Review: The Unremembered (Author’s Definitive Edition) by Peter Orullian


The Unremembered



Review: The Unremembered (Author’s Definitive Edition) by Peter Orullian
Book One of The Vault of Heaven Trilogy


[Edit Note: Having just read the second book I am really glad I stuck with this series.  So while the review below is fairly negative, Book 2 Trial of Intentions is by far the better book, and the promise in this series finds fruit in the second volume.]


Short Version:  A solid epic fantasy that hits all the right notes, but perhaps in a slightly too familiar tune.  It might not blow you away, but it does promise a much deeper and rewarding story in subsequent volumes now that the foundations have been laid and the author feels freer to explore the world he has built.


Longer Review:  The publishing history of Peter Orullian’s first volume of the Vault of Heaven trilogy is a fascinating story in and of itself, one that resulted in a new version of the first book being released that is significantly shorter and quite different from the original release.  As this is the author’s preferred edition, the latest edition, and the one that now serves as the first book of a trilogy, the review below is of it and not the original publication.


Fans and authors walk a tightrope when it comes to epic fantasy.  As fans we want more of the same, only different.  Like the Lord of the Rings, only different.  Like The Shannara Chronicles, only altered.  Like the Wheel of Time, but new.  Familiar enough that they feed the same appetite, but different enough that they don’t feel like carbon copies.  But we also complain loudly when authors aren’t original enough, aren’t innovative enough, and conversely, when they are too innovative, too original.  Authors want to produce recognisable fantasy epics but ones that are unique.  They want their stories to cater to the tastes of the fans, but serve them something they haven’t had before.  There are formulas, tropes, conventions (not the comic-con kind), and stereotypes, and an uneasy, tacit agreement that some should be used, others subverted, and that, in the end, the whole should be a new dish made out of familiar ingredients.  I say all this, because in almost every fantasy epic there are recognisable and familiar aspects.  Those that deviate too far from the beaten path often lose the reader.  Those that stay beholden to established patterns become predictable and not particularly entertaining.  What complicates this further is when the story being told in a volume is a book one, a first step into a new world, the opening of a narrative that is to be at least three volumes long.  Judging a play by its opening act can be a mistake.  Judging a mystery novel by its opening chapters robs the reader of the conclusion.  But in those instances, the whole is present there in one sitting.  For fantasy trilogies, the whole story, spanning three volumes might be thousands of pages long.


So what has this to do with Orullian’s The Unremembered?  Quite a lot it turns out.


I don’t set a lot of stock in plot summaries because, by their very nature, they distil the story down into a few lines bereft of context, flavour or character, and are bland generalisations of what you find in a book.  But they do give you an idea, however vague, of what you are about to read.  So, with my provisos in place that this is not truly representative of what is actually delivered in the book…


A brief summary of the plot will have fantasy fans groaning as it appears as stereotypical and unoriginal as you can get.  A young boy with a special magical gift (in this case with a bow), on a journey with a magical and wise man, accompanied by a close friend to provide occasional comic relief, a warrior woman, a sister with a magical ability with song, and an apprentice warrior scholar.  Ok so the last one might look a little out of place.  They are on a quest to journey to a mystical place in an effort to save the world from a mystical evil.  A dread magical evil that had previously been banished from the land, but the barrier holding the evil back is failing.


So on the face of it there is little here to suggest that Orullian’s book is anything but ‘unremembered’, as off-hand I can think of several series that have very similar plots and remember them quite well.  The over-arching story of The Unremembered is very familiar and well-trodden.  Although it should be pointed out that it is well rendered, well told and interesting, but the story itself seems like the foundation work for a bigger story, a larger story, and, at the end of the day, a much more interesting story.  As I read I kept waiting for the world to drop away as some amazing plot development sprang into the fore, but that never materialised.  There are hints of this grander narrative, the tantalising glimpses of a rich history that will be developed in the future, flashes of plot points that look dead set to blossom into a rich, deeper and more original tale in future instalments, but as it stands, The Unremembered is a solid foundational epic fantasy that does all the plodding groundwork of laying out the bones with none of the real pizazz as it relentlessly pushes the characters through the plot.


But well drawn characters can make even the most well established stories come to life.  Yet, unfortunately, once again, while the groundwork appears to have been laid for all the characters to become much more interesting in the next book, this volume fails to give them the necessary moments to shine and stand out.


Tahn (a name that autocorrect loves to change to Than) is the typical, slightly naïve youth with a mysterious past, mysterious power, and mysterious destiny.  All very mysterious.  As the central protagonist there are strong shades of every other young, slightly callow, boy-destined-to-be-great character from fantasy.  But the story ends just as he experiences something that might actually change him into someone much more engaging and unique.  This is not entirely unforeseeable as the story focuses on Tahn’s journey toward the rite of passage that will make him a man.  He is not badly written, he is not overly annoying, he is just not fully developed here.  He is the bare bones of the character he will become, the opening refrain that introduces the symphony.  Adding to this lack of development is the significant effort expended by the other characters, and by the author, to keep Tahn unsullied as a character, to keep him pure and prepare him for the magical judgement.  But, as a result, the muck and grime that gets under the fingernails of great characters is simply missing here.  He never gets the folds and careworn creases that make the character feel real.  There is so much potential to his character that this story never quite gets to, and yet… and yet… there is a strong promise that the story and his character will explode with the next volume.


Vendanj, the Sheason (wizard monk) is almost the typical grumpy wiseman leading the quest group.  He utilises the Will (similar to the Force from Star Wars if I am brutally honest, or The Will and the Word from Eddings’ Belgariad) but he is at least a great deal more pragmatic and dangerous seeming than many of his epic predecessors and peers.  By the end of the story we have been granted glimpses of his interesting backstory and of the wider conflict he is part of, as well as moments of depth and complexity to his character.  But in terms of development, much of his time is spent forwarding the plot to the next stop in the quest journey, pushing focus onto Than as the most important person in the universe,  and being slightly mysterious for the sake of being mysterious.  It is not all bad though, the cost of wielding the Will appears to be pretty high and despite the narratively convenient moments of respite from attack, it appears that future Vendanj may have a significant bill to pay concerning his use of power.  Also his conflict with the political forces of the world as well as the magical ones, and the schism forming in his own religion suggest that Vendanj’s story will grow in originality and complexity.  He has the potential to be a great addition to the pantheon of guiding mentor figures of fantasy as he has feet of clay, and there are hints of more than superficial brusqueness and irritability to his portrayal.  But the reader isn’t given the opportunity to truly experience his unique flaws and we have yet to bear witness to the cost of his actions, all that is yet to come.


Wendra is Tahn’s sister, and by far the most interesting of the assembled quest-party.  Admittedly she has a rape and lost child backstory that grates the teeth a little, and her arc in the book involves her being captured, but she has definite character and strength of will.  She is no damsel in distress, and, while the kidnapping plot is a little stale by this point, Wendra never feels like a helpless victim waiting to be rescued.  Her ability to shape song into magical effects, while still in its infancy in this volume, is one of the high notes of Orullian’s book.  Magical music and singing is hardly original in fantasy stories, but Orullian imbues it with a complex vibrancy that makes it believable and really brings it to life.  To borrow a term from the book, he imbues it with resonance.  One of the major strengths to Orullian’s writing here is his use of this magic system, and affinity with how music is magical and powerful.  While only the first few notes of this system are played out on the page, it does promise to be a fascinating and powerful aspect of future books.  Yet, returning to Wendra, due to the nature of the story focusing on Tahn’s journey, she is given pretty short shrift here, even if the ending once again promises a lot more from Wendra in the books to come.  But all the seeds are there for her to really grow and become a dominating figure of the larger story as her power, will and character rival her personal tragedies and losses.  Of all the characters she seems to have the most potential to be realised, and, given the importance of song to the magic system and to the world, as well as Wendra’s ability, she will undoubtedly have a much more important role in the later books.


Mira, a Far, one of the magical races of the world, is a warrior who will die at the edge of maturity (which seems to be around 18 or 20) like all the members of her semi-magical race.  Blessed with supernatural quickness and apparently no need to sleep, Mira is the warrior protector of the group.  She is knowledgeable about the magical threat the world faces, but isn’t really forthcoming about her mysterious race, the magical backstory, or the strange history of the world despite the fact that it would seem to be useful information for the group.  While she has a number of action scenes her main purpose in the story seems to be to serve as Tahn’s first crush and to dispatch the occasional enemy.  But, as I seem to keep saying for each of these characters, the ending of the book should have significant and far reaching ramifications for Mira that will make her a great deal more interesting and rounded as a character in later volumes, rather than simply acting as an alluring, yet aloof love interest for the hero.


The Sheason Vendanj is aided by the novice Sodalist, Braethen.  If the Sheason are magical warrior monks who fight demons, the Sodalists appear to be learned warrior monks who use swords to fight demons.  Yeah, I am not really sure what the relationship between the two orders is even after reading the book.  But Vendanj uses magic, Braethen uses a sword (albeit a magical one).  Again, despite this being a fairly lengthy book, there never seemed to be time to delve into Braethen’s character.  Sure we are told his backstory a couple of times, but we never get the sense of how this shaped him, how his background made him who he is and helped him choose this path.  In part because we have no context for the choice.  His father was an Author and Braethen disappointed him by becoming a Sodalist, and his major accomplishment in the novel is finding a necessary passage in a book he once read when his father was training him as an Author.  Nope, still don’t get why him being a Sodalist is important or what it even means.  And yet, oh how this is getting repetitive, the strange sword, the mystery of what Sodalists are and his burgeoning partnership with Vendanj promise that he could become a great deal more interesting in book two.


Sutter, Tahn’s best friend from home, comes from humble beginnings, provides occasional comic-relief, but seems more to be there to ground Tahn and be a supportive sounding board for him rather than to be a character in his own right or the hero of his own story.  Once again, a development late in the story leads to Sutter becoming a great deal more interesting, but the investigation of that development seems destined for later instalments.  This feeling of being under-used and unnecessary to this particular part of the story is also true of the young boy, Penit, the stereotypical ‘young rogue’ who was a player in a travelling troupe of actors but whose family were killed.  Penit is necessary for part of Wendra’s story more than anything else, and, despite some nice moments, seems wasted in the novel.  In fact, he becomes more an object than a character as the novel progresses.  In what is now seeming a haunting refrain, the end of the novel does promise interesting developments for Penit in the sequels and his character could suddenly become a lot more interesting and important.


The late addition to the group is Grant, an exiled traitor and former special soldier who takes in abandoned children in a wasteland, training some and placing others with surrogate families.  Of all the characters, Grant feels the most rounded.  His backstory is explored over the course of the story from a couple of different perspectives, adding detail and nuance that is missing from the other characters’ histories.  But, perhaps more importantly, the reader gets to see some of the ramifications of his history, and how it has shaped him and his world view.  He is not the usual stereotype of grizzled veteran that one might expect to see in such a traditional quest group line up, as there seems to be a real sense of identity to his character that is a little lacking in the others.


As to be expected there are a few other characters who come into play and although each could possibly be developed further, the same problem seems to exist with all of them.  In this story they exist as embryonic characters who have not had the chance to fully develop independent of their role in the plot.  They are tools of the narrative, plot functions, story roles given lines.  Much of this is due to Orullian pushing plot and story at the expense of letting the characters live through the experience and trusting the reader to be interested in them and not just the events.  But through it all, his writing demonstrates that he has a strong conception of who these people are and he clearly has plans to reveal more about them and their struggles.


Despite these complaints, there is real promise in this story, and there are definite signs that further instalments will be better.  For a start, the pieces have been laid in this book for political turmoil pitting a powerful, quasi-military order against the main civilian government.  There is a suggestion of lots of political intrigue, manoeuvring, and shenanigans to come as the self-appointed guardians of right, The League of Civility, are brought by this book into almost direct conflict with the Regent of Recityv, the Sheason order, and, of course, our heroes.  Additionally, while the magical menace of this particular volume seems to use pawns in the form of Orc and Ringwraith analogues, revelations at the end promise a greater diversity of foe, and a more complicated rationale for their attempted conquest and destruction of the human lands.  By promising us a war to come on two fronts, one mundane and one magical, Orullian is really raising the stakes and complexity for the later volumes’ story, and therefore, while some of what has occurred in The Unremembered seems well-worn and uninspired it appears that Orullian is using those very aspects as the building blocks for a much greater narrative.


Many of the criticisms I have raised here are a harsh judgement centred around a single, central flaw of the book, and that is an earnest and focused dedication to telling the story rather than showing it.  Despite this, there are many moments when it is clear that Orullian has the talent and ability to deliver something greater than the sum of its parts, and some of his writing really sings.  But, as a whole, The Unremembered is too busy rushing through plot to let the natural story evolve.  If this is taken as the opening act of a play it forms the solid basis for subsequent acts, even if it doesn’t quite deliver on its own.



Review: The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson (Mistborn Book 2)

Well of Ascension


Review: The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson (Mistborn Book 2)

Short Review: A sequel that feels pedestrian and somewhat underwhelming until the reveal and twist ending.  An ending that saves the book.  A fascinating continuation and evolution of the characters from book one.


Actual Review:
Book 2 of Sanderson’s Mistborn series begins shortly after the end of book one.  The Lord Ruler is dead by Vin’s hand, Elend is now king of Luthadel but has set up a quasi-democratic council to rule with him, a new religion has sprung up that worships Kelsier ‘The Survivor’, and several armies are descending upon the capital in order to seize the fabled atium reserves of the Lord Ruler.  As one would expect when the despotic tyrant of an empire dies, there is chaos across the land as nobles vie for power and control.

