Day of the Dead (1985, George A. Romero)

Day of the Dead is a nightmare. Occasionally literally, with writer and director Romero not afraid to rely on a recurring “it was just a nightmare” bit. But more symbolically… Day is about a group of scientists working in a secured location in the Florida Everglades, ostensibly protected by the U.S. Army; they’re on a mission from the government, which started in the early days of the undead plague. It’s unclear how long they’ve been at it—at least a month (Romero’s got a great calendar device). Long enough scientist Lori Cardille has had time to get romantic with soldier Anthony Dileo Jr. and long enough the group has lost something like six men.

There’s a helicopter and its pilot (Terry Alexander, the only Black non-zombie), a radio operator (Jarlath Conroy), the soldiers, the scientists, the zombies they’ve captured, and the zombies above waiting to get into their bunker. The movie opens with Alexander, Conroy, Cardille, and Dileo on a search mission to Fort Myers. Real impressive empty street shots, but it’s the only time the movie’s out of the bunker until the end. As usual, Romero’s got to do what he can on a budget.

We get some of the team dynamic, but mostly Dileo going through a mental breakdown and Cardille unintentionally aggravating the situation. Dileo and Cardille’s relationship status is never important to the plot, but since the other soldiers really hate Dileo and really want to rape Cardille, it gets an early emphasis. The soldiers in question are mostly bully Gary Howard Klar and comical(?) dipshit Ralph Marrero. Klar’s super-duper racist towards Dileo (for being Hispanic, though Klar seemingly has no issues with other Hispanic soldier Taso N. Stavrakis; well, playing Hispanic). It doesn’t help the situation Dileo’s falling apart and can’t do his job, which usually involves keeping zombies from eating his fellow soldiers.

When the helicopter expedition returns to base, we find out the Major has died and, now, Joseph Pilato is in command. Pilato thinks the scientists are wasting everyone’s time and making things more dangerous. Given what it’ll turn out lead scientist Richard Liberty has been doing… Pilato’s not exactly wrong. Cardille’s trying to either reverse the zombie process or at least prevent the continued contagion, while Liberty’s training the zombies as pets. His main project is played by Sherman Howard. Howard won’t single-handedly save the film, but he gives its only transcendent performance. There will be other good performances—there will be abysmal performances—but Howard’s is singular.

The majority of Day is the human drama. It’s the end of the world, you get eaten when you die, there’s nothing to eat but beans. Everyone’s on edge. Romero’s script keeps moving pretty well, but he gives his actors dialogue they can’t possibly essay. Like, again, there’s bad acting. But, holy cow, is Romero’s writing a lot at times. It’s like he’s compensating for the lack of budget both in scope and casting—why give Liberty great (or even good) dialogue when he’s just going to play it like he’s cutting prices on a used car commercial. Eventually, Alexander will get to walk off with the movie (for the humans), but Romero spends a lot of time focused on “protagonist” Cardille. Cardille’s always fine, often good, especially considering how bad the other acting gets.

Pilato’s amazingly bad. Klar, Marrero, and Dileo are all varying degrees of bad, but Pilato turns it into an art form. Day’s all about how much you don’t want the U.S. Army involved in anything. No lies detected and all, but they’re still cartoonish.

Of course, one can easily make the argument no one knows how living in a zombie apocalypse is going to affect id vs. superego when communicating with others (i.e., the Howard Hawks “no one knows how Ancient Egyptians talked” argument from Land of the Pharaohs). It also doesn’t matter because the human drama’s real enough, and the zombie horror is exceptional. Once things go wrong, they go spectacularly wrong. And there’s such good gore. Day’s mesmerizingly revolting.

Exceptional editing from Pasquale Buba is a plus, but the technicals are all solid. Michael Gornick’s photography’s always at least good, sometimes better (though he can’t hide some reused locations), and John Harrison’s score is outstanding. And Romero’s direction’s exceptional.

If only he had the budget to hire some better actors. At that level, he’d presumably have the time to fix the dialogue too. But still, good show. Day of the Dead’s an exceptionally human (and humane) nightmare.

Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown (1977, Phil Roman and Bill Melendez)

There’s only one adult referenced in Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown. When the bus leaves Charlie Brown (voiced by Duncan Watson) stranded, they’ve established the driver’s silhouette. Not having any adults makes a lot of sense since, somehow, the Peanuts parents all decided to send their kids to a camp on the other side of a distant desert with no adult supervision. The camp’s name? Camp Remote.

The desert bit gives Sally (Gail Davis) a scene to threaten some local kid, which doesn’t go as expected, but since the movie’s setting it up for Sally to back down… it’s a bit of a surprise. I think the local kid is from the comic strip somewhere. She and her little brother (the anti-Browns, in a way) seem familiar, and they’re only in the one gag.

