Netflix

Review: Someone Great

Upon first glance, Someone Great seems like it’s your typical Netflix movie- you’ve not heard anything about it but it’s top of your recommended list so you might throw it on in the background and hey, it has a great cast so why not?

But it’s so much more than that.

The story of the aftermath of a breakup, finding solace in female friendships and learning to move on is intertwined with the heart aching love story that caused it. All bathed in a neon glow, you’ll feel like you fell in love and fell apart in the space of two hours. But you’ll be okay. Much like Jenny, the film might help you find the ‘Someone Great’ within yourself.

I’ve already found myself going back again, watching my favourite scenes on repeat, skipping through to find solace in just romantic and heart-breaking flashbacks and in its entirety roughly three times. It’s been out less than a month.

‘In heart wrenching silences, uncomfortable performances and reflective realisations, the camera lingers, rather than retreating to dynamic action.’

You might have seen the clips circulating social media already. We’ve all been there- whether it’s crying over coke cans or dancing round to Lizzo. If you’re not already in love at first sight from the cast: Gina Rodriguez (Jane The Virgin), Brittany Snow (Pitch Perfect), DeWanda Wise (She’s Gotta Have It) and Lakeith Stanfield (Sorry To Bother You), the movie could almost stand on it’s soundtrack alone, featuring Lorde, Lizzo, Frank Ocean, Phoebe Bridgers, Mitski, Robyn… the list goes on. But those aren’t quite the moments that elevate Someone Great to an almost ethereal status. In heart wrenching silences, uncomfortable performances and reflective realisations, the camera lingers, rather than retreating to dynamic action. It rejects over romanticising yes, but it rejects break up bitterness too. It’s romantic, but realistic and raw. It accepts heartache rather than letting it corrode completely or running away from it.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it, or found myself in such an unexpected place.

Review: Dead to Me

I began watching Dead to Me on Netflix on Saturday night and despite the fact I had an exam on the Tuesday afternoon, I had finished it by Sunday morning. The balance achieved between the very real and traumatic loss of Jen’s husband, Nick, and the easy watching aspects of the series that Netflix was trying to create, work in perfect harmony. The plot is substantially engaging and dynamic, if slightly predictable. But I would go as far as to say that I did enjoy it. It was quite satisfying to be able to predict the twists and turns and it made them no less entertaining.

‘Dead to Me recreates the convincing realism required to carry off a comedic take on a brutal murder.’

Despite the nature of the series, it does not make you feel sad. There are moments of raw emotion from the characters but they are not intense or long lived enough to really make you feel it too. Some see this as a flaw, I see this as a bonus. I didn’t want to watch something sad because, frankly, I didn’t have the time for any emotional trauma. Had I watched the trailer and realised the programme revolves around a tragic death then I would not have started it. Instead, it pulls on themes of drama and murder mystery, along with the obligatory comedy elements. It channels the vibe of recently (tragically) cancelled Netflix series, Santa Clarita Diet. If you enjoyed that, you will enjoy this. Watching Drew Barrymore viciously tear apart local Nazis was bizarre, but only if you really thought about it. Dead to Me recreates the convincing realism required to carry off a comedic take on a brutal murder.

The most intriguing aspect of the series is the dramatic irony that we see throughout. The whole plot relies on the fact the audience know what some of the characters do not. This is what makes it so predictable but then so rewarding. We watch not for the shock factor, but because we want to see our predictions come true.

‘We watch not for the shock factor, but because we want to see our predictions come true.’

The one real downfall of Dead to Me, for me, was the ending. In what had, up until now, been a relatively convincing storyline, the ending seemed to undermine everything the characters had built and had been shown to be. I walked away feeling disappointed in the fact that Netflix seem to have thrown away anything they had built in this series, to ensure they could make another. It was blatantly obvious that they wanted to keep open the possibility for another series, but in doing so, compromised the ending of this. It seems to be a common occurrence for Netflix to deliberately write an ending that means they can renew it for another series, even if they decide not to (Santa Clarita Diet RIP). Although it may be satisfying for their bank accounts, it is not necessarily satisfying for the fans, or the integrity of the show. Netflix are producing so much content at the moment, and it is hugely influential in the streaming world, but they run the risk of losing their status for an easy buck. Not cool, Netflix, not cool.

