Dracula (1979, John Badham)

This Dracula adaptation takes place in 1913, which is only important so leading lady Kate Nelligan (battling and sometimes winning her English accent) can be a suffragette, and her beau, Trevor Eve, can drive a motorcar. So there can be a car chase. Or three.

The film begins already in England. A ship is having trouble at sea; the crew is trying to get a wooden crate overboard, but they’re too late, and a wolf attacks them. On land, Nelligan lives with her father, Donald Pleasence, who runs a mental institution. Her sickly friend Jan Francis is staying with them. Nelligan helps out in the institution, where the patients aren’t so much violent as profoundly tragic.

After the boat crashes, Francis goes down to the shore and discovers a lone survivor and apparently the ship’s only passenger, a Transylvanian count. We don’t get to see him for a while; Dracula, down to the John Williams score, is a late seventies studio blockbuster. The height of pre-ILM special effects, many smartly executed composite shots, exquisite matte paintings, and Superman: The Movie moments. Down to Laurence Olivier’s stunt cast as Van Helsing, who isn’t a vampire hunter, just a grieving father. Francis is his daughter, and she’s not long for the world. Or movie.

The film’s first hour is moving the pieces around so Langella and Nelligan can have a romance. They need to overcome hurdles, like her presumed engagement to Eve (apparently, they both were just fooling around) and Langella’s desire to create a vampire army to destroy the humans. Starting with Francis.

But since Nelligan disappears in the second half of the film—she’s the vampire’s victim, the fair maiden the men must protect—the film loses its romance angle. Langella hangs out to menace the good guys, but he also vanishes for a stretch. The third act misses them, particularly Nelligan, who never gets to sit with her burgeoning vampiric attributes.

Instead, it’s all about Olivier, Pleasence, and Eve teaming up, though in stages. Olivier and Pleasence get one set piece, then Olivier gets another, then Eve finally gets to team up for the car chases. Despite the good guy plot being Olivier’s movie, he makes room for his costars. He and Pleasence have a delightful rapport; before Olivier arrives to check on Francis, Pleasence is an absent-minded dad-type. He relies on Nelligan for a lot of the institution work, and he’s settled into fine country living when he’s off the clock. He doesn’t even remember how to help someone choking; it’s been so long since he’s practiced real medicine.

When Olivier arrives, Pleasence becomes his Watson. At least until the third act, when there’s not enough room for Pleasence anymore.

Director Badham is often ostentatious; despite the English shooting locations, Dracula’s very American—just listen to Langella’s accent (or lack thereof). Or, really, Nelligan’s English one. Olivier does a heavy accent, which is fine; his performance just doesn’t have any nuance. He doesn’t need it, I suppose. Francis’s accent’s terrible, though. It always sounds like she’s mumbling.

The film wraps up with a conflicted statement about Nelligan’s agency under the patriarchy—Langella’s offering her real power; she just has to eat people—but it’s a reasonably successful adaptation. Langella’s mesmerizing as a dashing Dracula, and he and Nelligan’s chemistry is good. Pleasence and Olivier are fun. Eve’s fine. Tony Haygarth’s a relatively harmless but still terrifying Renfield.

Lovely photography from Gilbert Taylor and good editing from John Bloom. The Williams score is just okay; he doesn’t have a good “Dracula theme,” which he needs.

Great costumes from Julie Harris and production design from Peter Murton. Dracula’s often sumptuous. It’s a little slow, but it’s all right.

This post is part of the Devilishly Delightful Donald Pleasence Blogathon hosted by Gill of Realweegiemidget Reviews and Barry of Cinematic Catharsis.

Swamp Thing (2019) s01e04 – Darkness on the Edge of Town

I’ve been trying really hard with Maria Sten, who plays Crystal Reed’s bestie. Sten’s just in the show to ask Reed what she’s going to do next or what she’s just done. Last episode, it seemed like Sten was going to have a reporter subplot, but it was just to set up Will Patton for later. In this episode, they don’t even pretend Sten will get anything to do for herself. She’s around for her dad, Al Mitchell, to get infected with a supernatural swamp bug, but just so she can call Reed into the subplot. It’s a bad part.

