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Doom Patrol (2019) s04e04 – Casey Patrol
“Doom Patrol” has been having a fine season to this point; fine enough, one hopes they’re prepared for a non-renewal, but the series hasn’t been sublime. Every so often, “Doom Patrol” has a way of being sublime, where the story’s quirkiness, the characters’ humanity, and the Kevin Kiner and Clint Mansell music is just right, and the show transcends.
Hasn’t happened this season until now. And it’s not even with the regular cast or—until the finale—part of the season arc. There’s a reveal at the end to tie things together (but not too much of a reveal, of course) and raise the show’s aim for the season. It sure seems like they’re going to have one heck of a season arc.
Anyway. This episode features the return of Abi Monterey as Chief’s daughter, Dorothy. Is it as in Oz? I can’t remember. Chief was (will be?) played by Timothy Dalton in seasons one and two. He doesn’t come back this episode for a cameo, though we do hear—in the opening recap from Monterey—she’s seen him, spent a hundred years hanging out, and now she’s found peace with his death.
And him spending most of her life treating her like an apocalypse child just because she can conjure her invincible, sometimes uncontrollable imaginary monster friends into reality. So, they’ve got some unresolved baggage since he left the mortal coil.
Monterey departed “Doom Patrol” at the start of Season Three, after they resolved her leftover season arc from Season Two (Covid prematurely ended it), heading off with The Dead Boy Detectives in a back door pilot for another HBO Max/Vertigo show. When “Dead” went to pilot, however, Monterey (and the “Patrol” actors) weren’t part of it. So it’s nice to have her back.
For much of the episode, it again feels like a back-door pilot, but this time for Monterey, guest star Madeline Zima, and possibly returning guest star Alan Mingo Jr.
Monterey’s been hanging out in Danny the Street, who’s still providing a welcoming, safe space for those in need, but the world outside’s shitty, so Danny’s getting more and more to capacity. They’re set up as a campground where Monterey can mope in her Airstream, and Mingo can belt out a song whenever necessary.
As Mingo returns from a day out in the world full of shitty little bigots—specifically shitty little white skater bigots—a bunch of metal bugs invades Danny. Mingo’s character is a drag queen who knows a lot about the world not being the way it seems like it should. So Mingo and Monterey are having a heart-to-heart (well, more like Mingo’s trying to have one) as the bugs take out their friends.
Wait, I forgot. The episode opens with an animated comic sequence: Monterey reading her favorite comic, Space Case.
Okay. The bugs turn the people into space zombies right out of the comic; Monterey realizes it and, in a panic, apparently brings the hero (Space Case) out into the real world, where Zima plays her.
So it’s Monterey, Mingo, and Zima battling a bunch of space zombies; only Zima doesn’t know how to deal with the threat without destroying them. And the people they were before the bug bite, leading to a “real world” hero arc for Zima.
Further complicating matters is Zima’s comic book nemesis also showing up, played by Tyler Mane. They’ve got a lengthy backstory, which Monterey summarizes, and it becomes clearer why she’s such a fan of the comic.
It’s a mic drop great episode. Great performances from Monterey and Mingo, excellent writing (credit to Tom Farrell). Kristin Windell’s direction is strong too. “Doom Patrol”’s so good. I can’t wait to see where it all goes this season.
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Love’s Labour’s Lost (2000, Kenneth Branagh)
It’s a funny idea, and it would explain a lot about Love’s Labour’s Lost, but I don’t think screenwriter, director, and co-producer Branagh cast Alicia Silverstone on a bet regarding whether or not he could get her to deliver an okay monologue.
He succeeds and she succeeds, but just okay, and it takes most of the movie. No, outside Adrian Lester, Natascha McElhone, and maybe Carmen Ejogo, Branagh doesn’t seem to have any actors in the leads he’s happy with. He’s one of the eight leads, of course, and he’s delighted with himself. He shows off somewhere in the late second act; he and McElhone get to do a scene from a great Shakespeare production in a middling adaptation on a disappointing set.
Branagh’s Labour’s is set just before World War II. Unlike some adaptations, the World War II setting will be necessary to the film’s narrative. Unfortunately, not so much to the character development because Silverstone’s the Princess of France, and asking her to do character development and deliver one okay monologue is a bridge too far.