Sally prominently figures in the first act of Race for Your Life, right up until Peppermint Patty (Stuart Brotman) starts talking about running things as a democracy. The boys and girls have been split into their different tents, with Patty running for tent leader. She confuses the other girls with her version of fair voting (by secret ballot), which becomes a recurring gag, and from then on, Sally’s just got the occasional lovelorn wail for Linus.

Both the boys and girls have a similar problem in the first act—the camp bullies. There are three of them with their mean cat, and none of them have names. Two of them have the letter “R” on their shirt; it never means anything. What’s so peculiar about them is Race never tries to humanize them, never tries to redeem or even provide context for them. They’re just assholes.

Okay, now, I’m reading something into the “R.”

Anyway.

The second act of Race is all about the best tent competition. The kids do various activities, with the bullies winning by cheating. Since there are no adults and presumably the teen counselors supervising the events are paying attention to the other two dozen campers we rarely see (at least two Peanuts supporting cast members, Violet and Frieda, end up amongst them). The most important race is the raft race.

It’s more a wilderness survival race, with rafting involved. The kids have to camp at night, feed themselves, and get back on the river. It seems to be a three-day event. If it weren’t a cartoon with a dog and his best friend, a bird, riding around America on an Easy Rider chopper… it’d seem dangerous.

Though there is danger. For a fairly long section of act two, Snoopy thinks Woodstock’s dead, the kids think Snoopy’s dead, and everyone’s lost in the woods trying to find one another. So it goes on for a while, with Snoopy mourning his presumably lost friend. Oh, and then the evil cat hunting Woodstock as he tries to survive on his own.

It’s impressive how Charles M. Schulz’s script—the pacing and plotting—and then Melendez and Roman’s direction make it so intense. There’s objectively no danger to the characters, but the movie makes believe so strongly, the emotions come through. It’s a fascinating use of narrative empathy and sympathy.

The raft race takes up most of the movie. The bullies have a speedboat with a wonky motor, so the Peanuts kids can get ahead often enough for tension. Snoopy and Woodstock add a sail to their inner tube, which leads to some pastoral scenes and disasters, though maybe if Snoopy didn’t sleep while at the wheel….

The boys and girls each have a raft, with Charlie Brown’s arc for the movie involving him becoming more of a leader. Peppermint Patty’s would possibly be listening to others while leading. No one else gets a character arc. Linus (Liam Martin) gets to defend the kids from the bullies thanks to his blanket snapping, and there are some other recurring personality gags, but not arcs. The movie’s too busy and the race too severe to slow down for them.

The original songs are strange but not bad; imagine a disco Cat Stevens, and then also more pop-folk. Ed Bogas’s score is good. The animation’s beautiful, with excellent editing from Roger Donley and Chuck McCann. Race has a somewhat peculiar vibe; while there’s a lot of action, including harrowing POV shots, there’s also the tranquil nature stuff, especially for Snoopy and Woodstock. It’s a fine mix. The end credits are a hallucinogenic Charlie Brown sequence, which provides the final synthesis. It’s weird and a perfect finish for the film.

Acting-wise… Watson’s okay. He’s got some weaker moments, but the movie never leans on him too long or adjusts for it after doing so. Brotman’s good, Davis is good, Martin’s good. I was expecting a lot more from Lucy (Melanie Kohn), but she gets less than Marcie (Jimmy Ahrens), who doesn’t get much.

The filmmakers know how to get the best out of the performances. Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown’s good.

All Rise (2019) s03e01 – Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’

"All Rise" isn't a guilty pleasure so much as I don't want to miss seeing leads Simone Missick and Wilson Bethel act. The show's frequently got ups and downs, but sincere performances go a long way. The show double-weathered the COVID-19 lockdown, first with an adjusted first season finale, then a second season made during COVID-19 about working during COVID-19. CBS ingloriously canceled the show at the end of the second season—despite the show being about racism and sexism, institutionalized and otherwise, show creator Greg Spottiswood was a sexist, racist piece of shit white guy who made his intentionally diverse staff miserable. CBS owed them and failed.

So Oprah's OWN picked it up, and now, with a couple or three significant changes, "All Rise" is back.

The show's first big change, which it hammers in for the opening five or six minutes, is Missick's recast husband. Used to be Todd Williams, who I rarely liked; now it's Christian Keyes, who's around a lot but doesn't make much impression. He's just a super-supportive husband. It's not even clear he's got a job anymore.

The second big change is the music. Adrian Younge does the music, and there's always music. Unfortunately, no matter the scene, it seems like Younge's filling the background. It's so never godawful, but it's eventually tedious. It distracts from the dialogue at times, which isn't great.

The third big change is the slapstick. There's now some slapstick in "All Rise." Bewildering rom-com-esque slapstick. While I know Missick was pregnant for a lot of season two (another reason they deserved another season), showing off she can do pratfalls or whatever… weird decision.

