netflix – UCL Film & TV Society

‘I’m Thinking Of Ending Things’ Review

Lydia De Matos — Thu, 10 Sep 2020 15:20:37 +0000

Lydia De Matos reviews Kaufman’s latest experimental thriller.

A young couple is on their way to the guy’s parents’ house. They’ve only been together for six weeks. Or is it seven? They’re unsure. Nothing is certain, not even her name; it’s Lucy, or maybe Louisa, it might even be Yvonne. This is their first roadtrip together. She says they have a “real connection; a rare and intense attachment” – but the conversation is awkward, stilted. He’s excited for her to meet his parents. She hasn’t even told hers about them. He’s clearly aching for them to be perfect for one another. She’s thinking of ending things.

Are you confused yet? If not, you will be. Charlie Kaufman’s latest feature, i’m thinking of ending things, is his least accessible yet, embracing the writer/director’s absurdist style and philosophy to an extent that only Netflix’s infamous do-whatever-you-want policy would have allowed. I don’t necessarily mean that as an insult, perhaps just more as a warning to go into this expecting something uniquely Kaufman-esque.

The film’s emotional bedrock is uncertainty, especially in the first two acts. The film occupies itself with those uncomfortable stretches of time plagued by apprehension; waiting for someone you’re nervous to meet to finally descend the stairs, a car trip with a boyfriend you’re thinking of dumping, approaching a table full of people who are clearly waiting for you. Kaufman elongates these moments and drops us squarely into them, slowly creating an atmosphere of tense anxiety that sinks its claws into you, making it impossible to turn away. The intricately confusing wallpaper backdrop of the opening credits resembles something along the lines of what Charlotte Perkins-Gilman described in The Yellow Wallpaper, suggesting from the very outset that nothing we see is to be trusted.

Indeed, every detail seems to shift constantly. It’s not only the young woman’s (Jessie Buckley) name that changes, but her major, the colour of her coat, how she met Jake (Jesse Plemons), how she feels about him, even her voice and face. These shifts are occasionally subtle, and occasionally glaring, challenging us to question them. The world around her changes too. Kaufman takes a very literal interpretation of eternalist philosophy; Jake’s parents (Toni Collette and David Thewlis) appear at different stages of their life almost simultaneously, and the young woman feels nostalgic for things that have not yet happened. Things characters say and do are taken wholesale from notable public figures, from the criticism of Pauline Kael to the paintings of Ralph Albert Blakelock, spoken and presented as though completely, spontaneously original.

The film’s litany of references seems to be one only the most cultured intelligentsia-type would feel comfortable peppering in, or more accurately, the kind of person who desperately wants to be one of those cultured intelligentsia-types. The kind of person who corners you at a party, purely aesthetic cigarette in hand, starting a conversation about the essays of David Foster Wallace, but inevitably ending up talking about the crushing shame they still feel about having only gotten a participation trophy at their secondary school prizegiving.

On the surface Kaufman seems to be making a fairly boring critique of the inauthenticity of modern times, the disconnect between our thoughts and our actions, our lack of original thought, something like that. But the further you get into the film, the more it feels like he’s deriding the kind of person who actually believes that such a critique is either pertinent or unique; the kind of person who needs to feel like the smartest in the room, a cut above the unwashed masses and their supposed disregard for “high culture”. The kind of person who oh so desperately needs their opinions to be validated that they’re incapable of connecting with the people around them. If you’ve seen anything else by Kaufman, you’ll recognise the pattern: he’s writing about himself.

If that seems like a lot to throw at your actors, well, it is. But the whole cast handles it fantastically. Buckley in particular effortlessly attunes her performance to every deviation in tone and character no matter how minor or major. Jay Wadley’s score and ballet is brilliant, shifting from minimalistic terror to uplifting wonder with an ease that makes me question why I’d not heard of him before.

Truthfully, i’m thinking of ending things is a difficult film. After the first viewing I found myself unable to decide whether it was a meaningful piece of art, or a wall at which everything had been thrown and few things had stuck. But I could not stop thinking about it, and desperately needed to discuss it. Once I’d had a chance to do so, and managed to formulate an interpretation that actually seemed to make sense, I found myself leaning more and more toward loving it and its wonderfully absurd, surreal terror. It may be a difficult film, but if you want to watch something that will stay with you, it is absolutely worth it.

I’m Thinking of Ending Things is now streaming on Netflix. Watch the trailer here:

A Decade in: TV Shows

Alex Dewing — Fri, 10 Jan 2020 18:19:34 +0000

We don’t even want to count how many TV shows showed up on our screens in the last decade, so our writers give their opinions on their favourites instead.

Avatar: TheLegend of Korra (2012-2014)

The sequel series to Avatar: The Last Airbender had to live up to a children’s series phenomenon. In The Legend of Korra, the exquisite world building is extrapolated beautifully. The animation style is so difficult that the first season’s studio declined to animate the second because The Boondocks caused their animators less stress! The Avatar franchise uses beautiful colouring and animation styles that honour the incredible martial arts and fight scenes. Furthermore, the series manages to present complicated narratives and themes to a children’s audience. The whimsical magic of the four elements in the original series is transformed into a gritty steampunk world with industrial change. It owes and pays much tribute to the previous series, but the surprises and additions are fun for any viewer. The combination of new ‘bending’ techniques and the invention of new technologies are great to discover and make the audience want to return to watching their world. Although the writing is weaker at the beginning, with an awkwardly written love triangle, the latter seasons are strong in showing the spiritual and political struggle. Korra faces villains who are domestic terrorists, fascist military dictators, and her own uncle.

Emma Davis

Sense8 (2015-2018)

Created, written and directed by the Wachowskis and J. Michael Straczynski, Sense8 was ambitious, heartfelt and visually stunning. The show took place in several locations around the world, with eight protagonists with their own arcs, it had the potential to be incredibly confusing, but it never was. The protagonists are ‘sensate’ – connected by a strange power that allows them to experience what another in their ‘cluster’ feels. At its heart, the show is about this connection and love. It was the also first piece of media I ever encountered that had multiple main LGBTQ characters (in fact, all the protagonists are confirmed as queer). It’s intimate and global; it’s action-packed and melancholic. It’s a show that can be re-watched over and over and you’ll find some tiny detail that you’ve never seen before. Sense8 was always about self-expression and freedom and I wish it had lasted a little longer.

Rhiannon C. Jones

Broad City (2014-2019)

After ending this March after a five year run, Broad City has left a television void once filled by the explosively colourful female sitcom. This show brought women into stoner humour, confronting the goofy dynamic duo shtick that has long been dominated by male comedians. Abby Jacobson and Ilana Glazer stomped, skipped, tripped, and stumbled through New York City, imperfect, chaotic, and deeply relatable. I tell all my friends to watch this show and wish I could do it all over again.