Overall, Dead to Me, is something I would recommend. Up until the ending I was quite enjoying it and perhaps it was just me being fussy. Perhaps Netflix have an even better second series up their sleeves. We shall have to wait and see.

Review: Wine Country

Any film starring Maya Rudolph (Bridesmaids, Grown Ups, The Good Place), already sets a precedent that it will be exactly what you expect it to be. Mix in a big ‘ol spoon of Amy Poehler (Parks and Recreation) in her directorial debut and you get Wine Country. A mildly heartwarming tale of old friends who go on a trip to celebrate a 50th birthday. The biggest shock of this film is that not all goes to plan, right behind the fact that they drink copious amounts of wine. But something about this film makes the incredibly predictable narrative (if you can call it that), rather endearing. I wouldn’t watch it again, but I don’t regret watching it either.

‘I didn’t like it, I didn’t hate it.’

The plot of the film is relatively obvious from the outset, but that didn’t make it any less entertaining. Channeling the casual mid-life-crisis vibes of Grown Ups, and the attempts at a comedy take on serious issues that are so common on screen now, this film is precisely what it says on the tin. There were moments of laughter, moments of mild concern and moments of complete ludicrousness. It didn’t have the element of, what I like to call, “shove it down your throat comedy.” In which actors such as Rebel Wilson try so hard to not only be funny, but signpost the funny and stick a nice big bow and arrow on the funny. I didn’t feel like I was being expected to laugh out loud every three minutes in Wine Country. This was most definitely a relief as I could just watch the film for what it was, without feeling like I was really missing something that everyone else was laughing at. I didn’t like it, I didn’t hate it.

One credit to the film is that it did attempt to tackle some serious issues, but these issues were (mostly) pushed into the position of the butt of the jokes. They may as well have said, “We are women, we are going through menopause, we are hysterical or horny.” But, Poelher has a long way with words and decided to skirt around the point. It was hardly revolutionary in its depiction of a female friendship group. The simple plot and interspersed moments of comedy lends itself to a night in with – wait for it – your friends and a bottle of wine! (Pause for gasp) It was clearly attempting to convey the importance of friendship and the journey of drifting away, and back to, your friends. But the lack of depth undermined any real emotional connection to the film. This is becoming somewhat of a theme for Netflix originals, occasionally they come out with something amazing, but quite often their original productions lack one aspect or another.

‘the lack of depth undermined any real emotional connection to the film’

The best way I can describe this film is that it is two dimensional. (You know it makes sense) It has a good cast, a nice setting and a standard plot, but it lacks any real depth. Perhaps if I was also a 50 year old woman then I would have felt it resonated more with me. But I am not. So, unless you are a 50 year old woman, Wine Country will most probably provide you light entertainment for 100 minutes, a couple of mild to relatively substantial laughs, and a fading memory of a film that, in the current landscape of cinema, made a very fleeting impact.

Io – Review

When Netflix decided to plough the old, worn out furrow of the ‘Earth is dead and it’s our fault’ Sci-Fi film, you would have thought they would at least have tried to come up with something original, or at the very least entertaining. They have failed on both fronts – Io is the blandest, most uneventful Sci-Fi movie I’ve watched in a long time. The cast include up-and-comer Margaret Qualley as Sam, a lone research assistant desperately trying to foster life on a dying earth, and Anthony Mackie of Avengers fame as the gruff hot air balloonist come to sweep her away to the human colony orbiting Jupiter’s moon, Io. And, well, that’s about it really. The only other characters occur as voiceovers and a brief flashback, so for the first act of the film we’re meant to empathise with Sam’s long-distance fling with the hilariously named space engineer Elon, which is about as compelling as an MSN romance.

After Micah (Mackie) soars over Sam’s head in his rugged balloon (one of the few effectively serene moments) and takes refuge in her research facility, it becomes clear that she has been joined by someone with shared interests, namely staring into the distance and getting all teary eyed about the state of the poor old planet. Fittingly for a balloonist, Micah is a bountiful source of hot air, grandiosely quoting Plato in a manner which, I confess, did make me feel rather ill. This, along with Sam’s muted interest in mythology (we know this as she reads from a book titled ‘MYTHOLOGY’) shows the director’s lofty intellectual ambitions for the film, which fall depressingly short. By this point Io is starting to feel more like a dry old period drama than a relevant critique on the dangers of neglecting the planet.