And Sten’s not good in it.

Maybe she’ll turn it around. But it’s four episodes in, and she’s worse with better dialogue. This episode’s got the least bad lines so far; writing credit to Erin Maher and Kay Reindl. It’s still lots of bad lines, but much fewer than before. And there’s character subtext for the first time ever: Patton wants to adopt little orphan Elle Graham, but is it because he misses having a daughter or because Graham proves a good control for intemperate wife Virginia Madsen? It’s a wild plot for Patton this episode. He starts burying a dead body and ends buying his wife a granddaughter.

But, in the context of dark soap opera, it’s a plus for the series. And Madsen’s fine. Jennifer Beals is still solid, Kevin Durand’s still out there in the right way, and other cast members are evening out. Jeryl Prescott and Ian Ziering only seem to exist during their scenes in episodes, but this time around, the show knows how to package the subplot.

Then there’s Swamp Thing Derek Mears and newly reunited pal Reed. The show provides no context for Mears’s journey of discovery with his new existence—the plants are talking to him, and he knows how to grow trees—but from a horror angle. The show never tries to give Mears’s perspective, including when he’s never on time to meet Reed in the swamp. She goes out three times, and despite saying he can feel her presence immediately, he always takes forever to get there. So what’s he off doing?

Swamp Thing started as sci-fi horror mixed with regular horror, but the show has a real hard time with it. Maybe because they aren’t doing the sci-fi. There are a couple times there’s atrocious dialogue, but the show can get away with it because there’s nothing else they can do at that moment. They’ve boxed themselves into this supernatural threat-of-the-week format, and the only way out is through.

There are some secret origin hints about Reed; she has a nightmare about her greatest fear, and it’s not killing Madsen’s daughter; it’s something else, meaning the Madsen and Patton dead daughter storyline gets pushed some more instead of just dealt with. Hidden secret soap operas are so lazy.

Anyway.

It’s the best Reed’s been, and Mears’s still all right.

All Rise (2019) s03e06 – I’ll Be There

“All Rise” has a history of ingloriously dumping unsuccessful subplots—I think Simone Missick running for state senate or whatever in season one warranted in-show commentary they dropped it so fast—but this new one, where Missick’s got the hots for law school ex Sean Blakemore, is something else. Maybe because the show’s on streaming now and has ten episodes instead of twenty, maybe because they didn’t test Blakemore and Missick enough, but it’s a bland disaster. It’s not terrible; Missick has the chops to act her way through it, but it’s a profound nothing-burger.

The episode opens with Missick having a From Here to Eternity dream about Blakemore, interrupted by a crying baby and a messy husband (Christian Keyes). Missick’s dilemma this episode is whether to have lunch with Blakemore, who’s probably moving to L.A., actually; something Missick (and the audience) find out from Wilson Bethel. Bethel’s got almost nothing to do in this episode. His most important contribution is standing around. Literally. It’s a Missick and Jessica Camacho episode; since Bethel’s not in court with them, he’s benched. The show’s got so many characters. So, so many.

Anyway.

Camacho’s representing falsely convicted John Marshall Jones (who’s so exceptionally solid he ought to guest star on everything). He’s been in prison twenty years for a crime he didn’t commit. An off-screen friend is coming forward with new testimony, and Camacho’s trying to get a new hearing. Marg Helgenberger—I was shocked to see she really came back—is the appeals judge, which means she gets some scenes with Missick later. Helgenberger grants a hearing, so there’s an episode and Camacho’s up against assistant DA Suzanne Cryer.

Cryer’s been on the show for ages, and it’s possibly her best episode. She’s had to build this character between guest spots, always playing the bad guy, and she finally gets some character development. It’s nice.

