tv review – UCL Film & TV Society

‘Primal’ (Season 1) Review: The Art of Survival, The Beauty of Compassion

Marcin Zembrzuski — Sun, 02 Feb 2020 17:00:08 +0000

Marcin Zembrzuski takes a look at celebrated cartoonist, Genndy Tartakovsky’s latest work.

The rawest cartoon of 2019 is, in my opinion, Genndy Tartakovsky’s Primal. This prehistoric adventure thriller, equally influenced by modern nature documentaries and 1970’s pulp fiction, presents the everyday life of a caveman and a dinosaur cooperating to survive in a world of constant danger. The premise of the show is as simple as its title suggests: it is hunt or be hunted, kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. Although this might imply some monotony, Primal frequently surprises with its creativity and boldness, simultaneously pointing out that violence is an inseparable part of our reality and proving the significance of empathy.

Just like almost all of Tartakovsky’s previous creations — i.e. Dexter’s Laboratory (1996-2003), most seasons of Samurai Jack (2001-2017) and Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003-2005) — Primal was supposed to be a children’s animation, introducing the adventures of a boy and his pet-dinosaur. However, this idea, which occurred to the Russian artist about 8 years ago, did not seem to be interesting enough to be developed. It all changed when Samurai Jack’s final season got transferred from Cartoon Network to its mature audience sister station Adult Swim, which allowed Tartakovsky — the director, screenwriter and producer — to partially transform the show. He made it darker and more violent, and presented some distinctive non-dialogue action sequences. After a laudatory response, the artist started to dream about a new series that would build on this new darker tone. Then, he just incorporated it with the earlier idea of a prehistoric adventure, though it obviously meant making some significant changes. The cave-kid became a grown-up man, the dinosaur was no longer his pet, the world around them started to be extremely dangerous, and all the potential dialogues evaporated. It became Primal.

We meet Spear, the main character, as he is hunting and then, just a few moments later, is being hunted himself. Even though these first minutes clearly indicate that this is a story about the huge difficulties of survival in the prehistoric era, we are still not prepared for what comes next: Spear is not able to protect his family from a pack of tyrannosaurs who brutally devour them in front of him. Soon, after considering suicide, he accidentally comes across another group of tyrannosaurs, this time a female feeding her two cubs. The hero considers attacking them, but then the dinosaurs that slaughtered his beloved ones appear again, hungry for more meat. Spear defends the mentioned female tyrannosaurs against the predators, although failing to protect the cubs. Sharing the same tragedy and carrying a similar grief, the mother (Fang) instinctively follows Spear and they eventually become almost inseparable.

A relationship between a man and a dinosaur is far from predictable. Though Fang’s behaviour was inspired by Tartakovsky’s own dog (in its mimicry and mannerisms), she has a strong personality and is equal to Spear. They travel and hunt together, but their mutual help is contrasted with their egotism, mistrust and misunderstanding. In other words, they have to learn how to live together. The development of their complicated friendship, which is based on compassion, perfecting their hunting strategies and consequently building loyalty, is one of the show’s strongest points. Its most interesting fragments, however, come with Spear’s melancholy and anger since he sometimes recognizes in Fang exactly the same type of animal that ate his family, and considers taking revenge by killing his companion. These scenes seem to subtly refer to the theme of prejudice, since the hero has to learn the differences between various representatives of one species.

What is more, the show offers some contemplative moments: Tartakovsky lets his characters travel, track, recall the past or wonder about their surroundings. All this, thanks to the lack of words and focus on evocative images and simple sounds, make the narration raw and effective. Most of the journeys, though, take place between all of the first season’s five episodes, as each one of them shows the heroes appearing in completely different locations with varying weather conditions. Moreover, we never know how much time has passed from the previous adventure and the present moment, but with new places always come new creatures, both historical (obviously, mainly different types of dinosaurs) and purely fictional (e.g. gigantic monster-bats that make the fourth episode a true horror story). Some animals appear just for a moment and then never come back which only emphasizes the richness of the presented world, and captivates the audience even further.

The permanent fight for survival, albeit strictly pertaining to the primordial context where death was commonplace, suggests that violence is as natural an ingredient of our reality as the air itself. With the exception of some dark and brutal rites seen in the fifth episode, the acts of violence are justified. There is no exploitation of other beings — which was something developed by human civilizations centuries later — and there is no moral distinction between the good and the evil, as we understand it today.

The best example of such ambivalence comes with the surprisingly sad third episode in which we observe an old mammoth that has lost its herd during a blizzard. Wandering alone, the animal is suddenly attacked by Spear and Fang. The heroes are incredibly merciless, ready to do anything to kill the huge prey, which makes them look like the cruel antagonists. But, obviously, they just need its meat and fur to survive. Furthermore, the moment of its death is also complicated by the remorse appearing in the expression of Spear. They did what they had to do, even if that is ugly.

This ambiguity is the quintessence of the show which is simultaneously ferocious, bleak and touching. Despite the simplicity of the plot, Tartakovsky convincingly presents the complexity of human nature and that of the world that surrounds us. He underlines the necessity of violence, while always remembering to show its terror. The story of the unexpected friendship is defined by honesty as the Russian animator seems to really love (and care for) his characters. And that is what makes Primal beautiful. But be warned — it will break your heart.

Primal is available to stream on Adult Swim now. Check out the trailer below:

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:

‘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:

‘Black Mirror: Bandersnatch’ Review

Sabastian Astley — Wed, 16 Jan 2019 16:28:40 +0000

Sabastian Astley reviews Black Mirror’s intense and ambitious interactive special.

Black Mirror writer and show co-creator Charlie Brooker sees off the year with a bold and innovative new episode of the horror anthology. “Bandersnatch,” directed by David Slade, takes on an interactive format, merging a “choose your own adventure” structure with a disturbing commentary on the idea of free will.

Of course, this isn’t the first time Brooker has had the idea of toying around with experimental concepts for episodes. He envisioned a “nightmare mode” for the conclusion of Season 3’s “Playtest,” with alternate, fourth wall-breaking scenes. Ultimately, it was deemed too complicated an idea to execute. Fast forward a year, and Netflix had begun to experiment with interactive episodic content in children’s shows like Puss in Boots. Brooker and producer Annabel Jones were approached with the idea to trial the concept for an adult audience through Black Mirror. However, they weren’t convinced. “We thought it was gimmicky,” said Brooker in an interview with The Independent.

In an ironic twist, later that year, the narrative concept that would come to be “Bandersnatch” was created in the Black Mirror writer’s room, leaving Brooker to realise that the only way they could do this story would be through the very experimental format they had initially rejected. And thus, “Bandersnatch” was born.

The episode itself is immersed in interesting context: the company Tuckersoft within the episode was inspired by real-life Imagine Software, a short-lived Liverpudlian company of the early 1980s. Imagine Software actually developed and advertised a real game called Bandersnatch. (It was never released, and the company consequently went bankrupt shortly after). Additionally, the influences of Phillip K. Dick, George Orwell, and even Lewis Carroll are clear through the use of alternate timelines, parallel dimensions, government conspiracies, and the simplistic idea of “falling down the rabbit hole.”

But what is “Bandersnatch” actually about?

In the episode, we follow up-and-coming game developer Stefan Butler (Fionn Whitehead) as he attempts to adapt the epic choose-your-own-adventure book Bandersnatch into a game. After being invited to demo and then release his game with Tuckersoft, a prolific video game company known for producing famed developer Colin Ritman’s (Will Poulter) games, we follow – and choose – Stefan’s development both of the game and in his own life.

Because “Bandersnatch” is a unique piece of media, being an amalgamation of both full motion video game narration style and television, many of the pros and cons of both types of media flow into one another. The interactive format itself is an incredible step for Netflix into a potential smorgasbord of content, ranging from existing properties branching out into similar experimental pieces, to the launching of new properties specifically formed around the idea of interactivity. It helps that Brooker is able to form a convincing, meta narrative that helps the choose-your-own-adventure format feel natural; if the story were different, I believe it may have felt more forced and cliche in its approach to interactivity. Dating the actual narrative to the mid-’80s also seemed to help, given the rise of the choose-your-own-adventure fad at the time. It also gave a unique kitsch to the episode that was greatly appreciated, from the vintage aspect ratios that enhance flashbacks, to the vibrant colors emphasizing drug-induced hallucination sequences.

Throughout my play-through, I found myself surprised at the breadth of options and the length of certain paths. The effort that went into writing each path is clear, especially intentionally setting out to hit a dead end and restart the episode. It’s a sign of commitment to the experimental format the episode relies on.

In terms of entertainment, it’s one of Black Mirror‘s most intriguing concepts yet. The idea of being controlled is a common one – and not only in the sci-fi genre. However, Black Mirror heightens the idea through the viewer’s ability to directly interfere with Stefan’s life themselves, to the point where Stefan directly confronts the viewer multiple times throughout. The feelings the episode generates are similar to those director Michael Haneke affects in Funny Games; you feel confronted in your complicity in the character’s torture, yet you continue to play. You want to see how awful you can make Stefan’s life, even when he screams at you to stop. It’s compelling in its cruelty.

However, there is an extent to which “Bandersnatch” can be enjoyed. Because of the choose-your-own-adventure format, the narrative doesn’t feel complete; rather, you feel as though you get lost in a sense, having to mentally backtrack through the disjointed narrative. Although fun to toy around with, the interactivity is ultimately an emotional barrier to feeling fully invested in the episode, as you are constantly aware of your involvement. The episode makes no attempts to immerse you; it instead constantly informs you of the falseness of it all, down to the ending. Additionally, as with all choose-your-own-adventure stories, there is only an illusion of multiplicity. Humans pride themselves on feeling as though they’ve completed something, and many of the endings simply don’t provide this satisfaction. In truth, “Bandersnatch” only has two true endings. All other endings are meaningless, simply a moment to entertain you before propelling you back through the timeline.

Ultimately, “Bandersnatch” is a fantastic experiment in interactive content, and Black Mirror was a great platform for directing it toward an adult audience. Brooker has a clear idea that he sets out to execute in the episode, and for the most part it works. However, when the gimmick begins to wear off, when you realize some of the paths are nothing more than dead ends, and as tantalizing as those “1 trillion story combinations” sound, you realize there are ultimately only two paths you can take, and they’ve already been decided for you.

Black Mirror: Bandersnatch is currently available for viewing on Netflix. Check out the trailer below:

‘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:

‘Doctor Who’ Series 11 Mid Season Review

Sabastian Astley — Sat, 17 Nov 2018 17:35:49 +0000

Sabastian Astley reviews the newest series of the timey wimey sci-fi show so far.

The 11th series of the iconic BBC show Doctor Who is unique from that of its decennial predecessors, from the change of showrunner from Steven Moffatt to Chris Chibnall to the passing of the torch from composer Murray Gold to Segun Akinola . However, the most revolutionary change comes with the hiring of actress Jodie Whittaker, the 13th incarnation and also the first-ever female Doctor. These changes alone are enough to redefine the show completely. However, with the experimental three-companion structure that adds Bradley Walsh, Tosin Cole, and Mandip Gill as series regulars, as well as the upgrade in production design with Academy Award-winning VFX house DNEG, this new series can easily be seen as a “soft reboot” of the show.

Now halfway through the season, have these changes revitalized the show?

The Woman Who Fell To Earth (Written by Chris Chibnall)

This series opener sees the Doctor crash-land into Sheffield. She meets Yaz (Gill), Ryan (Cole), and Graham (Walsh), all of whom become entangled in the monstrous warrior Tzim-Sha’s hunt. The episode culminates in Tzim-Sha’s defeat, but at the cost of the life of Ryan’s nan and Graham’s wife, Grace.

The episode’s structure itself cleverly envelops us into the Doctor’s companions’ world, and it feels as though we follow them meeting the Doctor, rather than the Doctor meeting them. This is a welcome change to the Moffatt era, where companions felt more defined to a singular idea. These companions feel real, in large part due to Chibnall’s well-structured character development featuring Ryan’s dyspraxia and Graham’s struggle in playing the role of surrogate grandfather to Ryan. During the closing sequence, Walsh’s Graham creates a powerful resonance in portraying heartbreaking grief at the loss of Grace. In addition to the improvement in writing, the improvement of the production design is clear with Tzim-Sha, from his Predator-esque body armor to his teeth-covered face. The VFX during his hatching from a strange, onion-like egg proves the brilliance DNEG has to offer the show. A small but appreciated detail was the creative rebirth of the Sonic Screwdriver, which, in turn, provides us with some character development for a more hands-on Doctor and allows for a refreshing display of intelligence that follows the screenwriting rule of “show, don’t tell.”

Because the episode focuses more on the companions, however, Whittaker’s Doctor doesn’t shine through as much as she could; rather, we see flashes of 10, 11 and 12 throughout the episode without any further definitive characteristics of 13. The defeat of Tzim-Sha through the redirection of the DNA bombs seems more in line with the actions of Capaldi’s darker Doctor rather than with the exuberant and joyful Doctor Whittaker plays throughout the rest of the episode.

Ending on an incredibly unexpected cliffhanger leaving the four suddenly trapped in outer space with moments of life left, Chibnall crafts an incredibly human series opener. This refreshes the typical Moffatt “I Am The Doctor” approach, instead adopting a “We Are The Companions” style.

The Ghost Monument (Written by Chris Chibnall)

After being rescued, the Doctor and companions must assist Angstrom (Susan Lynch) and Epzo (Shaun Dooley), the finalists of the universe’s riskiest race, and reach the Ghost Monument on the planet Desolation. Their own survival is at risk and they must succeed in order to potentially make it home.

We finally witness the new intro sequence with this episode, and it is both incredibly creative and visually striking – easily the show’s best introduction sequence since its 2005 revival. With Segun Akinola’s composition, a combination of strings and bass draws the viewer into this unknown world, and it’s clear that the show has strengthened in some ways from this reshuffle. The cinematography of the episode is astounding, a strong example being the Cerebros one-shots, a cleverly-executed sequence design that would’ve otherwise felt forgettable. The landscape shots, filmed in South Africa, truly help the planet Desolation live up to its name, with barren deserts stretching beyond the scope of the frame to make survival seem hopeless. The writing of the main cast remains consistent, with Chibnall throwing in a few classic Doctor name-drops – “You never saw him [Pythagoras] with a hangover” – and mournful moments between Graham and Ryan which hit the appropriate emotional beats. Developing the sensitive issue of grief in the middle of an epic sci-fi adventure is no easy feat, but Chibnall manages it well. In contrast to the ‘Doctor lite’ criticism of the series opener, Whittaker now truly shines with her return to the TARDIS, packing a variety of emotions that emphasise the strong Doctor/TARDIS bond that Capaldi’s Doctor seemed to lack. The production design continues its streak of magnificence, especially with the new TARDIS; there are clear influences drawn from 10’s TARDIS and a more Classic Who console at the heart.