Sofía Kourous Vázquez

Brooklyn Nine-Nine (2013-)

Brooklyn Nine-Nine, a show that has united the warring factions of the internet since its first release in 2013 is my TV pick of the decade. Outcries upon the announcement of its cancellation in 2018 lead the TV Big Bosses to a hasty programming retreat as they commissioned the series for another . A real testament to the show’s significance. Andy Samberg (Joanna Newsom’s husband of Lonely Island fame) stars as the beloved Jake Peralta – a hapless junior cop with a predilection for chaos whose stubborn self-righteous goodness pulls him through. The performance of Gina Peretti (Chelsea Peretti) and Detective Rosa Diaz (Stephanie Bearitz) as supporting cast also call for a special mention. Riffing off the self-serious cop shows of the noughts (Cf. The Wire) Brooklyn Nine-Nine succeeds as a sitcom with its off-beat comedy which maintains emotional sincerity and sensitivity. A feat which most comics seem to find impossible nowadays, as we see more comedy falling back on cool irony and detachment, perhaps in order to evade dealing with that tricky stuff – emotion. This rare show has also been meeting increasing viewer demands for minority-experience representation from 2011 (ahead of the general consumer shift we’ve seen this decade) without appearing overtly contrived or moralising. While we’ve seen sitcoms such as Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother on the decline in favour of drama in TV this decade, Brooklyn Nine-Nine (thankfully for us) has formed and nurtured its own niche in the market. But let’s be real, however much we love the cast, they’re still massive cops.

Xara Zabihi Dutton

BoJack Horseman (2014-2019)

As the year lulls to a close, my pick of the decade is predictably the cartoon about the horse with depression. BoJack Horseman (voiced by Will Arnett), the titular horseman, is a washed-up Hollywood actor who struggles to pick up his career after starring in a beloved 90’s sitcom. BoJack doesn’t work because he doesn’t have to; his old show ‘Horsin Around’ bestows him with B-minus fame and LA-mansion pools of money. BoJack comes to terms with this by acting like a sleazy asshole: he inhales gin and hits on women willing to either exploit or overlook his has-been status. The show kicks off with BoJack meeting Diane Nguyen (Alison Brie), a writer hopeful who is hired to author a tell-all on BoJack to revitalize his dying career. Diane is too good to cater solely to onanistic publicity, and her insight forces BoJack to ask himself why he can’t stop drinking, why he keeps fucking up, and why he keeps hurting the people he loves. The beauty of BoJack Horseman is that its ridiculous. Brought to life with Lisa Hanawalt’s anthropomorphic animations, most of the show’s humor is derived from the joke that half of the characters are talking animals. It works because BoJack Horseman is grounded by its impeccable writing: the show crackles with wit, snapping with meta-puns and alliterative tongue twisters. The script’s delivery is upheld by an all-star cast: Amy Sedaris glows as BoJack’s Jersey-accented feline agent, and Aaron Paul gilds as the ditzy but sweet high-school dropout chilling on BoJack’s couch. Far from simply addressing the superficiality of celebrity culture, BoJack Horseman shines a light on topical American issues like abortion, gun control, racism, and the garbage fire election crisis of 2016. The effect is rippling and expansive: as BoJack spirals, the world does too. I find this endlessly comforting: BoJack Horseman never pretends everything isn’t going to shit.

The show is now in its sixth and final season, and I already know I’m going to miss it. I’ve spent a good part of my adolescence getting lost in the lush and jam-packed world of Hollywoo, assuaging depression by stuffing cereal and BoJack’s crazy antics into my face. What strikes me is how cathartic it all is; while acknowledging that the world is a toilet bowl, BoJack Horseman never fails to be weird, funny, and hopeful. BoJack Horseman is a social critique and meditation on mental illness, but also essentially a heartfelt comedy: the series pokes fun at the vapidity of child star Sarah Lynn (Kristen Schaal) in the same breath it vivisects her tragic drug-addled past. Maybe its this schizophrenic slash multi-genre confusion that makes it so distinctly 2010s. In any case, BoJack Horseman is a relic I want to put in a locket and swing around my neck— like a baby tooth, or a middle school photograph.

Harry Mizumoto

‘Dark’ Season 2 Review

Harry Mizumoto — Tue, 17 Sep 2019 15:57:58 +0000

Harry Mizumoto reviews the latest season of Netflix’s hit German drama.

This review contains minor spoilers.

The world is dying. If one can indulge the melodrama of this statement long enough, it seems pretty apt; nationalism and alt-right rhetoric are on the rise, threats of nuclear enrichment are being launched left and right, and the Amazon is literally on fire. It’s a time to be alert and somewhat anxious. No contemporary series reflects this existential dread better than Dark, a show which broods on the inevitability of human nature.

Stylistically, Dark is gorgeous. The small and geographically ambiguous town of Winden is introduced with a slow pan over its outskirts, an endless thicket of trees. Its residents interact in forests, bunkers, dark caves, small rooms in compact homes; spaces so intimate they feel claustrophobic. Spools of dread develop alongside a tense and minimal soundtrack, replete with the faint thrum of chimes and synths. A particularly unsettling score opens with a string of gasps, as if straining for air. The sounds play over trademark split screen shots attuned to shifts in time or expression, like bicycles swimming through trees, or eyes peeking through a curtain of hair.

For those who need a quick recap, the Netflix Original darling of 2017– billed as the German lovechild of Stranger Things and Back to the Future— centres a series of disappearing children which recurs in multiple timelines of a small town. Time-travel complicates this: missing children stay missing because their bodies are deposited in a different time. In the laws of this universe, time forms a deterministic loop. Police investigations and familial inquests of these disappearances prove futile, dredging up pieces which only make sense beyond the context of their lives, slotted in the greater arc of time. This helplessness is familiar, as well as uncannily satisfying; piecing every timeline together feels like finally achieving a sense of objectivity, like observing fruit flies in a petri dish.

The second season of Dark expands on this generational study, examining its flies– and the relationships between them– much more closely. Key figures include Egon (Christian Pätzold), a main figure deepened across time as a sympathetic policeman, husband, and father, and Ulrich (Oliver Masucci), who we revisit as a sedated, white-haired man committed to a psychiatric ward in 1953. Jonas (Louis Hofman) shines as an time-traveling altruist, trading his displacement in 1986 for the dystopian wasteland of 2053. The series contains more timelines than ever before, largely owed to multiple Jonases competing against one another (and themselves). The attention to historical accuracy is a definite plus; I was heavily amused when, upon stumbling into the idyllic wheat fields of 1921, Jonas is mistaken for a victim of shell shock. Continuing Jonas’ efforts is his older, more bedraggled counterpart (Andreas Pieschmann), who reunites with Teen Jonas’s mother in a bizarre and touching scene only made possible by Dark’s messed up timelines.

There are a lot of these strange moments in Dark, since the intricate plot line relies on small-town intimacy for much of its complexity. A trademark of the show is tangling people into Oedipal relationships you’d usually only expect from a commune, which I’m largely a fan of. I will never get tired of discovering that two characters are related in some fucked up way. Next season, I’m excited for the show’s big flourish to reveal that a character is the only child of themselves.

Dark is available to stream on Netflix worldwide. Check out the trailer for season two below:

8 Reasons You Should Be Watching ‘Russian Doll’

Alex Dewing — Tue, 09 Apr 2019 16:23:35 +0000

Alex Dewing recaps the new original Netflix series.

Only a few months into 2019, Netflix released the show Russian Doll and immediately set the bar higher for every Netflix original to follow. Visually stunning, hilarious throughout, and wonderfully original, this show has a lot going for it. So, to match its eight-episode arc, here are eight reasons you should be watching the show – if you haven’t already binged it.

