Reading/Watching Log #120

There goes November, and now Christmas is just around the corner. There’s no real theme to this month’s reading/watching log – I just sort of went with the flow and did whatever I wanted. Most of my free time is currently being taken up with festive-related activities, and my nephew/niece are fully into the Christmas spirit at this point (we’re taking them to the markets this Sunday, in which they’ll be able to see Santa go punting on the Avon).

Having taken it a bit easier this month, I’m going to have to start cramming if I’m going to get all the books/films/shows I wanted to finish this year done with. Sinners, Weapons, K-Pop Demon Hunters, Wake Up Dead Men, Philip Pullman’s The Secret Commonwealth re-read, Scott Westerfeld’s Behemoth… I’ll have to offset it all with the slightly more holiday-appropriate Ghost Stories for Christmas. But here’s November…

Cinderella by Sarah L. Thomson and Nicoletta Ceccoli

Ceccoli is an interesting artist whose style is in creating very cute, porcelain doll-like figures, which are then placed in unsettling or even downright disturbing contexts. Here she restrains herself, as this is a straightforward retelling of Cinderella, specifically based on the Charles Perrault version (which means a fairy godmother instead of a talking sapling, and a weak-willed father instead of a dead one. Also, no birds come to peck the stepsisters’ eyes out at the wedding – instead the author punishes them by having feet too sore to dance).

But I’m really just here for Ceccoli’s illustrations. Cinderella looks like a delicate china doll, and many of the backdrops look like they might be set in large dollhouses, or shaped from plasticine. It’s hard to explain how this is exactly, but something about the perspective and texture makes them seem that way. It results in a slightly surrealist take on the story, with absurdly long cylindrical hats on the coachmen and a castle perched on top of a perfectly conical mountain, making it rather dreamlike in tone, all the more so because Cinderella looks like an actual child.

I’d hardly call this a definite take on the material (and the chunky font jars against the delicacy of the pictures) but I’m always up for a Ceccoli offering. One amusing detail is that the cover art depicts Cinderella fleeing the ball in her finery, whereas in the pages of the book she’s in her kitchen rags – but everything else about the illustration: the composition, the angles, the background – is exactly the same.

The Glass Heart: A Tale of Three Princesses by Sally Gardner

Gardner is a prolific children’s writer, and I get the feeling she indulged herself a bit with this original fairy tale, which is a bit rambling and quirky at times, but deals with some of her favourite subjects – namely, Venice. Contained within a framing device of a grandmother telling her granddaughter a story, we’re introduced to three princesses who each have a glass heart. This is a dangerous business, because glass hearts are easily broken.

Sure enough, the eldest dies after she falls in love with a prince who doesn’t notice her, and the second becomes bedridden after she smells a perfect rose (yes, I said the story was a little strange). That leaves the youngest princess, and her parents are determined that she not make the same mistakes as her sisters. Only a man who knows how to handle a glass heart will be allowed to wed their daughter – which is why the besotted page Valentino leaves the palace in order to learn the art of glass-blowing.

Illustrations are provided by Gardner as well, which are best described as a more delicate and detailed take on Nick Sharrat’s work in Jacqueline Wilson books. There’s a beautifully soft colour palette of peaches and pinks, apricot and rose (the colours of the sunset) and the world of a fantasy Venice is captured with gondolas, architecture, ornate clothing and other details.

It’s a funny wee story and the title is a bit of a misnomer (there’s really only two relevant princesses, and no one seems the slightest bit upset that the eldest literally dies) but it’s still a very beautifully put-together book.

Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow by Tom King, Bilquis Evely and Matheus Lopes

I was vaguely aware that this comic existed, but when it was brought into the library as a hold for someone else, I realized it had a very familiar art style. I’m not usually one for superhero comics, but what drew me to this was twofold: firstly, that the illustrator was Bilquis Evely, whose work I loved in Helen of Wyndhorn. Secondly, that this is apparently the story that the upcoming Supergirl movie is going to be based on. As I just discovered, they’ve already cast a young actress to play Ruthye.

That was reason enough to be intrigued, as the fleeting glimpse we got of Milly Alcock as Kara at the end of Superman (I watched it on YouTube) certainly speaks to her characterization here.

On a faraway planet, lightyears away, a young girl’s father is murdered by a brigand called Krem. After deciding to hunt him down, Ruthye runs into Kara by chance at a galactic drinking hole, and on witnessing her prodigious strength, begs her to assist in her quest for vengeance. After her ship is stolen and Krypto the dog is injured, Kara sets off after Krem for like-minded reasons – though as the two young women travel together, Ruthye observes Kara, and wonders if such a beacon of goodness really plans to eliminate their common enemy.

