Reading/Watching Log #69

This month was ostensibly Part II of the superhero-themed month that I started in August, but aside from finally getting to the Crisis on Infinite Earths crossover and finishing up with the first season of Batwoman and the very last season of Arrow, I still don’t feel I’ve made significant headway on the ever-increasing roster of CW superhero shows (Supergirl, The Flash, Black Lightning and Legends of Tomorrow are still waiting patiently for completion – and apparently Stargirl is already on season three! I will never catch up).

Reading-wise I finished Elizabeth Knox’s Dreamhunter duology and the third book in Mary Hoffman’s Stravaganza series, started on Robin Hobb’s Assassin’s Apprentice trilogy, was introduced to Tony Cliff’s Delilah Dirk (who also provided September’s Woman of the Month) and enjoyed... some miscellaneous stuff.

Movie choices were even more irregular: a black-and-white screwball comedy, an animated cult classic, and the deconstruction of a late 14th-century Middle English chivalric romance.

At least October will provide me with a much easy theme to adhere to: witches.

Delilah Dirk: Volumes 1 – 3 by Tony Cliff

I made Delilah Dirk September’s Woman of the Month, so I won’t repeat myself on a what a fun female character she is. Her stories are very much akin to the adventures of Indiana Jones, what with all the sword-fighting, gun-slinging, grave-robbing and treasure-seeking she does, and the three graphic novels (plus one on-line comic that I’ve yet to read) beautifully depicts the people she meets and the places she visits.

The Turkish Lieutenant recounts her meeting with Erdemogul Selim (the titular lieutenant) who gets swept up in her hijinks despite his oft-repeated desire for the quiet life, and their attempts to escape the vengeance of Captain Zakul, a pirate whose treasure trove Delilah has plundered. In The King’s Shilling, Delilah returns home to England after being accused of spying for the French. Knowing who the true culprit is, she and Selim attempt to clear Delilah’s name while uncovering a plot to sabotage English forces – and making a bitter enemy in the process.

Finally, The Pillars of Hercules is the most Indiana Jones-ish of the bunch, with Delilah and Selim uncovering a beautiful and mysterious subterranean city (not quite Atlantis, but close enough). The discovery brings them fame and fortune, but also unwanted attention from political powers across the globe.

Selim makes a wonderful Watson and straight man to Delilah’s eccentricities, with his narration often comedically at odds with what’s happening in the panels. Tony Cliff is an incredible artist, not only bringing to life the vast Mediterranean locales, but also the innate energy and complex facial expressions of his characters. Delilah and Selim are bursting with vitality and humour; able to communicate clearly to each other (and the reader) with just a glance.

Apparently the character and her stories have been licensed by Disney, which... *sigh*. It feels like every time I find something fresh and unique, Disney manages to sink its claws into it – but hey, it’s early days yet, and whatever they decide to do with the material won’t detract from the adventures that already exist.

The Sigh by Marjane Satrapi

This is a short but sweet fairy tale by the author of Persepolis, accompanied by her own illustrations. Based on (I think) a Persian fairy tale, it contains many of the tropes and archetypes of that genre, including a trio of daughters, a mysterious husband, a series of trials, and a happy ending. The most original feature is the Sigh of the title: when youngest daughter Rose lets out a sigh, the personification of said sigh (called Ah) turns up at the front door and acts like a wish-granting genie servant for the duration of the tale.

There’s at least one hilarious pearl-clutching review on Goodreads that decries the fact that the protagonist’s love interest watches her while she sleeps and that she sells herself into slavery after she breaks the inevitable taboo placed upon their union (in this case, it’s removing a feather from beneath his arm).

Fairly standard fairy tale occurrences, though it’s fascinating to see them coming from a non-Western (and much more ancient) cultural angle. Naturally it’s all well that ends well, and this is a nice little story for those so inclined. Perhaps a little forgettable – it’s lasting impact on me will probably be as a reminder to finally get ‘round to Persepolis. I’ve been meaning to read that for ages.

The Plantagenets by John Harvey

I grabbed this on a whim from the second-hand book store. It’s a pretty brief look at the Plantagenet Kings from Henry II to Richard III, a dynasty which the author divides into spring, summer and autumn to track the family’s rise and fall. Like most attempts at categorizing the complex nuances of history, it’s a bit of a stretch – but then a lot of my interest in reading historical commentary is discerning the author’s biases.

In other words, I like reading history books that are themselves near-history, creating a glimpse of the past through two windows. This was published in 1942, and John Harvey is a staunch monarchist. According to him, feudalism was great! The divine right of kings was totally for real! He even half-heartedly tries to defend such things as Henry III’s persecution of the Jews (they got a fair trial guys) and Richard’s massacre at Ayyadieh (he was provoked, y’all!)

(Okay, to be fair, Harvey also calls the latter: “a disgrace to Europe which the East has neither forgotten nor forgiven,” so he's not totally delusional).

And yet there’s an antiquated sense of charm when it comes to the topic of homosexuality, which he calls Richard the Lionheart a “victim” of. According to him it’s a psychological condition as opposed to an active sin, stating: “many seem unable to distinguish between the quite small proportion of actual vice and the much wider question of that large minority of human beings whose erotic emotions, though without becoming vicious, are centred upon members of their own rather than the opposite sex.

“The prevalent life-and-death friendships between the warriors of ancient Greece undoubtedly belonged for the most part to the latter and not to the former class of subject. This profound psychological problem demands radically new treatment; it can never be solved by such indefensible cruelty as the martyrdom of Oscar Wilde and his fellow sufferers.”

I mean, he’s completely and totally wrong... but his heart is in the right place. Kind of. Like I said, it was a different time – twice over.

Dreamquake by Elizabeth Knox

This is the direct sequel to Dreamhunter (read last month) with the two books deliberately designed to exist as a duology (or as they’re called here, a duet – a very apt descriptor given their ornate, musical quality). Picking up directly where its predecessor left off, the two absolutely have to be read consecutively as they are together the beginning and end of the same story.