The trial plot is a fairly straightforward legal procedural. Camacho will find out things about her client, the witnesses, and the case. Since it’s an old case, everything will come through in exposition. Outside some early stumbling, it’s all solid. It helps Jones is great; it helps Missick’s sympathetic to his case but also under scrutiny from new Chief Justice Roger Guenveur Smith (who’s back to being weird and bad), though the wrap-up with Camacho is a little forced. The show’s keeping Camacho treading water, character-wise, like if it gets renewed, she won’t be back.

The subplot—outside Missick’s home life one—is Lindsey Gort and Samantha Marie Ware (back for the first time since the season premiere) and a contested will. As TV lawyer show cases go, it’s middling, but it does give Gort and Ware something different to do; it works out. Though the show entirely avoids whatever’s up with Ware since she failed the bar.

“All Rise” keeps on chugging. Unfortunately, the show’s ill-suited for a ten-episode season, so we’ll see how they wrap it up (they’re in the back half now), but hopefully, they figure it out.

Whose Life Is It Anyway? (1981, John Badham)

Director Badham intended Whose Life Is It Anyway? to be black and white, which would probably help with the staginess. It’s a play adaptation. Badham handles the relatively big, busy cast well, but he doesn’t know how to shoot lead Richard Dreyfuss. Dreyfuss is playing a recently paralyzed sculptor who, after approximately six months, realizes he’s not going to get better and doesn’t want to go on. On stage, the physicality of Dreyfuss’s performance matters. On film, it doesn’t. Or, at least, Badham doesn’t figure out how to make it matter. Especially not in he and cinematographer Mario Tosi’s wide Panavision frame.

Dreyfuss is good in the lead but nowhere near singular or even exceptional. His character development is defined by monologues, which refer back to scenes we’ve seen and add peculiar, narratively contrived context. He does get a good lengthy monologue during his mental health competency hearing, but it’s table stakes for the film. If there’s a courtroom scene, you expect the lead to get a good monologue. But it’s earnest enough. Badham really does try; he just can’t bring any nuance to the film.

He gets universally solid performances out of the supporting cast. There’s hospital administrator John Cassavettes (who’s arguably got the least depth), doctor Christine Lahti, lawyer Bob Balaban, hospital orderly and reggae punk rocker Thomas Carter, and then a series of nurses. Kaki Hunter plays the main one; the film opens with Dreyfuss’s accident. He’s an accomplished Boston sculptor who’s just installed a waterfront installation, then he gets in a terrible wreck. After the ER scene—look fast for Lyman Ward (and Jeffrey Combs later)—time skips ahead to Hunter’s first day, where she meets charming, irascible Dreyfuss.

While the film always accounts for Hunter’s experience of the events, she’s barely a character. She’s the object of Carter’s affections after a certain point and little more. Not Hunter’s fault, but rather the script’s. Even Badham knows to give her extra attention just to maintain a rhythm.

Janet Eilber plays Dreyfuss’s dancer girlfriend. They used to spend days at his studio with her dancing, possibly in the nude, probably not through dry ice fog, because there’s a black and white dream sequence. The one black and white sequence they let Badham do, and he wastes it early on in the picture; Dreyfuss has refused valium, so Cassavettes gives it to him anyway. He dreams about the past. A black and white dream sequence in the middle of a color melodrama, it’s an unsuccessful but not unambitious piece. If the whole thing were black and white, who knows.

Even if the film were in its intended color palette, there’d still be Arthur B. Rubinstein’s music. Rubinstein does a somewhat jazzy, upbeat score, which clashes and brings energy from those clashes. It’s just maybe not the right energy. They probably would’ve done better with no music, especially since Badham occasionally emphasizes the sound of the machines keeping Dreyfuss alive… but only occasionally. The machine noise would be omnipresent.

Back to Eilber. She gives the film’s worst performance when adjusted for importance. If she were better, another who knows.

Lathi’s good in a just okay part. She gets a lot to do in the second act, but it doesn’t go anywhere. But she tries. Eilber tries too, which helps. Badham makes sure everyone’s appropriately serious. And appropriately comical when Dreyfuss’s bad jokes break the tension.