“the film’s core message is the importance of human connection, something its very limited cast struggles to create”

Everything about this film is so achingly dull and conventional. It’s like live action WALL-E on sedatives, but they never get to the fun bit on the spaceship, and the characters are less relatable than animated robots. The dialogue is bare bones, delivered in an uninspired register throughout by the bored looking actors, who have little to no chemistry whatsoever. This is ironic, considering that the film’s core message is the importance of human connection, something its very limited cast struggles to create even a semblance of. Mackie plays the brooding, vodka-chugging wanderer to Qualley’s slightly gormless, wide-eyed scientist, and the inevitable romance is poorly paced and jolting, and also slightly creepy. In one scene the male lead is visibly uncomfortable and repeatedly refuses to engage in a kiss, but Sam tells him ‘we have to’ and forcibly leans in – a tad anachronistic in the MeToo era, or an intriguing inversion of the James Bond dynamic?

Any attempts to ramp up the tension fall immediately flat, or slowly peter out like a leaky old balloon. One particular ‘tense’ scene was edited so horrifically it genuinely reminded me of a sequence from The Room, however, at least Tommy Wiseau actually bothered to put some effort in. The interestingly shot ending had a tinge of ambiguity to it, which left me stroking my chin for a few seconds, but it wasn’t exactly Inception. To be frank, Io is a boring drudge of a drama that masquerades as a science fiction film, and is about as exhilarating as a Jacob’s cream cracker. Steer well clear unless you want to be lulled into a dissatisfied sleep.

Bird Box – Review

Could this be the front-runner for most memed movie of the year? Bird Box, Netflix’s latest viral hit, is a clunky mish-mash of a film that is barely redeemed by Sandra Bullock’s occasionally strong performance as a woman facing the transition to maternal commitment. Set in an apocalyptic scenario akin to A Quiet Place, the monsters in this release now prey not your voice, but on your sight – one glance at these spooky spectres compels you to immediately end your life. This allows for some gruesomely entertaining action scenes, but the film is almost immediately bogged down by the freakshow of mismatched characters introduced only fifteen minutes into the runtime, when Malorie (Sandra Bullock) takes shelter in a house crowded with strangers.

Where to start? There’s Lil’ Rel Howery practically reprising his role from Get Out, seemingly unaware that he has to play a different character; Trevante Rhodes of Moonlight fame is just there, awkwardly hovering until he’s actually given a meaningful role to play. To my outright astonishment (I had to pause the movie and check – surely it can’t be him?), C-list rapper Machine Gun Kelly is also given a significant role in this horror/thriller, leaving me baffled every time he appeared on-screen. You might think a veteran like John Malkovich could salvage this awkward mess, but he too delivers a lukewarm and uninspired performance as the misanthropic houseowner, Douglas.

“This is the chief failure of the film – an unconvincing reconciliation of two very different messages”

Douglas, a self-proclaimed ‘asshole’, is soon revealed to be a lazy caricature of the average Trump voter, or perhaps even the President himself, allowing Bullock to righteously lampoon his ‘better them than us’ attitude in a sickeningly self-congratulatory manner. This heavy-handed swipe at the current administration (Malkovich even says ‘mak[e] the end of the world great again’ – cringe) only serves to further demonstrate the Hollywood elite’s inability to make meaningful political statements.

This clumsy initial scenario is interlaced throughout by the central narrative of the film: Malorie’s gruelling, blind-folded odyssey down a treacherous river with two young children in tow. Set five years after the start of the suicide apocalypse, these scenes are far more engaging than the stagnant environment of the safehouse, and director Susanne Bier knows it, peppering the film with numerous flash-forwards. This is the chief failure of the film – an unconvincing reconciliation of two very different messages – with the trials and tribulations of motherhood being far more poignant a theme than petty political name-calling.

Despite all this, Bird Box – however confused and messy it is – is often quite a fun watch, and certainly picks up around two-thirds through the runtime, when the focus moves away from all the distracting characters and deservedly onto Bullock. Bier manages to set up an effective tug at the heart-strings right at the end. However, most of the film does not seem to realise that the more space Bullock is given to work with, the more Bird Box succeeds.

