Reading/Watching Log #117

It is the first day of spring in the southern hemisphere, and I reach it like a castaway onto an island full of fresh water and fruit. Damn, that was a gruelling winter. I hate the cold and the dark at the best of times, but there was something in the air this year that made absolutely everyone sick – continuously and relentlessly.

I suspect I caught more than one thing at once, which ended up playing havoc on my immune system, and after five whole weeks of feeling like absolute crap, my doctor finally prescribed me some antibiotics just to help fight whatever the hell was going on in my Petrie dish of a body.

My blog has been so quiet lately because I honestly haven’t had the energy to write anything. By the time I got home from work, I just wanted to crawl into bed and fall unconscious, but now – well, hopefully I can start plumping up these entries again.

And yes, I will eventually post my reading/watching list for July.

This month’s theme: PIRATES!

Lightfall: The Dark Times by Tim Probert

At last, I’ve made it to the third book in the Lightfall series, though apparently not the last. Unlike Cat’s Cradle (below), which definitely concluded with book three, this story is left wide open in its final pages. Though it’s been a while since I read the previous two books, this follows Beatrice and Cadwaller, a human girl and a Galdurian, who live in a world that has no sun, but which is lit with giant lanterns instead (yes, it’s very Two Lamps of the Valar from The Silmarillion).

But those lamps are being extinguished by a race of creatures called the Tikani, who are a bit like the Skeksis from The Dark Crystal, the previous book having concluded with a major lamp being extinguished. Now in darkness, Beatrice, Cadwaller and their allies are fending off attacks from terrifying shadow creatures as they make their way across the darkened lands to reach the safety of the city of Baihle.

Beatrice and Cad plan to diverge at some point in order to find the Citadel of Knowledge, a great library where they might find some answers as to what exactly is going on, which is a bit like the one in Avatar: The Last Airbender, though the books in their entirety also remind me of 5 Worlds in regards to their scope and themes.

Yes, I’m referencing a lot of stuff, but it’s a lot of good stuff, and Lightfall more than stands on its own as a fantasy epic – so far. Like many third instalments, it’s a bridging sort of instalment, one which starts answering certain questions about the world, its history, and the circumstances the characters find themselves in. (As one character says: “questions are the heart of the quest for knowledge”).

As is often the way with fantasy these days, our protagonists have internal issues as well as external obstacles to grapple with. For Cad it’s feelings of abandonment and being the last of his kind, for Beatrice it’s overwhelming anxiety, which is depicted in the illustrations as a mass of tendrils and bristles that manifest around her in times of stress.

There’s also a great supporting cast at work, such as Gramps the Pig Wizard, Soot the fiery Eastern-style Falcor-like dragon, and little Arsai, a creature which defies any easy description. Stitch melded with Yoda, maybe? All of them are gorgeously rendered in Tim Probert’s artwork, which is so detailed and lively, capturing everything from micro-expressions and naturalistic details, to massive, expansive landscapes. It’s a truly gorgeous piece of work, and impressive that a story without any source of natural in-universe light is still filled with colour and warmth.

There are some incredible things happening in children’s graphic novels right now, so if you get past all the adaptations of old paperbacks from the nineties (Babysitters Club, Sweet Valley Twins, Animorphs), there are some stunningly good and beautifully rendered original stories.

Wingborn by Marjorie Liu and Grace Kum

The second graphic novel I read this month is also the second volume of who-knows how many. Majorie Liu is also the writer of the Monstress series, and that’s up to volume ten and counting. And as much as I enjoy reading those books (largely thanks to Sana Takeda’s incredible illustrations and the plethora of female characters), I have to admit that I have next to no idea what’s going on at any given point. The plot is convoluted to the point of incoherency.

The Wingbearer Saga is already heading into that territory, though I think I’ve still got a grasp of the basics. Zuli is a little girl on a mission to discover why the souls of the birds who raised her aren’t being reborn as they should within the great mystical tree where she lives. Venturing out into the real world, she discovers danger but also great beauty among the creatures that populate the different realms: dragons, griffins, flying horses, talking birds and winged goblins – though those last ones are dead ringers for the gargoyles on Disney’s Gargoyles from the nineties. Seriously, look:

That’s a gargoyle, not a goblin!

She discovers that all living beings are threatened by the machinations of the Witch Queen, her own twin sister who was separated from her at birth. But because Zara was raised in the real world (outside the liminal time that Zuli experienced in the tree) she is a young adult, while Zuli is still a pre-teen. A bit like how Supergirl was originally older than Superman until her pod was waylaid.

So now the sisters are pitted against each other in a world at war, in which Zara is trying to gather forces and accumulate magical artefacts to do… something…? Here’s where the plot loses me a little. I’m not entirely sure what she’s trying to do or how exactly she’s going about doing it.

Disappointingly, artist Teny Issakhanian does not return to illustrate the story (though she’s credited as providing assistance) with Grace Lum taking over in her stead. This is a real shame, as Issakhanian’s artwork was the main drawcard of the first book; making it the closest thing I’ve ever experienced to reading an animated Disney film. Lum can only provide a facsimile of her style – less polished, less precise. It’s the difference between a nineties Disney film on the big screen, and those cheap direct-to-video sequels. Even the colour palette seems a little less vibrant. I don’t want to be mean, as there’s clearly a lot of work and talent involved here, but Issakhanian’s work was truly something to behold. Hopefully she’ll return for book three.

It's odd to wonder what children would make of this, as it’s a story filled not only with concepts such as reincarnation, time disparities and complex forms of magic, but also political intrigue and networks of alliances based on economy and race. Still, there are plenty of fun creatures that make up those networks: griffins, dragons, and Frowly the owl, who is 100% Archimedes from Disney’s The Sword in the Stone. But hey, I love that character – it’s nice to see him again in a different context.

I look forward to the next book, however long that may take.

Cat’s Cradle: Suri’s Dragon by Jo Rioux

This is the third and supposedly final book in Jo Rioux’s Cat’s Cradle trilogy, though that’s hard to believe given the number of loose ends left at the end of the story. Specifically, that the identity of Suri’s mother and the reason for her abandonment remains a mystery, the true identity of her travelling companion is never revealed to her, and the three villains who’ve been chasing her for the last three books just fall off a bridge. Life doesn’t always give us the answers, but in this case it feels like it’s more to do with the author running out of steam.