1. It has a fantastic story.

Nadia Vulvokov (Natasha Lyonne) is a chaotic video game designer who, on her birthday, drunkenly stumbles out into the streets of New York to look for her missing cat – only to get hit by a car and die. And just like that, she’s back at her birthday party, confused but very much alive. Suddenly, death comes very easily to her – or maybe she’s just tripping? Maybe it was something she drank or ate? Figuring out the cause, and solution, to her Groundhog Day-esque cycle initially seems to be at the heart of Russian Doll, but as the episodes go on it’s clear that there’s a lot more to be explored beyond the show’s mysterious concept.

2. It’s created by a stellar group of women.

Amy Poehler of Parks and Recreation fame, playwright Leslye Headland, and lead actress Natasha Lyonne make up the powerhouse team of co-creators, which should get you really excited for this show – if you weren’t already. What’s more is that the entire writing and directing team is female. In an interview with The TODAY Show, Lyonne said the team made this decision so that “gender could disappear in a way that would make [Russian Doll] a far more human experience and a human story, without the historical tropes of what it would be for a woman to be going through this experience.”

3. It’s perfect for bingeing.

At eight episodes in total, each only 25 minutes in length, Russian Doll is a perfect show to binge-watch after a long day. Despite its relatively short episodes, the show is paced to perfection, drawing at first on the mystery at hand and later descending into time-bending chaos. Plus, with every episode introducing a new piece to the puzzle right at the very end, this is one that you’ll want to get through all at once.

4. That aesthetic tho!

Russian Doll is nothing if not rich in its production design. Nadia’s never-ending birthday party is hosted in an old yeshiva-turned-apartment owned by Nadia’s exuberant friend Maxine (Greta Lee); it’s full of modern people and modern art, including the iconic, “terrifying vaginal” bathroom door. There’s also Alan’s (Charlie Barnett) American Psycho-esque apartment, with its straight edges, clean surfaces, and alphabetised game collections. Everything you’ll see onscreen is lush with details and vivid colours. Don’t even get me started on the fashion; one look at all the wonderfully diverse New Yorkers portrayed in the show, and you’ll be grabbing your laptop to do some online shopping.

5. The characters are wonderfully flawed.

Lyonne has said that Nadia was, for her, a very autobiographical character, and the connection she shares with her character is evident throughout the show. Nadia is messy and hedonistic. Suffering from latent childhood trauma, she has no time for the banalities of the world, though she is deeply caring towards her friends. Meanwhile, Alan is her polar opposite: he is orderly, precise, and ascetic. Stuck repeating one of the worst evenings of his life, his forced cooperation with Nadia sets up for a lot of friction. But their development as individuals is handled with confidence and care, adding another dynamic to the show as a whole.

6. The music.

From the wistful, chill sounds of ‘Cherry Blossom (Moors Remix)’ by ALA.NI to the addictive energy of Harry Nilsson’s ‘Gotta Get Up’ that, quite simply, becomes the refrain for Nadia’s deaths and will not leave your head for a good long while, Russian Doll is filled with some absolute tunes. With an observant ear, you can catch classic rock songs, neo-psychedelia, experimental hip-hop, ’60s French pop, and even Beethoven concertos. Quite literally, there is something for everyone. So many of the songs, too, add thematic resonance in a way that is subtle but perfectly timed. Who doesn’t love adding new songs to their playlists after watching a show?

7. It’ll make you laugh.

Something you learn pretty quickly about Nadia is that her humour is dry and relentless; she’s always quick to make a sarcastic comment and sharp on the followup. Cynical in every sense of the word, her comedy embodies Russian Doll‘s morbid themes. Imbued with a delightfully dark humour (I mean, it’s a show about death, tragedy, and trauma – what else would you expect?), lines of dialogue are delivered masterfully, leaving you laughing probably more than you should. The chilling mystery, as well as the tense metaphysical exploration on which the show embarks, is adeptly balanced with this humour, and the show switches and blends the two tones expertly.

8. It never goes the way you expect.

You’ve seen Groundhog Day and, more recently, Happy Death Day – you know how these time loop shows go. Well, think again. What’s best about Russian Doll is that it is totally, wonderfully, fantastically unpredictable. So maybe give it a watch.

Russian Doll is currently available to stream on Netflix. Watch the trailer below:

‘After Life’ Review

Sam Hamilton — Sun, 31 Mar 2019 16:37:45 +0000

Sam Hamilton reviews Ricky Gervais’ heartfelt six-part character study.

How far can you push a punchline? What are the boundaries of the taboo? And when has a joke gone too far? These three questions seem to form a constant thread of reaction reeling from Ricky Gervais’ every move, and with some good reason. The 57-year-old comedian has made his career dancing glibly through standup routines addressing Nazism, sexism, racism, and bigotry, wilfully incurring the wrath of many and the shock of many more. From his approach to his sentiment to his choice of subject matter, it may be easy to form an image of the man as an insensitive misanthrope. But After Life, a six-part character study on Netflix, written and directed by Gervais, provides evidence to the contrary.

We meet Tony (Gervais) grieving for his late wife, overwhelmed by impulsive anger, shouty-sweary irreverence, and a fondness for suicide-related sarcasm. Such a premise sounds like a comedy club scene gone majorly wrong – and at first, that is the way it feels. Jokes don’t land, silences lack impact, and Tony’s morbid quips take a while to leap from dark humour to the kind of guilt-trip comedy to which the comedian has always aspired. All three of these problems are made more intense by the unforgiving gravity of the subject matter, possibly leading to an audience’s premature conclusion on what this show is striving towards: cheap, disrespectful laughs. There is little space at first to allow any meaningful character development beyond exposing a deep-seated bitterness in the central character. And such an initial impression of shallowness extends to the supporting cast of Tony’s workplace at the Tambury Gazette; his brother-in-law and his institutionalised father both come across as little more than strategically placed punchbags. When Gervais’ pen then leans into the subjects of emotional abuse, drug abuse, and prostitution, one might wonder whether there can be any redeeming quality to this narrative.

In fact, surprisingly, there is. By episode four, Tony’s bravado is exposed as superficial by a crippling desire to relieve himself of his grief. His painful musings on death become recognised as shallow, feigned attempts to hide a searing loneliness. This is in part achieved by his reaction to Kerry Godliman’s quietly devastating performance as Tony’s wife, Lisa, revealed part by part in webcam recordings. Godliman’s presence is played to pitch-perfect standards even in its ephemerality, and her role in the unfolding story never feels expository or contrived. Gervais uses all this to build Tony’s angst that his wretched depression will never go away. This is not to mention the presence Tony and Lisa’s dog, who in the most desperate times remains Tony’s only tether to sanity (which may be awfully relatable to many pet-owners), as well as long, quiet, contemplative sequences where Tony wanders the streets of Tambury and the countryside surrounding it. These moments, recurring once or twice per episode, may seem docile at first but by the finale evoke a churning emptiness that resonates with the soul of this character. Witnessing moments like these is quite profound to the attentive viewer.

Moments like these come about not only through writing but also through craft. Martin Hawkins’ often washed-out, teal-heavy cinematography beautifully captures the rural simplicity of Tambury and its surroundings. The village’s solace, and the soundtrack’s mellifluous chimes, emphasise that Tony stands out like a sore thumb; he, or rather the person his grief has created, is the problem. It goes without saying that this is the biggest stylistic departure for Gervais to date, taking on a uniformly more cinematic approach in pacing and presentation.