However, Chibnall falters in his writing as Ryan’s character seems flatter than in the series opener. He asks obvious questions, and his Call of Duty scene is an incredibly over-the-top and unnecessary comedic addition that feels like a step back for the character. Epzo, Angstrom, and the main villain of this episode, Ilin (Art Malik), all seem far too one-dimensional. Ilin is a rich overlord, and Epzo and Angstorm are hardened mercenary types driven by tragedy. All three are tropes often seen in sci-fi; Chibnall puts no original spin to these roles and the story plays out exactly how we expect it to. Additionally, all three individuals are supposedly “alien”; however, judging by their outfits alone, they wouldn’t be out of place on a high street in London. These three are a disappointment following the creative approach to otherworldly beings we saw with Tzim-Sha. Because of these one-dimensional characters, the Doctor and the trio therefore seem out of place due to their depth and development. Ultimately, it feels as though we are following two completely different stories with little connection to the other.

While continuing to develop many of the themes presented in the prior episode, Chibnall falters in his followup with a simplistic story that feels shallow. However, for the most part, this episode continues to show impressive production value and further develops the main cast of characters well.

Rosa (Written by Malorie Blackman & Chris Chibnall)

The crew accidentally lands in 1955 Montgomery, Alabama – the home of Rosa Parks and her iconic protest. After readings of artron energy appear, the Doctor begins an investigation. The crew uncovers a plot to prevent Rosa’s protest from occurring and must protect history itself.

“Rosa” is easily the juggernaut of this half of the series, and potentially the best episode of the entire run. The writing is incredible, and pulls no punches whatsoever. It’s likely co-writer Malorie Blackman was the driving force for this episode, building the world of the show while Chibnall maintains the main cast’s development. It feels as though the Doctor and her companions touch history rather than make it; Rosa acts fully of her own volition, with an immeasurable performance by Vinette Robinson. It’s difficult to put into words how true-to-life Robinson plays the figure, down to the smallest of gestures. She easily gives one of the best performances of a historical figure in Doctor Who history, rivaling Van Gogh to say the least. In terms of story, the narrative involves the Doctor and the trio much more and it feels as though they are a key element in driving the plot forward; this differs from the prior episode, in which they felt tacked on. The reintroduction of Time Agents through the villainous Krasko (Josh Bowman) was a terrific callback, showing Chibnall can confidently recall old characters other than the Dalek or Cyberman. Whittaker’s moments with Krasko allow for her confrontational and aggressive edge to show, displaying a brilliant mix of 10’s anger and 11’s restraint and channeling it into something entirely of her own incarnation.

Of course, the episode is not without its flaws. Krasko is very underdeveloped, a concurrent theme with Chibnall villains. “I’m a bad guy” is all we ever truly understand about him, save for a throwaway line about “you people” to Ryan about the origins for his villainous plot; this could imply anything from racially-motivated hatred to a general hatred of humanity in the Whoniverse. Additionally, Krasko’s disposal felt incredibly out of left field; Ryan’s shooting Krasko, propelling him into an unknown time while not outright killing him, is still an indirect (seemingly) murder by a companion. Yet, when Ryan tells the Doctor of this, she seems to just shrug it off. It feels incredibly out of line for a companion and a complete misunderstanding of the Doctor for her simple acceptance of the event. In relation to the companions, the episode seems to highlight the main problem of having a trio: a distinct lack of breathing room for the Doctor, undermining her character to solitary scenes between her and Krasko. Finally, the use of the song “Rise Up” by Andra Day was incredibly irritating, as it overwhelmed the ending and sucked all nuanced emotion out of the scene. (This recalls complaints about former composer Murray Gold’s music driving the emotion of the scene rather than the acting itself).

Easily the best episode of the season thus far, with an incredible approach to a sensitive topic through Vinette Robinson’s stunning portrayal, Doctor Who truly celebrates Rosa Parks as an individual.

Arachnids in the UK (Written by Chris Chibnall)

After finally returning to Sheffield, the Doctor and the trio find themselves investigating a mutant spider crisis, which seems to originate from the hotel Yaz’s mum, Najia (Shobna Gulati), works at, under the corporate capitalist Jack Robertson (Chris Noth).

This is a bad episode. Chibnall’s writing hits an incredible low point, as seen from the very opening. The awkwardly written encounter between Robertson and Frankie (Jaleh Alp) is another example of Chibnall’s plot-blocking. A far better sequence would have followed Najia’s perspective leading to the conversation in media res. Moving back to the gang momentarily, this is a clearly Yaz-centric episode, as we are introduced to her family. Her father, Hakim (Ravin J. Ganatra), is defined by one phrase: “conspiracy-obsessed.” A strong emphasis on familial development with Yaz would’ve been appreciated, but the “terrible pakora” banter is at least a nice touch, however fleeting it may be. The writing for almost everyone seems to have degraded, especially Ryan; without Graham at the character’s side, Chibnall seems unable to develop Ryan individually. His refusal to open his father’s letter until off-screen not only plot-blocks yet again, but also throws away a chance of a truly touching Ryan-centric moment showing the troublesome relationship between him and his father. Even the title “Arachnids in the UK” is a misstep in writing; the episode would’ve been better suited to “Spiders in Specific Locations,” if anything, as there are only three appearances by the titular creatures in the entire episode.

The episode’s pace is nearly nonexistent through the exposition-laden dialogue; Chibnall inverts the “show, don’t tell” idea he executed so well in the series opener. However, all of these issues are insignificant compared to one: Chris Noth’s Robertson. Possibly one of the worst Doctor Who villains ever, a cringe-inducing metaphoric depiction of Donald Trump beats you over the head with every single word of dialogue, from the gun-loving mania to the literal Fire and Fury name drop. Depictions of Trump became oversaturated two years ago, and to call this beating a dead horse would be a charitable understatement. Chibnall somehow manages to heighten the Trump metaphor to new levels of mediocre screenwriting through the blindingly obvious female empowerment sequence over the Trump-esque figure that seemed unnecessary and horribly clunky, especially with its position in the episode’s denouement. Because of this car crash of a political metaphor, the secondary villain, Jade McIntyre (Tanya Fear), seemingly gets off completely without condemnation or judgement. Her character is painfully undeveloped, a recurring theme with Chibnall’s writing by this point outside of the main cast. From ordering a pointless spider specimen to analyse its size despite having already had contact with one, to her role in the spider mutations as the negligent scientist who discarded this toxic waste along with the actual spider corpses themselves which she openly admits to, she is, if anything, more involved than Robertson and yet carries none of the guilt or blame.

There are a few, and I mean a few, positive points to say about this episode. The opening shot replicating the perspective of a spider is an appreciated cinematic touch, as is the truly spectacular and jaw-dropping time vortex sequence, which would’ve been impossible if not for the assistance of the brilliant DNEG. An honorable mention must also be made to the truly skin-crawling moment when Graham asks whether Ryan has checked the ceiling, at which point we are greeted by a monstrously large mother spider guaranteed to get hearts racing. Once more, Whittaker exceptionally channels one of the core elements of the Doctor: the loneliness that she carries with her. With every episode, her Doctor portrayal grows stronger and stronger. Another standout performance is of course Bradley Walsh’s Graham, who continues to devastate with his heartbreaking, grief-stricken portrayal, pushed even further with his all-too-brief ghostly visions of Grace.

This is easily the worst episode of the series thus far, and possibly one of the dullest of the entire revival. A horribly-structured and terribly-written attempt at a romp across Sheffield leaves little for praise other than in the performances of Whittaker and Walsh.

The Tsuranga Conundrum (Written by Chris Chibnall)

After being injured by a sonic mine, the Doctor and the trio awaken in a hospital ship, stranded four days from the TARDIS. When the ship suddenly comes under attack by an immortal creature hellbent on their destruction, they must work quickly to save themselves and the bizarre patients aboard.

Although a definite improvement in quality from the previous episode, Chibnall’s writing continues to be confusing from the outset. For example, why is the group unable to move if the mine is counting down? A simple explanation from the Doctor of the reason for their immobility would’ve sufficed. This confounding writing continues with the Doctor’s injured state upon their awakening on the Tsuranga, despite her regenerative abilities which should make it more likely for her heal faster than the others. What is the narrative purpose of her weakened physical state? Chibnall once more disappoints with his “alien” races; if the most alien thing Chibnall can conceive other than an alien warrior á la Predator is a male pregnancy, we need more individual writers. Both Astos (Brett Goldstein) and Mabli (Lois Chimimba) are “Chibnall Throwaways” – one-dimensional, simplistic characters simply designed to push the plot forward.

The introduction of General Cicero (Suzanne Packer) distracts from an already divided narrative between the Pting and the pregnant man. We cannot possibly get enough screen time to develop this triptych sufficiently, and as a result, the episode suffers greatly. The sinister and threatening tone of the episode is quickly eliminated with the team’s interaction with the Pting a mere 15 or 20 minutes into the episode. The episode could’ve benefited greatly from stronger tension-building followed by a confrontational meeting, juxtaposing the cutesy appearance of the Pting for a greater payoff. Furthermore, we don’t need to see the Pting fact file. The more we know, the less fearful we are of the creature, with the mention of a purely non-organic diet immediately placing the crew out of direct danger. Moving back to the pregnancy plot line, this is a clear shoehorn by Chibnall for some individual Ryan development, but it’s poorly executed. It would work if Ryan was scared of fatherhood himself, but in terms of a distanced father-son relationship, it misses the mark greatly.

However, it must be said that there is fantastic cinematography from the opening; the monolithic alien junkyard shows the production design has no intention of dipping in quality. Whittaker likewise shows this, bringing a vulnerability to her Doctor not often seen by other incarnations. A selfish side comes with this vulnerability, creating a surprising subversion of roles in which Astos the medical doctor becomes the voice of reason over the Doctor herself, however briefly. Her mini-monologues dedicated to imagination are a nice addition by Chibnall, giving us that unique Doctor flair without pausing the episode entirely like Moffatt’s writing often demanded. As well as this, the Pting plot line shows that Chibnall is clearly influenced by Alien, and Segun Akinola’s soundscape creates a cold and sinister atmosphere that brilliantly unsettles the viewer, furthering that Alien-esque approach. The Pting plot line rounds off with a surprisingly logical and intelligent ending through the Doctor’s removal of the Pting via an explosive snack from the ship’s system, an uncharacteristically well-written resolution from Chibnall.

‘The Tsuranga Conundrum’ is a masterclass in how to overcomplicate your episode, with Chibnall throwing too many balls in the air, which land at different moments to create a chaotic and confusing mess. There is clear potential in the simplistic Alien-influenced narrative, but it is sadly neglected. However, Whittaker’s Doctor explores emotional territory only seen in glimpses of previous incarnations.

In conclusion, Series 11 is tricky to navigate. With some serious highs and some dramatic lows, it seems difficult to predict how the series will ultimately be regarded once it has finished its run. There are some elements that have definitely benefited massively from this “soft reboot,” with the truly marvelous production design and the subtleties of Segun Akinola’s composition heightening the episodes greatly. Some elements still appear to be in a chaotic state of flux, though this may be due to the Chibnall-heavy writing this first half of the season has encountered. I fully believe Jodie Whittaker as the Doctor, and I grow excited to see what new elements she brings to her portrayal in the latter half of the season. I believe that her make-or-break would be in response to the loss of one or more of the companions – the Doctor is, after all, built on grief and loss. I’m certainly looking forward to fresh writers and seeing how the main cast is handled without Chibnall’s direct influence. However, I remain very optimistic about the second half of the series, which promises a bold portrayal of the Partition of India, depictions of gigantic companies like Amazon through “Kerblam,” and a final historical episode in the Jacobean era with James I.

Only time (and space) will tell, but I’m definitely looking forward to the rest of the ride.

Doctor Who airs every Sunday on BBC One at 6:30pm. Check out its trailer below:

‘Dead Line’ Review: The Eerie ‘Inside No. 9’ Live Episode

Alex Dewing — Fri, 02 Nov 2018 17:47:49 +0000

Alex Dewing reviews the live Halloween special of the BBC dark comedy anthology series.

The deliciously dark duo of Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton, who over the course of twenty-three years working together have introduced viewers to the twisted League of Gentleman and the equally wicked Psychoville, enter new territory in their latest project Dead Line. If the first episode is anything to go by, the upcoming fifth season of the anthology series Inside No. 9 will continue to make audiences laugh and scream in equal measure. This episode may surprise viewers not because it was broadcast months ahead of the rest of the show, but because it is the first episode to be broadcast entirely live. As one could expect from the creators of a series that features a musical episode, a single-shot episode written in iambic pentameter, and an episode shot entirely through CCTV cameras, Shearsmith and Pemberton continue to tackle more and more audacious ideas, raising the bar both for themselves and for TV itself. Dead Line, by far the pair’s most ambitious, and perhaps most enjoyable, project to date, went off without a hitch (so to speak).

This episode follows Arthur Flitwick (Pemberton) as he seemingly communes with the dead through an old flip phone found in the local graveyard. In his performance, Pemberton invokes the old whimsy of his beloved Psychoville character Oscar Lomax. Stephanie Cole brings more farcical humour in the ditzy Moira, friend of the lost phone’s owner, while Shearsmith makes his entry as the suspiciously saintly Reverend Neil – unfortunately alongside a brief technical glitch leaving the audience without audio.

Sadly, this slight glitch was not the only one to occur on the night of the live episode: as the transmission fell silent again a BBC apology placeholder appeared, the continuity announcer apologising for the “gremlins” in the system. A rerun of the popular episode A Quiet Night In was temporarily played as the sound issues were dealt with. The duo seems aware of how people are excited by such errors: “I think that’s what people want to see,” Pemberton himself said to the BBC Media Centre. Few others would be as excited about the prospect of technical failings as these two. However, it is this understanding of their audience that allows them to create a brilliantly harrowing experience in spite of the issues that befell them during transmission.

By the time Dead Line finds its footing again, the audience is thoroughly engaged and it takes no time at all for the scares to start rolling in. With a variety of filming techniques – including voyeuristic CCTV footage and found footage-style scenes reminiscent of BBC’s 1992 Halloween mockumentary Ghostwatch – there is a depth to this very traditional horror narrative that compels you to carry on in spite of every fright. Dead Line’s scare tactics are scattered assuredly throughout the episode on a backdrop that is exhaustively seeped in an eerie atmosphere. It climbs and crescendos at an easy pace that only Pemberton and Shearsmith would have the confidence to attempt.