Even in an interview with Rioux, she states: “in hindsight, I realize I should have given myself more structure. I had enough story ideas for probably eight or nine books, and condensing it to three left me with some loose ends that I wished to tie up better.” Er, yeah. It’s a pretty astute comment, especially since this book finally reaches the mountains that Suri has been aiming for this entire time, after the whole second book felt like deliberately avoiding the fireworks factory.

So I’m a little disappointed, even though the artwork remains gorgeous. It really is like reading a Cartoon Saloon film, as well as being reminiscent of Rioux’s previous graphic novel The Daughters of Ys (one of my all-time favourites, though aimed at a much older audience). Some of her character designs are truly delightful, such as City Councillor Gwendolyn, a tiny old tiny like Edna Mode with pillbox hats on either side of her head and a spring-mule contraption to ride about on.

Rioux also presents a very distinct colour palette: russet reds, seafoam green, faded aubergine – it’s a gorgeous book to look at, regardless of the shortcomings in the actual story.

In this last volume, Suri reaches a town that’s plagued by a dragon. Believing that it’s the same one that flew her over the mountain range when she was just a baby, Suri decides to lend her services as a monster tamer in order to learn more about her past. With her are Byron the giant dog, Kolya the secret Caitsith (a cat-like beings who can pass as a human by wrapping magical gold twine around a limb) and Caligo the greedy little goblin-like creature. They’re fun, but not brought to any satisfying conclusions based on any meaningful character development (as mentioned, Suri never realizes that Kolya was deceiving her about his true nature all along).

But I’ll miss little Suri: spunky but vulnerable, headstrong but gentle. She’s been left in a safe haven, but I hope Jo Rioux returns to her one day.

Starring the Babysitters Club! by Anne M. Martin

I could have sworn I had an actual copy of this book, but I can’t find it anywhere on my shelves. Ah well, library e-book it is. For some reason, the babysitters are enthusiastic about fliers for the upcoming “musical extravaganza” that the middle school is hosting based on J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan, despite disparaging the production of Mary Poppins as too babyish a few books ago. Apparently there’s a world of difference in maturity levels between a magical flying nanny and a magical flying boy who never grows up. Mmkay.

Jessi takes the framing device this time around (her first time “hosting” a Super Special) and as a new writer for the school newspaper, decides to rope everyone into contributing to a behind-the-scenes exposé on the Peter Pan experience, from auditions to rehearsals to opening night. She also assumes that she’s going to land the part of Peter Pan solely because she’s a professional dancer, something the story gives her a hard time over, even though her true motives are a little heartrending:

“I haven’t been here long at all, at least, not long compared to kids like Mal who were born here. Maybe that’s one reason I was so eager for the kids at school to see me as Peter Pan and gets to know the real Jessi. To a lot of them, I was just “the new girl.” (And to some of them, I was “the new black girl.”)

This isn’t about being the centre of attention, it’s about trying to fit in by impressing her classmates. So it will come as no surprise that she doesn’t get the lead role, and is instead relegated to a random pirate. Unfortunately, she doesn’t handle the perceived rejection very well, and quits.

Nobody else is having much luck either. Kristy tried out for the animal roles and ends up with Peter Pan. Dawn wanted Tiger Lily and is cast as Wendy. Stacey just wants a small part but ends up with Mrs Darling, alongside Sam as Mr Darling. Claudia wants to paint the sets, but is made the head set designer. Mallory wants to help with the costumes, but then realizes she has to measure the boys – something that mortifies her. Mary Anne wants absolutely nothing to do with any of it, but gets roped into being a backstage babysitter for the kids that are cast in the production.

Basically, everyone except Jessi gets more than what they were originally aiming for, and aren’t too happy about it.

Aside from the babysitters, some other supporting characters narrate their own chapters: Jackie Rodowsky is cast as Michael but ends up terrified of the crocodile, Sam is simultaneously embarrassed and thrilled that he’s paired up with Stacey, Logan is a pirate and gets kicked off the show after staging a sword fight backstage (only to be reinstated in the very next chapter), and – most enjoyably – Cokie continues her largely one-sided feud with the babysitters. It’s pretty fun getting inside her head and seeing the contempt she has for our main characters. She goes up against Dawn for the role of Tiger Lily, but can only enjoy a Pyrrhic Victory since Dawn ends up as Wendy, implicitly demonstrating she had the better audition.

Still, the book actually lets her get one-up on Kristy. After Cokie asks for a private dressing room, Kristy trolls her by leading her to a broom closet – but then Cokie goes ahead and asks the janitor for it, and ends up getting it for her personal use. What she plans to do in there is anyone’s guess, but it was fun to see her come out on top for a change.

Some of the subplots are better than others. Dawn grapples with the inherent sexism of the play (“[Peter] just wants someone who will cook and clean and sew for him!”) and butts heads with the long-suffering director after she starts changing her lines, while Stacey is embarrassed that Sam keeps calling her “darling” and “sweetheart” during rehearsals, even outside the capacity of their roles. Jessi sulks and pouts for a while, then takes on the role of dance choreographer for the younger children.

Their storylines are resolved nicely: Pete Black calls in sick on the night of the performance, meaning that Jessi has to take over the role of Nana and the crocodile – not only giving her a meaningful part, but helping to quell Jackie’s fears of the crocodile. Stacey learns that Sam was just trying to redirect the teasing he’s getting from his friends over dating a girl in middle school, and they work it out.

Finally, Dawn has what can only be called an anti-woke epiphany (“I wasn’t there to teach the audience a lesson. I was there to present to them a fairy tale with which they were already familiar and which was comforting because it was familiar. And for those children watching it for the first time, well, I had to hope they would enjoy the magic and drama and energy, and learn from some other stories that boys can cook and sew as well as girls.”)

I mean, this isn’t a hill I’m going to die on, but it’s pretty headache-inducing that Dawn is taking umbridge at the sexism of the story while completely ignoring the racism. Here’s her reasoning behind why she wants to play Tiger Lily:

“Tiger Lily is the Indian Princess in Neverland who is also Peter’s friend. She gets to sing a couple of great numbers, including the “Ugg-a-Wugg” song with Peter and the Indians. And of course she gets to wear a pretty exotic costume.”