The second book of a trilogy, as this initially was before the series began to build larger, can often be something of a problem child for authors, but Sanderson’s narrative moves the story along without any of the usual signs of trouble even if the pace and focus of the story are very different to The Final Empire.  Eschewing the great caper storyline of the first novel, Sanderson instead focuses more on the political turmoil created by the death of the Lord Ruler and the subsequent collapse of the empire he had ruled and controlled with ruthless efficiency.  So rather than producing more of the same, Sanderson gives the reader something that they didn’t know they wanted, a story about what happens after you kill the Dark Lord™.   And rather than ‘they all lived happily ever after’, things seem to go from bad to worse for our intrepid rebel alliance.

While still the central character, Vin is no longer the sole focus of the story and she now shares narrative space with Elend and the Terrisman Sazed, as well as my favourite, the kandra shapeshifter.  For some readers this shift into a split focus may rob them of some enjoyment, particularly if they had built up any great attachment to Vin.  But Vin’s journey in book one from street urchin to extremely powerful and competent mistborn didn’t have much further to go in that vein, so the change to focus more on her competence and character growth, rather than her abilities is a welcome development.  More so as she finally gets paired with a genuine challenge in the form of Zane, a fellow mistborn, who seems just as at ease with allomancy as she is, and is accompanied by the kandra, OreSure, who acts as both sidekick and foil to Vin.

This shift in focus leads to Vin developing as a character, rather than pushing the over-arching plot along, and as mentioned, may make her sections seem less essential than before, although no less action packed.  She gets embroiled in numerous scrapes and battles, and Sanderson doesn’t exactly shy away from using her as an action set piece.   In fact, in comparison to the first book, Vin’s body count in this seems a lot higher.  The trend being representative of the fact that she moves from young trainee and apprentice, to active agent, assassin, and bodyguard, in effect, growing up.  While there were sections of Final Empire devoted to the slightly tedious and repetitive ballroom scenes in which Vin dabbles in ham-fisted court intrigue and gossip, in this book she devotes her time to being mistborn and embracing her more destructive skill-set.  This change provides most of the much needed action and excitement in this novel, and with OreSure, much of the witty repartee.  So it isn’t really a bad thing at all.

One of the most surprising developments in this novel is how the character of Elend evolves.  While somewhat nondescript and wet in the first novel, and fairly unconvincing as a love interest for Vin, his character arc and development here is extremely welcome.  Rather than assume that he automatically grows into his leadership role as some destined hero, Sanderson brings in another Terris character, Tindwyl, who takes it upon herself to instruct Elend in the ways of kingship.  Her lessons with Elend and his slow growth into a strong king form a solid plot thread that ties the political arc of the power struggles in Luthadel together.  The amateurish, arm-chair revolutionary dilettante of book one is slowly replaced over the course of the novel by a leader, a king, a man of character.  This development of his character, punctuated by Tindwyl’s acerbic comments and with all Elend’s growing pains exposed, forms a fairly fascinating story as he painstakingly ‘fakes it until he makes it’ and becomes the leader Luthadel desperately needs.

The change in Vin’s storyline to a more action-oriented one, and the focus on the development of Elend as a leader make for some fairly engaging and interesting reading.  While very different to the caper-focus in the first novel, this is actually entertaining and fun.  They both grow into believable characters who demonstrate a growing depth and complexity that was somewhat missing from the first book in which their characters were predominantly defined by their function and role within the story.

But the book is not all good news.  A strange issue arises in the fabric of this story.  Elend’s plan for a democratic republic, or at the very least a democratic council of regents, falls flat.  A combination of self-interest, corruption, ignorance, and ambition leads the council to fail and Elend is voted out of office.  But rather than leave it there Sanderson has Vin step in and essentially place Elend on the throne as Emperor and Dictator through the use of magical and physical force.  In effect making Elend a tyrant emperor… like the one they spent all that time overthrowing in the previous book.  In his defence, Elend has only the best of intentions and is doing it for the good of the people and the country, and we can trust him because he is the good guy.  Uh huh.  Yeah.  Sure.

I think that this is one of my problems with this novel, the undercutting of each storyline in a way that negates its relevance.  If Sanderson’s characters had cause to question their becoming the very thing they rebelled against, instead of paying lip-service to the idea but dismissing it because they, the narrative, and the reader accept them as heroes, then this would be very clever.  But Sanderson just nods at this occasionally without ever actually engaging with it.  In fact, the narrative gose to show that they are right and justified in establishing a tyranny.

Sanderson goes to great pains to outline Elend’s benevolent desire to create a just and representative government and then, by the end of the novel, has him, supported by his powerful friends, overthrow it and seize power.  And we, as readers, are meant to agree with this.  So the novel reads as fairly anti-democracy as it will always be corrupted by cronyism, avarice, and ambition, and is actually pretty pro-tyranny.  Elend’s position as a tyrannical ruler promises to be efficient, direct, and because he is a good man, relatively fair, at least from the point of view of someone who agrees with his position, like Vin… the person who makes him Emperor.

In the first novel it is clear who the good and bad guys are, or at the very least, who the sides are and which side we are meant to root for.  Even if by the end things grow more complicated, the struggle is clearly delineated.  But in this novel, the bad guys are dispersed, threatening but not really evil or even that worrisome.  The stakes seem less high, less relevant, and less specific.  The main reason Elend opposes handing the city over to any of the lords leading the other armies is so that he can protect his new type of democratic government… that he himself then is part of overthrowing.  For their own good of course.  Elend wants to protect the freedom of the skaa and all the citizens from a tyrannical dictator who will simply take control and rule them… the way he does at the end.  The political storyline then completely disappears in the dying pages of the book to be replaced by the overarching mystical storyline that, until the end, has been fairly sketchy at best.  So it feels like the majority of the book was simply killing time for an all-important magical scene at the end, and therefore the ramifications of the politics are actually inconsequential, the characters actions are inconsequential, the majority of the developments and plot points are inconsequential.

Actually, the Koloss themselves, the mercenaries who make up one of the armies, also bothered me a little in this novel.  Newly introduced in this story they are presented as violent, savage, practically mindless, dumb brutes; they are monsters.  Sanderson then tries to make them more interesting and perhaps sympathetic by showing how they are being manipulated and used by one of the lords.  Ah ha, so this is going to be like the skaa storyline about freeing an oppressed people?  Nope.  Vin swoops in at the end and simply takes control of them, mind and body.  For their own good of course, and for the good of the people of Luthadel.  Never mind that this is a complete invasion and violation of their agency in a way you would think that the scrappy insurgents from book one would rally against.  The Koloss have even less power and freedom, and even fewer rights than the skaa, but they are a monstrous threat, so apparently it is fine that Vin uses them as living weapons and imposes her will on them.  So it is a good thing that Vin, just like Elend, is a good dictator.

Because of all this I am left wondering at what the moral centre of this story is meant to be.  The first book was a clear struggle for the freedom of the enslaved skaa by a ragtag group of rebels and rogues.  To depose a tyrannical ruler and encourage self-governance.  To remove the corrupt and decadent nobility who profited from the oppression of the people.   Yet each of these positions is essentially negated by the actions of Vin and Elend by the end of book two.  Elend, a noble, is now emperor with magical powers (something that has worked out so well in the past for Luthadel).  The skaa are indeed free in that they are no longer slaves, but have no say in how they are ruled, and have been pretty much left to fend for themselves with no money or means to actually find a place in society.  The nobility, while reduced in influence, still hold almost all the power, wealth, property in the land, and are the only ones who have had access to education meaning that they will continue to lord it over the rest of the populous.  So after overthrowing the Lord Ruler, Vin et al essentially set up almost entirely the same situation, but with less competence, experience, or effectiveness.  The major change simply being that they are now the elite power living off the people.  This is a fairly depressing outlook on life, ‘hello to the new boss, same as the old boss.’  While no doubt more ‘realistic’ than the heroes winning the day and succeeding, it goes against the narrative grain constructed by the narrative tone and perspective.

Then we come to the dénouement, the conclusion of this particular volume.  The enemy armies are threatening and meant to be impossible to beat, but rather than having a plan to defeat them that Elend, Vin et al will execute as a team and that has a slim chance of winning, once again it comes down to a magical save in the 11th hour.  So the whole point of having Elend set up a council, learn to be a great leader, and all the political posturing comes to naught and has almost zero impact on the actual story.  To have a deus ex machina end this book as well as the first one does not bode well for the series.  Especially as the idea of three hostile armies threatening each other and the city should have proved fertile ground for intricate political manoeuvring and Machiavellian intrigue.  What Sanderson leaves us with is closer to high school politics and ham-fisted, juvenile intrigue, rather than imperial statesmanship as each manoeuvre ultimately has almost no real bearing on the narrative.  That isn’t to say that the battles and fights aren’t fun to read, it is just that it seems to come down to Vin having super-special magical powers and just so happening to stumble across a magical secret in the nick of time… again.   So rather than the other characters actually being effective, there being real consequences to the heroes’ actions, and there being a discernible reason for the plot of three quarters of the novel, everything hinges on a surprise ending.

While much of this will no doubt be built upon in the third book, at the end of book two I wondered why I was meant to be supporting these characters at all.  Vin is a murderer and assassin, Elend has become a dictator, and the majority of the book has focused on a storyline that has almost zero relevance for the important reveal at the end.

But it is here that Sanderson saves the book.  The reveal.  The twist.  The all-important over-arching magical narrative.  Were it not for this I would have been extremely disappointed in the ending as it panned out.  While I might call shenanigans on the use of deus ex machina and immaculate timing yet again, it is nonetheless an intriguing end.  An ending that makes me want to read the third book immediately.  And isn’t that what a good story is meant to make you do?  Admittedly, although the fact that the book requires a twist ending that mostly comes out of nowhere to save it might seem a cheat, there are enough hints, references, and intimations dribbled through the book to make it seem a natural part of the world and overall story arc.  Even I will admit that I was hooked on finding out what was going to happen next.

But ultimately I thought that this was a fairly uneven book.  The early storylines that held my interest turned out to be fairly meaningless for this novel.  The hook and twist ending, while vital for the series as a whole, made the majority of the book’s action seem irrelevant filler, even if it did ensure that I immediately queued up the next instalment to read.


Review: Daredevil (Netflix, 2015)



Review: Daredevil (Netflix, 2015)


I recently reviewed Jessica Jones and it seemed only fair to give Daredevil a review too.

Short Review:
Great superhero show that borrows from police procedurals and organised crime dramas like The Sopranos in an order to create tension, drama and believable realism in a dark, gritty and action filled New York setting.  With its visceral, consequence ridden violence,  Daredevil attempts to show what superhero vigilantes would be like if they actually existed in the real world, never once hiding the emotional and physical wounds their actions cause.


Actual Review:
Matt Murdock, aka Daredevil, is a lawyer by day and a vigilante by night.  He lives a life focused on justice, and, with the irony only a comic book can use straight-faced, just as justice is blind, so is he.  Unlike the majority of Marvel’s other superhero properties on the big and small screens, Daredevil is less concerned with the grand epic battles of superheroes deciding the fate of the world in an orgy of cinematic violence and destruction, and it centres itself on individual struggles, believable conflicts, and the everyday crime and grime of the big city.

Set in the Hell’s Kitchen area of New York, shortly after the events of Avengers (2012), Netflix’s 13 episode Daredevil is part of the expanding Marvel Cinematic Universe but holds itself apart.  Like its sister show Jessica Jones, it will also (presumably) be connected to Netflix’s planned shows Luke Cage and Iron Fist.  Coming to Daredevil after seeing Jessica Jones certainly removes some of the power and impact of the series, but despite some strong similarities they seem to be two very different shows.  Jones was a compelling drama based in a detective noir vein that explored abuse, whereas Daredevil is more an organised crime drama that can’t resist action and a good scrap.   

Charlie Cox plays Matt Murdock, the titular Daredevil, a vigilante who stalks the streets and rooftops of his neighbourhood at night in order to stop the crime and corruption plaguing Hell’s Kitchen.  If this were not arduous enough, by day he is an attorney who has recently left a high price law firm in order to set up his own practice with his childhood friend Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson (Elden Henson).  The central antagonist for the series is Vincent D’Onofrio’s Wilson Fisk, The Kingpin, a businessman and crimelord, with the main arc in the first season centring around Deborah Ann Woll’s Karen Page, who discovers some evidence of Fisk’s criminal empire and becomes a target whom Murdock must protect.

While there are several other supporting actors who, for the most part, turn in some great, believable performances, the weight of the show really rests on Cox and D’Onofrio’s shoulders.  Cox portrays Murdock as a deeply conflicted man.  On the one hand, as a lawyer he has a chance to pursue justice through due process and the law.  To take criminals down and put them in jail.  To be part of civilisation and help society heal itself.  On the other hand he sees how justice is routinely suborned and manipulated by the wealthy, the corrupt, and the criminally well connected.  His answer to this is to take the law into his own hands, to do the things that the police are unable to do, to fight for the heart and soul of his city, his neighbourhood and the defenceless, and ultimately become a vigilante outside the law.

