Back to the Hobbits

Coming to the end of the semester, I find myself indulging in reading more things that haven't been assigned for a class lately. I started reading The Fellowship of the Ring again, getting quickly and very happily drawn in. I've probably watched the Peter Jackson movies about twenty times since the last time I read the books but I'm surprised to find I generally don't picture the characters as the actors who played them in the movies. It's not to say I don't like Elijah Wood or Sean Astin, but Frodo and Sam are so different in the book. Frodo's older, of course, and he comes off that way in the way he deals with people. The man I picture is something like Ray Milland. I understand the reasons for the changes Jackson made to pick up the story's pace and give an audience hungrier for young faces someone to be attracted to. But the feeling of a man with years of life experience having contemplative, intellectual conversations with Gandalf by the fire is a nice vibe. I suppose I could say I wish the movie were more like that, but then I do have the book, after all.

The Hobbits as a people are a bit more three dimensional in the book, too. I was surprised by this level of contempt Frodo expresses for his people:

"I should like to save the Shire if I could--though there have been times when I thought the inhabitants too stupid and dull for words, and have felt that an earthquake or an invasion of dragons might be good for them."

Earlier, Tolkien mentions how the Hobbits have grown complacent due to the Shire's isolation from war. Like so many things these days, I look at this through the prism of Trump. Here's the virtue of Tolkien's dislike for allegory--one can see how Tolkien was likely inspired by the state of England before World War I, but because he doesn't explicitly tie it to that, it invites the reader to look for commonalities in human nature to-day or in any other time. If I think of the people who didn't vote in the last election or were mentally complacent enough to think they could vote for Trump in the name of trolling reality, I can apply Frodo's frustration, which leads me to attempt finding also his love for his people. That's a lot harder.

Considering what happens with "The Scouring of the Shire" in the end, and, from what I remember, the Hobbits' complicity in that, it works as an inversion of the connexion dependence on assembly line, steel working, and coal mining blue collar industry Trump's campaign hearkened back to, and which also seemed to have been a big motivating factor for Brexit. Tolkien was writing about the waste and ugliness of it at the beginning, and here that ugly thing exerts its influence even as it grows undeniably obsolete.

I've always liked how the journey in The Lord of the Rings seems to be from a sort of Victorian world in the Shire into a more mediaeval world to the east. If one does apply Tolkien's experience in World War I, it's an interesting contrast to the progression of poetry from idealised odes to valour in war by Alfred Lord Tennyson to the grim reality of the trenches composed by Wilfred Owen. Tolkien seems to stand in direct opposition to that trend. It's oddly heartening that he could see the incredible horrors of the World War I battlefield and somehow digest it and produce years later a work about beauty and magic.

Getting in the Picture

While eating lunch to-day, I read the new Sirenia Digest, a new story by Caitlin R. Kiernan called "IN THE FLAT FIELD", a nice, low key witch detective story. It centres on a young woman examining some photographs for a client who, from the description, sounds like he looks a lot like David Jason as Jack Frost. The story's effectively eerie. I feel like I remember Caitlin posting on Facebook a photograph that may have inspired the ones in the story, but I'm not sure if I really do remember that or if it's my imagination, which is sort of perfect.

I've been seeing a lot of ravens at school lately so I'm glad Odin's keeping an eye on me. Last night I saw this one on an arch outside one of the stadiums at school where there was a rock concert going on.

The big fellow was gwoking in the direct of the concert being given by some Christian performer named Chris Tomlin. I didn't know who it was at the time, it sounded like a generic brand version of U2. I was there last night for the quickest final exam I've ever taken. It was for a nice film class I took this past semester. It took me about fifteen minutes to answer all the questions, it took me an hour and a half to get to school due to rush hour traffic and then the roads around the school being jammed with assholes who like Christian rock. I have a final project for another class that's been consuming all my time since Saturday so I was a little grouchy about having to come into class for this one little test but, well, it was a final. I remember once I missed a final exam for an astronomy class over a decade ago. I somehow still passed the class, which makes me think I would've gotten a really good grade if I'd managed to remember the correct day and time of the final--just recently I showed up for a language proficiency exam to find the doors locked and discover the thing wasn't in the room the web site said it was in. It was much later I found out I was supposed to go to a room labelled on the ticket for the exam instead of the one on the web site. But that's a whole other kettle of fish. My ditziness is by far my worst enemy.