Everyone who isn’t Jessi, Dawn or Stacey get whisper-thin plots, though I suppose that’s understandable considering the sheer number of narrators packed into this thing. Kristy is nervous about playing Peter Pan until she’s not. Mallory is so embarrassed by the thought of measuring boys that she starts honing in on Mary Anne’s backstage babysitting responsibilities – this leads to several costumes getting muddled up, though how anyone mistakes a Victorian gentlewoman’s outfit with an Indian princess’s is anyone’s guess. Claudia is irrationally afraid that one of her sets will collapse and hurt someone (honestly, she’s barely in this book).

Karen doesn’t get any point-of-view chapters, but her presence is certainly felt throughout. She initially throws a tantrum because she wants to play Tinkerbell and wear a fairy costume (the director tells her Tinkerbell is traditionally simulated with light and sound effects, only for him to change his mind and cast her in the role – methinks Watson made a few phone calls) and then later she starts demanding that they give her flying ropes and special effects as well. She’s an absolute brat in this book.

On the other hand, I enjoyed the character of Savannah, who directs Mallory in the making of the costumes. As we’re told: “she doesn’t go by a nickname because the only one anybody can ever think of is Vanna and she absolutely refuses.” Tell that to the girl called Cokie whose real name is Margeurite.

The best way to enjoy this Super Special is as a gradual coming together of a production, from auditions to rehearsals to opening night. Some of the logistics of putting on a show are as bewildering as those in Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan (why on earth does everyone have to be at every rehearsal, including all the crew?) but it’s fun in its own way, and a change of pace from the usual Specials, which usually take the girls on vacation.

It’s also amusing to note that the book is dedicated to “Brian Selznick, a rising star.” Yes, that Brian Selznick.

The Lady Grace Mysteries: Deception, Exile and Feud by Patricia Finney

The titles of the next three books in the Lady Grace Mysteries start with the next three letters of the alphabet: Deception, Exile and Feud. Once more, young lady-in-waiting Grace Cavendish acts as Queen’s Elizabeth’s Pursuivant, solving mysteries that are grounded in the historical context of the Elizabethan Era.

In Deception, the court travels to the home of the Earl of Leichester (Robert Dudley) where several odd accidents make Grace believe the visit might be deliberately sabotaged. In Exile, a deposed princess arrives from the fictional country of Sharakand, looking for financial assistance from the Queen. She offers a giant ruby as surety for any aid, only for it to be stolen, and Grace’s friend Ellie treated as the main suspect. Finally, Feud deals with one of Grace’s fellow ladies, who comes down with a strange malady that Grace suspects is a deliberate poisoning attempt.

Written in diary form, the covers attribute the stories to Lady Grace herself, though the author is Patricia Finney (and sometimes Jan Burchett or Sara Vogler). Each one is seeded throughout with details and facts from the period – everything from how a lady’s outfit was put together, to how paint was made, which lends everything a nice degree of verisimilitude. You could do worse in giving a young reader a primer on the Tudors.

I’m exactly halfway through the series now, and they’re nice little reads, though I’m going to have to make a larger dent in my TBR pile before returning to them.

The Crime Club: Mystery and Mayhem edited by Katherine Woodville

Twelve crime stories in all, some from my favourite writers in the genre. Okay, one writer, who usually doesn’t write in this genre at all: Frances Hardinge. That said, her twisty puzzle-box fantasies aren’t a million miles away from a detective story, so she’s right at home here.

The mysteries are divided into four categories: Impossible Mysteries, Canine Capers, Poison Plots and Closed-System Crimes, all of which are pretty self-explanatory. Some of them are based on preexisting books, such as Katherine Woodfine’s Sinclair Mysteries, Elen Caldecott’s Marsh Road Mysteries and Julia Golding’s Mel Foster books (which seems to be about kid versions of literary monsters solving mysteries) but most are standalone.

It can be quite tricky writing a mystery for children with a limited word-count, and a couple of them have rather ludicrous solutions (I’m extremely sure that people would immediately notice a body concealed within a pile of luggage). But Frances Hardinge certainly didn’t disappoint, with a carefully structured whodunnit set in the Victorian Era, complete with hot-air balloons, winding cobble streets, corpse candles and concealed vials of poison. She’s great, and truly one of the most underrated writers working at the moment.

Sunrise on the Reaping by Suzanne Collins

I’m not so great a fan of The Hunger Games that I’d consider buying copies of the books, but I enjoy them enough to wait patiently on a library waiting list that numbered well over one hundred people to read this one. That is, insofar as you can “enjoy” a series about an oppressive fascist government that makes children fight to the death in elaborate gladiatorial areas in order to quell the masses and provide entertainment to the ruling elite.

Heck, the first time I read the original trilogy, I found it extremely difficult to suspend my disbelief over something as depraved as the Hunger Games ever actually existing in the first place, or that the people sacrificing their children would tolerate their existence for any length of time. Now between Trump’s regime and the country’s comfort in prioritizing gun ownership over the lives of their own children, I’m genuinely surprised America hasn’t established them for real.

This is a prequel to the original trilogy but a sequel to A Ballad of Snakes and Songbirds, which sheds further light on Haymitch’s experience in the games: all the things that were deliberately concealed through propaganda and editing in the first published books. For me, it’s been long enough since reading them that I couldn’t really remember any of the particulars, so outside knowing that Haymitch (one of the only District 12 victors) would survive, there were no real preconceptions going in for me.

As such, I could only assume certain things had been preestablished in the prior books which had to be adhered to here: the gut-wrenching horror of what happens to Haymitch’s family and loved ones (it’s almost too bleak), the way in which he wins the games (which Collins cleverly adds further context to – we discover he was doing far more than the Capitol ever made public) and that because he took part in a Quarter Quell, over fifty children participated – which is obviously far too many characters to do justice to.

So, Collins is hemmed in in some respects, but finds a certain amount of leeway to wriggle into certain “blank spaces.” The main complaint that I can see from books readers didn’t bother me at all: the cavalcade of younger versions of original characters from the trilogy: Plutarch, Mags, Wiress, Beetee, Katniss’s parents and so on. A prequel is all about this sort of thing, and I didn’t find it particularly fanservicey.