But it is through the subtext that After Life’s heart is revealed. Beneath the droll musings is a story of prevailing optimism and the will to come to grips with life beyond death. We witness alongside Tony that the futile pursuit of happiness is tragically common amongst the people of Tambury, and he discovers through this a rekindled interest in joining in the fight. This transformation is best demonstrated by the way in which static characters, mostly used to comedic effect, eventually begin to tug on Tony’s conscience, often inadvertently but to a significant end. His father’s dementia provides an example of Tony’s fortune in being sentient. Lisa’s willingness to accept her lot is a paragon of grace against Tony’s wretched demeanour. Revelations as to the personal struggles of colleagues Matt (Tom Basden), Lenny (Tony Way), and Kath (Diane Morgan), coupled with the calming acceptance of fate by widow Anne (Dame Penelope Wilton), bring to light the value of equanimity in the face of despair and what Tony might become without it. Initially a motley crew, this ensemble gradually comes together to exemplify the bittersweet relief that Tony might find in spiritual freedom and self-satisfaction. And, as is the case with any good drama, Tony is replaceable in all these circumstances by any of us (albeit with a predisposition towards minor crime). I found the jokes to improve substantially as the show progressed, such that the best laughs were spread amongst the most dramatic moments.

Ricky Gervais is a mercurial entertainer. Tackling subjects like morbid depression could be as painful to some as it is worthwhile to others. But it appears to me that as the final credits roll, Gervais has created a character in Tony whose arc from determined delinquent to benevolent being is relatable, endearing, and tonally far more than the sum of its parts. After Life addresses the quandary of reconciling one’s own hardships with the hardships of others; of realising that each man, woman and child can be faced with their own distinctly unique and desperately difficult set of circumstances; and the idea that they are worth no less for it.

This is a quiet, careful character study, determined to use both drama and comedy to press its messages. After Life has no hero. It has no villain. It has no perceivable guide to depression of any substantive sort. But it does contain a surprise. A show which might, at first, be perceived as a comedian waltzing round a rural English town, pretending to harbour regret, grief, and depression at the expense of some mildly funny punch lines, can manifest of itself an insightful dwelling on the value of being alive.

7/10

After Life is available to stream on Netflix. Check out the trailer below:

‘Sex Education’ Season 1 Review

Sabastian Astley — Mon, 04 Feb 2019 18:44:37 +0000

Sabastian Astley reviews the new Netflix coming of age series on teenage sexuality.

Netflix’s Sex Education, created by Laurie Nunn, provides something many shows revolving around adolescence lack: an openness and honesty toward the sexual lives of teenagers. Between the diverse cast of characters and the pressing storylines introduced, the show certainly seems to be on its way towards teenage acclaim. But how well does it reflect the teenage zeitgeist of the modern day?

The show’s narrative threads are constructed around the overarching plot of the nerdy Otis’ (Asa Butterfield) unlikely team-up with outcast Maeve (Emma Mackley) to run an underground a sex therapy clinic at their school, all with the help of Otis’ sex therapist mother Jean (Gillian Anderson). We also follow the origin of Adam’s (Connor Swindells) bullying behaviour; Eric’s (Ncuti Gatwa) struggle to embrace his sexuality despite his religious family; Maeve’s difficulty supporting and creating a future for herself; and Jean’s difficulty of raising her son while maintaining her own identity.

Sex Education explores various themes that affect the modern teen, most notably sexual identity, societal pressures, sexual health, and relationships. Eric and Adam’s relationship to one another showcases the complications of exploring one’s sexual identity; Adam’s sexual repression is subtly displayed through his behaviours and the way in which he treats Eric as opposed to the language he uses towards him. Societal pressures are explored through every character in the show, from Maeve’s attempts to balance her academic and home lives, to Jackson’s anxiety over the pressure his mother puts on him to swim competitively. This may be the most general of the themes throughout the entire show, but each individual character’s struggle with societal pressure feels unique. Viewers can identify and empathise with an individual character due to the broad exploration of this theme.

The issue of sexual health is explored through the sex therapy clinic’s day-to-day, including discussions of the importance of communication during sex and of asserting one’s individual preferences rather than acting according to their partner’s desires. Although the show is comedic in tone, these issues themselves are never trivialised. They are properly explored through sincere discussion with realistic resolutions that don’t feel oversimplified.

Relationships become the most complex of the themes explored, mostly revolving around the characters’ connections to their families. Maeve has a troubled relationship with her brother; Otis’ struggles to communicate with his mother about his own issues; Adam acts out as a cry for help to his parents; and Eric is disconnected from his father. The show approaches these topics with a sense of realism, and each situation plays out naturally; people let others down, and simple words exchanged can be devastating. When you watch these relationships in play, you feel a sense of familiarity, because these problems are universal and impossibly difficult to solve. Many of the relationship issues portrayed aren’t resolved. The show is sincere in its sadness, and its refusal to allow everything an ending hits incredibly close to home.

Every relationship between characters seems genuine: Butterfield and Anderson have fantastic chemistry as Jean and Otis, striking the balance between embarrassing parent and angsty teen while retaining a strong sense of parental guidance. Gatwa and Swindells portray a believable attraction between Eric and Adam, playing their characters beyond the stereotypical masculine man threatened by his own desires and the repressed, flamboyant gay man. However, Mackley gives the standout performance of the series; as Maeve, she displays a muted emotional palette to showcase the character’s difficulty in distancing herself from reality. In terms of aesthetic, the show’s timeless setting gives it a distinctive style that complements the its universality and helps to add some levity to more serious moments. The strong John Hughes influence is clear from the Americanised school setting, though the mostly ’80s soundtrack is peppered with some exceptional Ezra Furman tracks for a modern balance.

The show is not perfect of course; there are times where it suffers from generic plot points, such as the ‘will they, won’t they’ tension between Otis and Maeve. While this has been replicated many times throughout television history, such as in FRIENDS‘s iconic Ross and Rachel drama, it does allow both characters to develop individually. We see this in Maeve’s relationship to Jackson (Kedar Williams-Sterling) and in Otis’ exploration with Lily (Tanya Reynolds) and relationship with Ola (Patricia Allison). Additionally, some issues are presented briefly but lack further development beyond a mention, such as Otis’ difficulty with masturbation originating from a specific childhood memory – an exploration which only took five minutes at most.

Sex Education explores the teenage zeitgeist in a way that is unique and refreshing to see, with an incredibly sad underlying tone once the narratives of each character are deconstructed. It’s very reminiscent of the successful, early-2000s teen drama Skins in that both series use daydream-like narratives as a device to deconstruct and develop each individual character as they face their own personal struggles in their sexuality or familial relationships.

Sex Education is available to stream on Netflix now. Check out the trailer below:

PODCAST: Streaming Services – The End of Cinema or a New Frontier?

Xinyi Wang — Thu, 31 Jan 2019 15:07:14 +0000

Emma and Maria discuss the popularity of streaming services such as Netflix and Hulu, and their impact on the future of film and the movie-going experience.

Illustration by Leo Espinosa for the New Yorker

PREVIOUSLY: ‘The House That Jack Built’ – Exploring the Violence of Male Directors

‘The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina’ Season 1 Review

Théo Verzeroli — Wed, 21 Nov 2018 17:04:08 +0000

Théo Verzeroli reviews Netflix’s reboot of the iconic 90s sitcom.

Sabrina: “I want freedom and power.”

Prudence: “He’ll never give you that. The Dark Lord. The thought of you, of any of us, having both terrifies him.”

Sabrina: “Why is that?”