When asked before shooting if this episode would follow in the footsteps of The Trial of Elizabeth Gadge or The Devil of Christmas as one of the few episodes taking on period settings, Pemberton said: “[Dead Line] is going to be contemporary.” This assertion is a complete understatement; Dead Line feels as if it could only exist in our world, a world in which losing a mobile phone is comparable to losing a life (and a world in which fans are quick to turn to Twitter to sympathise or scold the team for technical issues). The episode’s surprisingly simple setup permits it to instead turn meta and find its scares in the audiences’ own technological anxieties – and with such flawless execution, what scares they are! Whether you’re a fan of Pemberton and Shearsmith or if this is the first time you’ve heard of the duo, Dead Line is a piece of TV that deserves a watch.

Inside No. 9 will return with its fifth series in 2019. Dead Line is currently available to view on BBC iPlayer.

‘Atlanta: Robbin’ Season’ Review

Raphael Duhamel — Mon, 28 May 2018 18:19:57 +0000

Raphael Duhamel reviews the second season of Donald Glover’s series.

The first sequence of Atlanta’s second season sets the tone for every other episode: two young unidentified men prepare to raid a fast-food restaurant, which escalates to an incongruous stand-off ending with an aerial shot of a bloodstained woman, screaming and crying in the middle of a road. From this premise onwards, the phenomenal showrunner Donald Glover strives to demonstrate that Atlanta: Robbin’ Season is not just a follow-up to the successful and more light-hearted first series, but truly a new chapter in the lives of Alfred (Bryan Tyree Henry) and Earn, played by himself. This opening act shows none of the already established characters, yet it still feels appropriate and relevant in a series which continually oscillates between dream-like sequences and chronicles of everyday African-American life in the Georgian city. Atlanta’s exceptional blend of comedy and grittiness, and its hauntingly realistic themes set it apart from any other show on television, unashamedly capturing and presenting the nuances of black identity in America.

The second season’s title, referencing the time of the year, around Christmas, during which many robberies occur, establishes a hostile atmosphere for the entire string of episodes. Atlanta: Robbin’ Season acts as a learning process for Alfred, aka Paper Boi, and his team comprised of his cousin-manager Earn and astute pothead-philosopher Darius (Lakeith Stanfield), who must grow out of their lovable underdog status, as they face increasingly dire challenges. This second instalment feels very much influenced by Get Out, both in its depiction of the African-American condition in the United States – which Jordan Peele compared to the one experienced by Frankenstein’s monster – and its incorporation of supernatural segments. These elements are particularly salient in the second episode, during which Alfred and Earn go to a Spotify-like streaming service, where the rapper’s every movement is seemingly followed by their entirely white staff. Earn undergoes similar discomfort in the fourth episode, which takes place during a fictitious German festival, as Glover’s character is forced to participate in mysterious games by his girlfriend Van (Zazie Beetz), surrounded by participants in strange animal masks. The festival’s menacing atmosphere is enhanced by the use of 100 and 200mm lenses, meant to make the characters appear as if they were being spied on, and similarly, the absence of subtitles during German-spoken parts favour the spectator’s identification with alienated Earn. Atlanta’s exploration of the themes of racism and African-Americanness are never gratuitous, because they always contribute to character development: the fourth episode, through Earn’s estrangement, truly marks the separation between him and Van, as Glover’s character blames her for dragging him into this “white culture” he is not comfortable in.

The season’s standout episode, Teddy Perkins, also starts with the protagonist’s alienation in an unfriendly environment, before proceeding to explore the horrifying consequences of childhood trauma. Once again fully embracing Get Out’s atmosphere, it is appropriately led by Lakeith Stanfield, playing Darius, who opened Jordan Peele’s film. This episode takes place in a colonial mansion owned by a mysterious man bearing an incredible resemblance with post-surgery Michael Jackson, whom Darius visits in hope of acquiring a piano. Teddy Perkins is played by an exceptional Donald Glover who stayed in a white mask for the entire shoot, undoubtedly contributing to his eerie performance as a deeply troubled man, who was beaten by a father in perpetual search for excellence. One of Atlanta’s most unforgettable moments is featured in this episode, as Darius witness his host dipping his fingers into an ostrich egg before ingesting it. Such grotesque occurrences should make Teddy Perkins teeter between comedy and drama, yet its most entertaining aspects are eventually balanced out by its tragic ending, which leaves Darius and the spectator equally scarred. Directed by Hiro Murai, one of Glover’s preferred collaborators, and shot by cinematographer Christian Sprenger, Teddy Perkins remarkably plays on shadows and contrasts, perpetuating this season’s grainy look, even earning praises from Steven Soderbergh, who called it “the most beautifully photographed half-hour of television I’ve ever seen”. Its aesthetic beauty is only matched by its narrative significance, as the episode marks the beginning of the season’s second half, during which Alfred and Earn face life-threatening challenges.

The hostile atmospheres depicted in Atlanta appear as reflections of Glover’s harsh assessment of the United States, which surfaced in his recent music video for This Is America, also directed by Hiro Murai. The song’s refrain, which sees him repeating “Get your money, Black man”, could be this season’s motto, as Alfred and Earn must both take crucial decisions in order to make a living and survive in the rap world. Paper Boi learns to understand the consequences of celebrity on his life and the limits of wanting to stay “real”, whereas Earn, in a gut-wrenching finale, learns to become ruthless and put himself in front of others. Darius summarizes their situation in his usual, laid-back way: “Y’all both black, so I mean, y’all both can’t afford to fail”. The penultimate episode, featuring Alfred (Abraham Clinkscales) and Earn (Alkoya Brunson) as teenagers, paves the way for this realization, as Brunson’s character faces possible humiliation because of the shirt he is wearing, which appears to be fake. The episode’s most meaningful scene occurs when Earn is told by a white friend that he should not worry too much about what he wears, showing how appallingly early African-American consciousness, through social and racial discrimination, begins.

Atlanta: Robbin’ Season is an undoubtedly remarkable follow-up to an already excellent first season. Its characters and story gain both in stature and relevance, making for an altogether exciting and still underrated series, in the image of its creator, Donald Glover, who is quickly becoming one of the decade’s most brilliant creative minds.

The last episode of Atlanta: Robbin’ Season came out on May 10th.

Discussion – ‘Being Blacker’

Emma Davis — Mon, 12 Mar 2018 16:58:27 +0000

Emma Davis considers Molly Dineen’s documentary about the Brixton neighbourhood icon ahead of its premiere on BBC2 tonight.

In Molly Dineen’s latest documentary Being Blacker, Brixton is the undercurrent to the life and philosophy of Blacker Dread. There is plenty inspiration to take from London’s people, places and its spirit. Even UCL’s own student productions of Brick Lane in Flux and Heimweh tackled the social consequences of Britain’s cultural and economic behemoth. It was easy to assume that this would be about Brixton’s changing identity – gentrification is a hot topic to discuss. But when Dineen focuses on Blacker, some more universal themes such as love, family, death, and masculinity come to light.

So, who is Blacker Dread? Most people in the audience at the March 5th BFI screening would know the answer to this, many being from Brixton. From his records shopfront, he would invite the community in any reason. People have fond memories of searching for their favourite reggae record, watching (and celebrating) Usain Bolt’s Olympic achievements, or accepting his offer to keep an eye on the youth when they encountered police. He is a cultural and social figurehead for the London district, with achievements in the reggae industry, and even met Nelson Mandela on his 1996 visit to Britain. Being Blacker, however, approaches our mythical hero by humanising him.

We meet Blacker’s oldest friend, Napthali, and his family, who are all affected by the loss of their matriarch in Blacker’s mother. However, as the events unfold, the intimacy and bond between individuals is unforgettable. The documentary has a home-movie feel. That is how the film began in its practical origins – Blacker had asked for a recording of his mother’s funeral from Dineen, a home-video that establishes the film’s core themes and catalyses the narrative course. After that, Dineen follows Blacker around his home and his shop, but she falls into the background easily, allowing the audience to get absorbed into the stakes of Blacker and those around him. At times, it is a little difficult to piece together the particular chronological point in film’s linear structure. Even so, Dineen’s flow is still smooth.

Unlike my own expectations, politics was not the forefront. When an audience member in the Q&A session asked if Blacker would pursue politics, he replied by indicating that he is more interested in mentoring and cultivating talent. Love is key to understanding Blacker – not only does it come from his belief in Rastafari, but how also in how he treats others. He is certain about who he cares for and it’s shown what he does for them. Blacker sacrifices for his own, and they do so in return. He is quite a character, but he has quite the heart as well.

And most bluntly, there is a challenge to the idea of happy immigration. His family attest to how he has a stronger affinity with Jamaica. From his own experience to his youngest son, life in Britain is not an opportunity, but a hindrance. The focus on Blacker and his son, and then some moments with Napthali, bring issues of masculinity to light. His son lives in Jamaica, thriving socially and academically, unlike in the UK where he was deemed a disruption. Napthali struggles to find employment with his criminal record and reflects on providing for his family. Blacker talks of ‘failure’ when people fall into crime: with family, with the state, or somewhere else. He denounces education as pillar for success (traditionally, what immigrants would rely on for social mobility) or political correctness to help form identity, but doesn’t refuse these for others. This intersection, between masculine success and Britain’s post-colonial legacy, is powerful.

Dineen’s last films were ten years ago, and her return to filmmaking is coupled with a return to her student film days when she made her first film about Blacker and his involvement with the reggae sound system culture of the 1980s. When an audience member called for a filmmaker like Dineen to make more films about underrepresented social topics, her response cites her responsibility as a parent. While the BFI so keenly promoted the support and purchasing of the work by female filmmakers before the screening started, there is still progress for female-made films to have a chance. There are obstacles in these films being made, not just for their distribution and consumption.

But certainly, the honest and intimate filmmaking of Being Blacker shines many truths. There are uncomfortable moments. The start is an actual funeral, and the privilege of Dineen attending the family affair is extended to the audience. Blacker and Naphtali experience their own difficulties in the years after, trying to make the best despite a society and its institutions stacked against them. There is some whiplash when confronted with current British youth. After being lulled in the experience and wisdom of older people like Blacker, Napthali and his family; there is a reminder of the institutional and physical violence against young Black British men now.

Whether or not you are an ethnic minority in the UK, it is quite easy to see that there are parts of Britain missing from mainstream exposure. Dineen revealed that it was difficult to release the documentary, as an executive said portraying Black British people as being involved with crime and violence was generalisation. This is hypocritical. If there were more content out there, there would be more instances for audience to reduce for their generalisations. As such, it is important to watch this observation of British life. Keep in mind, that it is a single British life — the experience of a singular Jamaican British man, very localised to the Brixton context. Such specificity doesn’t demean its importance, but rather elevates it, and there is still something universal to be found.

Being Blacker airs on BBC2 on March 12th at 9pm.

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.

The Evolution of the Jock in ‘Stranger Things’ and ‘Twin Peaks’

Calvin Law — Fri, 24 Nov 2017 18:44:57 +0000

Calvin Law examines a common television archetype through two cult shows.

(WARNING: spoilers for Stranger Things and Stranger Things 2, Twin Peaks and Twin Peaks: The Return)

In many ways, David Lynch and Netflix could not be more diametrically opposed. Nonetheless, the long-awaited return of Twin Peaks and the arrival of the new Stranger Things begs the opportunity to draw parallels between the two series. There’s an argument to be made that, as much as Stranger Things loves Spielberg, Dante, Carpenter, and Carven, it has its own fair share of Lynchian themes. Outsiders with strange abilities, an otherworld one can be trapped in for a long time, a quirky sheriff’s department, and – perhaps most notably – the intriguing fashion in which it handles its two principal ‘jock’ characters: Dana Ashbrook’s Bobby Briggs and Joe Keery’s Steve Harrington.

Given how indebted it is to nostalgic 80s pop culture references and homages, one might have expected Steve to bite the dust in the first season of Netflix hit Stranger Things. Jocks with mousy hair don’t end well in 80s fare: from Johnny Lawrence in The Karate Kid and Biff in Back to the Future, to Stand By Me‘s redneck hooligans and the hapless secondary characters in any number of horror films, they’re usually obnoxious jerks who at best learn a bit of humility, and at worst die. Keery, however, so impressed the Duffer brothers on-set with his charismatic performance as Steve that they decided to not only let him (Steve, not Keery) live, but make him an essential part of the series’ climax.

In season 2 of the series, Steve not only returns but takes on a much expanded role; he becomes a sort of guardian angel to the kids, like Josh Brolin’s character in The Goonies with even nicer hair. It’s an inspired choice by the screenwriters, and makes great use of a character’s change of heart to turn him into an endearing, goofy, and altogether pretty awesome hero. It’s particularly fun to see him interact with Gaten Matarazzo’s Dustin, as they make a winning team.

Steve is a great example of making an unlikeable character gradually likeable. That brings us to Bobby Briggs. At the start of Twin Peaks, Bobby, Laura Palmer’s ex-boyfriend, is – for lack of a better word – a bit of an ass. He’s callous, uncaring, indifferent, obnoxious to pretty much everyone, and doesn’t seem to care much for Laura or her demise. One of the most brilliant parts of Twin Peaks is its ability to take apart soap opera caricatures and makes them vivid, realistic human beings. We begin to see the more tender side to Bobby over the course of the series; we see his hopes, his worries, and in a brilliant scene between him and his onscreen father (the magnificent Don S. Davis), the potential to become a better person – which he certainly fulfils in The Return. It may seem a bit odd at first to see Bobby Briggs in a position of authority, but as a deputy in the Twin Peaks’ sheriff’s department, we see he has grown from young punk to a wiser man. Steve and Bobby are two fantastic examples of how the medium of television can be used to create such complexity in its characters; whether over two years, or twenty-five, so much can be done with care and attention to detail.

‘Mindhunter’ Season 1 Review

Raphael Duhamel — Mon, 20 Nov 2017 19:09:31 +0000

Raphael Duhamel reviews David Fincher’s thrilling Netflix series.

“It’s always the mother. They all have a crazy, angry mother.”

Mindhunter is a Freudian’s dream. Set in Virginia in 1977, the new ten-episode Netflix series follows two FBI agents from the Behavioral Science Unit, Holden Ford (Jonathan Groff) and Bill Tench (Holt McCallany), as they travel across the United States helping local law enforcement and, most importantly, interviewing serial killers. It diverges greatly from most crime shows which have populated television and computer screens over the last decade by deliberately showing as little blood and gore as possible, excluding the first episode’s brilliant opening scene – one of David Fincher’s trademarks.

Mindhunter is about conversations. It brings to light the beginnings of criminal profiling, by focusing almost exclusively on the two partners’ dialogues with convicted murderers. Fincher, who also took on the executive producer role, and creator Joe Penhall, brought in Amy filmmaker Asif Kapadia to direct two episodes, on the basis that only documentarians could grasp the intensity and tension of long, talkative scenes. Holden’s young and ambitious persona contrasts with Bill’s tough and bulky figure in interviews, as the former tends to sympathize with killers in order to get more information, whereas the veteran agent carefully keeps his distance. Bill is experienced and self-conscious enough to be aware of his limits: he notably decides to take a step back after his adopted and autistic son steals a crime-scene picture from his home office. Holden, however, keeps on interviewing criminals and even comes close to being friends with Edmund Kemper, the infamous Co-ed Butcher, accused of murdering ten people. This dynamic is central to the show’s narrative, depicting Holden’s slow descent into madness, during which he alienates himself from his employer, colleagues, and girlfriend.