But as they travel from planet to planet, passing through the terrible aftermath that Krem and his brigands have left in their wake, comprised of countless innocent victims, the reader begins to wonder the opposite of Ruthye. At what point is it more wrong for Kara to spare a man like Krem than it is to rid the world of his monstrousness?

The book’s narration is supplied by Ruthye, who is perhaps a little too verbose for her own good (you could argue it’s a character tic, but I suspect Tim King is also a very verbose person) and her speech bubbles tend to clutter up the panels. She also goes through a weird dialect change about halfway through the story: at first I was reading her as very prim and proper, but then she turns southern, with plenty of “aint’s” and the dropping of any “ing”s.  Of course, not noticing this in the first half could be my fault – it took me a while to realize she was also very diminutive.

There are a few random additions – I never knew Supergirl had a superhorse (though what superheroine doesn’t? She Ra had one too) and at one point he changes into a human being in a twist that feels completely and utterly random. Heck, in the panel where he’s transforming, I actually thought one of the brigands Supergirl was fighting at the time was a centaur, since there was absolutely no indication that this horse was anything other than a horse.

But Evely’s artwork is completely gorgeous: white-sanded beaches where jellyfish float in midair, a prehistoric planet with a toxic green sun, massive space vistas in which lightning dragons soar – all in her distinct art nouveau style. Even without the engaging story, it would be worth it for her talent alone.

This could well be the first time I’ve read a comic book before seeing the movie, so I’m looking forward to seeing what James Gunn does with it. There’s at least one mass genocide, and we know he loves filming those, but it’s also a story in which goodness itself is a superpower – and by all accounts, he managed that with Superman.

Claudia’s Freind Friend by Anne M. Martin

Yes, the crossed-out word is how the title appears on the cover of the book. In fact, there are a lot of weird things going on with this book’s presentation. For instance, the blurb reads that: “[Claudia] meets Shea Rodowsky, a young boy with a learning problem.” Er, she doesn’t “meet” him – the two have known each other for years at this point! Furthermore, the tagline is: “they can’t spell, but they can still be friends!” as though somehow not being able to spell precludes the ability to be friends with someone.

Let’s keep this one short and sweet, because it’s not hugely interesting. Claudia is facing a failing grade on an important test at about the same time she learns that Shea has been diagnosed with dyslexia. The Rodowsky parents ask the babysitters to help out with his tutoring since he’s “so resistant to adults right now.” At the same time, Stacey tries to tutor Claudia to help her out with the forthcoming test, only for Claudia to get frustrated at how overbearing and condescending her friend is acting toward her.

This leads to a learning curve when it comes to Shea. Because he’s convinced that his dyslexia means he’s unintelligent, Claudia initially ends up telling him all the empty platitudes that her parents use on her. Once she’s pinpointed the reasons why Stacey’s treatment of her is so frustrating, she takes a different tack with Shea, and the two end up helping each other with their learning problems.

Meanwhile, the babysitters are finding notes on the door of the Kishi residence every time there’s a club meeting, complimenting them on how great they are. Each member decides that the messages are meant especially for them, and are from the likes of Bart, Sam, Ben, or whatever boy they have a crush on at the moment. This gets weird for so many reasons, let me count the ways:

1. the notes say things like “you are very nice,” which means they’re clearly being sent by a bunch of kids. 2. Kristy thinks “this isn’t something Bart would do,” even though it IS since there was a whole book about him doing exactly this – and the events of Kristy’s Secret Admirer are even referenced later on in the story. 3. The girls eventually tumble to the conclusion that it’s another prank courtesy of Cokie who is pretending to be the boys they like, and so when one of the notes invites them to the Rosebud Café, they decide to dress up in stupid clothes to prove they knew it was her the whole time – even though going out in public wearing ridiculous outfits would surely only make the situation even more embarrassing to them.

Then of course, it turns out that the notes were from a bunch of babysitting charges that just wanted to do something nice for them – including Shea, who slips a private thank you note to Claudia for helping him out. Aw.

There’s some continuity when it comes to other children with various forms of learning difficulties: Rose Wilder and Susan Felder are mentioned (though Kristy says that Shea “is lucky he can learn,” in comparison to Susan, which doesn’t make any sense as being autistic doesn’t mean Susan is incapable of learning new things). We also learn that Claudia herself has never been diagnosed with any learning difficulties – she’s just an underachiever who gets bored in class. (I mean, can you blame her? She’s been stuck in the same grade for about three years now). I kind of liked that not everything is ADHA or some other issue – she’s just a daydreamer who gets easily distracted. I can relate.

Finally, this book divulges that Claudia’s middle name is Lynn. Did we know that before? It feels like brand-new information.