Whose Life Is It Anyway? is stage adaptation Oscar-bait melodrama, but not bad stage adaptation Oscar-bait melodrama. It’s thoroughly competent; while Badham can’t crack the important adaptation stuff, he does a fine job with the day-to-day hospital and tracking its staff. It looks gorgeous thanks to Tosi’s soft lighting. Nice cuts from Frank Morriss. Rubinstein’s score is amiable. The cast works hard.

It’s perfectly acceptable and never anything more.

Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948, Charles Barton)

Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein makes a surprising number of Universal monster movie gaffes. Most obvious is director Barton’s fault—Dracula (a very fun Bela Lugosi) casts a reflection. After shooting the “vampire seduces lady” scene half in reflection, careful not to show Lugosi, the finish just has a visible Dracula in the mirror. So it goes from being a clever constraint to a bewildering fail.

There’s also some questionable vampire logic—Lugosi’s victims crave blood but aren’t vampires—and then it’s a full moon at least five nights in a row, maybe six, so Lon Chaney Jr. has something to do in the movie.

For the first and third acts, gaffes don’t really matter. Only in the plodding second; Meet Frankenstein is only eighty minutes and change. There shouldn’t be any plodding, but it indeed plods, mainly because Bud Abbott is convinced there aren’t monsters, and Lou Costello’s either making it up or too dumb to successfully process reality, and it’s a drag. Every gag ends the same way—Costello seeing monsters, Abbott just missing them. In the first act, when Costello’s got a lengthy bit with Lugosi coming out of a coffin next to him, it’s amusing.

Approximately fourteen times later? Less amusing.

It’s especially unfortunate since Abbott’s pretty good when he’s not playing dunce. He and Chaney have to team up to save the day, and it’s a missed opportunity for more. Especially for Chaney, who starts the movie with a bunch of potential but then they just keep doing the same thing for him over and over again.

At least Lugosi gets some variety. He gets to terrorize Costello, pretend to be a mad scientist, seduce the ladies, and lead Glenn Strange’s Frankenstein Monster around. Lugosi’s got the best part by far.

Strange has the worst. While Chaney’s Wolf Man makeup is pretty good, Strange’s makeup seems cheap and flimsy. When he moves too much, it looks like his hair’s going to fall off. But there are decent enough sight gags for Strange in the third act; it just takes until then for him to figure into the plot.

Abbott and Costello are baggage handlers in sunny Florida, where local haunted house owner Frank Ferguson has just bought the original corpses of Dracula and the Frankenstein Monster from Europe. Ferguson’s an obnoxious blowhard, and the film’s best early joke has Costello treating him appropriately. Costello’s better in the workaday scenes than when he’s doing the horror dating comedy—see, new-to-the-area, glamourpuss Lenore Aubert has taken a liking to Costello (frustrating Abbott), but then Jane Randolph starts cozying up to him as well. The second act is basically Costello juggling unlikely girlfriends; Aubert’s a mad scientist after his brain and Randolph’s an insurance investigator trying to figure out if the boys stole the infamous corpses.

Then throw in Charles Bradstreet as Aubert’s assistant, who doesn’t know anything about his boss’s nefarious plans, but Randolph needs to be able to smile at a cute guy occasionally instead of Costello.

The finale’s a madcap haunted castle romp with Abbott and Costello trying to escape but being foiled by monsters at every turn. Of course, Lugosi has the best material, including throwing potted plants at his adversaries. The movie does need to do something with all the monsters, which it resolves pretty well for half of them. The other half gets shrugged off, with the last one hurried so there can be the final, funny gag.

All things considered, it’s far from a failure. It’d be nice if Abbott and Costello were strong together instead of apart, and Randolph seems like she’s going to have a good comic part then gets an immediate downgrade. It’s probably worst for Chaney, who always seems like he’ll get something, but then the full moon interrupts. Lugosi’s a delight.