Mindhunter the image of its protagonist: eerily empathetic, forthrightly fearless, yet incredibly lovable. It sets itself the difficult task of appealing to the audience by lessening the mysterious aura surrounding serial killers, and portraying them only as very peculiar human beings. This article’s opening quote is an example of that, as these convicts’ unconscious motives seem to be easily decipherable. Their childhood is consistently marked by an absent father and strict mother, which drives them towards animal cruelty and, later on, more violent crimes, usually sexual. Mindhunter presents, indeed, a naturalistic and deterministic approach to crime, demonstrating that psychopaths are a product of society and their environment. Most crimes both partners have to deal with occur in rural America, usually in poor “white trash” families. This determinism is particularly relevant in the series’ 1970s context, post-Vietnam War and especially post-Watergate, in a country that seems to have lost its faith and trust in the government. Holden, a representative of the FBI, is paradoxically trying to comprehend the minds of individuals who have supposedly been turned into criminals by the system he incarnates so well. This contradiction is also present in his romantic relationship with Deborah Mittford (Hannah Gross), a post-graduate sociology student, who embodies the typical leftist hippie, and continually mocks him for his “goody two shoes” look. Mindhunter thrives on these paradoxes, aptly portrayed by its protagonist, and succeeds in representing the complexity of both Holden and the interviewed subjects.

The show, nevertheless, lacks strong female characters, although it does try to give them prominent parts. Anna Torv plays Wendy Carr, a resilient and independent psychology professor, who comes to work for the FBI in Quantico, in order to help Holden and Bill establish behavioral patterns. Her attitude and personality indicate early on her masculine features, making the revelation she is a lesbian less of a surprise to the viewer. However, instead of building from that fact a compelling narrative for her character, her sexual orientation ends up justifying every single one of her actions. She regularly accuses her colleagues of misogyny when interacting with the subjects, acting as an unfortunate and stereotypical representative of her gender. Similarly, Deborah Mittford is reduced to her girlfriend status. Her story is not fully developed, as she stands only as a counterpoint to Holden in his private life. She makes the notion of supporting character even more fitting, appearing and disappearing at the same time as her partner.

The series’ best feature, however, remains its original storytelling and direction, which immaculately reflect David Fincher’s vision. The filmmaker, who directed the two first and last episodes of the season, has deliberately distanced himself from his previous creations, notably Se7en and Zodiac, in order to demystify serial killers. For this reason, Mindhunter differs greatly from other recent and successful crime shows, such as Hannibal or True Detective; similarly, the lack of on-screen violence feels new and appropriate, as it intensifies the psychological terror surrounding the interviews. The series’ opening credits, alternating between close-up shots of Holden installing the recording equipment for the interviews and snapshots of a female corpse, also enhance the show’s power of suggestion.

The filmmaker’s desaturated color aesthetic, which fits well with the period setting, is clearly recognizable throughout the season. He worked with Erik Messerschmidt, his cinematographer, to light characters in contrast with the outside world, using practical lights that appear inside the frame. When Holden interviews Edmund Kemper for the first time, by himself, the interrogation room appears blue and cold, accentuating the young agent’s isolation in front of the colossal and intimidating murderer, whereas the sunlight coming through the windows is warm and yellow. Fincher’s detached and robotic camera, following every single character movement, is also present, contributing further to the show’s ominous sense of dread.

Mindhunter is a refreshing series, and an exhilaratingly cerebral newcomer in the growingly banal landscape of crime television. Its grounded realism and stylistic commitments form an enthralling whole, although some characters are not quite as developed as others. David Fincher’s skillful touch undoubtedly adds to this talkative creation the necessary expertise, making it one of 2017’s best shows.

Mindhunter is available to watch on Netflix. Check out the official series trailer below:

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Parts 17 and 18 (Finale) Review

Milo Garner — Thu, 21 Sep 2017 17:04:28 +0000

Milo Garner concludes his review series of Lynch’s Twin Peaks revival.

WARNING: THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS.

Finally, after nearly sixteen hours of television, Twin Peaks comes to an end in its final two parts. Part 17 is in many ways as clear an ending as one might expect from David Lynch – which is to say, not clear at all, but there is a closure offered. A variety of contrived events lead most of our primary characters to the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Department, with Bob Coop being shot in the back – though it isn’t the first time he’s taken a bullet in this series. The real Cooper (yes, real! It’s still difficult to believe) later arrives at the scene, and witnesses – as Bob emerges from Bob Coop’s corpse – a sort of orb that might better suit a sci-fi channel TV movie (sorry not sorry). Freddie, the man with the gardening glove, finds his destiny come upon him, and engages in a bizarre punching contest with this evil orb, eventually destroying it. Could that be it? The primeval doom haunting the denizens of Twin Peaks – and far beyond – dealt with by a tertiary character’s magic hand? Of course not.

Following this Coop is approached by Naido, whose face peels back and shows her to be none other than Diane. A giant superimposition of Cooper’s face overlays the screen for the rest of the scene – as he says ‘we live inside a dream.’ The effect is bizarre, but it works – this episode does have the tinge of a dream ever-deepening. The narrative seems to agree, leading the gang to the Great Northern, wherein Coop follows the sound that has haunted Ben for most of the series. He meets Mike, chanting the ‘fire walk with me’ lines, before being led again to Jeffries in the monochrome convenience store. He is told to find Judy, and the mysterious symbol of the Owl Cave becomes an 8 (or is it ∞?). Then, cutting together new footage with scenes from Fire Walk With Me, Lynch inserts Cooper into the past: the night of Laura’s murder. Laura recognizes Cooper from a dream, and she is led by him away – she is ‘going home’. Her body disappears from its position in the very first episode of Twin Peaks, Back to the Future style. Everything seems to have changed – Coop has undone it all. If this was the very final episode one might be forgiven for assuming genuine, unbelievable, closure. But there are a few more scenes to come – Sarah Palmer smashes the homecoming picture of Laura, so essential to the Twin Peaks aesthetic; Laura disappears in the woods; we hear that scream once again. Then the episode plays out, with Julee Cruise predictably, but perfectly, reprising her role as a Roadhouse musician. Even with the mysterious ending, it’s difficult to imagine a full part more to come.

If Part 17 was the ending for traditional Twin Peaks, 18 is the ending to the more Lynchian Twin Peaks that rears its surreal head every few episodes. We see again Cooper leading Laura through the woods, and again her disappearance. Then Coop is back in the Red Room, and Laura whispers in his ear before she is lifted through the ceiling. Coop leaves and finds Diane, hair as red as the room he came from, awaiting him. They drive through a portal far way and reach a motel, then have sex to the sound of ‘My Prayer’ by The Platters, last heard in Part 8’s 50s section. When he awakens everything has changed – a note is left addressed to Richard from Linda. We can assume that in whatever world he has woken up to, he is no longer Agent Dale Cooper, but Richard. Here we go again. The motel he leaves and the car he enters are different to those of the night before, and he drives to a coffee shop called Eat at Judy’s, hinting at Jeffries’ comment in Part 17. He asks if another waitress works there – she does, but it’s her day off. He finds out where she lives and discovers her to be Laura, or rather, her doppelganger. This woman is actually Carrie, but at Coop’s insistence she allows him to ferry her to Laura’s home in Twin Peaks. On the journey Lynch focuses on an image that has always fascinated him, the dark American highway partially lit by headlights passing at speed. There is an inherent fear to the vast emptiness of these long American roads, and Lynch won’t let us forget it. It reminds us of Lost Highway specifically. That comparison can be taken further: not only was that a film that focused heavily on doppelgangers, but it also included a narrative that changed its characters and locations mid-way through, much like Coop’s situation in this episode. Eventually arriving at Twin Peaks, Coop arrives at Sarah’s house to find it occupied by someone else. Upon asking who the new occupant bought it from Coop discovers no trace of Sarah Palmer whatsoever. In his bemusement he ponders what year it is, Carrie hears the voice of Sarah shout ‘Laura’, and Carrie screams that scream. And so it ends.

If there was a fear Lynch was posing too many questions in the last few episodes of Twin Peaks to ever be answered, this is the response to that fear, an episode that essentially turns the entire series on its head. There have been many attempts to interpret Part 18, including the suggestion that it and Part 17 might better be played overlayed on top of each other, but many of its mysteries will doubtlessly go unsolved. But is this a bad ending to Twin Peaks? No – in fact, it might well be the perfect ending for Twin Peaks. It surrenders any suggestion of rounding the story off, as implied in Part 17, and remains compelling throughout, allowing a sense of surprise and unknowing even this late in the game. As the series finally finishes, very possibly for good, the superlative quality of what has come before makes it hard to feel disappointed. Across 18 Parts Lynch has not only revived Twin Peaks, but improved it, crafting some of the most interesting and original television of recent times.

Twin Peaks: The Revival has concluded. It aired Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and again at 9pm on Tuesdays.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Part 16 Review

Milo Garner — Sun, 03 Sep 2017 19:38:54 +0000

Milo Garner reviews the sixteenth chapter of Lynch’s revival series.

WARNING: This review contains spoilers.

‘I am the FBI.’

We have waited a long time for these words. I don’t mean a long time since the original series, which aired before my own birth, nor even from the build-up to this new series, with its slow trickle of trailers and set photos. Within the series itself, in these first 16 parts, the Twin Peaks audience has been collectively holding its breath for this moment. At first it seemed inevitable; that it would maybe come a few episodes in. Then it started to seem like a mid-series twist. Then, perhaps, something that might never happen. The Lynch who brought back ‘Just You’ could easily have deprived his audience of something they actually wanted – it would be almost typical. But, in this penultimate episode, we have been granted our innermost desire, allowing this this sole moment almost to overshadow one of Twin Peaks’ otherwise finest episodes.

I am, of course, referring to the words spoken by Coop, moments after his return. Not Bob Coop, or Dougie Coop – this is special agent Dale Cooper, back as he was all those years ago. Kyle MacLachlan effortlessly slips back into the character (marking the third persona he has portrayed in this series), bringing his charm, cheerful demeanour, and supportive yet dutiful attitude immediately to the fore. As he awakens from a coma induced by an electric shock last week (electricity has been a recurring theme in the revival), Badalamenti’s classic soundtrack emerges and takes us all back, closing what could be the longest slow burn in television. The remainder of the episode gives us precious little time with the man himself; we see only his departure from Dougie’s family to catch a flight to Twin Peaks. But it’s enough, for now. Hopefully the final two hours will give us all the time we need.

Besides this, however, an excellent episode exists, and some storylines are actually tied up(!) The first of these is Richard Horne’s, who appears to be the son of Bob Coop, and finds himself dead by a trap meant for his father. This isn’t a plotline that really went anywhere, but at least there’s some closure. Another plotline for which progress seems alien is the double-team of Chantal and Mitch, who are seen often despite their lack of activity. They await Dougie at his home, hoping to kill him, though for them it is already too late. A neighbour approaches them and tells them to get out of his driveway, which they are partially blocking – they refuse and he rams them with his car. This triggers a ridiculous gunfight which finds Chantal and Mitch dead, riddled with bullets, in what might be the least-predictable action scene of the entire series. The Mitchum brothers look on. ‘People are under a lot of stress, Bradley,’ says Rodney.

Elsewhere, Diane’s story also seems to conclude, with Bob Coop inducing her to attempt to kill her FBI colleagues. It isn’t so simple as that – Diane is clearly resisting this inner urge in a great scene of tension and insecurity. As it turns out, Diane herself was but another double, and when she is shot she returns to the Red Room, leaving there another seed. But the best non-Coop-related scene is yet to come. Towards the end of the episode comes Audrey, with her story finally moving forwards. Now she is at the Roadhouse, though perhaps not the Roadhouse we know. It is announced that ‘Audrey’s Dance’, a track from the original Twin Peaks soundtrack, will be played by the band. Sure enough, they play that very tune, and suitably Audrey has a lonesome dance in the middle of the abandoned dance floor, with a crowd looking in from a distance. A beautifully surreal moment, this is another moment of payoff after some weeks of frustrating build-up. This scene also confirms a theory some had about Audrey’s current state, as at its conclusion she appears to ‘wake up’. She is in a bright white room, looking in a mirror. What, why, and where, we wonder collectively. With only a couple of hours left, and a good number more questions that need answering, Lynch has his work cut out in concluding Twin Peaks: the next double-part episode might possibly be the last ever. But even if it fails to completely satisfy our wonderings, the journey was more than worth it.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and is then repeated at 9pm on Tuesdays.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Part 15 Review

Milo Garner — Fri, 25 Aug 2017 19:26:35 +0000

Milo Garner reviews the latest chapter in David Lynch’s revival series.

WARNING: This review contains spoilers.

Part 15 of Twin Peaks opens with a moment that has been building for, quite literally, decades. We first see Nadine, apparently invested in a new life after her meeting with Jacoby, clinging to one of his golden shovels. She tells Ed she is sorry for holding him down, and for guilting him into remaining in a loveless marriage. Ed, along with any sensible member of the audience, is taken aback at this – whatever the complexity of their relationship, Nadine was far more the victim of Ed’s extramarital intentions than the other way around. But nonetheless, Nadine seems happy. Ed, with a fresh vigour of his own, sets out to the diner in search of his long (if poorly-kept) secret love – Norma. At first it seems he is rebuked, and so he sits hopelessly.

Then, to the sound of Otis Redding’s ‘I’ve Been Loving You Too Long’, Norma approaches him. After all these years, they might finally love one another truly. It’s a perfect moment, and one of extreme catharsis and finality. A lingering sense of depression has often hovered over the many denizens of Twin Peaks, who haven’t particularly changed over the last two-and-a-half decades, and Ed’s own demons were highlighted in particular earlier in the season. That both he and Nadine have found some solace, despite their situations, is a rare moment of optimistic warmth to be found in Lynch’s strange world.

Elsewhere, the strangeness again prevails. Dougie-Coop finds himself back to his usual attempts at basic movement, at which point he turns on his television(!). Playing is Billy Wilder’s 1950 film Sunset Boulevard, at the scene shortly after Norma believed that she had convinced Cecil DeMille into getting ‘the old team together again’ in an attempt to revive her long-dead career. DeMille is less than impressed (though he doesn’t show it at the time), and denigrates Norma behind her back. But Coop is transfixed, the key to why being in what DeMille says next – ‘Get Gordon Cole’. The name, shared by Lynch’s own character in Twin Peaks, was originally derived from the film (a personal favourite film of his), making this an interesting full-circle in terms of the character’s development. Seeing Coop apparently recognize a part of his former life isn’t new, but remains thrilling as ever. Following this apparent revelation, Coop gets on the floor and inspects his plug socket (much like the one he emerged from way back in Part 1), before sticking his fork into it and electrocuting himself. As one would expect. But I get the feeling that he’s almost there, and that’s not just because we’re a few episodes from series’ end.