Jessi and the Jewel Thieves by Anne M. Martin

As it happens, this is the first and only Jessi-centric Mystery. Like Mallory she was only ever afforded one for some reason, and it’s probably the worst of the lot; up there with The Mystery at Claudia’s House as a mystery that’s not even a mystery. It’s best enjoyed as a trip to New York City and a continuation of the Jessi/Quint relationship (he’s probably my favourite love interest of the assorted babysitters).

Jessi is going with Stacey to New York for the weekend to see her quasi-boyfriend Quint perform at the Metropolitan, having encouraged him to attend Julliard way back in the Super Special New York, New York! She’s excited but also nervous, as she wants to have the “let’s just be friends” talk with him, feeling too young to be involved in a long-distance relationship at this point in time. I mean yeah, she’s eleven.

Deciding to delay it until after his performance, Jessi is hanging out with Quint at his apartment when they hear fighting in the apartment block across the way. Rear Window-style, they watch as two men have an argument about an upcoming heist, using language such as “you double-crossing weasel” and “you lily-livered, chicken-hearted wimp!”

On that basis alone you should be able to figure out what’s really going on here, but because Jessi and Quint are eleven, they forego telling any adults or the police, and instead opt to follow these potentially dangerous men around New York. Only – surprise! It turns out they were just rehearsing a play, which the two realize when the exact same conversation is repeated between the men a couple of days later.

I call bullshit on this, as the tone and inflection of a spontaneous conversation sounds very different from people who are reciting lines, not to mention the sheer cheesiness of the lines themselves. Even as a child, I felt profoundly disappeared by this solution – if Dawn can crack a dog-napping crime ring, why can’t Jessi foil some real-life jewel thieves?

And that’s it really. Clues are either explained (one of the men was at the Met because his niece was in the ballet) or turn out to be a coincidence (Jessi trails the men to a museum that’s advertising a Russian jewel exhibition) or remain a mystery (no one figures out why late-night phone calls were being made to Quint’s apartment). Jessi has her talk with Quint and he agrees they’re better as friends – for now at least.

The semi-related B-plot is Becca having to stay with the Pike family while Jessi is in New York and the rest of her family attends an out-of-town wedding. (It’s pretty contrived, as Squirt is going with his parents, but not to the wedding itself. He’ll stay in a motel with a babysitter, so why can’t Becca do the same?) Becca doesn’t take any of this too well, insisting that she’s been abandoned and is now an orphan – it’s overly dramatic, but I have to admit that if this happened to me as a child, I’d be milking it too. Mary Anne humblebrags about solving the issue when she indulges Becca’s decision to go home and camp out on the lawn. Only when it gets dark, she changes her mind pretty quickly and returns happily enough to the Pikes.

Speaking of, this book gets the notebook entries of Mary Anne and Claudia around the wrong way! Each one is at the start of the chapter that concerns the other one’s experiences with Becca. Whoops!

The Bad Guys: Attack of the Zittens by Aaron Blabey

Yes, I’m still reading through this series when I get the chance. Picking up after the cliff-hanger of the previous book, the Bad Guys – that is, the wannabe good guys – find themselves facing a zombie kitten invasion.

Wolf, Shark, Snake and Piranha begin this story balanced on top of each other, standing in a paddling pool, surrounded by zombie-kittens. Agent Fox comes to the rescue and they manage to deliver a “zitten” to Granny Gumbo for an antidote, while Shark and Piranha trail the evil Doctor Marmalade to his island lair.

The fun of these books are their innate absurdities, such as throwing balls of wool drenched in antidote to quell the swarms of zombie-kittens – give or take the occasional fart joke, since they are for kids after all. There’s also some meta-fun about how a piranha can walk about on land, breathing air, but has trouble with salt water, and Shark continues to be a master of disguise (a cone on his head makes him indistinguishable from a dolphin, but only from the right angle).

It ends with another cliff-hanger, in which Doctor Marmalade successfully escapes planet Earth and makes for the moon, where he plans to use his giant ray to turn all cute animals into zombies.

These books are a lot of fun, but… okay, I have one tiny complaint. First of all, I know that many authors with the very best of intentions are trying to make up for the last few thousand years of distressed damsels and one-dimensional love interests and passive female characters, and I appreciate that. But the whole “hypercompetent women and flailing men” is an overcorrection that’s gotten so old at this stage it’s veering into Trinity Syndrome. If someone like Agent Fox is so much better at saving the world than the Bad Guys, then why aren’t these books about her?

Oh right, because characters with nuance and foibles are far more interesting, and that’s not something female characters are allowed to be just yet. It’s the whole “she’s everything, he’s just Ken” thing, but that only meant Ken ended up getting the funnier, more interesting storyline.

Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants by Dav Pilkey

The things I do for work. This is the fourth Captain Underpants book, introducing us once again to George Beard and Harold Hutchins of Jerome Horwitz Elementary School. The boys are intelligent enough, but are imminent trouble-makers. Is it A.D.D? A.D.H.D? Or are they just B.A.D?