Okay, real quick, here’s the setup. Top-billed and “lead” Alessandro Nivola decides, with war looming, he’s going to lock himself up in a library and learn for three years. Obviously, in the original play, there wasn’t World War II looming, but the effect in this Labour’s is to make Nivola seem like a foppish Eurotrash jackass who doesn’t care about the Nazis. Or would if Nivola had any character development. The film’s a musical—supposedly a thirties musical homage but not at all because there are usually only six performers and the movie’s Panavision—and Nivola manages to sing, dance, and monologue just well enough for his performance not to be a failure. He doesn’t succeed at anything, though, not even on a curve, especially not as far as romancing Silverstone.
See, Nivola and sidekicks Lester, Matthew Lillard, and Branagh have sworn off women for their academic pursuits. Silverstone and her sidekicks, McElhone, Emily Mortimer, and Ejogo, are on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan (or whatever Nivola’s country’s called, sadly not Freedonia) and they read the boys won’t be able to talk to them. Because of Branagh’s staging, directing, and Silverstone’s acting, the intentional trickery falls flat. There are multiple disguise sequences, which Branagh also messes up. He does a great job directing some of the film—not the musical numbers, except when it’s Nathan Lane, who’s the GOAT, and somewhat Timothy Spall, who feels like a Branagh idea gone wrong, not a studio casting mandate.
Oh, right, another thing: the songs performed by these not singers and dancers (except Lester and Lane) aren’t original to the film. They’re doing covers of thirties show tunes, which weren’t written with World War II or, you know, the King of Navarre’s romance troubles in mind. There are some good numbers (very much not dinner theatre Fosse) but never particularly good. Never good enough to cover the problems. So why do them?
Though when they’re not doing a musical number, Branagh relies on composer Patrick Doyle’s score to do all the film’s emoting. Even during Branagh and McElhone’s scenes.
The film barely runs ninety minutes and manages to plod through much of that runtime. Unfortunately, it takes way too long to get anywhere with the romance pairings—the musical numbers are asides, irrelevant to the plot—and then it’s time for the movie to end. Except, Branagh’s still doing a World War II movie, and he somehow brings it to a satisfactory conclusion. Miraculously, given the film’s annoying newsreel footage summary device… not to mention the very uneasy previous eighty or so minutes. It’s a hell of a save.
Performances: Branagh, McElhone, Lane; they’re great. Lester’s good. Spall and Ejogo get an incomplete. Nivola and Silverstone pass, him likable, her sympathetically. Lillard and Mortimer aren’t entirely unlikable, but they’re too thin to be sympathetic.
Technicals are all good. Alex Thomson’s photography’s great. Utterly wasted but great. And editor Neil Farrell is up to Branagh’s considerable requests for cutting the film into something sensical.
Whoever did the lackluster sets… it’s not their fault. Either Branagh didn’t have the money he needed, or he was bullshitting his way through the project. Seems more like the latter.
But one hell of a save for that finale.
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All Creatures Great and Small (2020) s03e07 – Merry Bloody Christmas
Pun fully intended, Callum Woodhouse continues to show why he’s “All Creatures”’s trickiest casting but also its most successful. This Christmas special is set, appropriately, at Christmas, only war’s on, and no one’s feeling like celebrating this year. Especially not with Nicholas Ralph chomping at the bit for his chance to go—after the proper season’s finale where he and Woodhouse signed up, which was basically the season arc… it turns out they might not get shipped out anyway. They’re exempt because they’re vets or whatever.
There’s no annual Christmas party in the offing, not until Anna Madeley discovers her love interest, Will Thorp, is moving away. She invites him over and then has to put together a party, so it doesn’t look like she just invited him over.
The special filters much of the household goings-on through guest star Ella Bernstein. She’s playing a refugee from… somewhere, presumably in England, though maybe not. She’s Jewish, adorable, precocious, and fascinated by Christmas. She also basically fills the function of Ralph for the special. Ralph and Rachel Shenton are entirely support here.