To give a synopsis of this book would be to give away the plot of the first, so suffice to say that the story takes place in a world in which dreams can be “caught” and later shared with (or “performed to”) a slumbering audience. The rules and regulations surrounding the ability to catch and share dreams – all of which have titles such as “Sweet Evening” or “Starry Blue” – is fascinating to read about, and features heavily in Dreamhunter, as told through the eyes of two cousins who aspire to follow in their parents’ footsteps and become dreamhunters themselves.

But when Laura’s father goes missing, he leaves her with a strange, desperate mission to complete: for her to catch a certain dream and share it with the audience at the Rainbow Opera House on St Lazarus Eve. What this dream is and why it’s so important is the arc of Dreamhunter, and if that book was the lead-up to the sharing of said dream, then Dreamquake is all about the fallout.

To say more would be to spoil the story and its myriad of twists, so take my word for it that Elizabeth Knox is a consummate storyteller, and she handles this surprisingly complicated tale with complete mastery. Every word adds something to the greater whole, every character dynamic rings true, and every insight into the world-building and characterization gives you something to chew over.

There is perhaps a slight fumble at the end, when a closed time-loop suddenly throws up a “get out of jail free card” so as to provide an easy escape route from a very dismal future, and I can’t say I bought the love story between Sandy and Laura... but the journey is more than worth a couple of short-cuts at its conclusion, and I’m looking forward to rereading it, knowing the full scope and context of its mysteries.

The book itself is very long for a YA novel, and in the wake of that Tumblr post doing the rounds about how readers should allow themselves to become immersed in a story instead of demanding a relentless pace, I can think of no better example off the top of my head than Dreamquake. Knox will not be rushed, the plot unfolds over the better part of a year, and the prose itself is so dense and poetic that you can’t help but savour it.

It’s one of those books that – once you finish it – makes you sit in silence for a little while, just pondering everything you’ve absorbed. I love those books.

City of Flowers by Mary Hoffman

From what I gather, this was meant to be the third and final book in Hoffman’s Stravaganza series, only for its popularity (and the author’s enjoyment in writing it) to result in three more books. That said, City of Flowers certainly feels like it could be the grand finale of a trilogy, with considerably raised stakes, a higher body count, a more climactic finish, and several lovers declaring themselves (as is said, “journeys end in lovers meeting”).

It’s also the longest book in the entire series, which makes sense considering each new instalment introduces a brand new Stravagante: that is, a young person who can move through time and space in their sleep – with the help of a personalized talisman – to the country of Talia, an alternate-world Italy that exists at about the time of the Renaissance. Though they are ostensibly there to fulfil a specific purpose and/or destiny, the choosing of these individuals feels largely arbitrary, and the stories work well enough as simple adventure stories.

Let’s put it this way: a character in this book claims that protagonist Sky was brought to Talia in order to achieve something important, which turns out to be calling a specific name at a specific time, so that a third character can overhear him and piece together a long-standing mystery, thereby making a decision that changes the hierarchal structure of Talia’s most powerful family.

Yeah... it's a bit of a stretch, and the stories work just fine without this “destiny” element woven into them. The series is also starting to suffer from a bit of overcrowding, and Sky is unfortunately the least interesting protagonist thus far (he has a rockstar father that he’s never met, and his girlfriend thinks he’s cheating on her when he starts hanging out with other Stravagante; subplots that are just filler, and draw away from the more interesting Talian adventures).

Thankfully, Lucien, Arianna, Georgia and Nicolas née Falco are heavily involved in the plot, and their familiarity with Talia and its city-states mean that Sky has a more interesting supporting cast to interact with in both worlds.

The di Chimici family (clearly based off the di Medici) are making their most elaborate power-play yet, with a quadruple wedding planned that will consolidate their control over several holdings and a surplus of wealth, with patriarch Niccolo di Chimici pulling strings all over the place. Still grieving for his lost son Falco and convinced that the Stravagante had something to do with his mysterious death, Niccolo also aspires to wed the beautiful young Duchessa Arianna of Bellezza, which will bring her city under Chimici control.

It culminates in a church ceremony that hits a lot harder after recently watching Medici and its depiction of the Pazzi conspiracy than it did when I read this book for the first time – oh, well over a decade ago by this point.

But coming back to Talia and the city of Giglia (based on Florence) was like returning to an old holiday home. Hoffman clearly loves Italy and its history, and the main selling point of the series is how she creates such a vivid alt-world depiction of that country, with all its cultural milieu and historical weight. It’s a wonder that it’s never been adapted for television.

Assassin’s Apprentice by Robin Hobb

My New Year’s Resolution to read only my own books has been thrown out the window. I did my best, but the siren call of the library was too much for me. Weirdly enough, this was the novel that broke the damn – I’d read it years and years ago and out of nowhere, was gripped by the urge to read it again. I can’t tell you why.

Published around the same time as the first Game of Thrones novel, each one shares several superficial resemblances: namely a royal bastard as a protagonist and the in-depth training of an assassin, not to mention court intrigue and the absence of clear-cut heroic or villainous characters (rather everyone is depicted in varying shades of grey, not counting the creepy existential crisis that’s threatening the kingdom. In Game of Thrones it’s the White Walkers, here it’s the Forged – people kidnapped by raiders and returned with none of their former humanity left within them).

As a very young child Fitz is dropped off at one of the outposts belonging to King Shrewd, declared the bastard son of his oldest son Chivalry, and put under the care of the king’s stablemaster Burrick. On being taken back to the stronghold of Buckkeep, Fitz learns that his father has abdicated the throne out of respect for decorum in the wake of having fathered an illegitimate child.

Trying to find his feet in the new surroundings, Fitz is eventually taken under the wing of a mysterious man called Chade, who offers to teach him the ins and outs of how to be an assassin. The book largely unfolds as a series of vignettes, or a coming-of-age story in which Fitz learns his trade, develops his latent magical abilities, interacts with various other people of importance in the castle, and finally accompanies Prince Regal and his entourage on a diplomatic mission to escort the new bride of Prince Verity (who is next in the succession) back to Buckkeep – a journey which also happens to coincide with Fitz’s first assignation as an assassin.