Professor Pippy Poopypants lives in Swissland, where everyone has a silly name. He’s just found a way to solve world hunger and the problem of too much garbage with his shrinking/enlarging ray, but isn’t taken seriously by any of his fellow scientists on account of his name. Instead, he becomes a teacher in the hopes of sharing his inventions with children, since: “you can always count on the sweetness and innocence of children.”

Naturally, he’s laughed out of the classroom (so it goes to show, don’t make fun of people or you may sabotage the fight against world hunger and the garbage crisis) and in a pique of anger, decides to attack the school. With his inventions he holds the school hostage and forces everyone to change their name with Professor Poopypant’s Name Change-o-Chart 2000. (The whole chart is visible, and I ended up being Loopy Barfbuns, which has a nice ring to it).

This is of course, when the boys call up Captain Underpants to save the day. Pilkey writes and illustrates these books, and there are more puns and sight gags than you can count – such as when everyone gets their names returned to them:

“I’m so glad I don’t have a silly name anymore,” said Ms Ribble. “Me too,” said Mr Rected.

But I’m mostly partial to the chapter titles, which are called things like: “The Chapter After the Chapter Before the Last Chapter” and “The Twenty-Second Chapter: Are You There God? It’s Us, Fluffy and Cheeseball.”

The Traction Codex: An Historian’s Guide to the Era of Predator Cities by Philip Reeve and Jeremy Levett

As far as I know, this little A-to-Z of the Mortal Engines universe is only available as an e-book, and was expanded upon significantly (with illustrations by Ian McQue and David Wyatt) in The Illustrated World of Mortal Engines. If you’re after the definitive encyclopaedia of this series, then that’s the one to choose, although this contains a few little nuggets of information that I don’t think I’ve read anywhere else.

For instance, did you know that Magnus Crome was directly descended from Gideon Crumb, Fever’s father? Or that Fever went on to become a famous historian, suggesting that she eventually made it back to London after all? Or that Charley Shallow ended up being the Mayor of London, which is far too good a fate for that character, even if he’s described as the most unpopular one in its entire history.

If you haven’t read the books, none of this will mean anything to you, and the project in its entirety has no other ambition but to have a little fun in the sandpit of this world. Reeve is a funny guy, and you can tell he’s having fun fleshing out some of the corners of this world. My favourite detail would have to be the entry on Shrike, which states he sometimes goes by “Grike,” which is how his name was spelt in the US editions.  

It’s written as an in-universe tome, so it only knows as much as the fictional writer does (think the various scribes who “wrote” The World of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin), which is sometimes more, and sometimes less than the reader. It starts with a brief introduction to the Traction Era, follows with a timeline, which broadly contextualizes the events of the books (and includes things such as the Sixty Minute War, the Zagwan Crusade, the rise of the Scriven, the Battle of Three Dry Ships, and where on the chronology our characters lived and died) and ends with a glossary that covers places, people, resources, languages, organizations and guilds, and events – everything from battles to regattas to religious festivals.

He even throws in a few plot-bunnies, such as the eerie story about a city that was found not only with its entire population dead, but missing their left hands. This mystery is expanded on in the short story collection Night Flights. Hopefully it’s a sign that Reeve will continue returning to this world, as there are still plenty of stories to be told.

The Definitive Guide to Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials by Laurie Frost

This is called the “definitive” guide and it’s not wrong about that – it’s a massive tome that has an entry for almost every single aspect of Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy. Yet in another way, it’s already dated, as Pullman has since published another trilogy set in this world, not to mention a ton of tie-in novellas. So this covers only the contents of Northern Lights, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass, as well as Lyra’s Oxford (the only novella that was published at the time) and extra paraphernalia that came with reprints of the novels.

There are twelve categories, from Characters, People and Places, Philosophy, Psychology and Technology, the Natural Sciences, Allusions and Epigraphs, which are then broken down into further subcategories (under Social Structures of the World is Ecclesiastical, Education, Political and Military and so on). It’s pretty comprehensive, which means it can get a little dry at times, and so comprehensive it even mentions the differences between US and UK spelling.

It's all laid out beautifully, with most entries including the physical description of the thing in question, their role in the story, and their background, along with any other observations that Frost deems relevant or interesting.

It brought me some fresh insights and even poked a few holes in the text, also sidebars can note real-life inspirations and snippets from various interviews with Pullman over the years – there are some supplementary notes I haven’t come across, which (among other things) notably discuss a meeting between Paradisi and John Parry, explaining why the latter knew so much about the subtle knife.