The veterinary case this episode—outside Bernstein getting to meet Mrs. P. (I’m entirely on board with Patricia Hodge now, even if last we saw the manor, she was getting it ready for the war effort, and now it’s empty) and Tricki Woo (played, as ever, by Derek), who have a kitten problem only a little kid can help with—is about Samuel West and the racehorse he nursed back to health in the regular season. It was a great episode for West. This episode sort of hopes everyone forgets how emotional he got because he quickly finds himself letting old war buddy Michael Maloney bribe him into ignoring some medical conditions.
West’s change in behavior doesn’t go unnoticed, not when Woodhouse comes out to the stables to help out and discovers something suspect.
It’s a very emotion-filled episode for West, Woodhouse, and Madeley, as they once again have to contend with their abnormal but normal, actually, family structure, with great acting from all three. Woodhouse gets to be the stand-out; well, and Madeley, but not in the family arc, though she seems to have a realization about doing emotional labor for the boys).
Besides West’s slightly rushed character arc and a couple of places they obviously cut out another scene for time, it’s a stellar episode.
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10 Things I Hate About You (1999, Gil Junger)
10 Things I Hate About You is from that strange period in American mainstream filmmaking when they knew you couldn’t make too many jokes about high school girls anymore, unless you establish at least twice they’re eighteen so it’s not technically illegal.
There’s also the issue of Andrew Keegan’s sexual predator, who the film treats as something of a joke throughout. Things takes place in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, with lots of white faces, big houses, and big lawns. It’s the perfect location for a Disney teen comedy, except Things is Touchstone and, therefore, tougher. But there’s never significant bullying; nerdy Joseph Gordon-Levitt and David Krumholtz are teased but never assaulted. And Krumholtz invites a lot of the teasing (for a while, anyway).
The film’s based on Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew, which I’ve never read or seen, so I’m not sure if Keegan’s character in the original is quite as repugnant. Since the film’s from the late nineties, it doesn’t even think Keegan’s too bad, like it can’t hear him talk, and it doesn’t acknowledge what his character motivation must be after we find out his backstory.
With those asterisks aside, the film’s a charm offensive from leads Julia Stiles and, especially, Heath Ledger. Director Junger often just stares at Ledger, waiting for him to do something charming or perfectly timed. Sometimes Stiles will be staring at him too long, too, because he’s just so damn charming. They’re both delightful, even as the film gets more serious and director Junger (thanks to Mark Irwin’s bland photography) doesn’t really know how to adjust for it.
The film’s also desperate for soundtrack album sales to the point Stiles’s favorite band, (the real-life) Letters to Cleo, figures into the story a couple times and then is back again for a vertigo-inducing live performance. Whether you’re a fan of the band or not, Things doesn’t use them (or much of the music) very well. Especially not once it just does one montage after another. The movie doesn’t even remember its title until the third act.
Though the montages probably help move through without unraveling the plot, which has high school senior Keegan lusting after sophomore Larisa Oleynik, who can’t date until her older sister, Stiles, also dates. Larry Miller plays their single-parent dad; he’s hilarious if just a textured caricature. Gordon-Levitt likes Oleynik too, so Krumholtz convinces him they’re going to get Keegan to hire Ledger to date Stiles, freeing up Oleynik to date….
Well, Gordon-Levitt thinks she’ll be dating him, even though all of her scenes are about her wanting to date Keegan. Throw in Ledger and Stiles falling for each other, and you’ve got yourself a teen movie.
The film obviously had a much different original cut—the end credits have the blooper reel, many of which are from scenes the film didn’t use; the bloopers are funny, and the scenes usually aren’t. Or they’re super problematic even for Things.
Outside Keegan, who’s fine but just a superficial jerk, the performances are uniformly good or better. Ledger and Stiles are obviously the better, but Oleynik’s good, ditto Gordon-Levitt. Allison Janney has a great cameo (cut down) as the school guidance counselor, while Daryl Mitchell’s the teacher who knows Keegan shouldn’t be sexually harassing Stiles, but it’s the late nineties, and he’s not going to actually do anything about it.
Decent editing from O. Nicholas Brown helps, especially during the montages, and if Irwin’s photography weren’t so flat, Junger’s direction would be downright good.
10 Things I Hate About You has its collection of caveats, but its successes—Ledger and Stiles’s successes—are considerable.
