Reading/Watching Log #106

If it looks like I did nothing but watch television this month, it’s not true. The truth is that I simply finished a lot of stuff this month that was stretched out across a very long period of time (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Elementary, Star Wars Visions, Abbott Elementary) and which have only just wrapped up.

I had two weeks off this month, though the first was mostly spent running errands, and the second in trying to make a dent in the giant stack of library books on my floor. I am so determined to get them read by the end of the year and then read my own damn books in 2025, but who even knows at this point.

Now as October starts, we’re heading into the spooky season (which is also spring and summer in Aotearoa) and as I made werewolves the subject of last year’s Halloween viewing, it’s only fitting that I follow it up with vampires. And there’s a lot to get through.

Also, I'm going to give Buffy the Vampire Slayer a full-season write-up later in the month, which is why it isn't featured on this list.

Mallory on Strike by Anne M. Martin

Um... not a lot to say about this one. Mallory is excited about an upcoming writers’ competition at her school, and is particularly interested in winning the “best overall fiction” prize. (That said, the categories in this competition are extremely arbitrary, including “best mystery,” “best poem,” “best illustration for a story,” and “best short play.” Are there really enough young people enrolled in this class to provide any sort of competition? Or are the winners going to just be by default since this whole thing seems to be limited to Stoneybrook Middle School? What if the best mystery is also the best overall fiction, or if nobody bothers to write a play? And why are illustrations getting prizes in a writing competition?)

She decides to put her nose to the grindstone and write the best story she can, but her siblings and parents are constantly making demands on her time. She has to turn down several babysitting jobs because they don’t fit in with her strict writing schedule, and because she inexplicitly doesn’t just tell the other girls what’s going on, she wonders if she should quit the Club. At one point she ends up guilt-ridden because Buddy Barrett hurts himself while she’s babysitting, in a chapter that doesn’t really tie in with the theme of the book since she’s distracted by a flour-related mess that the Barrett children have made in the kitchen; not her extracurricular writing competition, or even her homework.

Finally she announces to her family that she’s on strike (hey, that’s the title of the book!) and her parents make sure she’s unbothered by her siblings as she works on her story, while the Club grants her two weeks leave for the same reason. So, as usual, all it took was a simple conversation to clear things up. And then she wins the writing competition, because of course she does, for her story about a girl with a large family who has too many demands placed upon her.

In hindsight, this book is accidentally an insightful look at the burdens placed upon young women and the importance of labour unions. Mallory has a textbook case of Eldest Daughter Syndrome, in which she feels responsible for the welfare of her siblings even though she’s not their parent, and guilty enough about taking a day off from their constant neediness that the entire last chapter is her and Jessi treating them to a day-long adventure around the neighbourhood. She constantly worries that wanting time for herself is selfish, and guilty that the Club has to make use of the associate members because she’s not available, even though that’s literally what Logan and Shannon are for.

Mallory’s parents assume she’s on-call 24/7 for any and all odd-jobs they require, on top of completing her usual chores, homework and whatever unpaid childcare that’s required (seriously, the likes of Claire and Margo seem to seek out Mallory more than either Pike parent whenever they’re facing the slightest obstacle). This girl is ELEVEN. If you’re going to pop out that many kids, you do NOT outsource child-rearing onto your eldest. Look into birth control or something.

Also, when this series started, Mallory was ten-going-on-eleven, and still saddled with most of the obligations and responsibilities that she grapples with here. At this point, the triplets are described as being ten years old – so is there ever any discussion of those three taking on any extra chores to help out around the house? Haha. No. It also bugged me that for the duration of this story, Claire and Margo nickname their older sister “mean old Mallory” because apparently it’s unheard of that an eleven-year-old might not want to spend every waking moment with two under-sevens.

I have a vague inkling that in the (much) later books Mallory ends up attending a boarding school, and so I feel a thrill of fiendish delight that she’s eventually going to deprive her parents and siblings of her existence as a live-in servant. What then, Pikes? WHAT THEN?

Finally, this is the second cover in a row that depicts a scene that never happens in the actual book. At no point is there any happy leaf-throwing or frolicking fun times in Mal’s backyard. However, it does suggest that this story takes place in autumn, which is an extremely optimistic attempt to pin down a timeline that has already celebrated three Halloweens in two years.

Jessi’s Wish by Anne M. Martin

I have even less to say about this one. Sorry, but the Junior Officer books just aren’t that interesting.

The sixth Jessi book is also her second Very Special Episode, this time involving a child diagnosed with leukemia. Not content to stop there, various chapters explore all sorts of volunteer programmes that the other members of the Club sign up for – at least for the duration of this book.

The story starts by informing us of yet another never-before mentioned programme run by Stoneybrook Middle School: an after-school club in which children come up with ways to help the community (such as trash pick-ups, collecting toys for the hospital and so on). When one of the volunteer administrators goes on a two-month long vacation, Jessi steps up in order to take her place, knowing that her sister Becca loves the club. Because of course, an eleven-year-old is a suitable replacement for an adult. Just go with it.

Her volunteering inspires the other girls in the Club to seek out work of their own (told you this was a Very Special Episode, and not just because of the cancer plot) and so the filler chapters are naturally about their experiences working with various charities of choice. Kristy helps out at a daycare centre, Stacey talks with children that’ve been diagnosed with diabetes, Claudia runs an after-school art class, Mary Anne helps provide physical therapy to a brain damaged child, Dawn goes to a centre for children with physical disabilities, and Mallory... it was something to do with a playground. We don’t get any chapters on her at all.