The Manual of Aeronautics: An Illustrated Guide to the Leviathan Series by Scott Westerfeld and Keith Thompson

This is the third supplementary tie-in guidebook I read this month, and probably the slightest, existing mainly to show off Keith Thompson’s wonderful illustrations (though not nearly as comprehensive as Mortal Engines, three times the size of this one) for the trilogy, and seldom strays outside what was featured in the books themselves.

It’s interest mainly lies in providing cross-sections and manual-like illustrations of a range of Clanker and Darwinist machinery and vehicles, as were used in the alt-world WWI setting of Scott Westerfeld’s trilogy. Honestly, I’m not hugely interested in such things, but I always enjoy a bit of world-building, and there are drawings of material here that never appeared in the text of the trilogy (at least, not to my recollection) that demonstrate the richness of this alternative history.

According to the author’s note, he and Thompson worked closely together in creating the “blueprints” of this world: deck plans, uniform insignias, maps, weapons, character portraits and so on. As he put it: “a whole world had to be created from scraps of historical research and imagination.” It’s detailed without being comprehensive – though there are a few things that didn’t appear in the trilogy (to my recollection) it’s mostly to illustrate what already exists – first the fabricated Darwinist beasties (with special attention given to the leviathan), charts of Huxley semaphore and uniforms, then Clanker machines – weapons and vehicles, some of it rather fanciful. It ends with portraits/photos of the main characters. An attractive, but inessential offering.

The Summer War by Naomi Novik

I was a huge fan of Novik’s Spinning Silver, and this novella contains a lot of similarities to that book, largely through the presence of the beautiful, dangerous and cunning fair folk, and the complexities of deals and promises and curses that cannot be broken. I believe Spinning Silver also started as a short story, which naturally makes me wonder if this too will be expanded on one day, and what that will look like if it is.

Celia inadvertently curses her beloved older brother in a pique of anger when she discovers he’s leaving their father’s home for good – and without even saying goodbye to her. Unaware that she even has a magical gift, her parting words to him curse him to a life without love. As she grows into a woman, she searches for an escape clause on his behalf, and in doing so learns the truth about the centuries-long war between her people and the Summerlings (another word for the fey folk, who were called the Staryk in Spinning Silver. As you can imagine from such names, this story is all summer woods instead of winter frost).

Is resolving the war and freeing her brother two goals that will eventually intertwine? Of course, this is Naomi Novik we’re talking about. The story doesn’t come together quite as elegantly as that previous book – though that was one of the best examples of a puzzle-box plot I’ve read since Barry Hughart’s Bridge of Birds – but it still goes down like sparkling grape juice. Read it on the hottest day of the year, under the shade of a tree.

Holy Terrors by Margaret Owen

I enjoyed the first two books in this trilogy, despite the fact it was written in YA (that is, all dialogue is pithy banter and every chapter is packed full of pop-culture references). But the characters were unapologetically flawed, and the puzzle-box plotting of each story was very well done.

Unfortunately, I really struggled with this one. I think the problem was that pretty much everything was resolved at the end of the second book, Painted Devils. Vanya faced her demons, confronted the spectre of her abusive mother, found her long-family, and was ready to embark on a relationship with the adorkable Emeric Conrad, this world’s equivalent of a young police investigator. It could have ended there and been a perfectly satisfying duology.

But apparently Owen had a trilogy in mind, and so Holy Terrors picks up a few years after Vanya realized her relationship with Emeric could only endanger his promising career, leading her to ditch him the morning after their first night together. Naturally, without telling him the reason why. And since I wasn’t hugely invested in their relationship to start with – especially with such a contrived reason to break them up – I found it difficult to care about their inevitable reconnection.

Making matters worse is that when Vanya and Emeric cross paths again, he’s engaged to another girl. Why do writers always have to drag innocent third parties into these stories? Poor Lilje is treated as little more than an obstacle to their happiness, who has to watch on the sidelines as they have sexually-charged fights with each other, and whose worth as a character is knowing when to get out of the way.

The main plot though has to do with an assassin killing various members of the royal family, and leaving a red penny (Vanya’s calling card) on each of the bodies. Given she’s the main suspect, it’s within her best interests to discover who is behind the murders, and why they’re targeting those in line for the throne.

Because I wasn’t as engaged, the solution to the ongoing mystery didn’t land as well as it did in Little Thieves and Painted Devils, and most of it is taken up with the relationship drama anyway. For this reason, I was less tolerant of the YA trappings.