Otherwise we return to Audrey’s incredibly drawn-out conversation with husband Charlie. It’s unclear how long this discussion has been taking place, be it hours or days (or indeed, if it’s in any physical place, or some coma-induced fantasy), but it seems as endless to the characters as it does to the audience. Once again it’s a lot of back-and-forthing about going to the Roadhouse to find Billy, and once again it ends without any sort of progress being made. It’s difficult to make out much of the purpose in this section as of yet, and also difficult to care. Perhaps in retrospect it will fall into place. More curiously is Bob-Coop’s venture into the monochrome world that hosts the spooky woodsmen of episodes past. He travels through various locations (or maybe dimensions) to meet Phillip Jeffries. Visually this sequence is one of the series’ highlights, and it certainly works to counterpoint the episode’s opening: joyous domesticity replaced by unnerving darkness. Jeffries himself is here manifested as a sort of bell-shaped kettle exuding a smoke-like substance, in a bizarre attempt to replace David Bowie without actually going so far as to replace David Bowie. It’s a shame, too, as Blackstar-era Bowie would have been a perfect fit for this new Lynchian nightmare. The smoke leaving his spout eventually forms into numbers which Bob-Coop duly notes down. All very obscure, as usual, but consistently captivating – and overall it looks as though Twin Peaks is set to go out on a high. It might eclipse even the original run.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and is then repeated at 9pm on Tuesdays.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Part 14 Review

Milo Garner — Sat, 19 Aug 2017 10:51:43 +0000

Milo Garner reviews the latest chapter of Lynch’s return to Twin Peaks ahead of tomorrow night’s new episode.

WARNING: This review contains spoilers.

Pointing at Agent Cooper, David Bowie’s Phillip Jefferies asks Gordon, ‘who do you think that is there?’ He said this in the 1992 Twin Peaks prequel film, Fire Walk With Me, though in his dreamy recollection of the event Gordon seems to have realized new meaning in this question. And who wouldn’t – the mystery of Coop’s identity seems to be building to a close, and Part 14 pushes many of the necessary pieces into place for (the presumed) reveal to come. One such piece is a revelation from Diane, who reveals she has a sister called Janey-E – yeah, that one (probably). And so the FBI might finally be on the trail of Dougie Coop, though of course that is kept from us for at least another episode. Another comes with Sheriff Truman, Hawk, Andy, and Bobby, who reach the illusive Jackrabbit’s Palace. Once here, a mostly indistinct wooded area, they come upon Naido, that eyeless woman from Part 3 who appeared to live in some kind of interdimensional spaceship from which Coop escaped. She is lying on the floor and looking worse for wear, and so the crew decide to return her to the police station for protection, though not before Andy is transported to the black and white realm last seen in Part 8. Here he is met by images from that past episode, as well as the Giant who delivers some key information to perhaps the show’s least reliable character. Or one would think – immediately after receiving this information and being sent back to his world, Andy seems suddenly assertive and confident. A marked change from the man too squeamish to bear Laura Palmer’s blood back in the series’ initial pilot.

While this main plot steams forth the typical Lynchian aside takes the screen. In this episode the focus is on James, in his most substantial scene yet. He shares the screen with Freddie – Jake Wardle, perhaps better known as YouTuber Truseneye92, personally scouted by Lynch on the back of his first viral hit. He plays a ridiculously cockney security guard at the Great Northern and talks with James about various supernatural events that brought him to be where he was. The general gist is that the Giant told him to buy a glove that has granted him super strength (on the hand he wears it), and that he was told to come to Twin Peaks without explanation, and felt it right to do. In expected style this story is told over a long time without much bother paid to saving time for the other, perhaps more pressing, plotlines at play, but this is no problem. It’s an entertaining and interesting monologue, and one that Wardle gets just right – the cod English accent, complete with a blatant Beatles reference, could easily have fallen flat in less talented hands (or hand). Following this interlude, James travels into the Great Northern, and seems to have found the source of the noise that has been troubling Ben for some time. But what it might be is saved for another episode. Elsewhere in Twin Peaks we revisit Sarah Palmer, who is receiving a lot of screen time toward the end of this series, though to what end is yet unclear. She sits at a bar and is approached by a fairly reprehensible man (complete with a ‘truck off’ t-shirt) – after telling him to back off somewhat nicely, her face detaches and she bites his throat off. Yeah. Her face returns and she unconvincingly tells the barman that she isn’t responsible (how could she be, an unarmed old lady?) As for the audience, Sarah might have had a few strange moments in the last few episodes, but this is unprecedented and, predictably, inexplicable. With very few parts left to this revival series, it does seem many questions will go unanswered, though it seems Lynch is set on posing new ones until the very end.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and is then repeated at 9pm on Tuesdays.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Part 13 Review

Milo Garner — Sat, 12 Aug 2017 12:35:09 +0000

Ahead of tomorrow night’s new episode, Milo Garner reviews the latest chapter of David Lynch’s return to Twin Peaks.

WARNING: This review contains spoilers.

There’s a moment in Part 13 of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks revival series in which Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan), in the guise of Dougie, drinks some coffee. No big deal, this has probably happened in every episode so far. Only this time, his reaction is not one of childlike amazement that we have seen formerly in the series; this time, if just for a moment, a little of the real Cooper seeps out. Despite the essentially frustrating nature of this long game Lynch is pulling, it’s the moments like these that really make it pay off, and MacLachlan’s performance can’t be faulted. After our first taste of his ‘damn fine’ cherry pie, it feels like we’re finally getting close to the real deal. Watching this series in week-long chunks probably doesn’t quite suit it in this regard, as the real nuance of Cooper’s transformation will surely only be clear in a more compact viewing arrangement. But even watching it across a quarter of a year (so far): the slow crawl, one which has been a little inconsistent at times, is falling into place excellently. This part of the story, however, is emphasised by more than its own merits. The parallel story of the evil Bob-possessed Cooper is really what props it up, with MacLachlan’s performance here so opposed to the dazed Dougie that it sometimes seems like they really are two different people, hairstyle notwithstanding. In this episode ‘Bob-Coop’ finds himself at heart of a certain criminal underworld, led there by the treacherous Ray (George Griffith). While there he has television’s strangest arm-wrestle (equal parts funny and sinister) and generally proves he’s still a force to be reckoned with. Even at a conceptual level, the noble Dale Cooper turned cruel is unsettling enough, but coupled with MacLachlan’s newfound fearsome aura – proving his utmost quality as an actor – it is something to behold.

On the domestic side of affairs, a certain sadness dwells over a particular relationship – or set of relationships – that have carried over from the original series. Nadine (Wendy Robie), whose ring was out of sight in previous episodes, seems still to be married to ‘Big’ Ed Hurley (Everett McGill). Though there is some joy in seeing her and Jacoby (Russ Tamblyn) – with whom she is infatuated – meet (plus a cheeky Chuck Berry reference), this doesn’t shake the disappointing feeling that the lecherous Ed is still in her life. But for Ed, if anything, the situation is worse. While we see him sitting with Norma (Peggy Lipton) at the diner, as might be expected in any episode of the first two seasons, it soon becomes apparent that the two haven’t achieved their illicit love. While her business partner harps on to Norma about profits and authenticity (‘Norma, you’re a real artist. But love doesn’t always turn a profit’ – or did he mean to say Lynch?), the camera often cuts to Ed’s technically irrelevant reactions. Only we know what they mean. This is emphasised further by the end of the episode, which makes the unorthodox decision to cut from the Roadhouse’s obligatory musical act to Ed, alone. In many ways he deserves sadness, but considering the 25 years that we might assume this behaviour has carried on, it’s impossible to revel in it.

Otherwise there are a few interesting happenings here and there, such as the Las Vegas detectives discovering the truth behind the Cooper double and tossing it aside as a clerical error, Audrey (Sherilyn Fenn) continuing her obscure dialogue with husband Charlie (Clark Middleton), and Sarah Palmer (Grace Zabriskie) watching the same looped clip of a boxing match over and over again. But the absolute highlight must be the aforementioned Roadhouse performance, none other than James Hurley (James Marshall) himself. More than this, he plays ‘Just You’, the song penned by Lynch and Badalamenti for the infamous season 2 scene in which he sings – in a ridiculous falsetto – with Donna and Maddy without any clear context as to why. Aurally recalling the 50s, as Lynch is wont to do, it was a bizarre moment (and cringe-inducing for some) yet seeing in reprised in an almost perfect replication (complete with two female back-up singers) makes for one of the show’s strongest nostalgia hits so far. On reflection, perhaps this scene was put second-to-last not to give emphasis to Ed’s final shots, but to make sure everyone had to sit through James’ song a second time, even if (especially if) they can’t stand it. Either way is fine by me.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and is then repeated at 9pm on Tuesdays.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Parts 11 & 12 Review

Milo Garner — Tue, 01 Aug 2017 17:36:03 +0000

As we head into the final act of the season, Milo Garner reviews the latest chapters of David Lynch’s 18-hour return to Twin Peaks.

WARNING: This review contains spoilers.

When Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) says ‘damn fine’ in Part 11 of Twin Peaks: The Return, perhaps for the first time, it’s Coop. Not Coop of the red room, or Dougie, or Dougie-Coop, or Bob. It’s Coop – fleeting, but so tempting. As has been a trend in this series, it’s a tease, but tantalizing. It seems undeniable now that Coop isn’t unravelling so that the story might continue – his unravelling is the story. This is something that I would like to have avoided – if only to see more of the good old Dale Cooper on screen – but by this point we, the faithful audience, must go with it. More importantly than giving another hint at the promised ‘return’, this scene makes up part of the show’s absolute highlights, an ending that hits filmic levels that the self-consciously ‘television’ nature of Twin Peaks has typically held back on. The Mitchum brothers (Robert Knepper and Jim Belushi), who continue their very entertaining strand from the last episode, first set out to kill Dougie, but after a strange confluence of dream and reality – as Lynch is wont to apply – they instead become his closest pals. This is centred around a cherry pie, naturally. But that isn’t the only Peaks regular to make an appearance. Playing the piano as the Mitchum brothers treat Coop is none other than Angelo Badalamenti himself, the show’s composer, who eventually plays it out with the credits. A new composition, ‘Heartbreaking’, freezes Coop for an extended moment as Badalamenti plays it diegetically. For a show that is so often set on being intently mundane, or off-puttingly strange, when it does brush with the sublime, we can feel it even more. The piece itself is transfixing, simple and beautiful, the only shame being that Lynch’s style holds back Badalamenti’s score from taking centre-stage more often – though when it does, it really does, which I suppose is the point.

Elsewhere, the episode proves to be similarly entertaining, if not quite reaching the heights of the final few scenes. Amanda Seyfried’s Becky, now confirmed to be Shelly’s (Mädchen Amick) daughter, is on the loose, gun in hand, seemingly with intent to kill her abusive husband (Caleb Landry Jones). It turns out he wasn’t home, and any criminal charges that might have been put against her are covered up. Why? Enter her father: Deputy Bobby Briggs (Dana Ashbrook). To see Shelly and Bobby again together strikes a nostalgic chord, though it seems old habits die hard. Shelly now appears to be an item with the sinister Red (Balthazar Getty) – she sure knows how to pick ‘em. This is followed by one of Twin Peaks’ trademark ‘weird moments’, in which gunshots ring out from across the road. Bobby goes over to check it out – a kid had managed to get his hands on his dad’s gun and fired off a few rounds out his the car he was in, and doesn’t look repentant about it. As Bobby tries to do his duty, the car behind is beeping incessantly. Bobby goes to check out the driver, who yells at him about being late in a loud and brilliant performance. Then a sick looking girl starts to vomit in the seat next to her. Perplexing, yes, but (for whatever reason) engrossing too.

Meanwhile, at the FBI, things are getting ever stranger – though this time more relevant to the plot at hand. Travelling to the coordinates given to them by William Hastings (Matthew Lillard), they find a strange portal in the sky, one that almost captures Gordon (David Lynch) if not for Albert’s (Miguel Ferrer) quick thinking. Before this, he managed to see briefly into it – a vision of the Woodsmen. One was, however, closer at hand, phasing in and out of vision, before attacking and, quite gruesomely, killing Hastings. All the while Hawk (Michael Horse) and Sheriff Truman (Robert Forster) mosey over a map, including a dark symbol that they mustn’t talk about – which is as funny as it is foreboding. Again, the pace is deliberate, but again, it works. In fact, Part 11 more than works, perhaps being the best of Twin Peaks’ ‘conventional’ episodes so far.

Now, Part 12 doesn’t match 11’s heights, nor does it include so much forward momentum in the plot, but that isn’t to say it isn’t effective. Perhaps the best scene in this episode is shared between Gordon and Albert, who while bit-players in the original series have become key components in this revival. Always having a soft spot for these characters, this suits me fine, and the intrigue building up around the ‘Blue Rose’ group and its doings is similarly welcome. In this episode, we see Tammy (Chrysta Bell’s beautiful cypher, who has been following G&A around in the revival) officially instated into ‘Blue Rose’, while Diane (Laura Dern) is deputised. Diane, however, is still secretly in communication with Bob-Coop, and G&A are well aware of it; she also searches the coordinates they found on a body last episode – they lead to Twin Peaks. Beyond the narrative, this part of the episode has a particular stand-out scene. It involves Gordon seemingly seducing a visitor in his room (Bérénice Marlohe) with Albert suddenly arriving with important news. As in any normal scenario, the woman is asked to leave, but unlike a normal scenario, Lynch decides to stretch this moment to its absolute extreme. Even when she has, eventually, departed, the conversation between Gordon and Albert is so stripped back that they actually stand there in silence – we cut from shot to reverse shot without any words being uttered several times. While this sounds incredibly awkward, it’s a certain kind of off-set humour that Lynch excels at, and even comes off as emotionally effective during Gordon and Albert’s exchange.

