Monday, May 31, 2021

Black Sails S1 Ep 3

 From Not That Complicated.com
https://notthatcomplicated.net/2020/04/black-sails-season-1-episode-3-recap

Black Sails S1 Ep 3
*******

Black Sails Season 1, Episode 3 Recap


Louise Barnes as Miranda Barlow. Photo courtesy of Starz.

Recap by Elizabeth Wright

This episode contains explicit language, rape, violence, and nudity.

Episode three opens with our last (major) character introduction – Miranda Barlow.

While the intros in the first episode were designed to give answers quickly (Silver is clever, Eleanor is driven, Gates is done with everyone’s drama), Mrs. Barlow’s is structured differently – it raises questions.

She knows Flint – but how, and from where? She’s surrounded by faded gentility, separated from her neighbors and the pirates both – but why? And she’s clearly known about Flint’s grander plans from the beginning – but what are her reasons for supporting them?

After she dresses Flint’s wounds, they discuss what comes next, and we see that while Miranda knows about the plans, she may not be completely on board. She’s even less thrilled when Flint asks a favor… in the form of an unconscious Mr. Guthrie.

Back at the port, Silver’s facing down problems of his own: Eleanor’s learned that Max left, and she’s furious – and, though she won’t admit it, scared. She snaps at him that he’d “better be worth it” before getting back to the task at hand: his memorized schedule.

He writes down the first half, but he’s read the mood in the room. If he gives them everything he knows, he’s a dead man. If he rejoins Flint’s crew, however, he can deliver the schedule piecemeal and come home with a share of the treasure. Whether he’ll survive long enough to enjoy it is a separate question, but as he posits to Flint, “We might be friends by then.”

The Walrus isn’t a match for the Urca on her own. Flint asks Eleanor for new and bigger guns (which she promises him over Scott’s objections that there are none on the island), and sends Gates off to negotiate for a consort: a second ship, sailing under his command.

Gates’ quest introduces us to something which will play a major role later on: the fort above the harbor. It’s not well armed enough to keep out a fleet, but it does command the entrance to Nassau, and gives whoever owns it a major card to play. The current resident is Benjamin Hornigold, another historical pirate, though Black Sails’ portrayal of him as a middle-aged, disillusioned Jacobite bears little resemblance to the actual man. 

It does, however, set him up as a foil to Flint. Like Flint, Hornigold has greater aims. He’s told his men that they’re something more than pirates: they’re the unofficial navy of the rightful king, and someday they’ll go home in glory. With the Jacobite cause in tatters, however, Hornigold, like Flint, is losing the support of his men. Unlike Flint, he’s resigned to it, and unwilling to risk the power he holds by leaving the fort. He is willing to lend Gates his ship – even if they are all “just thieves awaiting a noose.”

Rackham’s situation isn’t great either. His crew isn’t thrilled that he’s lost the pearls, and they’re threatening to elect a new quartermaster. Like Silver, though, Jack’s a planner: he corners Gates, and begins to sow the seeds of doubt.

He knows better than to try to make Gates doubt Flint, but there’s another target: making Gates doubt himself. He’s old, Jack points out, and he’s never captained a ship before. The men may respect him now, but against the Urca, they don’t need a friend: they need a fighter.

They need the Ranger.

They need Charles Vane.

Billy, meanwhile, is trying to deal with the crew. Singleton might be dead, but plenty of his supporters still hate Flint, “No matter how much gold you dangle in front of them.” 

It’s apparent that Gates is training him up as a successor, and Billy is trying his best. He might not buy into everything Flint is selling, but he cares about the crew, and he does trust Gates – even if it means he’s stuck babysitting a thief.

Billy foists Silver – who he’s trying to keep away from the crew – off on Randall, and heads off to canvas the men. We see quickly, as his efforts come up empty, that he doesn’t have Gates’ gifts with people. Silver, though, does. He quickly charms Randall into telling him which men are still loyal to Singleton, and then charms them into telling him why.

It’s up in the air – particularly as he immediately turns back around and tells Billy what he’s learned – just which side Silver’s on. Right now, he’s hedging his bets, building up as much goodwill with as many people as he can.

At the tavern, Scott warns Eleanor that the warehouses are nearly empty, and, with her father disgraced, the next merchant ship will be their last – particularly if Eleanor insists upon stealing Captain Bryson’s guns to give to Flint.

Eleanor has only one option: her father.

She goes to meet with him at Miranda’s house, but the meeting doesn’t go well. When her first strategy – dressing his wounds, speaking softly, and asking for his help as a dutiful daughter – doesn’t bear fruit, she tries a second. The mask drops, and she swears at him, telling him he has no choice. He can either help her keep Nassau afloat, or flee with his tail between his legs to their relatives in Boston, who “might save you from the gallows, but they won’t spare you their scorn.” He would have been nothing without her mother, she tells him, and he’ll be nothing again if he doesn’t help her now.

Her father, after all, will always choose “profits over daughters.”

With Eleanor gone, her father has questions for Mrs. Barlow.

One of Singleton’s men had told Silver his own theories on Flint: that he was undead, his every move controlled by a witch living on the island. Miranda’s neighbors don’t trust her either, reporting her every move to the preacher or simply throwing rocks at her from her garden edge. Guthrie demands to know who she is to Flint, and Miranda only smiles, giving him a book: Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. 