Especially since the rest of the episode's pretty serious. "All Rise" maintains a genial tone over all else, even when Anne Heche shows up for a minute. She's a low-key white supremacist, high-key fascist who's out to ruin Missick for being, well, a Black woman, actually. It seems like Heche will be season villain, though Missick's already got a new antagonist in Roger Guenveur Smith. Smith (Smiley from Do the Right Thing, and some other Spike Lee movies) is the super-conservative (Black) new supervising judge because Marg Helgenberger's not doing an OWN series where she's third string.

So far, Smith's not a great addition.

They've also lost Reggie Lee (oh, and seemingly Audrey Corsa). Lee played Bethel's supervisor. Bethel doesn't have any cases this episode; instead, he's running the hiring committee for Lee's replacement as punishment for not taking the job. It's far from a good subplot, especially since other parts of the episode are just season premiere delaying devices. Helgenberger takes most of the episode to reveal her departure, everyone's waiting to see if Jessica Camacho's really coming back, and so on.

Samantha Marie Ware's back, working for Lindsey Gort and trying to make Gort and Ryan Michelle Bathe (who Zoom cameos) pay her for her labor. Of course, Ware doesn't understand part of being a lawyer is suffering, so someday you can make someone else suffer. Strange flex. But that subplot is more prominent than anything Bethel's got.

The trial involves J. Alex Brinson—now a public defender—representing a foster kid (Taj Speights) who doesn't want his siblings removed from their first good foster situation, so he's been lying. Complicating it—very, very temporarily—is Lindsay Mendez now playing victims' rights advocate; it's barely a subplot and goes nowhere in the episode because it'd be too difficult.

Hopefully, it's just season premiere, new network jitters, and "All Rise" can find some firmer footing. It's off to a rough start, even taking extremely qualified expectations into account.

From Dusk Till Dawn (1996, Robert Rodriguez)

From Dusk Till Dawn doesn’t have any great performances; it has a bunch of decent ones, a couple good ones, thankless ones, middling ones, bad ones, maybe problematic ones, but no great ones. And it could use a great performance because the script’s full of scenery-chewing dialogue courtesy second-billed Quentin Tarantino.

Tarantino writes a movie he’d want to see, but also one where it’s clear he’s the center of attention. So when it comes time for Salma Hayek’s dance number in the grandiosely sleazy biker bar and strip club where most of the movie takes place, Tarantino’s the one who gets the table dance. He’s the one who gets to suck on some girl’s foot. And he wants everyone watching to know he’s that guy.

His character is a rapist and murderer who has just broken his brother out of jail. George Clooney plays the brother. Genes are funny. Clooney’s the cool, collected professional thief who talks in soulful monologue, listens to people, and only kills civilians when absolutely necessary. He also gets shitfaced when he’s upset and makes terrible decisions, which tracks since he keeps Tarantino alive even though Tarantino’s a monster.

None of that backstory is important to From Dusk Till Dawn. There’s a lot of talking about it because there’s a lot of talking in the movie's first hour, but none of it matters. Once the batshit hits the fan—oh, the sleazy biker strip bar is actually a vampire den—Clooney becomes just another member of the ensemble. He spent the first act and a half of the movie keeping the plot and Tarantino on point, though in the latter case, just cleaning up after the raping and murdering.

Clooney’s one of the decent performances. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the personality for the dialogue without better direction on his performance, and director Rodriguez’s got zero interest in directing performances. He also gets bored with all the talking; not a good combination.

Clooney and Tarantino need to get into Mexico; all the cops in Texas are looking for them. The film mostly shows it via a TV newscast where the liberal local Texas news media tracks a tally on how many Rangers the brothers kill. John Saxon and Kelly Preston cameo on the TV news; Saxon’s okay, Preston’s terrible. It’s a tedious bit, and she makes it worse.

There’s also a liquor store hold-up where the brothers watch Michael Parks and John Hawkes have a lengthy Tarantino scene. Parks is real good, and Hawkes is pretty good, but the scene’s a draggy way to start. Once it becomes clear Clooney’s actually Tarantino’s sidekick, Dawn loses a bunch of immediate potential; it’s all about Tarantino’s whims.

To get into Mexico, Clooney decides they need to kidnap Harvey Keitel and his teenage kids and ride across the border in their RV. Keitel’s a former minister; his wife died a horrific death, and he’s lost his faith. Juliette Lewis and Ernest Liu play the kids. Liu’s adopted. Clooney and Tarantino make fun of him for being Asian. They also talk a lot of shit about Mexican people. On the one hand, you can kind of see them doing Clooney against type, only it’s not exactly (he just talks trash, he doesn’t act it). On the other, it’s just Tarantino in-virtue signaling because he’s an asshole.

Anyway.

Lewis is good. Liu’s fine. Keitel’s good. Keitel’s got a silly part in an eventually gory movie, and when the time comes for him to step up, it’s mostly just to pass the baton over to Lewis, which is kind of cool. The movie takes little note of it (based on the script structure, it is, actually, because she’s a girl), but she’s the protagonist, and it carries. Rodriguez’s got a little more interest in Keitel and the family.