The only interesting one is Claudia’s after-school art class, in which Karen manages to convince the other children that her clay animals are moving. Claudia tells her that if that’s true, they couldn’t possibly put them in the kiln in order to be fired, as that would be animal cruelty – after which, Karen concedes that they probably weren’t moving after all. She was out-Karened!

There’s also a scene in which a child asks Kristy how to spell Leonardo and Donatello. Kristy asks if he’s writing about his favourite artists, but of course he’s talking about the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. C’mon Kristy, you’ve got a little brother!

But the main gist of the book is Jessi (and Becca and Charlotte) befriending a little girl called Danielle who has cancer, and is basically a walking cliché of the Littlest Cancer Patient. She’s wistful, she’s articulate, she’s wise beyond her years, she’s an inspiration to everyone, and more than anything she wants to go to Disney World.

Jessi gets in touch with Your Wish Is My Command Foundation (not sure why they didn’t just go with the Make A Wish Foundation, as it’s difficult to discern any reason why that organization wouldn’t want to get namedropped in a popular book series) and passes on their details to Danielle’s parents. Equally difficult to understand is how Danielle’s parents weren’t aware of this charity without the help of an eleven-year-old babysitter.

In any case, Danielle gets the chance to go to Disney World with her family, though when she returns to Stoneybrook she has to return to hospital for more treatment. As far as I know, she goes the way of Susan Felder, and is never seen or mentioned again. I suppose I have to give the book credit for ending on an ambiguous note regarding Danielle’s health, but if she’s never returned to in future books, then the babysitters are going to come across as callously indifferent.

But here are some mildly funny passages:

After chapter two, which always contains a detailed run-down of the Babysitters Club and its members, conveyed by whatever character is narrating the book, Jessi states: “I realized that I’d been staring at the kitchen phone for about five minutes, while my mind wandered.” So know we know what the girls are doing for the duration of the exposition chapter: just staring into space as they think about the Club and their friends for the benefit of the reader.

Later, Jessi tells us that: “the Pikes won’t even let Mallory get a nose job,” as though this is a totally reasonable thing for an eleven-year-old to get. The same wording was used a few books ago in relation to Shannon Kilbourne, who also has totally unreasonable parents in this regard. I mean, what caring, responsible parent WOULDN’T let their child have permanent plastic surgery on their face? Sheesh!

The After School Detective Club: 1 – 4 by Mark Dawson

I can’t resist a children’s mystery series, especially ones that have delectable titles such as The Case of the Smuggler’s Curse, The Secret of Ragnar’s Gold and The Mystery in the Marshes (and The Cast of the Dastardly Dognappers, though that’s not quite as atmospheric).

These books are good without being great, largely because they’re more like adventures than actual mysteries, and some of the influences are a little too obvious. Bad guys pretend place is haunted to scare off the locals? Scooby Doo. One of the gang gets kidnapped when he’s misidentified as the son of a wealthy American? The Famous Five. And I’m pretty sure The Babysitters Club had a dognapping mystery at some point.

Social misfits Lucy, Max, Charlie and Joe don’t have much in common beyond a love of mysteries, but a run-in with a strange man signalling to a ship out at sea leads to a firm friendship and a number of crime-related adventures. Joe (The Team Benefactor thanks to his distant but wealthy parents) invites the others to hang out at the family beach house, which becomes their base of operations.

The tone is pretty light – whenever the kids are caught by the baddies there is no danger of ever being killed, only threats that they’ll be put somewhere out of the way, with the police called in later to fetch them. It makes a certain amount of sense: if you’re just a smuggler or a treasure hunter, you don’t exactly want to get done for child murder.

These days writers have to work around twenty-first century mores, such as easy access cellphones and laptops (usually the story will just throw in that there’s no coverage or unavailable wi-fi) not to mention all that pesky parental supervision. The Famous Five regularly got kicked out of home to roam the countryside by themselves, though that doesn’t cut it these days, and Dawson has to get a bit more creative in removing adults from the equation.

My favourite example would have to be when Joe talks his friends into accompanying him to a castle that his parents had booked a family holiday in, before they had to cancel. Still, they’ve organized for Joe’s Nana to accompany him – only it turns out she can't go either, leading to Joe convincing the others to join him in his family’s stead, all without parental approval. I kind of wish the kids had gotten away with this week by themselves, but these days children have no independence and have to be role models.

Still, the books definitely get the vibe right: there are old churchyards and stone chapels, homecooked meals described in delicious detail, spooky details pulled from real history and folklore, and enticing maps at the beginning of each book with landmarks such as “lighthouse” and “burial chamber.” Think the Adventure Island series, or Walter Wickman’s photography in I Spy Treasure Hunt, or the detailed illustrations in any of the Usborne Puzzle books.

The kids themselves are fun to spend time with and suitably diverse (Lucy for example is a serious athlete, and so she’s the one that handles most of the physical challenges) and they’ve even got a team dog, appropriately called Sherlock – though given his tendency to bark at the most inopportune moment, he ends up as a liability more often than not.

Also, they go a little too hard on the fat jokes with Max. He’s never actually described as fat, but he’s constantly eating (or complaining about not eating) and getting puffed whenever he has to jog more than three feet. Maybe it’s because I read all these books in quick succession, but it’s a bit much.

Prince of Darkness by Sharon Kay Penman

The fourth and final book in the Justin de Quincy Mysteries sends our medieval detective (or Queen’s spy, to be more accurate) out on a relative high, though it wasn’t the best offering in the series.