This copy of the Meditations will turn out to be one of the most significant items in the show, but Guthrie isn’t satisfied by Roman philosophy as an answer. With his guard asleep, he sneaks out to search the house. He finds an old, hidden portrait of Miranda, labeled as the wife of “Thomas Hamilton.”

Outside, Miranda shares tea with the preacher. Her critique of his sermon ends with a long quote from the Song of Solomon. “Love,” she says, “shouldn’t require suffering.” But when he demands to know if Flint is “keeping her here,” she picks up her cup and walks inside.

Something is keeping her here. But whether it’s Flint or her own pride remains to be seen.

In the meantime, Gates offers up Jack’s suggestion to Flint, who laughs it off before realizing in horror that Gates is serious. Gates is also persuasive, and manages to arrange a meeting. Jack has nearly as tough a time convincing Vane (“Fuck you, Jack”) as he did Gates, but he brings his crew around with the offer of gold, and his captain around with the offer of Eleanor Guthrie’s goodwill.

Flint interrupts Jack’s opening speech with a demand that Vane apologize for Mosiah’s murder in the first episode. Gates bustles him outside for a short, hilarious half-dressing-down, half-motivational-speech. 

“That was my fault.  When I said we would need to keep our tempers in check to make this meeting happen, I should have specified we’d need to do so for the duration of the meeting as well.”

With “clarity and a unity of vision,” they return, and eventually hash out a deal. Jack wants Eleanor’s father to sign off on it – or, at least, for Eleanor and Flint to tell him where Richard Guthrie is – but Vane cuts him off. 

“Her word’s good enough for me.”

Vane comes out of the meeting happy, but Jack warns him there’s still a mess to clean up, “before everything you’ve achieved here goes up in smoke.” He’s not talking about the deal with Flint – he’s talking about Vane and Eleanor, and we’re suddenly and forcefully jerked into season one’s worst-handled plotline.

Max is huddled, naked, chained to the wall of a shed. Vane has been letting his crew rape her as “punishment” for never getting the schedule – and possibly, his earlier behavior suggests, for taking his place in Eleanor’s affections.

“I had no choice,” he claims, unchaining her, and the goodwill he’d built up over the last scenes evaporates. Vane had every choice, and that this is the penalty he chose for Max speaks volumes.

He does have one question: why Max left Eleanor’s protection. Finally, she speaks, meeting his eyes. “You really have to ask? How did it feel, when she threw you aside?” Vane tells Jack to put her on a boat and get her off the island. 

Max’s suffering is juxtaposed against Vane’s next scene. Eleanor comes to his tent, smiles, and takes off her blouse. The afterglow, though, is interrupted by the sound of screams – screams Eleanor recognizes. She runs from the tent to find a Ranger crewman assaulting Max in public, and runs to her rescue, bludgeoning him with a stick before turning on Vane.

“You are – all of you, this whole crew – as of right now, finished!” They’ll have no dealings with Eleanor’s Nassau unless they elect a new captain – Captain Flint, who now gets the Ranger as a consort without the baggage attached. Most of Vane’s crew deserts him immediately – even Anne Bonny makes a brief motion to leave before being pulled back.

But Max is done with Eleanor’s apologies: “He didn’t do this to me,” she says, right or wrong.  “You did.” She turns, and walks back to Vane, putting herself back into sexual slavery “until the debt is paid.”

It’s a rough moment, and what makes it worse is that it’s Max’s last real moment of agency this season. She’ll come into her own in season two, but until then, her story isn’t hers any more. It’s Eleanor’s, and, later, Anne and Jack’s – and the racial implications there don’t help.

Black Sails is a show about pirates, and as such it’s going to deal with dark themes. It’s a show that doesn’t shy away from its setting in the colonial Caribbean, and it will grapple with slavery, war, and the darkest side of humanity over its run. I have no objections to dark themes. I love dark themes. I do have objections to Max, who is set up as a major character and will later genuinely become one, turning into a suffering prop for the rest of the season.

The episode ends with a callback to the beginning, and the questions raised by Miranda Barlow’s introduction.

Billy confronts one of Singleton’s men, and finds himself having to lie once again about Singleton and the page. “I may be wrong about Singleton, but I’m not wrong about Flint,” Morley says. He thinks that Flint’s using his men for his own purposes, and if Billy doesn’t believe him, “that’s because you don’t know about Mrs. Barlow.”

We close with a montage set to Marcus Aurelius, and an episode that raised more questions than answers.

Sunday, May 30, 2021

American gods S2 Ep 7: Treasure of the Sun

from Den of Geek
https://www.denofgeek.com/tv/american-gods-season-2-episode-7-review-treasure-of-the-sun/


American gods S2 Ep 7:
Treasure of the Sun
*******


The best episode of American Gods Season 2 delves deeply into the madness of Mad Sweeney.
By Ron Hogan|April 22, 2019|




This American Gods review contains spoilers.
American Gods Season 2 Episode 7

Only two characters have felt completely “on” in American Gods Season 2. Laura Moon is one. The other is her frequent scene partner, Mad Sweeney. I’ve praised their scenes together this season as some of the better ones thus far, and that praise continues when they’re separated from one another, too.

The rest of the ensemble may seem a bit groundless, but Mad Sweeney continues to be the anchor of the second season, keeping American Gods from going adrift in stormy seas. Thankfully, he gets his own episode, highlighting his journey not to America, but how a quasi-mythological king in Ireland became a giant, fist-fighting leprechaun, tracking the various versions and transmutations of the Mad Sweeney myth before settling on the version that best fits American Gods.