Despite Cox being English his American accent is surprisingly convincing (well, at least to my untrained ear).  But that is the least of his accomplishments in the role.  It is a tough sell to convincingly pull off both the civilian role of the lawyer as well as the masked vigilante crime-fighter, and yet Cox manages to make both personae seamlessly match.  Coupled with this is Cox’s compelling character performance in his character’s moments of introspection and self-doubt, particularly in regard as to how his violent street fighting justice runs in conflict with his character’s Catholic beliefs and his role as a lawyer.  Cox also manages to convey both the vulnerability of being blind in a sighted world, but also how his disability does not define him.  Certainly there are a number of knowing moments when Cox plays up Murdock’s blindness and the audience knows he has a ‘radar’ sense of the scene in front of him, but for the most part Cox and the production team seem to genuinely try to portray his blindness with sensitivity and realism.  It is a surprisingly complex and nuanced role for those expecting the usual caricatures of superheroes and their melodramatic soap-opera personae.

As Daredevil there is a visceral realism to the scrapes and fights that he finds himself in and actively seeks out.  Each fight, each punch and kick, has a hard meaty content to it, so that every blow lands with a believable primitive weight, and part of that is due to the damage that his character takes over the course of the series, emotional and physical.  While many superheroes seem to be able to fight from morning to night without any real sense of damage or repercussion, Daredevil is visibly worn and exhausted by his conflicts and the evidence of his beatings mounts episode after episode, from cuts and bruises to cracked and bleeding knuckles.  Even more compelling is that these physical scars and markers are accompanied by emotional damage, both to Murdock and those who are close to him.  The price he pays for his heroism is steep, and to the credit of the show and the character, we see him questioning it and flinching at the cost.

An additional note in relation to the action and fight sequences concerns the brilliant choreography that reflects both Daredevil’s brutal, raw and yet effective fighting style, and the physical toll that such intense fighting exacts.  The show is also very careful to try to avoid boring repetition when it comes to the fight sequences and experiments with different styles of shots and approaches to keep the action feeling fresh and inventive.  As a result the action never feels as tired and samey as say 40 minutes of Superman throwing yet another villain through a building.   It really is rare to see superheroes this human, this weak, and this fragile.

Opposite Cox is D’Onofrio’s Wilson Fisk.  The reveal of Fisk, while telegraphed and hinted at in the first few episodes, is delayed until the viewer is really committed and has had a chance to identify with Murdock and settle into the storyworld created.  This means that a great deal of anticipation is built up around D’Onofrio’s eventual introduction, and he doesn’t disappoint.  As far as comic book villains go he is one of the most believable and realistic villains around.  He has no superpowers, no special abilities and doesn’t seem hell bent on world destruction or domination just for the hell of it.  D’Onofrio presents Fisk as a cold, calculating business man who has understandable goals, understandable motivations, but is undeniably morally reprehensible in his choice of methods in achieving those things.

D’Onofrio plays Fisk beautifully as a true villain, not a cackling baddie, and if anything he initially underplays him.  It is such a relief to see a character actor unafraid of leaving the audience wanting more take the role of a villain.  Fisk is presented as tightly controlled, soft spoken and is all the more chilling because of it.  There are constant hints of the depths of his rage and power that leak out at the edges of the performance, and because he refuses to chew the scenery his power is that more palpable.  It also adds weight and power to those moments when he does indulge his rage and anger.  He is the Tony Soprano of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and like Gandolfini’s Soprano, Fisk is not entirely without sympathy, even if he is the bad guy, commits evil, and is a brutal murderer.

A fantastic strength of the show is that Fisk and Murdock are set up as mirrors of each other and the show is at pains to show the viewer just how similar the two men are.  They are both criminals who break the law to get their own way, and aren’t afraid of using violence to enforce their will and vision of the area.  They are both locals who grew up in Hell’s Kitchen and want it to be better.  But while Kingpin is focused on the future with his grand plans of re-development and gentrification funded by organised crime, Daredevil stands for a more conservative, and perhaps nostalgic, approach that fights for the rights of the everyday citizen.  They are two sides to the same coin, and yet the audience is never in doubt as to who is the villain and who is the hero, even if the characters themselves are sometimes unsure.

When people talk about superheroes becoming grittier and more realistic, they usually mean darker, more violent, and aimed at an older audience, and yes Daredevil is all those things, but it is also more mature.  Psychological realism, fear and tension, trauma and repercussions for violence all figure in this show that borrows far more heavily from award winning HBO dramas than it does from colourful capes.  Daredevil is superheroes for adults who want more from the stories than disaster porn and sociopathic quips delivered while killing nameless bad guys.  Daredevil is about good storytelling, compelling characters, gripping drama, and believable action.  Watch it and you will see that the potential for superhero stories far exceeds what has so far turned up on the big screen.


Spoiler Filled Review: Star Wars The Force Awakens (JJ Abrams, 2015)




I have posted a spoiler-free review of Star Wars the Force Awakens already, so if you still haven’t seen it you might prefer to read that than read this spoiler-filled review.

If you have seen it just skip down to the bold title below.  This whole section is just to prevent people seeing spoilers.

Seriously, this one has spoilers in it.

For those that don’t want to read spoilers you need to look away.

Not kidding here.

There are spoilers below.


Alright then, I think I have done my due diligence in trying to prevent spoilers unknowingly ruining someone’s day.  If not, then at least I tried.

Spoiler-Filled Review of Star Wars: The Force Awakens (JJ Abrams, 2015)
<With more than a little snark… ok a lot of snark… and some ranty grumbling>


There is a line from 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) that sum up the experience of watching the new Star Wars film.
‘I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?’
The Force Awakens just leaves you feeling whelmed.  Or, in modern parlance, meh.  In fact a friend of mine suggested it was really Star Wars: The Requel given its uneasy status as both reboot and sequel.  Alternatively, we could call it Star Wars: The Next Generation.  Part of this was due to the unsustainable hype and level of expectation built up before the film’s release, and partly due to the nostalgia tinted glasses with which we view the originals.  But the bottom line is, if you liked Star Wars: A New Hope you will like this… because it is the same film.

Or, as I more politely and tactfully said in my original Spoiler Free review:

With Star Wars: The Force Awakens JJ Abrams had a nearly impossible task, he had to please old fans and acquire new ones, pay homage to the old films, undo the errors of the prequels, and yet also create a new Star Wars for the new generation.  The film had to appeal to children and adults alike and therefore had to indulge the older fan’s nostalgia but not let it dominate the storytelling, have enough action and visual effects to entertain today’s jaded youth but refrain from the frenetic screen clutter that plagued the prequels making the actions sequences migraine inducing blurs of sound and light, and, above all else, launch a new mythic storyline.  Given that this was not just a film but also part of a multi-billion dollar media franchise and of one of the most beloved film franchises of the modern age, to say expectations were high is perhaps a bit of an understatement.

So because anticipation was so great, because expectations were so ridiculously high, it should come as little surprise when I say that The Force Awakens is a mixed bag.  It isn’t terrible, and it isn’t amazing.  It had its high points and it had its weak moments.  There were some great lines and some misses.  In Abrams’ defence, no matter what he produced it was not going to be able to please all the fans all the time, so I am actually surprised at how much I enjoyed this.  If we are measuring it solely against the prequels then in this regard Abrams cleared it with a parsec to spare.  Against the original Star Wars: A New Hope… that is a more complex comparison.


Let’s start with the good.  Sitting in the cinema, the screen darkens, the lights go out, the logos appear and then… STAR WARS accompanied by Williams’ iconic overture.  In that one moment of giddy excitement you relive the first time you saw Star Wars.  Get used to that feeling, well not the excitement part, because for the next two hours you are going to feel like you are, in fact, re-watching Star Wars: A New Hope with a dash of Empire and sprinkling of Jedi, but not in a good way.


But I said I would start with the good, so we shall carry on with that.  Firstly, it sounds fantastic.  It has the John Williams score so it sounds like Star Wars, and he has reworked some of the themes and tracks to give a Star Wars feel to the new characters.  But, perhaps more importantly, The Force Awakens has Ben Burtt’s sound effects all cleaned up for the modern audience.  The TIE Fighters engines scream, and their lasers whine, while the X-Wings have their own jet-engine roar and the blatt blatt of their blasters.  There is the familiar snap hiss of lightsabers followed by their distinctive crackle.  BB-8 has cutesy droid noises that are similar to, but separate from, R2-D2’s chirruping.  Stormtrooper laser blasts vie with the distinctive fire from the Rebel Alliance Resistance blasters.  These sound effects, more than anything else, really give you a sense of the Star Wars universe.  The ships and costuming can change, either dramatically or subtly, but as long as it sounds ‘right’ I can forgive a lot.

Actually the costuming was pretty great too.  The Stormtroopers have been revamped slightly but are still recognisable in their iconic white armour with black trim.  Rey’s desert robes are sufficiently desert-y.  The rebel Resistance pilots wear the familiar orange flight suits.  Han Solo has the same outfit on that he had thirty years ago.  Chewie still has no pants.  The First Order officers look sufficiently like Nazis/Imperial officers that we can’t fail to make the connection between them and EVIL™.   And Kylo Ren has the black helmet, the sweeping cloak, and clearly the best tailor in the galaxy.  No one says being evil means you have to dress poorly, and let’s face it the Sith have always been snappier dressers than the Jedi.


Speaking of how it looks, it is pretty.  It is by far the best looking of all the Star Wars films.  Abrams utilises CGI to enhance and supplement the practical effects and tries not to let them completely dominate the screen.  This is especially true in the action sequences, particularly the dog fights and the X-Wing trench run attack run (yes, another one, only this time the trench is a lot shorter) on the third Deathstar Starkiller Base to target a tiny over-looked weakness in the base design.

[Side note: At some point someone is going to execute all the structural and military engineers at the Sith Academy… or at least let them go with extreme prejudice.  Once is a mistake, twice is carelessness, but three times?  That is outright criminal negligence.]

While the digitally re-mastered versions of the original trilogy and the prequels were slathered in gobs of CGI that obscured or obfuscated the action, Abrams actually showed some real restraint.  Even the dreaded lens flare that blinded Star Trek audiences in recent years was scarce.  There seemed to be enough on the screen to denote action and ‘epic space battle’ but not so much flashing rubbish that you couldn’t follow the action sequences or run the risk of triggering photosensitive epilepsy.  Abrams also tried to have the camera follow one main actor or moving piece at a time so that the audience’s weary eyes could actually track the action.  For the most part he succeeds, and this results in far more interesting action scenes that engage the audience.


There were also some beautiful cinematic landscape shots, particularly in the early scenes of the young Luke Rey scavenging from the old AT-ATs and ruined star ships crashed around the desert planet of Tatooine Jakku.  As Rey enters Mos Eisley Niima Outpost Abrams has thankfully done away with the slapstick CGI comedy that cluttered the screen in the re-mastered New Hope and gone with predominantly physical effects to give a lived in and distressed look to the settlement.  It actually looks like a crappy outpost in the arse end of nowhere.  The move of the cantina Maz Kanata’s bar from Mos Eisley to the forested Yavin 4 Takodana adds a little variety to the landscapes depicted in the film.  As does the inclusion of the snowy wastes of Hoth Starkiller Base.  Unfortunately no equivalent of Cloud City and Bespin featured heavily, so I am sure they are saving that for the next one.


Another positive was the slightly more diverse casting of this film.  Rather than the usual selection of pale white faces intermixed with strange aliens, we get to see a couple of non-white actors… on screen… in potentially important roles… That sure is a lot of progress.  Huh, I think my sarcasm font isn’t working.  But seriously, it was great seeing John Boyega emerge from the blood splattered Stormtrooper helmet and show a human face inside the armour.  The weird way that a laser blast through a fellow Stormtrooper’s armour (presumably cauterising and burning a wound) allows him to smear his facemask with blood might seem an extraordinarily convenient way to mark Finn out for the scene, but it seems harsh to pick at such an unsightly and easy plot scab.  While the transition of FN-2187 to Finn might have felt a little uneven and rushed, Boyega was pretty good on screen and created a likeable and surprisingly complex character that had feet of clay.  Certainly Boyega has laid the groundwork for Finn to develop far more fully in the later instalments of the franchise.  Hmmm that might be a very useful phrase for this film… ‘lays the groundwork for the future instalments’ and the second part of that phrase, ‘rather than giving us a complete film in and off itself this time around.’


Oscar Isaac’s Poe Dameron, the greatest pilot in the galaxy (as we are told at least three times) was underused in this film.  Isaac is clearly capable of great performances, but there was just no room in the script for him or his character apart from a couple of short scenes and the odd flight shot.  His torture scene at the hands of Kylo Ren, in no way reminiscent of Leia being questioned by Vader in A New Hope or Solo being tortured in Cloud City, wasn’t the best opportunity to showcase Isaac’s acting skills but he still manages to turn the scene into something memorable.  In fact, Isaac did his damndest to steal every scene he was in with infectious devil-may-care charm and some smouldering looks that may have been aimed at Finn rather than Rey.  Could Star Wars finally have an openly gay hero?  Probably not, but we can always hope.  But as the stand-in for the new generation’s Han Solo Isaac put in a good performance, and it bodes well for the future that Abrams kept him in instead of killing him off… ‘laying the groundwork for the future instalments’.  Admittedly, it would have been nice to not constantly be told that he was the greatest pilot in the galaxy and simply shown that, but perhaps such subtlety was lost on the editing room floor in order to carve out more space for needless fan service and homages to the original trilogy.


Rey, The Force Awakens’ Luke Skywalker stand-in, is ably played by Daisy Ridley.  Her initial wordless scenes demonstrated her ability to convey character and emotion without the need of dialogue, which says a lot about her acting chops and Abrams’ direction.  Unfortunately, for no real reason, she has a strong English accent, despite the fact that no character on the planet around her has a similar one.  Apparently some accents are just genetically predetermined.  She presents a fascinating character and it is great to have a female hero Jedi-in-training on the big screen and in live action.  If as much care had been given to her later scenes as those early ones, this would have been a far superior film, albeit with fewer scenes stolen directly from the original trilogy.  Given that Abrams was cramming so much into this film, Rey’s force sensitivity blooming into full-on command of the force felt rushed, not because of the character of Rey, or Ridley’s portrayal, but because Abrams didn’t give the character the room to breathe.


I am really looking forward to seeing her in action in the later films when she gains even more control over her considerable force powers as she clearly ‘laid the foundations for development in future instalments’.  For those that think she learned the Force far too quickly, there is a great scene when Kylo Ren is torturing her and you see her watch what he is doing and learn from it.  And, later, she attunes herself to the Force, giving herself to it, and we witness her channel it.  Again, Ridley portrays this wonderfully on–screen without unnecessary dialogue… then again, considering the number of people complaining about this maybe the dialogue laying everything out for the audience wasn’t completely unnecessary.  I liked it though.


Han, Chewie and Leia are back! Well sort of.  Don’t get me wrong, seeing Han Solo and Chewbacca stride aboard the Millenium Falcon (despite the absurd coincidence) was fantastic.  It made no sense and was completely out of place, but it was still a great moment.  Just in case fans didn’t get their A New Hope fill with that one particular moment we also have shots of the holographic chess game and a target drone.  And Rey and Finn hiding in the smuggling compartments.  And the earlier scene in which Finn fires the quad lasers at TIE Fighters which is clearly completely different to the almost identical scene in A New Hope because it is in a planet’s atmosphere and not space.  And a later scene of it needing repairs.  But seriously, those moments of fan service were not completely wasted, just a little redundant, and felt more like copies rather than homages.  Time on these scenes could have perhaps been better spent on more original content rather than re-hashing the plot and scenes of A New Hope.


So despite the ridiculously tenuous reason for the Millenium Falcon to be on Jakku, and apparently the only Corellian freighter still flying in the Galaxy, and the billion to one shot that Solo could track it as soon as it left the atmosphere from light years away… it was still great to see it.  I mean, it just wouldn’t have been the same if it had been a different junked up Corellian freighter on Jakku that Rey and Finn flew away, and that Solo and Chewbacca had found them and used parts from it to repair the Falcon.  That would have been close to believable and clearly believable, rational, or even ‘likely, have no place in this film.  It isn’t so much that the coincidences in this film are absolutely, mind-bogglingly, astronomically staggering, (it is a film that has science fiction wizards with laser swords after all) it is the fact that not a single person seems to think that the coincidences are at all noteworthy.  Plot convenience can excuse some level of quirky twists of fate, but some discretion or even half-hearted attempt at believability would have been nice.


Speaking of sins of convenience of ridiculous proportions, wasn’t it handy that Luke’s lightsaber turns up in Obi Wan Kenobi’s trunk in the one bar that Rey, Han et al decide to swing by?  It is not as if hundreds of Jedi were killed across the Galaxy during the Empire’s purge and that she could have found anyone’s lightsaber just then.  Or that Kylo Ren could have taken it and kept it as a keepsake on his nightstand next to the melted face mask of his grandfather.  Nope, Rey has to find Luke’s ancient lightsaber that has been knocking around for decades but is thankfully still fully charged and in excellent working order.  And it was helpfully stored in Obi Wan’s travel trunk, that at some point after his death, Luke had gone back to Tatooine to collect, then deliver to a bar owner on a different planet.  Uh huh.  That isn’t a fan Easter egg, that is a staggering series of unlikely events.  Plus, it was lucky that both a resistance informant and a First Order informant were drinking in that exact bar and had enough cell phone coverage to contact their various bosses, light years away I might add, in a manner that is coincidentally reminiscent of Garindian informing on Han and Luke et al in Mos Eisley.  I mean, in that case he just contacted the local guard post, so it made sense, but here we have interplanetary communications that result in both sides arriving at near identical times.  That is some grand happenstance right there.


The meeting between Leia and Solo was an emotional one that surprisingly missed the opportunity to reprise their famous exchange.  When Solo was leaving I was expecting him to say ‘I love you’ and for Leia to respond ‘I know’.  But clearly Abrams though that copying that scene would be stealing too much from the earlier film… either that or the inversion of the dialogue was too original.  Hard to tell.  But, seeing as Chewie does not go to comfort Leia after Solo’s death, nor she to him, it is possible that their estrangement was rougher than was shown.  It made far more sense for random people she doesn’t know and who didn’t really know Han to show emotion in that scene.  Although, this could possibly be foreshadowing the future films by laying a foundation that Rey is in fact Leia and Han’s daughter, the twin of Kylo Ren.  They just abandoned her on a desert planet to be raised by strangers because that actually worked out well for Luke.  Sorry, I am still meant to be on the good things about the film.  Han Solo and Chewie are in it.  We also get a couple of scenes in which Han tries out Chewie’s bowcaster gun that he has been carrying around for nearly over thirty years that apparently Han has never fired, or even seen fired.  It was cool to see though.


I was disappointed by how little Carrie Fisher got to do in the film.  Given the amount of time that Solo and Chewie were on screen, it would have been nice to see Leia be a bit more hands on, and show us what a bad-ass general she is.  But perhaps they are just laying the foundations for the future instalments.  As it is, her appearance feels like a wasted cameo inserted solely to appease the fans.  I mean they have a female Jedi-wannabe, why would they add another significant female character that could demonstrate strong leadership skills, a forceful (geddit?) personality and be a bad ass general to boot?   Instead she is pretty much relegated to Hans ex-squeeze, Kylo Ren’s ex-Mom, and has Mon Mothma level dialogue.  If Chewie needs a new co-pilot I am voting her.  Rey can hang out in back and fix the ship and shoot the guns.  I want Leia up front and calling all the shots.  But she does figure as part of the heart of this film for the older fans.  I am not sure what the younger and newer fans will make of her.


And oddly enough that that brings us to the bad ‘guys’.  Before diving in with the main adversaries, let’s have a moment to talk about Captain Phasma.  A bad-ass Stormtrooper Captain, who wears really cool chrome armour, leads Finn’s squad, and her… yes I said her… we have  female Stormtrooper everyone… and her main job is to tell Finn off.  That’s it.  But because she doesn’t chastise him enough, or send him to the naughty step, he runs away to join the Rebelllion Resistance, thus laying the blame for what happens almost solely at the feet of about the only female Stormtrooper we have ever knowingly seen in Star Wars.  To make matters worse, she is solely responsible for turning off the shields of the entire planet from that one tiny control room, that is conveniently located next to where Rey is being held, and near the thing the Resistance have to blow up… all on a planet sized base.  Is that lucky or what?  I sincerely hope that she turns up in the later ones, because she was criminally underused, and was definitely more intriguing than General Hux.  Is anyone else getting the feeling that female characters are getting short shrift in this series… again?  Although I should point out that there are a couple of female officers knocking around on both the First Order side and the Resistance side.  I don’t think we get their names, or even significant dialogue from them, but at least they are there.  The Resistance even has a couple of female pilots, although I am guessing that they earn about 70 cents to the dollar of their male counterparts.


Before getting to General Ranty McShoutyface we need to talk about Kylo Ren, Discount Vader Darth Vader Jr. Darth Emo Emo Vader AKA Ben Solo.  I thought that the prequels had cornered the market on angst ridden, overly emotional, mewling, whining, Sith teenagers.  Apparently I was wrong.  When we first meet him Kylo Ren is menacing.  The face mask, the breathing, the weirdly modulated voice, the scary lightsaber, the cool force powers, dressed all in black and flanked by the faceless Stormtrooper hordes in contrasting white.  Damn that guy was scary.  He was cold, cruel, pragmatic, and a galactic bad ass.  He orders the murder of civilians without breaking a sweat.  He freezes a laser bolt in time without blinking.  He was the villain we all wanted to hate and fear.  Then he takes off the helmet and lo and behold the worst helmet hair in history and has the self-control of a puppy in heat spotting a nearby leg, thereby becoming the villain we all simply hate.


Even long ago, in a galaxy far, far away they must have had conditioner.   Apparently the Empire’s First Order’s mission is to locate a hair products factory in order to sate the styling needs of their young Sitholescent.  Either that or the helmet has magical powers to tame the worst mane of hair and to regulate his emotionally charged outbursts.  I understand that the Sith are meant to be slaves to their emotions, or something like that, but really?  His temper tantrums and ranting delivery of spittle inflected lines made me long for him to put the helmet back on again and glue it there.  Admittedly it did lead to one of the best moments of the film when two Stormtroopers see the ranting down the hall and just turn around and leave him to it.  I like to think those troopers were called Steve and Bob and they headed off to have some coffee by the water cooler, talk about their day and complain about their psychotic boss… before being blown up by the Resistance.


I am not particularly familiar with Adam Driver, but I have to imagine that he has turned in more nuanced performances than this.  Actually, I know he can, because the scenes when he is wearing the helmet are great.  So I lay the blame for his scene chewing, whingeing solely at the feet of the director who apparently said ‘cut, that was great.’  In the original films we saw Vader use controlled anger and occasionally lash out.  We saw the Emperor cackle with evil, sadistic glee.  We saw how the dark side uses emotions and amplifies the negative ones.  We didn’t really hear about how Palpatine’s mum and dad never really loved him enough, or didn’t understand him.  I know, I know, he is meant to be evoking the brooding Anakin from the prequels, but why resurrect that mess?  Anger, rage, wrath, these are dark side emotions that can be channelled into a chilling performance as we see in the scenes when he is wearing the mask.  When the mask was off I kept waiting for him to offer to read some of his poetry about being misunderstood.  Poetry that he wrote in a black notebook, that had black pages, and that he wrote on in black ink.  And that he recites while he smokes some French cigarettes and drinks organic espresso.


And while the scene with Ren confronting and killing his father on the bridge over the giant pit was clearly completely and utterly different to Vader confronting Luke in Empire… nope, apparently the sarcasm font is not working again.  What would have made that scene better would have been if the outcome hadn’t been so heavily telegraphed.  I don’t think anyone in the cinema was shocked to see Ren kill Solo except for the fact that Solo is a hero and we are conditioned to expect them always to live.  I mean it is not as if a previous Star Wars film had an older mentor figure allow himself to be killed near the end by a Sith while the young Jedi apprentice watches…oh wait.  Well at least they didn’t follow that up with them blowing up the massively powerful, completely indestructible base by exploiting its one tiny flaw… damnit, not again.  And despite this Abrams couldn’t find the space for the ‘I know’ line.  Placing the scene in a bigger room, with a longer bridge and inverting the reveal to basically, ‘I am your son’ doesn’t really make it an original scene.  It barely qualifies as a fig leaf to cover the plagiarism.  I get it.  The whole of Star wars represents this cyclical problem that, until the Force is balanced, will keep repeating itself.  A bit like Jordan’s Wheel of Time series.  I know that Ren is meant to be channelling Anakin, to be an echo of that character.  But just because it is a deliberate copy doesn’t excuse the fact that it is blatantly a copy and therefore unoriginal.   I know it is a story ‘cycle’ but that doesn’t mean you have to take it literally.


But Kylo Ren is not the only bad guy, we also have Grand Moff Tarkin Jr. General Shouty McNutbar General Hux, a man-child who can chew more scenery than an entire mound of termites in a sound stage, and has the ability to make sour faces at the drop of a hat.  It is like an evil Ron Weasley is in charge of the Deathstar.  It wasn’t that I didn’t find Domhnall Gleeson’s portrayal of Hux unwatchable, far from it, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.  It was that I couldn’t believe for a second that he had survived long enough to be a general in an army and no one had ‘accidentally’ dropped a live grenade at his feet.  If there is a dark Sith Lord overmaster in control of all this and manipulating everything, why the hell would he put this clearly unhinged, whiney, adolescent, nutbar in control of a vast military force?  Not only that, but his best mate is a sociopathic killer with exceptionally poor impulse control and anger issues.  So the fact that Hux never got a lightsaber to the face/back/chest/vital organ of your choice, is even more ludicrous than the contrived plot device to get Han and Chewie back on the Falcon.


In Gleeson’s defence, he wasn’t exactly given many subtle scenes, and the whole Nuremberg rally scene begged for spittle-loaded ranting.  But when we compare him to the subtle menace and sadism of Peter Cushing’s Grand Moff Tarkin, a very similar role… very similar… like really, really similar… Gleeson doesn’t really come off well.  But, again, I think that this one can be laid at the feet of the director saying, ‘awesome take. But can you do the next one with more insane, eye-rolling, ranting and perhaps a bit more spittle?’


To round out the baddies we have holographic Emperor Voldemort, Darth Gollum, mysterious Sith master and debunker of urban myths, Snopes.  Sorry, that should be Snoke. Supreme Leader Snoke in fact.  Not just any leader, but the Supreme leader.  Diana Ross being unavailable of course.  Apparently Emperor Snoke would be too on the nose… if he had one.  Unfortunately Andy Serkis is a bit of a victim of his own success.  You want a guy to hiss and cackle in a motion capture suit, call Andy.  Admittedly he has worked pretty hard to make Snoke completely different to Gollum, but the CGI department didn’t get the memo that said to stay clear of Voldemort rip-offs and so he ends up being less distinctive or mysterious as a villain than the Emperor was.  So his performance is perhaps influenced by things far beyond his control.  His character does beg the question though, just why is it that behind every bad guy there is another bad guy who is old, brooding, and spends all his time training up pawns?  If we go behind him is there another even older guy?  Rumours are, of course, flying around that this is Darth Plagueis or perhaps even a clone of the old Emperor.  To be honest, it doesn’t really matter.  He is the old guy pulling the strings behind the scenes.  The man behind the curtain, and the guy who will eventually be taken down in the last film.  Who he actually is, or what his name is doesn’t really matter.  Senator Palpatine, Emperor Palpatine, Darth Sidious, Darth Hideous, Darth Don’tcallus… doesn’t really make a difference.


I know the prequels introduced the asinine rule that there are only two Sith, a rule that makes no sense.  I mean, if the only way to become a Sith Master is to kill your own master, why the hell would you ever take an apprentice?  You know what they are going to try to do at the earliest opportunity.  Why would you train them?  To give them a fighting chance to take you out?  Maybe a Sith master can only have one apprentice, just like a Jedi Master, but that doesn’t mean that there is only ever one Sith Master.  I don’t imagine they all hang out or have a union or anything like that.  Maybe they meet up for the odd Ewok barbecue or casual slaughter.  But I doubt that the order would survive for very long if you could only have two members.  So I am holding out the slim hope that there are actually a whole bunch of Sith out there, of which Snoke is one, or the head of the order, or on the run from a band of bigger, badder Sith.  And do all Sith Masters have to be creepy old dudes?  I am fairly sure that there are canonical female Sith.  And there must be a couple of spry, youthful Sith knocking around somewhere.  Why is it that we are once again presented with a Sith Lord and his evil walking frame?


But as you might have gleaned thus far, I had some problems with the film.  Mainly in the fact that it so slavishly follows the originals, not just in plot, but in characters and action sequences.  Fan service, homages, excuse it all you want, but Abrams flat out copied entire sections of the earlier films, and repackaged them for the modern audience, just like he tried to do with Star Trek.  But it seems that everyone is going out of their way to excuse this, to rationalise it, or to forgive it as the price we pay for a new Star Wars film.  The thing is, this isn’t really a new Star Wars film, it is the oldest one all tarted up and hot to trot for a new audience.  Ok, so it is the first instalment of a trilogy and the whole story will eventually be revealed… but is it too much to ask that each film be its own film and not an extended trailer or foundational step for the next one?  We are seeing this more and more in the Marvel Cinematic Universe films, in which each film seems to be there solely to lay the groundwork for the film that is to follow it.  Where each film is in essence an extended trailer and set-up to further the franchise.  Instead of doing that, can’t directors, studios, and producers trust that their audiences are smart enough to join the dots between films?


Almost as bad is the need to spoon feed the audience.  Seriously, we don’t need every single detail ironed out and neatly fed to us in a series of intrusive lampshading and heavy-handed foreshadowing scenes whose sole purpose is to sell us on the next film.  Admittedly, The Force Awakens is not as guilty of this as Marvel, but the big scene with Ren killing Han Solo was so heavily foreshadowed that it completely ruined the impact.  Why not have it come out of left field?  Why not have it shock the audience?  Why drop all these hints that this exact thing was about to happen?  Why have the deliberately ambiguous, clumsy dialogue that we know it ambiguous solely to tease the scene a few seconds longer?


Now, after reading all this you might think that I really hated the film, but I didn’t.  As I said at the start it was ‘meh’, it was ok, it was decent.  Neither atrocious, nor brilliant.  Certainly I was entertained.  And for those of you that think that being entertained is enough, then great, enjoy.  But I think of it more as being promised a steak dinner with all the trimmings and then being served a limp, cheap takeaway burger and someone saying, ‘Well you aren’t hungry any more, so what’s your problem?  It is food and you are full.’  My problem is that I was led to believe I was going to be getting a steak dinner and what I got was cheap, admittedly tasty, meal but far from the expected quality.  And this brings us full circle to the expectation game.


Hype might sell tickets, but, in my case at least, it really harms the viewing experience.  Added to that is being ‘force’-fed the marketing, products, interviews, promotional spots, trailers and TV-spots, the endless fan speculation that begins after the film is announced and continues practically unabated for the entire production time, post-production, pre-launch, launch and so on, before rolling seamlessly into speculation about the next one.  It seems to be a never ending machine that like the ouroboros feeds upon itself in an endless cycle of consuming and regurgitation.  In the cinema waiting to see this film I was treated to four separate advertisements that either directly referenced the film or were selling something tied into the franchise.  Come on.  I was already there.  I had already bought my ticket.  I didn’t need more Star Wars ads.


Star Wars: The Force Awakens is a fun movie that will no doubt attract new fans to the franchise, and it has already shattered box-office records, but it is not without flaws.  Some of which are pretty damning of how studios, production companies, and directors view their audiences.  Yet despite them serving us yesterday’s warmed-up left-overs we respond in the fashion of Oliver Twist and ask for more.  So it seems sour grapes to complain that the reason we keep getting such flawed, unoriginal films is because we keep supporting them with our wallets.  We know it will entertain and do well because it did so the first time it was released in the 1970s.



Review: The Sandman Overture by Neil Gaiman with JH Williams III

Sandman Overture





Review: Sandman Overture by Neil Gaiman with JH Williams III (artist), Dave Stewart (colour), Todd Klein (Letterer) and covers by Dave McKean


Sandman Overture, like all the Sandman stories is a wonderful collaboration between Gaiman as author and the artists and comic professionals who bring the story to life and give it the distinctive visual vibrancy and immediacy one has come to expect from the series.  Indeed, despite my great admiration for a lot of Gaiman’s work, were it not for the artistic input from his collaborators this 6 volume story would have lacked a lot of its punch.


If you are already familiar with The Sandman you can skip this paragraph.  The central character of the series is Dream, one of the Endless.  The Endless are the anthropomorphised expressions of abstract ideals that through their existence define the universe.  Destiny, Death, Destruction, Dream, Desire, Despair, and Delirium.  Each of the Endless are immortal, for a given value of immortal, and each has enormous power, especially within their sphere of influence.  For Dream, that sphere is, of course, dreams, but more than that, it encompasses fiction, stories, narratives of all sorts, and, to a certain extent, reality.  Because by defining the unreal we know that the real exists as all else.  The Sandman series officially ran from January 1989 to March 1996, and was followed by anthology editions, and several spin-offs and related titles.


Sandman Overture is a prequel (what is with the popularity of prequels these days? Are we so afraid of moving on that we want more of the same?) and focuses on the events that immediately precede the opening of the first issue of The Sandman or the opening chapter of Preludes and Nocturnes.  So essentially it tells the story of what weakened the character of Dream so much that he could be caught in the spell of the Victorian occultist Burgess that began the series back in 1989.  Throughout its pages it drops hints and mini-reveals that add resonance to the main series, and, to some extent, explore the relationships of the Endless.  It is an essential purchase for The Sandman completist or collector, but in many respects it is a bit of a let-down.  Given Gaiman’s great strength as a short story author, and his command of this material, this universe, and this character, I have to admit that my expectations were high.  Perhaps too high.


Gaiman’s Sandman has never been afraid to eschew standard narrative conventions and a fair number of issues have been as experimental as any modernist novel, so it is somewhat disappointing that the story presented here, despite appearances, it actually fairly pedestrian and prosaic.  The plodding travelogue, barely spiced up by exotic locales, moves inexorably toward a climatic finish that is robbed of power through the use of a plot device already seen in the main series, a deus ex machina, and, reader foreknowledge of the outcome… it is a prequel after-all.  We already know that Dream wins out, albeit in a weakened state, so much of interest is in how he wins out… which, unfortunately, is why the already used and heavily foreshadowed plot device and the deus ex machina are so disappointing.


To be fair to Gaiman, in many respects his hands were tied about what he wanted to do with this story.  It had to fit existing continuity, it had to end a certain way, and, if he wanted to please fans, it had to contain nods and cameos of certain characters and story elements.  No matter how high he wanted to raise the stakes, no matter how cataclysmic he made the challenge to Dream, the story was still going to end up in the same place.  This is, unfortunately, one of the major problems with many prequels, particularly those set just before the events of a well-established series.  So it is hard to fault Gaiman here, as there was little he could do about this particular aspect.  Therefore, unless you have almost no knowledge of the main series, there is very little dramatic tension present, at best there is some curiosity.  But, if you have no knowledge of the main series, much of the detail, context and required knowledge for unpacking the story is absent as few characters are explained, few relationships are actively detailed, and context is a thing left far, far behind.


This lack of context for readers unfamiliar with the main series makes the story fragmented and disjointed, full of characters who appear and disappear without meaning or context, and therefore it doesn’t really function as an entry to the main series.  So for the un-initiated it paradoxically appears to be both a simplistically linear travelogue and a strangely broken and nonsensical journey that lacks context.  For the initiated it is both a strangely pedestrian story, and delightfully insightful in regards to the storyworld, as it caters to the encyclopaedic need to know more about the world, and yet moves inexorably to a known conclusion.


It really is a case of damned if you do, damned if you don’t.


However, for those familiar with the series there are lots of details and nuggets of information and context revealed in this volume that will probably make you want to re-read the whole series from start to finish yet again.  This is definitely a volume that is an addition to the main series, rather than a stand-alone story.  Small moments in this story are deliberate nods and developments (or pre-echoes, as it is a prequel) of moments and character revelations in the main series.  The story itself is the expanded version of something actually referred to in the main series, giving a feeling of deepening the diegetic reality and building the world and universe out deeper and wider.   Yet… and yet… the story remains deeply underwhelming, bland and prosaic.  Where the main series followed Dream on a gigantic character arc that fleshed out his character and revealed his fatal flaws, and it jumped around backwards and forwards through his timeline letting us see multiple aspects of Dream, this is a fairly static portrayal of the character, locked in the least sympathetic aspects of his personality.  The emotional resonance of the main series is missing, primarily because you cannot deliver the same impact in six issues that you did over a long running series.  But while many of the individual issues of the main series focused on the stories of other people with Dream as a character in them, this focuses almost solely on Dream, and as a result adds information and background, rather than depth to his character, because Gaiman cannot change him here, his future is already set.


This lacks the style and power of stories like ‘Ramadan’, or the historical meta-commentary found in ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’, it lacks the narrative cohesion of The Dream Hunters and seems more like the fragmentary stories of Endless Nights without the framing of a story anthology.  It is burdened with the need to live up to an epic story cycle and to do so in only 6 issues whilst touching on cameos and appearances that will delight fans of the series, and it is just a shame that it does so at the expense of the story.


Perhaps one of the most damning aspects of the whole story is that it reduces Dream’s main series arc into one of simple predestination devoid of freewill and character growth.  A ramification that may or may not have been intended.  Certainly, it was an aspect of the main series that inspired debate and posed the question about inevitability created by decision, and inevitability created by fate.  However, in this volume, Gaiman comes down heavily on the pre-ordained, fate aspect, and therefore robs Dream’s character of agency and freewill in the main series.  This might not be a big deal to some, but to me this diminishes Dream as a tragic figure and turns him into an empty puppet.


But the comic is collaborative effort, and it is the artwork that really sells this volume and makes it worthwhile.  JH Williams III along with Dave Stewart present the reader with intricate, varied, and stunning pages and panels, that run the gamut of artistic styles.  You will be hard pressed to find a single page that exemplifies the book, except in terms of quality.  The book really does look gorgeous and it leaves you wanting a massively oversized version so that you can really take in all the detail.  While some of the pages and panel organisations cause you to rotate and spin the book in your hands, trying to puzzle them out, other are simply visual feasts that your eyes can devour again and again.  So many of the pages play with lay-out, panel design, and eye-tracking, to make you look, read, and look again.  This book is worth the purchase price for the artwork alone.  This is a book that engages the eyes, that challenges the brain, and that makes you pore over every page to take in the detail and sumptuous colour.


In summary, unless you are already a committed fan and collector of all things Sandman or you are a fan of beautiful artwork , this isn’t a great graphic novel.  But if you love artwork, if you love The Sandman then I am assuming you have already bought this and added it to your collection and won’t care about this review.



Spoiler Free Review: Star Wars – The Force Awakens (dir. JJ Abrams, 2015)



Short Version:

A new Star Wars for a new generation.  Plenty here to please old fans and new.  Finally an SF franchise that JJ Abrams’ sensibilities mesh with instead of clash.  No Jar Jar or midi-chlorians.  Better than the prequels.


Actual Review:

With Star Wars: The Force Awakens JJ Abrams had a nearly impossible task, he had to please old fans and acquire new ones, pay homage to the old films, undo the errors of the prequels, and yet also create a new Star Wars for the new generation.  The film had to appeal to children and adults alike and therefore had to indulge the older fan’s nostalgia but not let it dominate the storytelling, have enough action and visual effects to entertain today’s jaded youth but refrain from the frenetic screen clutter that plagued the prequels making the actions sequences migraine inducing blurs of sound and light, and, above all else, launch a new mythic storyline.  Given that this was not just a film but also part of a multi-billion dollar media franchise and of one of the most beloved film franchises of the modern age, to say expectations were high is perhaps a bit of an understatement.

So because anticipation was so great, because expectations were so ridiculously high, it should come as little surprise when I say that The Force Awakens is a mixed bag.  It isn’t terrible, and it isn’t amazing.  It had its high points and it had its weak moments.  There were some great lines and some misses.  In Abrams’ defence, no matter what he produced it was not going to be able to please all the fans all the time, so I am actually surprised at how much I enjoyed this.  If we are measuring it solely against the prequels then in this regard Abrams cleared it with a parsec to spare.  Against the original Star Wars: A New Hope… that is a more complex comparison.

Just in case anyone has missed the numerous plot summaries, speculations, in depth interviews, featurettes, spotlight specials and extensive trailers and cast videos, a brief detail-light summary of the set-up is as follows:
There is a new villain, a dark militaristic force in the galaxy the First Order, led by a slimmer and slightly more sartorially elegant Darth Vader wannabe, Kylo Ren (Adam Driver).

There are two new young heroes, Rey (Daisy Ridley) and Finn (John Boyega), who, despite their disparate backgrounds will undoubtedly turn out to be instrumental in saving the galaxy.

There is a new cutesy droid, BB-8, that is attempting to take the place of R2-D2 in our hearts, and comes close to doing so.  Adorkable is the word that springs to mind.

And there are X-wings, Tie Fighters and all the classic elements of Star Wars galore.  So rather than attempting to re-invent the wheel as the prequels did, Abrams went with tried and tested crowd pleasers.

So let’s start by discussing a couple of the really good points without getting into too many specifics as I don’t want to spoil the film for anyone.

The opening wall crawl.  There is something about the logo appearing and the wall crawl against the starry background while John Williams’ overture assaults the brain that will forever be ‘cool’ in my book.  When the music started I couldn’t help it but grin and feel excited.  What was even better was that there was no mention of a trade embargo, sanctions, disrupted negotiations or a diplomatic deadlock in a bureaucratic senate in the scrolling text.  It then pans down in classic fashion to a shot of a giant spaceship.  I hope no one regards that as a spoiler, not least because it is a bland and generic version of the events, but also it is the classic opening and it occurs in the first couple of seconds of screen time.  Not a single, horrendously racist caricature to be seen in the first minute.  So already it is well ahead of The Phantom Menance.

It was also great having new characters to carry on the story.  Star Wars: The Next Generation, if you will.  As much as I loved the story of Luke, Han and Leia… and was less enamoured with the prequels going back in time to set up the story of Luke, Han and Leia, it was genuinely nice to have new characters, about whom I knew next to nothing, who promised to lead the story into new territory.   Daisy Ridley’s Rey is a nice change of pace for the Star Wars cinematic universe in that we finally have a competent, intelligent, talented, and independent female character who is centre screen as a hero and not a spunky support or love interest to the main heroes.  Strongly reminiscent of the young Luke Skywalker (they clearly shop in the same desert paraphernalia shop) it seems that Rey is going to be central to the entire new trilogy.    Rather unkindly my brain automatically labelled her as Discount Keira Knightley and I haven’t been able to shake the comparison.

John Boyega’s Finn is a surprisingly complex character who wants to be a hero, wants to do the right thing, but is plagued by crippling self-doubt and more than a smidgeon of self-loathing.  A curious mix for a hero in training, especially as he veers from the super-competent to the blaringly incompetent in a violent see-saw fashion as the script demands, but it is certainly engaging to watch.  Both Rey and Finn promise to develop even more fully as the series continues, and that is only a good thing as they have an odd dynamic on screen, and it will be nice to see them settle into their roles and see what they can create.

Opposite them is Adam Driver’s Kylo Ren, who, at first glance, appears to be a bargain basement Emo Vader.  Face mask, metallic voice, red light saber, dresses in black, temper tantrums because it is just so emotional, and will force choke you as soon as look at you.  However, he soon becomes a great deal more interesting and, as his backstory and motivations are explored, his character develops a depth and complexity that Vader never quite achieved in the original trilogy.  Admittedly, he is not quite as dominating on screen as Vader, nor does he have the gravitas of James Earl Jones’ voice, but in a number of regards he is a lot more chilling and arresting on screen.   Thankfully, unlike Tom Hardy’s Bane and Christian Bale’s Batman in The Dark Knight Rises you can actually understand what Driver is saying even when his face is obscured, something I was actually concerned about.

There are a couple of other characters, more in supporting roles this time around, that I sincerely hope get more screen time in the next one.  Not least the roguish Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) who is the best damned space pilot around (as we are told on numerous occasions… so it must be true), the scenery-chewing, mewling evil General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson), arch villain and champion of the galaxy sneering competition 7 years running Andy Serkis’ Supreme Leader Snoke, and the decidedly under-utilised Captain Phasma, Gwendloine Christie’s retro-futuristic chrome trooper.  Despite my desire that they all get more screen time, none of the characters feels entirely superfluous and each adds to the story in significant ways.

In terms of action, Abrams seems to have learned both from the mistakes of the prequels and from his experience on the Star Trek films, and provided something that had satisfying explosions, lots of lasers pew-pewing, and some good light saber action without the need for a warning about photosensitive epilepsy or necessitating chugging Dramamine in large quantities.  Hearing the metallic whine of the distinctive TIE fighter engines with their unmistakable laser blasts, and the roar of the X-Wings’ engines coupled with the more splat-like noise of their weapons was a glee inducing moment for me.  The screen never felt empty during the action, but was never so busy that you couldn’t actually track the action.  It was also thankfully free of omnipresent lens-flares.

As is to be expected of Abrams, there are some beautiful looking cinematic shots, some really vivid tableaux, and he uses many of these to establish the ‘lived-in’ feel of the Star Wars universe.  That distressed look that makes the ships look used rather than fresh off the assembly line, the clothes worn and frayed, the equipment chipped and nicked.  Little details like this throughout the film give a real sense of authenticity and greatly add to the believability and immersiveness of the story.  This becomes all the more necessary when the staggering coincidences start to mount up.  I mean, I am all for a million to one shot working nine times out of ten, but there are some really astronomically improbable coincidences cropping up in this film with frightening regularity.

For fans of the original trilogy, TFA is, at its heart, an attempt to re-make it and update it while pretending to be a new chapter.  And that is perhaps what I found least satisfying about it, there was too much of the old in this.  There were too many similarities to the original trilogy.  There were too many moments that were a mirror or echo of vintage Star Wars.   This is Abrams’ Trek all over again.  Not quite a reboot, and not quite a sequel.  Fan service and in-jokes litter the screen, and in-depth exploration of character and story are sometimes short-changed in order to move onto the next sequence, the next plot point, and the next ‘must-see’ moment.  At times the nostalgia was dripping so heavily I was surprised the camera didn’t suddenly switch to a sepia filter.  There were other moments that only really had impact or meaning if you were already deeply invested in the Star Wars mythos.  But in this I suspect that Abrams’ hands were somewhat tied.  He couldn’t not have those nods to the originals, but for my money, he spent a little too much time genuflecting at the altar of Lucas and not enough time carving his own mythic cathedral.

Related to this problem was the fact that the film felt liked it was rushing from scene to scene to hurry up and get to the good part… only to rush past that to the next good part… and so on and so on.  It was as if Abrams was so excited to be showing the audience all the different ‘cool’ things that he forgot we don’t need to see them all at once, or even at all.  In fact, some of the moments when Abrams pauses to take a breath were scenes that were probably not that necessary.  I have no idea why Hollywood has decided its audiences are so stupid that they need almost every element of backstory of every character belaboured and shoved in their faces.  This is compounded further by the relentless assault of action sequence after action sequence.  Consequently, we are less emotionally involved in many of the conflicts because we still haven’t gotten to know the characters or feel tension as they just seem to ricochet from one meaningless action set piece to the next.  Admittedly, superhero films tend to be a lot worse.

To be any more specific than this would be to dance merrily through spoiler territory, an area that I am already uncomfortably close to, so I will have to forgo discussing the most egregious scenes.  However, all in all it was a good film.  It was an entertaining film.  It sets up the next film to develop the mythos and storylines further.  There are some revelations that make for moments of high drama, as well as some unanswered questions and plot hooks that will have me seeing the next one as soon as it comes out too.  Who am I kidding, I am probably going to see this one again at least another four times before the next is released.

Review: Mistborn: The Final Empire by Brandon Sanderson

Mistborn Book 1


Review: Mistborn: The Final Empire by Brandon Sanderson

Mistborn: The Final Empire is book one of the Mistborn series, and part of Sanderson’s expanding, and increasingly intriguing, Cosmere universe.  It follows the adventures and coming-of-age narrative of young street urchin Vin, and her participation in a rebel plot to overthrow the ostensibly immortal god-emperor of the land, the Lord Ruler.

On the face of it Mistborn has all the markings of a walking fantasy cliché.

We have a young hero who it just turns out has incredibly and unbelievably rare super-special magical powers, and not only that, but has an uncanny affinity for them and learns how to use them absurdly quickly and to an extent that puts all others to shame.  Not to mention a secret bloodline that has ramifications for the upper echelons of society.

We have a scrappy group of super-talented rebels (or quest group for those that are familiar with RPGs) faced with an impossible task that you know that they are somehow going to pull off.  Sort of like a million-to-one shot that works nine times out of ten.  Luckily each member of the group has one specific talent that adds to the plan and pretty much defines them as a character.  For example, Breeze can soothe people’s emotions, Clubs can hide their allomantic activity, and Ham is incredibly strong.

We have the slightly sinister mentor, Kelsier, who, it turns out, has a few dark secrets in his past.  Thankfully he is lucky enough to take a chance on rescuing a young orphan girl, the super-special hero mentioned above, who becomes essential to his plan succeeding.

There is an immortal Dark Lord™ that has been ruthlessly subjugating the masses for a very long time, is obscenely powerful, and appears to be definitively evil for the sake of being evil (ruling with an iron fist, being mean to puppies, and guilty of living alone in a large, foreboding, yet tastefully ostentatious palace which possesses no chamber pots or bathrooms).

The society of the fantasy world has not really evolved or changed in hundreds of years with technology, fashion, literature, and science all remaining relatively static, and made up of two peoples; The Nobles, privileged, spoiled, and decadent, and the Skaa, oppressed slaves.

There is an evil corrupt government bureaucracy and evil military religion that maintain law and order in the land in cruel and vindictive ways.

And lo, there is also an ancient prophecy knocking around that must be fulfilled.

Now if there was an awkward and unnecessary romantic sub-plot and a dragon you would have a full house in fantasy cliché bingo… ok so there is an unnecessary romantic sub-plot but there isn’t a dragon.  Maybe even Sanderson thought that dragons at this point would have been overkill.

It is to Sanderson’s credit that he utilises these stereotypes knowingly, and provides enough subversion so that they don’t completely weigh down the narrative in ever increasingly obvious ways.  But in terms of story there is little here that will be of any surprise to a fantasy reader, until the end, but to give that away pretty much spoils the story.  In this case, the end, at least, partially justifies the means… so to speak.

Mistborn is set on the world Scadrial, a secondary world that is plagued by nigh continual volcanic ash falls, nightly planet-engulfing mists, and orbits a weak red sun.  Despite the seemingly alien nature of the planet and the occasional reminders about the ash and the mists, most of the book feels like it is set in a fairly standard and familiar pseudo-medieval fantasy world.  The strangeness of the landscape never quite leaves the page to enter the imagination, and there is a certain feudal European feel to the entire planet.  Given that worldbuilding is something so important to many modern fantasy narratives, and is also a frequent point praised in Sanderson’s work, perhaps a closer look at the world of Scadrial is necessary here.

The world essentially has two classes of people, the nobles and the Skaa.  The Skaa, although they physically resemble the nobles, so much so that they can be easily confused for them, are a slave race.  Sanderson didn’t use anything as clichéd as colour or some sort of physical characteristic to differentiate the two races, actually, he doesn’t really use anything to differentiate the two races apart from the name.  But choosing a slave race name based on a word for a type of Jamaican music is perhaps a little too on the nose for me.  Regardless, despite the fact that the narrative insists on, and then actually explains how, the two races are physically different, the narrative also depends on the fact that there is no real physical difference between them.  Yes, it is indeed that contradictory.

Oppressed and subservient to the nobles, the Skaa’s only hope lies in the Skaa rebellion.  For centuries a small pocket of rebels has tried to overthrow the Lord Ruler (Dark Lord™) without success.  That is, until, Kelsier, the survivor of the prison quarry, the Pits of Hathsin, returns to the capital, Luthadel, to organise an uprising.  He rounds up a crew of magically talented individuals, and in the process rescues the protagonist of the novel, Vin, from her time in an evil criminal gang, by recruiting her to his good criminal gang…

But luckily for the reader there is never any doubt about who to support as the Skaa are treated as slaves, apart from those Skaa who own their own independent businesses or are semi-successful merchants, but we never meet any of those apart from two of the main characters who are in Kelsier’s crew.   But the vast majority of Skaa are treated as slaves and are horribly abused by the evil nobles and therefore Kelsier and his crew are undoubtedly good freedom fighters, thieves, murderers and conmen.  Sanderson makes sure to show the Lord Ruler and his minions killing people in cold blood to prove a point and to cow the public, just like Kelsier does to the nobles.  Have I mentioned that there are some issues with the worldbuilding?

The world of Sadrial possesses two major forms of magic, the first, and the focus of the first novel, is allomancy, while the second, feruchemy is more important in the later books.   Allomancers, those gifted with this exceptionally rare ability, can ‘burn’ certain metals to create amazing effects.  Essentially they ingest small pellets of specific metals that create reservoirs of power that they can tap to create very specific effects, such as the ability to pull metal toward them, or push metal away from them.

Only the rarest of the rare Allomancers (alloy-mancer, like necromancer) can ‘burn’ more than one metal, and those few are called Mistborn, hence the title of the book.  As it turns out, almost the whole of Kelsier’s crew are Allomancers, it is what makes them so special and effective, and Kelsier himself is a Mistborn.  It just so happens that Vin, our hero, is also a Mistborn.  Given the tight focus of the novel on Vin’s adventures with Kelsier’s crew this gives the unfortunate appearance that almost every character has this exceptionally rare magical ability and therefore it is not rare at all in the novel.  But we are also led to believe that despite the fact that this is rare, there are enough noble allomancers that a strong enough trade in allomantic metals exists, and that Skaa workers are trusted enough to run these businesses* and there are enough allomancers that noble houses have entire houseguard squads made up of low level allomancers who wield no political power nor hold positions of authority within the houses.

(*While never explicitly stated that the metallurgists who provide the allomantic metals are Skaa no noble would risk buying their metals from another noble house that they may be at war with, and if Sanderson had each noble house produce their own allomantic metals then, no matter how logical this would be for the world, Kelsier and his crew would have difficulty in accessing the necessary supplies)

Sanderson is at pains to lay out and explore the strengths and weaknesses of this fairly original magic system, and if you enjoy reading about how different magic systems are used, then this will be a major strength of the novel for you.  A good third of the novel is focused on Vin slowly training, experimenting with, and growing to command her powers.  To give Sanderson his due, these sections are much more entertaining and engaging than comparable training sessions found in a multitude of other fantasy works.  Indeed the action sequences detailing the use of allomancy, both the aspects of training and later in combat, are extremely well executed with cinematic flair.

So as long as you don’t think too hard about the actual ramifications of the rules of the world, the physical descriptions of the people and the landscape, and the fact that the rules of the magic system become flexible according to necessity, and just go along with the flow, the worldbuilding in this novel is great.

But… and this is an important but…

But while much of what I have said thus far has been a little damning, Sanderson does weave a fairly compelling tale.  His prose trips along in an amiable fashion.  The character of Vin is engaging and interesting, and it is genuinely nice to have a central female hero who exhibits depth and backstory, and also isn’t raped.  Kelsier possesses some elements of moral and character complexity that become more apparent as the plot trundles on.  The crew is made up of colourful characters that round out the story and give it some interest as their sense of camaraderie is explored and they grumble and gripe at one another.

More importantly, it is the events and the central mystery of who the Lord Ruler is and why the world seems so strange and yet incomplete, that provide the much needed intrigue and interest.  The reveal and twists at the end of the novel are enough, even after all that I have said, to make me like the novel and read more of the series, as it turns out that so many of the clichés, the tropes, the ‘mistakes’ and weaknesses of the worldbuilding are very deliberately constructed on Sanderson’s part.  So much of what seems contrived and artificial actually plays a part in the broader context that the novel reveals in its last few chapters.

Granted, I will never rate this as among the best fantasy novels I have ever read, but Sanderson weaves a compelling story by acknowledging and engaging with the flawed nature of his world building, even if some flaws are perhaps unintentional, and focusing the story on explaining how this came to be.  And it is this surprising plot thread that convinces you to keep reading.  So rather than being an epic quest or a standard story about overthrowing a Dark Lord™, this is actually a mystery, and if you aren’t careful some of the cleverer aspects of the world will sneak by you.

Review: Assail by Ian C. Esslemont

(Book 6 Malzan Empire) by Ian C. Esslemont

Assail marks the culmination of Esslemont’s Malazan Empire series and is the final chapter of a series that has significantly explored and expanded the narrative universe co-created with Steven Erikson.  In this volume Esslemont has set himself a foreboding task in that expectations are always higher for the final novel in a series, even more so if the book is set in the most mysterious land of the fantasy world that has only ever been hinted at.  Luckily for readers, Esslemont delivers, although not necessarily in the way some might want.

The impetus for the main story of Assail is the revelation that the glacial coverage of the mysterious continent has receded sufficiently that previously impassable terrain is now accessible.  In fact, vast gold-fields have been exposed, prompting a mass rush to the land in order to exploit the natural resource.  As a result, all manner of people and groups are making their way to and through Assail including Imass, the Crimson Guard, prospectors, private armies, and long absent migrants finally returning ‘home’.

focuses on tying up the story of Kyle, the young guardsman first met in Return of the Crimson Guard, the Crimson Guard themselves and the investigation of their mysterious vow.  Another significant thread concerns the story of the Imass and Silverfox, which has woven through both Erikson’s Malazan Book of the Fallen as well as Esslemont’s series.  Lastly, there are two related threads directly concerning the continent of Assail itself.  The first is focalised through the perspective of Orman, a young warrior, and explores Assail from a native’s perspective, playing with perceptions of culture, tribalism, barbarism and honour.  The other is split between the various prospectors and outsiders hastening to stake claims and set up frontier stations and explores the foreigners’ perspective of Assail.  In particular the story of Reuth, a young navigator tasked with getting his uncle’s ship to the gold fields of Assail. Both the stories of Reuth and Orman parallel one another, while being neat contrasts of the different approaches to life, Assail, and the journey to adulthood.  They also create a strong resonance with the story of Kyle, both his introduction in RotCG, and as a reminder that even as one actor’s story ends, other agents in the world will continue.

However, each of these potentially disparate tales is interwoven and lends itself to a nuanced and balanced investigation of the continent and its cultures and forms a genuinely cohesive story.  Despite the focus on Assail itself as the setting and background of the story, Esslemont has included several sections that focus on the travelling to Assail, most notably the various sea voyages and what that entails for the prospective parties.  This brings a significant diversity of story mode, setting and even genre to the book that otherwise might have superficially appeared to be a fantasy travelogue of a Scandinavian influenced continent.

Starting with some obvious points that nonetheless need noting.  As with the other novels in the Malazan Empire series, the style is once again a narrative told through multiple point of view characters.  While several of these characters are key to the narrative, Esslemont also uses witness characters to provide perspective on the events from outside the key actors’ perspectives.  As a result there is a pleasing change of perspective as instead of always sitting on a hero’s shoulders, the reader now has access to a broader narrative palette.  This is particularly interesting when you consider that this allows Esslemont to demonstrate how the events of the story reach further than just those acting or being acted upon.  Such a broadening of scope has the effect of consolidating the world-building (diegetic reality) and adding to the impression that the story-world is ‘real’.  It also neatly dovetails with Esslemont’s own background as an archaeologist and anthropologist who sees history as an interlocking system of events and not solely the result of the actions of a few great men.

Structurally Esslemont writes true to form with most of the first third of the book being used in set-up and foundational work.  He carefully re-introduces old characters (from his previous novels and from the wider Malazan universe) while also introducing some new characters to the story and familiarising the reader with the new setting of Assail.  By creating a pleasant blend of the familiar with an enticing mix of the new, the leisurely pace means that no reader is left behind.  This is not to say that there aren’t some interesting set pieces and action sequences along the way, but both Erikson and Esslemont are known for their deliberate crafting and building in the earlier chapters of their novels in order to set the board for grand finales.  The second third of the novel starts moving the various pieces around as the characters reach and explore the continent of Assail, tracking their interactions and near misses, and building toward the last third of the novel which handles the convergence of events and the resolution of the story and series.

It is with the last third of the novel that Esslemont both conforms to and defies his standard structural approach.  The last third of the novel contains multiple scenes of battle, action and a convergence of events, but if it is an all-out battle ending that you are longing for, you will be disappointed.  What Esslemont delivers is, in almost every way, far more satisfying.  He brings home multiple story threads and characters from throughout the series in an emotional and narrative convergence that provides a sensitive and resonating narrative closure.  While this is probably something of a risk for Esslemont given the desire in many fantasy fans for blood, gore and battle by the ever increasing bucket full, that he pulls it off should mark his increased prowess and command as an author.

It is of no surprise that the world of Assail is exquisitely realised.  In Blood and Bone Esslemont depicted the sweaty, steamy closeness of a jungle landscape with such clarity that it became a character in and of itself that was integral to the story.  In Assail, the various landscapes, climates and scenic types deployed by Esslemont are rendered in a beautiful cinematic language that gives a visceral quality to the description and helps lift the narrative off the page.  The various landscapes and settings reveal several influences on the book and have been well tied to the various themes and plots running through the volume and series.  Notably, the Odyssey and Sinbad inspired sea and sailing sections, in which several different attempts to reach the continent are described and reveal the dangers of even trying to get to this part of the world.  The wind-blasted, desolate coastline that emphasises the unwelcoming and foreboding nature of the land, but also the isolationist nature of the population and how cut off this is from the rest of the world.  The long rolling prairies and plains of Assail that evoke a sense of Esslemont’s Canadian homeland, a land that appears lush and welcoming, but has hidden dangers, and, like the beaches, emphasises the unwise and unwelcome intrusion of people into a world and space that does not want them.  But it is with the Alaskan and Scandanavian inspired mountains and glaciers that the book really finds a defining landscape that evokes the true nature of Assail.  The terrible beauty of the biting cold, the virgin forests filled with snow, the blues, greens and whites of glacial flow.  This is a harsh, pitiless, unwelcoming world to the human invaders, but a beautiful, sublime home to those people who live in concert with the land.   Each of these landscapes has been rendered with an eye for cinematic description that evokes the transcendentalist sense of nature’s beauty, as well as the brutal reality of inhospitable climes.

This descriptive backdrop neatly fits with the detail of the wider world which is also superbly rendered, in part due to the early books in the series, but also due to Erikson’s Malazan Book of the Fallen series which features the same world.   By building on what has gone before, and assuming the reader’s foreknowledge of the world, Esslemont has been able to focus on what lies directly around the characters and this has led to a style that creates a perception of the fictive reality as something witnessed and existing, without needing to utilise endless exposition or overly-long descriptive passages.   The assumed knowledge is not necessary to enjoying the story as it unfolds, but it does add significant depth, breadth and colour to the story that uninitiated readers might miss.  As the narrative builds on this realised world and weaves the characters and their actions into it in order to build a cohesive story that reads and feels ‘real’, ultimately, it results in an immersive reality that the reader witnesses through the perspectives of the various point of view characters and creates a believable, solid weight to the story world that helps sell the more fantastic elements.

Given that the impetus of the story is based on the revelation of suddenly accessible gold-fields, and that the glaciers have retreated and exposed hitherto impassable sections of this relatively pristine land, there is a strong element of the frontier gold-rush myth to some of the storytelling.  While frontier stories are not that uncommon, the parallels to the current attitudes to exploiting natural resources in Canada and the US certainly form a strong undercurrent to this aspect of the story.  Esslemont’s description of the frontier mentality has far less of the noble mythos that has surrounded American gold rush stories, and presents a vicious reality about the unscrupulous plundering of natural resources over the objections of natives and indigenous inhabitants.  There is a strong suspicion that his experience of current mining and oil drilling in Alaska may have influenced some of the elements in the story.

The matter-of-fact destruction of natives and native environments by outsiders, in the name of progress and financial greed, is contrasted and compared to the tribal conflicts of the native inhabitants perpetrated on one another in the name of tradition and blood feuds, which are anything but dispassionate.  Esslemont succeeds in creating a credible series of tribal cultures and relationships that balance the tropes of the barbarian and the noble savage with a more objective perspective in an attempt to convey the complexity of tribal and clan societies without overly venerating or damning them.  These violent, destructive story threads are held up in comparison to the logical extension of their core premises in the story of the Imass and their genocidal pogrom sweeping through the land in an effort to cleanse a perceived racial taint.

As a series generally conceived of as high fantasy adventure epic, these are weighty, divisive and loaded issues that one would not expect to find.  However, part of Esslemont’s talent as a writer is to weave these contemporary concerns into his fantasy narrative seamlessly and make them appear as part of the very fabric of the fictive reality.   Not only that, but many aspects of these issues are presented without authorial comment or overt bias, letting the reader absorb the facets of the conflicts and appreciate the factors that led to characters making these decisions.  There are few obvious antagonists or villains in the story.  Indeed many of the foes faced by the characters are sympathetically or realistically presented in an effort to show the moral complexity of world, while the characters themselves are not always on the side of ‘good’.  Assail is a book of characters, not a book of heroes and villains.  By not directly signalling good or evil, and steering clear of fetishizing violence and idolising dark anti-heroes it may be that Esslemont has created too realistic a moral universe for his readers and some will overlook the actual complexity of morality at play.

Over the last few years Esslemont has faced significant and vicious criticism from many fans of Erikson’s Malazan series.  His work has been viewed or even dismissed as a companion piece to the real series.  His portrayals of characters and places in the world have been dismissed as less than authoritative.  His strengths as an author have been overlooked and his weaknesses have been exaggerated.  Despite this, Esslemont has continued to produce fantasy novels that exemplify the best that fantasy series have to offer and has continued to improve as a writer, an author and as a storyteller.  With Assail Esslemont has written a fascinating, thoughtful, exciting and engaging read.  It is a fitting finale to the Malazan Empire series, and a great book.  He masterfully weaves myth, legend, character, land and story together to create something that fulfils expectations but remains engaged with concerns of our own world.  He has always stood shoulder to shoulder with his co-creator, Erikson, but perhaps now he himself will believe it.

(Originally reviewed in NYRSF)

Review: Jessica Jones (Netflix, 2015)

Jessica Jones Logo


Review: Jessica Jones (Netflix, 2015)

Short Version:
A brilliant, mature, dark show that investigates the personal cost of abuse, violence, and notions of justice, and clearly demonstrates the range the superhero genre can encompass, all wrapped up in compelling drama populated by fascinating characters. Well worth watching.

Actual Review:
A TV show about the survivor of an abusive relationship who is a hard-drinking, bitter, and emotionally scarred private eye trying to take down her abuser, seems at odds with much of the public perception of superhero television, and in a number of ways Netflix’s Jessica Jones is as far from a traditional superhero series as you can get, and is all the better for it.

Jessica Jones, a Netflix Original series, is the 13 episode, live action superhero show based on Brian Michael Bendis and Michael Gaydos Marvel comic series, Alias.  Like its sister show Daredevil, and two planned future shows Luke Cage and Iron Fist, Jones is set in the same New York as the Marvel Cinematic Universe and occurs after the events of Avengers (2012).  But Jones eschews the grand, epic battle of heroes against countless nameless and disposable minions, and focuses intently, and uncomfortably, on the personal human cost of living, and surviving, in a world of superheroes and villains.  Make no mistake, this is not a children’s show, nor is it a rip-roaring excitement filled adventurous romp with no emotional consequence, this is a powerful show that examines the darkest parts of the superhero genre and the human condition.


Jessica Jones and Kilgrave

Krysten Ritter plays Jessica Jones, a hard-bitten, cynical, PTSD-stricken, alcoholic, running a shady one-woman PI firm in a dilapidated office situated in a grubby, and well realised, section of New York city.  Eking out an existence serving subpoenas, photographing cheating spouses in the act, and the occasional missing person’s case, in order to keep a roof over her head and her liquor supply constant, Ritter’s Jones is a far cry from the costumed heroes we are perhaps far more familiar with, yet the strength of her performance is that Jones feels more real, more substantial and more believable than even the grittiest superhero portrayed thus far, even if she has super-strength.  While Jones drops barbed comments and snarky come-backs like a jaded stand-up, Ritter imbues her performance with a vulnerability and fragility that highlights the character’s struggle to hang on and survive as a victim of extreme abuse.  Her very humanity and brokenness give the story its touchstone and allows for the tension, horror, and sense of threat to feel palpable rather than nebulous or cartoony.

Ritter manages to convey the complexity of Jones’ character with consummate ease and makes her portrayal seem both effortless and natural.  On the surface Jones appears crude, cold, callous and pragmatic, distancing herself from the world and those around her.  She is tough as nails and a no nonsense survivor ready to face down any physical threat and isn’t shy of a verbal put down or a judgemental swipe.  But underneath that calculated swaggering exterior Jones is a bundle of contradictory emotions and feelings, including guilt, self-loathing, fear, and extreme pain.  Despite this Ritter manages to convey that in her heart Jones is driven by a need to help and save people, that she is loyal to and protective of those she loves, and that she is a true hero doing the best she can to survive.  It is an impressive feat, and one that allows the audience to feel for Jones, to forgive her mistakes, and to become deeply invested in Jones’ development arc.

The main story is launched by a missing person’s case as Jones is hired to find Hope Shlottman by the worried young woman’s parents, but soon focuses on the re-emergence of a shadowy and abusive figure from Jones’ past, the despicable Kilgrave.  Played by David Tennant, Kilgrave is a master manipulator with the insidious ability to absolutely control people’s minds and actions, and possibly the most sinister and frightening of any Marvel villain thus far portrayed on screen.  While previous villains have had the ability to blow things up, wreak havoc and let slip the dogs of war, the invasive and disturbing power wielded by Kilgrave is far more intimate, and far more devastating on a personal level.  While other villains destroy buildings and bodies, Kilgrave destroys the mind, the soul and the heart of his victims, leaving them scarred, broken and screaming in his wake.  He calls into question their sanity, inspires paranoia, and rips apart their ability to trust anyone ever again.  He uses people as disposable puppets, and exhibits no compassion, remorse, or even an iota of guilt about his rape of their minds, and their bodies, and his destruction of their lives, even if he lets them live.

As the series delves into Kilgrave’s past with Jones the audience gains new and horrifying insight into what he is, what he did and what he continues to do to Jones.  A result of this is building admiration for Jones’ strength of will and huge amounts of sympathy and empathy for her struggle.  If we were perhaps hesitant at first to forgive her more egregious behaviour, seeing the monster of her past puts it in perspective.  As the extent and horror of Kilgrave’s plans and manipulations become more and more apparent, Jones’ paranoia, fear and trust issues become profoundly understandable and we gain insight into how destructive Kilgrave can be.  The more people he manipulates, the more twisted and sadistic his games, the greater the fear and paranoia of Jones’ character is translated through the screen and we soon start questioning the actions of every character, feeling tension every time someone knocks at the door or approaches Jones.

An amazing strength of the show, the writing, and Tennant’s acting, is that despite Kilgrave’s clear villainy, despite his sheer disgusting, depraved and evil nature, he is made understandable, watchable, and even entertaining at times.  Similar to how Wilson Fisk (Vincent D’Onofrio) was portrayed in Netflix’s Daredevil, the audience is invited to understand Kilgrave, to see his motivations and to get into his head, without ever once excusing his abuse or absolving him of his guilt.   Kilgrave has motivations and reasons that run deeper than the standard villainy for villainy’s sake, and it is refreshing to see comicbook adaptations produce genuinely disturbing villains whose evil is traceable, believable, and recognisably possible.  It is a fine line to walk, and Jones accomplishes it effortlessly.

Supporting Characters

Grounding the entire story are the relationships with and around Jones with a host of beautifully flawed characters.  Rachel Taylor plays Jones’ foster/adopted sister Trish Walker, a former child star (with all the drama that entails) and now popular talk-show host, who also happens to be estranged from her manipulative, unscrupulous mother and former manager and agent, Dorothy (Rebecca De Mornay).  The dynamic between Jones and Walker is brilliantly realised, and the chemistry between Taylor and Ritter is fantastic to watch on screen as we slowly get deeper and deeper into their relationship and backstory, with all the complications and messiness of sibling love, exacerbated by the introduction of superpowers, child fame and an emotionally abusive parent.

Yet another of the complicated and flawed supporting characters is Jones’ main employer Carrie-Anne Moss’ calculating, cruel, yet polished and brilliant lawyer, Jeri Hogarth.  Easily viewed as villain, (she is a defence attorney after all) Hogarth is morally compromised due to being embroiled in an office affair with her secretary Pam (Susie Abromeit), while lying to her wife Wendy (Robin Weigert), she is willing to take risks at other people’s expense, is ambitious and wants to win at any cost, and yet, she is not all bad.  She takes on a pro-bono case at Jessica’s urging, and despite Jessica’s less than professional attitude, continues to hire her because she gets results.  Like so many of the characters on the show Hogarth has her demons and flaws but we are continually invited to understand her, even appreciate her.  The show is at pains to paint the characters as real people, warts and all.

Jessica’s life is made a little more complicated by bar man and fellow super-powered character, Luke Cage (Mike Colter).  While Cage acts as a love interest for Jones (or at the very least a lust interest), his character and relationship with Jones are deeper, more interesting, and certainly more involved than that.  A minor quibble, and something that rang as a little too neat and trite, is the convenient overlapping of Jones’ and Cage’s backstories and key events.  Despite this, Colter and Ritter have good chemistry on screen, and their halting exploration of a potential relationship, secrets and all, rings true, and seems far more believable and honest than most of the superhero fare out there.

The last two major supporting characters are Jones’ drug addicted neighbour, Malcolm Ducasse (Eka Darville), and tough cop Will Simpson (Wil Traval).  Providing something of a mirror of each other characters over the course of the show, Malcolm and Will explore the redemptive and destructive aspects of character development over the series, and how people deal with trauma, abuse and the aftermath.  How they each react to their experiences with Kilgrave is telling and provides a brilliant support structure to the main narrative.  (Personally I found both of their arcs a little too rushed with each character changing fairly dramatically over a short space of time, but this may be a side effect of binge watching the show and therefore not having the gap between episodes that would ease the transition.)

The greatest strengths of this show are the attention paid to character and the care with which realised, flawed and broken characters are portrayed on the screen.  No one person is without blemish, and those defects are genuine, deep, heartfelt scars, rather than glib or artificial flaws superficially grafted in an attempt to create slightly rounded characters.  Each of the characters on screen feels like a real person, and when the world portrayed contains super-powers this adds a huge element of believability and authenticity to the endeavour.  There is an honesty and integrity in how they are portrayed that grounds this reality and makes the tension palpable and resonate.  It is through the characters that the horror of the situation, the stakes, and the repercussions of the story find purchase.  Their misplaced guilt, their fear, the conflicting impulses of revulsion and desire, the self-loathing and blame, all these things become powerful hooks imbedded in each character that grab hold of the fictive reality and turn their characters into people.  People you care about.  People you are invested in.

As I said above, the setting is New York city, but rather than the glitz and glamour of the Big Apple Jessica Jones keeps its attention on the back streets, the alleys and the grittier side, much like Daredevil.  Given the detective noir beginnings it is also unsurprising that many of the scenes occur at night, or in seedy, slightly dilapidated surroundings.  The view is of the personal New York, the real New York, the lived in New York, and the people and individuals that create the story.  While there are moments when the bigger landscape swims into view, and some glimpses of famous locations, most of the time the show stays grounded in the characters and the importance of the people.  This is a story all about the individual and most of the locales are in keeping with this.



Jessica Jones is a superhero story, but it is one that uses the medium to do something more than recount a tired tale of derring-do or over the top action.  It uses superpowers and this modern mythic form to provide a lens to examine, explore, and understand the ramifications of abuse, to place the focus on how victims survive and the desperate plight that is created after the instigating event, and to illustrate the strength and heroism of survivors of trauma.  It does all this by providing a story set in an exaggerated world where allegory and symbolism take some of the shocking, debilitating horror away from a real world issue so that we can bear to look at it instead of turning our heads away with a sense of overwhelming helplessness.

Jones is great television, compulsive viewing, powerful and meaningful storytelling, and wonderfully demonstrates what a grounded superhero story can do.  Shows like HBO’s The Wire and The Sopranos took unflinching looks at real life issues to produce compelling dramas, and Netfilx’s Jessica Jones joins their ranks, shoulder to shoulder.  This is a show to watch and bodes extremely well for the future of Netflix and for superhero television.


Review: Blackdog by KV Johansen


Blackdog by KV Johansen (Pyr, 2011)

Whilst an established Canadian author of children’s sf and fantasy novels, Blackdog marks Johansen’s first foray into epic fantasy. The novel focuses on Attalissa, a goddess re-incarnated as a young girl, and her protector, the titular Blackdog, a spirit that possesses human hosts, as they attempt to deal with the threat of a powerful evil wizard who is attempting to consume the goddess’s power.

On the surface, it appears to have all the elements of a great epic fantasy: cosmic conflicts between good and evil, multiple character perspectives interweaving into a grander narrative tapestry, fascinating hints of legendary backstory and a diverse world setting. Unfortunately Blackdog does not quite live up to its promise since these elements never quite cohere. The story does not seem to know which it would rather be; a gentle, intimate tale following the coming-of-age of the young goddess incarnate or an epic battle between vast supernatural forces. In trying to be both, it has succeeded at neither.

An illustration of this concerns the Blackdog himself. While he is the eponymous character, the narrative vacillates unevenly between his role as guide and protector, reducing him to the position of supporting companion, and the exploration of his ‘curse’ and his repetitive struggles to overcome it.  Indeed, even the character development concerning Blackdog will disappoint most, as all the twists and turns are heavily foreshadowed and never surprise.

Disappointingly, the world and story are told to the reader, rather than shown, resulting in a feeling of thinness and lack of texture. For a book of some 540 pages there is a surprising lack of detail, as plot, action, world building and character development are sketched rather than explored. The plot itself is simplistic, banal and so heavily foreshadowed that there are few, if any, surprises. The shifting of narrative focus between the personal narratives and the larger plot leads to both feeling lamentably underdeveloped. The climax of the plot is overly neat and split between the straightforward coming-of-age narrative and the obvious, underwhelming grand battle. When the disparate elements finally collide, it creates a sense of forced artifice rather than natural convergence.

In terms of action, there are few battles or fights and those included are hastily passed over and never approach ‘epic’ in nature. There is little tension in the short sequences and almost no sense of the viciousness of battle or the emotional repercussions of loss and death. While great authors can evoke much with simple descriptions, Johnasen never gives the reader the page length to fully immerse themselves in the action, and seems more inclined to skip over action sequences in favour of more bland character interaction.

This blandness affects the world itself as there is no real distinction drawn between the various locales, regardless of the radically different terrains.  For a novel that traverses various locales, including desert, steppes, foothills and mountain tops, there is almost no real variance in how the world appears or is described.  In fact how the characters interact with their surroundings and feel about the various landscapes is uniformly mundane.  No matter where they are, each of the characters acts in exactly the same way, and it is seems a missed opportunity to explore the richness of the world that Johansen has built.

The characters are rarely distinctive and very few are developed beyond stereotypical or function-driven roles. Those few interesting characters are inevitably underused and underdeveloped. However, a major point in Johansen’s favour is her treatment of sexuality as she seamlessly integrates non-heterosexual characters into her world in a subtle display of acceptance without the use of gratuitous sex scenes or heavy-handed narrative underlining.

Two minor characters in this novel, Moth and Mikki, are the most interesting of the bunch, primarily because something is left to the reader’s imagination and their backstory is not painstakingly delivered as exposition.  However, due to the fact that they are indeed minor, they are not really a selling point of this novel, although seeing them in later books would be great.

While Blackdog is not good as it falls short of both YA and Epic fantasy, it is inoffensively mediocre and tediously predictable rather than truly abysmal.

(Originally reviewed in Vector)