TV Review: Wednesday Season 2, Part 2

The Night of the Return of the Revenge of the Attack of Unresolved Mommy Issues

In season 1 of this show, Wednesday Addams solved a murder mystery and saved her school. At the start of season 2, she deals with her unwanted fame by doubling down on her lone genius act, thus antagonizing the allies she ought to be relying on when a new murderer comes to town. The season concludes by showing Wednesday the consequences of her arrogance and putting her on a path toward repairing her strained relationships.

The execution isn't the most elegant, a problem that the show had since the previous season, but the expanded focus on the supporting cast provides parallels to Wednesday's journey that help the clumsy bits of the plot work more smoothly. Wednesday's roommate Enid has been avoiding her first boyfriend because she's afraid of telling him she fell in love with someone else, an unstable situation that resolves with a serving of karmic irony. Their classmate Bianca has been suffering in silence under the blackmail of the new school director, who is forcing her to use her mind control powers to secure donations; her plight gets predictably worse as she continues to refuse to ask for help. And Wednesday's brother Pugsley has been coping with his loneliness by keeping a zombie as a pet, starting a series of events that come back to threaten his whole family for their unhealthy habit of keeping dirty secrets.

The theme is clear: we can't handle everything on our own, and keeping people in the dark only brings more complications. Wednesday herself is the most significant illustration of this idea. She received a psychic vision that said she would cause the death of Enid, and she keeps this information to herself because she underrates Enid's strength and overrates her own. Through the whole season, Wednesday's biggest flaw is her excessive self-reliance. With Enid, she learns of her mistake by literally walking in her shoes. With her mother, Morticia, it takes the rest of the semester. Wednesday has valid reasons to keep strict boundaries with her meddlesome parents, but when lives are at stake, she should admit that her mother is more versed in the occult arts and that there's a precedent of psychic mishaps in her family tree.

Motherly ties are a central axis of this season. Besides the difficulties between Wednesday and Morticia, the latter also has unfinished business with her own mother. Bianca's predicament revolves around keeping her mother away from the influence of a destructive cult. Tyler, the secondary villain of season 1, kills his substitute mother figure, only to reunite with his actual mother, with whom he has a big final fight after she schemes to (symbolically) emasculate him. Even Pugsley, by virtue of accidentally giving life to a zombie, gets thrown into a motherly role at which he fails repeatedly and catastrophically. And to the extent that a severed hand can experience mommy issues, Thing goes through a small identity crisis arc of its own when its original body reappears to reclaim it.

While the character-focused writing is more solid this time (and one always welcomes more scenes with the radiant goddess that is Catherine Zeta-Jones), the first season's bad habit of overcomplicating the plot comes back with a vengeance. The early episodes build up to what promises to be an important antagonist who soon turns out to be a red (-headed) herring and becomes far less interesting from then on. The mysterious flock of ravens that plague the first half of the season are given an underwhelming explanation before being removed from the picture. The cult that had trapped Bianca's mother makes a last-minute reappearance that feels out of nowhere. In total, we meet no less than six separate characters who at some point seem to be this season's Big Bad Boss. Our young heroes are kept so busy investigating and unmaking this tangle of conspiracies that it's no surprise that, once again, this show that is supposedly set in a school doesn't have scenes where they attend classes or do homework.

Finally, there's the issue with the characterization of the Addams family. The show doesn't know whether it wants to portray the Addams as endearing weirdos or heartless sociopaths, so when they join efforts to save one of their own, it's hard to buy that they truly love each other (at one point Wednesday suspects her family will be threatened, and coldly proposes to sacrifice Pugsley; shortly after, he does fall in real danger, and she forgets her own words and jumps to the rescue). Add to this incongruity the family's volatile way of choosing which deaths to care about, and what we get is a tonally scattershot story that is more interested in the spooky aesthetic than in the consequences of dealing with dark forces on a daily basis. You can either tell a silly absurdist comedy where casual cruelty is hilarious and random murders are background noise in the macabre goofiness that defined the '90s films, or tell a crime drama where people's feelings matter, death is taken seriously and family trauma weighs on the protagonists. Aiming for both is trying to have your ant-infested cake and eat it too.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10.

POSTED BY: Arturo Serrano, multiclass Trekkie/Whovian/Moonie/Miraculer, accumulating experience points for still more obsessions.

TV Review: Wednesday Season 2, Part 1

Clever, funny, horror mayhem and lots of family drama

After a bold and successful first season, Wednesday has returned to Netflix with a suitably creepy new adventure. For those unfamiliar with the series, Wednesday is the latest iteration of The Addams Family, the creepy, wealthy, cynical, and humorously ghoulish family that evolved from classic New Yorker cartoons to a 1960s sitcom, to numerous feature films, and now to a daughter-focused, light-horror, Netflix series. In season one, teen daughter Wednesday Addams (Jenna Ortega) is sent to Nevermore Academy after her defiantly macabre behavior gets her in trouble elsewhere. Nevermore is an isolated academy for “outcasts” who, in this setting, are teens with supernatural identities such as werewolves, sirens, gorgons, vampires, witches, etc. Cynical, dour Wednesday must adjust to life on the Edgar Allen Poe-inspired campus while reluctantly accepting the friendship of her sunshiny roommate Enid (Emma Myers), and solving the mystery of a serial killer who is deceptively hiding in plain sight in the town. She approaches the challenge with her signature combination of intelligence, clairvoyance, and fearlessness.

In season two (part one), Wednesday overuses her clairvoyance and begins to suffer physical consequences including crying or bleeding black tears and becoming exhausted and passing out. Meanwhile, as she returns to school at Nevermore, she is irritated to discover that she is now a beloved celebrity on campus. But, there is a new mysterious killer in town, assassinating people via a swarm (murder) of crows and also overtly stalking Wednesday. When Wednesday has a vision of Enid’s death, she becomes determined to use her clairvoyance to find the killer and save Enid. This puts her at odds with her mother Morticia (Catherine Zeta-Jones), who is openly worried about Wednesday succumbing to the same obsession, psychosis, and physical harm that Morticia’s sister Ophelia suffered. As a side story, Wednesday’s younger brother Pugsley (Isaac Ordonez) enrolls at the school and accidently creates a murderous zombie from a long dead Nevermore student. With multiple killers, stalkers, and high stakes crises, Wednesday quickly moves towards a mid-season climax in which yet another killer joins the chaos.

Season one was a funny, clever, horror mystery with lots of red herrings and lots of adventure. However, season two intensifies the emotional investment of the characters. Instead of directly rehashing the same type of plot, season two builds on certain elements of the first season but takes the storytelling in a more character focused direction. A major driving force of the current season is Wednesday’s friendship with Enid. Instead of Enid being a comedic foil or general annoyance to her, Wednesday’s determination to protect Enid emphasizes Wednesday’s emotional evolution in the midst of the mayhem and cynicism. Conversely, in season two, Wednesday has a degenerating antagonistic relationship with her mother, even as Morticia struggles with anger at her own mother. The multi-level mother-daughter conflicts, and the mutual insecurities that fuel them, is a secondary driving force of the story. Despite these meaningful emotional overtones, the show still has plenty of action as Wednesday deals with a primary murderous stalker, as well as a creepy fangirl stalker (a show-stealing Evie Templeton) and the fallout of her little brother’s accidental zombie creation.

While the core adventure and emotional overtones are solid, the show sometimes suffers from an overabundance of side plots which can, at times, be distracting and does periodically slow the pacing of the primary story. In addition to the main storyline, we also have Pugsley’s rampaging zombie, Enid’s love triangle with Ajax (Georgie Farmer) and Bruno (Noah B. Taylor), a newly arrived music teacher (Billie Piper), and a mysterious psychiatrist (Thandie Newton) at the town’s high security psychiatric hospital. There is also a bit of social commentary regarding the way Bianca (Joy Sunday) is manipulated by the new Nevermore headmaster (Steve Buscemi) who uses her status as a scholarship recipient to exploit her for financial gain. And we have Bianca’s issues with protecting and hiding her mother. Most of the stories are entertaining, albeit voluminous, with the possible exception of Pugsley’s zombie, which is often a bit campy despite being a poignant representation of Pugsley’s relatable feelings of awkwardness and isolation as he begins the new school.

Despite being a teen adventure, Wednesday is also a horror comedy series, which means several characters meet their demise onscreen in horror film ways. Fortunately, the actual gore is kept to a PG safe minimum. This balance of intensity makes the show a satisfying and entertaining gothic adventure without becoming overly graphic. Overall, the first half of Wednesday Season 2 is off to a promising, albeit overstuffed, start with solid acting and entertaining plotting as things move from bad to worse for Wednesday.