This same tactic, however, does not always function so well. The episode’s big comeback is none other than Audrey Horne (Sherilyn Fenn), probably the biggest character yet to have appeared. Her scene is a conversation with her husband, a small man named Charlie (Clark Middleton). The subject matter is inherently obscure, concerning someone called Billy (not Zane) and another called Tina. Shot in the typical drawn-out fashion, this scene isn’t particularly funny and is too far removed from anything we know to be overly intriguing. The wow factor of seeing Audrey is enough to pull it through, but it certainly seems a weak point in the episode. One point that can be gleaned from the exchange is that a truck was mentioned, possibly the same truck that Richard (Eamon Farren) was driving when he committed his worst crime (of many) some episodes ago. Richard himself wasn’t featured in the episode but said crime appeared more than once – the most important scene being between the sheriff and Ben (Richard Beymer), his grandfather, who is informed of what his son had done. The two also share another important detail, with Ben giving Truman Cooper’s room key, as a keepsake for Harry (who is not featured beyond conversation in the revival). Truman, however, knows this might have more significance than at first blush, given recent events. How this will unfold remains to be seen.

Asides for this episode include a surprising lack of Dougie Coop (one very short scene), as well as a return of Sarah Palmer (Grace Zabriskie), acting suitably deranged. A later visit by Hawk doesn’t seem to calm her much; perhaps this isn’t the last we’ll see of her in this revival. Meanwhile, Hutch and Chantal (Tim Roth and Jennifer Jason Leigh) have a brief appearance, shooting Warden Murphy (James Morrison), and Jacoby’s (Russ Tamblyn) Alex Jones impression continues, with Nadine still watching intently. The episode is played out by the Chromatics, but not before a conversation plays out between several unknown characters. It doesn’t come to much and also doesn’t inspire an awful lot of interest, though how it might tie into the greater narrative is always intriguing in of itself. That’s assuming we see these characters again – never a guarantee.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and is then repeated at 9pm on Tuesdays.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Part 10 Review

Milo Garner — Sun, 23 Jul 2017 08:29:30 +0000

Milo Garner reviews the next chapter of David Lynch’s return to Twin Peaks.

WARNING: This review contains spoilers.

Part 10 of Twin Peaks: The Return is an episode picking up the pieces of story strands long left dormant. The two most notable might be the return of Harry Dean Stanton’s Carl Rodd – guitar in hand – and in his vicinity, Amanda Seyfried’s Becky (who may or may not be Shelly’s daughter) and her now-abusive husband Steven (Caleb Landry Jones). Naturally, we don’t get much more about any of these characters other than the vague descriptions offered above, but it’s something. Another returning narrative line is that of Richard Horne (Eamon Farren), now confirmed to be a member of the Horne family. Audrey’s son? Probably, though she still remains unseen. In this episode, Richard finds himself returning to his sinister ways, not only killing a witness to his heinous crime some episodes ago but also throwing his grandmother about and robbing her blind. While it is often fun to have villains who are just evil, at this point, many of the antagonists are becoming overly cartoonish. Richard appeared to show some remorse for killing the kid in his last appearance, if mainly self-pity, but any sense of humanity that might be inherent there is lost now. Hopefully there are some interesting horizons for this character – maybe his story arc will redeem this rampant behaviour. On the note of thinly written villains, another rears his head in relation to Richard, that being the unfriendly Chad (John Pirruccello) at Twin Peaks’ police department. In former episodes he had just been rather unpleasant, and as such the revelation that he’s a corrupt cop feels cheap – of course he would be a corrupt cop. He probably spits in everyone’s coffee too, because why not?

Besides this, the episode prefers the peculiar to the cruel: building on Dougie-Coop’s (Kyle MacLachlan) plot substantially – and no, he isn’t back yet. After word gets out about him spiking Ike, the powers that be decide that he must be dealt with. A mission of intrigue begins when Tom Sizemore’s insurance agent convinces the shady Mitchum brothers (Robert Knepper and Jim Belushi), who own the casino Dougie cashed out big time in, that Dougie was also responsible for their losing insurance money on a destroyed property. As such, they too decide he has to die. But more! On the less sinister side of things Coop is revealed to have a killer bod, and when Janey-E (Naomi Watts) catches this drift she sets out to seduce him. She succeeds (as close as success could be defined with the barely-there Dougie-Coop), and the ensuing love-making is possibly the show’s comedic high. While this plotline has been a little here and there, it does have some major pay offs.

Otherwise, the usual Peaks oddities reside: such as Gordon (David Lynch) opening a door to find Laura Palmer’s (Sheryl Lee) face superimposed across its frame (yep), one of the revival’s most inexplicable moments, of many. We also get a few moments of classic cameos, such as a return of Doctor Jacoby’s (Russ Tamblyn) Alex Jones-esque conspiracy-spade-selling show, and a brief shot of Nadine (Wendy Robie), who now owns a drape shop (perhaps there is some justice in the world). The episode closes with an extended jaunt in the Roadhouse, with Rebekah Del Rio singing ‘No Stars’, a song co-penned by Lynch himself, with Moby on guitar. Unfortunately it isn’t particularly good, but nonetheless gets the full-song music video treatment so far only otherwise seen with ‘The’ Nine Inch Nails. I guess Lynch digs it, after all.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and is then repeated at 9pm on Tuesdays.

A Few Words On The New ‘Doctor Who’

Thomas Hetherington — Sun, 16 Jul 2017 20:27:56 +0000

“We’re billions of years beyond your petty obsession with gender and its associated stereotypes.” With that quote from the latest episode of Doctor Who in mind, let’s move onto the actual news itself…

Jodie Whittaker. BIFA nominated, powerhouse Northerner barnstorming actress Jodie Whittaker is the 13^th Doctor. The star of Black Mirror, St Trinian’s, and The Smoke is the new Doctor Who. She’s an actress as at home with the grit of a Jimmy McGovern serial as with the cutesy joy of something like Get Santa. She’s exactly the kind of performer capable of carrying Doctor Who and that’s no mean feat. Whittaker has already travelled back in time to play Izzy Huett in the BBC’s glistening Tess of the D’Urbervilles and fought aliens out of Brixton Joe Cornish’s Attack The Block. And in last year’s charming Adult Life Skills she lived in a shed, so she should be perfectly at home in the confines of the TARDIS.

Jodie Whittaker is an actor of extraordinary depth and range and I, for one, can’t wait to see her reunite with Chris Chibnall (Doctor Who’s incoming showrunner and former CO of Boradchurch) to deliver what promises to be a fresh, energetic and exciting new take on a decades old character.

Oh, and as for that other thing? To quote Hope Van Dyne, “It’s about damn time”.

Doctor Who returns for a Christmas Special on December 25.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Part 9 Review

Milo Garner — Thu, 13 Jul 2017 08:00:08 +0000

Milo Garner reviews the next chapter of David Lynch’s return to Twin Peaks.

WARNING: This review contains spoilers.

Following the journey into the depths of Lynch’s mind that made up Part 8, this week’s episode of Twin Peaks is a return to relative normality. Gone are the monochrome murderers and nuclear adventures, back is the ever-expanding ensemble cast (say hello to Tim Roth and Jennifer Jason Leigh!) and the strange – if not too strange – happenings about town. As far as plot is concerned, the episode does essentially pick off where the last left off, with the villainous Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan), returned from the dead, arriving at ‘the Farm’ and meeting the aforementioned new cast members. Shot but not got, his nefarious mechanisms are still unravelling. What exactly these are naturally escapes the audience, but it may become clear soon.

In the world of Dougie Coop things are also moving forward – Ike the Spike (Christophe Zajac-Denek) is arrested, and the three detectives we were introduced to earlier try to crack the case of Dougie. They do this by laughing a lot, in a way Lynch makes both amusing and uncomfortable, as is his wont. But the key to this section of the show this week is less the ongoing Dougie drama and more the unending tease that we might finally be reunited with Agent Dale Cooper. Not Bob, not Doug, not the Coop that was zoned out in the Red Room for over two decades, but the Coop we love. He glances to the American flag and music starts to play – perhaps his overwhelming sense of duty to the flag will awaken him? It would be an uncharacteristic moment of intense patriotism for Lynch if that had happened, but at this point we’ll take anything. Glancing from the flag he sees two key items – two outlets and a pair of red shoes. A reminder that he came from an outlet from the Red Room, though apparently not quite strong enough that he snaps out of his stupor. Once again Lynch leaves us on the edge, once again we hope it’s next week, now in the unsettling knowledge that the halfway point has been passed.

Back in Twin Peaks an assortment is going on, including a minor domestic dispute between Andy (Harry Goaz) and Lucy (Kimmy Robertson) on what kind of chair to get. More pressingly, Bobby (Dana Ashbrook) and the Boys set out to discover the truth about Major Briggs by asking his wife (Charlotte Stewart) exactly what he told Coop before his disappearance and presumed death. We find out that he had instructed his wife that should this day come, or rather when it came, that she would give them a small metal tube. Bobby, who had been more a miscreant while Briggs was alive, knew what to do with the tube and how to interpret its instructions – his father had somehow predicted his exact course in life, and it feels as comforting for Bobby as it does from the audience. The few scenes Briggs and Bobby shared in the original had some excellent moments showcasing the emotional, if distant, connexion Briggs had to his son. Even beyond the grave these moments are still quite effectual. But as far as the narrative is concerned – the Twin Peaks police department are on Coop’s trail, now with set of cryptic instructions to follow.

But they aren’t the only ones, with Gordon (David Lynch) & Co.’s FBI squad still reeling after learning of cruel Coop’s escape. They decide to take another route and go to South Dakota, to figure out what’s up with Briggs’ mysteriously young corpse. While there we catch up with a plot strand that kicked off in the first episode but has been left dormant since – that of William Hastings, the headteacher-cum-murderer (apparently). As it happens he is more than a victim of the supernatural, but an enthusiast of it, running a blog that talks of various strange happenings, and other ‘dimensions’, one he has said to have visited. More than the potentially interesting direction this takes his subplot in, it was a display of very raw emotion in what is often an intentionally sterile show. Matthew Lillard gives a powerful performance – one that might well be classed as overacting, but in effect this counteracts the underacting that is often employed around him. It is Twin Peaks’ continued devotion of a significant amount of its length to deadtime that gives these moments of emotion or extremity their power, and it’s a formula that works consistently.

Beyond this we get various strands of various other subplots, though none get particularly far – Twin Peaks is a show that inches along, a little happening over a lot of characters. These include Ben’s (Richard Beymer) continued search for the hum in his building, Jerry’s (David Patrick Kelly) escapade with The Talking Shoe, and Sky Ferreira’s uncomfortably loud rash-scratching in The Roadhouse. These are intriguing, entertaining, and unsettling in that order which, I suppose, is a succinct description of Twin Peaks as a whole. Entering the second half of this new (and probably final) season the overall quality has remained fairly consistent, with twin peaks (haha) in Parts 3 and 8 – here’s hoping this consistency will be maintained to the finale.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and is then repeated at 9pm on Tuesdays.

Time for Twelve – A Look Back At Peter Capaldi’s ‘Doctor Who’ Run

Thomas Hetherington — Tue, 11 Jul 2017 14:08:21 +0000

With the recent conclusion of Season 10, Thom Hetherington looks back at Peter Capaldi’s tenure as the 12th Doctor…

For a 54-year-old television show, Doctor Who certainly isn’t looking too shabby. And for the first time since its return to our screens in 2005 it’s starting to, literally, look its age. The choice of an older actor to play the Doctor was – relatively speaking – a risky choice at the time, as the show had, since its return, been predicated upon running down corridors while yelling exposition: a formula that had worked pretty darn well for the three sprightly actors who had taken the role before Capaldi. It was clear this was going to be a change of pace; perhaps a different, more cerebral take on the show. Less flirting, a tad less running and certainly no more snogging the companion.

For the most part, this approach and change of tone has served the show well. It was evident in the hiring of Ben Wheatley to direct Capaldi’s first two episodes that Doctor Who was heading into murkier waters. Wheatley brought his trademark unease to the series opener and this carried through the majority of Capaldi’s run as the Doctor. The hiring of horror director Rachel Talalay also gave the show a nastier edge and made clear showrunner Stephen Moffat’s desire to go darker. Later, the show tackled the grim idea of the dead retaining consciousness (“don’t cremate me”) in a storyline that drew complaints in the hundreds for being too dark. There were creatures lurking under the bed, cannibalistic houses and deadly eye sand. The rebooted show had been dark before, but never in such a purely thematic way.

The show’s cerebral edge was also brought to the fore during Capaldi’s tenure. Peter Harness’ standout episode “Kill The Moon” demonstrated this, showcasing a real-time ethical dilemma complete with carnivorous alien spiders. And it’s here that one must take the time to appreciate the sheer idiosyncratic brilliance of Doctor Who. There is no other television program in existence that can deliver such an amazing blend of intellectual stimulation, thrills, and a good dash of fear. That the show is also pitching for a family audience makes this achievement even more remarkable. The aforementioned “Kill The Moon”, as well as hand-under-the-bed-horror “Listen”, to name but two, work so well because they balance intellectual and physical horror. They combine a shiver down the spine with a chilled skull.

Capaldi’s tenure was also a time to explore the dark side of the character of the Doctor – his first series was built around the cornerstone of the question “Am I good man?”. The introduction of Michelle Gomez, on lip-smackingly malevolent form as Missy, created a truly ying and yang dynamic that explored the good and evil lurking within them both. The relationship with his companions too, particularly Jenna Coleman’s Clara, has showcased the dangers of the Doctor’s power. It’s a testament to Capaldi’s brilliance as the Doctor that an entire episode, “Heaven Sent”, rested solely upon his shoulders. Together with the direction of Rachel Talalay, Capaldi made walking around an empty castle one of the most captivating forty-five minutes of television that year.

The show has also, however, managed to retain its trademark optimism and belief in good, a remarkable achievement in a world of television built around shock and violence. To do good “without hope, without witness, without reward” has been an unofficial motto for Capaldi’s time in the TARDIS. Yet the real triumph has been keeping this hope without infringing upon the show’s newfound darkness. This is something that shone out in the fervent anti-war sentiments of “The Zygon Invasion” and “The Zygon Inversion”, which culminated in a show-stopping moment of grandstanding from Capaldi.

It’s certainly a truism that Capaldi’s tenure hasn’t been wall-to-wall gold. Certain episodes have, at times, felt so chock-full of ideas they stop making any sense. There have been many promising premises ruined by this confusion, most notably in muddled two-parter “The Magician’s Apprentice” and “The Witch’s Familiar”. But even those episodes, and others, were not without their delights, most notably featuring the Doctor riding in on top of a tank playing an electric guitar. Indeed, Capaldi’s tenure has been full of delightful moments; he’s verbally sparred with Santa, physically sparred with Robin Hood and even been a superhero for a little while. In its strongest moments, Capaldi’s tenure on Doctor Who has continued to prove why it’s one of the best programs on television. Upon first appearing in the TARDIS on Christmas day 2013 the Doctor hurriedly asked the question “Do you happen to know how to fly this thing?” Four years later, it’s clear that Peter Capaldi certainly did.