Already caught in a quagmire of complex interpersonal relationships given that his lover Claudia is a. pregnant with his child, b. a handmaiden to Queen Eleanor, and c. a spy for Prince John, Justin is irritated at being called to Paris at Claudia’s behest, only to find that it’s Prince John who wants to speak to him. Despite Justin having run afoul of the prince and his spymaster Durand in the previous book, John now wants his help in finding a document that implicates him in a plot against his brother King Richard, currently on the brink of being released from his captivity in Austria.

Ironically, John is regularly plotting against his brother, but on this occasion, is innocent of any wrongdoing. Justin is enlisted to find the forger of the false document and prove John’s innocence, and though he has very little reason to want to help the prince, he does serve the Queen Mother faithfully, and so agrees to investigate for her sake.

Unfortunately, this means he’s forced to work alongside the aforementioned Durand, even though the two men can barely stand one another. Their investigation takes them from Brittany to Paris, graveyards to oubliettes, royal courts to an isolated monastery on the coast. As ever, Penman is excellent at conjuring up the sights, sounds and grim realities of eleventh century Europe, capturing its beauty as well as its squalor and inherent dangers.

I have to admit the mystery got away from me at times. Looking back, I couldn’t give you a clear summary of what was happening or why, and there seemed to be very little investigative work happening. The plot is mostly made up of travel and action sequences, and it didn’t help that not a lot was riding on the successful resolution of the mystery. Not only do we have no reason to care about Prince John’s welfare, but history has already let us know how everyone’s fates will unravel. There’s no real suspense here.

Penman seems to have sensed this too, and so puts a lot of emphasis on Justin’s interpersonal relationships with Claudine and their newborn daughter, not to mention the Enemy Mine bond he has to forge with Durand. Still, there’s a lack of intensity here that was more prevalent in the previous books, and we get nothing on Justin’s relationship with his father, which was very much the impetus for his employment with Eleanor in the first place.

In her afterword, Penman claims that “Justin will march again,” though that was dated September 2004. Never say never I suppose, but it feels as though that ship may have sailed.

Painted Devils by Margaret Owen

The second book in this announced trilogy is (for my money) a lot better than its predecessor. That’s a rare thing, and yet coming on the heels of Little Thieves means that Margaret Owen can skip the introduction to her world and its complex magical underpinnings, and get straight to the good stuff: a puzzle-box plot that put me in mind of one of my favourite books of all time: Bridge of Birds.

The secret ingredient is that there are twists and turns a-plenty, all of which are carefully seeded and organically grown out of the characters and the world they inhabit. It’s a tricky thing to pull off, but when it happens, it leads to sighs of readership satisfaction.

Former bad girl turned attempted hero Vanja Shmit is not quite ready to live happily ever after with junior prefect (that is, investigative-officer-in-training) Emeric Conrad – she exists in a YA novel, and so first has to work through the multitude of psychological issues that she can’t get therapy for. She goes on the run with a pouch full of valuable rubies, but after she accidentally drops most of them into a stream, she ropes the nearby villagers into retrieving them by telling a tiny little lie about a deity called “the Scarlet Maiden” that appeared to her in a dream.

Whoops, the next thing she knows is that this entity has appeared for real and Vanja has become the leader of a brand-new cult. The whole thing quickly spirals out of control, and none other than Emeric is sent to try and figure out if she’s committed profane fraud (a type of blasphemy that involves falsifying a god and exploiting that belief for her own gain). Then the Scarlet Maiden claims him as a virgin sacrifice.

There’s only one way to save his life, and that’s to collect the blood of various brothers from a particular family – only they’re strewn about the country and Vanja has only a limited time to find them all. And if that sounds like a rather random solution to the problem... well, it’s meant to be, and the answer is that it’s one of those puzzle-pieces that only makes sense when the entire thing is put together properly.

I cannot resist a plot like that, nor the underlying concept of the spirit world and its denizens being metaphors for a character’s inner psychology. Dammit, I just love that stuff (cf. Jadelotusflower’s recent review of Return to Oz, which does something very similar with the “mirroring” of the real and fantasy worlds). There are a couple of iffy bits (there’s no way Emeric would be allowed to investigate a case in which he’s so obviously compromised by a relationship with one of the suspects) but also some great ideas and characters: for example, a library poltergeist and a haunted doll that assist our heroes. 

The real drawcard is that almost everything in this story is connected to the wider picture of what’s really going on, as well as a reflection of Vanja’s inner turmoil and her attempts to move past a traumatic childhood. Even the red handprint and the lantern on the cover are sneaky clues – heck, even the title itself, taken from an old saying that’s repeated throughout the story, signifies the pledge (to use a magician’s parlance) at work here.

And so when the prestige finally comes, I wanted to put down the book and give a slow clap. Well played, Margaret Owen, well played.

If I’ve got nothing but praise for the plotting and the world-building, what’s my big issue with this book? Simply that it cannot shake itself free of an annoying and persistent YA veneer. And sure, it’s under no obligation to do away with it – it is, after all, written for young adults. That’s like complaining that a sci-fi novel has spaceships in it, or that horror contains scary stuff. But it just makes my teeth itch, all those cutesy little in-jokes and Easter eggs and nods to pop-culture and internet memes.