Mad Sweeney has fallen on hard times as of late. Laura stormed off, rejecting him. His position at Wednesday’s side has been supplanted by Shadow Moon. His lucky coin has been gone for quite some time, and he may never get it back from within Dead Wife’s chest cavity. He doesn’t even merit an invite to dinner anymore, his position at the table being taken by Salim, of all people. All Sweeney has is drinking to keep him company, and the allure of that seems to be wearing off with every hangover, and every morning he wakes up unconscious under a railroad trestle.



The episode focuses mostly on Sweeney as he recounts his story to various audiences, one at a time. With each retelling, Sweeney remembers just a little bit more about himself and how he became the Mad God-King of legend. His backstory unfurls slowly, in bits and pieces, glimpses of Sweeney in the arms of a witch or slaying with a spear on the battlefield. While he’d like his story to be all blood and guts, the truth of the matter, as revealed in Heather Bellson’s script, is that Sweeney is a man gone mad because of a broken heart. He might drink and whore and fight, but he’s trying to fill the hole in his life left by his wife Eorann (Clare McConnell) and daughter Moira.

What sells this shift is Pablo Schreiber’s performance, particularly when paired with Paco Cabezas’s direction. He’s always been a bit underrated, especially by me, because Sweeney’s swaggering confidence is easy to mistake as genuine, but when he’s allowed to drop the gusto and to allow the vulnerability to creep into Sweeney’s eyes, Schreiber knocks it out of the park. The swagger and gusto don’t fade, but it never seems to really creep into his face or his body language. When he gets one over on Wednesday, he feels triumphant; it’s a bit of trickery that Wednesday would certainly appreciate if it hadn’t been happening to him, but then Shadow steps in to defend his man and things go pear-shaped for the leprechaun.

It’s paced well, and it’s shot well. When Sweeney makes his turn, it feels natural and like something that’s been building for awhile, throughout the episode and throughout the series. Sweeney is more than just comic relief, as we see him in his full glory as a husband, king, and warrior, with the subtle changes in Sweeney reflected in the various stories he tells. Sweeney is impressive in his full splendor, and his madness never feels like too much of put-on, right to the very end when he turns on his employer.

Of course, he seems to get one-up on One Eye, but it’s still up for grabs to see if that remains the case. I am not sure which God has powers over the other, and if one God does one thing, then does another God from a different culture have the power to undo that thing? If Odin’s spear is in the Sun’s horde, can Odin go get it somehow? Will he have to remake his spear? It’s more questions than answers, but it’s a fitting bit of trickery for the leprechaun to roll out at a pretty crucial moment in Wednesday’s war movement, isn’t it? The gray monks might have turned the fairy folk into little green men, but that doesn’t strip them of their abilities, and the innate love of trickery that all Gods have isn’t lessened by Sweeney’s being stuck in America, or by his depression. He’s mad, in more ways than one.

It’s hard to believe that a character like this, who has been so important to the show, may not be there next season. It’s a cracking episode if he indeed does not return, but the show will miss him, as he’s basically carried the second season on his shoulders, and as this episode proves, he’s a great foil for just about everyone on the cast. Bliquis, Ibis, Wednesday, Shadow, and (especially) Salim, as he and the Muslim cab driver have some great conversations with one another, and Sweeney has one good “fairy” jokes with the two of them as a punchline.

Pathos, at all points. Sweeney is fleshed out, developed wholly, and by the end, he’s not just a comic relief heavy spitting out acidic quips at Dead Wife and Salim. He’s a man who has loved and lost, and who can’t get back the thing he wants. Sweeney isn’t mad, he’s tormented by his past, and by his present. And, perhaps, he’s willing to give up his future to escape his former life.

For the second week in a row, American Gods seems to be regaining its proper footing and returning to the show that it once was under a different regime. The hope is that the improvement continues, and the show levels off with a new hand at the helm and less drama backstage. Perhaps the madness is at an end, and American Gods can go on telling its tale with the confidence of Ibis with his quill, and not with the struggle of Sweeney.

Friday, May 28, 2021

The Girlfriend Experience S1 Ep 2

 from Vulture.com
https://www.vulture.com/2016/04/girlfriend-experience-recap-season-1-episode-2.html


The Girlfriend Experience S1 Ep 2
*******



The Girlfriend Experience Recap: Just a Friend
By Angelica Jade BastiƩn



Kate Lyn Sheil as Avery, Riley Keough as Christine. Photo: Kerry Hayes/Transactional Pictures of NY LP

In its second episode, The Girlfriend Experience leans heavily on the idea that all relationships are just a series of transactions. This outlook has quickly become a crucial aspect of the series, though as we saw in the pilot, it fails to truly challenge expectations.

As “A Friend” begins, the writers play coy as to whether Christine will become an escort. We watch her watching Avery, studying the online profile that depicts Avery as tastefully nude. The profile never quite shows her face; it’s all about the promise of something more. Christine claims she’s just curious, but it’s pretty clear she’s trying to find the right way in.

Soon enough, Christine maneuvers her way into this new world. Avery introduces her to Jacqueline (Alexandra Castillo), the woman who runs the escort service, and the arrangement is laid out: Jacqueline will set her up with clients, and in return, she’ll get 30 percent. Actress Riley Keough’s performance is so detached that it’s hard to get a read on Christine’s feelings about this — even as she wonders aloud to Avery about rate being too pricey. In fact, it’s tough to tell how she feels about anything. Christine wears the same vaguely incredulous look at all times, whether she’s in a lecture hall, taking professional nude pictures, or putting a condom on a man after giving him a blow job. “A Friend” doesn’t have much to say about who this character is, or what attracts her to the call-girl lifestyle beyond the money.