Doctor Who returns to BBC One for a Christmas special – the last episode to star Capaldi as the Doctor – on December 25.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Part 8 Review

Milo Garner — Wed, 28 Jun 2017 11:41:57 +0000

Milo Garner reviews the next chapter of David Lynch’s return to Twin Peaks.

WARNING: This review contains spoilers.

Despite a very surrealist first few episodes, the Twin Peaks revival has since settled into a form more familiar to its original run. Sure, it’s a lot more Lynchian than before; but the provincial, ensemble dramatic form is fairly similar to what we’ve already seen. As such, when Part 8 opens with Ray (George Griffith) and Bob Coop (Kyle MacLachlan) conversing in a car, my expectations were pretty set. It was strange as always – with some mention of a new obscure location, ‘the farm’ – but no more than the usual. Following this is some quite sudden action – the pair pull guns on one another, but Ray had sabotaged Coop’s attack. Coop is shot, seemingly dead. Shortly after his apparent demise, ghostly figures begin to surround Coop’s body, touching and rubbing it. They fade in and out as Badalamenti’s bassy synth is muffled in the soundtrack, accompanied by the terrified screams of Ray, similarly obscured. It’s a shocking and frightening opening – even for Twin Peaks – and sets the tone for the rest of the episode. The surreal is back, and better than ever.

Following this early section is a switch in formula – most episodes in this new season have concluded with a band playing at the Roadhouse, whereas here we are presented with one very early on. And the band in question are none other than ‘the’ Nine Inch Nails, an industrial outfit with whom Lynch had formerly collaborated with on the soundtrack for Lost Highway. They play ‘She’s Gone Away’ as the camera treats the scene like a fully-fledged live music video – the performance is great and suits the tone of the show perfectly. This is also as close to normalcy as we will get in this particular episode. Quickly following the song’s conclusion we are taken somewhere Twin Peaks has never yet strayed – that’s right, the 1940s. As a title informs us, the date is July 16^th 1945; and as has been foreshadowed by a massive poster in FBI HQ, we witness a nuke go off. But more than that, the camera slowly pushes toward the mushroom cloud. It closes in, maintaining its unhurried pace, until we are enveloped by the dark. Following is one of Lynch’s most compelling – and terrifying – sequences yet, one that bears far more similarity with Douglas Trumbull’s groundbreaking work in 2001: A Space Odyssey’s closing sequence and The Tree of Life’s ‘universe’ section than to any of his own filmography. Only an additional dose of chaos and fear are injected into this journey through oblivion. Aside from the fractious and often abrasive visuals, the soundtrack is key to instilling an intense feeling of unease. On it is Penderecki’s Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima – perhaps an obvious choice in some ways, but also one utterly chilling. Penderecki’s music has the ability to terrify even unaccompanied, as I am well aware, so linked with such engrossing and off-putting imagery it is given ever more power – that Kubrick used his music in both 2001 and The Shining to a similar end is further evidence of this. Following this, we are again shown a giant purple ocean (a la Part 3). The camera tilts up to a great rocky structure reaching for the sky, atop it a lighthouse-like building. We cut within – the visuals suggest the 1920s, but the music that we are still in the forties. A woman (Joy Nash) sits alone and beside her in a bell-like steampunk-esque looking object, and soon she is joined by the Giant from the Black Lodge (Carel Struycken) – though this room, and the colour of the remainder of the episode, is monochrome. In the next room, the iconic Giant rewatches the last section of the episode on a projector, then ascends into the sky and spews a golden substance, and an orb (there’s always an orb).

Even for Lynch, this is very bizarre yet utterly compelling. On the day of watching this particular episode, I had recently finished Matthew Barney’s somewhat deranged Cremaster Cycle, a surrealistic series based around the muscle that lowers testicles (it’s weirder than it sounds). I feared Lynch’s ‘TV surrealism’ would seem muted in direct comparison, but as is evident in the above description, he held his own, and then some. In fact, this might be some of the bravest TV of recent times – certainly, it is some of the best. By this point, actual implications for the plot are limited at best – it seems that Bob may have been created, or triggered, by the nuclear blast (though we can’t be sure) and that Laura Palmer might have some greater significance as an orb with her face on it drifts toward a representation of Earth. Maybe hers is the ‘Return’ in the series’ title? Regardless, this is an episode very much worth watching for the ride rather than the scant plot that can be found between the cracks.

Continuing on, the episode then fast-forwards to 1956, and we see a sinister being descend from the sky. This one of many Woodsmen (Robert Broski) is a hobo-looking character whose otherworldly nature is fairly clear – he wonders around his desert locale repeating ‘gotta light?’ while crushing the heads of those who he passes with his hand. He ends up at the local radio, who are playing ‘My Prayer’ by The Platters. After killing a woman and the host (with a horrifying [s]platter of blood) he speaks into the microphone: ‘this is the water, this is the well, drink full and descend, the horse is the white of the eyes and dark within’. Of course, we all expected him to say ‘gotta light?’, but a cryptic message is at the very least not unpredictable for Lynch, unlike the majority of this episode. All the while this is happening, a young couple are parting ways after what seems to be a first date. The girl, once home, is sent to sleep by this hijacked radio message, and we see a small creature – a frog crossed with a fly, at first glance – climb into her mouth. We had seen it hatch from an egg a while earlier – but what it is or what it is doing remains totally obscure. As might be clear, this episode has almost nothing to do with the events that directly preceded it, and indeed only featured a trio of recognisable characters. But, nonetheless, it was totally compelling and has instantly become a favourite episode of mine, not just of Twin Peaks but of TV as a whole. This sort of experimentation, regardless of its meaning, rarely graces the small screen and rarer yet at this quality. Let’s only hope Lynch has allowed himself a few more such flourishes as this before the curtain closes on Twin Peaks once again.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and is then repeated at 9pm on Tuesdays.

‘American Gods’ Season 1 Review

Chloe Woods — Wed, 21 Jun 2017 12:09:31 +0000

Editor Chloe Woods reviews the first season of the highly-anticipated Neil Gaiman adaptation.

What are gods, but reflections of ourselves?

Bryan Fuller and Michael Green’s 2017 adaptation of American Gods is at once shallower and richer than the novel it was based on. It’s hard to subdivide a book so intricately woven; much as it tries to end on a summatory note, the show’s eight episodes feel like they deserve to be slotted seamlessly into a larger whole, without the arc and climax typical of television series. (It doesn’t help that the eighth episode is in many ways the weakest.) Still: that’s not necessarily a burden. The sense of a story half-told will bring viewers back and, the expansionism of studios aside, this is one that deserves to breathe in the telling.

We follow Shadow Moon (Ricky Whittle), except when we don’t, as he leaves prison, learns of his wife’s death, and is hired by the uncanny “Mr Wednesday” (Ian McShane). Around him, strange events start to proliferate – from faceless soldiers to people back from the dead – and Shadow starts to wonder what, precisely, he’s signed up for. All of this is real, though it will take him a while to believe it. The viewers are given far more information, from detours into the perspective of Shadow’s dead wife Laura (Emily Browning) to the languid Coming to America tales, narrating the procession of gods across oceans and giving us an insight into their workings. This makes Shadow’s obtuseness as the season progresses a little wearing: though he’s meant to be clueless, that’s less effective when we don’t share that cluelessness through his eyes.

The reality of gods is evident from the opening, and Mr Wednesday’s identity (“Wednesday – my day!”) should be blindingly obvious to anyone with more than the scantest knowledge of mythology. The strength of that revelation, when it comes, is undermined by the greater pedigree of those surrounding him; which, in the interests of avoiding spoilers, I’ll simply call an interesting deviation from the book – which picked its own stance on the matter for very good reasons – and leave it at that. But if Mr Wednesday is underwhelming, there are other, more intriguing questions lurking. What is a god? If they are made and unmade, can they be anything other than the beings we create? Can they slip beyond our control? Gods feed on belief and on worship; on sacrifice – no greater worship than to offer up your own blood and breath. But some do seem to be kinder than others; so perhaps the avarice of those others is less down to their innate need for worship than the qualities we imbue in them, upon their creation, and which so easily rebound upon ourselves. What is worship, what is its worth, and what do the new gods of America – Media (Gillian Anderson), Technical Boy (Bruce Langley) and Mr. World (Crispin Glover) – offer to their followers? And finally: what are gods to do in, as Media puts it, “an atheists’ world”?

American Gods is the kind of show to inspire such questions. Solemn even in moments of comedy, it’s drenched in tonal and structural choices to evoke the eloquent grandiosity of an art film or work of literature. (We are, after all, living through the golden age of television. But there’s a certain irony to all this: Neil Gaiman is usually found in the science fiction and fantasy section. American Gods is fantasy, unquestionably, but writers can afford to be less grandiose even when their subject matter is grand. Television lives and dies by quicker judgements.) For the most part, it feels like a waking dream, or like the legends themselves brought to life. American Gods is unafraid of long scenes designed to evoke mood rather than progress the plot, and to shift various character dynamics in subtle moments: from Shadow’s perspective in particular, not a lot happens, but plenty changes. It’s a shock, further into the season, to realise how little time has passed over Shadow and Mr Wednesday’s pan-American road trip. The use of colour is vivid, visceral, from the deep blues of midnight to the rich reds of blood and flame. It’s not always that dark: spanning America, we take in bright spring meadows, abandoned police stations and – often – dusty, bright highways. A chilling, unsettling soundtrack (by Brian Reitzell) serves to bind these various places into a singular show. Both seen and implied, the imagery is often graphic and sometimes bizarre. As we might expect.

The original novel was published over fifteen years ago, so we might also expect that American Gods has been updated for the present decade. And this is the case, but only to a certain extent. The technology has been adapted, of course; and there’s greater emphasis on diversity than many probably noticed in the book – but this is emphasis, contingent on expanding our perspective away from Shadow’s, rather than an active change. The gay Jinn (Mousa Kraish) and the Old Gods of many cultures were already present: they merely had less focus. American Gods has always been a story about the diversity of America and critically unchanged, in accordance with this, is the sense of America itself: a place in a constant state of change and flux, alluring for both gods and humans alike in the hope of making new names for themselves, and still in conflict over the core of its own identity. So people, so gods: as far as American Gods has a discernable plot so far, it’s that of a battle brewing between the old gods of Mr Wednesday’s recruitment and the new personifications of the modern world.

Many people will not like this show. It’s deeply irreverent towards both gods and humans. It does not offer easy answers to questions of its plot or world, which we are dropped into with little early explanation. (The answers offered to its thematic questions are easier than they might be; this is what I mean by “shallow”.) It’s unashamed about the role of sex in both religion and human relations – suffice to say an orgy is among the least shocking of its uses, if you’re likely to be shocked. But those who do like it may well find it enthralling and, even if their meaning’s not clear, may well find its potent images haunting them long after the credits have rolled.

The first season of American Gods is available to stream on Amazon Prime Video. See the trailer below:

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Part 7 Review

Milo Garner — Wed, 21 Jun 2017 08:38:58 +0000

Milo Garner reviews the next chapter of David Lynch’s return to Twin Peaks.

WARNING: This review contains spoilers.

After a couple of weeks that seemed to tread water a little plot-wise, Twin Peaks: The Return hits us with some forward momentum in Part 7. This is clearest in Hawk’s (Michael Horse) subplot – the documents discovered in the toilet door turn out to be missing pages of Laura Palmer’s diary (though with one still unaccounted for). Using these pages, Hawk and Sheriff Frank Truman (Robert Forster) come closer to understanding the truth of the Bob – Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) relationship – the many plot strands are beginning to close in. Frank goes on to reveal that within his desk is an absolutely incongruous screen that slides up from the woodwork, and using it he Skypes Doc Hayward (Warren Frost, to whom this episode is dedicated) to ask about when he last saw Coop; this is mostly an aside, besides a name-drop of Audrey Horne, confirmed to be in a coma following the Season 2 finale rather than dead, but an interesting invasion of clearly modern tech into the still-leafy town of Twin Peaks.

But despite this movement in Twin Peaks itself, the star of this episode is surely Diane; introduced in Part 6, hers was perhaps the best reveal of the series so far. Now we meet her as an actual character, and in an almost-expected reversal from her absolute silence in the original series, she is mouthy and sassy; she’ll take nothing from no-one, and it’s great to see. Laura Dern pulls this off excellently, as might be expected from an actor of her calibre, and lights up the screen in any of her featured scenes – especially when she is face to face with Bob in Cooper’s form. But we aren’t done with bad Coop yet – we later see him talking to the warden, forcing him into a deal that would set him and his crony, Ray, free unto the world again. This Coop seems to have some serious influence, and the ominous sounding ‘Mr. Strawberry’ sounds like a character we’ll be spending a lot more time with in future episodes, for good or ill.

Besides this eventful business returns a story strand from the first couple of parts – the decapitated body with a different head. Here we find that this body is confirmed to belong to Major Briggs (Don S. Davis) – though with a twist. The body is the age he would have been 25 years ago and it appears to have been dead only a few days. ‘Blue rose’ indeed. Returning to the weird world of Dougie Coop, we get mostly what would be expected. Police turn up at his office and Janey-E ends up doing most of the talking as would be expected (and Naomi Watts is still brilliant as would also be expected). That said, it isn’t entirely uneventful: the dwarf from last episode – Ike ‘the Spike’ – approaches the couple with a drawn gun. What ensues is a bizarre fight scene featuring perhaps more karate chops than the rest of Peaks combined, with the mysterious Arm appearing and telling Cooper to squeeze the dwarf’s hand off. Coop obliges, with some of Ike’s skin ripping off and attaching itself to his gun (for some reason). Ike gets away and we’re thrown into interviews on the scene – interestingly shot from news-eye-view. To my memory, this is the first time Twin Peaks has indulged in interview shots and it is a mildly jarring stylistic decision, but it mostly works. Exactly what is going on with this Ike character, and why Arm seems to have it in for him, is predictably unclear, but it has spiced up Dougie’s subplot quite effectively nonetheless.

Beyond these established stories we also delve into something quite new, returning to Ben Horne (Richard Beymer) in the Great Northern. He and Beverly (Ashley Judd) search for the origin of a mysterious ringing sound, with Ben then receiving the key to Room 315 – the room Coop was shot in. Beverly then returns home to a suspicious and sickly husband. Scant pickings here, but that Ben might have a deeper role the mere cameos afforded to some of the other veteran characters is comforting in of itself. Finally, Lynch offers the audience one of his patented ‘moments’ – the camera sits at a wide angle in the Bang-Bang Bar, showing us the sinister Jean-Michel Renault (Walter Olkewicz) behind the bar as an employee sweeps the floor. But for a good while, there is no cut; we simply watch the man sweeping to the sound of Booker T & the M.G.’s ‘Green Onions’. It’s the sort of thing that probably wouldn’t be replicated in any other TV show, and it’s the sort of thing that really makes me love Twin Peaks.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and is then repeated at 9pm on Tuesdays.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Part 6 Review

Milo Garner — Wed, 14 Jun 2017 08:22:15 +0000

Milo Garner reviews the next chapter of David Lynch’s return to Twin Peaks.