The likes of Bridge of Birds and Spinning Silver are quite similar to this book in terms of plotting, but were gorgeously written with a timelessness that is never going to fade. Painted Devils could have been that, if it wasn’t so dead-set on trying to be besties with its immediate, contemporary readership. This includes unironic use of the word “unalive,” and the phrase “we live in a society,” an extended subplot involving the Evergreen (it’s not called that, but it’s a supply ship stuck in a canal, so the reference is obvious), someone getting “a roasting,” Emeric writing a poem that’s comprised of lyrics to a Backstreet Boys song, Vanja coining the Scarlet Maiden as “ScarMad,” a chapter called “How I Met Your Mother,” and a safe-word that’s “Villanelle.” I’ve no idea if that’s meant to be a reference to Killing Eve’s Villanelle, but because everything else is so littered with winks and memes and fanservice, it brought that show to mind regardless.

Oof. It’s all going to date it so badly, like when Alix Harrow snuck: “they’re lesbians Harold” into A Spindle Splintered. It elicits nothing but eyerolls from me.  People talk exclusively in snark and at some point it veers into absolute ridiculousness. Nobody talks like this. I’m not a fan of fanservice at the best of times, and this is just too much.

Yet as stated, it IS a YA novel. It is exactly what it wants to be, on purpose, and these days YA is inextricable from grown women on Twitter attempting to be all: “how do you do, fellow kids?” in their writing. The perpetual banter is exhausting, as are the witticisms and pithy comebacks that never stop. Which doesn’t matter, because I’m not the target audience. I’m not even sure where I’m going with this.

As for the rest, it’s also no secret that 99% of the time I hate the whole “good girl saves bad boy from himself” narrative, but the bad girl/straight arrow combo? That’s certainly a lot more interesting, even though I was left a little exasperated by Vanja’s refusal to just commit to this guy. That said, she’s a very damaged person, and however frustrating her behaviour is, it also rings very true. To quote:

“I just don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m tired of fighting, of feeling like this. I want to black out for five minutes and wake up and have everything fixed. But maybe the biggest problem is that I don’t even know what fixed looks like.”

It’s true that you can’t simply fall straight into a happy relationship as though it’s the solution to life’s problems – you have to build trust and have difficult conversations. It’s only frustrating for us because we’re in the vantage point of the reader, and know that Owen has concocted the absolute perfect guy for Vanja, and that everything can and will be alright if she just lets it. But because she’s unaware that she’s in a YA book, she spends its entirety prevaricating about the relationship, which gets dull after a while.

There are frank discussions about sex which read very much like a PSA to the reader, and after all the emotional work the couple have done over the course of the book, the whole thing ends on a trope I HATE. One half of the pair takes off without the consulting the other “for their own good.” It’s just so aggravating, especially since you know the other person would have helped them, and that a simple conversation would have cleared everything up.

It’s enough for me to forego the last book. It’s not published yet. We’ll see. Is the great world-building and puzzle-box plots worth the insufferable protagonist and the YA trappings?

In all, mixed bag. The story itself is fantastic, a wonderfully constructed and paced work of genius, with maximum pay-off in its twists and surprises. But at the end of the day, YA is just not for me anymore, so I’ll spare you the obnoxious complaining about it. I won’t even mention that too-often children’s books manage to be more emotionally truthful and mature than a lot of what the adolescents are consuming. I’ll just be quiet and stick with Philip Reeve and Frances Hardinge.

The Snow Girl by Sophie Anderson

Last April I began my Slavic Fantasy Reads with Sophie Anderson’s The House with Chicken Legs, and so it’s immensely fitting that it all ends with her latest publication, The Snow Girl. It’s a very simple tale compared to her previous books, which were much more fantastical in nature (usually containing the standard fantasy plot of a young female protagonist having to save her family or a kingdom) whereas The Snow Girl is about everyone’s favourite current topic: overcoming trauma.

Tasha has moved with her parents into her grandfather’s farmhouse after a traumatic event has sapped away her courage and enjoyment of life. She’s struggling to regain her equilibrium and make new friends, but all she really wants is to avoid other people and just help out with odd jobs around the farm.

Then one day she and her grandfather build a snow girl in their front yard, and Tasha makes a wish that she’ll come to life. No prizes for what happens next. The following night, Tasha meets Alyana, a girl seemingly formed of ice and snow, and the two become friends. Losing her fear whenever she’s around Alyana, Tasha grows increasingly anxious at the thought of her leaving in the springtime. Not helping is the many stories told by the community about “snow spirits,” which don’t exactly paint Alyana in a favourable light.

(In fact, they’re almost hilariously similar to the White Walkers in A Song of Fire and Ice – icily beautiful, arriving with the winter, stealing people away and transforming them into their own...)

It’s unclear what time period this story is meant to take place – initially I assumed it was the same oblique “fairy tale time” as the rest of Anderson’s books, though every now and then a modern reference slips its way into the text, making me think it could have been set in the present day. I suppose it doesn’t matter, though it was a little distracting at some points.

As ever, Anderson links it all in with her other books, though more subtly this time, with Tasha’s grandfather simply claiming to have seen “a house on the western peaks” with long thin legs that comes as a harbinger of death. Clearly, it’s the house on chicken legs, but it only comprises a brief mention.

It’s a nice, sweet little book, probably not Anderson’s best by a long shot, but anyone that liked the others and their wintry ambience will surely enjoy this one too.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem (2023)

This was not a film I ever expected to have on my to-watch list, but I faithfully watched the eighties cartoon when I was a kid, and have not seen any other take on the IP since. Then I heard good things about this movie, and if nothing else, was interested in the animation, which was very much following in the footsteps of Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse and Puss in Boots: The Last Wish. (Why does everything come with a colon these days?)