The special effects—outside Strange’s makeup—are decent. They use a cartoon bat for Dracula, but the transformation scenes aren’t bad, and there’s at least one really good composite shot. Unfortunately, the exteriors are all soundstages, and while Charles Van Enger’s photography does okay, they’re visibly sets. Any related problems seem to be more director Barton’s.

Good music from Frank Skinner.

Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein doesn’t set itself a very high bar, but it does clear it. Lugosi alone makes it worth it.

The Black Stallion (1979, Carroll Ballard)

The Black Stallion is two separate, subsequent narratives. The filmmakers utilize two different but related styles for them. The first narrative, with 1940s tween Kelly Reno, shipwrecked on a desert island off the coast of North Africa with a wild Arabian stallion. The second is after Reno’s rescue when he and the stallion have to adjust to “real” life back home in the United States. That adjustment will lead to ex-jockey and current unsuccessful farmer Mickey Rooney taking an interest in Reno and the horse, who don’t do well in town.

The first narrative takes just under an hour, starting with Reno and dad Hoyt Aston on the ship, with a bored Reno discovering the horse onboard. There’s not a lot of dialogue, with director Ballard immediately establishing the film’s distinct narrative distance to protagonist Reno. The first part of Stallion’s more visual, the second part’s more audial, but Ballard and his crew maintain techniques throughout, including this deliberate angle on Reno. Ballard focuses on Reno’s experience of events but without showing his reaction to those events. Sometimes the film will catch Reno as he reacts; it just does so while the reaction’s already in progress. The film gives Reno his privacy.

The film’s got almost a half hour without any dialogue. Reno makes some noises at the horse in attempts to ingratiate himself—to limited success—but otherwise, most of the desert island sequence is no diegetic sound, just Carmine Coppola’s score. Coppola’s score is often ethereal, moving between styles, then focusing in for exact dramatic effect. The Black Stallion is a technically precise film. It’s exquisite too, but the precision is on a whole other level. Ballard, cinematographer Caleb Deschanel, editor Robert Dalva, and composer Coppola create these sublime sequences, each distinct but building off one another. The film tracks this relationship between Reno and the horse, their developing friendship and companionship, and gives them space to separately experience their desert island plight. The only word for it is divine.

And it takes Stallion until the film’s third act (and of the second narrative) to get back to that level. The second part is technically superb and quite charming (Rooney’s adorable, Teri Garr’s extremely sympathetic as Reno’s mom, and the period production design is excellent), but it’s not the first part. It’s not about Reno and the horse as pals anymore; it’s about Reno trying to figure out how to have an Arabian stallion somewhere in Rockwellian America. Rooney and the potential of racing glory give Reno some idea, though.

Since the film started on the ship, the film never establishes Reno before his exciting and tragic adventure. He’s always quiet and reflective, even on the boat, so one can assume he’s not less exuberant than before, but once he’s home, it’s still all about the horse. They’ve just lost the context for their friendship, with Rooney becoming—if not a surrogate dad—then at least a male role model for Reno. Rooney can understand some of Reno’s relationship with the horse. Despite the intense dangers the two experienced, Reno still has boyish dreams for him and his horse.

Good thing he lives in a place where male wish-fulfillment is a cornerstone of the culture because he’ll get his chance. Though the film will let Reno verbalize his dreams, the closest is when he breaks down and tells mom Garr about his experiences, which the film showed without sharing his internal experience. It did an excellent job of conveying that experience visually, but it’s not until much later Reno finally gets to talk about them.

The film’s terse with all its actors; Axton gets a great, staring straight in the camera (Reno’s perspective) monologue at the beginning, but he doesn’t talk much otherwise. It takes until the end of the second act for Reno to get his big moment. Garr gets hers in the same scene. Both Rooney and Clarence Muse have already had their big scenes, despite coming in after Garr. And big comes with an asterisk. They’re just longer passages of dialogue, maybe monologues. Ballard’s not interested in listening to people talk, instead showing how they act and interact.