There’s a telling moment during Christine’s first date set up by Jacqueline. She’s decided to go by the name Chelsea Frayne, and she carries herself as she often does: icy, boldly narcissistic, cunning. But here, she isn’t as practiced. When the client asks her about her older sister, she rattles off several details that don’t feel true. He knows it and says so — though he doesn’t care if she lies. He just wants the lies to seem authentic. In the world of The Girlfriend Experience, everyone lies whether using fake names or not. All that matters is how well you can make a lie feel like the truth.

With the estate lawyer from the premiere, Christine goes to another swanky, colorless hotel. They exchange pleasantries. Drink expensive alcohol. The men and settings may change, but not drastically. Christine’s interactions with men have already begun to blend into one another. But with the estate lawyer, it’s different; this is her first time having sex for money. She keeps her eyes open when she kisses him, as if she wants to catalogue every moment with cool efficiency.

So far, The Girlfriend Experience is remarkably passionless from scene to scene, whether the subject at hand is David’s problems at the firm or how Christine studies her own nude pictures, which will soon comprise her online profile. Everyone, including Christine, feels like an automaton. Is this by design? It must be. Whether a character chases sex, affection, money, or power, they all move through the world in similar ways.

“A Friend” is co-written by showrunners Lodge Kerrigan and Amy Seimetz, and Kerrigan directs the episode. The shift from Seimetz’s direction of the pilot is notable, as Kerrigan chooses to focus on Christine’s face during each sex scene. It’s an inspired choice, which transforms the sexual interplay from rote exploitation into an identity-based act. As we watch Christine’s face, it’s clear that this isn’t about pleasure. Like everything else, sex is just another transaction. The Girlfriend Experience would do well to explore how Christine feels about that.

The episode’s most interesting dynamic unfurls between Christine and Avery. These women don’t really seem to be friends; they’re always sizing each other up and looking for points of weakness. Christine is no more authentic with Avery than she is with her clients. Even when the two share laughter, it’s ephemeral. Given that tension, “A Friend” cleverly positions their arcs as dramatic foils of one another. After Avery introduces Jacqueline to Christine, her own career hits a rough patch: She has to move out of the impressive home she shared with a client, and Jacqueline soon stops returning her calls. We’re not really told why this is happening, but it speaks to the uneasy ground between these two women. With nowhere else to go, Avery moves in with Christine on a temporary basis. She’s prickly about this charity, refusing to take Christine’s money and demanding to pay for an expensive meal. As Christine is on the rise, Avery is watching her career slip away.

That said, kindness doesn’t seem like something Christine would offer for free. What will she get out of helping Avery? Is this gratitude for introducing her to Jacqueline? Is Christine even capable of feeling gratitude?

As Christine comes home one night, she hears Avery having sex with someone. A little later, Avery wakes her, unable to sleep. “Can I lie down beside you?” she asks. When these two women face each other in bed, what do they see? It takes only a few moments for the tenor of the scene to change: Avery thanks Christine for being there for her, then she passionately kisses her.

“Kiss me,” Avery says. It’s the only way she knows how to show her gratitude. The only way she can understand Christine is through sex. Up to this scene, there had been no sexual tension between the characters — or even a hint of bisexuality. This sex scene isn’t about friendship or desire, though. It’s yet another transaction. In a world where everything has a price tag, can love or honesty or basic humanity even exist?

And that brings me to an important point: It’s easy to imagine how Christine’s openly manipulative nature and cold emotional state could be confused for some sort of modern feminism. It isn’t. It’s just emptiness and sexual nihilism. That’s why it’s so interesting to see how she manipulates others; it’s a behavior defined by absolutes. We’ve learned much more about Christine in those moments, as she watches people and uses what she learns to her advantage. But what will happen if she turns that incisive gaze back at herself?

There is an ugly cynicism at the heart of The Girlfriend Experience, a grim worldview that suggests uncomfortable things about what women must do to move through the world. And yet, I’m still eager to see what will come next. Seimetz and Kerrigan have set the stage for fascinating questions about identity and the limits of female sexual power.

Thursday, May 27, 2021

The Mare of Easttown: Miss Lady Hawk Herself

from TVline.com
https://tvline.com/2021/04/18/mare-of-easttown-recap-premiere-episode-1-kate-winslet-hbo/


The Mare of Easttown:
Miss Lady Hawk Herself
*******

Mare of Easttown: Grade the Premiere of Kate Winslet's HBO Detective Drama

Kate Winslet Mare of Easttown Recap Premiere


Yes, HBO’s Mare of Easttown looks like another small-town murder mystery — but Sunday’s premiere makes sure we get to know the small town very well before the murder even occurs.

When we meet Kate Winslet’s police detective Mare Sheehan, she’s waking up to yet another phone call from her neighbor Mrs. Carroll, who’s complaining about a peeping Tom on the loose. Mare dutifully takes the old lady’s report (“He looked like a ferret”) while reminding her she can just call the police station next time. At the station, the chief informs Mare they’re bringing in a county detective to assist her in the search for local girl Katie Bailey, who’s been missing for a year now. Mare bristles at this, but the chief orders her to “go back to the file. We’re starting over here.”