I’ve no idea what the traditional origin story of the turtles is meant to be, but this time around they’re the accidental creation of rogue scientist Baxter Stockman, who is experimenting with radioactive ooze and already bringing several bizarre mutants to life. He doesn’t survive the SWAT team assault on his secret lair, and a canister of the mutagen falls into the sewers, there to transform a rat and four baby turtles into mutants: Splinter and his foster sons Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello and Michelangelo. But you surely know that already.

Possibly the best idea this version has (and it’s insane to think that it might not have happened before – I’m not well-versed enough in this franchise to know for certain) is that the turtles themselves are voiced by actual teenagers. Not only that, but they look, sound and act like teenagers – getting overexcited, talking over each other, communicating with indecipherable slang, referencing pop-culture, constantly ribbing each other... It works amazingly well, and the film manages to capture the brothers’ fascination with the human world and their subsequent loneliness at not being a part of it in just a few establishing scenes.

With the power of hindsight, April O’Neil was probably an unsung feminist heroine of my early youth – driven, ambitious, tenacious, and in the enviable position of being a Secret Keeper to the turtles. This take on the character is voiced by Ayo Edebiri and she’s a delight. Aged down to a teenager, she’s a budding reporter who is horrifically camera-shy (which leads to one of the funniest bits of the whole film. Let’s just say she vomits when she’s nervous, and... hoo boy. We get to see that in ALL its glory). The story also includes Leonardo forming an instant crush on her, much to the consternation of some fans, which is bemusing since... well, did these guys ever watch Gargoyles? I’m not entirely sure they could handle the fact that Goliath and Eliza were most definitely a thing, for the nineties were definitely not shy about cross-species love stories.

The original concept of the turtles was always a little tongue-in-cheek, with the whole thing being a send-up of popular superhero comics at the time, and only the fact they’ve been around for decades at this point making us forget they were a borderline parody to start with. (Kind of like we’ve all acclimatized to Attack of the Clones as the title of a Star Wars movie, even though it was, and remains, completely stupid).

The film leans into this, while at the same time making some pretty profound insights into the nature of humanity and the need to belong. Splinter’s characterization as an over-protective father who hates humans and doesn’t want his boys getting into trouble is a bit of a cliché by now (he’s essentially every single Disney Princess Dad ever) but the question of whether or not humanity is worth it, and what the turtles should do about it even if it isn’t, provides the underlying question of the film, with the turtles caught between the hostile world that they love, and the nefarious machinations of their own kind. I mean, whew! What’s an ethical struggle like that doing in a children’s movie?

In all, it’s one of those movies that shocks you with how good it is. The script is clever, the gags are funny, the emotional beats land, the animation is gorgeous... and this is a movie about mutant turtles that do ninja. It has absolutely no right being this good.

Sense and Sensibility (2024)

Look, if it’s a Jane Austen adaptation, I’m probably going to watch it sooner or later – even if it airs on the Hallmark Channel.

That simple fact very much elucidates everything about this movie: the inexplicable costumes, the cheap exteriors, the tiny sets, the complete lack of extras... but there is a certain charm about how they try to work around the obviously tiny budget, and you can absolutely tell that everyone involved was 100% committed to the project.

When it comes to Sense and Sensibility in particular, Ang Lee’s 1995 version looms large over all subsequent adaptations. It is the definitive take on the material, and a near-perfect film in and of itself. This on the other hand, is like the Sparks Notes version of the book, ticking off each scene without any subtlety or depth. The sly witticisms are now just insults, and the characters say what they must for a scene to work, not what they’re spontaneously thinking or feeling at any given moment.

And sometimes they just hit the wrong note. When Fanny starts dropping hints to Mrs Dashwood that their family has high hopes for Edward and that Elinor would be considered unsuitable, Mrs Dashwood gives her iconic: “I understand your full meaning!” line, but it’s delivered with a sort of wry amusement rather than offence.

Likewise, it’s a running gag that Mr Ferrars keeps correcting people over the fact that Fanny Dashwood is his stepsister, a change I couldn’t fathom until I realized – oh yeah, the actor playing Edward is white, and the actress playing Fanny is Black. (Guys, if you’re going to go full colourblind cast, I don’t think anyone would have cared if they’d remained full siblings). On that note, it’s also a bit unclear why Edward’s stepmother threatening to disinherit him if he marries Lucy Steele would be so detrimental to him. Given their more distant familial relationship, he probably wasn’t counting on getting money from her anyway.

For all that, it’s worth it for the sake of Deborah Ayorinde as Elinor. She’s genuinely lovely in the role, and though this character usually just edges out Marianne for the role of lead in most adaptations, here it’s not even 60/40. The director/editor obviously knew what they had with her, and so Elinor is definitely positioned the lead, with everything that goes on seen through her eyes.

(Except for the discovery of Edward Ferrars’ engagement to Lucy Steele, which – for the first time I can recall – is fully dramatized and plays out in front of his entire family; stepmother, brother, sister-in-law and all).

It’s always interesting to see how different adaptations will tweak certain characters. Edward Ferrars is played as a complete dork, while Colonel Brandon is a much moodier and more mysterious suitor for Marianne. Margaret is practically a non-entity in the book, but here they follow on with the recent trend of making her a tomboy. Most interestingly, Lucy Steele is an indisputable conniver this time around, one who immediately clocks Elinor as a threat and takes steps to get her out of the picture.

But Willoughby seems to drop in and out of the story amazingly quickly, and you never got the sense that Marianne was truly in love with him. Here, it feels like a week-long crush, and her subsequent heartbreak plays out more like a pout. Likewise, her life-threatening illness is slept off in a single night, and there’s not much of a rapport between her and Brandon either. Just as Mrs Jennings did in the book, I was shipping Brandon/Elinor.