Prudence: “He’s a man, isn’t he?”

After the 90’s sitcom Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Netflix takes the famous Archie Comics universe over in a teenage-horror reboot which can only extend the Halloween atmosphere: The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina.

Composed of ten episodes of around fifty minutes each, Sabrina takes place in an already-known universe: the one of Riverdale, the successful drama-thriller which started in 2017 on the CW and Netflix. Thus, the show sets itself in Greendale, a small, calm town on the other side of the river – but one which is actually a foundation of a witch world.

Sabrina (very well played by the young Kiernan Shipka of Mad Men) is a fifteen year old girl living as a half-mortal-half-witch in a mansion with aunts Hilda (Lucy Davis, Wonder Woman) and Zelda (Miranda Otto, The Lord of the Rings), and cousin Ambrose (Chance Perdomo). She has a simple life, constantly by the side of her two best friends Roz (Jaz Sinclair) and Susie (Lachlan Watson), and especially her boyfriend Harvey (Ross Lynch, Austin & Ally).

The story opens on the day before Sabrina’s sixteenth birthday. On that day she will have to make a choice between her powers and family, and her mortal friends and lover. Torn, Sabrina goes looking for answers which could help her decide – but she discovers very quickly that becoming a complete witch includes giving her soul to the Devil. Sabrina would receive her full potential of power, but also be left as servant to the Devil, at his mercy.

The producers use this dilemma very well, pushing Sabrina to question herself on power, freedom, her true desires, and especially the distinction between good and evil. Indeed it is said from the beginning that witches get their powers from Satan, but do not want to hurt anybody, exiling themselves from the mortal world. Sabrina thus has to make an even more difficult choice: between the truth of her feelings and the morality of them.

But all these great concepts are seen through the eyes of a teenager who is only sixteen. This is essential, as it permits a cheesiness which softens the witches’ world’s darkness. Again, this is well done by the show-runners, who use the high school as a place to develop different elements. First of all, Sabrina is a modern witch: she and her friends create a society which functions to discreetly insert themes of feminism and gender-progression. This comes in tandem to the natural feminism of the supernatural world, a direct result of the fact that power is owned by women. Furthermore, high school is the way by which the villain manipulates Sabrina, taking the appearance of one of her teachers. But before anything else, school is the place where Sabrina can be who she truly is: a teenager in love. This is what forms her humanity, and her biggest strength against the Devil.

Sabrina is a complex and conflicted character, and this is reflected in her costume design. Loosely derived from Red Riding Hood, her clothes contrast with her determination and dark witch power, but also perfectly complete the show’s aesthetic – timeless but rooted in 60’s – 70’s Gothic.

In this world which seems very simplistic, the main characters evolve in a much more interesting way; so as to make us discover their true nature. Sabrina’s family is a perfect example. Aunts Zelda and Hilda are both very responsible, even though Zelda is more authoritarian than her sister. They are both strong women but can still admit their weaknesses. The High Priest (Richard Coyle) perfectly embodies the ambiguity of religious institutions. Seen as a Devil’s representative, he has his human weaknesses and can sometimes lead the dogma and its believers to mistakes. Ambrose, Sabrina’s cousin, is a new character, created by the producers in order to divorce the diabolical warlock prisoner from the original show’s black cat, whose ability to speak would have been out of place in The Chilling Adventure‘s world. Ambrose serves to initiate Sabrina to more dangerous magic and mores.

But the plot Ambrose develops is not credible enough; it could be much more detailed. And it feels the same with the three Weird Sisters: Prudence (Tati Gabrielle), Agatha (Adeline Rudolph), and Dorcas (Abigail Cowen). They vary in the same way as Ambrose, but their changes are always ambiguous and lack depth.

Regardless, this TV show is worth the detour, at least for fantasy and horror fans. It blurs the line between black and white magic and challenges our certainties of good and evil. It is resolutely part of modernity with characters equal in rights, gender, weaknesses, and power: a novelty which does teenage and fantastic worlds some good.

In order to facilitate a season’s viewing, I would say that the strongest episodes are the first, second, sixth, seventh, and final.

The first season of The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina is currently available to stream on Netflix. Check out its trailer below:

‘Annihilation’ Review

Milo Garner — Tue, 20 Mar 2018 11:22:00 +0000

Milo Garner reviews the highly anticipated scifi released on Netflix earlier this month.

Alex Garland’s sophomore picture, the grandly-titled Annihilation, seems to promise high-concept sci-fi. This is a genre returning to the fold after a brief absence: there’s been the excellent Arrival, the decent Blade Runner, and the allegedly abhorrent Mute – a whole spectrum of filmmaking. Following his strong debut in Ex Machina, it seemed like Annihilation would push the boat out further than any of the others – even reaching the level of capital A Art, in the mould of Kubrick or Tarkovsky. As it happens, Annihilation is less art than artifice. But that’s not all bad.

The premise itself is intriguing: after an asteroid strike, a former national park has become home to ‘The Shimmer’, a seemingly supernatural force that blocks all vision and communication in or out. From the outside it appears to be a wall of emulsion, and all to pass through have disappeared, never to be heard from again. That is until Lena, an ex-military scientist, is visited by her husband, thought dead. His name is Kane (maybe owing more to Alien than the Bible), and he’s been MIA for a year, secretly sent beyond The Shimmer. His memory seems fried and it soon becomes apparent he is deathly sick. He’s rushed to a doctor before a group of military men intervene, spiriting Kane and Lena to a compound far away.

When Lena awakens she is effectively signed up to the programme – she and five other scientists are to journey into The Shimmer and discover its secrets. They all have their own motives, though none are stated outright. Up to this point the film has been priming, but as soon as the oil-in-water wall is crossed, it begins in earnest. The Shimmer itself is a wonder to behold – think a meld of Stalker’s Zone and Avatar’s Pandora. It is a lush and living sci-fi world, a rarity in these days of minimalist harshness, but one just as treacherous as its stark counterparts. Melding is also something of prime importance in The Shimmer. Genetics here follow different rules, with all manner of fauna and flora merging and combining. The results are sometimes beautiful: a white stag, antlers decorated with blooming flowers; crystalline trees lining a beach, the remnants of smashed glass; trees taking human form, a green analogue of Hiroshima’s shadows; impossibly bright flowers on the forest floor. Just as often they are terrifying – an albino crocodile with concentric teeth, or a fierce bear-boar cross who screams with a human voice.

This world Garland has created bears little comparison elsewhere – it is a genuine marvel, and constantly fascinating to explore. While the cinematography never quite exploits this design to its full potential, each glimpse seems a privilege. But, as one might expect, Annihilation is not a literal walk in the park. It quickly takes on the character of several journeys into the unknown. Think Apocalypse Now, or Stalker, with a hint of Solaris. These comparisons do it little favours, however. While the mystery at the end of the road is constantly eluded to, as the film continues it begins to feel as though this mystery is hollow. Many questions are posed without answers, and – perhaps more essentially – they are not questions to which answers might be desired. The quest of the characters seems inconsequential, more a trip through some horrible fantasy land than a sci-fi with real stakes. Yes, the nature of the genetic mumbo-jumbo is mentioned a few times, but so what? Stalker did not rely solely on what might lie in the Room at the centre of the Zone, but rather on what the implications of this thing might be, whether or not it exists. The characters revealed themselves on the road, not only as analogical symbols, but as personalities. The Zone was unravelling their personas, despite a distinct lack of the obvious supernatural. In Annihilation the characters, besides Lena, have no depth whatsoever. A few have a single defining feature, but their main purpose is to act as horror-fodder (monsters gotta eat too) and to drive the plot; though Garland’s last film was focused on psychology, here he has created a film that does not engage with it.