Covering the early years of Fitz’s childhood and adolescence, it very much feels like the first novel of a much bigger story: so many concepts are introduced here that are given no resolution, but will undoubtedly be continued in the next two books. In truth, I was never really truly hooked by this story, and whatever else you may say about George R.R. Martin, there’s something about his characters and scenarios that sweep you up in their wake. Hobb’s story is more meandering, more focused on the development on the growth of a singular protagonist (that it’s told in first-person narrative is the biggest break from Martin’s multiple perspectives) and clearly pacing itself.

The likes of Martin, Terry Brooks, Terry Goodkind, Robert Jordan, J.R.R. Tolkien, Patrick Rothfuss, Andrzej Sapkowski  – you know, the Big Name Fantasy Authors – have all had their works adapted for the television in recent years, and to my reckoning only David Eddings and Robin Hobb have been passed over (for now anyway). That’s curious considering there’s a lot in Assassin’s Apprentice that would translate well to a visual medium, provided you could cover for the growth of its protagonist across the course of the first book.

In any case, despite still not bring entirely sold on the trilogy, I’ve already started on Royal Assassin. The weird compulsion that drew me into rediscovering this author clearly hasn’t left me just yet. Stay tuned...

The Palm Beach Story (1942)

As is so often the way these days, a Tumblr gif-set led me to this film. Who doesn’t love black-and-white screwball romantic comedies? I’m always astounded by how much they get away with in their subtext and insinuations – in this case, a wife deciding to leave her husband to seduce another man and bankroll her ex’s financial endeavours.

Tom and Gerry (Joel McCrea and Claudette Colbert) have been married for a number of years, and though they squabble over money issues, it’s obvious that the spark is still there. But Gerry is a determined woman, and one who is clearly longing for an adventure just as much (if not more so) than a taste of the high life – so she sets out for Palm Beach to acquire a divorce. Hijinks ensue.

This is truly one of the stranger rom-coms I’ve seen from this era, with a bewildering prologue (only partially explained by the conclusion), a number of irrelevant tangents (members of the Ale and Quail hunting club drunkenly shooting up the train) and a somewhat abrupt ending. But it is truly funny, especially Colbert’s physical performance as Gerry. At one point she puts her foot in a guy’s face in order to climb into a train’s sleeper car above her head and I was legit crying with laughter. It sounds basic, but somehow she makes it hysterical.

Her little adventure is also quite fascinating from a feminist perspective: to escape her husband she must rely on the chivalry of other men to get where she wants to go, and deal with the fact that they inevitably expect recompense after the proffering of this help. Because it’s a comedy nothing overtly predatory happens, but you feel Gerry’s inevitable sense of obligation when the hunting club (who allow her passage on their train carriage) barge into her sleeping berth to sing a cappella while she’s trying to sleep, and the uneasiness when her next travelling companion plies her with expensive clothing and jewellery. Gumption can only take a girl so far in this world, and she walks a shaky tightrope throughout the film.

I’ve heard it said that romantic comedies of the past are at once more innocent and more sophisticated than the dreck we’re given these days, and it’s true. The jokes and subtext throughout this can be quite racy at times, but it’s all done so breezily that you end up shocked at what they manage to get away with. And when was the last time a modern romantic comedy really shocked you?

The Last Unicorn (1982)

Having read Peter Beagle’s The Last Unicorn in August, I naturally had to follow up with the Rankin and Bass animated film. The edition of my book included an interview with Beagle in which he shares an anecdote (also repeated here) where he bemoaned his agent selling the rights to that particular animation company. “Why the hell didn’t you just go with Hanna-Barbera?!” he sarcastically cried, to which his agent abashedly replied: “they were next on the list.”

Yet despite this, the film has become a cult classic in the years since its release – though I’ll repeat what I’ve said before about cult classics: you have to have watched them very young, or at the time of their original release (preferably both) in order for them to work their magic. This is why everyone who grew up with The Goonies loves it, while those who experience it for the first time in adulthood think it’s terrible.

In this case, I could appreciate a lot of what is featured here: since Beagle himself wrote the screenplay he knew what was to keep in and what to edit out in order to retain the most important story and thematic beats. The voice cast is genuinely impressive (Mia Farrow, Christopher Lee, Angela Lansbury, Rene Auberjonois, and... er, Jeff Bridges I guess...) and that it uses the famous Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries as the baseline inspiration for the film’s aesthetic is an ingenious touch.

But the soundtrack and its songs leave a little something to be desired, and there are a few random elements throughout. These are partly born from the book’s quest narrative (seemingly important characters are introduced for a scene, then never seen again) but sometimes for reasons that defy any understanding (why is the talking cat a pirate??) And of course, we inevitably lose Beagle’s prose, which a lot of the book’s success rests upon.

The animation is... questionable. Honestly, most of the human characters are quite ugly, and Lady Amalthea looks distractingly anime. However, the Red Bull is magnificent: terrifying in his size and menace, with flumes of smoke billowing from its hooves and horns, the embodiment of thoughtless, animalistic demonism. A nice job is also done with the depiction of the unicorns in the waves of the ocean, and the dreaded harpy.

Ultimately, I’m glad I watched it, though without having first read the book I would have found it incomprehensible. With renewed interest in the original story due to the recent graphic novel, is it too much to hope we might get a remake?

Mazes and Monsters (1982)

A conversation at work about the Satanic panic throughout America in the eighties led me to deep-dive into some Wikipedia articles, which brought to my attention this: a movie clearly based on the widespread fear that playing a tabletop role-playing game would lead young people into the arms of the devil. Oh America. You so weird.

I immediately went home and downloaded it that night, counting on it being either a satirical shlockfest or a deadly serious cautionary tale. Either way, it would be entertaining right? Wrong. Good grief, this was sooooo boooring. I couldn’t believe how boring it was.

Four freshmen become friends at college over their shared interest in playing Mazes and Monsters (see what they did there?) only for one of them to grow increasingly drawn to the game and taking on his character’s persona in real life. He then disappears, the others track him to New York, and find him just in time to talk him off the ledge of the World Trade Centre. That’s it – that’s the story.