When the action gets to the vampire bar, there are more supporting cast members to play it out. Hayek’s got an incredibly thankless part, but Fred Williamson and Tom Savini do all right. Especially Savini. Danny Trejo’s oddly bad as the bartender, and then Cheech Marin tries really hard in three different parts. Sadly the bit is it’s Cheech cameoing in three different parts. The amusement factor runs out when the first one drags on, and the film never re-ups.

Rodriguez is more enthusiastic about the gory, slimy, bloody vampire action, so it’s disappointing when it turns out Tarantino’s got no story for it. After moving all the pieces into position, the script craps out.

Good production design from Cecilia Montiel, even if Rodriguez and cinematographer Guillermo Navarro rush over it. When he’s not cutting together one of Tarantino’s ego trips, Rodriguez's editing is good.

Dawn’s okay—Keitel can carry the thing after it’s clear Clooney can’t, with Lewis able to keep it afloat when she needs to take over, too—but it’s utterly desperate to cool; and it’s barely, rarely chilly.

Woman in the Dark (1934, Phil Rosen)

Woman in the Dark is literally a movie from before they knew how to make movies like Woman in the Dark. The film’s also fairly obviously done on the cheap, and director Rosen doesn’t bring anything to it. But it’s a film noir story trapped in a Pre-Code romantic drama. For a while, it’s a road picture, and all of a sudden, the romantic drama works, but then the film reverts and never recovers.

There are a few reasons it doesn’t work out. First, the suspense drama has a tepid finish, and then all outstanding story arcs get unceremoniously dropped. But mostly, it doesn’t work because Dark starts leveraging comic relief Roscoe Ates. And Ates is mildly amusing for a little while when he first shows up, but only because he’s got Ruth Gillette playing his suffering wife, who has to keep him in line.

For the third act, Ates is solo and failing to get any humor out of his constant jokes. Some very slight restructuring and Dark could be Ates’s movie, which is a problem because he’s very much not the lead.

Fay Wray gets top-billing; she’s the Woman in the Dark. But it’s more Ralph Bellamy’s movie. It opens with him getting out of prison on parole. He was in for manslaughter; he got into a bar fight defending the honor of Nell O’Day. O’Day is the sheriff’s daughter, which raises some parenting questions, but the sheriff–Granville Bates—is an asshole, so whatever.

Also, there’s an age question. O’Day’s probably supposed to be eighteen or nineteen, which means she was a teenager when she caused the bar fight and so on. But, apparently, without causing any scandal either, as she’s a good girl, and Bates will do anything to defend her honor.

Including harassing Bellamy after his release. Bellamy’s moved back home. It’s slightly important, but not really. With a bigger budget, maybe.

Wray shows up on the run from Bellamy’s ritzy neighbor, Melvyn Douglas. Turns out rich guy Douglas is actually a big creep, and Wray wants nothing more to do with him. Bellamy offers to put her up—with O’Day around to de facto chaperone—only Douglas is going to take her back by conniving or force. It puts Bellamy in a bad position; he doesn’t want to punch anyone out and go back to the hoosegow, but Douglas and his sidekick Reed Brown Jr. are getting more and more intrusive.

When Brown finally goes too far, and Bellamy intercedes, it’s almost immediately the worst-case scenario.

Bellamy and Wray have to go on the run—hours after she first sought refuge with him—and there’s a nice road movie romance for the two of them. The film’s adapted from a Dashiell Hammett story, with screenplay credit to Sada Cowan and additional dialogue credits to Charles Williams and Marcy Klauber. One of those people included a subplot for Wray wanting a guy to respect her a little and not just paw at her. It’s sort of an unresolved arc, sort of not, but it’s a very interesting theme for a while.

They end up in the city—presumably New York City, but it’s never made clear because of the budget—where they go to Bellamy’s old cellmate Ates for help. Things keep going wrong, and there are eventually a bunch of stakes; there’s the romance, there’s Bellamy going to jail, there’s Wray going to jail, then there’s someone potentially dying. It’s hectic. And it’s got a very perfunctory, very rushed conclusion, with Ates herding the narrative along.

It’s a bummer.

Okay performance from Bellamy, good performances from Wray and Douglas. Gillette, O’Day, and Brown are all fine. Ates is a goof. Oh, and Frank Otto’s good as Wray’s slimy lawyer.

Woman in the Dark could be a lot worse; it does fail Wray and Bellamy, particularly Wray, whose character is more layered than the role needs. It should’ve been a better part for Wray, instead of evaporating for bad Ates gags.

But it’s engaging enough for sixty-eight minutes.