Mare of Easttown HBO Erin McMenaminWe’re also introduced to teen mom Erin McMenamin (Cailee Spaeny), who has a contentious relationship with her baby’s dad Dylan. At a custody handoff, they argue about paying for the kid’s ear surgery, and Erin gets into a nasty spat with Dylan’s new girlfriend Brianna, who promises to get back at Erin “when you least expect it.” Plus, we learn Erin has an angry, short-tempered dad… and a potential boyfriend named Brendan she’s been exchanging intimate texts with.

While Mare shops for a cheap habitat to hold her grandson’s baby turtle (she just had to flush a lizard down the toilet, so she doesn’t want to spend too much), she gets called in to investigate a burglary at her friend Beth Hanlon’s. Beth knows it was her drug addict brother Freddie, and on her way home, Mare spots Freddie on the street. She screeches to a stop and gives chase, twisting her ankle in the process. She tracks Freddie down to his house and coaxes him out of hiding, while also helping a rookie cop through his nausea at the sight of blood. Basically, she’s a one-woman police department.

Mare of Easttown HBO Jean SmartBack at home, we meet Mare’s mom Helen (Jean Smart) and her teen daughter Siobhan (Angourie Rice) while she soothes her swollen ankle with a bag of frozen fries. There, Mare learns her ex-husband Frank (David Denman) just got engaged to his new girlfriend; in fact, everyone in the family knew before she did. Tonight’s their engagement party, and everyone’s planning to go there instead of to an event marking the anniversary of Mare’s big game-winning shot as a high school basketball star. Mare has a slice of pizza and a beer with her friend and former teammate Lori (Julianne Nicholson) while Siobhan and her band prepare to play a set at the engagement party. (This is quite a dense tapestry!)

Erin hangs out with a pal and gushes over Brendan, who she’s planning to meet that night in the woods… and that’s where Brianna and her friends are hanging out, too. At the basketball event, we discover that Katie Bailey’s mom Dawn — who was just on TV complaining about the cops’ shoddy work on her daughter’s case — was on Mare’s basketball team, too. She and Mare exchange some terse words, with Mare defending her tireless efforts to find Katie, before heading out to wild applause from the crowd. Later, Mare drowns her sorrows at a local bar and meets a writer named Richard Ryan (Guy Pearce), who just moved to town. (“I’m sorry, that’s too bad,” Mare offers.) They exchange some sarcastic banter, and she ends up going home with him, but she tries to blow him off afterwards: “My life is complicated.” It’s about to get more complicated, too.

At the party in the woods, Erin shows up ready to meet Brendan and has an awkward reunion with old friends before heading to the meet-up spot. But there, she finds Brianna and her friends, taunting her. “Brendan” was just a catfish Brianna made up to get back at Erin for texting Dylan, and Brianna beats her up while her friends capture it all on video. Siobhan breaks up the fight and tries to help Erin, but she just wanders off deep into the woods, alone.

Mare fends off Helen’s questions about coming home late and tucks in her grandson before heading to bed, and she’s woken up the next morning by a phone call — but it’s not Mrs. Carroll this time. Back in the woods, we see that Erin’s dead body is lying sprawled in a riverbed.

All The Way (HBO Films)

 From RogerEbert.com
https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/all-the-way-2016


All The Way
*******



Reviews
All the Way

Brian Tallerico May 20, 2016



It is perhaps an appropriate election year to remind ourselves that change in this country takes blood, sweat and tears. At a time when the nation feels more divided than ever, it’s healthy to look back at one of the turning points in the political system of the United States, a fight for civil rights that pushed the establishment so hard that it forever reshaped the electoral college. Think about this amazing fact: Before the Presidential election in 1964, Georgia had never voted Republican. They have done so in the last five elections. The “Republican South” wasn’t always so much of a given, and HBO’s “All the Way” makes the case that a lot of this political shift started because Lyndon B. Johnson recognized the importance of civil rights when he ascended to the presidency after the assassination of John F. Kennedy, turning it into the election issue of that year and provoking the ire of a GOP establishment that wasn’t on the right side of history. 

This excellent drama, carried by a truly incredible performance from Bryan Cranston, captures the difficulty of the political machine. "All the Way" can be a little frustratingly thin, in that it tries to do a bit too much in 132 minutes, turning complex political figures into “plot device characters” (ones who come into frame, serve their purpose for the protagonist, and exit stage right), but there’s so much worthy of discussion in the piece that “All the Way” never drags. And Cranston should clear some more mantle space for a future Emmy and Golden Globe to sit next to the Tony he won for this role.

Adapted from his play of the same name, writer Robert Schenkkan, working with director Jay Roach, is careful not to make “All the Way” feel like a filmed play. A cinematic score by James Newton Howard, and fluid, complex camera work by Jim Denault help that effort, but it’s the engaging turn by Cranston that really magnifies the source material. One can see why he was so praised on stage (I never saw the play) as he embodies Johnson, diving into both his outlandish behavior (having meetings while on the toilet) and complex moral code. In many ways, it is everything that Cranston’s performance in “Trumbo,” also directed by Roach, was not. While that performance felt like a caricature, Johnson feels well-rounded and complex from minute one of “All the Way.”