Highlights:

• Escalating emotions
• Lots of subplots
• Clever, funny, horror adventure

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10.

POSTED BY: Ann Michelle Harris – Multitasking, fiction writing Trekkie currently dreaming of her next beach vacation.

Film Review: KPop Demon Hunters

A fresh take on familiar themes, played out with bright animation and appealing characters

Netflix’s latest animated adventure, KPop Demon Hunters is a useful option if you’re ready to take a break from the weight of the world and enjoy bit of light adventure. On the eve of their greatest triumph, a trio of female K-Pop rockstars who moonlight as demon hunters find themselves thwarted by the arrival of a competing group of performers secretly bent on demon-serving, soul-sucking destruction. The story manages to be both comfortably familiar and freshly amusing, both laugh out loud funny and substantially tragic, and is filled with catchy tunes that will stay in your head long after the credits roll. Although aimed at a younger generation, older viewers will recognize the film’s familiar call back to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jem and the Holograms, and other secret hero stories.

Musically talented orphan Rumi and her two besties, tough and cynical Mira and energetic rapper Zoey, are part of a super popular K-Pop trio named Huntrix. Beyond their musical success and millions of adoring fans, they also have a secret side job killing demons (hence the band’s name). All three young women are trained, fearless demon hunters, complete with magical blades and supernatural acrobatic skills. They are working towards achieving a final victory over the demon world via an event called the Honmoon (never clearly explained). However, just as victory seems close, an unexpected new enemy arrives to thwart their plans. They soon find themselves faced with an alluring boy band, the Saja Boys, secretly made up of super gorgeous demons. Their new competition is led by the seductive but internally tortured Jinu. Following a theme explored in the film Sinners, we learn that throughout time, variations of musically inclined hunters have used their special musical gifts to transcend the natural realm and fight demons. Huntrix gets much of their strength from the energy of those who cheer them on. The arrival of the Saja Boys creates competition for both Huntrix’s fans and Huntrix’s physical strength, even as the new arrivals secretly wreak havoc on the people of the city by stealing their souls. This may sound a little intense but the film is played out in bright neon colors and shiny computer animation. At times, the soul stealing is so subtle that it takes a moment to realize what is happening. But what makes the story particularly entertaining is the fact that Rumi, Mira, and Zoey immediately realize the Saja Boys are demons and the Saja Boys know the Huntrix singers are demon hunters. As a result, much of the film involves hidden hijinks and sarcasm as the two enemies publicly interact at press conferences, concerts, and televised events. And of course, there is a lot of music and a reminder of how influenced K-Pop is by American hip hop. The songs are high energy and bubbling with dual meanings, and all of this is wrapped up with ridiculously intense K-Pop choreography displayed in dramatic, big screen worthy animation.

In addition to the external battles, the film deals with internal elements of self-identity, self-hatred, guilt, and shame. It also reflects themes from contemporary popular fiction, including enemies to lovers and morally gray love interests, as Rumi and Jinu find themselves thrown together. The vibe of fierce but hidden female fighters is reminiscent of the vibe in Justina Ireland’s novel Dread Nation. The importance of music as a spiritual element in fighting and provoking evil is an interesting call back to Sinners. However, unlike those stories, the Netflix film is gore-free, safe for tweens, but still entertaining enough for adults who want something lighter and more amusing.

A key element of the film is the visual choices. The demon king is never really seen but appears as an amorphous pink cloud. The Saja Boys are each designed with extreme K-Pop beauty that creates a hilarious contrast to their true nature. Jinu communicates with Rumi via a show-stealing, enormous, teal blue, striped cat who travels with a bird who wears a top hat on its head. The big cat is the most understatedly fun and funny thing in the visuals and it roams throughout the plot unbothered by being both gorgeous and outrageous.

Despite the interesting set up and the seductive dynamic between Rumi and Jinu, the ultimate messaging of the film stops short of attempting a deep dive into, or a meaningful resolution of, the demon world. The demons are portrayed primarily as comically grotesque, generally evil, and mostly two dimensional. That approach is not uncommon in many demon hunter stories (such as Jujutsu Kaisen and Demon Slayer) but, in this film, two of the main characters have a significant connection to the demon world. So, it feels like a missed opportunity not to delve deeper into the identity and motivations of that world, especially since it defines and affects the two lead characters. Additionally, unlike Jinu, Rumi’s backstory remains mostly a mystery. We never hear the story of her parents or their demise although it’s a critical element in who she is. But this is a ninety-nine minute animated PG film and the focus is on the primary plot: achieving the Honmoon and defeating the demon world despite the efforts of the tortured yet seductive anti-hero. Does that happen? Surprisingly, you’ll have to watch and see, because KPop Demon Hunters has enough built in twists to keep viewers guessing.

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Nerd Coefficient: 7/10

Highlights:

• Fun, likeable, characters
• Familiar explorations of classic themes
• Catchy music and animation, safe for the whole family

POSTED BY: Ann Michelle Harris – Multitasking, fiction-writing Trekkie currently dreaming of her next beach vacation.

Film Review: Lost in Starlight

 This Korean animated film on Netflix straddles rom-com and space adventure

Lost in Starlight begins on Mars, with an astronaut in a busy, vibrant housing facility for the team members recording a message to her daughter back on Earth. On the wall of her bunk, she has a small crayon drawing of an astronaut that her daughter made for her, and a vinyl record hanging up. But during the recording, a tremor shatters the entire facility, collapsing it on all of the astronauts inside, killing the entire crew.

Fast-forward some 25 years, and we meet the now-grown daughter who was to receive that message -- Nan-young. Despite losing her mom in that tragedy on Mars, Nan-young has pursued a career at NASA, as well, and she plans on being a member of the crew that will make humanity's first return voyage to the Red Planet since her mom and the others were lost. But her supervisors are worried about her -- not because she seems to emotional, but because she doesn't seem emotional enough.NASA removes her from the mission, believing that she never fully processed the loss of her mother, and that the psychological effects of arriving on Mars might prove overwhelming or unpredictable.

Upset by losing her spot on the team, Nan-young begins going through some of her mother's things, and finds an old, broken record player that she had decorated with crayon drawings as a child. She tries to find a repair shop that can tackle the record player, but has no luck until she literally bumps into Jay as she's going into a store and he's coming out. The record player falls to the ground, and Jay says he repairs machines like that. Some coincidence.

As Nan-young and Jay begin spending more time together, she opens up to him about how much she loves music, and one song in particular really helped get her through the long nights of studying in college. But she got the song off of a file-sharing site, and never knew who the artist was. She begins playing the song, and Jay confesses that he actually wrote the song with his old band, and he never knew anyone had heard it. Again, some coincidence.

As Nan-young continues her scientific work at NASA, she encourages Jay to get back with his old band and explore writing and performing again. He's reluctant to do so, but does reconnect with his old band mates, and agrees to play guitar live. Then suddenly, Nan-young makes a breakthrough involving plant-life on Mars, and earns a spot back on the crew. The public announcement goes out before she can tell Jay, and his feelings are hurt, leading to a rift before the mission.

Once the Mars mission begins, the film begins intercutting between their two narratives. Nan-young has to do a reconnaissance mission on the surface, and a windstorm comes up, seeparating her from the rest of the crew, shorting out her coms, and threatening her oxygen supply. Back on Earth, Jay has agreed to play and sing with the band at a festival date, and since he hasn't sung on stage in years, he's really nervous.So, one character is literally fighting for her life on an alien planet, and the other...has stage fright. 

This is where the movie lost me. The stacking up of coincidences early in the film was a little clunky, but I could get over it. For a good portion of the movie, it does play much more like a romantic comedy with a bit of sci-fi flavor on the periphery, so if it hewed a little more closely to rom-com meet-cute conventions, it didn't feel out of place. And the movie does a couple interesting things with the idea of the bifurcation of self in the face of past trauma, and finding ways out of that. But the climactic juxtaposition of a literal life-or-death, high-drama space adventure vs. taking a deep breath and singing a song in front of what looks to be about 100 people...it just didn't track for me.

In the end, I found myself reminded of movies that plowed similar ground, but which I enjoyed much more. Movies like The Martian or Your Name, where in the former dealt with survival on Mars and the latter with romantic partners trying to communicate across impossible distances, felt like they were big inspirations for a lot of the action of the film, and though I was reminded of them, Lost in Starlight never resonated with me the way those films did. Even First Man, about Neil Armstrong trying to compartmentalize his child's death while embarking on the moon mission, felt a little more emotionally impactful while dealing with very similar material.