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018, Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey, and Rodney Rothman)

Like most superhero origin stories, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse suffers from some third-act problems. It doesn’t just have a lengthy final fight scene between new Spider-Man (voiced by Shameik Moore) and Kingpin (Liev Schreiber in maybe the film’s only pointless voice casting), it’s got some inherently reduced stakes being an animated movie with a PG rating (i.e., it’s doubtful Moore’s going to die), but also no particular animus between Moore and Schreiber. The film starts with Schreiber disposing of the original Spider-Man (Chris Pine) while Moore watches. Pine isn’t in it long enough to make an impact, but he also isn’t in it so much he’s clearly not making an impact like Schreiber. Pine’s Peter Parker Spider-Man, Moore’s Miles Morales Spider-Man.

But Moore’s just met Pine, and while they do have a quick banter about Pine training Moore, they don’t have a relationship. Not like Moore and pretty much every other character in the movie, including one who’s got a significant relationship with Schreiber and could have a major third act pay-off… but doesn’t because Schreiber’s unaware of it.

Unlike most superhero origin stories, Spider-Verse can pull out of the tailspin for a nice set of epilogues. It’s a montage setting up Moore as the new Spider-Man, which the movie’s been setting up since a few minutes in, so it saves the day.

Kingpin might just be a bad villain, outside Vincent D’Onofrio anyway. He’s also not the point of the story here. Sure, he’s trying to open a portal to other universes to get back his family, unintentionally ripping the fabric of the multiverse and letting various Spider-People in from alternate dimensions, only for Moore’s universe to reject their cells and slowly destroy them. So while Schreiber’s responsible for the stakes, he’s really got nothing to do with them.

Enough complaining, however, because Spider-Verse is otherwise a joyful, heartbreaking trip through the Spider-Man mythos. Yes, there’s Moore’s journey to taking up the mantle, but there’s also a bunch of other Spider-People who all inform the mythos one way or another. Principally, there’s Jake Johnson as a forty-something loser version of Spider-Man; he’s like the Pine variant gone wrong, which made me assume he did the voice for the first Peter Parker Spider-Man too. Pine’s seriously not in it enough for it to matter. Johnson reluctantly becomes Moore’s mentor and has the best character arc of the Spider-People.

Mainly because no one else has any stakes other than surviving the movie. Johnson’s learned to love the web again thanks to his adventures with Moore. Plus, Johnson’s from a universe where he’s lost people, and they’re still around in this one.

Then there’s Hailee Steinfeld’s Spider-Woman (or Spider-Gwen). She’s the “What If the Spider Bit Gwen Stacy and Not Peter Parker” issue. Steinfeld’s delightful, probably the second-best performance in the film—Moore’s far and away the best—she just doesn’t have any conflict. The film presents short origin stories for all the Spider-People, starting with Pine’s Spider-Man, and Steinfeld’s gives her some gravitas just nowhere to use it. She’s trapped in another universe, nothing else.

Ditto Nicolas Cage’s Spider-Man Noir, who’s a gag turned into an exemplary supporting cast member—he gets played for laughs the entire time—Kimiko Glenn’s Peni Parker (she’s from a manga future), and then John Mulaney’s Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham. He’s from a cartoon universe. Except it’s an animated movie where the very fabric of reality is tearing so it’s frequently cartoony even when Mulaney’s not around. Glenn’s sympathetic, Mulaney’s fine, Cage’s fun. But the best of the Spider-Friends outside the central trio (who don’t get to be the central trio for long enough) is Lily Tomlin’s Aunt May. She’s the tech brains behind Spider-Man, and it’s a wonderful turn.

So all those Spider-People need to get home and stop Schreiber from destroying this universe while Moore’s also dealing with family issues. Dad Brian Tyree Henry is pressuring Moore to go to an elite private school, where Moore’s class and race set him apart from the rest of the students. He just wishes he could stay in Brooklyn and hang out with his uncle, played by Mahershala Ali. Mom Luna Lauren Velez is in the movie so little you’d think Christopher Nolan wrote it.

Henry makes it known right off he doesn’t like web-slinging vigilantes, making him the wrong person for Moore to consult about his new spider-powers. Worse, Ali’s got a complicated relationship with Spider-Man, too, cutting Moore off from his family.

The movie tries to play up the family angle at the end, but it doesn’t work. It’s another third act stumble to recover from, and it does.

Great direction and animation—it almost always emphasizes the emotionality of the situations the characters find themselves in, finding the sadness at the core of the Spider-Man character and relating it not just between inter-dimensional Spider-People, but also to the core of regular people. It’s an incredibly thoughtful, deliberate exploration of the character through variants of that character. Like, very cool work from writers Phil Lord and Rodney Rothman. They discover something exceptional in Spider-Verse.

The direction and animation are also crucial. Particularly for the pacing. Spider-Verse gets to speed up and slow down using devices not just from film and animation but also incorporating comic book techniques. The comic book style stuff works out great, which is another reason the busy, neat, action-packed, and dramatic finale still comes up short. It doesn’t fulfill the creative ambitions in the rest of the picture.

