More Needless Stupidity

Last night's poorly written episode of Willow was written by Hannah Friedman, one of the bad writers from Obi-Wan Kenobi. I'm not sure it was her fault that Rool's daughter was wearing a print t-shirt, though.

Or that there was faux-punk on the soundtrack. I watch shit like this and I think, don't you people ever want to imagine a world unlike your own? Are you really so afraid of the alien?

Needless to say, my endless thirst for mediaeval fantasy is not being sated by this show. Though, again, I like the actors.

I felt bad for Ruby Cruz and Erin Kellyman, watching their makeup scene. When Jade says, "I know your father killed my father . . ." I felt like Kellyman knew the words coming out of her mouth were intensely dumb. Someone had just told her an hour ago that General Kael was her father, now it's not only gospel it's supposed to be the reason these two have been in conflict for the past three episodes? Really, the reason for their beef was only ever vaguely established.

And, boy, is this episode deep in the Everyone Finds Out Everything. Everyone drinks a damned magic truth juice and once again Willow spills his secret that he's not such a great sorcerer. This show is riding on fumes and it doesn't need to. Bob Dolman, writer on the original Willow, who wrote the second episode of this series, has publicly complained about interference from ignorant Disney brass. Willow's not the best movie in the world but I bet Dolman's cooked up some ideas over the past thirty years that are better than this dren.

Anyway, this shitshow is available on Disney+.

Twitter Sonnet #1652

A spider bird extrudes a set of legs.
A feather finger touched the eyes of snow.
A broken wrapper looks like golden eggs.
Above the town, a figure draws a bow.
She took the sunlit room away from them.
She woke and gently brushed her wings.
The peach was warmly cradled, candles dim.
Her stubborn pulse in lonely chambers sings.
The sweaty fighters carried bags of coin.
Her mirror disks await a laser man.
A gang of cats have cooked the tender loin.
Her current tender came from ghosts who ran.
Immobile bones rebound beyond the seam.
A march of figs disturb December's dream.