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Nerds coefficient: 6/10

Posted by Vance K - resident cult-film reviewer and co-founder of nerds of a feather, flock together 

TV Review: Bet

A live-action version of the quirky anime

Gambling as a passion, an addiction, or as a means to an end is the theme for the new Netflix series Bet. Bet is a live-action version of the quirky anime Kakegurui, a story of an elite private school where intense gambling is encouraged and the results are dangerous and cruel. However, new arrival Yumeko is serenely and eerily comfortable with the wild atmosphere. She fearlessly engages with the most sadistic opponents while building a bewildered crew of friends who try to avoid becoming collateral damage. The original show is a psychological thriller—creepily intense and substantially deranged. The live-action adaptation has a similar vibe, especially initially, but eventually evolves into a traditional Mean Girls-style teen drama.

In Bet, Yumeko (Miku Martineau) is a new student at St. Dominic’s, an elite private school where wealthy families send their children to learn cutthroat leadership skills via nonstop gambling. Yumeko’s sweet and seemingly friendly nature stands out in sharp contrast to the other cynical students, who range from terrified or cautious to lethal and cruel. But beneath her charming exterior, Yumeko is also a fearless and consummate gambler. At St. Dominic’s the top winners financially earn a spot on the manipulative student council, while those with the highest losses and debts become degraded servants known as “house pets.” Shortly after arriving, Yumeko gains an ally in Ryan—Ryoko in the anime (Ayo Solanke), a house pet she is kind to and for whom she uses her gambling winnings to free from his bondage to the cynical and cruel Mary (Eve Edwards), who also becomes a reluctant ally and frenemy. However, in Bet, unlike the anime, Yumeko is more than a gambling addict: she is driven by revenge. Despite her talents, she is opposed by the colorful characters on the student council, including violent Dori (Aviva Mongillo), dramatic Suki (Ryan Sutherland), self-absorbed Chad (Dorian Giordano), mysterious Riri (Anwen O’Driscoll), and her sister, the dictatorial Kira (Clara Alexandrova), the president of the council. In her quest for revenge, Yumeko secretly enlists the help of a loner classmate, Michael (Hunter Cardinal), much to the dismay of the now lovesick Ryan. Michael becomes a confidant in Yumeko’s true strategy, even as his own motivations remain unclear.

Unfortunately, the story takes a turn, moving from a quirky, engaging character study to a straightforward assassination plot that feels strangely superficial and decidedly juvenile. As the series progresses, the plot requires a willing suspension of disbelief as the story drifts towards hijinks rather than more abstract psychological intrigue.

Recreating an anime for live action is always a challenge due to pressures of fan expectations, the difficulty of creating believable visuals in a real-life setting, and the challenges of executing an appropriate acting style. Bet does a nice job of capturing the essence of the original lead characters, including the confident and mysterious Yumeko, insecure but loyal Ryan (Ryoko in the anime), and cynical and pragmatic Mary. Miku Martineau’s Yumeko is particularly appealing with her thoughtful portrayal of a consummate manipulator. However, although the premise of Bet remains the same as Kakegurui, the plot has some significant changes. Michael is a new character who adds additional complications to the story. Yumeko is addicted to the rush and danger of gambling, but in Bet, she uses gambling as a specific tool for revenge for the murder of someone she loves. Having this new layer of motivation would normally be a great way to create more emotional investment and suspense, but the execution would have been better served by leaning into the subtlety and psychological thriller elements of the source material. Instead, the live-action version descends into direct and less suspenseful assassination attempts. The initial edginess of the show’s adult language and sexual inuendo is eventually undercut by the PG nature of the crimes that occur. Additionally, Kakegurui uses fantastical effects to explore the inner workings of the characters’ thoughts and their intensely passionate responses to risk. In Bet, this visual technique is mostly omitted, so the fantastical elements of the story are primarily displayed through the unusual character visuals.

Despite these changes, Bet is still a better adaptation of Kakegurui than prior versions. The acting and creative casting of Bet makes the series reasonably enjoyable. However, fans of Kakegurui will likely be disappointed by the shift from the edgy, disturbed, magical realism elements of the anime. Instead, we have an interesting premise that ultimately abandons psychological terror in favor of a more direct and traditional murder. By playing it safer with the writing, Bet ironically avoids the risk of telling an unusual story in an unusual way.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10.

Highlights:

• Creepy academic setting
• Disappointing stylistic shift midseason
• Engaging characters

POSTED BY: Ann Michelle Harris – Multitasking, fiction-writing Trekkie currently dreaming of her next beach vacation.

Documentary Review: Don't Die

On Bryan Johnson's obsessive quest to bring science fiction to real life

Cards on the table: I fully agree that death is bad. Zero stars, don't recommend. I'll be among the cheering crowd if medical technology somehow succeeds at solving all diseases and making it possible for us to live thousands or millions of years—emphasis on if. So far I've found no reasons to expect that über-rich tech bro Bryan Johnson will succeed at outrunning his own body and unlocking the secret to immortality. The current state of scientific progress simply isn't there yet. However, his Netflix infomercial documentary Don't Die, which you shouldn't for a second believe isn't part of his meticulously curated regimen of 24/7 self-branding, does something more interesting than expositing on the state of the art of the study of aging. Where he aimed at portraying himself as a bold pioneer opening up the next frontier of human history, what actually comes off is a tragic character study whose inadvertent revelations reach beyond the power of his obvious control over the narrative.

That's right, people: I'm taking the message from the enemy of death and applying Death of the Author to it. Irony engines, engage!

You can easily guess my verdict on Don't Die by the fact that it presents itself as a true story from real life but this is a science fiction blog. Johnson's self-imposed mission to eliminate death is, in the most literal sense, science fiction: his goal is unfeasible in this century, no matter how vehemently he persists in preaching the gospel of eternal youth. It's been a while since fellow anti-death prophet Raymond Kurzweil made one of his eyebrow-raising predictions about extending human life to infinity by digital means, and until actual results are shown, we should remain no less skeptical of Bryan Johnson's promise to achieve the same by chemical means. (And no, his massive abs don't count as "results." At a decade older, Jason Statham looks just as ripped and far less stressed.) We won't know for certain whether those numbers on the chart of Johnson's biomarkers mean something until he enters actual old age.

While we wait for the big news, he's hard to tell apart from other enthusiasts of extreme body modification, such as Henry Damon, Michel Praddo, or Dennis Avner, whom I don't recommend you look up. However, those guys tend to describe their transformations in terms of artistic self-expression. Despite his habit of posing half-nude for Instagram, Bryan Johnson doesn't appear to be motivated by an aesthetic ideal, or at least doesn't claim to be. His grueling routine of over a hundred pills, brutal weightlifting, sessions of artificial light, a set of diet restrictions that can only be described as sadistic, and the occasional injection of plasma from his son (because why try to live forever if you can't go full vampire) don't add up to an enjoyable life. The documentary even recognizes the incongruity of spending so much of his waking hours working so hard to buy himself more days of life... which he ends up not living because he's too busy trying not to die. If this were a form of artistic self-expression, its message would be legible as a cry for help. Could Johnson be staging an elaborate performance project, a vociferous statement on the commercialization of healthcare and the fundamental inequality that lets him fly outside of US jurisdiction to receive super-illegal genetic therapies for a sum that could buy years' worth of deworming pills for Third World kids? Or is he instead the world's worst case of orthorexia? Is he like French artist Orlan, who uses her own body as the shapeable material of her work, or is he like Chinese emperor Qin Shi Huang, who spent his old age desperately seeking an alchemist who could brew the elixir of eternal life?

Regardless of whatever useful scientific advance may eventually result from this, the one thing that is clear about Johnson is that he's a businessman, and he's learned very well how to sell his product. At the start of the documentary, the camera quickly scans over a long list of the blood tests he takes regularly, conspicuously stopping at the exact position where his testosterone levels would appear right in the center of the frame. In a later scene, text on the screen summarizes his progress according to various medical parameters, the unmissable last of which is the quality of his erections. Johnson knows exactly the demographic of insecure young men that his message is likely to attract. He ought to know; he's been there.

Johnson lets us glimpse bits of his psychology when he starts recounting his youth in the Mormon church, his way too early marriage, his first business successes and the soul-draining rhythm of nonstop work that it took to become a multimillionaire. He describes a period of suicidal depression around his 30s, when he realized that he didn't know in what direction he wanted to go with his life. He did end up leaving the Mormon church, but he seems to have never noticed how the particularly twisted Mormon version of patriarchal expectations must have contributed to his mental breakdown. Like many people with depression, he correctly identified that he shouldn't listen when his mind was telling him that he had to die. Unlike probably everyone else with depression, he took that insight too far, and decided to stop listening to his mind about anything. When he describes how he built an inflexible algorithm that makes all life decisions for him, his evident relief is hard to empathize with. It's like hearing Victor Frankenstein tell the happy story of how all his worries went away after he gave himself a lobotomy.