If you chose to watch this, do so with a full understanding of what it is. The costumes are a mess, there are fade-outs for the ad-breaks, and it never feels like a lived-in world; rather an environment of sets and establishing shots (some of which include powerlines). And you’re bound to facepalm when a violin quartet start playing “Kiss From a Rose,” just in case you were in any doubt that this wasn’t trying to hitch its wagon to the popularity of Bridgerton.

But beyond all its flaws there is a genuine sweetness to it. It might not be good, but at least it’s not good from a place of sincerity.

Elementary: Season 5 (2016 – 2017)

I watched the first half of this season months ago (I can’t even remember how long it was) and only got the chance to finish things up during my annual leave. Now I just have to remember what happened...

Every season of this show so far has centred around an important guest star: Moriarty, Mycroft, Kitty, Morlan Holmes – and this time around it’s Shinwell Johnson, a former patient of Joan who has just gotten out of prison and looking to turn his life around. Having once saved his life, Joan is deeply invested in his rehabilitation, though Sherlock is significantly more skeptical. Shinwell ends up accepting the pair’s help in becoming an informant within his former gang, though his rather dodgy track record puts a strain on Sherlock and Joan’s relationship.

I have to say that the gang warfare plot isn’t particularly interesting, though the majority of episodes are the usual standalone procedurals. Sherlock’s new girlfriend and Joan’s newly discovered half-sister make brief appearances, defying my prediction that they’d never be seen or heard of again... but I still think they’ll be forgotten about after this season. More satisfying is the return of Kitty Winter for a two-parter, just to give us a sense of where she is in life.

Sherlock and Joan now comfortably exist in their daily routine, as partners and housemates and best friends, though in a way I miss the more dynamic aspects of their early relationship. I kind of wish the writers had leaned a bit harder into the “friendship love triangle” between themselves and Shinwell, but I can’t complain about the depiction of a comfortable, lasting bond that asks for nothing; the dependency of which is unquestionable at this point. To vicariously enjoy the safe world of a trusted friendship is a balm for the soul.

As ever it’s fun to play the “spot the thespian slumming it” or “up-and-comers before their big break” game, and this time around it’s Debra Jo Rupp, Christine Taylor and Kathy Najimy in the “hey, it’s that guy!” category, and Adetomiwa Edun (Elyan from Merlin), Melonie Diaz (Mel from the Charmed reboot) and none other than David Corenswet (soon to be the next Superman under James Gunn’s direction) in the “look where they are now” sweepstakes. Also, Patrick Fabien, who is probably best known at this point for his stint on Better Call Saul, but to me will always be one of the unlikely one-shot male love interests on Xena Warrior Princess.

It may have been my imagination, but there seemed to be a more heightened sense of what we’d call “copaganda” this time around – it’s somewhat inevitable in a police procedural, though a few lines from Captain Gregson were a bit much at times, and of the two supporting players, Marcus Bell definitely got the better storyline, in which he’s targeted by his new girlfriend’s ex-husband, who is himself an ex-cop.

This also marked the beginning of the end for the show, the last season to have a full twenty-four episode run. Season six has twenty-one, and season seven only thirteen, so it’s time to start savouring what I’ve got left. This show has seen me through what’s turned out to be a pretty challenging year, and I'm gonna miss it.

Star Wars Visions: Season 1 and 2 (2021 – 2023)

My Star Wars hiatus hasn’t exactly been very strict lately, as I ended up watching Andor and Ahsoka, and always planned to catch up with this anthology series at some point, if not just for the animation. In theory at least, it’s the best idea that Disney has had with the franchise: lend the Star Wars universe to animation studios around the world and let them play in its sandpit.

Like most anthologies, there are high points and low points, though I infinitely preferred the second season to the first. There wasn’t as much range in the stories (at least three involve a child leaving their family behind to be trained with a Sith/Jedi) but had a greater variety of animation at work. In comparison, season one was largely anime, which I can appreciate, but don’t exactly love.

I’m not entirely sure how much direction or leeway Disney gave the various studios when they signed onto this project, but assuming that everyone had a complete blank slate, it’s a little amusing how closely some of these stories vibe with each other, while others go completely off the beaten track (apparently a couple are set in an alternative-world, which... oy).

But the echoes between them can be quite interesting, helping to pinpoint exactly what people think of when they hear the words “Star Wars.” There are siblings divided and united, lightsabre battles, families torn apart by war, reflections on the nature and purpose of the Force, and a motif of duality in a variety of different forms.

In one story, a mother forges a link with her long-lost son, in another, a girl loses her adopted sister to the Dark Side. “The Bandits of Golak” has an older brother watch his sister disappear from his life after she joins the Jedi Order, while “Screecher’s Reach” has the same thing happen to a girl who must leave her tight-knit group of friends – only in her case, it’s the Sith that have come to collect her. Both scenarios are equally sad, and by accident or design, it’s a thought-provoking look at how the Jedi and Sith aren’t so different when it comes to breaking up families.

In fact, it’s more fascinating to note the symmetry between these otherwise unrelated short films than it is to do so with the film trilogies. Like George Lucas once said: “it’s like poetry, it rhymes,” and in this case, short films are clearly the best vehicle for capturing this simpatico.

It’s also a chance to see Star Wars through the medium of Asian-based animation, especially since the franchise owes such a huge debt to Japanese culture and tradition. It’s been a long time coming.