Even my bland summary makes it sound far more interesting than it actually is. There are a couple of subplots, such as another member of the group creating a “real life” maze in the network of an abandoned mine, or the Token Girl learning that her boyfriend had an older brother who went mysteriously missing on Halloween, but we never find out what happened to him, and nothing ever goes anywhere.

It’s such a strange, random little movie, and only noteworthy for being Tom Hank’s very first starring role at age twenty-six.

The Green Knight (2021)

It’s impossible to know what to say – or even think – about this film. Among the multitude of films that were delayed thanks to Covid-19, this seemed to be the one that most were disappointed about missing out on due to the unique promise of its trailers. We’ve seen Dune before, we’ve seen James Bond before, we’ve seen a million and one Marvel movies – but there was nothing on the horizon quite like what The Green Knight vowed to deliver.

Contrary to what I assumed on going in, this isn’t a straightforward retelling of Gawain and the Green Knight, a late fourteenth century romance written by an anonymous author. Rather, it’s an interrogation and deconstruction of said romance, automatically making it a requirement that you’re at least a little familiar with its source material. Deliberately anachronistic, deliberately ambiguous, deliberately unsatisfying a number of times, the film in its entirety casts a cynical eye on the original manuscript’s lauding of ideals such as chivalry, bravery, religious devotion and honour.

Which is a shame in many ways, as “subversive” has become something of dirty word in fandom lately, and I wouldn’t have been disappointed with a faithful rendition of the material. Still, I’d rather watch something that tries to do something innovative and thought-provoking than something that... well, doesn’t, and this leaves you with plenty to chew on.

It’s Christmas Eve, and an aged King Arthur and Queen Guinevere are holding court at Camelot. Gawaine is one of their youngest knights, who has yet to prove himself in warfare or combat – though he gets his chance soon enough. A monstrous being rides into the court astride an equally massive horse: a green-hued knight who issues a challenge to all those present: that any of them has the opportunity to strike a blow against him, provided that a year hence he will have the right to return the exact same injury back upon them.

Gawaine seizes his chance and lops the giant’s head off. Unfortunately, it’s only a flesh wound. The Green Knight retrieves his head and informs Gawaine that he expects to see him at the Green Chapel in one year’s time, with his honour and reputation at stake should he refuse to uphold his end of the bargain.

If he didn’t go, there would be no story, and so in due course Gawaine sets out to find the Green Knight, having a range of misadventures (bandits, talking fox, ghostly maiden, mystical giants) along the way. He finally reaches his destination, but stops for food and shelter at the household of Lord Bertilak to wile away the time before his fatal appointment. It’s there that Gawaine’s host proposes a game: Bertilak will give Gawain whatever he catches while out on his daily hunt, on the condition that Gawain give him whatever he may gain during the day.

As soon as he’s gone, Bertilak’s lovely wife wastes no time in trying to bed her house guest. The beauty of the story is the subtle homoerotic gag that exists between Gawaine and Bertilak – naturally, if Gawaine goes ahead and lets himself be seduced by Lady Bertilak, then he’ll owe his host whatever sexual favours she performed on him in her husband’s absence (the original story goes no further than kisses, but the implication is definitely there).

It’s all’s well that ends well once Gawaine upholds his end of the bargain with the Green Knight and submits to a beheading – only to learn that the whole thing was a Secret Test of Character, and that Bertilak and the Knight were one and the same, enchanted by the evil Morgan le Fay in order to stir up some shit in her brother’s court.

The film... does not follow this course. To be honest, I’m still trying to parse through what this film does deliver on. The twist of the Knight’s dual identity is removed completely, making Bertilak seem a little redundant and instead passing on narrative importance to his wife, who is played by the same actress (Alicia Vikander) as Gawaine’s girlfriend back in Camelot. Why? What thematic purpose does that serve? I haven’t figured that out yet.

Stuff from the story is included in the film without any context or explanation whatsoever (the blindfolded old lady in Bertilak’s house is actually Morgan le Fay in disguise, but if you didn’t know that you’ll be baffled as to her presence) and Dev Patel’s Gawaine, far from the heroic figure that he cut in the trailers, is a completely static character. He doesn’t seem to learn or grow or mature or change in any meaningful way until what is literally the last few seconds of the film (at which point it immediately ends).

There are evocative scenes throughout: the entire sequence with Erin Kellyman as the spirit of a murdered nun is hauntingly beautiful, as is the recurring motif of the wheel of time, captured in everything from spinning backdrops of puppet shows to the slow and steady revolving of the camera lens.

And the makeup for the Green Knight! It’s Ralph Ineson under all that bark, root and moss, and he looks (and sounds) incredible. What a performance! He has stepped right out from the pages of that ancient manuscript, even if it’s impossible to discern his motivation in all this. What do you actually want, dude?

It’s a question that’s not meant to be answered, and perhaps I’ll try to do this film justice with a much longer post at a later time... though for now, I feel the whole thing needs to percolate in my mind for a while longer...

The Legend of the Leprechauns (1999)

Have you ever loved something that you know isn’t very good? Or at all good? When we’re kids, we sometimes hyper-fixate on content that for one reason or another just speaks to us on some undefinable level. Having recently watched Covington Cross (1992) and The Mystic Knights of Tir Na Nog (1998), I was suddenly reminded of this Hallmark miniseries, it also being a cheesy nineties fantasy-based television show, which vibed perfectly with those prior viewing experiences (Jonathan Firth even features in two out of three!)

I’ve no idea how I even discovered this in the first place, but I would have been about twelve years old, and the Hallmark Channel in the mid-nineties to early-noughts were churning out dozens of two-part fantasy miniseries, presumably kicked off by Sam Neill’s Merlin. They did Arabian Nights, The Monkey King, Gulliver’s Travels, Jason and the Argonauts, The Tenth Kingdom... all of which were of varying degrees of quality (usually on the lower end of the scale, but others were surprisingly solid).