Twitter Sonnet #991

A double tab amends toupees for lice.
Accordion ablutions shade the stretch.
In single grains the king was stacks of rice.
It's only gods who teach us how to fetch.
A running voice returns the faucet leak.
Calamity concealed in clouds reclines.
A vision split a second snowy peak.
A coach arrived to jump the steep inclines.
A steady rain of jelly beans ignites.
In passing cars the lamps're shutting eyes.
On query screens the cursor just recites.
A neon spike has broken rail road ties.
Exams are shifting 'neath a violet light.
The faintest echoes steal just out of sight.

It's a Thin Line Between Cain and Abel

I'm not sure I can begin to tell you how much I loved last night's new Better Call Saul. Satisfying and cruel, its simple cleverness only half concealing a much thornier reality. Bob Odenkirk and Michael McKean deserve great praise for this one.

Spoilers after the screenshot

On the one hand, this is a story about how Jimmy (Odenkirk) escapes from and claims victory over the seemingly inescapable and petty machinations of Chuck (McKean). On that level, it feels good. Chuck manipulates the situation in order to humiliate Jimmy because of the lifelong axe Chuck's had to grind against him, Jimmy's obvious affection never being enough to satisfy Chuck's need.

On the other hand, this is a story about how Jimmy sabotaged Chuck's business and reputation and then gets away with it by publicly humiliating Chuck in a way Chuck could never have been prepared for, exposing Chuck to a truth about his own psychological state about which Chuck was firmly unaware. Whatever else may have happened, there are few things crueller than what Jimmy did to Chuck at the end of this episode, and yet what choice did Jimmy have?

The courtroom drama has all the structure of a satisfying hero versus villain story. It looks like Chuck and Howard (Patrick Fabian) have an iron-clad case and Jimmy's going to get disbarred, probably eventually dragging Kim (Rhea Seehorn) down with him, and she's clearly not ready to face directly her own complicity in Jimmy's crime. So the effect on her would be professionally and psychologically devastating. So the sudden reversal thanks to a plan Jimmy and Kim hatched to have a battery planted on Chuck has the feeling of a dramatic, last minute heroic act. Yet . . .

Theoretically, suffering professional and psychological repercussions are what should happen to people who commit fraud for personal gain. It's only that Chuck and Howard had been such dicks to Jimmy and Kim that gives us pause. This is where the show hits the same grey area as Breaking Bad with Walter's built up resentment over the success of his former business partner.

I honestly thought they'd made all the hay they could from the Chuck storyline in season one but this episode shows I was definitely wrong. Now I want to see the fallout. But I still want Jimmy to start wearing the cool suits.

On a side note, what happened to the attorney played by Kimberly Herbert Gregory, I thought she was representing Howard and Chuck?

Guessing the Ages of Gods

Last night's new episode of American Gods was good, not quite as good as the first one, but not bad. The intro was a bit disappointing and I disliked some of the casting, but Cloris Leachman was great and Ian McShane continues to be an excellent Mr. Wednesday.

Spoilers after the screenshot

I don't know yet how I feel about Orlando Jones as Mr. Nancy. It's been over fifteen years since I read American Gods and I gave my copy to a friend about that time. I'm not sure what happened to my copy of Anansi Boys. But I pictured Mr. Nancy as older. Orlando Jones is 49, which I guess is kind of old, not like Ian McShane old, though; McShane and Leachman really sell the "older gods" look. Maybe Mr. Nancy keeps himself looking young the same way Bilquis does.

Bilquis (Yetide Badaki), the Goddess so nice they established her twice. No real developments for Bilquis in this episode but she still looks great and the guy with the erection floating in space like the Monty Python "Galaxy Song" was pretty funny.

I'm not sure why Shadow (Ricky Whittle) assumed Peter Stormare's Czernobog was Zorya's (Cloris Leachman) husband, he looks a lot younger than her. Peter Stormare is 63, but that is almost 30 years younger than Leachman. They could be married, sure, but I don't know why Shadow would assume it. It's a shame they couldn't take the opportunity to have her say, "That's right, he's my . . . boyfriend!" I like Peter Stormare but I wasn't digging the broad Vaudevillian Slavic accent. Fargo Peter Stormare would have been better but I think this is more like Big Lebowski Peter Stormare.

Cloris Leachman, on the other hand, was absolutely perfect. The levels of sympathy and pragmatism expressed in her performance completely absorbed me. When she looks into Shadow's future she talks to him with just the right gravity.

I enjoyed the mysterious quality of the first episode's opening scenes with the Vikings trying to deal with the New World. I liked how much it was about the people of the time in a way most people don't think about and I liked how Odin wasn't seen. By contrast, Anansi dressed in modern clothes lecturing the slaves on what they and their descendants would be facing seemed a bit flat and reductionist. It would have been nice to have seen an Anansi the captives would have been familiar with talking to them in terms closer to their cultural present.

I like Gillian Anderson and I guess she's okay as Media. It would have been nice if they'd gotten someone who could do impressions. I would've voted for Nicole Sullivan, Orlando Jones' co-star from Mad TV, she can do a pretty good Lucille Ball, as I recall.

The game with Czernobog at the end was good. I think I remember how it's resolved, I'm looking forward to seeing it play out next week.

Through the Elusive Reflecting Dream

If one looks at Post Modernism as a loss of innocence, one might see 1974's Celine and Julie Go Boating (Céline et Julie vont en bateau) as a Post Modernist lamentation of the inherent tragedy of Post Modernism. A New Wave film by Jacques Rivette, the film charts the nature of the human need for storytelling through a charming relationship between two young women. Alongside this need, though, is the constant urge to subvert illusion, but the process inevitably involves the crafting of new illusions.

The film begins with Julie (Dominique Labourier) spotting Celine (Juliet Berto) at the park, walking past in a hurry, dropping her sunglasses and scarves. Julie feels compelled to follow. Over the course of the first third of the film, the two women slowly discover and begin testing the limits of their ability to read each other's minds. First Celine has a craving for a Bloody Mary just before Julie enters the room with two Bloody Marys she's prepared for them, then Julie seems to magically know all of the stories Celine has made up about her to her friends, about Julie being American and having a pink, heart shaped swimming pool.

I've read Rivette had his actors improvise a lot and that's certainly the impression I get from the extremely natural and relaxed chemistry visible between Celine and Julie. And yet nothing they say seems like wasted time, despite the film's three hour running time. Their natural rapport is important for the contrast it establishes with the more traditional, rehearsed quality to the performances elsewhere in the film. The two women begin living together and exploit their psychic connexion by exchanging lives, each incident when they do so an exploration of how storytelling and performance figures into the other's life.

Celine works as burlesque magician so one night Julie fills in for her, her free ranging performance ending with her pretending to be a nervous young actress crying as she auditions for two prominent agents--who are indeed in the audience. After Julie starts angrily stripping off her clothes, she runs outside and starts laughing and it's clear what had just occurred was a performance, Julie's interpretation of a desperate performer, and we can see that she made the two agents in the audience part of the performance.

Celine answers a phone call from Julie's boyfriend and pretends to be Julie. She meets him in a park wearing a red wig like Julie's hair and it quickly becomes clear that the boyfriend is so locked into the formal patterns of breaking up with someone that he's unable to see that the woman he's talking to is not, actually, Julie.

The education Celine and Julie receive from this experience leads them to another adventure. They discover an old house surrounded by cats. When one enters, she emerges with a piece of candy and the mark of a red right hand on her back (I don't think it's a reference to Paradise Lost but it might be). Both women stop their usual giggling whenever they see the hand and both seem to be ashamed of it, immediately scrubbing it off.

The piece of candy allows them to view a sort of movie in the mind, something they'd both been flashed glimpses of throughout the film already. Like LSD is supposed to open an artist's mind to things, this candy seems to open Celine and Julie's minds to the full story--because of their psychic connexion they can view it together and they seem to view it from a nurse character who is shown played by both actresses, the film swapping them between shots.

The Wikipedia entry in its synopsis infers many references to Alice in Wonderland, more than I think are actually there, but it's undeniable Lewis Carroll's book had some influence on the film. It's directly referenced by the little girl cared for by the nurse and the very ending of the film recalls Carroll's prefatory poem from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Much like the Liddell sisters begged Carroll to tell them a story that day on the river, and much like one of the Liddells actually became the star of the story, Celine and Julie compulsively watch the movie in their heads, even as they find themselves discontented with it and want to change it. But it's questionable whether or not they can escape when whatever they do inevitably becomes more story.

Twitter Sonnet #990

A coiled yoyo sings without a voice.
To leap across the salty field we wait.
The numbers fall beneath the eaves of choice.
Confusion starts to roll a bony fate.
In time all statues turned balloon'll rise.
A walking face affronts divine accord.
The dagger men condemn the thought of pies.
More gum was stuck than teeth can yet afford.
Undoubted curves'll make the hat at last.
For spirals know the sport of clogs was choice.
In steamer trunks we glued like Hell is fast.
A balanced dime could see the balding voice.
An ice pick's made of ice when movies froze.
A cake transformed the curious who chose.

In the House

To-day's new Doctor Who, "Knock Knock", is one of my favourite story types for a television series episode--a group of characters trapped in an old building. Usually haunted but not necessarily. So I'm predisposed to like this and mostly I wasn't disappointed--and I suspect the few problems I had with the episode weren't the fault of the writer, director, or actors.

Spoilers after the screenshot

Let's start at the end. Having each character getting knocked off, if you will, one by one loses something when everyone's brought back to life at the end. Why was it okay to kill the kid last week but everyone had to live this week? I can't say but the resurrections in "Knock Knock" felt only slightly less forced than the kid coming through the portal at the end of "Death in Heaven."

The other point that seemed like BBC political mandate, though I don't mind it so much, is the precise diversity of Bill's friends. Like the cast of Class, no two are alike--there are three white guys though one of them's Scottish and one of them's Russian. This happens pretty much every time there's a story about a group of people--I see the BBC has a diversity section of their web site, which includes a diversity report that shows there is indeed a target diversity onscreen visibility quota. I'm not complaining--it's not realistic, but neither are time machines. The only thing that bugs me is that Doctor Who hasn't had an Irish character since the 70s and even then they were very minor characters. Given that there's an actual mandate for diversity this exception continues to be downright puzzling and a bit troubling.

Okay, now the stuff I liked. Last week I said I thought Peter Capaldi seemed a bit lethargic, now I think he's intentionally doing something with the character. Maybe it's my imagination but he seems gloomier. I'm inclined to interpret it as continued mourning for Clara, made worse by the fact that he can't properly remember who or what he's mourning. This makes his decision not to wipe Bill's memory all the more poignant.

Pearl Mackie's chemistry with Capaldi gets more charming with each new dimension introduced. This episode pretty solidly puts them in the grandparent/grandchild dynamic, the one Capaldi has reportedly wanted with a companion since he joined the show. It's not just that Bill calls him granddad, he fusses about the place like a parent or grandparent would for their child or grandchild's dorm--and Bill seems to want him to leave and stay at the same time in just the same way. As much as I do like a romantic relationship with the Doctor and companion, I like a little variety in the relationships. I wonder if making Bill a lesbian was part of an attempt to outmanoeuvre anyone who complained about it.