Excellent music from Daniel Pemberton and then the soundtrack selections as well. And not just because they use the St. Elmo’s Fire song for some reason; it’s kind of awesome when they do.

Spider-Verse is so one of a kind and wonderful, I’ve forgotten to mention Kathryn Hahn until this point. She’s the scientist who’s trying to unlock the multiverse and turns out to be more tied to the Spider-People than it first appears. She goes from being Schreiber’a seemingly unwitting flunky to being the best villain in the movie. It’s not a particularly high bar, of course, but there’s an excellent surprise runner-up to her before it’s all the way down the hill to Schreiber.

Tombstone shows up for a bit, which is cool, but he’s background more than an actual villain.

Spider-Verse is a fantastic motion picture. Moore, Stenfield, and—to a lesser extent—Johnson create some very special characters. Well, along with the animation team, who do phenomenal work on the performances. The voice acting’s great, but the animators make sure the visuals are equal in caliber. Maybe another reason Schreiber’s Kingpin is so wanting, they don’t give him anywhere near the expressiveness of the rest of the characters.

It’s great. Especially since they’re able to save the end… though the end credits tag is utterly skippable. It’s technically and culturally amusing but too slight after the main action.

Doom Patrol (2019) s03e09 – Evil Patrol

The episode opens with a flashback to 1917, when April Bowlby is still new to the past, and before Michelle Gomez has killed her boyfriend and turned all of her friends into unwilling weapons. It provides some more context for Bowlby and Gomez in the present, ready to duke it out, only Bowlby isn't prepared for Gomez to run instead of fight. The juxtaposing of Bowlby and Gomez, two recovered time travelers now floundering, is one of the episode's more subtle moves. They'll both have big moments—eventually—but they start from an exhausted quiet.

The rest of the world is recovering from last episode's Eternal Flagellation, which didn't just affect the show's cast, but everyone on the planet. Including Phil Morris, who's just discovered son Joivan Wade has had his super-power enabling cybernetics replaced with regular-looking (albeit technologically based) skin. Morris bares his soul to Wade, and it's too little too late, making for a devastating scene. Unfortunately, it's also the only time director Rebecca Rodriguez doesn't do a good job—were Morris and Wade even on the same set—which makes it a little less effective, but it's still devastating stuff.

Meanwhile, Matt Bomer and Matthew Zuk are having nightmares about trying fatherhood again, Brendan Fraser and Riley Shanahan are on the outs with daughter Bethany Anne Lind, and Diane Guerrero is trying to figure out what's going on with her and Skye Roberts. Everyone's got a lot going on, but it seems they're in slightly better shape than before having their externalized emotional meltdowns last episode.

It leads Bowlby, who's been away from her friends for thirty years but is willing to let them think she's still the same person as before she left, to believe they are ready for a mission to take on Gomez. Bowlby figures Gomez has regrouped with the Brotherhood of Evil, specifically the Brain and Mallah, who have retired to comic effect in Boca Raton. Bowlby's right about the villain team-up; she's just wrong about the team being ready for a mission, especially since Gomez is very much prepared to prove her evil self.

There's a great action scene, a great dramatic scene, a great cliffhanger. Also, an impressive physical sequence from Shanahan. Lots and lots of great… although it does take the episode a while to get going. The episode rushes the post-Eternal Flagellation stuff for the team as a whole; they've got their own stuff going on, so they don't have to bond for a while, but their own stuff just gets teased. For example, Roberts and Guerrero are in unknown, internal danger, but Bowlby berates Guerrero for wanting to deal with it instead of going on a team mission, delaying the reveal.

Though there's a great twist with it, which kicks off the aforementioned great cliffhanger. It's a chain reaction setup to the cliffhanger, with pieces established throughout the episode.

If that early scene with Morris and Wade had been better directed, it'd probably be a standout "Doom Patrol," even with the sluggish first act. It's still fantastic; it's just not the most fantastic "Doom Patrol"'s been. Especially after last episode, which is a singular hour of television.

Some outstanding acting throughout, particularly Bowlby, Gomez, Bomer, and Fraser. Guerrero and Wade just don't end up with as much to do.

The episode's also impressive in how much new plot it works in, establishing Gomez as a villain in the present just two episodes after she was–if not one of the good guys, good guy adjacent. But it also makes the Brain and Mallah into active villains when they've just been cameos before. It's real good.

And that cliffhanger's just mean, especially for the penultimate episode of the season. It's "big" enough it could've been the season finale cliffhanger; somehow, having to wait a week is worse than waiting for the next season.

Doom Patrol (2019) s03e08 – Subconscious Patrol

On rare occasion, a show will do an episode where they realize all the things I’ve been waiting for it to do, good or bad. But nothing has ever quite come along and repudiated my concerns like this episode of “Doom Patrol.” Subconscious Patrol, directed by Rebecca Rodriguez, with a script credited to Tanya Steele, is an almost inconceivable success. The show takes all the things it’s been working on this season and finally brings them together, both tonally and physically, and hashes it all out.