In Defence of the Arrowverse

Since its inception with Arrow in 2012, the CW’s Arrowverse has proven to have a staying power rarely associated with superhero shows, going from strength-to-strength in the past six years, whilst its rivals (such as the ill-fated Marvel Netflix shows) have come and gone. With the upcoming “Elseworlds” crossover set to feature Superman and introduce us to Ruby Rose’s Batwoman and Gotham City, it’s time to look back on why this universe has been such a resounding success and why these shows are well worth the time of the uninitiated.q

First and foremost, the connected universe works – and wisely avoids the mistake of trying to connect with the movies. Following Barry Allen’s introduction in Arrow’s second season, the interactions between these silver screen heroes has always been part of what makes the universe work so well. With Oliver mentoring Barry on his heroic journey, the Green Arrow advances his own story and expands his role as a protector far beyond Star City; with Barry then allowed to go from student to teacher in Supergirl’s first season. Later, Barry’s actions impact the lives of Oliver Queen and his team in significant ways, showing the consequences of actions extended far beyond one show in this exceptionally detailed universe. Expanding this further still is the idea of the multiverse with an infinite number of earths (such as the one where Supergirl is set) and the comedic and dramatic possibilities of alternative characters appearing from different earths – such as Tom Cavanagh’s Harrison Wells who has appeared as a super-villain, a clueless imposter and an arrogant detective – amongst others. The ability to jump from earth to earth – and dimension to dimension, not to mention the occasional cosmic mission – allows for huge variety in characterisation and location, ensuring all four of these shows continue to evolve and remain compelling.

“By casting lovable leads such as Grant Gustin and Melissa Benoist, the Arrowverse immediately invests us in a humorous and good-natured protagonist”

The birth of Legends of Tomorrow allowed secondary characters from Arrow and The Flash to exist in a new creative space, develop in ways we never thought possible (e.g. villains such as Captain Cold and Heat Wave) and build surprising and lasting bonds. The eternal question of ‘what would happen if this character met that character’ – a fantasy for most shows – is a reality consistently fulfilled within the Arrowverse where the unlikeliest of teams are forged on a weekly basis. Best of all are the yearly crossovers where the four teams unite to defeat a common enemy – utilising their unique abilities for spectacular action scenes and offering opportunities for witty interactions between the various ensembles.

All of these shows are both fun and funny and offer a self-aware humour that never derails their more serious moments. They are aware of each other, the actor’s past and all the tropes of the genre and poke fun at these in a manner that never feels like too much. The casting of Brandon Routh (who portrayed Superman in Superman Returns) as the Atom has provided a few good laughs and also hints at the Arrowverse’s loyalty to DC actors and respect for its history, with Mark Hamill and John Wesley Shipp creatively reprising their roles from the 1990s TV series in the new iteration of The Flash. Furthermore, all four of these shows contain hilarious secondary characters – from Supergirl’s Cat Grant to The Flash’s Cisco Ramone – who often prove to be the highlight of every scene they are in, offering levity but at all times heart. By casting lovable leads such as Grant Gustin and Melissa Benoist, the Arrowverse immediately invests us in a humorous and good-natured protagonist who we yearn to see succeed from the outset of their journey. As we follow them from villains that range from colourful to genuinely intimidating, we feel like we are reading issue after issue of a truly great comic run, falling deeper into the world of our hero and its lore as we go on. As our hero learns lessons, grows stronger and forms bonds with friends and love interests we invest in and root for them in a way that is rare in any medium, let alone superhero television.

In an era where the MCU is cutting lesbian sex scenes and deleting comic-accurate gay relationships from their movies, it is worth shining a light on the Arrowverse for being truly diverse – presenting captivating characters of all ages, races, genders and sexualities. These are shows unafraid of tackling real issues, with Supergirl taking a strong feminist stance and the Legends exploring socially conscious themes through time travelling. They are shows about how we are stronger together and how we should celebrate our differences, fitting for a universe that offers the gritty vigilantism of Arrow alongside the gaudy comedy of Legends of Tomorrow. Ultimately though, it is the similarities that matter most – with the Arrowverse presenting four funny, good-hearted and highly enjoyable shows that everybody should be watching.

The Princess Switch – Review

Am I addicted to Christmas films? Have I watched so many terrible ones that at this point I’ve lost any sense of objectivity with regard to how awful they are – and now think every one of them deserves an Oscar and/or standing ovation? The answer to both of those questions is a resounding YES.

The Princess Switch is a gem of a film, a veritable smörgasbord of Christmas clichés and a showcase for Vanessa Hudgens’ questionable acting talent. I’m such a sucker for a Christmas film (as you can probably tell), even moreso for a terrible Christmas film, but this is so terrible it pushes the limits of my patience.

Vanessa Hudgens plays two characters (and, fingers crossed, gets two paychecks!) Stacy and Margaret, who, in a Parent-Trap style plot-device decide to, you guessed it, switch places and lead one another’s lives. This film can only be described as a bizarre hybrid of the aforementioned 1961/1998 classic and The Princess Diaries. Cue hijinks aplenty – the film has a checklist of things it duly ticks off: pale and moderately-threatening supporting characters, moral questioning and soul-searching, situations that are supposed to be hilarious but end up being awkward more than anything else, melodramatic love stories, and, less-conventionally, Hudgens’ botched attempt at an English accent.

“not that I would expect a Christmas film to push the envelope but hey ho-ho-ho”

Why, then, does it appear ever so slightly unsatisfying? First of all, the delivery and script appear to be compiled by somebody whose only experience of England is gleamed through watching archive footage of the Queen’s speech. Secondly, the plot is unbearably predictable (not that I would expect a Christmas film to push the envelope but hey ho-ho-ho). What I would additionally call out is the film’s remarkably heavy handedness about its cross-cultural plot, the only conclusion to be drawn from which is that Netflix have commissioned an intentionally terrible piece of film-making, designed to satirise the Hallmark movies of yore. Surely this is the case?

Amidst this mess – though Hudgens’s performance is sub-par – it nonetheless seems to take flight (perhaps as the result of comparison more than anything else). Margaret (as Stacy)’s ‘Prince’ appears to have the personality of a paving slab, while the plot devices – the convenient introduction of an object which causes her to reconsider everything, a large pair of glasses that function as an all-encompassing disguise – hide in plain sight. I hesitate to say anymore for risk of spoilers (this is a film that is admittedly quite difficult to spoil), but if you have seen a film before at soccommonwealthme point in your life, you might just be able to take a wild guess at where this story ends up. The Princess Switch is one of the worst films I have ever seen. And I don’t just say that because I’m slightly bitter about the fact that I, a film student, found the plot hard to follow at points. But then again, who wants to be a grump at Christmas?! Five stars.

Auteurs on our Laptops: A Look into the rise of Sam Esmail

Sam Esmail’s Homecoming has become a bit of a critical darling in the last few weeks. Any article or review has given Esmail olympic praise – and for good reason. The show is a triumph of cinematography and writing, a triumph reserved for Esmail himself, who has taken the limelight as the show’s ‘creator’. This praise was also shown for Mr. Robot, Esmail’s last venture, where the filmmaker worked as a detailed and precise visionary. It appears for Esmail, nothing but his view will do. This seems to be in keeping with the fetishisation of the ‘auteur’: the single artist, creating a single work, with a single view in mind.

Notably, Esmail is one of many. In cinema, filmmakers like Taika Waititi and Ben Wheatley have taken up titles as ‘auteurs’ with their unique styles, and this has bled into the expanding world of artistic TV. Noah Hawley, Phoebe Waller-Bridge and even Lisa McGee of Derry Girls fame have become more and more the focus of TV journalism and general praise. It seems that there is a growing trend of auteurs in artsy and stylish TV. In some ways, this could be attributed to TV’s growing popularity or even to a general sense of the ‘cult of celebrity’ – but I don’t think this answers the question in a way that’s wholly unique to a notably distinct trend like the rise of auteurs in high-culture TV. I think it’s probably fairer to say that this arises from a change in the way we perceive media.

This perception shift is all in the internet. As any YouTube user knows, there’s been a bit of a shift in the way we associate a filmmaker and their art. On the internet, videos and films are personality-driven. They rely on the filmmaker’s personality and flair to gain a following. This has led to filmmakers becoming more transparent, and the craft of film becoming more of a people’s art. In so many ways this has raised our appreciation for the job a filmmaker does, because it is more visible and attainable. This does go some way in explaining the rise of Esmail as a name and brand.