The Legend of the Leprechauns was one of their number, and it’s one of those projects that makes you walk away thinking: “how on earth did this get made?” Seriously, what was the pitch? It’s essentially a mash-up of Irish folklore meets Romeo and Juliet, featuring an American businessman who comes to Ireland and gets caught up in a war between fairies and leprechauns.

And who’s in it? Randy Quaid, that’s who. And Whoopi Goldberg, Kieran Culkin, Orla Brady, Harriet Walters and Peter Serafinowicz (the second Tick and the original voice of Darth Maul). And is that... Roger Daltry from The Who??

Seriously, what the hell IS this? Colm Meaney and Zoe Wanamaker are the only two actors whose presence makes a grain of sense, featuring in a storyline that barely makes any. This is a show in which two love stories are featured, each taking place in two distinct plotlines that barely intersect, one being too boring for children (Quaid falls for an Irish woman; misunderstandings ensue) and the other being too pedestrian for adults (a play-by-play retelling of Romeo and Juliet between a leprechaun and a fairy princess).

This is a story that cheats its own narrative over and over again. Where to start? With the Deus Ex Machina of the Grand Banshee (played by Whoopi Goldberg, not even attempting an Irish accent) restoring all the dead characters back to life at the end of the story? The bizarre structuring that sees our human protagonists accompany the star-crossed fairy lovers up the side of a mountain, leave them in mortal peril, climb back down the mountain off-screen, have a pointless argument in a cowshed, then run around frantically looking for the young couple that they literally just ditched?

Or perhaps my personal favourite: the fairy general who decides to dig a secret tunnel down through the floor of the fairy castle and up into the leprechaun encampment. The fairy castle that very clearly floats in mid-air. Yet this is a plan that actually works. What.

Yet the weirdest thing is that you could probably cut most of Randy Quaid’s storyline and not miss a damn thing. Clearly the most interesting component of this miniseries is the war that takes place between the fairies and leprechauns, and I’m not sure why anyone would be interested in the romance that blossoms between Quaid and the frankly rather uptight Kathleen (Orla Brady), who finds herself mysteriously attracted to an American twice her age who (thanks to some hil-AR-ious misunderstandings) comes across as a Peeping Tom. The story grinds to a halt every time we’re asked to care about whether they get together or not.

The more interesting love story takes place between Micky and Jessica, the son of the leprechaun chief and the fairy princess. After the former sneaks into the midsummer ball with his friends, he instantly falls in love with the latter (why she’s called Jessica and not Sinéad, the Irish equivalent of that name, is a mystery for the ages) only to find that tensions between their warring families have escalated.

Not until Lashana Lynch and Wade Briggs star in Still Star-Crossed will two actors manage to sell such terrible writing on the strength of their overwhelming chemistry – and honestly, I think this is the more impressive feat since at least Benvolio and Rosaline got solid characterization and an Enemies-to-Lovers arc. These two have to pull off love at first sight and declarations of eternal devotion despite having nothing in common, all while pretending to be a fairy and a leprechaun against incredibly dodgy green-screen rendering.

But he’s a scamp and she’s a spirited princess... somehow it’s charming enough to work.

Guys, I can’t bring myself to recommend this. It’s just not good. But dammit, there’s something about the randomness of its mere existence that makes it fascinating, with a couple of young lovers that sell the hell out of what they’ve been given. Even over two decades later, I felt a little something at their nuptials.

It’s so stupid, but rediscovering it was a joy, as was realizing it’s made me happy for the last twenty years.

DC Superhero Girls: Season 1 (2019 – 2020)

This is the second reiteration of this particular branch of the DC franchise, rebooted by Lauren Faust of My Little Pony fame, and (despite not having seen much of that show) following in its general theme of female friendship and working with the same underlying motto of “there’s no wrong way to be a girl”. In fact, it’s tempting to say that the six protagonists of Superhero Girls align pretty neatly with those of My Little Pony.

Batgirl is bookish, quasi-leader Twilight Sparkle, Zatanna is prim and talented Rarity, Kara is athletic tomboy Rainbow Dash, Bumblebee is quiet and anxious Fluttershy, Wonder Woman is hardworking, assertive Applejack, and Green Lantern is Pinkie Pie because they’re both... kinda ditzy?

Okay those last two are a bit of a stretch, and I’m as surprised as you are that I know all the names and personalities of the little ponies. I’ve clearly absorbed more of that show than I realized.

Equally difficult is trying to get a fix on how this series fits into the wider array of DC-related media. I know that the original DC Superhero Girls was comprised of a webseries and several straight-to-home-release movies, but the Wikipedia page also tells me there’s something called Super Best Friends Forever and DC Nation Shorts. I just can’t keep up with all of this stuff.

Its previous iteration featured largely identical heroines both in personality and character design (not counting their outfits) so Faust thankfully mixes things up a with a wider range of body types and hairstyles, as well as switching out Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn for Jessica Cruz and Zatanna among the central characters. (Katana still shows up for a couple of episodes, though Ivy and Quinn have lost the rather bewildering “hero” status that the webisodes bestowed on them).

There’s obviously much more diversity on display as well, with Wonder Woman in particular now depicted with olive skin and a Mediterranean accent – though in saying that, the episodes definitely seemed to favour Kara and Barbara as the show's protagonists. I didn’t keep track, but Karen and Jessica seemed to clock in far less character-centric episodes.

Said episodes are only about ten minutes long, and they lean heavily into the comedy side of things, which is to the show’s advantage. Naturally there are plenty of Easter eggs and in-jokes littered throughout, but also some genuinely funny dynamics – Kara and Clark for example, do not like each other. Her first reaction on seeing him weakened by kryptonite is to laugh (even as it has a similar effect on her) and after she’s believed killed in action the only response she gets from him is a text asking: “you dead?”

It’s this level of irrelevance for itself and its original source material is what gives the show its personality, and you can tell the writers and voice actors are having fun. At the same time, it has genuine affection for its target audience: for example, one episode has the girls defeating no one less than Ra's al Ghul by throwing themselves into a boy band concert and performing a silly pop number in front of a screaming crowd of tweens (it makes sense in context).

