of which this is a continuation).

Then, after a tumble from the loft at the hands of a cloaked and masked figure, Raoul wakes up in 1870, now mingling with the likes of Christine Daaé and Madame Giry. Trying to solve this bizarre turn of events leads him back around the theatre... and beneath it.

Unfortunately, the excitement of the time-slip adventure never really pans out: you never learn how or why it's happening, and the ending not only walks back a significant death, but also ends on a "OR IS IT?" note, which really just undermines the adventure you've just had. Likewise, some clues don't pan out, like the appearance of several modern-day lighting cells in the past, or what can only be called a cameo role from artist Edgar Degas, who appears to know that Raoul is from the future, and then disappears entirely.

Still, the atmosphere and graphics are wonderful, and it's clear that the writer/designers read Leroux's novel, seeing as it directly quotes some of his passages (like for example, how Parisians hide joy behind melancholy and tears behind smiles). This may very well have been my first in-depth experience of the Phantom story, and it certainly makes for a good primer. Even Joseph Buquet gets some characterization!

The entire game takes place in the Opera House, and is incredibly simple to complete. Aside from a frustrating maze towards the end, it largely involves talking to people and completing extremely simple puzzles. So if you want a little diversion in your life, you can find it here...

Check out some of its graphics: