Monbiot and the Media

Fair warning: this is another political blog. Also, as always, these are merely the opinions of one person.

I like George Monbiot. I follow him on Twitter, often like and retweet his tweets and threads, which are usually eloquent, on point, and passionate. At the same time, I’m aware that other people don’t like him, including some people I also follow, but have never really been sure why. There’d be accusations, but no evidence to back it up, anger without explanation of the source, other than “you said nice things about Lisa Nandy once” and “you called Corbyn an antisemite”. It didn’t add up.

Now, however, things have clicked into place for me, and it has to do with Jeremy Corbyn, and Keir Starmer. Monbiot was, at times, critical of Corbyn, which is fair enough. Corbyn had flaws, made mistakes; for a long time I harboured doubts because of his seeming unwillingness to work with other political parties, which felt needlessly tribal; I honestly still have those doubts. True, not all of Monbiot’s criticism was apparently accurate, if he did use a misquoted and misrepresented speech by Corbyn as part of it, but that still isn’t quite enough to justify the anger. That Monbiot isn’t being critical of Starmer – at least that I’ve seen – on the other hand, just might be.

Where Corbyn had a few flaws, Starmer is all flaws. The evidence is overwhelming that the latter is a dreadful leader, failing in pretty much every way it’s possible for a leader to fail, and yet Monbiot has seemingly said not one word about him, critical or otherwise. Why not? If Corbyn’s missteps warranted a negative reaction, why not Starmer’s lurching from one crisis to another, in a disturbing mirror of Johnson? Monbiot rightfully shouts about the horrific bills the Tories are working through Parliament, one attack on democracy after another, but is ignoring Starmer’s enabling of them through his silence and abstentions.

It’s a stark contradiction, comes across as distinctly hypocritical, and undermines Monbiot more than a little. He surely has to be aware of that, and yet he persists. The same behaviour is true of other media, journalistic figures, such as fellow Guardian writer Jonathan Freedland and LBC presenter James O’Brien, though much more pronounced. They were, to my understanding, far more critical of Corbyn, including labelling him an antisemite, a false accusation, yet remain just as silent on/uncritical of Starmer as Monbiot. Part of a giant establishment conspiracy?

No. I believe this all comes down to basic human nature, the kinds of dynamics we’re introduced to in the playground, and that reverberate throughout our lives and society in general. If most of the kids in your playground insist that the quiet, awkward kid sitting by themselves in a corner is a freak to be ridiculed, a weirdo to be picked on, are you going to argue? Are you going to say otherwise, and risk being attacked like the awkward kid is attacked? Chances are that, no, you won’t disagree, just nod along to save yourself immediate pain, with no thought beyond that moment. The cumulative effect of peer pressure is just that strong.

I believe that dynamic is part of the reason for the double-standards of Monbiot, O’Brien et al. When the billionaire-owned media, the likes of the Sun and the Mail and the Times, starting screaming “antisemite!” at Corbyn, and the media wing of the goverment aka the BBC backed them up, and all of them attacked anyone who disagreed, self-preservation overrode principles and the likes of Freedland joined in. In-the-moment self-interest with zero thought of longer term ramifications.

Those ramifications proved to be grievous indeed. The worst government in living memory, perhaps in the entire political history of the UK, and arguably the worst opposition, at a time of global pandemic and a climate crisis that will literally end human society if not addressed immediately. It’s a nightmare situation that just keeps getting worse, and journalists such as Monbiot have to take a measure of responsibility for it. Corbyn may have been flawed, but he was a genuine chance for change, and genuinely popular, as his huge crowds repeatedly attested, and defintely the best chance in ages to unseat not just the Tories, but break the establishment stranglehold on this country. At the very least, we would not have been in the dire straights we’re in right now, we would not have lost tens of thousands to Covid, not be facing relentless attacks on our fundamental rights, not be making token gestures towards dealing with the greatest threat we’ve ever faced.

The thing is, they’re not going to accept that responsibilty, as borne out by their insistence on moving on. “Let. It. Go.” was Monbiot’s response to a critical comment on a recent thread of his. Ignoring Starmer’s endless list of failures, his own hypocrisy and corruption, is part of that. To criticise Starmer is to tacitly acknowledge that responsibility, that they made a mistake, so they instead offer meaningless puff pieces, or say nothing. It’s still about self-preservation, now mostly driven by another, unfortunate, facet of human nature: it’s hard to admit you’re wrong, let alone accept the consequences of that.

The higher-profile a position you occupy, the harder it becomes, as borne out by BBC executives insisting the broadcaster’s not biased or discriminatory in spite of the reams of evidence to the contrary, by Met Commissioner Cressida Dick insisting the force is impartial even as she resists investigating blatant law-breaking by the government, by Starmer and by Johnson as they persist in blaming their screw-ups on anything and everything else. Responsibility is to be avoided at all costs, even if the cost is increasingly undermining yourself.

That’s the vicious-circle position journalists like Monbiot have put themselves in. Short-term self-preservation has led to lasting, increasing damage, to themselves and their profession. The clearer it becomes they were wrong, the more they’ll dig in and insist they weren’t, or flat-out pretend it doesn’t matter, because they fear ever worse personal consequences. The ultimate irony, of course, is the old saw of meeting your fate on the path you take to avoid it. Trust in them and their profession is dying, they only really have themselves to blame, and the more they deny it, the quicker the trust dies, and the harder it will be to regain it.

There’s another facet to this. Responsibility is about more than admitting mistakes. It’s about acknowledging you can make them in the first place. Admitting you’re fallible. That’s a big part of why I start any opinion blog with a variant on the theme of “this is just the opinion of one person’. It’s stating up front that I am human, I am fallible, I make mistakes, and I cannot be solely relied upon as a source or an argument. It’s reminding people to seek out other opinions, other perspectives, as the wider a view you can get, the better.

Now, ask yourselves how often you’ve seen or heard a mainstream journalist make such a statement. Has O’Brien? Freedland? True, I sincerely doubt any of them would have openly stated “my opinion is fact”, but the language and attitudes they usually use strongly give that impression. It’s a world of absolutes, with little time for grey areas or qualifiers or alternative perspectives. It wasn’t “Corbyn may be an antisemite”, or “this person is saying Corbyn is an antisemite”, it was “Corbyn is an antisemite”. It wasn’t treated as a suspicion or a possibility, but as an already established fact.

True, O’Brien, Freedland and especially Monbiot didn’t go as far as the tabloids or the BBC, but they’re still tainted by that whole debacle. I keep referring to it as there is no clearer example of how broken our media truly is. The only evidence ever presented that Jeremy Corbyn was an antisemite was anecdotal, accusations by a selection of outspoken individuals with little to nothing in the way of counterpoint. As an example of the calibre of those individuals, take Margaret Hodge. When leader of Islington Council, she was embroiled in a paedophile scandal, and signed off on the destruction of a Jewish cemetery, which was stopped by the local MP, none other than Jeremy Corbyn. This surely renders her testimony suspect, yet it was never questioned. In contrast, the evidence that Corbyn was and remains a staunch anti-racist is a matter of public record stretching back decades, but was entirely ignored. “Corbyn is an antisemite” was as naked a lie, as transparent a fraud, as can be imagined, and it only gained the traction it did because no-one, not one person, in the mainstream media, was willing to stand up and challenge it.

They took the easy route, and the entire country has paid, and continues to pay, a terrible price for it. It’s a price so terrible, in fact, it may never be possible to restore trust in the media again. If there is a chance, I believe it lies in someone finding something largely dismissed as a weakness, but that’s actually a strength, humility, and standing up to say…

“I was wrong.”

Skyrim is Overrated

I contend that The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim is more than a little overrated, and these are my reasons why.  As always, this is purely personal opinion.

I’ll start with Fable 3.  This was the last main game in the Fable series, and the most disappointing, not delivering on big promises, and received a lot of criticism as a result.  I personally thought the attacks on head developer Peter Molyneux a little over the top, and a touch two-faced, given that another game released not long after also failed to deliver on big promises, yet got away with it.  That game was Skyrim.

Its immediate predecessor in the Elder Scrolls series, Oblivion, had received not unwarranted criticism for the copy-and-paste nature of its dungeons, many of them made by gluing the same selection of pieces together in different ways.  For Skyrim, Bethesda promised many more individual dungeons, hand-crafted by the coders.  They also boasted about a ‘radiant quest system’ that would generate unlimited quests.

Technically, they delivered on the latter, but in the most basic way possible, as it turned out to be a bare-bones fetch-quest generator – talk to NPC, be asked to find something they lost, be directed to tiny cave you’d almost always already cleared out, grab item from chest, return to NPC.  They’d take five minutes, ten tops on the rare occasion it was a new, tiny cave, and much of that was loading screens.  Underwhelming, to say the least.

They definitely didn’t deliver on the former.  In fact, if anything, the copy-and-paste approach was even more pronounced, especially in the Nord tombs; you see one Draugr-haunted ruin, you’ve seen them all.  On top of that, the one new dungeon type – Dwarven Ruins – wasn’t actually that new at all, just a more drawn-out and annoying variation on the prior game’s Ayleid Ruins.

Even more disappointing were the enemies.  The Falmer were little more than mildly reworked, more elflike Goblins.  There was markedly less visual variety, with the vast majority of enemies being a mild variation on the theme of human.  Worst of all, the interesting range of undead foes had been replaced by levels of Draugr you had to strain to see the difference between.  In case it wasn’t obvious, I really didn’t like the Draugr; boring, repetitive glorified zombies that made the samey Nord tombs even more wearying.

Another thing reduced were the cities and player houses, just five of each, half of what Oblivion provided.  True, this was somewhat redressed by a DLC, but it was still DLC, paid extra content, and not very good DLC, to boot.  More on that later.

Then there were the questlines.  I’ve recently read that I’m far from alone in being disappointed by the knuckleheaded Civil War quests, but I’d go further.  I’d say most of the major questlines, the main story included, are disappointing, for a range of reasons.  The fighter’s guild involves the ever-cool element of werewolves, but does hardly anything with it, beyond likely making the player a killer of innocents, just because.  It’s short, and unfulfilling.

The College of Winterhold is a shadow of the Mages Guilds from Oblivion; the Thieves Guild has become a Thugs Guild; the Dark Brotherhood is the only decent questline, but seemingly at the expense of others, and it still isn’t great – who ever thought a child wanting to murder their guardian was a good idea?  And the ancient vampire in a child’s body isn’t exactly original.

The main quest illustrates one of the more serious issues – the total lack of engaging characters.  This is in spite of some top-notch actors, including Christopher Plummer and Terence Stamp.  The closest the game gets is a couple of traders in Riften, and guess what?  You have to screw them over to start the Thieves Guild quest line.  Something pretty cynical about this game, it has to be said.

The biggest problem, though, was the combat.  Oblivion made it more prominent than it had been in its predecessor, Morrowind, but at least still provided a decent variety of gameplay, including solid sneak mechanics.  Skyrim, in contrast, amped up the combat to such a degree it suffocated everything else.  This is clearly illustrated right at the start – your stilted execution is interrupted by a Big, Evil Dragon, cueing up a relentless barrage of combat, just fight, fight, fight and kill, kill, kill until you escape the town.  Only at the very end is there a token shrug towards sneaking, with a dozing bear in a cave, but you could easily kill it instead.  It’s “MURDERDEATHKILLSLAYKILLMURDER!!!” followed by “oh, and you can sneak, too, but why bother?”

This game’s idea of play variation is choosing what kind of killing machine you want to be – sword-slinging, axe-swinging, arrow-firing or magic-throwing?  No more nuance than that.  It also makes exploring the overworld a chore as 95% of what’s in it wants to eviscerate you, and they come for you thick and fast, with little to no respite.  The only real breathing space is the towns, but a DLC changes that, because of course it does.

Speaking of DLCs, the one mentioned earlier perfectly illustrates the combat obsession.  It’s a house-building mod, but like the quest generator, done in basic fashion – you only get to choose from very limited preset options.  You also get, free of charge, regular bandit attacks, because what’s a home without viscera smeared over the porch?  Further, you have the ability to adopt children, and give them gifts.  I once found a drum, and thought it ideal for my digital kid, but the game wouldn’t let me give it to them.  The dagger I also happened to have, however, was fine.  Musical instruments bad, lethal weapons good.  Welcome to Skyrim!

The only thing that made the game tolerable for decent lengths of time was fan mods, three in particular.  One changed the behaviour of the animals – skeevers became small and harmless, while bears and wolves only attacked if provoked enough, and could be non-lethally deterred if they did.  The second corrected a big oversight in the main quest (spoilers): the leader of the order you largely work with turns out to be a dragon, and at the admittedly pretty great ending, promises to talk to other dragons, so they’ll stop being so aggressive, but it never actually happens…which is where the mod comes in.  Now many are peaceful, and actually being able to appreciate the superb designs is pretty awesome.  The last mod was a non-lethal weapon in the form of a club, which you could use to knock enemies out, and I recall it being a very popular download.

Unfortunately, Bethesda seem to have taken exactly zero notice of these, since Elder Scrolls Online is not only still combat-crazy, but also throws in nasty quests that end horribly no matter what you do, and leave a bad taste in the mouth; a cynic’s idea of realism.  Also, if the leaks of Elder Scrolls 6 are at all accurate, they’re going even bigger on the civil war theme with it.

With Oblivion, the Elder Scrolls games became full action RPGs.  With Skyrim, they became action games with RPG trimmings.  ES6 sounds like more of the same, or even worse.  It’s not entirely out of the question Bethesda might surprise us, and dial down the combat, and bring the RPG back, and maybe even provide some proper gameplay variety, but I doubt it.

If it’s not action-fixated, they, and the rest of the mainstream gaming industry, just aren’t interested.  They haven’t the courage to try anything different.

Rating Netflix Animated Series

At this point, I’ve watched a decent number of Netflix’s animated series, and figured I might as well note my thoughts down, in no particular order.  As always, this is purely one person’s opinions.

Voltron: Legendary Defender – The first of three Dreamworks efforts on this list, and, for the most part, a really good one.  Strong characters, dynamic action, capable world-building and a vibrant sense of humour all sweep you along for the vast majority of it, the season finales in particular gripping in their stakes and dynamics.  The final season, however, is a curious anticlimax, of markedly lesser substance than what came before it, lacking the same energy.  Also, the less said about Shiro in terms of LGBT+ representation the better; a bungled token gesture. 8/10

Carmen Sandiego – Much like Voltron, I can’t reference the original, but on its own merits this is a good, good series.  Slick and clever and fun, with a striking and engaging visual style, all propelled by rich characters that neatly eschew tropes and stereotypes, most prominently the titular thief-with-a-heart-and-far-more-besides.  The overarching plot is fascinating, and I look forward to seeing where it goes next. 8/10

Glitch Techs – I have to admit, this one caught me a little off-guard.  Being a co-production with Nickolodeon, I was expecting something kinetic and silly, with little real substance.  I was wrong.  It is kinetic and silly, but with smarts, and appealing characters that have actual depth to them.  Yes, there’s the inevitable Nick grossout humour, but thankfully mostly confined to one ep, and actually fairly restrained by their standards.  The ethnic diversity on display is certainly welcome, too. 7/10

BNA: Brand New Animal – The more I think about this one, the more it underwhelms me.  It’s a briskly enjoyable piece of action anime, for sure, but nothing more.  The characters are two-dimensional, the beats familiar, and the plot predictable – I cottoned on to two of the Big Reveals very easily, long before they happened, and the third carried no impact because it wasn’t earned, and again felt too familiar.  Of course, it could improve in future seasons, but I’m not hugely hopeful. 6/10

Hilda – A gentle, whimsical, imaginative delight with an abundance of heart and humour, and great, diverse characters.  The only real disappointment with it is that there’s still only been one season.  This is a rich, charming world ripe for more exploration. 9/10

The Dragon Prince – An interesting one, this.  For its first two seasons it’s decent, if fairly generic and slightly stilted fantasy.  It’s walking a well-worn path, even down to its characters, complete with a token bit of background LGBT+ representation.  In season 3, however, things change.  It starts to grow, to gain depth and distinction and momentum, and by the genuinely superb finale, it almost feels like a different show.  It’s gone from a pleasant distraction to a truly engrossing piece of storytelling I look forward to seeing more of. 7/10

Beastars – The anime that took the furry fandom by storm, and I can really see why.  Top-notch in pretty much every department, but especially the deep, compelling characters.  Manages dark, sometimes very dark, themes with skill and, for the most part, refreshing restraint, and even in the one arguable sequence it edges into gratuitous violence it’s still driven by enough substance a gore-shy person like me can get past it.  That it has a real breadth of tone, often dipping into the whimsical, playful and fun, also helps.  Anime par excellence. 9/10

Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts – I’ll be honest; this one’s actually kinda frustrating.  The second Dreamworks series, it has a fun core concept, but it’s undermined by its plot-driven storytelling.  The main characters are two-dimensional and seem to grow little at all, the denizens of the world are barely more than one-note gags – exercise fanatic raccoons, suit-wearing frogs, lumberjack cats – and the villains are the weakest of all.  The main one to start with is a giggling, Joker-lite maniac with hardly a flicker of depth, and the new one season two introduced is somehow even shallower. Emotional beats don’t land because they just aren’t earned, and there’s an unnervingly dark element in the character Wolf, a young girl brought up by wolves when even younger purely so she could be hunted, killed and eaten (as an aside, that it looks to be subverting the aggravating all-wolves-are-evil trope then not just embraces it but doubles-down on it is particularly irritating).  All this isn’t to say it’s bad – it’s still fun to watch, for the most part, and the entrepreneurial rats are delightful – but it’s just saddening, and a little maddening, the initial promise has yet to be realised.  Kudos for having an openly queer character who does actually seem to be lucky in love, though. 6/10

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power – If you think I’ve been a little harsh on a couple of the above, here’s the reason why.  This, the third and last Dreamworks show on the list, is simply phenomenal, an enthralling, heady rush driven by characters that rival those of Babylon 5 in their richness (and in one betailed case, may even exceed it) and that seriously raises the bar for serialised animation.  Imaginative, clever, moving, funny and exciting, with spectacular tonal range and a deftness in handling darker themes – abuse, trauma, jealousy, bitterness, self-hatred, emotional breakdown, and that’s just one character – that takes the breath away.  This is, for me, not just the best animated series on Netflix, not just the best animated series I’ve ever seen – and I’ve seen a lot of great animated series, including Avatar, Korra and Teen Titans – but one of the best series, full stop, I’ve ever seen.  That it also shatters boundaries of LGBT+ representation in joyous fashion is almost too much.  Simply fabulous, and damn near faultless. 10/10

Honourable Mentions – Dragons: Race to the Edge; Puss in Boots; Skylanders Academy.  All very entertaining, and help fill out a generally strong animated library on Netflix.

Dishonourable Mention – Trollhunters; despite the involvement of Guillermo del Toro, and Kelsey Grammer in typically impeccable form, the tired old formula of white boy hero, fat kid comedy sidekick, and capable-but-agency-free female sidekick/love interest (even in pink armour, for crying out loud) really needs to be put out to pasture.

Note – none of the more ‘adult’ series, like Loud Mouth and Bojack Horseman, are included here, as they simply don’t appeal to me.

She-Ra Speculation

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power is a fantastic series, a rich, vibrant, endlessly clever piece of animated storytelling powered by a battery of complex and compelling characters.  Naturally, this means I can’t help but speculate, especially after the ending of season four, and decided I might as well pour it all out here, maybe even consolidate things a bit.  Naturally, there will be plentiful spoilers, so if you haven’t watched the show yet – and you really, really ought to – stop reading now.  Also, just to stress, this is purely speculation, and could be completely wrong, but isn’t letting the imagination rip all part of the fun? 🙂

To say the finale of season 4 was dramatic feels like quite the understatement – the return of Etheria to known space, the arrival of Horde Prime, the activation of the doomsday device at the core of the planet aborted only by the shattering of the sword and the loss of She-Ra, a broken Catra and a guilty Glimmer abducted by Horde Prime, Hordak facing mental wiping, and more besides.  Among all of that my mind has latched onto one detail in particular: She-Ra existed before the sword, before the First Ones.

The sword was, in essence, the physical embodiment of what the First Ones shaped She-Ra into, how they bent her to their needs, which prompts a couple of questions.  First, what was She-Ra like before the First Ones weaponised her, and is it possible we haven’t actually yet seen the true She-Ra, just the form the First Ones gave her?  The rainbow power seen when all the Princesses united at the end of season one, but never since, hints we haven’t.  Second, how was she, for want of a better word, summoned?  How was the transformation triggered?

Of course, it’s possible the sword was already extant, merely adapted, or there was a different sword, but there are elements to the series, threads and details, that make me wonder if the key isn’t something, or someone, else entirely.

Catra.

Why?  Well, to start with, the feline girl is truly formidable, capable of going toe-to-toe with living goddess She-Ra, which I believe no-one else has been able to do, and even overcoming a raging Hordak toting a devastatingly-powerful arm cannon.  Yes, enhanced speed, strength and agility are likely traits of her race, and yes the Horde training would have helped, in spite of her open lack of commitment, but I can’t helping thinking there’s deeper things at play here.

This idea is strengthened when you notice that we so far know nothing of Catra’s origins.  We know she grew up with Adora under the ‘care’ of Shadow-Weaver, but that’s it.  There’s been no trace of her culture or other members of her race, either, beyond a brief glimpse of another feline in one of Light Hope’s projections.  It also makes you wonder if she, like Adora, came from a world other than Etheria; maybe even the same one.

(As an aside, I do wonder about Catra’s headpiece.  She didn’t have it as a young child, yet it certainly seems to mean a lot to her, given she keeps it by her bed, and picked it up again after tearing it off and hurling it down.  A gift from Adora, and thus visual evidence she can’t let go of them, as much as she wants to?)

Speaking of Shadow-Weaver, her treatment of the two, praising and lauding Adora, belittling and dismissing Catra, to such an extent it has to count as persistent emotional and psychological abuse of both, is telling, too.  Why treat them in such diametrically opposed fashions?  You’d think she was determined to keep them apart, to drive an insurmountable wedge between them.  Notably, she failed.  Then, Adora left the Horde.

All of Catra’s subsequent behaviour, up to and including trying to destroy reality, can be traced back to Shadow-Weaver’s abuse.  Adora leaving, breaking their promise, a betrayal and an abandonment to someone for whom she was the only bright spot, a rock to cling to in the storm, was a catalyst that unleashed a childhood’s worth of rage and jealousy and bitterness.  Catra and Adora have been driven so far apart it seems near-impossible for them to reunite, and I believe that was always Shadow-Weaver’s plan.

She knows more than she’s letting on; much more.  She certainly knows Catra’s origins, and she clearly knew the truth about She-Ra.  She’s playing a long game, a very long game, that will ultimately only benefit her – we’ve seen what she’s willing to do to obtain power and control – and keeping Adora and Catra apart seems key to that.  I even find it interesting that, in season three, the sight of Shadow-Weaver and Adora together is what pushed Catra completely over the edge.  Given Shadow-Weaver knows exactly how to manipulate the feline girl – look at her escape from the cell and imminent banishment to Beast Island – it’s tempting to think she had an ulterior motive for joining that particular mission.

She’s doing her best to shape events to her advantage, and she’s not alone.  The same was true of the corrupted Light Hope, guiding She-Ra not towards realising her full potential, but activating the doomsday device.  An important element to that was severing all emotional attachments Adora had, especially that to Catra; that a pivotal moment in the fracturing of their friendship took place in Light-Hope’s sanctum is not a coincidence.  Two interests, apparently at opposite ends of the spectrum, yet both putting a lot of effort into and emphasis on keeping Adora and Catra apart.  Why?

(Random tangent speculation: is Shadow-Weaver a First One, or descended from them?)

True, having no attachments, no bonds, no-one to care personally about, makes it potentially easier to activate the doomsday device, but the emphasis on Adora’s link to Catra makes me think it’s either deeper than either of them truly realise (possibly the feline does, but refuses to accept it, or even acknowledge it) and thus the biggest threat to the plan(s), or there’s more at play.  Maybe even both.

(Final tangent speculation: it’s a curious detail that the Princesses and friends are all human or very human-like, with the mild exception of the goat-people, and the less human races are prominent in the Horde and the Wasteland; also that this reflects the divide between the two main characters.  If this were any other show I’d dismiss it as pandering to a cheap trope, but this is She-Ra…)

It’s also interesting that neither Catra or Adora has managed to truly flourish alone, to the extent their journeys somewhat parallel each other.  All that considered, if it’s so important to keep Adora and Catra apart, to the point you’d risk the end of everything, what happens should they come back together?  What happens when, shorn of all baggage and able to start healing, to overcome the self-destructive behaviours embedded by their abuse, they can finally, truly unite?

What happens when two halves of a whole are finally back as one?

Thoughts on The War of the Worlds (2019)

[Caution: spoilers]

I’ll be honest right from the outset – I’ve never read the original novel.  It’s one of my keenest reading regrets, and one I do hope to correct soon.  However, through the fantastic Jeff Wayne musical version and the solid Spielberg version – more faithful than many realise, Cruise & modern setting aside – I’m pretty familiar with the tone, the themes, the main story beats.

When I heard the BBC were making a big-budget version set in the novel’s time, I was pretty excited, as it’s been a quiet desire of mine for quite a while. I therefore went into it with fairly high hopes.

For most of the first episode those hopes were by and large fulfilled: beautifully filmed, well acted with solid dialogue, nice atmosphere and build of tension, some lovely little moments – chief astronomer touches the sphere, his hand print remains, and so does his reflection, even as he steps away – and good music.  Yes, the changes made – sphere instead of cylinder, that rises and spins instead of slowly unscrewing, and emits some kind of invisible heat pulses rather than the rays – were bemusing, but I was willing to roll with it.  Then the fighting machine rose from the ground, albeit unseen, with zero explanation, and I started to waver just a little.

The biggest issue, though, were abstract moments of redness, dust, weeds and crystals, that eventually resolved into flash-forwards, to the time after the invasion, after the Martians had died, which did little more than confuse.  They just didn’t seem to serve a purpose.  But, the fighting machine was decent enough, with an interesting insectoid touch to the movement, and they seemed to be laying in solid character work, so I was still willing to keep watching.

On reflection, there was more of concern in the first episode, not least the strange disconnect between the tripods and the destruction they caused, mainly that you never saw how they caused it.  It just happened, while they loomed and lurked, occasionally beaming searchlights.  It was also the start of a strange thread that I’ll detail more later.

The second episode was where things really started to falter.  The flash-forwards became a lot more pronounced, and still didn’t make sense.  They drained most of the tension, confused the storyline, and weighed down the pacing, having such a negative effect you wonder why they were thought a good idea in the first place.  All the while, things are drifting ever further from Wells; there are echoes of famous characters – the soldier, the priest – and moments – a beach sequence mildly reminiscent of the Thunderchild set piece – but nothing more.

The London attack is confined to a building crumbling, a tripod looming, black smoke billowing, running along passages, and a pretty unsubtle imperialist minister being consumed and seemingly turned by the fog, if only for both to never reappear.  This is where the narrative really starts to fray, threads going nowhere, the core drive fading away.  In fact, it becomes clear there never really was a core drive.

Episode three, as a result, is almost entirely leaden, gloomy, paceless and directionless.  It’s basically boiled all its initial promise down to the same listless bleakness as the ABC Murders adaptation from last year.  The scenes of creeping around the house, where Martians are lurking are admittedly pretty effective…until you actually see a Martian.

It probably seemed a neat touch to have them be tripods, like their fighting machines, but they’re so simplistically designed – bags of flesh with three long, tapering, pointed limbs – they just don’t work.  How do they build and operate their machines?  They also seem able to do whatever the script needs them to, regardless of whether it actually makes sense.  Stand on just two legs without toppling over?  Fine.  Lurk in the corner of wall and ceiling, somehow unnoticed by the four remaining humans, dropping down at exactly the right moment to kill a young girl who’d turned back to collect a teddy bear?  Go right ahead.

Beyond the obvious issues with that moment – where did the Martian come from, how was it up there, how long had it been there, how had no-one noticed? – it’s also the worst example of that thread I mentioned earlier.  It’s two-fold: one, random deaths of random people, often ones not normally killed in such things, like a family dog, an elderly lady, and the child described above, and a recurrent motif of people leaving others behind, either after being strenuously begged to, or while being begged not to.  There are also a couple of instances of attempts to help people – an unseen, crying baby, the aforementioned minister, the old lady – that either fail, or are aborted.  It’s inconsistent, seems to have no point or purpose, and ultimately comes across as almost nihilistic, especially when you consider that the teddy that caused the girl’s death was given to her as a source of comfort.  It certainly robs George’s final sacrifice of what weight the muddled plot hadn’t already removed.

I don’t agree with those insisting the BBC is pushing a ‘PC’ or ‘woke’ agenda.  I believe it’s a stale relic trying to appear ‘down with the kids’, in touch with modern sensibilities, and failing miserably.  In this instance, that means a greatly expanded female character that ultimately serves no purpose, and a cleverly threaded allegory reduced to painful bluntness – there’s even a speech expounding it, at one point.  It’s hamfisted and heavy-handed.

Ultimately, I struggle to understand what they were trying to achieve here.  In fact, I honestly wonder if even they knew what they wanted to achieve.  As a result, what could have been a thrilling, faithful adaptation ends up a muddled, rudderless, dispiriting, frustrating waste of a golden opportunity.  It could, and should, have been so much better.

Thoughts on the Trek Movies

I recently, finally acquired the Star Trek Stardate Collection, a set of the first ten Trek movies on Blu-ray.  It was definitely worth the wait, and I spent a happy couple of weeks reacquainting myself with the films, and reassessing them.  This is what I currently think of them:-

I – The Motion Picture: As much as I enjoy a quiet, contemplative movie – 2001 remains a firm favourite – I must admit this one is a little too deliberate in its pacing.  It’s a bit of a tone poem, albeit a great-looking one, with a typically superb Goldsmith score.  The tighter Director’s Cut is a marked improvement, but it’s still lacking the narrative and character substance to truly compel. 6/10

II – The Wrath of Khan: In marked contrast, a film that fires on pretty much every cylinder, a propulsive, engrossing action-drama with ample character work, a simple, strong plot, James Horner in great musical fettle, and most of all Ricardo Montalban at his screen-dominating best.  Some narrative blips – hello, Chekov – can be forgiven when weighed against all the things it does so well, but I do think it overdoes the graphic elements a bit – I’m really not sure we need such extreme, lingering close-ups of the eels in the ears, for example.  Trek’s finest movie hour?  Quite possibly.  9/10

III – The Search for Spock: While not as strong as Wrath of Khan, it’s still a pretty solid film.  Nimoy directs well, the plot’s decent, Horner delivers, there’s good character beats and one of the best, most powerful Kirk moments – the stumble – in all of the films.  Where it lacks most is the villain; despite being played with typical verve by Christopher Lloyd there’s a distinct dearth of depth and motivation, leaving him little more than a plot device, and thus lessening the film’s narrative drive.  7/10

IV – The Voyage Home: Here’s a curiosity.  By all rights I should love this film – no violence or death, no heavy themes, just an upbeat romp with great characters, Leonard Rosenman following the heavyweight composers with real aplomb, and a strong environmental theme – and yet, it leaves me wanting.  It’s partly the time-travel theme, a device I’ve little fondness for, partly the contemporary for the time setting, and partly a lack of genuine substance.  It’s not much more than a confection, tasty enough when you’re consuming it, but it doesn’t really linger long afterwards.  7/10

V – The Final Frontier: I don’t believe this film is quite as bad as it’s made out to be.  Yes, it has some pretty hefty issues – a poor and poorly realised plot, some questionable humour, a handful of bad visual effects and one genuinely inexplicable detail in a triple-breasted catgirl for whom water is apparently lethal on contact.  However, it also has some real strengths – Trek always brought out the best in symphonic Goldsmith, Shatner has a real eye for a shot, there’s some strong character stuff, and the villain is unusual, intriguing and very well performed by Laurence Luckinbill.  If you can overlook the bad – a challenge, admitted – there’s some good stuff to be found, here.  5/10

VI – The Undiscovered Country: Nick ‘Khan’ Meyer returns, and brings another strong story, some great mystery and intrigue, some serious flair – character morphing while talking, anyone? – and plenty of humour.  Cliff Eidelman delivers the musical goods and Christopher Plummer has a scenery-chewing, Shakespeare-spouting ball as the hugely entertaining villain.  There’s a couple of dubious moments – the communications officer doesn’t understand Klingon, unneccessary close-ups of a sucking chest wound that would give the film a higher rating if the blood were red instead of pinkish – and you could argue the bigotry is overplayed slightly -“Let them die!” – but this does little to distract from a fine, fitting sign-off from the original Enterprise crew.  8/10

VII – Generations: Another film I don’t believe to be quite as bad as its reputation would suggest.  Yes, the main plot device, the Nexus, is never properly defined, and neither is Malcolm McDowell’s villain, and momentum is definitely lost after the Enterprise-D crashes, but these issues, for me, are more than balanced out by the good.  David Carson directs skilfully, Shatner’s in fine form, it captures the Next Generation feel better than the films that follow, the crash is one of the best set-pieces in movie Trek, and Dennis McCarthy steps up from the show to deliver, to my mind, the best score of an already fine bunch; the main theme in particular is fabulous.  In a similar vein to Final Frontier, if you can see past the shortcomings you’ll find plenty to enjoy.  7/10

VIII – First Contact: Objectively the strongest of the Next Gen films, it does a lot right.  Jonathan Frakes makes an assured feature directing debut, the story is well-worked, with Picard in particular getting a great arc that Patrick Stewart makes the most of, Jerry Goldsmith is as excellent as ever, it’s focused and tense on the one hand, and has good lightness of touch on the other, and Alice Krige’s Borg Queen is a fine villain, managing to be both alluring and unnerving.  For all that, though, it leaves me slightly cold; the two main stories contrast a bit too much in tone, mostly due to the hard – Die Hard? – edge to the Borg assault, Cochrane isn’t the most engaging character – James Cromwell’s as good as ever, but the writers overplay the disreputable drunkard a touch too much, perhaps – and when the main crew are laughing and smiling at the end, apparently unconcerned by the assimilated bodies of many, if not most, of their colleagues littering deck after deck, it leaves an unpleasant taste in the mouth.  If you can deal with those niggles, it’s great.  8/10

IX – Insurrection: Rather a mis-named film, as instead of the grand drama suggested it’s an attempt at recapturing the lighter heart of The Voyage Home, but one that falls short.  An undercooked plot that never develops real momentum, a hollow villain who falls flat despite the best efforts of F Murray Abraham (what is it with Trek and wasting great actors on lukewarm antagonists?), some awkward humour – the ‘boobs’ line always makes me cringe – and a couple of very odd choices – manual control, I mean you – add up to a mostly unsatisfying film that feels more like a glorified double-episode than a movie.  Even a Goldsmith score can’t lift it beyond passable.  6/10

X – Nemesis: While the film has a decent sense of scale, and Stuart Baird directs quite well, and Jerry Goldsmith provides one last, great score, and the visuals look great, that’s nowhere near enough to balance out the flaws.  The plot feels like an overly-complicated, rather muddled early draft sorely in need of focusing and distillation, as does the backstory and motivation of Tom Hardy’s villain, and the big moment at the end carries none of the weight it should as it’s not been earned, and is too derivative.  The dialogue is a real issue, for while it must have looked good on paper, it doesn’t really work when spoken; Hardy’s hard graft gives Shinzon at least a flicker of something, but it helps render everyone else distinctly stiff and listless.  There’s something a little slack in the editing, too, which is odd given Baird’s CV in that area, most noticeable in a collision of ships that’s not nearly as awe-inspiring as it ought to be.  A lead-footed, undercooked disappointment.  4/10

Thoughts on Halloween (2018)

In the interests of openness, let me get two things clear right at the start.  One – I adore the original 1978 Halloween, classing it with the likes of The Haunting, The Exorcist, The Shining, Carrie, The Wicker Man and The Omen as a true horror masterpiece.  Two – as that list strongly hints, I much prefer classic, atmospheric 60s & 70s horror to modern, gore-obsessed films.

You can therefore hopefully understand my trepidation regarding the latest attempt to recapture that Carpenter-brand magic, even with the man himself being involved.  Having now, finally, seen the film, I consider those doubts fully justified – it’s a muddled, cluttered, kill-heavy grossout with pretensions of being more, that just so happens to be dressed up in a Halloween costume.

It’s a good costume, mind, with all the classic Halloween trappings – steadicam shots, homages to and subversions of iconic moments from the original, that score (with added, actually quite effective guitar-riff underpinning) and Laurie Strode herself – but what lies beneath is far from satisfying, not least for ignoring the elements of the original that made it so memorable.

Instead of a lean, sharply-focused plot with a minimum of characters you’ve ample time to understand and connect with before things get stabby, we’re served an erratic jumble of narrative elements and short-lived ciphers/plot devices/murder fodder that never manages to coalesce into something coherent or engaging.  Instead of creeping dread, of inexorably mounting waves of tension, we get quickfire kills of increasing brutality delivered in an almost perfunctory manner.  There’s an inexplicably abstract setting for the pre-credits scene, a contrived means for The Shape to get his face back, a bizarre attempt at a late twist that doesn’t actually change anything or go anywhere, and a theme of the effects of trauma that doesn’t work because it’s lost amongst everything else.

The one real good point of the film is Laurie Strode, but not because of the writing – she’s a derivative variation on the theme of Sarah Connor only given weight by the sheer power of Jamie Lee Curtis.  Her daughter’s so one-dimensional they barely register, and the granddaughter fares little better, mostly serving as Myers-bait to draw him to the final showdown with three generations of Strode.  Even that doesn’t come off, though, as it hasn’t been earned.

As for Michael himself, gone is the deliberate grace, the silent focus and purpose, the patient closing in.  Now he simply strides blankly around, dropping bodies everywhere he goes, a monolithic murder-machine more akin to Jason Vorhees than The Shape.  He no longer lingers in that liminal area between human and otherwordly, instead reduced to stoic, crude mundanity; the boogeyman has lost most of his power.

The concept of ignoring every other installment, all the sequels and reboots, was a good one, clearing the slate, but what exactly was the point when you’re only going to repeat their mistakes?  All Halloween 2018 really serves to do is remind you how little patience film-makers and film-goers now appear to have, and that’s a shame.

Halloween 1978 remains some of the best evidence that, in horror especially, less is always more.