If it weren’t for one of the cliffhangers interrupting a mega-action beat, it’d be a perfect season finale. The season’s laborious character development pays off, with the episode managing to bake a bunch more in at the last minute.

I’m now also wondering if Matthew Zuk plays Matt Bomer’s character in the trench coat and gauze wrap… ugh. Yep, a quick Google later, and it’s Zuk on set. Whoops. I’ve been crediting it wrong the whole time. Major props to Zuk, of course.

Anyway. The episode.

The Eternal Flagellation is underway, and it’s time for the Doom Patrol to figure themselves out, thanks to art and April Bowlby. It’s still unclear how Bowlby got together with the Sisterhood of Dada once she got back to the future, but there’s a flashback explaining how the time travel memories thing works. While Brendan Fraser and Riley Shanahan, Joivan Wade, Diane Guerrero and Skye Roberts, and Bomer and Zuk, all get to hash themselves out on screen, in front of one another and themselves, Bowlby’s character development happens in the past. She has a final face-off with Michelle Gomez in the past, which seems like it’s going to be the episode’s impossibly high acting point, but then almost everyone’s going to get one. I’m not even sure Bowlby wins by the end of the episode.

Because it’s also time for Fraser to confront himself about what a shitty person he’s committed to being and how it’s threatening everything, particularly his relationship with daughter Bethany Anne Lind. Great acting from Fraser—who appears onscreen as a personification of the character’s subconscious—and Shanahan. Their scene opposite each other is phenomenal.

But is it better than Zuk and Bomer’s scene? Maybe, maybe not. Absolutely fantastic acting from Bomer (onscreen) and then Zuk and Bomer doing the costumed stuff. Fraser’s backstory is about being a shitty human being; Bomer’s is about forcing himself into the closet. They’re both intense and tragic, but they also have some agency to them. We find out Wade’s backstory is all about the time dad Phil Morris told him to start acting respectable so racist white people wouldn’t try to get him killed by cops. It’s devastating stuff, with Wade’s subconscious alter ego coming in the form of Richard Gant as a (Black) army toy.

But then Guerrero and Roberts’s hashing out is about something entirely different, which makes sense since last season was about working through their backstory. Some of their subplot involves a felt puppet talk show. It’s wild and amazing and wonderful and gut-wrenching. Guerrero gets to play the part straight for a while—with Roberts possibly doing the voice of the adult Guerrero as she interacts with the other avatars of her teammates—and it really works out.

The episode just gets better and better, starting like another splintering of the cast but then bringing them all together and doing the impossibly hard work. It’s beautiful work.

Gomez’s also great, but she’s support to Bowlby—outside her fabulous first meeting with the Brotherhood of Evil.

Subconscious Patrol is a perfectly executed, truly exceptional hour of television. It’s going to be so great to get to when someday marathoning the show.

Much Ado About Nothing (2011, Josie Rourke and Robert Delamere)

The best thing about Much Ado About Nothing, except the dialogue, is Delamere’s direction. Not the stage direction, Rourke did that job, but Delamere’s direction of this recording. There’s some ho-hum headroom stuff going on to keep actors in the shot, but it’s a phenomenal showcase of the actors’ performances. They don’t credit the editor, which is a shame. Thanks to Delamere, watching Much Ado really does feel like seeing a play. It’s very cool.

Rourke stages the play as… an eighties sitcom. The location is Gibraltar, the prince and his men are British navy, with the rich people apparently Brits, the workers are—primarily—Spanish. There’s no colonizing awareness, which is disappointing, but it’s just another item for the disappointments list. The setting does involve constant boozing from the entire cast, which proves interesting—if everyone’s making these decisions while wholly bombed, it changes things a bit. Or could. Much Ado’s setting—besides providing amusing costume choices, a gimmick for Dogberry (John Ramm), and some soundtrack selections—never actually matters.

It’s fine. It’s a good play—with some terrible toxic patriarchal bullshit—and the acting’s good, but as it progresses, the setting makes some of the play worse. Having Claudio (Tom Bateman) and the Prince (Adam James) be in naval uniforms while being viciously cruel to civilians is a look. Though nowhere near much of one as having their showdown with ostensibly grieving parents Jonathan Coy and Anna Farnworth, which Rourke stages in the church where Bateman has just denounced and assaulted fiancée Hero (Sarah MacRae). One of Much Ado’s caveats is the relationship between Claudio and Hero is patriarchal garbage. And Rourke finds a way to make it worse.