The way Johnson puts it, "Removing my mind has been the best thing I've ever done in my life." Such an admission comes from a man who claims to be working to help people stop behaving self-destructively, a profoundly troubled man who hears his son tell him during casual conversation that he's disconnected from his own emotions and still doesn't get the hint. That fateful step of surrendering his agency to impersonal laws, of ceasing to make his own choices (which for all purposes is equivalent to ceasing to be a person) is the key to the whole puzzle. Johnson developed his self-hatred to its logical conclusion: in the contest against natural death, his winning move was to snatch its victim first. Time can no longer annihilate him, not because he hardened his body against all harm, but because he preemptively severed that body from consciousness before nature could do it. That's how he finally ensured that he won't die: by the standards of humanism, he has already committed suicide.

POSTED BY: Arturo Serrano, multiclass Trekkie/Whovian/Moonie/Miraculer, accumulating experience points for still more obsessions.

TV Review: The Eternaut

The end of the world feels different when it's the Third World that's affected

A pioneering work of Argentinean science fiction, The Eternaut is a serialized comic strip published during the late 1950s and endowed later with a prophetic aura when its author, Héctor Germán Oesterheld, was kidnapped by his country's far-right dictatorship because of the political content of his stories and his participation in an armed resistance group linked to Liberation Theology. Just like what happened with his four daughters and sons-in-law, Oesterheld was never seen again. His legacy as a writer, however, has prevailed and risen to the status of legend.

After decades of frustrated attempts, The Eternaut has finally been given the live-action treatment, in the form of a Netflix series whose first season has just been released, while a second one is on its way. It tells the story of a group of middle-aged Porteños suddenly caught in the middle of an anomalous climatic event that, while devastating on its own, is only the prelude to a much bigger threat: an invasion of Earth by mind-controlling aliens. The source material also contains elements of time travel and multiverse travel, but the show's first season only gives very indirect hints of those plot points, preferring to start on a firm grounding by focusing the story on ordinary people's Herculean efforts to stay alive, stay together, and cling to hope.

Oesterheld wrote his masterpiece during the early period of the Cold War, when the terrifying prospect of nuclear fallout and nuclear winter was just entering the public consciousness, but his version of it is much more dramatic: the mysterious snowfall that opens the narration kills instantly with the slightest touch. That's the reason for the iconic image of the protagonist wearing a diving mask that used to appear on the covers of The Eternaut's collected editions. It's also an example of the story's aesthetic, distinguished by the creative use of common tools repurposed to deal with a world-ending catastrophe. The choice to follow characters with no specialized expertise or ties to the centers of power also sets The Eternaut apart from the tone that has become usual in the apocalypse disaster genre.

Because the process of adaptation inevitably recontextualizes every story, the TV version of The Eternaut doesn't evoke the fears associated with the Atomic Age that were so relevant to the comic's first readers. Instead, the imagery of snow in the middle of summer brings to mind the nightmare predictions about global climate change; the dread of stepping outside, the masses of dead bodies and the ubiquitousness of protective gear dig into the unhealed wounds we still carry from the coronavirus quarantine; and the scenes of social disintegration and the downfall of modern civilization carry painful echoes from the violent protests that shook Argentina as a result of the collapse of its economy at the turn of the century.

Maybe the choice to postpone all the time travel and multiverse travel until a later season was made to carefully steer the show's reception by today's viewers, who are yet to recover from Marvel exhaustion. This frees up much-needed space for the story to explore its large cast, which the production team has described as a collective hero as opposed to Hollywood's individualist bent. Much of the runtime is used in portraying the complicated evolution of personal relationships put under a strain that no amount of decades of closeness can prepare anyone for. Lifelong friendships are tested by the primal struggle for survival, and viewers can identify moments in the story when a survival strategy based on competition is pitted against one based on cooperation. Some pillage and some share; some swindle and some trust; some would sacrifice others for any reason and some would sacrifice anything for others. It's a truism of scriptwriting that true character is revealed at moments of crisis; in The Eternaut, a persistent state of crisis spreads everywhere and in doing so lays bare the spirit of a whole community.

Also, the tension is skillfully handled with a steady series of escalations: at first, the characters' sense of urgency is about staying indoors and not touching the deadly snow; next, about finding survivors without attracting the notice of hostile neighbors; next, about avoiding capture by the alien monsters that overrun the city; and finally, about thwarting the mind control conspiracy that might bring about the defeat of humankind. For us watching in Latin America, it's an added bonus that the action involves characters whose outlook on life and sensibilities are closer to ours. We've always watched the end of the world happen in New York or London, and such locations may as well be Mars to us. Bringing The Eternaut to worldwide streaming is one more step in the march of the ongoing Rainbow Age of science fiction, one of whose main features is what I like to call opening up the future to the rest of the planet. It's no small thing that this time, for a change, the heroes defending Earth speak Spanish and listen to tango.

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10.

POSTED BY: Arturo Serrano, multiclass Trekkie/Whovian/Moonie/Miraculer, accumulating experience points for still more obsessions.

Series Review: Black Mirror Season 7

Strong acting and innovative stories explore our difficult relationship with technology

Humanity’s interaction with technology returns as a timely primary theme in the latest season of Black Mirror. Unlike last season’s obsession with cruelty and extreme violence, season 7 of the mind-bending series explores the ways technology shapes our understanding of reality and relationships. The latest advances lure consumers with affordable pricing and irresistible features, but soon we are caught in a cycle of dependence even as the price rises, ads bury the features, and the never-ending contracts trap us in ways that seem impossible to escape. Video games provide a conflicting combination of immersive connection and distinct unreality which leads to moral decisions in a fictional context that may not match real-life choices. The top casting means the concepts are explored with immersive acting, even if the ultimate conclusion doesn’t quite live up to expectations. And, for most of the episodes, the stories are thoughtful and engaging, while raising questions without providing clear answers.

Common People. School teacher Amanda (Rashida Jones) and her construction worker husband, Mike (Chris O’Dowd), are a loving but financially struggling couple. When Amanda suffers a near-lethal seizure, doctors tell a stunned and grief-stricken Mike that she won’t make it. But then he learns about Rivermind, a high-tech system that gives Amanda a chance at life for a seemingly reasonable monthly fee. However, as time moves on, the couple discovers the real price of keeping her alive. The episode is the strongest of the season and offers commentary on the bait-and-switch techniques of online subscription services that lure us in and change the rules as time progresses. But this time, the service is not just television streaming or a music app; it’s the thing keeping Amanda alive. The episode also deals with disturbing obsessions with suffering and humiliation as a form of entertainment and income. Tracee Ellis Ross is excellent as the slick-talking salesperson for Rivermind whose constant doublespeak keeps Amanda and Mike tangled in a web of frustration. The episode is riveting, poignant, and tragic.

Bête Noire. Maria’s life as a food product development specialist changes when an old high school classmate, Verity, appears. Everyone else finds Verity (Rosy McEwen) appealing, except Maria (Siena Kelly), who finds her strange, suspicious and annoying. As Verity insinuates herself deeper into Maria’s life, Maria notices odd occurrences and inexplicable inconsistencies that no one else seems to notice. The episode starts out as an intriguing psychological thriller, with each new mystery building on escalating tension before the story descends into an unexpectedly wild ending.

Hotel Reverie. Superstar actress Brandy Friday (Issa Rae) is tired of the same old film roles and jumps at the chance to be part of struggling film company’s high-tech remake of an old black-and-white classic film. To save money, the film company’s owner hires tech firm ReDream, led by Kimmy (Awkwafina). The tech firm drops Brandy’s consciousness into an AI version of the old film along with the consciousness of the film’s long-deceased star. Of course, with this weirdly complicated set up, things don’t go exactly as planned when Brandy’s AI co-star (Emma Corrin) becomes self-aware and Brandy herself becomes attached to the person inside the character. To make things worse, Brandy’s own life is at risk since she is (unexpectedly?) neurologically linked to the film. This means she has to finish the film to survive. If you think too hard about the scientific logic of this episode, you will turn it off, so it’s best to employ a willing suspension of disbelief to enjoy the quirky love story that unfolds. The episode has similar vibes to an earlier poignant romantic story, San Junipero, but the appeal of this tale lies mostly in the classic, early-twentieth-century film style that it eerily captures while having a contemporary character immersed in it.