My main problems is that Collins sometimes can’t resist overexplaining. The entirety of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven is printed between paragraphs of Haymitch’s narrative in the final chapter (just like Katniss’s painstaking interpretation of the lyrics to “The Hanging Tree”) and he comes to some astoundingly accurate conclusions about Snow’s relationship with a Covey girl based on extremely flimsy evidence. Both are completely indulgent and unnecessary.

As an admirer but not a fan, this satisfied me. Could we have a prequel about Plutarch next? I kind of hate myself for wanting that given characters like Effie Trinket and Johanna Mason are also ripe for expansion, but he still interested me the most. What makes a child of privilege become a committed radical? How does a person like that reach that point? And since Jesse Plemons has been cast in the filmic adaptation of this book, Suzanne Collins would do well to strike while the iron is hot.

Captain Blood (1935)

I enjoy black-and-white movies, and given this film’s reputation I thought I’d be in for a great time; the first collaboration between Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland, not to mention a story that’s considered the greatest pirate movie of all time, but… I dunno, something fell a little flat for me (and not just that the film deplores the evils of slavery in the West Indies without featuring one single Black person save a little boy with no lines).

In 1685, Doctor Peter Blood aids a soldier who participated in the Monmouth Rebellion and for this perceived treason, he’s sold into slavery in the West Indies. After this introductory sequence, it’s easy to describe the subsequent movie being divided into two parts: the first portraying Blood and his cohorts escaping slavery, and the second recounting their adventures as pirates.

Entangled in these experiences is Arabella Bishop, the niece of ruthless military commander Colonel Bishop. These are some interesting power dynamics between the two would-be lovers: Arabella initially buys Blood at auction to spare him from a worser fate, and later Blood takes her hostage on board his ship. In both cases, despite each behaving with the very best of intentions, the act of “possessing” another human being against their will is depicted as inherently humiliating and cruel (no bodices are ripped here).

It's also an extremely long movie, and I’m struggling to find anymore to say about it – a film connoisseur would probably be horrified that I had a better time watching infamous flop Cutthroat Island. Speaking of...

Cutthroat Island (1995)

Ah, Cutthroat Island. A movie which up until recently was notorious for being the biggest financial flop in Hollywood history, though any claims that it killed the pirate genre are a little exaggerated. That was already dead, this just hammer the nails in the coffin.

But here’s the thing – it’s not bad. It’s not good, but it’s a few solid hours of entertaining chases, explosions, sword fights, near misses, and buried treasure. In my early tweenhood, this was one of several action/period films that I watched incessantly, so it’ll always be linked in my mind to Twister, Ever After, The Man in the Iron Mask, The Mask of Zorro, Dragonheart, The Mummy and Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.

I suspect most of the film’s losses came from the production costs, as you can see every penny on the screen: battles at sea, immense set pieces, crazy stunts… there’s a scale and scope to it that you just don’t see anymore these days. It’s quite a thrill to watch it unfold and know it’s all real.

And look, it’s far from a great movie. It’s certainly not one of those unfairly maligned gems or hidden cult classics, but I’m still fond of it, and given some of the behind-the-scenes drama I read about, it’s actually impressive that it’s as coherent as it is. It checks a lot of boxes for the genre: treasure maps, deserted islands, sword fights, sea battles and at least one mutiny, with the added bonus of a female lead that is (forgive the cliché) a liberated badass. Her introductory scene involves the guy she’s just slept with pulling a pistol on her, only for her to inform him that it won’t fire, since: “I took your balls.”

Geena Davis is Morgan Adams, a renowned pirate who inherits one-third of a treasure map from her father, who at the start of the film is mortally wounded by his brother, Mad Dawg. Taking over her father’s ship and crew, Morgan vows to prove herself to the men by tracking down the other two pieces of the map and finding the treasure before Dawg gets to it.

Along the way she brings Matthew Modine as William Shaw onboard, a self-described doctor (though actually just a thief, who still somehow manages to speak Latin and successfully perform life-saving surgery) with whom an attraction quickly emerges.

Meanwhile, Frank Mingella is clearly having the time of his life as Dawg, and it can be safely said that he understood the assignment. With a massive serrated cutlass and a real sense of brutality and menace, the film largely rests on his ability to deliver a solid villain against which Morgan can struggle. There are some other character actors in the mix, including Patrick Malahide and Harris Yulin, and a very young Christopher Masterson before he played Francis in Malcolm in the Middle.

This may have tanked Geena Davis’s career, but hey – watching her run around in slow motion, do most of her own stunts, order around a ship full of men, and generally come across as someone that a bloodthirsty crew of pirates would actually follow into battle? I’ve got no complaints.

Elizabeth I (2005)

The last bit of Tudor-related material that I wasn’t able to squeeze in last month. Helen Mirren as middle-aged Elizabeth, what could be better? It’s a casting coup, and she manages the intelligence, bearing and sophistication of a Queen, but also the histrionics and emotional immaturity of a woman who cannot be permitted to do the one thing that is expected of every single other woman in the world around her: marry and have children.

And it’s clear that she wants these things, while simultaneously knowing that they would cost her power and autonomy. Credit due for the writing and performance acknowledging this complexity, as well as the inherent strangeness of any individual raised in such a singular way. It’s tempting to make power women unassailable and perfect, but that only strips them of their humanity. Helen Mirren commits to the ugly side of Elizabeth as well: her pettiness, arrogance and occasional foolishness, alongside her formidable strengths.

My main disappointment is that (like most biopics) about women, it’s mainly about her love affairs, namely with Robert Dudley, the Duke of Anjou, and the Earl of Essex. And… fine, all three are wrapped up enough in the politics and intrigues of the time that it’s a well-balanced affair, but there’s still a lot of material that never gets covered in Elizabeth I dramas that have nothing to do with her romantic entanglements. Still, at least this covers the end rather than the beginning of her forty-five year reign.

Somehow, I managed to watch the two episodes in the wrong order, though at least that meant I could get Hugh Dancy’s Essex out of the way. Whew. I have a horror of beheadings, but this guy was an absolute nightmare from start to finish. The axe couldn’t come quickly enough for him. Along with Hugh Dancy, this also featured an early appearance from Eddie Redmayne, as well as old stalwarts Jeremy Irons, Toby Jones and Ewen Bremner. But special mention to Patrick Malahide and Ian McDiarmid as the long-suffering Sirs Walsingham and Burghley, the Queen’s closest advisors and the two who are secretly running the show.