The sound editing’s the thing in the second part. The sound of the horse running, hooves now on grass and pavement. Although there were lengthy horse-riding sequences in the first part, those sequences all had Coppola’s music accompanying them, not the actual sound. Ballard and the sound editors (Todd Boekelheide, Richard Burrow, Diana Pellegrini, and Stephen Stept) very deliberately refine the sound through the second part until the exceptional finale, when the sound becomes the most important technical. Albeit amid the exceptional other technicals. Stallion’s finale is gorgeous filmmaking. The photography, the editing, the directing, all stellar. And then the sound is even more impressive.

It’s transcendent, and when Stallion ties the epical (if stylishly lyrical) second part back to that lyrical, divine first part.

The film has several phenomenal sequences (in addition to the finale). Heck, the end credits are a remarkable flashback sequence. But most of the scenes on the island are fantastic, particularly the underwater dance and riding sequence. Reno chasing the horse through town is also great. But, again, nothing compares to the finale. Well, some of the island stuff, but it literally compares, not figuratively.

The Black Stallion is exquisite and masterful, occasionally divine. It’s a magnificent film.

Wayward Pines (2015) s01e04 – One of Our Senior Realtors Has Chosen to Retire

Okay, so it’s way too little, probably way too late, but “Wayward Pines” might rally into mediocrity. This episode plays like the first episode after a pilot, meaning the first three episodes of the season, with the movie stars and former movie stars, were just the setup. Now we’ve got the actual show, which seems to be about Matt Dillon, wife Shannyn Sossamon, and son Charlie Tahan living in the weird town, “Wayward Pines.”

Even though the sheriff tried to kill them and there’s a giant electrified fence around the place, it still takes Sossamon and Tahan a while to realize they’re in a strange place. Though Tahan never really groks it. Tahan was sixteen or seventeen during filming, and they never mention his age, but he comes off like a complete doofus. Or he’s just got PTSD from last episode, which is possible too.

This episode’s about Dillon becoming the new sheriff, Tahan going to school, and Sossamon confronting Carla Gugino about the affair Gugino had with Dillon. It was five weeks ago for Sossamon, Dillon, and Tahan and twelve years ago for Gugino. Thanks to these plot developments, Gugino all of a sudden starts giving the best performance on the show since she’s got some very layered emotions to essay.

There are still some problems, of course. Melissa Leo is still bad. Though not as bad as before. The episode’s got a new writer, not series creator Chad Hodge; instead, Steven Levenson gets the credit, and he’s an immediate improvement. And Zal Batmanglij is back directing, which is fine. Until the finale, anyway. After an unbelievably strong episode, they try to flush all the stakes down the toilet, then cliffhang on the swirl.

The supporting performances are better, too, with Hope Davis as Tahan’s creepy school teacher and Barclay Hope as her husband, the mayor. Hope tries to warn Dillon about the town instead of forcing him into compliance. It’s more effective.

The main guest star is Justin Kirk, who appeared briefly last episode as a realtor setting Dillon up with his new house. Kirk’s a social malcontent—something the previous episodes suggested was impossible—and Dillon’s got to protect him from the ominous forces at work. And Leo, who wants Dillon to slit his throat in town hall because Shirley Jackson doesn’t exist in this universe.

It helps seeing the ordinary people around town; it helps having Sossamon there to balance Dillon out. They really shouldn’t have drug out the pilot to almost two and a half hours. Or at least gotten M. Night Shyamalan to direct all of it so the badness could’ve been more uniform.

There’s a good scene or two for Siobhan Fallon Hogan, as Dillon’s secretary at the sheriff’s office, and Sarah Jeffrey’s decent as Tahan’s new, high school love interest. Unfortunately, Toby Jones seems entirely lost in the plot at this point, and Reed Diamond doesn’t have enough to do, but… this episode’s from a far better show than I ever thought “Wayward Pines” was going to be based on the first three.

It’s actually possible—albeit unlikely—it won’t be a waste of time now.