Arrow: Season 8 (2019 – 2020)

Well, mark a big fat CHECK next to this particular branch of the CW’s plethora of superhero shows. Arrow finished last year, and now I have finished Arrow.

As someone who was never fully invested (I doubt I will ever feel anything beyond passing enjoyment of anything involving a superhero) I thought it was a fairly strong send-off, and I like that this season was essentially a curtain call for the various periods, concepts and characters in Oliver Queen’s life. It’s actually quite charming: Ollie’s farewell tour, directed by the Monitor in anticipation of the Crisis, in which he has only a vague understanding of what he’s meant to be doing, but guided throughout by the show’s underlying themes of sacrifice and family.

And they bring back practically everyone for a final bow. Adrian and Moira, China White and Tatsu, Talia al Ghul and Thea, Curtis and Slade, Tommy and Malcolm Merlyn, Roy and Anatoly, Edward Fyers and Yao Fei, Nyssa and Emiko – incredibly, even Rory (Ragman, remember him? Never thought we’d see him again!) Not to mention the usual guest stars: Laurel, Sara, Lyla, Barry and Kara.

It’s much easier to type who doesn’t come back: a short list of Walter, Helena, Shado and Sin (and of those, only Walter was the glaring omission. Seriously, what happened to that guy?) Oh, and I guess Alena Whitlock, the cute tech girl. I missed her. And shouldn’t Ray Palmer have been at Ollie’s funeral at least?

Along the way we revisit Hong Kong, Nanda Parbat, Russia, the Star City sewer systems, tons of warehouses, and of course Lian Yu.

The truncated season’s main narrative thoroughfare is Oliver preparing for the long-awaited Crisis (and implicitly, his own death) and the passing of the torch to his daughter Mia, brought back from the future by the Monitor for slightly opaque reasons. As odd as it is that Felicity isn’t involved in this plotline, it at least makes more room for Oliver and Mia (and to a lesser extent, William, also along for the time-traveling ride) to emerge as the final season’s emotional centre.

That said, there are three points to an arrowhead, and it’s fair to say that the three “heroes” of the team are Oliver, Diggle and Earth-2 Laurel. For the sake of Katie Cassidy, I try to overlook the fact this character is a mass-murderer whose Freudian Excuse is that her father died on his way to her birthday party, and she gets some good material (and significant screen-time) here that she deserves after all the crap this show and its fandom gave her.

That’s not to say that the show still has any idea what to do with this character. Putting aside the whole “cold-blooded killer” thing, which necessitates William being fine with working alongside the woman who was involved in his mother’s death, or Dinah bonding with her over milkshakes despite the fact she gruesomely murdered her fiancé right in front of her (no biggie!) the real problem is one that the show committed to years ago – fridging the original Laurel.

I mean, they clearly regret that decision since they brought Katie Cassidy back (you don’t do that if you want to get rid of an actress) but the season finale has Oliver jumping through time in order to save the lives of Tommy, Moira and Quentin... but then just decide to leave Laurel to her fate. Along with Team Flash locking meta-criminals in tiny isolation cells with no due process, giving Oliver this level of authority over life and death is genuinely one of the most sickening things this franchise has ever done (not to mention erasing baby Sara Diggle, but at least that one gets reversed).

Did he not think Laurel’s parents and sister might want her back? That it’s a despicable abuse of power to pick-and-chose who gets to live and who stays dead? That it’s a slap in the face to everyone who appreciated this character despite the awful way she was treated in canon and by fandom? We could have had a scene in which a resurrected Tommy and the original Laurel are reunited, realizing they have a second chance together, and I honestly would have found it a million times more touching than anything involving Oliver and Felicity.

(Of course, neither does Oliver bring back Diggle’s brother, William’s mother or Dinah’s fiancé, so at least Laurel isn’t the only one he screws over. And I guess it’s fitting the show ended the same way it started: with Ollie tearing apart the Lance family).

The irony is, I suspect it panned out this way in order to facilitate the spin-off Green Arrow and the Canaries, which is now no longer going to happen. This is a bummer on a number of levels, not least because there’s now no Doylist reason why Oliver shouldn’t have brought original Laurel back to be with her family. The second-to-last episode of the season is clearly a Back Door Pilot for this proposed spin-off, with a time-displaced Laurel and Dinah teaming up in order to return Mia’s pre-Crisis memories to her and form a whole new crime-fighting team.

The flashforwards of Arrow’s season seven were the highpoint of that season, with some great casting, concepts and chemistry between the members of Future Team Arrow: Mia, William, Connor and Zoe, with JJ (Diggle and Lyla’s adopted son) as their primary nemesis, an ensemble that could have easily carried the show. That said, I wasn’t hugely invested in the idea of the spin-off and wasn’t hugely surprised that it didn’t go to order: Mia was a bit of an untested quality, Dinah was a complete non-entity, and Laurel has always had her share of detractors. That’s two out of three unpopular characters headlining a new show.

But then I watched the episode, and it was brilliant. Dinah actually gets a personality, Laurel gets some fun snark and the beginning of (what could have been) a genuine redemption arc, and they both play good cop/bad cop to Mia, the girl each plan to take under their wing. Older women mentoring a younger one in profoundly different ways? I would have been there for it.

(Though again, it made me wish for original Laurel. It could have been quite fascinating to see her interact with the daughter that was never hers, having once considered Mia’s father to be the love of her life, and taking over that mentorship role anyway. And I would have liked to see “Aunt Dinah” interact with Zoe again).

And so of course, it doesn’t get off the ground. An entire episode devoted to setting up storylines and character arcs that we’ll never get to see, much of which informed many of the creative decisions that entire seasons of Arrow were structured around, and which now seem completely pointless. Ah well, maybe they’ll show up in Legends of Tomorrow.