Plaything. Doctor Who fans will be excited to see Peter Capaldi onscreen as the mysterious protagonist in Plaything. Cameron (Capaldi) is an eccentric older man whose obsession with a ’90s video game ties him to an unsolved murder from that time. When he is arrested for an unrelated crime, he tells the police detective and police psychologist the story of a video game whose characters are real creatures. Cameron’s protectiveness of the creatures leads to extreme consequences. The episode has a cameo of Will Poulter from the stand alone interactive episode Bandersnatch.

Eulogy. The quiet life of a bitter and isolated man (Paul Giamatti) is interrupted when he is asked to submit memories for an old acquaintance’s funeral. As part of the process, an computer platform connects to his neural system and takes him on an immersive journey through his damaged old photographs. Along the way, we learn the true nature of his relationship with the deceased as the AI guide (Patsy Ferran) prompts him to face some difficult truths about his past. The episode is an intriguing and artistic discourse on affection, pride, and bitterness, and is definitely another standout episode for the season.

USS Callister: Into Infinity. The original story USS Callister gave us a fascinating vision of Star Trek-style fandom inverted into a disturbing exploration of cruelty and toxic anger. In the original episode, a socially awkward genius, Robert Daly (Jessie Plemons), feels unappreciated at his high-tech company. He takes revenge on his colleagues for a range of perceived slights by creating sentient copies of them and torturing them in a Starfleet-inspired, computer-generated world of his creation. But when his latest captive Nannette (Cristin Milioti) arrives, she inspires the enslaved starship crew to fight back. The sequel, USS Callister: Into Infinity, undoes much of the satisfying wrap-up of the original by creating a new problem for the crew: the Callister now can’t survive without game credits (physical currency) to buy fuel, etc. However, the Callister and crew are unregistered players and so can’t earn the credits needed. So they steal currency from other players (avatars of real people), which leads to further conflict in the game and ultimately a violent showdown with the company owners in both the real world and the virtual world. The premise of the sequel is unexpected since none of these obstacles were mentioned in the original story. However, as we saw in Common People, the rules of technology grow harder and more expensive the longer you play. It’s a full-circle moment of irony to wrap up the season.

Season 7 of Black Mirror is significantly more cerebral than the prior one, with thoughtful and timely discussions of AI, technology, and the problematic ways we often treat each other as human beings. While the premise of AI as useful and relatable exists, many episodes lean into cautionary explorations of the roles of technology in our lives. The strong acting and innovative tales give us, as in real life, deep and important questions without clear answers.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10.

Highlights:

• Relatable messaging on our interactions with technology
• Unspectacular endings for some episodes
• Memorable acting delivered by a strong cast

POSTED BY: Ann Michelle Harris – Multitasking, fiction-writing Trekkie currently dreaming of her next beach vacation.

TV Review: A.A.R.O.

Come for the Paranormal Mystery of the Week, stay for the animist theodicy

To the Western viewer, likely acquainted with The X Files, Fringe, Supernatural and Evil, a show like A.A.R.O. may at first feel like another iteration of the "whodunit, but make it spooky" genre. And the limited series that's been released on Netflix goes for that vibe in its initial episodes: this is a world where people can vanish into thin air, leaving just their empty clothes and bucketfuls of blood; where breaking the shrine of a fox spirit causes a wave of mass faintings; where pieces of an airplane that's been missing for years suddenly fall to the ground out of nowhere; where a shadowy terrorist faction can't succeed at planting bombs across Tokyo because a clairvoyant keeps frustrating their plans.

So far, so standard. But as we gradually get to meet the protagonists, a jaded misanthrope who can cite the classics of Japanese mythology from memory and a wide-eyed newbie with a keen nose for asking the right questions, we discover that the plot lurking under the surface is far more alarming than the occasional unexplained anomaly. It's not just that the monsters and curses from Japanese folklore happen to be real; it's that someone has declared war on the entire spiritual realm and has been extending tentacles at every level of Japanese society. This is a world where someone has been buying mummified mermaids to harvest their flesh; where someone has been running experiments with a spell that causes unending hunger; where someone has created a sound frequency that induces suicide; where someone is scheming to put heaven and hell under new management. What begins as a series of seemingly unconnected cases for a clandestine government agency to investigate turns out to lead to a potentially world-ending conspiracy whose best chance of succeeding is the fact that humans are the worst.

That's a fortunate thing for the viewer's enjoyment, because on the purely police investigation side of the story, A.A.R.O. just isn't very well written. The quiet pleasures of meticulously following the clues and formulating logical deductions are eschewed for impossibly lucky guesses, unprompted confessions, frequent instances of literal deus ex machina, and a tsunami of melodrama that would make Candy Candy blush. Also, the plot plays an increasingly ludicrous game of "guess who's possessing whom" that abuses the bait-and-switch trick with regard to the true identity of the villain four times, including one time it does reveal the actual villain, but still tries to pretend there's a further bigger villain behind. No, this detective/mystery show doesn't stand out because of its detectives or its mysteries. It stands out because of the ideological conflict it dramatizes on the nature of evil and the redeemability of humankind in an era when we've become almost godlike with technology we're too immature for.

It's worth highlighting once more the non-Western nature of this story, because the dynamic between mortals and the supernatural is very unlike what we're used to seeing in Western fantasy. Over here, we're still under the Miltonian spell, conceiving of spiritual power as flowing in a vertical direction, which makes humans either the helpless playthings of omnipotent overlords or the blasphemous rebels who seek to punish heaven for being too harsh on this world. But in the animist mindset, spiritual power flows horizontally, because humans are no less capable than the gods of influencing events in heaven, and if anyone seeks to punish heaven, it's for being too permissive with this world. With enough discipline and study, a determined human may turn into a worthy adversary for the gods.

A.A.R.O. thus twists the formula of the paranormal procedural: this time Earth isn't a means for spiritual factions to play out their eternal battles in; it's an end in itself, where all the spirits are responsible for protecting humans, even as humans grow more and more self-conceited, cruel and treacherous. Instead of fighting demonic incarnations of evil on behalf of humans, the protagonists of A.A.R.O. fight the demonic extremes that human hubris can reach. Instead of treating the gods the way, say, the Greek epics do, as capricious tyrants to fear or to pacify, in A.A.R.O. the gods are long-suffering, overworked benefactors who can only do so much in the face of human self-destructiveness. Whereas a story like God of War treats the quest to dethrone the gods as heroic liberation, A.A.R.O. treats the quest to dethrone the gods as a sad consequence of ignorance.

A case could be made that treating the Shintō gods as the preferrable status quo gives the show a conservative bent, and it would be hard to argue against that interpretation. The story clearly leans toward blaming human hubris for the problems in the world. However, it knows to avoid the extremes of anti-humanism and binary morality. The two protagonists constantly argue for opposite sides about the worth of humans, and a key reason why the good guys (somewhat) win in the end is because a god chose to trust a human. One villain is so strongly convinced that their cause is just that they can fool another character whose superpower is to cast detect evil. Moreover, a spell that reduces a god to human status isn't treated as a profanation every time. A former god reflects on this turn of events with admirable equanimity: yes, dying as a human is horrible, but living as a human can be full of wonders.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10.

POSTED BY: Arturo Serrano, multiclass Trekkie/Whovian/Moonie/Miraculer, accumulating experience points for still more obsessions.

Anime Review: Sakamoto Days

A likeable action comedy with lots of found family and redeemed villain vibes

In the realm of anime, plots align on a continuum ranging from edgy intensity to pastel-colored comedy. Netflix’s new anime Sakamoto Days gives us more of the latter, but with just enough swirls of unexpected intensity to keep viewers guessing what will happen next. Sakamoto Days is the story of a stoic, top-level, lethal assassin who turns into a frumpy, mild-mannered family man, but has trouble keeping his violent past life at bay. Despite focusing on the more slice of life elements, the show leans into the fantastical, which means various assassin characters can shape-shift, mind-read, and become invisible. Like a sharp pinch of salt in a sweet dessert, this story infuses a contrast of drama, violence, and sci-fi to counterbalance the soft glow of family life and friendship. However, the series never dives too deeply into true seriousness and remains a likeable, found family action/comedy. For fans who are waiting for the next season of Spy x Family to drop, Sakamoto Days is a decent option to tide you over.