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Throne of Blood (1957, Kurosawa Akira)
Co-producer, co-writer, director, and editor Kurosawa loves himself some Macbeth. Throne of Blood is Macbeth in feudal Japan, with Mifune Toshiro and Yamada Isuzu as the doomed couple. Kurosawa and his co-writers structure the film as a historical war epic, with modern-day bookends, and then fit Mifune and Yamada’s Macbeth into the war epic. But as Mifune and Yamada take over the narrative (Throne’s got a sublime pace), the war epic falls back, and it becomes more focused on Mifune as a military commander.
The screenwriters open up the play, adapting it for a different culture (if similar calendar year), with different behavioral norms, but they keep the arc for Mifune—at least in terms of character development–super close to the play. There are a couple things they don’t integrate from the play, but the film’s never the less for it. Not to mention Kurosawa gets to bring in Japanese supernatural; Macbeth’s Weird Sisters—no offense to “Chilling Adventures of Sabrina”—haven’t been a trope since, well, long before motion pictures. And they were an extraordinary event in the original play; you couldn’t just go find yourself a witch.
But in Throne, when Mifune and sidekick Chiaki Minoru come across a forest witch (Naniwa Chieko), they’re not super-surprised. Forest witches aren’t unlikely in Throne’s world. It adds a bunch of texture to Mifune’s descent—including worrying the witch has somehow possessed Yamada–and layers to the relationship with Chiaki. Once Mifune starts fulfilling Naniwa’s prophecy, Chiaki gets a very active role.
Kurosawa does a lot to avoid any stagy vibes—Throne’s bookends start in long shots and gradually move in, showcasing the scale but also the merciless onslaught of time itself (another layer, Throne just as a historical drama). And then, whenever anyone’s in the forest, Kurosawa gets the camera into the literal bushes and looks out at them, making the forest a character. At least for point of view.
But when Mifune gets back home and he and Yamada just sit around and emotionlessly bicker about whether he should take the proverbial horse and kill his boss to fulfill prophecy. These scenes are—almost by definition—stagy. It’s just Mifune and Yamada in an enclosed space, no one else but them. Again, Kurosawa turns it into intense character drama; only we don’t know the stakes. There’s no backstory for Mifune and Yamada in Throne and given her capacity for expression is literally painted over (though the makeup will change, relevantly to the plot), their relationship and its changes throughout are unknowable.
It gives both of them lots of potential for the parts, and both realize it, though Mifune gets more just because of the plot. Because of their opaque relationship, Throne is often a character study–especially given the relatively brief present action.
After the prologue, Throne spends about covering a rebellion via messenger updates to lord Sasaki Takamaru and his court (which includes Shimura Takashi, in what amounts to a cameo). Through the updates, Sasaki and the audience learn samurai Mifune and Chiaki basically save the day single-handedly, defeating the invaders and traitors. When the action cuts to Mifune and Chiaki in the forest, we learn more about their take on the rebellion and the general political situation. Throne is a political drama, but Mifune’s not a political animal, something his introduction establishes. There’s significant foreboding even before they realize they’re lost in the forest and come across the witch.
For a while, since the forest is so militarily important (the main castle is the Forest Castle, after all), it seems Throne will spend a lot of time on it. Especially since, you know, it’s Macbeth. But once Mifune and Chiaki are through, it’s a while before it comes back. On their way out, however, they get lost in the fog and the fog will be around for most of Throne. It actually was already in Throne, in the prologue, with Kurosawa and cinematographer Nakai Asakazu showing off with fading back in time. Throne’s a special effects spectacular. There are some big effects sequences, but then there are some obviously complicated, precisely executed in-camera effects to get some of the shots. It’s beautiful work.
Even being a Macbeth adaptation and working toward potentially familiar plot points, Kurosawa, his co-writers, and Mifune surprise, time and again. So good.
Mifune’s performance is fantastic. Even with the battle action in the third act, it’s all about watching him. With Kurosawa structuring the scene perfectly; Throne’s partially a rumination on the universality of Shakespeare and the potentials of adapting.
Great, disquieting score from Sato Masaru. The technicals are all outstanding.
Yamada and Chiaki are both excellent, with the film hinging on them as well, but Mifune’s the star. Well, Throne all together is the star; truly masterful work from Kurosawa and company.
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