In that first minute, Johnson is on Air Force One, with a still-bloody Jackie Kennedy, after her husband’s assassination. He’s going to take the Oath of Office to become the President of the United States. In his first speech as President, Johnson affirms that the Civil Rights bill his predecessor started will be his priority. Johnson’s former mentor and friend Senator Richard Russell Jr. (a perfect and understated Frank Langella) isn’t too happy with this decision, but Hubert Humphrey (Bradley Whitford) embraces the directive, positioning himself to be Johnson’s Vice President in the upcoming election. Most of all, Martin Luther King Jr. (Anthony Mackie) recognizes that he will have to work carefully with Johnson to get what his movement demands from the government.

Concessions start quickly. Johnson learns that unless he removes voting rights from the bill, it won’t pass. From the beginning, Schenkkan and Roach are working with the very core of the political game in how they capture what Johnson knew was and was not possible. While some encourage him to fight for voting rights, he realizes that fair employment and making other discriminatory practices illegal this year is step one, and voting rights is next year. As J. Edgar Hoover (a cartoonish Stephen Root) spies on King to try to get dirt and Lady Bird Johnson (Melissa Leo) stands by her husband’s side, the political stew starts to boil. As the election season heats up, party lines are drawn and unexpected curveballs keep Johnson from an easy path to stay in the White House. Few films have better captured the unpredictability of the campaign season, such as when the murder of a civil rights activists derails his strategy or when the arrest of someone close to him nearly ruins everything. And it’s impossible not to read a bit of commentary into the current political season when Johnson mentions “outside forces conquering and destroying the South by appealing to their racial hatred." It's a line that was either prescient to the racial divisions defining this campaign or written for the movie and not the play.

While there’s a lot to like in Schenkkan's smart script, “All the Way” is really a vehicle for Cranston, and he delivers in ways that make it much easier to forget “Trumbo.” This is such a nuanced take on a character who could be larger than life. He’s got the accent, the bloated ego and all the elements on to which other actor’s would hang the entire performance, but then he shades from there. Right from the beginning, when Johnson is questioning how seriously he’ll be taken as he steps into Kennedy’s shoes, this is an intricate acting turn that’s more interested in character details than caricature. Mackie is good, though MLK plays more of a supporting role here than he arguably should have. But "All the Way" focuses on Johnson’s role in the civil rights movement, not the story of civil rights on the ground in the South, as so deftly captured in Ava DuVernay's “Selma.”

"All the Way" can be a crowded film, and roles like Hoover & Lady Bird aren’t designed to feel like more than sounding boards for Johnson. As with a lot of stage-to-screen productions, the background players sort of fade into a chorus, but what’s there in the spotlight, center stage, isn’t just a great performance but a formative chapter in our history; one that’s still to be written.

Wednesday, May 26, 2021

The Nevers S1 Ep 2: Exposure

 from Vulture.com
https://www.vulture.com/article/the-nevers-recap-season-1-episode-2-exposure.html


The Nevers S1 Ep 2: Exposure
*******




The Nevers Recap: Freak Shows
By Amanda Whiting



Photo: HBO

When P.T. Barnum arrived in England with the little person General Tom Thumb in 1844, the people went nuts. Barnum’s Hall of Human Curiosities played Buckingham Palace; Queen Victoria reportedly died when Thumb unsheathed his itty-bitty sword to stage-fight her royal spaniel. Victorian England, in which discussion of sex was verboten and women’s bodies were mysterious even to themselves, paradoxically loved a freak show. This week, The Nevers gives us two.

Maladie remains on the loose after her showdown with Amalia at the opera, and the bobbies are no closer to finding her or Mary, the singer she abducted. So the cops do what cops do: profile. Maladie is touched; naturally every touched person is suspect. Inspector Frank Mundi and his men start tossing dorms at St. Romaulda’s while the wards are still in bed, but all they turn up is the indignation of the women who run the place. Orphanage benefactor Lavinia Bidlow pulls strings to see Mundi’s warrant revoked, but her heroic turn is followed up with a demeaning request. See, the champion of the touched is giving a charity fĆŖte in her stately home, and she’s come in search of entertainment to complement the petit fours. Guests will include “men of influence with wives of actual influence,” which is exactly the kind of vaguely feminist drivel The Nevers so far specializes in.

In the face of Maladie’s murderous run, one object of the party is to rehabilitate the reputation of the touched — “a few attractive girls showing off their turns,” dialed down to a volume that London’s haute monde finds palatable. “Mingle, but don’t put yourself forward,” Bidlow says before assigning the teenage giant Primrose to a souvenir photo booth. Bidlow asks that the touched wear blue ribbons to distinguish them from the rest of her company; it’s a big swing reference.

The party is exploitative, which squares with a society that peddled physiological deviation as a form of popular entertainment. The touched girls are a big hit, but this stratum of London is dead set on segregation. When Penance has a private conversation with Lavinia’s spineless younger brother Augie, people gawk for all the wrong reasons. It gives Lavinia, who doesn’t know her touched brother can warg himself into a crow Ć  la Bran Stark, the chance to reveal herself. “They’re not our guests, they’re my charity,” she scolds. The “my” is particularly belittling.