As such, the film often functions more as a horror-thriller than as the high-concept sci-fi it’s billed as. Then again, it generally does so well. There is constant suspense for most of the middle section, and its toe-dip into body horror is more than welcome. In fact, that might be the best route for this film to have taken. A sprinkling of classic Cronenberg could both muffle the self-importance at play here and inject proceedings with the sort of gore Garland’s beautiful perdition could really do with. Instead, in the final twenty minutes Garland tosses his lot in with the surreal sci-fi ending, perhaps hoping he could bag a 2001. He gets closer to a Duck Soup. No, really. But the quality of Annihilation lies in the journey, the constant suggestion that fascination lies just a little further down the river. It slips when Garland’s threats of revelation grow ever louder without him pulling the trigger, not even a warning shot. Maybe he’s carrying blanks?

6/10

Annihilation is mainly viewable on Netflix. Borrow a friend’s account! Trailer below:

2017 in Netflix Original Films

Pihla Pekkarinen — Wed, 10 Jan 2018 19:59:04 +0000

Pihla Pekkarinen reviews a few Netflix titles from the past year.

Netflix has recently set a target of releasing eighty new original films in 2018. That’s eight-zero. And 2017 wasn’t far behind that, with over fifty new dramas, comedies, and documentaries released into the world branded with the unmistakable red logo. Which is great for those of us who sometimes cannot be bothered to get out of our pyjamas and go pay twenty-eight pounds for a movie ticket (London, anyone?). If you feel the same, and are looking for some tips on what to watch next, here are my thoughts on seven of the films that came out this year. Enjoy a bag of microwave popcorn from the comfort of your bed and make the most of your Netflix subscription!

Worth Watching

I Don’t Feel At Home In This World Anymore

Macon Blair has hit the ground running with his directing debut, I Don’t Feel At Home In This World Anymore. The film tells the story of an average woman turned James Bond after uncooperative authorities refuse to help her solve the robbery of her house. And it does it in a completely original way. The pair of protagonists (played by Melanie Lynskey and Elijah Wood) are oddball hermits who are more and more lovable with every passing minute, and their reactions to being thrown in the midst of professional criminalism are so poignantly real that you can’t help but laugh. Indeed, this film might masquerade as a crime film but it’s a comedy through and through, from the absurdist violence provoking inappropriate laughter to the familiar attempts by the central characters to emulate what they have seen in spy films and failing miserably. The costume designer and hair and make-up artists have managed to create exceptionally average characters and even unattractive characters, which only makes me love them more. I Don’t Feel At Home In This World Anymore is, despite its unnecessarily long name, absolutely my favourite Netflix Original film of this year.

Okja

Imagine Babe, but set in rural South Korea. With Cruella de Vil chasing after the sympathetic pig. Oh, and the pig is the size of an elephant. Then you have Okja, a new film about an environmentalist corporation breeding intelligent super-pigs for sustainable meat production. Okja is a classic tale told with a fresh perspective and a skilled manner, and there is a lot to like. The child actress Ahn Seo-hyun playing Mija, caretaker of the titular superpig, is phenomenal, as are the rest of the cast. The animation of Okja is precise and realistic, and the cinematography in general is balanced and beautiful. And while the story seems simplistic, good vs. evil, the black-and-white tonalities split into rainbows of gray as we are made to appreciate the antagonist’s motivations and exposed to the naïveté of the freedom fighters. If you are one to cry at movies, this one will turn on the waterworks.

To Each Their Own

Little Evil

I am the first person to admit my knowledge of horror films is pretty much equal to my knowledge of pharmaceutical engineering: that is, next to none. From what I have understood after further explanation, Little Evil is meant as a caricature of a horror film, poking fun at all the classic tropes and motifs of classic horror. As someone with no knowledge of the genre, what I saw was a poorly-executed, hardly frightening, half-hearted attempt at a scary film. I didn’t really have patience for Gary (Adam Scott) which made it difficult to root for the “good guys”, and was overall mostly bored. Looking back on it. I recognize that the gruff voice and countenance of the devil-child Lucas and the absurd scenes with the cult are meant to be funny references to genre-specific imagery, but I completely missed them the first time around. So, for someone who has a) watched a fair bit of horror and b) would be amused by a self-mocking comedy within that genre, this film may provoke the same positive reaction I had to I Don’t Feel At Home In This World Anymore. Then again, I wouldn’t know.

The Incredible Jessica James

We have seen this film many a time before. The Incredible Jessica James is basically textbook: struggling artist in New York meets rich businessman, they overcome their differences and fall in love. Cue a lot of shots of the New York skyline accompanied by funky music, romantic two-shot strolls in Central Park and a phone call with an extroverted best friend from their respective bedrooms. However, this film is clearly from 2017: instead of a damsel in distress just waiting to be saved by the relationship of a lifetime, the protagonist is a six-foot badass black woman with piercings and an attitude. Jessica James dominates this film and its central relationship from start to finish, and is at times cocky enough to be annoying, which is wonderfully refreshing from a female protagonist. And while, yes, her best friend is nothing more than the usual bubbly, eternally single, always-there-for-you shell of a character, at least she’s a lesbian. That’s something, right?

To The Bone

Aside from Thirteen Reasons Why, To The Bone is probably the most controversial release from Netflix in 2017. It has been widely criticised for its glamorisation of eating disorders and the lack of cast diversity. In terms of its filmic value, it has been called “impressively accessible” (Hollywood Reporter) as well as “insipid and uninsightful” (The Guardian). Personally, I lean toward the latter camp. To The Bone claims to be revolutionary, a film which takes eating disorders and looks at them like no movie has ever done before. The result is a film saturated with stereotype, from excessive amounts of kohl eyeliner and an absent father to a supposedly unconventional therapist who comes off as condescending and power-hungry. The beginning is uncomfortable, the ending is bizarre, and the middle is a lighthearted young adult novel turned to pictures. However, Collins embodies the angry twenty-year-old character written for her to a T, and her relationships with her sister and the friends she makes at the recovery home do provoke some sympathy. And given the mixed reception for the film, you may find something more in it than I did – but the cynic in me can’t seriously applaud any movie with people dancing in a rain room just because they’re alive.

Don’t Bother

The Discovery

Premise: interesting. Execution: not so much. The Discovery, a film about the struggling son of a man who proved the existence of an afterlife, starts off tolerable, but quickly disintegrates into an overly dramatic, highly predictable cliché of a film. Beginning with the title all the way to the credits, screenplay is cringeworthy, and the lack of chemistry between the actors is striking. This film doesn’t shock, tickle, or move a single nerve. And while the philosophical questions posed at the beginning of the film are promising – if the proof of an afterlife caused millions of deaths, are they justified and should the man behind the discovery feel responsible? – there is no significant attempt to answer them. Overall, this film just feels like a poor man’s attempt at Inception or Matrix, so save your time and watch those instead.