For my money, the best offerings are “Screecher’s Reach,” (though I’m biased since it came from Cartoon Saloon, the studio responsible for some of my absolute favourite movies) and “In the Stars,” a beautiful stop-motion adventure about two sisters fighting the Imperial presence on their homeworld. “I Am Your Mother,” is also a delight, if you’ve ever wondered what a Wallace and Gromit short would look like if it was set in the Star Wars universe, and even boasts the presence of Denis Lawson, reprising his role as Wedge Antilles. (And if you look very closely, it’ll show you how Maz Katana came to be in possession of Luke’s lightsabre).

I stretched the viewing of this over the course of several months, but it was a fun little project that’ll hopefully continue, especially considering there are more misses than hits in the franchise lately.

Abbott Elementary: Season 1 (2021 – 2022)

I’ve been watching this show off-and-on for... yikes, it could be a few years at this stage. As much as I enjoyed it, the viewing experience was a very stop-start affair, though that gave me the excuse to rewatch a few episodes.

Abbott Elementary is an underfunded public school in Philadelphia, though (with the exception of its principal, who only got the job because she’s blackmailing the superintendent) is filled with a devoted array of teachers. No-nonsense Melissa Schemmenti, stately Barbara Howard, earnest Jacob Hill, and eternally optimistic Janine Teagues (September’s Woman of the Month). In the first episode, they’re joined by Gregory Eddie, a slightly less invested substitute teacher.

There’s always very little to say about comedies, especially the ones that everyone has watched (or seen gif-sets of). Filmed as a mockumentary, it follows the trials and tribulations of the staff as they deal with unruly kids, disaffected parents, miniscule budgets, misbegotten teaching innovations, TikTok trends, parent/teacher night, extracurricular activities, and their own personal lives.

The cast bounce off each other fantastically, which is half the battle of any successful sitcom. If you can believe in the characters and their rapport with each other, the audience will be on board. In this case, Quinta Brunson in particular is the beating heart of the show, though for my money Sheryl Lee Ralph steals said show, as a teacher with the bearing and elocution of a queen, despite having devoted most of her life to kindergartners.

There are some fun arcs across the first season, namely Janine growing in skill and confidence, not to mention the slow burn between herself and Gregory, who himself learns to become more appreciative of the role he’s playing in his students’ lives.

Becoming Elizabeth (2022)

Another show that was cut short after its first and only season, though in this case, I can kind of see why. As reasonably well-written and performed it all is, damn it’s slow. Detailing the adolescence of the future Queen Elizabeth I, it begins with the death of Henry VIII and the bearing of that news to his three children. In a striking visual, the show opens with three teams of horsemen carrying lit torches, splitting down three separate paths by night, heading for Mary, Edward and Elizabeth... their faiths and allegiances already laid bare.

The siblings end up being the main players of the drama, along with the Seymour brothers and Catherine Parr, all of whom are trying to find their footing after the death of their husband, father and/or monarch. Edward is a sickly child, Thomas Seymour is a wildcard, Edward Seymour is overreaching, Lord Dudley is making subtle moves of his own, and the entire country seems to exist in a holding pattern of sorts. You get the feeling that deep down, everyone knows that Edward won’t survive to adulthood, and so various factions are starting to eye the two princesses; second and third in line to the throne.

It’s a little-explored period in the lives of the Tudors, and I appreciated the chance of seeing the likes of King Edward, Princess Mary and Lady Jane Grey at the start of their “careers.” These individuals are usually glossed over in the hurry to get to Elizabeth, and yet here we’re given the opportunity to understand them, what drives them, and their place in history.

Having said that, I can’t help but feel that a show called Becoming Elizabeth should have been more about, you know, Elizabeth. Alicia von Rittberg isn’t bad in the role, but that doesn’t exactly cut it when you’re playing Princess Elizabeth, even in her formative years. Watching this right on the heels of The Tudors, I couldn’t help but feel that the (at the time) much younger Laoise Murray did a better job at capturing the woman's intelligence, self-possession and tendency to keep her cards close to her chest, as well as her youthful honesty and innocence.

In fact, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Prince Philip’s words to the next Queen Elizabeth in The Crown, in which he tells his wife: “you were born ready.” That’s how I’ve always felt about Elizabeth I. Sure, there was obviously a time in which she was young and vulnerable and perhaps a little naïve, but she would have had her responsibilities and the stakes imposed upon her from a very early age, not to mention being intellectual and savvy in her own right. In other words, she was born ready; a true prodigy. 

There’s not much sense of that here, especially in her dealings with Thomas Seymour (played by Tom Cullen, who I found familiar but was floored to realize was Lord Gillingham in Downton Abbey). As in the Cate Blanchett movie, the showrunners here seem to be bewildered by the fact she was called “the Virgin Queen,” as this depicts sex between herself and her brother’s uncle/stepmother’s husband. It’s extremely aggravating, especially since there was the perfect opportunity here to explore Elizabeth’s commitment to remaining single, despite her (documented) desire for a husband and family.

But it’s Starz, so gotta get those sex scenes in, I suppose.

They also have some difficulty in Thomas Seymour’s portrayal, though that’s hardly surprising since he was such a slippery individual (is there any historical consensus on what he was trying to achieve when he broke into Hampton?) Here he comes across as equal parts creepy and charming, to whom Elizabeth is in a sort of thrall. It’s always going to be a headache to try and dramatize the infamous report that he cut Elizabeth’s gown into “a hundred pieces,” and it unsurprisingly plays out rather awkwardly here.