But elsewhere in some London grotto, there’s another touched party going. It’s opening night at the Ferryman’s Club, Hugo Swann’s exclusive fraternity for affluent men who want to have sex with the afflicted. In the face of Maladie’s murderous run, membership requests have gone up. It’s an intriguing juxtaposition with Lavinia’s staid to-do. In the daylight, the touched can remain an object of charity so long as they respect the social order, which includes using their superpowers only to pique. In Swann’s debauched fantasy, the touched are encouraged to fully embody themselves for someone else’s profit. Prostitution isn’t necessarily exploitative, but in a city where the touched are estranged from their families and fired from their jobs, the Ferryman’s isn’t simply an economic choice. Still, there’s liberation here that the touched don’t have in polite society. It’s not a matter of which freak show is worse to play but the dilemma facing the touched: to be feared or fetishized. Either way, it’s dehumanizing.

Beyond the party circuit, Amalia True, a widowed baker with a very particular set of skills, and Mundi, a copper with a reputation for police brutality, make strange bedfellows. Amalia tricks Mundi into revealing his personal history with Mary by bringing along a touched prostitute whose turn has rendered her mere bodily presence into truth serum. Turns out Mundi was engaged to Mary before she jilted him at the altar. Convinced he cares more about saving Mary’s life than killing Maladie, Amalia helps him develop a psychological profile of Maladie that’s utterly useless because ultimately it’s one of her riplings that leads them to her lair. This episode was written by Buffy alum Jane Espenson, so yes, of course, there’s a lair.

When Amalia eventually arrives, Maladie greets her under a welcome sign with her legs suggestively apart. In the pilot, she grabbed a man’s crotch. There’s something being suggested here about women and lust and insanity. In fact, the scenes of Amalia’s confident progression toward Maladie are intercut with scenes of Augie tiptoeing through Swann’s brothel because what? Something about the inherent sexuality of pursuit? I give up.

Amalia and Maladie face off again, but the fistfight is mostly an excuse to dump new bits of critical info. First, Maladie’s Nietzsche-inspired turn is that she absorbs “what doesn’t kill her,” so fistfighting is probably a bad strategy. Second, these bitches have backstory. In a time when Maladie was called Sarah and Amalia was Molly, they knew each other, maybe in the asylum? Molly turned her back on Sarah — “fed her to …” who exactly we don’t know yet. There’s the sense Sarah might never have become Maladie without Amalia’s disappearance from her life, but this insight muddies her intentions more than it explains them. Does Maladie really believe she’s on a mission from God, or is she simply motivated by vengeance?

Either way, she doesn’t want to kill Amalia, only to hurt her. She’s rigged up some inexplicable pulley with Mary attached by a noose at one end and Penance, who she has now also abducted, on the other. Maladie hands Amalia a gun and tells her to save her “best friend” by shooting the other. Amalia does a nice little speech about sacrifice before shooting herself in the stomach instead. Then she shoots Maladie, who is slick enough to construct this elaborate no-win dilemma but sloppy enough to hand Amalia a gun with two bullets in the cylinder. Neither shot is fatal.

In the episode’s coda, we finally get some clarity on a subplot that’s been percolating since the cold open. (The Nevers loves itself some bookends.) A touched Italian shopgirl is run out of a department store — another Victorian invention — when she accidentally sends a festooned bonnet floating into the air. She finds a flyer advertising refuge for the touched at St. Romaulda’s and follows it to an address that sure ain’t St. Romaulda’s. She’s greeted by one of Hague’s faceless henchmen, and the good doctor shortly lobotomizes her — medical barbarism performed in the name of scientific progress. So far, so evil. What we learn in the episode’s final moments is that Hague’s incapacitated subjects are being conscripted into a brain-dead mining outfit working to excavate a glowing icy-blue orb in subterranean London. (Yes, of course, there’s a hellmouth.)

This bizarre development renders Maladie more of a distraction than a bona fide threat — destructive yet pitiable, too. Lord Massen’s politics are hateful but abstract. Even the mad Dr. Hague is just middle management. The mastermind behind the zombified labor operation down in Fraggle Rock is none other than renowned philanthropist Lavinia Bidlow. It’s a pretty satisfying revelation, striking the elusive balance between I did NOT see it coming and Who else could it be?

The shape of the true enemy is finally clear on The Nevers, even if her motivations and intentions remain opaque. Gazing up at the mysterious orb, Bidlow declares that this means war, but who is the enemy? The touched? The touched are her army. Above ground, they’re her cause. Earlier in the episode, Amalia tells Penance that Bidlow, who gets around in a wheelchair, was helping the touched for a reason: “She knows what it’s like to be dismissed.” If this is true, we certainly haven’t seen it. Bidlow is a grande dame of London society with a box at the Royal Opera House, a huge estate, and a younger brother entirely under her thumb. Now, by dint of her wheelchair, she’s earned the trust of the most powerful group of women the world has ever known.

As in the pilot, The Nevers is ultimately more concerned with society’s response to the touched than the riddle of their existence. Men like Swann are content to play P.T. Barnum, unable to see a personal use for the touched beyond the dull constraints of capitalism. Massen is a political reactionary, labeling anything he doesn’t understand as a threat. He seeks to somehow circumscribe this new class, but there are proving to be more duplicitous ways to defang the touched. It’s Lavinia Bidlow, purportedly overlooked due to her sex and her wheelchair, who seeks to appropriate the potential of this gifted minority for herself.

Amazing Spider-Man #44-49: Sins Rising

SINS RISING




Written by Nick Spencer 
Penciled by.. a lot of people.
Published Jul-Oct 2020

   I’m always excited for this series. Unlike a few titles I’m in the middle of at the moment that just aren’t delivering, Nick Spencer is definitely proving to be a formidable Dan Slott replacement. Although Norman Osborne/Green Goblin might be the most played out Spidey-villain, former foe the Sin Eater was brilliant. Plus seeing the Green Goblin/alt-Gwen chemistry also proved to be fairly entertaining. Meanwhile, creepy zombie centipede man continues to lurk around the corner. 49 issues in and I seem to feel like this guy has been here since #1. Overall, this one was solid. I’d give it a 9/10.