Taro Sakamoto is a notorious hit man working for the nation’s top assassin agency. He's a stoic, handsome, loner, with super-human reflexes and an impossibly high kill-count. His life changes when he meets an ordinary young cashier, Aoi, at a late-night convenience store, and all those years of repressed emotions implode into insta-love, marriage, and the birth of their adorable daughter, Hana. Sakamoto and Aoi open a convenience store and live happily in the neighborhood. Sakamoto also recreates himself from a sleek, muscular assassin to a (seemingly) larger, older, unthreatening, frumpy everyman. Of course, his past kill count and his abandonment of his elite assassin agency cause him to have multiple bounties on his head. Which means life will never truly be normal for him. While he busies himself stocking shelves or sweeping floors, vengeful assassins inevitably seek him out and are deceived, or at least temporarily confused, by his changed appearance. But Sakamoto is still very much a killer. He can easily dodge bullets, crush steel, and MacGyver ordinary objects into weapons. The thing that keeps the show and his life from turning into a bloodbath is not his physical abilities, but his willpower. Early in the series, we discover that his cheerful, unassuming wife knows all about his past and has made him promise not to kill again as a condition of their marriage. When cruel assassins come after him, Sakamoto has to figure out how to protect his family and stop, maim, or otherwise defeat them without fully killing them. Unfortunately, he still has his killer instinct and is often depicted imagining killing others (even allies).

As a result, one of the comedy elements is Sakamoto intellectually figuring a way around each person’s (technical) death. When pushed to his limits, Sakamoto reverts to his original youthful slim form, but can still fight with lethal power in either version of himself. Over time, Sakamoto attracts an extended found family, including telepath assassin Shin, orphaned mafia princess Lu, and quirky sharpshooter Heisuke. Each episode provides backstories of the various side characters and even the antagonists.

While the family vibe of the show may seem like a redo of Spy x Family or Way of the Househusband, Sakamoto Days has some fun plot elements that make it unique. First, the family dynamics are appealing. Sakamoto’s wife Aoi knows about his past and understands the demands he faces in trying to remain undercover. Their decision to keep his name as the store’s name seems to willingly invite trouble. Despite this, she insists that he not actually kill, and apparently views this as a form of atonement for his past murders. Aoi as the knowledgeable wife is reminiscent of Kagome’s informed and practical mother in Inuyasha, who pragmatically packed supplies for her daughter’s dangerous adventures. Having Aoi aware of the reality of the situation, instead of keeping her in ignorance, is a nice change of pace. Sakamoto Days also leans into the fantastical elements of the narrative. Like Anya in Spy x Family, former hitman Shin is an orphan with lab-created telepathic abilities. He often endures hilariously stressful moments sensing Sakamoto’s periodic and graphic desire to kill him when Sakamoto gets annoyed. Shin’s antagonist, Seba, can become invisible. Additionally, Sakamoto can change his body size like Choji Akimichi in Naruto. However, Sakamoto also magically changes his features, becoming younger, losing his facial hair, and changing the style of his hair.

Despite Sakamoto’s determination not to kill, the other assassins have no such reservations. There is plenty of on-screen killing in the show. The result can be a jarring influx of blood and slashing in the midst of funny or endearing scenes. In one episode, Sakamoto’s adorable little daughter Hana shows a strong moral compass by showing compassion to a defeated assassin.

Sakamoto Days doesn’t provide a great deal of deep philosophical introspection. Instead, we have a light, endearing journey from cruelty to kindness. The true internal struggle of the story is Sakamoto’s determination to keep his vow not to kill despite his clear continuing desire to do so. That honesty is refreshing, and Sakamoto’s own struggles mirror and support the misfit assassins he takes into his family. Not every anime needs to be powerfully intense, and Sakamoto Days gives us permission to laugh out loud even when the world is filled with cruelty.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10.

Highlights:

• light comedy adventure break
• found family and redeemed villain tropes
• simple storytelling with fantastical elements

POSTED BY: Ann Michelle Harris - Multitasking, fiction writing Trekkie currently dreaming of her next beach vacation.

Film Review: The Electric State

It's almost admirable how completely this film wastes a great concept

In an alternate 1990s, after an almost-successful robot rebellion was crushed with the last-minute help of human-operated telepresence drones, the defeated robots have been exiled to a huge secluded area in the southwestern US, and it's declared illegal for robots to be anywhere else. For some unexplained reason, this blatant act of forced displacement is called a peace treaty. Anyway, the plot proper begins when a runaway robot sneaks into a teenage girl's house and claims to be remotely operated by the little brother she thought had died years before. So she runs away with the robot, since she doesn't like her foster family anyway, and teams up with a smuggler who can get her into the zone where the surviving robots are confined, because that's where her brother's body is being kept. During this rescue mission, they uncover the evil secrets of the company that provides the world with telepresence drones, and create a new state of affairs where robots have a better chance of being free.

This rather average-sounding summary doesn't do justice to how aggressively generic the new Netflix film The Electric State is. Its cardboard characterizations, absolutely predictable beats, self-sabotaging style of humor, uninspired action sequences, unforgivably misjudged casting, overwritten dialogues, and toothless politics would suffice to render it just another forgettably mediocre Netflix production. What sets this disappointing exhibit of laziness apart is the fact that it purports to be an adaptation of the far more interesting illustrated novel of the same title published in 2018 by Swedish artist Simon Stålenhag. While the Netflix version goes out of its way to sand down its own themes and confine itself to family-friendly palatability, the source material was a scathing portrait of American modern vices: ubiquitous advertisements, irrational consumerism, and self-absorbed numbness. None of that commentary survives the adaptation process, because God forbid a Russo brothers character feel a true emotion or express a controversial viewpoint. The version of The Electric State they deliver is an empty carcass painted over with a cartoon smile.

Instead of its paint-by-numbers attempts at comedy or pathos, what actually reaches into the viewer's soul about this film is the unbelievably expert degree to which it avoids sparking any interest or empathy. Its happy scenes feel bland, its sad scenes come off as glib, its surprises are derivative, its scary bits are more deserving of embarrassment, and its appeal to righteous indignation doesn't know which value to care about. It's as if the Russo brothers had deliberately designed an experiment to craft a film that leaves every human emotion untouched. It doesn't even manage to provoke a memorable negative reaction: it should be boring, but it's too absurd for that; so it should be irritating, but it's too insecure for that; so it should be tiresome, but it's too scattershot for that; so it should be confusing, but it's too preachy for that; so it should be offensive, but it's too insincere for that. This production so fundamentally misunderstands what makes movies work that it may as well have been made by its robot characters.

To mention just one of many missed opportunities: in 2005's The Island, a universally and justly disliked movie, the villain has a henchman hunting down our protagonists because they're legally less than people, until the henchman has a moment of reflection and realizes that he, as a Black man, has a common cause with the targets he's chasing. He rebels against the villain explicitly because he knows what happens when a category of people is treated as less than people. As it happens, The Electric State also has a Black henchman hunting down our protagonists because they're legally less than people, and he also ends up rebelling against the villain, but somehow the movie never makes the obvious connection. The reason given for this plot point is the least imaginative possible. It should be cause for alarm for any movie that The Island has a clearer sense of its own stance than you.

Even with the mangled plot that was used instead of the original, The Electric State could have made urgently relevant points about the evils of inventing separate categories of personhood, the possibilities of resistance under total oppression, the temptation to replace the harshness of real life with a soothing fantasy, or the danger of inputting profit and human life in the same equation. This could have been a strong story, both by its own merits and in relation to our times. But perhaps it's an even more telling reflection of our times that the duo of the most successful directors in the history of cinema have settled for building the appearance, rather than the intention, of having something to say.

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Nerd Coefficient: 3/10.

POSTED BY: Arturo Serrano, multiclass Trekkie/Whovian/Moonie/Miraculer, accumulating experience points for still more obsessions.

TV Review: Squid Game 2

Thematic changes, familiar characters, and lots of social commentary lead to a more predictable season two of the iconic show

Netflix’s Squid Game is an immensely popular exploration of the class disparities that lead to both desperation and exploitation. The show is told through the lens of despairing, financially desperate people who were willing to risk their lives in a series of lethal games to get money while loathsome billionaires toy with their lives and enjoy their suffering. Season 1 was violent, heartbreaking, and disturbing, with a poignant but satisfying ending. Season 2 provides the same basic setup, but with fewer surprises and with a significant thematic shift in the overall concept of desperation for money. The result is an equally addictive but much more cynical storytelling experience.

[Mild spoilers for Season 1] In Season 1 we met Gi-hun, a down-on-his-luck single dad with massive loan shark debts. His daughter lives with his ex, and his desperation to provide for her, coupled with his mounting debts, push him to find any way to earn money. He is approached by a well-dressed young man in the train station who offers him a secret invitation to play simple games with the lure that he could win billions of dollars. Gi-hun and the other players who are lured to the game are drugged and transported to a hidden island to play creepy variations of children’s games. The four hundred or so players are surprised, however, when they discover that the smallest loss or misstep in the game results in being shot in the head. And only one player can leave alive. All this is set against a backdrop of colorful playhouse sets and killers in bright pink jumpsuits with video game controller icons over their faces. The symbolism is endless.