WARNING: This review contains spoilers.

Part 6 of the Twin Peaks comeback kicks off where 5 ended, with Dougie-Coop (Kyle MacLachlan) alone, entranced by a cowboy statue outside his insurance firm. And so the familiar model is replicated, with Cooper, part-zombie, being led along by kindly members of his world, while near-oblivious to everything going on in it. This time there is some change – the police officer that first escorts him home realises that he has some kind of genuine problem, something most other characters have failed to verbally articulate. Beyond this, we are given some tentative teases to Coop’s inevitable return (perhaps this is ‘the return’ heralded in the series’ title?), with him looking longingly at the cop’s police badge. However tantalising these little tags are, there is a continuing sense that the audience’s patience is being tried. But then we are pulled back in – following strange glowing marks (like in the casino in Parts 3 and 4), Coop seemingly unveils some inconsistencies in papers he was given by his boss, albeit chooses to reveal them in strange childlike drawings. What this is leading to is, of course, obscure, but engaging enough that it isn’t an enormous issue. The other side of this storyline concern Dougie’s outstanding debts with various crooks, this time with Naomi Watts’ Janey-E taking charge. It can’t be understated the amount Watts’ raises the acting bar in Twin Peaks – her performance is constantly and consistently great, and in honesty shows up some of the more ‘TV’ acting that has always pervaded the series (intentionally or not). Hopefully, her character has somewhere to go beyond this side part, as it would be a shame to see her relegated to the side for good.

But on the subject of tantalising teases – one in this episode is probably one of the biggest surprises of the season. Laura Dern makes her Peaks debut in a role that has been present since 1990, and though her screen time is only a few seconds, hers is a reveal we were all waiting for (even if we didn’t know it). Another big hitter an appearance is Harry Dean Stanton, reprising his character Carl Rodd from Fire Walk with Me. His role in the episode is very small, and it could well just be a cameo of sorts, but nonetheless, it’s nice to see some Lynch veterans appearing every episode or so. His main act is one of witnessing another – a terrible crime committed by Eamon Farren’s reckless rebel Richard Horne. In a sequence that was painfully telegraphed, yet still shockingly graphic, Richard runs down a child in the street while speeding. Stanton’s character sees something, maybe a spirit, rise to the sky – that’s all we know for now. As for Farren himself, he had just encountered another of Twin Peaks’ new and sinister residents, the ominously (hey, just like the -) named Red (Balthazar Getty). Red is seemingly in the drug business, and in a wonderfully intimidating performance, terrifies Richard via the use of some fairly advanced coin tricks – he flips a dime in the air where it remains suspended, before reappearing in Richard’s mouth, and then back in Red’s palm. But despite his efforts, he isn’t the scariest moment of this episode, nor is Richard’s hit-and-run the most shocking. In what appears to be a fresh strand, we are introduced to a new character – a murderous dwarf (Christophe Zajac-Denek) who seems set on taking Dougie’s life (no, not that one). Wielding an ice-pick, we follow him as he murders two women, one in graphic detail. As if Coop needed more problems.

As ever, despite running near an hour, we are left knowing little more, and with more questions than answers by the time the credits are played out. That a traditional weekly airing schedule has been chosen over the binge-friendly Netflix drop might not help the series itself, as it feels like something that would benefit from long concentrated doses, but it will keep the audience in a state of constant suspense for the next few months. And that’s no bad thing.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and is then repeated at 9pm on Tuesdays.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Part 5 Review

Milo Garner — Tue, 06 Jun 2017 08:22:23 +0000

Milo Garner reviews the next chapter of David Lynch’s return to Twin Peaks.

WARNING: This review contains spoilers.

Part 5 of Twin Peaks: The Return, the first to be released as a single episode, probably contains the least actual plot of any so far. While most of the main strands are addressed, there is little that could be said of ‘progress’ – the mystery is less than solved, in fact we’re still trying to work out exactly what the mystery itself is. But this is no criticism – one of the great things about this new bout of Peaks is its ability to intrigue and entertain despite, or even because of, the extreme mundanity of some of its storylines. For example, Laura Palmer’s (Sheryl Lee) former psychologist, Dr. Jacoby (Russ Tamblyn), was seen painting spades gold in a past episode. What did this mean, we the audience wondered, and how does it tie into the wider world? Does it have anything to do with the ace of spades the evil doppelgänger of Dale Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) showed Darya (Nicole LaLiberte)? We find that really, he was just painting them to sell them off to fans of his conspiracy podcast. Sure, maybe it’s a double bluff, or maybe the joke’s on us, the collective conspirators of a TV show. Red herring or not, following these characters and their strange doings is always engaging; towards the end of the second series of the original show, many of the side stories felt distracting to the main plot line – here they seem to mould into one cohesive, if currently indefinable, whole.

Like the other parts so far, this episode introduces, and reintroduces, faces new and old. Of the new faces one stands out in particular, that of Amanda Seyfried, who plays Becky. She may or may not be Shelly Johnson’s (Mädchen Amick) daughter, but seems close to her in some way, borrowing $72 before heading off to a car driven by Caleb Landry Jones’ Steven. She then snorts some cocaine and is left peering into the sky, caught in a drug-fuelled euphoria as the car speeds on. The camera is held in overhead for at least a minute – but what a minute. Many high budget television shows are making a habit of including ‘filmic moments’, but Lynch has ‘em all beat with this one, which is as of yet meaningless, but beautiful. Like many of the newly introduced subplots, we can’t glean much from the few minutes of screen time offered to Becky, but as with most of the series, we’re intrigued nonetheless.

Most of Part 5, however, is committed to the Dougie-Cooper adventures, and these are mostly solid. The only real issue is the sketch show vibe that is starting to become apparent – essentially Coop will enter an environment, be presented some stimulus, and do something strange, but a thing apparently justified enough by circumstance to not cause a serious reaction. For example, he meets one of Dougie’s co-workers at one point and, following his revelation last episode, goes for the coffee stack he was carrying. The co-worker interprets this as him just wanting coffee, even if Coop’s acting a little strange about it, and essentially treats him as normal, or at least not someone in need of immediate medical attention. Repeat this general process and that’s the gist Lynch seems to be going for. Admittedly it is sometimes quite funny, and there are some great moments enabled by it (Coop’s repetition of the word ‘agent’ is enough to make any Twin Peaks fan yearn for the ‘Dale Cooper’ that should follow), but it begs the question as to how much longer this formula will structure Coop’s plot strand.

Overall, another strong episode, though one that holds back on the overtly surreal a little (perhaps spending the most time in Twin Peaks itself so far). Again, the direction Lynch is heading in remains obscure, though one senses something is building beneath the surface, even if it’s unclear exactly what that could be at this point.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and is then repeated at 9pm on Tuesdays.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Parts 3 & 4 Review

Milo Garner — Mon, 29 May 2017 20:49:58 +0000

Milo Garner reviews the next two chapters of David Lynch’s return to Twin Peaks.

Shortly after its double-bill return, another two parts of the revived Twin Peaks hit our screens. In contrast to the plot overload offered in that initial feature-length presentation, here the narrative focuses in, offering both stranger and more recognisable elements of the Twin Peaks mythos across the pair.

Part 3 opens boldly – following Coop’s (Kyle MacLachlan) disappearance inside the New York glass box last episode, we find him in some otherworldly, purplish place. This entire sequence is what I look for most in my Lynchian adventures, and is a marvel to behold. Moving across a room also occupied by an eyeless woman in a red velvet dress (Nae Yuuki), the picture stutters – frames are skipped, repeated, or otherwise manipulated to give the scene an unnerving, even distressing tone. The audio acts likewise, with a jumbled and broken feeling to it. But everything is going exactly as intended. The closest comparison to be drawn here is not to Twin Peaks, but in this case Eraserhead. Elements of the body horror that so defined that film are here, as well as the unsettling and quite disturbing contradictions of cinematic norms. As would be expected, this scene also plants some currently unexplained seeds – the number ‘15’ is added to the phone book of non-sequitur numerals that is slowly building across the series.

Another is shown to us as the lady leads Coop to the top of the room he found himself in, revealing it to be a Tardis-like bigger-on-the-inside structure floating in space; after her departure we see Major Briggs’s (Don Davis) face float across the cosmos, speaking only ‘Blue Rose’. Very strange, very exciting. Coop then returns to the room, and finds what seems to be a contraption that will lead him back to reality – bad news for Bob, who had been assuming Cooper’s form, and who begins to feel the pull of the Red Room. But he manages to avoid this fate, as a third (!) Cooper enters the frame – Dougie, a seeming no-mark who lives near Vegas, whose finger is adorned with a ring last seen in the Twin Peaks prequel film, Fire Walk With Me. In another Eraserhead-esque moment, Dougie throws up some meaty, bloody goop, and is transported to the Red Room. Bob’s Coop remains in reality, and now the real Coop is back, in place of Dougie, though in a childlike state that renders him unable to speak any words that he hasn’t had spoken at him. He might be back, but he’s a long way from the Coop we know and love, at least for now.

Following this (welcome) madness, classic Twin Peaks gets injected into the mix, with some banter between Lucy (Kimmy Robertson), Andy (Harry Goaz), and Hawk (Michael Horse). It might feel a bit stilted and, of course, weird, but it serves as some excellent shelter to the storm that Lynch has been conjuring for most of the series so far. In mentioning Lynch, the return of his acting role should also be mentioned. Gordon Cole is back in business, and is on the case of the glass box in New York. He and Albert (Miguel Ferrer) have some great lines and recapture the chemistry they had in the original series without fault, even more than between Andy and Lucy.

Part 4, however, goes even further to reaffirm that this is still very much Twin Peaks, settling for a less strange (if only a little) and more humorous tone. It also introduces some more new talent, most notably Naomi Watts (veteran of Lynch masterpiece Mullholland Drive), who plays Dougie’s wife at perfect pitch. She tasks herself with trying to get Dougie, or rather the reborn Cooper, to function normally again, which leads to predictable but ever entertaining antics. These include but are not limited to: a tie wrapped round Coop’s head rather than his neck; Coop forgetting and then realising how to pee; and Coop attempting to gulp smouldering coffee in a sudden remembrance that it’s his thing – this to the sound of Brubeck’s ‘Take Five’, no less. Returning to the police station in Twin Peaks we are both reunited with a ridiculously old looking Bobby (Dana Ashbrook), now a member of the force, and are also introduced to Andy and Lucy’s son, portrayed in a wonderful cameo by Michael Cera. He gives a straight and deadpan speech on his various exploits and philosophies as a biker (a purposeful homage to Marlon Brando – hence the character’s name: Wally Brando), and is a great diversion from everything else going on. I don’t expect Cera to return, but he’s made his mark.

These two parts do much to affirm what this new series of Twin Peaks will be – apparently both a bout of Lynch’s cinematic weirdness without losing the essence of what made Twin Peaks so loved (though it might still be a little too strange for the more casual fans). More interestingly is that this, so far, is working. With many characters yet to be reintroduced and some of the plot strands from the first couple of episodes still hanging, it should be said that this series is still getting started – but what a start.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs Mondays at 2am in simulcast with the U.S. on Sky Atlantic, and then is repeated 9pm on Tuesdays.

‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ – Parts 1 & 2 Review

Milo Garner — Mon, 22 May 2017 22:30:16 +0000

In the first of our weekly reviews of David Lynch’s highly-anticipated return to Twin Peaks, Milo Garner gives a taste of The Return’s first two hours.

“I’ll see you again in 25 years” – so spoke Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee) in the last episode of Twin Peaks, which aired in 1991. In what is more a surreal twist of fate than a long planned artistic venture, it seems Laura was speaking quite literally. A quarter-decade later, David Lynch – ten years retired from his directional career – returned to the helm to film 18 more ‘parts’ of Twin Peaks, titled The Return, with the first two airing as a feature length double-bill.

In its opening moments Lynch, who is directing all 18 parts as opposed to merely showrunning, presents us with an image of familiarity. We return to the Red Room, with Laura prophesizing her meeting with Special Agent Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) 25 years hence in a clip from the show’s 1991 finale, before jumping forward to the present, with Coop still trapped exactly where he was. Aesthetically there is little contrast – the reverse cinematography is just as creepy as ever, and the sound design remains fantastic (which is incidentally credited to Lynch himself). From here we are greeted with various cryptic messages from denizens of the Red Room, old faces from the original run. A conspicuous absence is The Man from Another Place (played in the first two seasons by Michael J. Anderson, and ‘evolved’ in The Return), whose unnerving dancing was little less than iconic – but besides him and a select few others, nearly all of the cast of the original Twin Peaks appear for a moment or two across these two episodes. However despite this sense of continuity, especially engendered by Angelo Badalamenti’s unforgettable main theme, this new series has some significant stylistic differences to its ancestor.

The original Twin Peaks was a murder mystery cloaked in an ever encroaching sense of strangeness, which occasionally overtook the show in the episodes Lynch directed; but in those he didn’t, it could almost be a sort of bizarre small-town soap opera. This new season, however, follows more in the tradition of Lynch’s filmography and the select episodes he directed of the original – the long silences, the seemingly disconnected story threads, that feeling of ‘not-quite-right’; these episodes feel more akin to Lost Highway than to most of Twin Peaks. But this is no problem – in fact, it was what I hoped for most – Showtime have seemingly decided to give Lynch the reins, and taking into account his (irrational and disappointing) reassertion that cinema is over for him, it should be celebrated that we can still see his vision somewhere. As such, the domestic to-ing and fro-ing that defined much of Twin Peaks’ slower sections have been lost, instead replaced by 120 minutes of feverish surrealism.

Across the two episodes several plot strands are established, but in true Lynchian fashion none of them make too much sense as of yet – there is a sort of murder mystery in Buckhorn; Coop’s mission against Bob in the Red Room; a man watching a glass box in New York; something or other happening in Las Vegas; and a host of small strands in Twin Peaks itself. But despite there being little solid to clamp onto in terms of plot, Lynch’s filmmaking is ever engrossing. Visually, the episodes are a wonder, with the Red Room especially offering some new visual tricks that are sure to disturb and amaze in equal measure. They also sound great – Lynch knows when something should be loud, but perhaps more exceptionally, when something should be quiet. Given that Lynch is behind the wheel for every episode this time around, some of these mysteries might never fully unravel – but as made clear in Mulholland Drive, sometimes the journey is far more valuable than any solid conclusion.

Twin Peaks: The Return airs weekly on Mondays at 2am on Sky Atlantic, and then repeated Tuesdays at 9pm. We will be reviewing the series every week – continuing with Parts 3 & 4, available to stream on Sky On Demand and NOW TV.