In fact, this show made me realize that Patrick Malahide and Will Keene (father of Dafne Keen) are in fact two completely different people. I saw the former in Cutthroat Island this month, and the latter recently in Wolf Hall, Rings of Power and His Dark Materials. They have a very similar vibe.

And I swear to you, in researching the above paragraph for a way to differentiate them I found out they were BOTH in this miniseries. I… I’m very confused right now. There’s a good chance I watched this whole thing believing that Francis Walsingham and Francis Bacon were the same person.

Treasure Island (2012)

I watched this almost immediately after finishing Black Sails (a prequel to Treasure Island, see below) hoping that it would service as a fitting continuation of the story – of all the versions of Treasure Island that are out there, this looked like the one that would vibe best with Starz’s take on the material. Heck, it even featured Rupert Penry-Jones, who had an important guest role in Black Sails.

As it turns out, the two projects don’t really mesh that well, which in hindsight is to be expected. Absolutely none of the characters felt like a natural continuation of their portrayals in Black Sails, except maybe Israel Hands, and only if you ignore the fact he looks twenty years younger instead of older.

They put together a good cast: Eddie Izzard is a no-brainer as Long John Silver, who goes from jovial and charismatic to cutthroat and ruthless in the blink of an eye, and a very young Toby Regbo makes for a typical wide-eyed Jim Hawkins. Daniel Mays as Doctor Livesey, Philip Glenister as Captain Smollett, Rupert Penry-Jones as Squire Trelawney – all expertly cast, no issues there. They even got Donald Sutherland to cameo as Captain Flint.

The only “huh?” of the lot is Elijah Wood as Ben Gunn, who doesn’t even bother with an accent (Silver explicitly calls him a “Yankee” just to cover for it) and doesn’t look at all like someone who’s spent twenty-plus years stranded on a deserted island. David Harewood also features as Billy Bones, and along with another Black actor playing Arrow, is typical colour-blind casting from 2012. Black people can be included, but only in tiny roles of characters that are killed off almost immediately.

Shirley Henderson is Mrs Hawkins, and they actually give her an substantial subplot in which she crosses paths with Silver’s wife and the two look out for each other while waiting for their menfolk to return.

The problem with the miniseries is the downright baffling directing and editing. It was 2012, when both “grittiness” and “shaky cam” were a thing, but this is just bewildering. There are abrupt zoom-ins during tracking shots, sudden close-ups, strange colour filters, choppy editing – I’ve no idea what they were going for, but it gave me a headache. It just looks bad.

It also unsurprisingly goes for a perspective flip, in which the British end up just as greedy and dishonourable as the pirates. Silver is arguably the world’s first anti-hero, in that he’s so fun and charismatic that you can’t help but root for him, but now the stalwart heroes are also a bunch of venal dickheads – and without the proper context and nuance that Black Sails would have provided (for instance, they don’t bring up the slave trade here).

Ultimately, Hawkins realizes that the treasure is the cause of too much bloodshed to hold onto it, and tips it all overboard. Trelawney goes after it and drowns when his foot gets stuck in some netting. So, that was all for nothing, really. You could have kept the treasure and just given it to the poor, Jim.

My real wish is for the Black Sails team to wait another ten years and then do their Treasure Island, with the original cast members that played the book characters (Luke Arnold, Tom Hopper, David Wilmot, Zethu Dlomo-Mphahlele) and tell the story within the context of their take on the material. I can easily see Silver’s inn being a front for whatever passed for the underground railroad in 1740s England, and his decision to go after the treasure based on funding Madi’s efforts in this endeavour.

But hey, if nothing else, Silver’s parrot being called Flint certainly hit differently after watching Black Sails.

Crossbones: Season 1 (2014)

There’s a good chance you’ve never heard of Crossbones, which makes sense since it was cancelled after one season back in 2014. But I was interested in watching it for three reasons: first for the pirate theme, second for my genuine fascination with shows that get to air but are then cancelled almost immediately, and third for the obvious comparison to Black Sails, a show which started at the same time, is set in the same period, covers the same general subject matter, and includes at least one of the same historical characters (Edward Teach, a.k.a. Blackbeard).

Obviously, Black Sails won that particular race, having run for a respectable four seasons that ended on its own terms. It was still grossly underrated by critics and never became mainstream in fandom, but it remains a genuinely great show. Unlike this one.

Set during the Golden Age of Piracy, its main drawcard is John Malkovich doing his John Malkovich thing as Blackbeard/Edward Teach, who has faked his own death and established himself as commodore (not king) of a Republic of Pirates on an uncharted island in the Caribbean. Other familiar faces include pre-fame Claire Foy (a few years before her Star Making Roles in Wolf Hall and The Crown) and Chris Perfetti (now Jacob Hill in Abbott Elementary), though the actual protagonist is Richard Coyle as Tom Lowe, a doctor/assassin of the British Navy who is sent by his superior William Jagger (the late Julian Sands) to locate and kill Blackbeard for good.

The first part of this mission is easy enough, though naturally complications arise that prevent him from achieving the latter. Lowe is drawn into Blackbeard’s world through his attraction to Claire Foy’s Kate Balfour (who works as Blackbeard’s fence) and the Spanish-related activities on the island, not to mention his curiosity about the pirate community.

It’s not a bad premise, but it’s all rather lazily strung together and fails completely in comparison to the refined precision of Black Sails in nearly every respect: dialogue, theme, spectacle, research and character motivation. This is just PG-13 adventures on pirate island, where all those aforementioned elements are decidedly murkier. Perhaps it would have landed better if it hadn’t been up against such a superior show in the same genre, but unfortunately the comparison is like pitting Andor against the The Book of Boba Fett. 

Furthermore, Black Sails had four exceptionally good female characters (Eleanor, Max, Anne, Madi) and a plethora of supporting ones (Marion Guthrie, Miranda Barlow, the Maroon Queen), many of whom were WOC. Crossbones… does not. There’s Nenna, a Black pirate woman who doesn’t do much but kill a prostitute that’s blackmailing her and then disappear two-thirds into the show’s run, never to be seen again. There’s Blackbeard’s lady-friend Selima, an Arab woman who is apparently a genius being groomed to rule in Blackbeard’s stead, though we never actually see her do anything to substantiate either of these claims, and in the final episode she’s killed without putting up a fight against Blackbeard’s crazy former wife, who then dies herself at his hands.