Back to season eight of Arrow... There are plenty of odd choices made throughout, from bringing back Roy and promptly having him lose his hand in a plane crash without achieving anything relevant (apparently it’s a comic book thing, but in the context of the show it feels completely pointless) to putting the words: “let’s make Star City great again” in the words of a man who is trying to disenfranchise the wealthy through terrorist means. Oof.

Dinah and Rene feel like they get a lot of coverage, and even though they never really came into their own as characters (alt-world versions of them feature as bad guys who are curb-stormed by Oliver and immediately killed off, and it’s not difficult to assume it’s a case of Take That Scrappy). But I liked their working relationship, which operated in a way that’s rare between platonic male/female characters, especially two who clearly have nothing in common.

Still, when they’re given special attention alongside Diggle in the final few minutes, in which the lights are turned off in the bunker for the final time, you can’t help but feel the scene would have been a thousand times more poignant if it had been between Diggle, Felicity, Roy, Thea and Laurel. You know, the original Team Arrow.

And why couldn’t we get a more extended final montage? We see Diggle leave for Metropolis with his family, Rene prepare for his tenure as mayor and Dinah leave the city via motorcycle, but would it have been that hard to depict Roy and Thea tying the knot in a civil ceremony with Moira in attendance? Tommy and Laurel reconnecting over a couple of drinks? Quentin kick back with a well-deserved retirement? Seeing whatever the hell Curtis, Rory and Emiko are currently up to?

But Diggle gets a great season, with plenty of interaction between him and Lyla (and of course, the return of the long-lamented Sara Diggle) and a final scene that involves him discovering a certain green ring. Roy and Thea also get to resume their relationship in a few scenes that aren’t given nearly enough time to breath, but at least they get their long-delayed happy ending (just don’t fuck it up again, ROY). And things connect nicely with scenes from last season in which Felicity willingly leaves her children to be taken away by the Monitor in order to reunite with Oliver... in an afterlife that looks like shitty-looking office block. Sure, whatever works for you guys.

So that was Arrow. In preparation for this season, I even went back and watched some of the webseries, such as the Fight Club shorts (pretty cute and fun) and Blood Rush (just an advertisement for something called Bose, though it did feature the first canonical meeting of Roy and Felicity). Ah, the good old days. Arrow certainly lost something as the years went by, but that’s all but inevitable when a show goes on for this long – and for my money, it went out with its dignity relatively intact. For the most part.

RIP, Oliver Queen.

Batwoman: Season 1 (2019 – 2020)

I’ll admit, I was surprisingly gutted on learning that Ruby Rose was leaving Batwoman at the end of her first and only season. It’s comparable to Christopher Eccleston leaving Doctor Who after a single season as the titular character, and both shows subsequently contain a discordant note, with things feeling as though they’ve been cut short instead of cranking into high-gear by their final episodes. There’s something so anticlimactic about a star leaving their vehicle while it’s still in its fledging stage.

The advantage Doctor Who had was that the show has a long-since established escape clause for any actor who tires of the part, whereas Batwoman was pretty much built on the character of Kate Kane. The entire supporting cast of characters is comprised of her father, her sister, her step-family, her ex-girlfriend and her cousin, and pretty much all the dynamics revolve around her.

From what I can gather, the actress was badly injured while being forced to do a dangerous stunt, so I can’t really blame her for quitting (this is why unions are important!) but it’s a damn shame the network didn’t take better care of her. I thought she made a great Batwoman, and like Katie McGrath over on Supergirl, whatever she may have lacked in natural acting talent was made up for in her physical presence, her ability to generate chemistry with other cast members, and her Look.

(Seriously, I’m not saying that to be a dickhead. In relatively silly shows like those based on comic books, I don’t think a performer’s inability to avoid clumsy line-readings are necessarily as important as maintaining a good aesthetic).

Given that the show has been renewed for a third season with Javicia Leslie as Ryan Wilder, the showrunners have clearly managed to stay the course despite the massive disruption, and even in season one I can see a device that could make it possible for Kate to return in some capacity.

Still, it makes you wonder if they shouldn’t have just bitten the bullet and recast the character. Perhaps they still live in hope that Ruby Rose will return? Especially after all the setup they afforded that iteration of the character back in the crossovers? We may never know.

In any case, the first season of Batwoman starts with a favourite trope of the genre: the older and more experienced hero disappears, leaving a young prodigy to step into their shoes (and half-heartedly search for them). In this case, Bruce Wayne has gone missing and his cousin Kate Kane decides to fill in for him: real estate agent by day, bat-themed vigilante by night.

As befits most superheroes, she has a tragic backstory: her mother and sister were killed in a car accident on their way back from their bar mitzvah. Years later, Kate has dropped out of military school and remained distant towards her new stepmother and stepsister Mary (the latter being a vapid influencer who records half her life on social media), not to mention estrangement from her ex-girlfriend Sophie, who opted to remain in the closet and start working for Kate’s father Jacob at his private security agency, which operates pretty much like a paramilitary organization.  

At first, the only person in the loop is Luke Fox (son of Lucius) who is here portrayed as a Black Nerd, which slightly annoys me considering THIS is his animated counterpart. But then... developments happen...

There’s some surprisingly good character work done here, from the depiction of Jacob Kane’s debilitating grief (someone should give him Quentin Lance’s number) to the hidden depths of Mary Hamilton, whose shallow lifestyle is a deliberate front to her work in running an illegal medical clinic (this makes very little sense all things considered: not only does the fake persona draw unnecessary attention to herself, but I cringe at the hygiene issues inherent in a hospital situated in a rundown apartment block, though I suppose in that case, needs must).

Mary easily ends up being the best character of the ensemble: funny and passionate and devoted to Kate, while on the other end of the scale... look, every fandom must have a female character that is despised beyond all comprehension (it is law), and for whatever reason this fandom settled on Sophie, Kate’s ex-girlfriend. It’s not difficult to chalk it down to the fact she’s Black, because her major flaw (that she broke up with Kate because she’s afraid to come out) is an understandable one that leaves plenty of room for development. But you can expect the usual “she’s annoying” vagaries throughout the comment boards. Don’t they get sick of being so predictable? Apparently not.