The Meyerowitz Stories

The Meyerowitz Stories, a film centered around the interactions of a dysfunctional family, was, in a word, Groundhog Day-esque. Every time the screen cut to black and I sighed with relief that the film was finally over, it just kept going. It is tough to summarize what the movie is about, because it really isn’t about anything. It jumps around absurdly from scene to scene with no apparent connection between them, introducing new characters just to toss them to the side five minutes later, and the central characters who do remain are so unbelievably infuriating I wanted to bury myself in the ground. The choppy cuts felt as though I was supposed to respect them for their artyness (I didn’t), and I think I was supposed to read something into the ever-recurring shots of characters running places (I didn’t). There are some glimmers of hope: Sandler is remarkably less awful in this film than in his others, and Adam Driver’s brief appearance provides the only point at which I am able to laugh with the film, not at it, but these things are not enough to save the film from being a catastrophic trainwreck. I suppose it should be noted that other critics – professional ones, who know what they’re talking about – have hailed the film, calling it “flat-out brilliant” (Rolling Stone) and the best ever release from Netflix. I tried to see their point of view, I really did, but I could not escape the gnawing feeling that accompanied me throughout the film: all things considered, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.

2017 in Netflix Shows

Pihla Pekkarinen — Fri, 29 Dec 2017 18:42:52 +0000

With new shows coming out practically every week, each one different from the last, it would be easy to get lost in the whirlwind, give up, and re-watch Friends for the hundredth time. And there’s nothing wrong with that; Friends is a classic. But in case you care to venture beyond it, UCL FilmSoc has put together a handy guide to some of our favourite shows released by Netflix in 2017. Whether you’re hoping to watch something completely new or wondering whether it’s worth catching up on the newest season of that one show you sort of liked but don’t really remember, this is the place to look. Hope you enjoy, and here’s to more bingeing in 2018!

Thirteen Reasons Why (Season 1, March 2017)

If you were young and alive in 2017, it would have been difficult to miss hearing the words Thirteen Reasons Why. Probably the most talked-about release from Netflix this year, this series – centred around a high school suicide victim – provoked both praise and indignation for its graphic depictions of subjects such as rape and self-harm. The characters in this adaptation of Jay Asher’s novel are marvellously complex, most of them neither evil nor angelic (in a remarkable improvement from the book the series is based on) and the young cast does a terrific job of portraying high school angst. However, it is impossible to escape the fact that the series is designed for mass teen viewership: it drifts in focus as it tries to cater to every high school fad and relies heavily on an attractive cast and cliffhangers designed for optimum bingeing. Therefore, though the show should be commended on its expert handling of difficult themes and, additionally, its effort in raising awareness for suicide prevention, I remain skeptical of the upcoming second season of original material. Whether the show will be able to build on its momentum and succeed without Hannah Baker’s narrative arc as a driving force remains to be seen.

Mindhunter (Season 1, October 2017)

David Fincher’s Mindhunter is nothing short of a success. Its renewal for a second season, before the series even premiered, is proof of Netflix’s trust in the master filmmaker, who seems to enjoy his time away from the big screen. With witty dialogue and strong leads, this show about FBI agents unravelling the minds of serial killers feels fresh and new while staying true to the genre. Mindhunter is not groundbreaking, but it is up there with recent years’ best crime shows, such as Hannibal or True Detective. Despite its underdeveloped female characters, it is reassuring to witness a director’s fearless transition to television, especially one who is able to shoot long dialogue scenes without boring the audience to death. A proud successor to Zodiac, its suspenseful openings and cliff-hanger will leave the viewer wanting more; and we can be certain Fincher will do everything at his disposal to tell the story the way he wants to, regardless of expectations. Mindhunter leaves in its audience’s mind a bizarre, eerie mark, suggesting that anybody could be(come) a murderer, if exposed to madness for too long.

When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

Master of None (Season 2, May 2017)

To think that dude who played background characters in those Judd Apatow-y films (okay, he was amazing as Tom Haverford in Parks and Recreation) would make and star in a genuinely brilliant TV show is crazy – but now we have to think it. Master of None’s tremendous first season was an incredibly fresh taste of quasi-ordinary city life, with wonderful writing and humour backed up by genuinely clever and developed themes. In Season 2, Aziz Ansari has retained the same humour while taking the series into audacious but exciting territory. Here he blends his comforting New York comedy (and added Italian twist) with more risky content, which could have been a disaster, but only adds to the show’s charm. Highlights include a wonderful episode on homosexuality and family, and the astonishing Robert Altman-esque episode New York, I Love You, which concretely transcends Ansari’s medium into something truly artistic – one of the greatest episodes of TV I’ve ever seen. His whacky ending and constant nods to Italian cinema makes the second season far less cohesive than the first, but its experimentation somehow almost always – against all the odds – works. I found myself baffled at not being able to name a current Netflix original with more stunning cinematography than a stand-up comedian’s comedy-drama brainchild. With his always topical themes Ansari gives us with true passion and insight into his mind, and it’s a pleasure. It is a testament to him that even Netflix, which already carries his show, has developed shows inspired by Master of None, like the recently renewed Easy. He might well be a new, not-a-sexual-predator (fingers crossed) Woody Allen.

Stranger Things (Season 2, October 2017)

The Duffer Brothers have hit the sweet spot for the second time with the new season of Stranger Things. Given that last season wrapped itself up rather nicely, it might have been a challenge to make this new season feel necessary beyond resolving the cheeky cliffhanger with Will Byers. It succeeds in most regards. There are elements that don’t work as well – Jonathan and Nancy’s subplot feels like a bit of a drag, especially compared to the ascension of Steve Harrington to one of the best and most endearing characters. On the whole, however, it’s great. The dynamic between the kids sparkles even more, the new character additions are terrific – in particular Sean Astin’s Bob – the special effects are far more refined, and most importantly it captures that same old nostalgic joy while taking the storyline in new, sometimes quite daring, directions. And of course, Eleven, played once again to perfection by Millie Bobby Brown, is as great as ever.

Better Call Saul (Season 3, April 2017)

It took a while, but Vince Gilligan and co. have finally found the spark to make the Breaking Bad spin-off about everyone’s favourite scoundrel lawyer-in-the-making, Jimmy McGill/Saul Goodman (Bob Odenkirk), click consistently. The previous two seasons had featured some great episodes and performances, but never quite cohered to make anything more than ‘pretty good’ television. This season, which focuses its scope on the battle of wits between Jimmy and his manipulative, bitter older brother Chuck (an amazing Michael McKean), while Jonathan Banks’ Mike gets pulled further into the underworld of drug dealers, with the welcome return of some very familiar faces. The pacing of this season is excellent, with no wasted line or scene, and every supporting character gets to shine – from Michael Mando’s increasingly sympathetic gangster Nacho to Jimmy’s legal associate/lover Kim (Rhea Seehorn). It maintains a vibrant, cheeky sense of fun throughout, while also becoming an exceptionally compelling drama when it wants, most notably in the courtroom drama episode ‘Chicanery’. It’s a fantastic season in which the show seems to finally become its own beast, rather than just the offspring of Breaking Bad.

American Vandal (Season 1, September 2017)

One of the surprise delights of the year, American Vandal’s ‘Making a Murderer’ investigation of high school parking lot vandalism, works primarily thanks to its “serious” approach. It’s not potential simple laughs at the phallic graffiti but the solemn reactions to them that really sell the humour of the show. The series as a whole is a very satisfying deconstruction of the ‘true crime documentary’ genre, but is so much more than just that. It captures a surprisingly natural and realistic feel of high school life, and actually grants some genuine emotional investment to the proceedings. It’s not flawless; a few of the middle episodes turn their wheels a bit in order to generate more ‘drama’. But on the whole, it’s a considerable success.