In fact, the opening pages of the book perfectly incapsulate the sheer melodrama of any YA tome. First there’s a dedication to: “the terrible girls – maybe you weren’t soft and lovely, maybe you weren’t obedient and kind, maybe, when the wolf’s teeth closed, you weren’t concerned with being digestible.” Then we get an author’s note with a range of trigger warnings, and: “if what they show you becomes too much to bear, then I leave you with the words we started with, my gremlins: that’s what bricks are for.” Then there’s an in-universe inscription that’s carved into the imperial throne: “blessed be the crown, sacred be the bearer, righteous be the spirit, and holy be the terror.” THEN comes the frontispiece for Part I: “Bloody Be The Crown,” then another one: “The Seventh Choice: Crossroads” with a stained-glass picture and a prologue, and then finally, FINALLY we get to chapter one (“House of Death”) and the actual story. The sheer level of long-winded self-importance is just insane.  

So, a bit of a disappointing finish to books I enjoyed, but was never the target audience of.

Beetlejuice (1988)

It was Halloween 2025, and that meant watching a scary movie with my coworkers. Or at least, one ex-coworker. Neither of us work at the library where we initially began this tradition anymore, so we watched this at my house instead, on my tiny little television screen. Also, we had to watch it on November 1st since we were both busy the night before.

And in fact, we didn’t watch Beetlejuice at all, but its sequel, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. I watched this film the next day, which made for a slightly odd viewing experience, but my friend and I had agreed on the legacyquel considering neither of us had seen it before. I hope that’s all crystal clear.

The interesting thing about Beetlejuice is that despite being a cult classic, it’s a film of misconceptions. Everyone assumes it’s about Beetlejuice (even though he doesn’t fully appear until the forty-five-minute mark) and Lydia Deetz (who is in more of a supporting role). But the real main characters are newlyweds Adam and Barbara, who come to a sticky end at the very start of the film and find themselves navigating the afterlife together, eventually realizing that their longed-for child is Lydia. (They are nowhere to be seen in the next film).

Other things that people forget: the film’s Signature Scene, in which the cast is forced to perform “The Banana Boat Song” only lasts a few minutes, and it’s Barbara who ultimately saves the day, riding on the back of a sandworm in order to take out Beetlejuice (take that, Muad’Dib). Heck, the character’s name isn’t even Beetlejuice, it’s Betelgeuse.

By today’s standards, this is a weird feature. Like Edward Scissorhands, there’s not a plot so much as “things just happening,” and the goal of the film keeps changing. It’s hard to imagine what audiences would think of it these days, but it’s kind of nice to see a story go in all sorts of odd directions just for the heck of it.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024)

As stated above, I watched this and its predecessor out of order since my friend hadn’t seen this one, which made for an odd but fun viewing experience.

This movie is Legacyquel 101. The returning characters, the meta jokes, the fanservice, the warmed-over story, the lack of innovative veal… in other words, an emphasis on what people remember rather than what the original movie actually was. And yet, it was certainly more enjoyable than most of these long-distant sequels, and reminded me a lot of the two Ghostbuster sequels – not just because of the supernatural subject matter, but due to the overall tone.

Old favourites Winona Ryder and Catherine O’Hara return along with Michael Keaton, as well as the likes of Monica Bellucci, Justin Theroux, Willem Dafoe and Jenna Ortega. It will come as a surprise to precisely no one that Ortega plays Lydia Deetz’s daughter Astrid, who hasn’t been on good terms with her mother (now the host of a paranormal talk show) since the death of her father. Geena Davis and Alec Baldwin are completely absent (a throwaway line reveals they’ve since moved on) as is Jeffrey Jones… sort of.

The actor’s career imploded over two decades ago when he was caught soliciting a minor, but is represented here in a stop-motion sequence that has him perish in a plane crash over the Amazon jungle. This takes the remaining family back to the famous manor house for the funeral, where about twenty different subplots kick off: Delia goes about mourning in the most dramatic way possible, Astrid angsts about her dead father then meets a cute boy next door, Lydia worries about the frequent Betelgeuse sightings she’s been having while feeling pressured into remarrying her pushy producer boyfriend, and over in the afterlife, Betelgeuse learns that his ex-wife Dolores has been reconstituted and is now out for revenge, while actor/detective Wolf Jackson attempts to track down the woman before she can do too much harm.

There is just too much going on in this film, which is why it feels like a prolonged episode of television, with the run-time weaving in and out of everyone’s personal dramas. Monica Bulluci’s character is ultimately completely pointless, for despite her soul-sucking powers, she poses no direct threat to any of the main characters at any given moment, and is taken out fairly easily in the last ten minutes. I’ve nothing against her or the character premise in theory, but she could have been cut entirely to put a bit more meat on Astrid and Lydia’s storylines.

Another weird thing: because Astrid says that her father’s body was never found, and that Lydia is unable to contact him in the spirit world, I immediately assumed that he was still actually alive, which would have been the perfect loophole for Lydia to avoid having to marry Betelgeuse. But nope, it turns out he’s really dead, and begs the question of why Lydia would have ever broken up with Santiago Cabrera, a.k.a., the most handsome man alive.