Then there’s the show’s villain: a killer called Alice with an Alice in Wonderland motif, who is actually the not-dead-after-all Beth Kane. You know how I often scoff at villains whose excuse for committing mayhem and murder is they had a bad childhood? Well, if there’s any fictional character out there for whom that justification actually holds some water, then it’s this one. She was swept downstream after the car accident that killed her mother, and “rescued” by a psychotic plastic surgeon who kept her captive at his house for years as a companion for his disfigured son.

Yikes. It’s almost too dark a backstory, as it’s impossible to derive any sense of enjoyment out of her emotional abuse, prolonged captivity, and eventual mental collapse. Ditto the anguish felt by Kate and her father as they realize just how profoundly they failed their sister/daughter. As good as Rachel Starsten is in the role, she’s not fun in the way that other Batman villains are fun – just horribly tragic.

But the season-long arc that forms around these characters and their dynamic is strong, from the murder and subsequent coverup of Lucius Fox’s murder, to growing evidence that there’s corruption in Jacob Kane’s Crow network, Beth’s (or Alice’s) long-term plans for Gotham, and the arrival of Alfred’s daughter Julia Pennyworth – an agent pursuing an agenda of her own.

I genuinely enjoyed what I saw here, and it’s got to be the most assured first season of a CW superhero show since the original first season of Arrow... so I guess at some point I’ll check back in and see how it fares without its star.

Crisis on Infinite Earths crossover (2019 – 2020)

It took me a long time to properly prep myself for this: the biggest crossover the CW has ever done, a serial that stretched across five episodes of Arrow, The Flash, Batwoman, Supergirl and Legends of Tomorrow (plus a tie-in episode from Black Lightning) featuring the protagonists and much of the supporting casts of all six shows, a seemingly endless supply of cameo appearances, and a famous comic story-arc that’s been foreshadowed since at least the beginning of The Flash’s first season.

I ended up watching the first eight episodes of the relevant seasons of all these shows (I actually started watching the first season of Batwoman back when it first aired back in 2019, then stopped to give myself a chance to catch up on everything else) before watching the Crisis episodes in order, and then going back to Arrow and Batwoman to finish up their subsequent seasons (I suppose I’ll get to everything else eventually).

So after all that work, Crisis was... kinda bad. Right? Honestly, I barely understood half of what was going on, mostly because I was totally unfamiliar with the comic book run upon which the story is based. Oliver turns into a Spectre? Six of the protagonists are Paragons? Lyla and Harrison Wells are Harbingers? I’ve no idea what any of this means, and nobody bothers to explain it.

The plot involves a great wave of anti-matter that’s spreading across the multiverse and destroying entire planets in its wake, requiring our team of heroes to... stop it... somehow. I’m honestly wracking my brains right now as I’ve no idea how they achieve this or what their plan was. The Monitor, who has been running around since last season, quietly pushing pieces into place and prepping the various characters for this reality-altering event, ends up being the most boring part of the whole affair.

The whole thing plays like a bunch of action sequences held together by a range of cameos (many of which went right over my head) and pep talks. So many pep talks!

And there were some rather dubious creative decisions. After all that drama about how The Flash is destined to die in the Crisis (something that’s been teased since that show’s first episode) it turns out that it’s actually John Wesley Shipp’s Flash who makes the ultimate sacrifice. That’s... plenty lame. Meanwhile, over on their own shows, the likes of Laurel and the Reverse Flash are given a fair amount of setup for their roles in the Crisis (the former gets a Secret Test of Character and the latter’s final on-screen words are: “see you in the next Crisis”) but neither one has a part to play here.

Regarding the identities of the Paragons... they end up being Kara, Sara, Barry, Kate, J’onn, Ryan Choi and Superman (from another Earth) which kind of baffles me. I mean, Superman – sure. But surely Black Lightning would have been a better choice considering he’s the protagonist of his own show. Or heck, at least use the Superman as played by Tyler Hoechlin considering at the time of this crossover he was about to get his own show.

And Ryan Choi? I know he’s a canon character who eventually goes on to become the Atom, but surely this crossover would have been the perfect vehicle to introduce Courtney Whitmore as Stargirl, another CW protagonist. She gets a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameo at the end of the final episode, but her presence would have set up her show and been a nice way to introduce new blood at the same time Oliver makes his final bow – especially since Ryan Choi ends up achieving absolutely nothing. Seriously, you could remove him entirely and there’d be absolutely no difference made to the story.

In many ways, Crisis on Infinite Earths was meant to be to the CW what Infinity Wars/Endgame was to the MCU: simultaneously a Grand Finale, a Passing of the Torch and the franchise’s most ambitious Crossover. But whereas the Avengers managed to pass the baton with a degree of elegance, retiring the likes of Iron Man and Captain America while using the Disney+ shows to usher in a new generation of superheroes, there have been several casualties in the wake of DC’s similar attempt, and what was meant to be a narrative bridge now feels more like a swansong.

The biggest loss is obviously Ruby Rose quitting her role as Batwoman, which is especially egregious after all the character work done on her in Crisis, and the apparent setting up of her and Kara as the two new “crossover friendship” that previously belonged to Barry and Oliver. Likewise, both Supergirl and Black Lightning came to a close only one season after the events of Crisis, and proposed spin-offs like Painkiller, Wonder Girl, and Green Arrow and the Canaries never even got off the ground.

It’s not difficult to see that the shows starring women and/or people of colour were the ones that were either put on the chopping block or never came to fruition at all, leaving The Flash and Legends of Tomorrow as the new flagships for the franchise, with Superman & Lois premiering after an admittedly well-established gestation period (Tyler Hoechlin was introduced as Superman way back in season two of Supergirl).

So ultimately, the Crisis crossover feels very much like a farewell, and it’s deeply ironic that over half of the seven characters who solemnly take their seats at the Justice League table are no longer part of the CW line-up. Admittedly, everyone’s respective shows deal with the fallout of Crisis on a far greater level than the MCU has so far done with Thanos’s Snap, but in the grand scheme of things, this crossover feels rather like a blip.