Of course, the point of Much Ado isn’t MacRae and Bateman, it’s David Tennant and Catherine Tate as the leads. As much as Benedick and Beatrice are the leads in a full-length production. There are long stretches without any Tennant or Tate. And then the third act when they’re background for most of the drama. Their first love scene, which is very amusing as far as a sitcom take, ends up dramatically inert. It’s also a letdown—staging-wise—after Rourke’s big slapstick and screwball swings in the second act, which both Tate and Tennant excellently realize. Though Tennant much more. She has to do real stunt work. Tennant has to bump into things.

Neither Tate nor Tennant get through the third act particularly well. Tennant tries hard for a good falling out with Bateman and James, but it barely plays. Partially because Bateman’s third act histrionics are so wanting, but also because Tennant just can’t crack it. Tate just doesn’t have the material. Natalie Thomas—as Margaret—makes much more of an impression. To the point I assumed she and James would make eyes at one another as the Prince ends up very much the protagonist of the last few minutes, his honor restored; Much Ado doesn’t have very high bars for officers or gentlemen.

Clive Hayward does best in the third act, the friar now a Navy chaplain, and Coy’s okay again once he gets all his patriarchal ranting done and realizes he should maybe believe daughter MacRae over some random dudes just because they’re rich. And Thomas—she’s good, she just takes time away from Tate, who’s the initial big draw until Tennant gets to show off.

So for the first two acts, everyone’s first-rate. Not Bateman. He’s acceptable but never out of his depth (though again, Claudio’s problem isn’t the performer, it’s the play, with Rourke aggravating it). Tennant’s great, Tate’s great. James is great. MacRae has some good scenes. Elliot Levey is a wonderfully smarmy Don John.

Oh, and Ramm. Ramm plays Dogberry as a paramilitary goon who idolizes Rambo: First Blood Part II. It’s an appropriate enough take—I mean, such a good idea Caddyshack II did literally the same thing with Dan Ackroyd—but it doesn’t go anywhere. And Ramm’s on one of Much Ado’s other inglorious lists… the actors who use feyness as a homophobic punchline.

Tennant leans on it as well. With Ramm, it’s to encourage the audience to laugh at him; with Tennant, it’s to encourage the audience to laugh with him. Because Rourke’s Benedick is a shitty cishet white man comedian. I think some of the other actors fall into it as well, but I didn’t mark them. Tennant does Shakespeare well, and having him screw it up is disappointing.

Though it’s Rourke’s fault first and foremost.

It’s a good staging of the play with some excellent performances, and Delamere does a magnificent job directing the recording. It’s also a lot more rotten than it needs to be. Much Ado About Nothing, the play, has enough problems you don’t need to add colonizing and homophobia to it.

The alcohol abuse works, though.

Kevin Can F**k Himself (2021) s01e02 – New Tricks

“Kevin Can F**k Himself” apparently isn’t going to go as dark as I was expecting. Even though the show’s about how Annie Murphy experiences her marriage to Kevin Petersen as a sitcom and her reality is a lot starker and drearier (and her sitcom existence isn’t great either), the show has a couple opportunities to go super-dark here and skips them both. In one case, it goes out of its way to not go too dark, in the other it just skips past it, on to another story beat.

I’m not sure yet if it should or shouldn’t go darker. It’s impossible to tell, partly because the ground situation is still obscured. We find out this episode Murphy isn’t just an unreliable narrator when it comes to Petersen—who’s never seen in reality this episode, just in Murphy’s sitcom version (the possibility of the reality goes increasingly terrifying)-but also herself. Much of the episode is Murphy trying to find someone she can talk to about her problems. It’s not quite Chekhov’s “Misery,” but it comes kind of close. Also throwing in a sports memorabilia subplot and back-in-town ex-boyfriend Raymond Lee dropping some unexpected truth bombs. And Murphy pursuing new friendships with neighborhood mechanic, cat-caller, and possible drug dealer Justin Grace and then Petersen’s female flunky Mary Hollis Inboden.

It’s a full episode and the momentum’s strong. I’m all of a sudden curious how long each sitcom episode plays, whether it’s close to the twenty-two minute mark. I think it’s got to be less… and they really jar when Murphy returns to them. It’s only at the house so far, which gets some mildly sitcom-y establishing shots when the show goes in for a scene (director Oz Rodriguez does this low angle thing for the “real world,” which is getting gimmicky but does work well); it’s stunning how unsettling the house becomes as the episode plays on.

Great acting from Murphy. And Petersen, who’s profoundly unlikable and transfixing as an often wailing man child, Peter Griffin-incarnate; he’s really good in the part. Unclear if he’ll ever have to do more and if he can do it. Murphy can do anything.

Lee’s good as the confused ex. Inboden… not sure yet; the episode gradually primes her for more; hopefully it pays off.

“Kevin Can Fk Himself” is ambitious and committed with a stellar lead performance from Murphy. It’s also going to be one of those shows where the plot perturbations are going to make or break it.

Or not, if they figure out some way to make the gimmick immaterial to the character study. It looks like the season runs eight episodes so… still way too soon to tell.