Wayward Pines (2015) s01e03 – Our Town, Our Law

Despite a gory exit last episode, Juliette Lewis is still in the opening titles. It initially made me wonder if “Pines” is going to kill off a main actor every week and just leave them in the titles to remind who’s already gone. She shows up for a moment later, no lines; I wonder if she got paid for it.

It’s a better episode than the two previous ones. The writing’s still Chad Hodge and still insipid; Zal Batmanglij is the director, and Batmanglij has some good shots, which are the first good shots in “Wayward Pines.” There are still some bad CG composites, but there are only so many miracles competence can bring.

The plot’s a bit of a surprise, just because of how much they get done.

The episode opens with lead Matt Dillon—somewhat more comfortable as a TV star, but not much—recovering from last episode’s adventure and pestering ex-partner, ex-lover Carla Gugino, even though she tells him he’s in great danger and needs to chill out. He’s been given a second chance in “Wayward Pines,” he needs to take it.

Dillon’s arc for the first half of the episode involves trying to stow away in a food delivery van. It seems like it will have a predictable conclusion but actually doesn’t. Not in a good way.

The real plot of the episode is Dillon’s wife and son, Shannyn Sossamon, and Charlie Tahan, respectively, coming to town to look for him. Tahan’s convinced he’s run away with Gugino, which leads to some turmoil once Sossamon and Tahan find out Gugino’s there, and Dillon hasn’t provided them any context. They don’t realize they’re in a Stepford town; they just think Dillon ran out on them.

Meanwhile, sheriff Terrence Howard is getting more and more fed up with Dillon refusing to get with the program, despite all the chances Dillon’s getting. It boils over when even Sossamon is rude to Howard, and they all end up on the unpredictable collision course.

Also, a surprise is another of “Wayward Pines”’s secrets. The show’s very much doing the “It’s not just dragons… It’s zombies and dragons” approach to its mythology.

Howard lets loose this episode, performance-wise, which provides a lot of personality and actual tension. Sossamon’s better than she’s ever been before, Toby Jones has a good moment, Gugino’s solid. The end is a big twist, but the show’s definitely not as bad as it’s been to this point.

It’s not good—and it’s bitten off a lot to chew at this point—but it clearly could be worse.

Around the World in 80 Days (2021) s01e08

The season finale for "Around the World in 80 Days" punts pretty much everything except resolving the villain arc for Peter Sullivan. It doesn't give him a character arc—he and Jason Watkins's minor subplot last episode confirmed they wouldn't be going that route—and instead is just about whether or not lead David Tennant's going to lose to Sullivan again. There's some additional backstory on their "friendship," but it doesn't go anywhere; it just makes Sullivan more villainous and Tennant's need to succeed direr.

But Tennant's character development? There are four crucial character moments in the episode, but they're transitory, not conclusive. Ditto Ibrahim Koma and Leonie Benesch's romantic possibilities. It becomes about Koma's character development, and then, when they need to do something with it, the show handles it offscreen. Something else to be dealt with next season, which apparently will involve a different Jules Verne property. It sounds like it'll be fine, I greatly anticipate it, but it's a letdown from where the show was headed for most of the season.

The episode itself is a marvel of pacing. There's time for a cliffhanger resolve, some character development for Koma and Benesch, a big scene for Tennant and guest star Dolly Wells, then an unexpected, excellent fight scene, all in New York. But there's a whole other plot waiting for the cast once they get on the boat, including Koma and Benesch dealing with shitty American racists. The show went six episodes without having overt racism, then throws in Americans, and they're abhorrent. Accurate, both in characterization and circling the globe east-to-west, but the balance is off.

Especially since Tennant, who the show's finally established needs to be more cognizant of racism (having become cognizant of sexism and classism earlier in the series), has nothing to do with the scene. It's a moment for character development, and Pharaoh runs away from it.

The conclusion, which has Tennant suffering one setback after another, is masterfully timed as well. Steve Barron's back directing; it's not his showiest episode, but the way he moves the episode along is extraordinary. It's forty-five or fifty minutes and feels like a ninety-minute two-parter, the way the drama hinges on these actually short scenes from the main cast. Mainly Tennant, who unfortunately gets his season finale character development done through him remembering important scenes in earlier episodes. But when he actually gets to do scenes, they're pretty good.