(That Selima goes down as easily as she does is even more bewildering since we see her practicing with a katana in an earlier episode. What was the point of establishing that if she was never going to be used?)

Finally, Claire Foy is simply stuck in a love triangle with her wounded husband and Lowe, which is all the material she gets. The only time we see her in her capacity as a fence, she gets captured and rescued by Blackbeard/Lowe. By the end of the show, she’s pregnant with Lowe’s child and wants to terminate it, only for the menfolk to again save her life after she takes an abortifacient, after which she does a complete turnaround and wants to keep the baby after all, no explanation given.

But the most telling comparison would have to be between the villains: William Jagger against his Black Sails counterpart, Woodes Rogers. One is a transparent villain – he tortures, molests, murders, and has no interiority whatsoever. The other is a man who is pushed to his limits, the monster lurking within gradually revealed, and finally a self-destructive shell of a man. Yet for all of this, the audience is not left without a shred of pity for him at the end.

That the pirates here represent an amorphous ideal of “freedom,” while Black Sails delves more into the complexity of their lives is another striking difference, and…you know what, let’s just start talking about Black Sails instead…

Black Sails: Season 1 – 4 (2014 – 2017)

Damn, that was a good show.

Black Sails manages to be several things at once: a prequel to Treasure Island, a biopic of the main players during the Golden Age of piracy, and an original story about the cost of revenge, civilization, and “the cause.” In that last sense, it reminded me a lot of Andor, which also asked the question: “how far is too far when it comes to devoting oneself to a righteous cause?”

I’ve been watching it on-and-off over the course of the year, and this has been the first time I’ve seen it from start to finish since it first aired between 2014 and 2017. As noted above, it ran for four seasons, and ended on its own terms after thirty-eight episodes, putting a satisfying cap on all the characters, themes and storylines, and even providing a thoroughfare into Treasure Island (with a few caveats).

Set largely on New Providence Island in 1715, the first season introduces us to our core cast: Eleanor Guthrie, daughter of Richard Guthrie, a father/daughter duo who essentially run the whole island as fences and suppliers for the pirates that use it as a base of operations. She and her father rely heavily on Mr Scott, their long-time advisor who helps them run the business – a well-treated slave, but a slave nonetheless (and one with a few secrets of his own). Eleanor is also in a relationship with Max, an ambitious prostitute in the local brothel, who uses her occupation to extract information from customers concerning shipping routes and other “prizes.”

Then there are the pirates themselves: wildcard Charles Vane, who lives and breathes the pirate life, dapper Jack Rackham, who is desperate to make a name for himself, and largely silent Anne Bonny, who is lethal with her knives (all three of them based on the real-life pirates of this time). And of course, the crew of the Walrus: amiable Quartermaster Hal Gates, level-headed first-mate Billy Bones, and Captain James Flint himself – Toby Stephens as a veritable force of a nature; a man with a vision that’s so all-consuming you believe he can bend the weather and other natural forces to his will.

For now, the end-point of his undertaking remains opaque; in the first season at least, all that matters is establishing that absolutely nothing, not hated foe nor trusted friend, will stand in his way of him achieving his goals. The conviction of this man is frightening, and his drive will inform the underlying narrative of the show from beginning to end.

That just leaves Luke Arnold as John Silver, a young man found cowering in the hold of a ship that’s taken by the Walrus, claiming to be a lowly cook. But he has something in his possession that Flint desperately wants: a page torn from the captain’s ledger that reveals the route of a Spanish man-o’-war carrying a fortune in gold.

From this tiny scrap of paper will the storyline expand into endless cycles of alliances and backstabbing, the arrival of the British navy, the involvement of other famous pirates such as Edward Teach and Israel Hands, a priceless cache of gems that becomes the buried treasure of Robert Louis Stevenson’s novel, and a musing not only on the nature of stories and how people are swept up in narratives (often against their will), but a fascinating exploration of the “love versus duty” theme, and the question of which one is really the most important to a human life.  

I cannot understate the quality of the writing, which is tight and logical and filled with sharp dialogue. If anything, the dialogue is a little too good, as towards the end of the show a lot of what are meant to be uncouth pirates are waxing eloquently on their internal strife and the ethical conundrums they face. Everything is beautifully structured, and it’s clear that the writers knew right from the start where they wanted their story to go, and how it was all going to end. There are character beats in season four which are beautifully foreshadowed as early as season one, and everything ends with a sense of inevitability – not just because Treasure Island requires a few things, but because these writers laid their narrative seeds and let them grow organically.

Of course, there are a couple of hiccups, but in a show that’s otherwise this well-written, they became fun little quirks rather than glaring flaws. For instance, the writers obviously regret establishing that Woodes Rogers has a wife when he’s introduced in season three, as he somehow manages to get a divorce and marry Eleanor between seasons with an incredible amount of ease (though they do manage to make an important plot-point out of it, with his ex-wife’s family calling in all his debts). There are other things that occur between seasons which would have been fun to see dramatized on-screen: the fallout of the Urca gold being stolen from Flint’s crew by Max and Rackham could have made for a great sequence, but the pirates simply resolve it amongst themselves off-screen.

We also don’t get to see Rackham’s crew fighting the Spanish in order to take possession of the gold, which is a damn shame, and one that actor Toby Schmitz himself was rather deprecating about on Twitter at the time. Likewise, a crucial turning point in season four involves Billy and Silver being at odds, and the latter angsting over the fact he’s being forced to betray a friend – though this is a friendship that hasn’t been particularly well-established in my opinion. There’s also a scene in which a character is last seen unconscious in a burning building, and there’s absolutely no indication given as to a. she escaped from that situation, or b. how another character knew of her whereabouts.

But watching something you enjoyed the first time around after a long hiatus is a rewarding experience. Many of the details have been lost, but you can still look forward to your favourite parts – the arrival on Maroon Island, the love story of Madi and Silver, the slave uprisings throughout Nassau. Likewise, there are so many double and even triple-crosses throughout the show that it’s nice to know in advance whether or not certain characters are being sincere, and not have to second-guess their choices by considering the possibility that they’re deliberately being deceptive (my main example in this regard is Eleanor after she aligns herself with Woodes Rogers – a part of me always thought that she might have been playing him the whole time in order to consolidate her own power. Turns out, she wasn’t).