I liked the wood bugs and the Doctor's reaction to them. I loved the kid getting eaten by the wall. The relationship between the Landlord (David Suchet) and his daughter (Mariah Gale) was effectively creepy, especially in their confusion over which was the parent and which was the child--an interesting distorted mirror of the Doctor's relationship with Bill and Clara, come to think of it. The concept of regeneration came up for the first time this season in this episode, and Bill helping the Doctor solve the problem at the end of this episode makes me wonder if there's going to be a reversal of their roles by the end of the season. Oh, maybe Bill's a lesbian so a future female Doctor can be in a romantic relationship with her? That would be fun and probably would never happen. I can envision a scene of Tilda Swinton or whoever slowly waking up and Bill saying tearfully, "Did you do this for me?!" I have no time to write the fanfiction, sadly.

Actually I wonder if Twelve and Bill's relationship is inspired by Seven and Ace's at all. I notice Bill says "wicked" a lot, like Ace did, and both companions like wearing buttons and patches.

Marriage for All Ages

Okay, you may never trust me about a movie again, but I have to say it--I liked 1994's Holy Matrimony. The final film directed by Leonard Nimoy, it's my favourite film about a little boy and an adult woman falling in love--yes, I like it more than Harold and Maude. It's a comedy, but it succeeds not so much with laughs but with a well executed, simple hearted sweetness.

The film stars Patricia Arquette as Havana, a woman who works as a Marilyn Monroe impersonator at a county fair. She idolises Marilyn and dreams of making it big one day. She and her boyfriend, Peter (Tate Donovan), rob the place and are forced to flee to Canada and to the community of Hutterites where Peter grew up.

One thing leads to another and, before long, Peter dies and, thanks to the community scrupulously adhering to a passage in Deuteronomy (unlike real life Hutterites, according to Wikipedia), Peter's twelve year old brother, Zeke, is forced to propose marriage to Havana, which she accepts so she can hang around and find where Peter hid the stolen money.

It's a silly, high concept premise, yes, but it magically works. The lead performances, and the genius in casting the leads, is a big part of it. Arquette is dressed mostly like her character in True Romance (and looks amazing, of course) but Havana is a lot more prickly than Alabama. Patricia Arquette, with her ethereal faint voice, is fascinating when she plays ornery. Zeke, meanwhile, is played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt in his first role, and he's really good.

He's not pitched as a super-cute, bratty 90s kid as seen in Home Alone or Problem Child. He's honestly trying to be a man for Havana and it's genuinely engaging listening to the two argue about morality and propriety.

You can see a mile away it's a movie about compromise between discipline and freedom but it doesn't come off as too preachy. Mostly it's just nice watching these two characters.

Trouble Rides a Bike

Is free love like speeding intoxicated through Europe on a motorcycle? So it seems to be for Marianne Faithful's character in 1968's The Girl on a Motorcycle, a visually nice but ham fisted and misogynist film.

Directed by the great cinematographer Jack Cardiff, the film is certainly not short on great compositions, one of my favourites being this one of Faithful approaching a petrol station through early morning fog:

Bright and carefully coordinated diffuse light familiar from the films Cardiff shot for other directors are recognisable in this film. Featuring the mad ride of one woman through Sweden, France, and Germany, the film also has some great location footage from Europe in the 60s.

Though Faithful's stunt double is a bit obvious even in shots from a great distance:

The story begins with a not terribly subtle dream sequence involving a circus where Rebecca's (Faithful) husband Raymond (Roger Mutton) is playing the cello while Rebecca's lover, Daniel (Alain Delon), rides circles around him on a motorcycle.

So Rebecca wakes up, walks out of bed naked, puts on only her leather riding suit, and decides to drive across three countries to reunite with Daniel. Along the way, we hear her internal monologue where she talks about how soldiers she sees look too serious, wishes Raymond would be more forceful with her, and thinks about how wonderful it feels to be riding the motorcycle wearing only the suit.