Especially opposite Wells, who's a delight.

But as for his friendships with Koma and Benesch, the episode skirts dealing with their impact and importance. Actually cuts them from one of the flashbacks. But, again, there's presumably plenty of time since there's another season. And the episode does acknowledge there's been some character development in the last scene. It's not too little, too late, but it's very little, very late. Very little in the last possible moments, actually.

It's a terrific show. Uneven only because it seemed more ambitious early on, and then also deciding at the last minute to address Koma being Black and doing a perfunctory job of it. But excellent acting from Tennant, Koma, Benesch, and Watkins, and an outstanding production. Narrative punting aside, Pharoah's script is spectacularly paced and has some enjoyable twists. Especially for guest star Richard Wilson.

I just hope next season knows where it's going.

Around the World in 80 Days (2021) s01e04

While it’s not the concept episode I want (an hour of David Tennant, Ibrahim Koma, and Leonie Benesch waiting for a train), this episode does a fine job introducing new elements to the show while still sticking to the “formula.” Though calling it, a “formula” might be stretching it. The episodes cover salient experiences during their trip “Around the World in 80 Days.” Unfortunately, there’s just no audience for “Fogg After Hours.”

This time, the trio is stuck in India, thanks to Tennant assuming the cross-continental Indian railway was completed. He read about it in Benesch’s article, but she wasn’t writing a travel guide, instead a feature on technology. It’s day twenty-eight of eighty, about nine days since the last episode. Seems like Benesch’s inaccuracies could be a go-to trope.

In what’s either a Temple of Doom reference or just how the British tell stories about India, Tennant and company come across an Indian kid who takes them back to her village. Reeya Gangen plays the kid. I don’t think her character ever gets named in the episode, but she’s going to have this gentle relationship with Tennant, who trips balls around her, and she thinks it’s funny in a caring way.

There are quite a few guest stars in the episode, which has them interrupting a wedding celebration. Or trying to interrupt a wedding celebration. Matriarch Shivaani Ghai isn’t giving Tennant a guide to get him to their next point of departure until the following day, no matter how much Tennant complains or tries to be a British aristocrat. Her daughter, Rizelle Januk, is the bride-to-be. The groom is Kiroshan Naidoo, a soldier in the British Indian Army. Charlie Hamblett is his commanding officer, who Naidoo told everyone gave him leave to get married, but Hamblett very much did not.

After Hamblett arrests Naidoo, Ghai says she’ll give Tennant a guide if he white guy talks Hamblett out of prosecuting. Except Koma’s really upset at how selfish Tennant’s being about the trip and decides to take matters into his own hands, dosing his tea with a sleeping agent. Except it’s too much, and Tennant trips out, beginning in his meeting with Hamblett.

Meanwhile, Benesch and Januk bond, partially over Januk’s problems, partially over just being women.

There’s a grand finale with Tennant laying bare parts of his reserved British soul. There’s a lot of good acting in the episode, whether Benesch and Januk becoming friends, Koma’s disappointment, anger, and regret, and Tennant and Ghai’s polite but honest conversations. None of it compares to Tennant’s monologuing at the end. It’s excellent writing throughout, especially on that monologue (because it’s got to account for a lot of Tennant’s colonizing bullshit too). The script’s got four credited writers Ashley Pharoah, Claire Downes, Ian Jarvis, and Stuart Lane.

As usual, really good direction from Steve Barron. There’s pretty much no action and a lot more comedy (Tennant’s trip), but also lots of dramatic tension for everyone at one time or another. Barron does it all quite well.

There are seven main actors in this episode—the trio, bride, groom, mom, British officer—all give phenomenal performances. Any single one of the guest star performances would be enough to put it over, so having all four be stellar is, frankly, special. “Around the World in 80 Days” is a spectacular success.