Truly, there are few things more satisfying than a well-told story that knows what it’s doing. At times, there’s a development so clever or a line so cutting that I wanted to stand up and applaud. Again, it reminded me of Andor, which made you feel excited by just how good it was.

As well as this, there’s the fact that the narrative is based on the concept of revolution. Just as Cassian Andor and the other protagonists of that show are engaged in warfare against an Empire, so too are pirates of Black Sails preparing for a war against the British Empire.

In fact, the show in its entirety could be described as a huge build-up to a war that never actually happens. So much momentum is fostered and then it all has to go back into the box. In a way it’s disappointing, as we the audience want the war to go ahead simply because it’s exciting and we’re invested in it, but historical precedence and the established events of Treasure Island means the cause is doomed before it even kicks off.

That said, the show is clever enough to make this a crucial part of the narrative: the themes, the character development, and its nature as a prequel. As Billy Bones says repeatedly and consistently across the course of the show, nobody understands the storm that Flint keeps dragging them into or why it’s happening. They’re pirates! They only grasp the short-term goal of stealing and then spending treasure. Right from the start there are provocateurs on Flint’s crew that are warning against the chaos he’ll bring down on all their heads… and they’re right!

By season four, many of the characters who were originally motivated by ambition or power have simply had enough. They know they can’t go through with open revolt against England, they realize they have far too much to lose if they do, and so their prerogative becomes stopping the war from happening before anyone else gets hurt. Of course, some of them don’t actually succeed in escaping the storm that Flint has constructed around them, but there are so many fascinating variations on this theme of “love versus cause.”

Max stops her own rise to power and choses to prioritize Anne. Idelle refrains from killing Anne when she’s at her most vulnerable. On seeing everything ripped away from her for the umpteenth time, Eleanor throws in the towel and decides to get out of dodge. Even Madi, who is a true believer in the cause, is advised by minor Black characters such as Ruth and Julius that the best thing to do is find a safe place, put up walls and save who you can. When she’s confronted by Woodes Rogers, who DID put his desire for vengeance over the wishes of his wife, he tells her: “don’t make the same mistake I did.”

And of course, John Silver, who goes from a young con-artist who only cares about himself, to a man that’s caught between his best friend and the woman he loves, desperately trying to save them both from themselves – and knowing that if he succeeds, he’ll probably lose them both anyway, as each one was defined by their commitment to their common cause against England, and will despise him if he take that from them.

In other words, most characters opt to chose love over duty/the cause, which is not the usual outcome you’d expect in these types of stories. This is another way in which the show is in conversation with Andor, which is filled with characters facing a similar decision when faced with a powerful Empire, and who chose the cause instead, losing much of their humanity by doing so.

(But let’s be honest: most of us would choose to keep our families safe over some abstract cause. That is of course how oppressive systems get away with maintaining their power in the first place: they know that the cost of opposing them is far too high for most people).

In short, from start to finish the show manages a perfect marriage of theme, plot and character – which is all the more impressive for having to line up to a certain degree to a preestablished story. It’s all just so RICH, another word I often use when describing Andor. I could watch a thousand more hours of this show: the minor characters, the negotiations and compromises, the details of the world-building, the historical context and how it informs the action – it all feels so real, and therefore is completely engrossing.

One last thing: a lesser show would forget about things like a prostitute being murdered in a pique of anger in season two, or a minor character that’s desperately been trying to return home for the entire duration of her appearance. But here, the writers give room to the killer of the aforementioned prostitute being confronted with her crime and why it was wrong, and after dropping out of the action towards the end of season four, the final montage of the major players and where they ended up gives a brief depiction of Mrs Hudson reunited with her children.

In fact, one of the great strengths of the show is putting solid actors into small roles, and making sure they pop up regularly in order to ground the story in a sense of realism: the long-suffering Nassau pastor, the conniving brothel madame, the escaped slave girl who becomes a servant in the local tavern, the crew of the Walrus, the ship’s cook who may or may not be faking his slow mental state… they cast these characters into the warp of the story they’re weaving, and make them an integral part of the landscape upon which it’s taking place.

In short: watch this show. It’s truly one of the most underrated gems of the 2010s.

Miscellaneous Observations:

There was one case of The Other Darrin early on, though for sad reasons. The original actor playing Dufresne, Jannes Eiselen, was diagnosed with brain cancer and replaced with Roland Reed for season two. Although he survived the initial surgery to remove the tumour, he passed away in 2016. As he said at the time of his diagnosis: “my big break, and then I broke.”

The late, great Ray Stevenson is also present, playing Edward Teach in a guest role. He did a lot of genre stuff in his last years (Othere in Vikings, Volstagg in the Thor movies, Baylan Skoll in Ahsoka, the evil governor in RRR) and is a natural choice for the most famous pirate of all time. That said, I think Blackbeard was rather underutilized in the narrative, and is ultimately used as a casualty of The Wolf Effect than anything.

Two close relatives of Toby Stephens also feature in the show: his brother Chris Larkin as Berringer (which was a little distracting as they look very similar) and his wife Anna-Louise Plowman as Mrs Hudson. Amusingly, his character never interacts with either of theirs, though their presence makes me wonder if Maggie Smith was the original choice for Marion Guthrie before Harriet Walters stepped in (who is such a presence that she manages to snag a spot in the opening credits for the show’s final four episodes).

When it comes to the events of Treasure Island, the show doesn’t get full points for lining itself up perfectly with the novel’s canon. It gives no indication as to how Billy would eventually get his hands on a treasure map from Flint, or how the map could even be charted in the first place – that said, I never really expected these things to be explained. By the time the show finishes, all that is still in the distant future.

My main issue is that the fates of Billy and Ben Gunn are the wrong way around. Here, Billy washes up on the shores of Skeleton Island as a castaway, whilst Ben (albeit in a deliberately dream-like sequence) is last seen in Savannah. It would have changed virtually nothing about how the show concludes to have portrayed a terrified Ben fleeing from the British massacre of the pirates by taking refuge in the island’s interior, and for Billy to stow himself aboard Rogers’s ship and sail back to England in secret, setting him up for his Inciting Incident years later that kicks off the whole plot in Treasure Island. It’s a weird oversight in a show that’s otherwise so careful about keeping everything so consistent.