She orders drinks and petrol without being concerned that she didn't bring money and generally comes off as a bit of an asshole. In flashbacks we see how Daniel sneaked into her room during her honeymoon with Raymond (they had separate rooms for some reason) and raped her and afterwards Rebecca asserted it was the happiest day of her life. We see how her father (Marius Goring) took a firm hand with her, forbidding that she accept the motorcycle anonymously given to her as a wedding present, so Rebecca resents Raymond for saying she can keep it if she wants to. Meanwhile, we see Daniel, a professor, giving a lecture on the value of the emerging free love culture. It's not hard to see the message here.

It's a shame because Marianne Faithful gives a good performance and so does Alain Delon though he doesn't have as much screen time. Cardiff, however much the screenplay he co-wrote seems to hate Rebecca, also certainly seems to love Faithful with the camera.

Twitter Sonnet #989

Translucent flakes of greying bark remove.
In brittle fists the shape of boats emerged.
The cleanest cloud could never now improve.
Cassettes of vengeance blandly then submerged.
The spades eluded time before the hall.
A glimpse afforded late resembles God.
On painted wheels the grace becomes a ball.
The even noodles twine about the odd.
Electric nymphs take the phone of Hylas.
Too happy stunts have blurred the road to Rome.
Through folded names was led the mind of Alice.
Against the cliff Coyote painted home.
Confection blooms've glazed the doughnut holes.
A spinning drive reports for knotty goals.

A Deflated Circle

The overwhelming nature of social media to-day can be boring, particularly to people who don't know a lot about it, like the makers of 2017's The Circle. An adaptation of a more insightful novel by Dave Eggers, the film plays like the recording of someone's nightmare about the Internet in 2005, re-edited to avoid offending Apple and people who abstain from sex. A few decent performances, notably by Karen Gillan and Bill Paxton (in his final role), couldn't save the film, particularly when leads Emma Watson and Tom Hanks are unconvincing.

Mae Holland (Watson) is an average young woman who's pleased when her old college friend, Annie (Gillan), uses her clout to get her a job at The Circle, a big tech company that's sort of like Apple merged with Google, Facebook, and Twitter. Headed by a trio called The Three Wise Men in Eggers' novel, played in the movie by Tom Hanks, Patton Oswalt, and John Boyega, the company presides over a version of the internet several corporations have apparently convinced some people exists, where hackers are obsolete, trolls are easily disposed of, and the whole frontier is an easily tameable, virgin territory vulnerable to the machinations of a single big coordinated entity.

Naturally, the film and the book spend little time focusing on the precise nature of the social media being used, aside from vague indications that it's basically like Twitter mixed with Facebook but everything everyone says on these platforms are shallow wastes of time. Which is fair, that is a big portion of social media, though I've yet to be convinced the fault is in our devices and not in ourselves. I'm obviously not going to agree my own blog, for instance, is tripe because it happens to be published on a form of social media. So maybe I'm biased.

In the book, Mae is a young woman with an ex-boyfriend who starts sleeping with a man named Francis at The Circle, their relationship one of the things threatened with exposure to the all seeing eye of the social media, and also starts sleeping with a mysterious, off-the-grid man named Kalden, whom Annie teases Mae about in texts that have a subtly urgent undertone because the man cannot be found on The Circle's electronic media. In the movie, Mae's ex-boyfriend Mercer becomes a friend with some possible chemistry, played without a ghost of acting ability by Ellar Coltrane; Francis' whole plot has been removed from the film; and Mae never even thinks about sleeping with the film's version of Kalden. So to any Emma Watson otaku out there, don't worry, she's still pure for you. Well, aside from those magazine photos with the underboob, but still I would recommend not stoning her.

She's also not terribly convincing in this film, possibly because she's saddled with an American accent she can't make convincing for a moment. Fortunately Karen Gillan was allowed to be Scottish and she gives a performance that overshadows Watson so totally it's a little absurd, her emotional breakdown somewhat suggesting the more complex psychological dependency on public opinion rendered in the novel.