In Season 2, a now mega-rich but deeply traumatized Gi-hun engages in a desperate attempt to stop the masked man responsible for the game. He uses his immense wealth to hire a team (including his former abusive loan shark) to help in his quest. Those he hires don’t really believe his strange story of a secret island of lethal games, but they are willing to help in exchange for money. His goal is to locate the original man in the subway who first lured him, as well as to find the hidden island and the masked leader behind the cruel and deadly game. Through various twists, he ends up back in the deadly game for season 2. Also loosely allied with him is the tenacious young police officer from Season 1, Jun-ho, who had been searching for his missing brother. Like Gi-hun, Jun-ho is obsessed with finding the mysterious island, and also, like Gi-hun, nobody believes him.

The thematic shift in the story is subtle but meaningful. In Season 1, the characters who were trapped in the game were primarily there out of genuine and faultless desperation. Many had sympathetic backstories that made their plight even more tragic. Eventually we saw the wealthy, hedonistic billionaires (grotesquely naked and masked) enjoying the suffering of the group of desperate and impoverished people. Adding to the degradation, the individual victims were initially lured by playing a game where they got repeatedly and publicly slapped in the face if they lost. The overall theme was one of humiliation and desperation, as well as class disparities and oppression. In contrast, in Season 2, the vast majority of the characters have chosen to join the game due to their own financial mistakes and misdeeds or by being collateral damage from various forms of gambling or irresponsible financial choices. Season 2 is less about railing against the oppressive rich, and is more focused on blaming people for their irresponsible decisions. This changes the tone of the story, moving it from desperate and tragic to intentionally predatory and cruel. In a fascinating early scene, the man in the suit offers hungry homeless people the choice of bread or a lottery ticket. Most choose the ticket (which is always a losing one). But when they ask for the unused bread, he refuses to share it with them, choosing instead to stomp the food to filth rather than let the hungry person have it. There is a decided undercurrent of punishment for irresponsible financial choices. Also, in Season 2 we have the perspective of two new types of people: we gain emotional insight into one of the shooters who execute the players in each round, and we meet the devious current gamemaster, who is hiding in the game as a player.

Despite his experiences in the previous game, Gi-hun remains confusingly naïve and gullible in Season 2. He has the benefit of knowing the lethality of the games and knowing the lethality of the violent and selfish group dynamics. He also has previous insight into an undercover player who was the actual mastermind. However, he falls for the same deception again. From his plan to find the masked leader to his misguided plan to capture him, he is constantly being outsmarted. Initially, he appears to be clever and calculating, but we soon see him transformed into a desperate and emotional victim. The contrast is fascinating and emphasizes the theme of the long term effects of trauma and oppression.

In addition to Gi-hun and the mostly absent Jun-ho, Season 2 gives us several likeable new characters, along with several tropey, stock, or comic relief characters, and a new gamemaster. Season 2 (currently) ends on a cliffhanger and promises a wrap-up shortly. But the thematic shifts from the first season make it harder to predict how things will end. Hopefully we will have our answers soon.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10.

Highlights:

· Thoughtful thematic and tonal shifts
· Frustrating characters and fewer surprises
· Addictive adventure despite increased tropes

POSTED BY: Ann Michelle Harris – Multitasking, fiction writing Trekkie currently dreaming of her next beach vacation.

Anime Review: Hell’s Paradise

Fascinating characters and deep philosophical explorations balance the intense violence of this unusual tale 

After hearing much acclaim for this gruesome anime, I finally decided to try out Hell’s Paradise although I’m not normally a fan of very gory or intensely nihilistic fiction. However, Hell’s Paradise lives up to the hype and delivers fascinating characters, meaningful emotions, and intriguing backstories in its very violent first season. 

Hell’s Paradise is set in a fictional historical time period and is primarily the story of Gabimaru, an emotionless assassin taken from his murdered parents as an infant and trained from childhood by a cruel ninja leader to be a high level killer with no emotional attachments. Gabimaru’s efficient and ruthless killing, along with his lack of emotion lead to his nickname, “Gabimaru the Hollow.” As a reward for his overwhelming successes at killing, Gabimaru is given his leader’s daughter as a wife. Gabimaru initially treats her with emotionless indifference, however his wife is unexpectedly emotionally strong, intellectually thoughtful, and intentionally kind in a way that slowly brings Gabimaru back to his humanity. Of course, this kind of happiness can’t last. Gabimaru is sentenced to death for trying to leave the assassin group so he can stop killing and live quietly in his marriage. He is jailed and separated from his wife (whose fate is unclear throughout the story). However, despite his death sentence, he remains alive because repeated violent and horrific executions fail to kill or even injure him and he becomes bored to the point of despondence. This leads some to believe he is a demon. After multiple attempts at killing him fail, Gabimaru and several other condemned prisoners are given a chance for a pardon, but the cost is high. They must journey, each with an assigned asaemon (guard/executioner), to a fabled paradise island and bring back a substance known as the Elixir of Life. The prisoner who successfully brings back the elixir will get a pardon but everyone else will be executed. Gabimaru is suddenly motivated to live, and accepts the offer in the hopes of earning a pardon so he can be reunited with his wife. 

All of these detail are just the premise. The main plot of Hell’s Paradise is composed of the experiences of the prisoners and their guards as they navigate the unimaginable terrors of the island along with their own internal demons. Gabimaru is assigned a young woman named Sagiri as his guard. She is lethal, quiet, and introspective, but also periodically insecure—not because of her skills but because of the constant sexism and gaslighting she faces. Her internal journey to balance, rather than suppress, her emotions becomes entangled with Gabimaru’s unsteady journey to and from emotional deadness. Over time, the two build a strange connection. The initial exploration of the island is portrayed through the experiences of Gabimaru and Sagiri, but the story soon shifts to the intriguing backstories of the other prisoners, some wrongfully condemned, and the asaemon guards, many with complex motivations or unexpected viewpoints. These include loud and powerful Chobei and gentle but lethal Toma, the criminal and guard pair who are secretly brothers. The anime also follows the poignant friendship between the reformed criminal guard Tenza and innocent child prisoner Nurugai. 

The overall vibe of the story feels like a combination of shows like Lost, Jujustsu Kaisen, and Squid Game. It has the mysterious island setting of Lost along with the intriguing character backstories that lured Lost viewers in the first two seasons. It has the intensely artistic animation style of Jujustsu Kaisen (MAPPA is the same animation house that does both series) and it has the fantastical, supernatural creature element, in which unexpected, strange, or grotesque creatures create an ongoing atmosphere of uncertainty for characters who are constantly surprised by new antagonists with randomly unknown levels of strength. And, if that isn’t stressful enough, there is the Squid Game-style lethal competitiveness where the prisoners are pitted against each other in a race for both the elixir and survival. But, what makes all of this stress worth it are the primary characters. Each one is intriguing, tragic, likeable, and complicated, making the show more than just a bloodbath or an adrenaline rush of adventure. Each individual’s race for survival is an extension of the character’s struggles that began long before they arrived on the mysterious island. 

Hell’s Paradise is also a dizzying philosophical exploration of conflicting concepts. The fabled paradise of the island is actually a hellscape of terrors hidden in serenely beautiful plants and flowers. The titans of the island, the Tensen, continuously shift genders, sometimes mid-conversation or mid-conflict. The trees are human beings. The only child on the island is hundreds of years old. Throughout the story, characters ponder a range of conflicting philosophies in an ongoing struggle to understand their unbelievable experiences. In fact, each episode has a title and theme which reflects the ongoing inherent or interwoven dichotomy (“Heart and Reason,” “Gods and People,” “Dreams and Reality”). 

Be warned that Hell’s Paradise is not a teen shonen anime. The show has adult content in terms of both violence and sexuality. Those less familiar with the discussed philosophical theories, may want to research some of the referenced concepts, although it is not essential to do so. Gabimaru and Sagiri start as the primary protagonists but gradually merge into the ever-changing ensemble, and, as the story progresses, it turns out many of the core elements of the journey may not be what they seem. The effect is, at times, intense, heartbreaking, and profound. However, the next season of Hell’s Paradise is still a year away. So, there is still plenty of time to become immersed in this violent but uniquely addictive adventure.

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The Math

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10

Highlights:

• Fascinating characters with intriguing backstories
• Extremely bloody
• Thoughtful philosophical explorations amid fast-paced fight scenes.

POSTED BY: Ann Michelle Harris – Multitasking, fiction writing Trekkie currently dreaming of her next beach vacation.