In fact, I have an amusing headcanon for myself in which Rackham is giving his final monologue, touching on all the characters and how they were affected by the story that’s concocted about “Long John Silver,” only to end with: “some had nothing to do with this tale whatsoever… at least not yet,” and giving us a glimpse of Ben Gunn in the jungle, erecting his campsite.

Because in all honesty, Ben wasn’t all that necessary to this particular take on the material. He contrasts badly with Israel Hands, who isn’t introduced until the final season, but works beautifully as a sounding board for Silver throughout the final ten episodes.

Amusingly, there is a scene in which Woodes Rogers tells Flint: “I’ll be your villain,” which is very much like the Darkling’s assertion in Shadow and Bone, in which he says: “fine, make me your villain.” I’ll chalk it down to a coincidence, but it’s interesting to note that both characters are rather similar in their methods and motivation.

In recommending this show to my work colleague and being asked who was in it, I realized that with the exception of Toby Stephens there aren’t that many big names present here, and this project didn’t really launch any careers. Tom Hopper is probably the most recognizable of the cast these days, with this sandwiched between Merlin and The Umbrella Academy, while Hannah New and Jessica Parker Kennedy have appeared in Bridgerton and The Flash respectively. Retrospective Recognition plays its part when it comes to Mark Ryan as Hal Gates (he was Nasir in Robin of Sherwood back in the eighties), but I haven’t seen Zach McGowen since The 100, and Clara Paget seems to have disappeared entirely. 

That leaves Toby Schmitz and Luke Arnold, who I know have done a few things, but nothing that appears particularly mainstream. Other than that, it’s only the likes of Harriet Walters and Ray Stevenson, who were already well-established character actors. This isn’t meant to be a diss on any of the actors who appeared here, I just think it’s an interesting development, and it’s actually quite nice to watch the show with a cast of mostly unknowns. 

There is a mentality that exists which states that in order for a story to be actively good, nothing bad can ever happen to a woman. This is a tricky terrain to negotiate for a number of reasons, as though there’s definitely a tendency for female characters to be more disposable in certain narratives, it’s unrealistic to suppose that they should be exempt from all harm (especially in an environment as dangerous as the one on Nassau).

Two women can be fairly described as getting fridged over the course of the show, though when taken in the context of certain themes and patterns that the writers are trying to establish, they’re not as egregious as the trope usually implies. The women in question are not killed indifferently or by robbing them of their autonomy, and although their deaths are very definitely motivating factors for the men that grieve them, they are active participants in the circumstances that bring them to their fates.

The show’s real low-point is Max getting gang-raped in the first season, even though it’s handled with a degree of discretion and is ultimately used as a way to unite Anne, Max and Eleanor in an operation of their own. Everyone has a different tolerance level for this sort of thing, but my stance is that as difficult as it all is, the decisions made are largely justified by the narrative.

Of course, fandom wasn’t particularly kind to these women either, though the writing was sophisticated enough that it was difficult for them to be too scornful and/or dismissive. However they were written, they were clearly written that way on purpose. But Madi got some grief for being the Black woman who “got in the way” of the Silver/Flint slash ship, while Max was similarly despised by some for being a non-white prostitute who had the audacity to take steps in order to escape that life (imagine my glee when she ended up on top – suck it, haters!)

As for Eleanor, she simply operated on a level of complexity that was far too much for the average fan to handle in a female character. She was ruthless and cold and unlikeable, but capable of compassion and self-reflection. She made plenty of wrong-headed decisions, for good reasons and for bad, yet was also clear-sighted and pragmatic. She was a woman straddling two worlds, which imbued her with privilege and yet undermined her authority. Fandom loves to put women in either the “yaas queen, girlboss!” or the “dumb annoying bitch” box, and since Eleanor defied both of them while ever-so-slightly embodying them at the same time, fandom was left completely flummoxed. I suspect their reaction would be even worse these days.

And of course, all the girls got more shit for doing exactly the same things as the men. Rackham’s pride and Billy’s rebellion are spanners in Flint’s masterplan that nearly destroys everything he’s working towards, and yet neither one was given nearly as much grief as Eleanor was for [checks notes] trying to save her own life, and backstabbing people in a WORLD of people backstabbing people. Suffice to say, it was very tedious.

Doctor Who: Joy to the World (2024)

I can’t believe Ncuti Gatwa’s tenure on Doctor Who is over already! It feels like he just got here! And between the shortened number of episodes (eight versus the usual thirteen) and the prolonged gaps between seasons, the usual three-seasons + holiday specials run has been cut even shorter (and I actually had high hopes he’d stick around for even longer than that). I seriously will never understand why we’re waiting so much LONGER for even LESS content. I can’t fathom it!

Because of course Disney+ screwed them over! It’s a streaming service! It’s what they DO! Even a show that started in the 1960s isn’t exempt from their inability to just COMMIT to a fucking show! Higher budget be damned, this was always a deal with the devil, and now there’s no indication of when the show will return. I still have Gatwa’s sophomore season to go, but damn – what a kick in the teeth.

Still, at least this was a nice Christmas Special, notable due to the Doctor having to spend a year in “real time,” working in a hotel and taking The Slow Path until time catches up with him again. That’s a patented Moffat storyline, along with the whimsy over the hotel door that can never be opened and the massive reach about what your room says about you. Heck, he even throws in the virtual afterlife idea first seen in “Silence in the Library.”

But it’s fun and Christmassy, with Nicola Coughlan (even if she disappears for a while) and the neat idea of a time-travelling hotel, where you can visit important events from the past (“no wonder there was no room at the inn.”) The best episodes always give you scope for imagination, and this particular one opens up all sorts of possibilities for other stories – or even just daydreams.

Also, I have to admit getting a little teared up whenever it featured Edmund Hilary and Tenzing Norgay preparing to climb Mount Everest. They even got the accent right! (Usually we have to listen to Australian accents on kiwi characters).

I tried to savour it while it lasted, because Ncuti Gatwa really is something special, and it’s a damn shame we’ve lost him so soon.