Hanks as Eamon Bailey, intended as a Steve Jobs type, is another sadly lost opportunity as his argument for transparency of all individuals to all others is a more complex one in the novel that forces one to think about the subject. The film repeats the obvious arguments that such surveillance can make it easier to catch criminals but, partly because of the removal of the Francis subplot, the film lacks the argument that the eyes of social media might provide a greater opportunity of individuals being understood by society.

Of course, the biggest change the film makes is in the ending, which thematically is almost precisely the opposite of what happens in the book, in a way that takes the final tooth out of a satire that wasn't especially biting to begin with. The novel is flawed but has some moments that really shine, the film has about as much life as spackle.

Call Saul and Let Him Stay

Mexico was looking even yellower than usual in the boring first half of an otherwise nice new episode of Better Call Saul last night. For the last time, Mexico is not yellow. Well, not really the last time, I'm sure I'll complain about it every time I see it. Fortunately the episode picked up after its star showed up.

Spoilers after the cut

Call me jaded, but the fact that Hector (Mark Margolis) and Gus (Giancarlo Esposito) deal in drugs just isn't enough to hold my interest. And it's all their story seems to be riding on at this point aside from the rivalry between the two and Gus' backstory, both of which were covered better and in more detail on Breaking Bad. And wow, what a stupid scene in the Los Pollos Hermanos. Hector and his thugs take over the shop and not one customer or employee or passerby calls the cops?

Thirty minutes in, the show finally got good with Kim (Rhea Seehorn) and Jimmy's (Bob Odenkirk) strategising and meeting. I'm not sure what they expect to get out of Mike (Jonathan Banks) taking pictures of Chuck's (Michael McKean) door yet but it was satisfying watching Kim lure Chuck into giving her evidence that he manipulated Jimmy. I suppose Jimmy's inevitably going to fall from grace but it'll be really satisfying if he can take down Chuck too.

Godly Roads

Last night's première of the American Gods television series was one of the best première episodes of any series I've seen in years. The cast, the music, the editing, everything's well above average even in this day and age of great television.

Ricky Whittle as protagonist Shadow Moon is like no other protagonist on television--muscular and exuding a sense of barely repressed violence, at the same time he's deeply contemplative and sensitive, very much as he is in Neil Gaiman's novel. But the show does the brilliant thing of making him exactly what he's supposed to be but also surprising.

Both he and Low Key (Jonathan Tucker) have the attitudes and appearances of guys who've really been in prison a while and--really, like guys like that--they're also perfectly strange. I like how half Low Key's face seems dead and the other is constantly tugging up into a smirk.

Yetide Badaki as Bilquis is great in a fabulous sex scene, drenched in red with a keenly rendered connexion between orgasm and worship. Much of the show I'd describe as fabulous and dangerous--the scene with Bilquis strangely yet appropriately cuts to the jaws of a dinosaur bar.

And, of course, Ian McShane is perfect as Wednesday.

This is the best translation of a Neil Gaiman book I've seen to screen. His dialogue is superficially clever only to provide a layer to reveal fascinating and insightful undercurrents--like Low Key telling Shadow not to fuck with airport staff and Shadow misinterpreting the moral of the story so that Low Key can reduce it to something suggestively simple. This stuff is well paired with director David Slade who edits the episode with a keen sense of how long a line should linger on the ear and, even more nicely, he knows when to cut in which the throbbing beat of a recognisable tune. I thought this show would be good but it exceeded my expectations.

Twitter Sonnet #988

In croissant snacks the story slowly starts.
A second tea returns to take a fourth.
In compact calculations spring their hearts.
Antennae teeth in pink determine worth.
An amber sky obtains a message sent.
In shadows caught by passing cloud we dream.
The autumn leaves in spring too quickly spent.
The brittle coin confers the thread to seam.
In western times a sortie claimed a foot.
Advances 'long the spine accost the land.
Refrains reroute the desert where it's put.
And only space can cure the lanes of sand.
Burrito eggs are hatching sauce to-day.
Lemon's a lighting too yellow to now allay.