Tuesday, May 25, 2021

Fargo S3 Ep 3: the Law of Non-Contradiction

 from EW.com
https://ew.com/recap/fargo-season-3-episode-3/

Fargo S3 Ep 3:
The Law of Non-Contradiction
*******

Gloria goes to L.A. in search of answers.

By Kevin P. Sullivan
May 03, 2017 at 11:08 PM EDT
RECAP: 5/3/17 Fargo
CREDIT: CHRIS LARGE/FX

There’s something uncanny about the third season of Fargo so far. Three episodes in, and everything seems to be in order based on what I know about the series.

There’s a central crime that’s almost immediately complicated by layers of purposeful deceit and bargain-brand levels of stupidity. There’s an outsider, an eloquent personification of evil who likes to critique word choice and dances intellectual circles around the common folk whom he plagues.

There are obvious symbols — in the case of the most recent episode, a machine that only does one thing: switches itself off. There have been multiple jumps into different time periods. Oddball world-building, like a Santa Claus convention. Playful pokes at shallow aspects of modern life, like Facebook. Hell, there’s even an animated sequence, building off one of the strong sequences from Legion.

At the center of it all is an earnest cop, in over her head, but if she just sticks to her guns and inherent goodness, she’ll make it out of the weeds.

These are all identifiably Fargo-ish things, but watching the third episode, there was the unshakable sense that something was off — like we’re in an invasion movie and are starting to suspect that our friend has been body-snatched. It looks like Fargo, and it sounds like Fargo. But is that really Fargo in there?

The episode started off fine enough with a jump back in time to 1975, when the young novelist Thaddeus “Thad” Mobley won the Singularity Award for Best Science Fiction Novel with The Planet Wyh, a copy of which Gloria found at Ennis’. At the ceremony’s bar, Hollywood producer Howard Zimmerman (played by A Serious Man‘s Fred Melamed, it should be noted) introduces himself and gets the gears moving on a Planet Wyh movie. Things are looking up for the humble scribe, and if you wondered for a second whether this business would chew up Thad and spit him out, this might be literally the first television show you’ve ever seen.

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The only hitch in Thad’s rise to the top in La-La Land is that Zimmerman needs money to grease the necessary wheels. Being the innocent naive that he is, Thad offers up the money — whatever keeps him in business with the producer because that business involves screen beauty Vivian Lord.

Of course, Zimmerman blows the money. Of course, Vivian’s got a coke problem. Of course, Thad gets pulled down into the gutter with them. None of it is surprising. It’s not even compelling. How are we supposed to care for a kid who gets played like this? Instead of saying, “Poor Thad,” our only reaction is, “Well, yeah.” I mean, when the whole plot is revealed, Vivian literally says, “I used you a–hole.” Maybe she’s got a point.

But maybe there’s some value to this. Complicating the episode’s structure even further, the flashback serves as the framing device for an animated sequence illustrating one of Thad’s stories. The robot Minsky is a lonely little robot who wanders a suspiciously World of Tomorrow-like sci-fi landscape for an eternity, offering to help. There are a lot of heavy nods toward significance. Minsky is a simple mind that witnesses the rise and fall and rise of civilizations as he searches for meaning. But his story ends without a strong emotional or thematic destination.

Gloria’s story line for the week winds up with a similar conclusion, as she travels to California with the hopes of solidifying the connection between Ennis and Thaddeus Mobley. There are a few problems that keep the story from being absorbing. We already know that there isn’t a connection between Ennis’ time as Thaddeus and his death. Gloria eventually comes to that conclusion herself — realizing that this chapter in Ennis’ life, like everything else, is just a story — but the road to the truth is tedious and not filled with the insight or wisdom that Fargo seems to want to impart.

All we get out of Gloria’s time in L.A. is a reheated Hollywood fable of a writer scorned, the useless machine as a capital-S Symbol, and a fun, if shallow turn by Rob McElhenney as a douchebag cop, who’s nothing more than a mouthpiece for the writers’ Facebook complaints pitched as ironic satire.

This may sound like a lot of complaints, but it all comes from having seen Fargo as a program that flouts the traps of “prestige” drama rather than falls for every single one. In the past, this has been a show that prioritized empathy and exciting storytelling over indulgent allegory and strained and empty symbolism.

Yes, we’re only three episodes into the season, but for whom are supposed to care at this point? Gloria seems like the most obvious answer, but the show continues to downplay her connection to Ennis, whom we barely got to know and who appears to have been a rube in his early days. And because Gloria now knows that Maurice is already dead, there’s even less of a sense of urgency. The only mystery with any emotional resonance is already solved, so where do we go for our hook?

Are we supposed to root for Ray and Nikki to get with their murderous gambit? Nikki’s only motivator seems to be complicating the plot, and Ray’s too weak a personality to oppose her. Emmit was foolish with his finances and is now paying the price. There is no single emotional anchor point so far, and unless something changes soon, I’m afraid the rest of the season will leave me just as cold.

All of the pieces are here for a season of Fargo, but there’s no heart. The show still looks like our friend, but there’s no life in its eyes.