(Also, it’s eventually revealed he’s working behind a desk in the afterlife, which doesn’t make any sense because the movie earlier states that only suicides end up as civic servants).

Given that the screenwriters are Alfred Gough and Miles Millar, it’s no surprise that this very much feels like a Wednesday episode, with a touch of the Ghostbusters legacyquels and a dash of Hocus Pocus. It was a surprisingly cozy film, with an emphasis on practical effects and plenty of Halloweeny vibes. Perhaps it bit off a little more than it could chew, but I credit it for having an original story that wasn’t just a retread of the first film – though that said, I’m not entirely sure how they could have done that.

Hustle: Season 4 (2007)

The fourth season of Hustle opens with a main character missing: Mickey is in Sydney to help pull off a major scheme, and the others have been left to their own small-scale cons in London – though trips are made across the pond to L.A. and Las Vegas in the premiere and finale. Danny steps up into the role of leader, and in his place comes Billy, a young grifter who wants to learn from the best.

From that setup comes a range of elaborate new cones: tricking a man into buying the Hollywood sign, stealing the jackpot from a Vegas casino, convincing a woman that garbage is high fashion (ie, The Emperor’s New Clothes – no doubt every con artist’s favourite fairy tale) and even being played themselves when a man holds them hostage at Eddie’s Bar, forcing them to eat parts of a specially-prepared blowfish, one of which is lethally poisoned.

There’s a little something missing without Mickey, though I know he returns eventually (plus, there are more cast changes on their way) but for the most part the cons are as fun and imaginative as ever. A couple of them I dearly wish I had the guts to try for myself.

There were less familiar guest stars this time around – I only recognized Patricia Hodge and Frances Barber, and despite a few scenes of them being awful to their employees, I ended up feeling just a wee bit sorry for them both – maybe because the crew get to them through their genuine passions for wine and fashion.

Having completed the fourth season, I am now exactly halfway through this show. Obviously it was too optimistic to think I would get it all done in a year, but at least I have more to look forward to!

The Gilded Age: Season 3 (2025)

It’s the third season of The Gilded Age and the stakes have never been lower.

Okay, that’s not entirely true: things are very fraught for Gladys Russell, whose ambitious, overbearing mother is determined that she marry into royalty, despite her heart lying elsewhere. For the first time Bertha Russell touches real darkness as she all but pimps her daughter out to a man who’s mostly in it for the money, and only Julian Fellowes’s dislike of anything too horrific (sans the rape of Anna Bates in Downton Abbey, which I’m still mad about) leads to the newlyweds finding themselves unexpectedly happy together.

I’m obviously glad that Gladys doesn’t find herself trapped in a totally loveless union, but Bertha has to be held accountable somehow, and so the whole fiasco puts a strain on her own marriage. Fandom obviously didn’t take this very well, as their most cherished dream is getting hitched to a rich wife-guy robber baron, but I found myself more annoyed with George than Bertha, who is at least honest about how ruthless she is.

George on the other hand, promises Gladys that she may marry for love, and then fails her utterly. The whole scenario reminds me of Brave, in which King Fergus doesn’t do a damn thing to try and stop his wife from marrying their daughter off to a dud, even though the buck stops with him. Likewise, George just stands back and lets the whole thing happen. Dude, you live in a patriarchy – at any point you can put your foot down and say “no” and there’s not a damn thing your wife can do about it. If the diffident Mr Bennett can come through for Lizzie when her mother wants to foist her off on Mr Collins, then what the hell is your excuse??

As for everyone else? They sort of just meander through their little storylines. Marian and Larry get engaged, only for her to freak out when she learns he visited a house of ill-repute and lied about it afterwards. Ada and Agnes struggle over the question of who now runs the household. Oscar looks for a new job. Jack sells his clock and becomes the nineteenth century equivalent of an overnight millionaire. Aurora’s husband wants to divorce her, which endangers her position in society. The servants do things that aren’t remotely interesting. Merrit Wever turns up for a couple of episodes which is a lot of fun (bring her back, please).

And Peggy finally gets a break! I feel like she’s been dogged by misfortune for the last two seasons, but now she meets a hot doctor who lets nothing stand in the way of them being together.

(Here’s a fun little anecdote: I watch this show with my mum, and when it started, she was convinced that the actress playing Peggy’s mother (Audra McDonald) was Mrs Huxtable from The Cosby Show. Okay, I know that sounds terrible, but mum gets everyone mixed up, and the two women do resemble each other in the way they present themselves – very regal and elegant. My point is that who should turn up this season but Phylicia Rashad, who did play Mrs Huxtable back in the day).