The writing is generally quite good, with more showing than telling (I liked Elizabeth getting the upper-hand in Thomas’s power games after he barges into her room first thing in the morning to catch her in her nightgown – henceforth she gets up earlier and is fully dressed the next time he tries it) though I think the main problem is that the show is simply rather sluggish. There’s too much setup and not enough meat, which would have been fine once upon a time, when writers had the time and space to carefully arrange all their pieces on the board, but you simply can’t afford to do that these days.

Bella Ramsay is here as Jane Grey, and we get to see the start of the relationship between Robert Dudley and Amy Robsart (the latter played by Ruby Serkis, daughter of Andy Serkis), though of the entire cast I think it’s John Hefferman as Edward Seymour who puts in the best performance. As stated, Alicia von Rittberg isn’t bad, but she isn’t very compelling either, and whenever she’s opposite Romola Garai as Princess Mary, she gets the scene stolen out from right under her. It works as a follow-up to The Tudors and a bridge to all those Queen Elizabeth biopics, but isn’t very memorable in its own right.

The Owl House: Season 2 (2022)

I worry that I don’t enjoy this show as much as I should. There’s so much about it that I like, or that I should like, and yet it doesn’t seem to be making much of a lasting impression upon me. Maybe because I know it got screwed over by Disney in its final season, maybe because there’s quite a lot of it that I’ve seen done elsewhere, but... I dunno.

Luz is now settled into her life with Eda the Owl Lady, learning how to harness her particular brand of magic and attending Hexside School of Magic and Demonics with her friends Gus and Willow. Her rivalry with Amity seems to be developing into something more romantic in nature, and her side-project of creating a doorway to return home to her mother is coming along nicely. For the most part.

Plus, she loves the fact that she’s surrounded by so many weird and wonderful things. Her chipper nature makes for an interesting contrast with the slightly more unsettling elements of the Boiling Isles, and all those parents who took umbrage at the witchcraft of Harry Potter would no doubt be beside themselves at some of the distinctly more demonic imagery of The Owl House.

That said, the show gets a few digs into some of the inconsistencies and quirky “whimsy” of Harry Potter (such as the inherent stupidity of Quidditch) and I suspect it’s more inspired by Howl’s Moving Castle. In fact, I’m certain of it. Clearly there’s something of Baba Yaga in Eda Clawthorne and her ambulatory house on chicken legs, but the lackadaisical nature of Eda is Howl all over – and it’s great to see a female character in that type of role. Usually they’d be the overly cautious killjoys in a show like this.

I suppose the major thing that didn’t really work for me was (some of) the underlying story-arc and its subsequent world-building. A couple of things – such as King’s background – took me by surprise, but the twists involving Emperor Belos were spotted a mile away, and his ongoing mission to seize power and impose an authoritarianist regime on the people of the Boiling Isles did not jive at all with the episodic hijinks of Luz just going to school and hanging out with her friends. It’s a bit of a tonal mishmash.

But when it came to the relationship between Luz and Amity, the show helped me realize why I’m not generally a huge fan of the whole Enemies to Lovers narrative (can you believe there’s not a more precise TV Tropes page for this type of story??) I hold grudges, I never forget slights, and I have so much resentment boiling away in me. I’m not saying that’s a good thing by any means, but if the universe ever gave me the opportunity to take vengeance on my high school bullies, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment.

And that detestable trope expects me to fall in love with someone who treats me like shit right off the bat?? Would never happen. The nerve! Any insults given or received would be hanging over us the whole time.

Anyhoo, at some point after watching season three (which is comprised of three movie-length specials) I will rewatch this entire show from start to finish and no doubt appreciate it a lot more. I want to be more of a fan, as there’s a lot to love from this project, and it was clearly a labour of love from all involved – even if they had to deal with Disney’s bullshit on cutting them short at the finish line.

Slow Horses: Season 3 (2023)

This show is nothing short of a miracle at this point – not only surpassing three seasons (the fourth is currently airing and the fifth has been confirmed) but actively getting better as it goes on. People seem to have forgotten this, but this is the natural state of television shows – once the writers have established the premise and characters, they can continue to build and improve upon them as time goes on, until every aspect reaches their full potential. Just imagine!

This time around River Cartwright and the gang get pulled into the political games of their higher-ups, leading to a truly nail-biting finale in which they’re up against superior forces in a storage warehouse facility, armed with a few handguns and only one way out. Their gradual realization of just how much shit they’re in is something to behold, and the show expertly rachets up the suspense.

Of course, you do have to suspend your disbelief that all of our main characters are protected by Plot Armour while all the guest stars are mown down, but it’s still a great ride.

River continues to be a (deliberately) exasperating character, and he’s a great deconstruction of those wannabe-heroes who will charge headfirst into a situation for the glory and the acclaim without stopping for one second to think through his options. In this case, it’s quite fascinating to see just how vulnerable that makes him to manipulation, and one supporting character in particular plays him like a violin.

As ever, Gary Oldman’s Jackson Lamb is the only one who has the slightest inkling of what’s actually happening, and there’s something soothing in his near-omnipotent understanding of the machinations swirling all around him. He might be smelly and rude and disgusting, but it’s nice to know that someone, somewhere, knows what the hell they’re doing.

I keep trying to pin down why this show keeps going from strength to strength while almost everything else on-air is getting mowed down indiscriminately. Is it because the cast (including Gary Oldman, let’s be honest) aren’t A-listers and so can’t command massive paychecks? Because it’s set in modern day London, which cuts down on filming costs? Because it’s based on preexisting novels, which means the showrunners only have to worry about the adaptive process and not writing from scratch?

Whatever the reason, it’s a breath of fresh air to be able to enjoy a show, know it’ll be of good quality, and be assured of more to come.