TV Review: Dead Boy Detectives

An entertaining horror comedy packing a lot of emotion into a short series

Hidden away in Netflix’s YA fantasy section, Dead Boy Detectives is a feel-good horror comedy that has already been cancelled. Fortunately, the sole existing season is enormously satisfying and the plot wraps up nicely in its quick but entertaining eight episodes. The show follows the adventures of two dead teen boys (Edwin, who was killed at the turn of the century, and Charles, who was murdered in the 1980s) who form an investigative agency to solve mysteries for other ghosts. Things change when they cross paths with Crystal, a psychic teen girl with amnesia and a stalker demon boyfriend. Later they ally with Niko, a spiritually sensitive but lighthearted student grieving the death of her father. Although it exists in the same universe as the broody Sandman television show, Dead Boy Detectives takes a much lighter tone. It has intensely likeable leads, refreshingly diverse casting, and a clever mix of the tragic and the very funny, with twisty plots to keep viewers engaged. I haven’t enjoyed a dark comedy this much since season one of Russian Doll. Like Russian Doll, Dead Boy Detectives has emotionally wounded main characters caught in outlandish situations that ultimately lead them to inner growth and leave viewers with a satisfying story arc.

In the early 1900s, Edwin (George Rexstrew) is attacked by his classmates in an occult ritual at his British private school. The prank summons a real demon who (apologetically) traps Edwin in hell until he finds a way to escape years later. The deceased Edwin returns to Earth as a ghost and meets Charles (Jayden Revri), a 1980s high school boy who has just been murdered by his classmates after he protected another student from bullying. Instead of moving on to the afterlife, Edwin and Charles hide from Death (Kirby Howell-Baptiste) when she comes for them, and decide to start a detective agency to help other ghosts resolve mysteries or other injustices related to their deaths.

In the first episode, they are approached by a young Victorian-era ghost girl who asks them to help her psychic human friend Crystal (Kassius Nelson). Crystal has started behaving erratically and seems to be possessed but, as the ghost girl notes by way of another explanation, she is also “American.” In the process of helping Crystal regain control of herself, the three become involved in the mystery of a missing child and travel to an isolated New England town, Port Townsend, to investigate. While there, they connect with Niko (Yuyu Kitamura), a Japanese exchange student who becomes infested with hilariously foul-mouthed dandelion sprites (Max Jenkins, Caitlin Reilly). Edwin and Charles have to adapt to their new living allies while dealing with new threats in Port Townsend from the tricky and seductive Cat King (Lukas Gage) and from Esther (Jenn Lyon), a sarcastic and beauty-obsessed witch.

Throughout the story, Edwin is brilliant and sophisticated, but also uptight and hesitant to trust any newcomers. After decades with just Charles as a companion, he is not open to the two new women in their lives. In contrast, Charles is cheerful, upbeat, and friendly, and develops an attachment to Crystal, leading to one of two unexpected love triangles in the show.

In addition to strong leads, the show has an excellent cast of memorable side characters, including Tragic Mick (Michael Beach), a cursed walrus forced to live in the form of a middle-aged man who runs a magic shop that helps the teens; Monty (Joshua Colley), the witch’s handsome and seductive bird turned boy who becomes attracted to Edwin; the Night Nurse (Ruth Connell), a hilariously bossy official in the afterlife agency whose job it is to locate missing ghost children like Charles and Edwin; and Jenny (Briana Cuoco), the sole mundane human and a cynical goth butcher shop owner.

Each of the characters is laugh-out-loud funny, but also fiercely brutal or intensely tragic. The dichotomy works well, though, creating intensity without bleakness and softening terrifying moments with unexpected bursts of sarcasm or irony. There are also scenes where the show leans into the sadness of Edwin’s and Charles’s backstories without an undercurrent of humor, and that contrast of seriousness makes the overall story even more powerful. Towards the end of the series, the tale of Esther’s origins gets a little complicated and devolves into a rushed montage-style summary, which is not as helpful. The same thing happens with Crystal’s backstory when she starts to uncover who she really is. But, for the most part, Dead Boy Detectives delivers a near-flawless acting ensemble which draws you in from the first moment and leaves you cheering at the end.

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10.

Highlights:

• Strong cast of memorable characters
• Addictive villains
• Grim humor with a little bit of everything

POSTED BY: Ann Michelle Harris—Multitasking, fiction writing Trekkie currently dreaming of her next beach vacation.

Wallace & Gromit Return in Vengeance Most Fowl

The quirky inventor and his trusty four-legged pal are dragged into a rematch

After a brief scare that apparently threatened the end of the business of Aardman Animation, the claymation studio is back with a bang: the treacherous penguin who tormented the adorkable duo Wallace and Gromit in the 1993 episode The Wrong Trousers is now the main villain of his own feature-length film, Vengeance Most Fowl, streaming now on Netflix. (Hmm, a forgotten enemy from an old episode returns in a film? And it happens to be the second film in the franchise? Yes, the pattern is clear. Vengeance Most Fowl is the Wrath of Khan of the Wallace & Gromit universe.)

The setting where our clay heroes live appears to remain frozen in its vaguely mid-20th-century state, but as an embodiment of the eccentric inventor archetype, Wallace got a big update for the 2020s. The central joke about Wallace, the recurring flaw that reveals his character, has always been that he expends more effort in building an absurdly complicated machine that washes, dresses and feeds him than he'd expend in actually washing, dressing and feeding himself. So he presents a useful case scenario for our ongoing discussion about the tasks that people ought to be doing but prefer to delegate to machines.

This time, long-suffering Gromit's cause for consternation du jour is Wallace's invention of programmable garden gnomes. Whereas Gromit keeps a colorful garden that vibrates with life, the robotic gnome turns it into a geometrically perfect nightmare of topiary sameness. The message isn't subtle or original, but our era needs to be reminded of it: automation and standardization are extremely useful for saving time, but they cannot replace the pleasure of deliberate creative choices. As you may recall, one of Gromit's hobbies is knitting. He may take a whole day to finish one sock, while the robotic gnome spits out an entire suit in seconds, which is the opposite of what making your own clothes is about. Results-oriented methods are a bad fit for tasks where having to do an effort is the whole point. (At the meta level, this is an effective argument for the worth of claymation in a world of digital magic.) To stress the same point, the plot has Wallace introduce still another redundant machine: one that pets his dog for him. One would think people don't need to be reminded that interpersonal connection cannot be replaced with machines, but... alas. Such are the times allotted to us.

However, the film doesn't just tell us what we already know. There are more sides to the issue of dangerous machines. When the evil penguin once again hijacks Wallace's invention to turn it against him, the way Wallace wins is by making another machine. That's who he is; that's how he solves all his problems. Even Gromit learns to love the garden gnomes when they help save the day. What's going on?

To understand what Vengeance Most Fowl seems to be saying, it's worthwhile to look more closely at the subplot with the police officers who are trying to recapture the escaped penguin. In a nutshell, we have an experienced senior who has accumulated a vast repertoire of time-tested heuristics (which he calls trusting one's gut) and an enthusiastic rookie who has the textbook fresh in her head and prefers to solve cases by sticking to procedure. Their disagreement mirrors the film's core conflict between spontaneity and algorithm. And yet, it's the rookie cop who figures out the truth by insisting on following the logical rules of evidence (despite her superior believing she listened to her gut). Again: what's going on?

What I suspect is going on is that the opposition between spontaneity and algorithm doesn't need to be resolved, but dissolved. It was never a real opposition. The two need not be enemies. You can pet your dog by yourself while a robotic gnome assists you with the form of gardening you prefer.

This embrace between passion and technique is visible in the very fact that this film exists. Aardman is known for its very high standards of animation quality with immensely complicated materials. One could use computers to animate Wallace & Gromit in a fraction of the time, but the studio's choice to go for the painstaking effort it takes to make inert clay come alive, and make it look no less eye-catching than today's ubiquitous digital creations, is a beautiful demonstration that the medium is the message. Vengeance Most Fowl excels in overcoming unthinkable technical challenges: a dozen tiny gnomes walking in perfect synchrony to carry a van; a boat chase on a navigable aqueduct; an arsenal of boomeranging boots (it makes sense in context).

And then there is, of course, the brilliant choice to give the villain a malleable face that nonetheless stays expressionless no matter what. It's terrifying how we can always tell when he's angry, when he's content, when he's disappointed, when he's defiant, even though his face doesn't move even once. This is a welcome comeback for one of the best characters ever created by Aardman Animation.

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10.

POSTED BY: Arturo Serrano, multiclass Trekkie/Whovian/Moonie/Miraculer, accumulating experience points for still more obsessions.