As ever, it’s a diverting show with soapy plotlines and some truly horrific costumes. But the stakes are so, so low that it’s a genuinely restful viewing experience, give or take a gay man being abruptly killed by a speeding carriage.

Slow Horses: Season 5 (2025)

Forgive the pun, but the fifth season of Slow Horses slows down a bit, firstly because the so-called experts at the Park are characterized as stupid beyond belief (that they let an individual connected to a terrorist attack back in the field is absolutely insane, not least because it’s profoundly obvious that she’s playing them) and secondly because Jackson Lamb has pretty much been endowed with clairvoyant powers.

A suspect makes a run for it? He’s in the exact right place to open a car door on them. Something goes wrong with one of the ops? He can instantly tell because a guy’s hood is lowered. He sends an agent into what seems like mortal danger? No worries, he knew the whole time that the suspect didn’t have it in them to shoot. Seriously, that he’s right all the time while everyone else runs around like headless chickens gets pretty old this time around.

But what I find interesting in an ensemble show like this one is who comes to the forefront and who withdraws into the background. This time around, River, Catherine and even Lamb himself aren’t that prominent. Instead, the season belongs to Shirley, Ho and Claude Whelan (played by James Callis). Coe also gets a bit more emphasis than last season, when he was first introduced, but Louisa checks out early – I’m not sure if this was due to the actress or the storyline, but she’s only in the first episode. Likewise, guest star Jonathan Pryce is only in two scenes, after practically being the deuteragonist in season four.

It all makes for a nice change of pace, even if it feels like a bit of a detour after focusing so heavily on River’s messed-up family last season. But it’s a fun ride as always, and a rather miraculous viewing experience since seasons are released yearly – five and counting! I suppose the only downside is that there are only six episodes per season, but that’s not something to complain about these days. And every season ends with a trailer for the next one, and I spotted Harry Lloyd in there! Honestly, this guy feels like he’s been on the verge of his big break for the last twenty years, without ever seeming to have made it.

Stranger Things: Season 5 (2025)

I know I said I’d wait until the whole season was out to do a full review, but let me just add some minor notes here.

I’m sick to death of people whining about the ages of the kids. Yes! We get it! They’re ten years older than when the show started! That’s how time works!

For me the biggest surprise/delight was the return of Linnea Berthelsen as Kali/Eight. This has been a huge dangling thread for the past three seasons, and despite how negatively “The Lost Sister,” was received, I’m grateful the Duffer Brothers clearly decided to ignore fandom, give the actress her dues, and wrap up this particular storyline. (Just don’t kill her off!)

You have to admit, the Duffers have a real gift for writing characters and character dynamics. Robin and Will isn’t a pairing that immediately sprung to mind in any of the former seasons, and yet it makes perfect sense that the gays would find and support each other. Then there’s Derek, who starts off as an appalling little shit, and then redeems himself within the space of a few minutes (I haven’t had such a fast turnaround on how I felt about a character since Alice in Fear Street).

It's a testimony to how well they do this that I’m missing some of the female friendships. I want Max and Eleven! And Nancy and Robin!

OMG, who on earth cares about Nancy’s love triangle? Either give her two boyfriends or let her marry her career. I truly honestly do not care who she ends up with.

Mr Clarke returns! It might just be that one scene, but I’m glad we got to see him again.

The Mike/Will shippers seem utterly convinced that their ship is endgame. Well, it’s not over till it’s over, but consider the narrative thoroughfare of interactions between Mike, Will and Robin in these episodes: Will sees gay couple Robin and Vickie at the hospital. Robin confronts him later and answers his questions about how she knew her feelings were mutual (specifically saying there was: “a brush of the knee, a bump of the elbow…”)

Later, Will puts this to the test by deliberately giving Mike a little push… which he completely ignores, an interaction that’s witnessed by Robin. This leads to another Will/Robin talk in which she shares her past feelings about Tammy Thompson and how she was looking for validation in another person instead of finding it within herself (which definitely resembles how Will has clung to Mike over the years). Will hears these words again right before unlocking his powers and saving his friends from the demogorgons.  

I mean, all that feels like pretty clear setup to me that Mike is Will’s Tammy, someone that he’ll eventually have to grow past, and that the most important thing about his personal development is accepting himself.

The sad thing is that I think the Duffers have done a good job with Will’s gradual coming-out story and how it connects to his self-worth… and none of it is going to mean a damn thing if shippers don’t get what they want, which is Mike/Will as a couple. Massive online meltdown is imminent, so no matter how well the Duffers might otherwise land this plane, they’re looking at a years of abuse and outrage from the “fans.”

For what it’s worth, I’m not sure Mike and Eleven will still be a couple at the end of this show either, and I really wish they’d spent more time on Eleven and Will, who are technically brother and sister, but whose interactions can be counted on one hand.

Four down, four to go.