Orange is the New Black (Season 5, June 2017)

Oh, Litchfield. Five seasons in, Orange is the New Black has thrived in its pairing of familiar community feeling with outrageous spontaneity, but for how long? The fifth season keeps up the formula but, with overconfidence, often misses its mark. Continuing the political themes of the Season 4, we find the inmates smack in the middle of a riot that seems to somehow be going pretty well despite the total anarchy ruling the prison corridors. Poussey’s murder looms over the action as an all-too-bleak reminder of the show’s more realistic plot turns, but the 13 episodes fail to smoothly bridge the leap from this tragedy to its more comedic elements. Additionally, the writing messes with some of the most complex and sensitive characters and their trajectories. Piscatella confusingly switches from loathsome guard, to pitiful lost soul, to some kind of monstrous embodiment of evil masculine energy. Pennsatucky apparently not only forgives but pursues a romantic relationship with her rapist. Alison, a black Hijab-wearing Muslim inmate, was a refreshing addition to the cast last season, but her flashback plummets exciting potential into sheer disappointment. (Polygamy, really? Great job basing Alison’s backstory on an ‘Islamic’ practice that barely exists in the American Muslim community.) The season’s lowlights are met with a few enlightened philosophical moments, but overall it’s a bit of a mess – an OINTB-style mess, and thus mostly forgivable – but a mess nonetheless. OITNB’s fifth season may have lost its way, but there is high chance the talented writers may salvage it yet.

One Day At A Time (Season 1, January 2017)

One Day at a Time is a CBS sitcom developed by Whitney Blake – no, wait. One Day at a Time, which mimics its namesake in the broad structure of single-mother-with-teenage-kids and little else, is a sharp, compassionate family comedy with its feet firmly rooted in Netflix’s 2017 demographic. We follow the life of Penelope Alvarez (Justina Machado), Afghanistan vet and exhausted nurse, whose (outspokenly Cuban) mother (scene-stealing Rita Moreno) sleeps behind the living room, (outspokenly feminist) teenage daughter Elena (Isabella Gomez) has taken objection to the prospect of a quinceañera, and (outspokenly twelve years old) son is… twelve. (Sorry, Alex [Marcel Ruiz] – he rounds out the family perfectly well, just tends to take a back seat to the powerhouse women around him. To which this reviewer has no objection.) Throw in a halfway-to-self-aware white neighbour and Penelope’s addled colleagues, and you’ve got a recipe for hilarious and pointed takes on parenting, life after war, diaspora culture and plenty more in one of this year’s overlooked gems. If you do feel like catching up, you’d better hurry – the second season will be out on the 26th of January.

Big Mouth (Season 1, September 2017)

Adult-oriented cartoons have found new life in recent years with shows like Rick and Morty and Bojack Horseman. The latest feat in this genre is Big Mouth, a thoroughly funny time capsule that transports you back into life at thirteen. The early teen years are a sore memory for most, and Big Mouth unapologetically pokes fun at every aspect of tweendom: zits, hormones, awkwardness, and – most of all – horniness. The hormone monsters, stuck-in-high-school Coach Steve and the ghost of Duke Ellington, incite bursts of uncontrollable laughter and invite Netflix to employ it’s “Still Watching?” feature as you inevitably binge the short episodes back-to-back. Some of the moments are a little hard to swallow (pregnant pillow, anyone?), but if you don’t mind crude humour and are looking to shed any rose-colored glasses you might still view your middle school years through, Big Mouth is definitely the show for you.

Bojack Horseman (Season 4, September 2017)

Hilarious yet heartbreaking in equal measure, BoJack Horseman has – for good reason – joined the ranks of the absolute best of not just Netflix, but of what animation has to offer on the small screen. Over the course of four seasons the show has skewered Hollywoo(d) and celebrity culture in ways that leave both those completely out of the loop and those following the film industry with a fine-tooth comb rolling on the floor with laughter, while packing an immense emotional punch, particularly through its portrayal of mental health issues and how society views them. It’s an incredibly silly premise that the show fully commits to and delivers on (animal puns aplenty); and while all that’s happening, it doesn’t shy away from pushing boundaries (the dialogue-free Season 3 episode ‘Fish out of Water’ has been hailed as some of 2016’s absolute best television) and tackling more emotional and tougher subjects with a surprising amount of gravity. And the cherry on the top is the cast: not only the voice actors (including Will Arnett as the titular horse, Alison Brie, Amy Sedaris, Paul F. Tompkins, Aaron Paul, Stanley Tucci, Olivia Wilde) but the countless animated celebrity cameos – sometimes voiced by the stars themselves.

The Get Down: Part 2 (April 2017)

2017 saw the return (and subsequent cancellation) of Baz Luhrmann’s The Get Down, set in New York City, 1978. Disco and hip hop mingle on hot summer nights in the Bronx; dreams are born and pursued; young people fall in love. I loved the setting of this show and the evocative cultural moment it captured, as well as most of the performances; Jaden Smith’s “Dizzee” Kipling aka graffiti artist Rumi 411 is the real laugh. The show was good, descending into decent by Part 2, but never great. And with a $120 million budget (The Get Down was Netflix’s most expensive show to date), you need great. Subverting expectations that the funds and creative team would take the show above and beyond television expectations, its narrative unfortunately sagged and became riddled with plot holes by Part 2, leaving only the excess of stylistic detail and shimmery dance sequences behind to support its appeal. The Atlantic rightly called it “the show that could’ve been”. Personally, I applaud the effort, very successful at times, and especially commend The Get Down’s diverse cast and killer soundtrack.

The OA (Season 1, December 2016)

From the fertile minds of Brit Marling and Zal Batmanglij, the OA hits all the right spots. Written by by both, directed by Batmanglij, and starring Marling, the two continue to explore a cinematic partnership refined through years of collaboration. Both have backgrounds in film – the show’s cinematic structure is owed to this. However, Batmanglij has made full use of the episodic structure allowing for some sharp cliff-hangers. The show deals with very interesting themes, including consciousness, the afterlife, and near-death experiences. This is not surprising when surveying Marling and Batmanglij’s previous filmic pursuits (Sound of My Voice, Another Earth, I Origins). The plot centres around Prairie (Marling), a blind girl who disappeared several ears ago, returns to a Middle-American small-town with her sight restored and a whirlwind of a tale. The use of a plot riddled with twists and turns allows Batmanglij to explore of a plethora of interesting themes without neglecting audience entertainment. Sometimes it seems Marling and Batmanglij are so excited by their own ideas that they repeat them to the point of self-indulgence. Nevertheless, the show boasts beautiful visuals and good writing. The latter is a testament to polyvalence; Marling and Batmanglij managed to work in a selection of mood-board interesting concepts – from Russian aristocracy to Hans Christian Anderson to Stockholm syndrome. Combined, these concepts work together to create an extremely suspenseful, fantastical genre-bending drama. Sci-fi? Let’s have it. Fantasy? Toss some of that in there. Mystery? Why not. Coming-of-age? Sure. The show treads some familiar ground, and the question running throughout – whether we can believe Brit Marling’s fantastical tale – is not of huge importance to the plot. All in all, Marling and Batmanglij have managed to create a wildly entertaining show. It is thrilling. They know this.