“As a world of binge-watchers, the habit of watching a TV show without interruption allows for something closer to film. This has meant that the TV we watch has adapted to becoming guided more by one vision, and Esmail’s work has become a result of that growing trend”

However, we don’t see the time-honoured tradition of the outsider auteur as much in online content. This is something that’s been kept a little more to the realms of film and TV, and stems from a long tradition of driven visionaries looking to rock the foundations of a medium. Kubrick is probably the most famous example, but there have been plenty of wannabe Hollywood artists that tried to create edgy and thought-provoking art. Film’s anxiety with the fact there can never be one creator, like in paintings and music, means this is probably a natural conclusion. A similar anxiety also applies to TV, where it still functions as “the small screen” despite the medium now being a cultural heavyweight in its own right. That does explain the cinematic nature of some of Esmail’s work, particularly Mr. Robot, but I doubt you’d hear Esmail saying that he has been trying to emulate cinema.

There’s also something to be said for a change in viewing habits. As a world of binge-watchers, the habit of watching a TV show without interruption allows for something closer to film. This has meant that the TV we watch has adapted to becoming guided more by one vision, and Esmail’s work has become a result of that growing trend. It’s also worth bringing up the strange symbiotic nature a driven creator has with a dedicated audience. When an audience takes out significant portions of time to binge a series there is a greater devotion to the work and the auteur. This devotion leads to the auteur being able to more freely take strange creative decision that will be financially backed by a dedicated following. It must be said Esmail’s Mr. Robot enabled this for the showrunner, and Homecoming reflects it, with a few more creative risks (the visual direction in particular) than his previous effort.

The other trend is the general change in the definition of the auteur, which has been happening for a while, even in film. With each successive famous auteur there was an evolution in the process. Kubrick and Coppola made for a string of serious and ironic think-pieces from filmmakers yet to come. Tarantino led to a wave of realist dialogue and the constant use of grainy recordings of songs from the 60s in film. The nature of an auteur is to change; as the auteur is, by its nature, someone who both borrows and rejects what has come before them. The shift of auteur culture from TV to film is just keeping in the tradition of auteur culture in the first place.

There’s one more reason for the rise of auteur in modern TV, and it surrounds the grubby world of showbusiness. The show-runner and creator is probably the closest the audience sees to the business itself and therefore offers a unique role. It’s the go-between for the art and the business and is therefore the place where creative battles can be lost and won. This is probably a good reason behind why creators and ‘auteurs’ have received a large amount of praise recently, when the creator stands up to the money-fuelled villains of Fox, Amazon and Netflix to realise their vision it is all the more noble. That’s not even to say that companies like Netflix are inherently villainous, they just provide a good narrative device for the branding of a fire-brand filmmaker-cum-artist.

Therefore, Sam Esmail seems to be riding on a wave. That’s not because Mr. Robot or Homecoming are of low quality – they’re not – it’s more that it’s an inevitable symptom of our reactions to new TV. I don’t suspect that the wave of ‘auteur culture’ is set to go anytime soon: as we reach a new age of the ‘creator’ due to the popularity of YouTube and streaming, look out for many more auteurs on the horizon.

House of Cards, season 6 – Review

Harrowing drama, a protagonist lacking in morality and a ruthless firing – the story behind the scenes of House of Cards’ sixth series will likely be remembered far longer than the season itself. There is little left to say about the firing of Kevin Spacey – on an ethical level, it was obviously the correct one – yet from a narrative perspective, the removal of the lead character after last season’s intriguing cliff-hanger is deeply unsatisfying for long-term fans. Frank Underwood was a titan of television, one of the golden age’s greatest anti-heroes who charmed and appalled viewers in his merciless pursuit of power. For the most part, characters in the show were only interesting in relation to Frank – and season six does well to remember this – as well as allowing the newly-titled Claire Hale (the excellent Robin Wright) to establish her own identity. Whilst this eight-episode run is far from perfect, at its best it represents a fitting epilogue to the Underwood saga and a surprisingly enticing prologue to a potential new era.

Wright’s ability to step into her on-screen husband’s daunting large shoes and dominate the screen is the reason the show continues to work as well as it does. Feminism is explored in a way only Cards could, ripping all decency and ideology from the movement. Claire’s manipulation of her femininity is entirely fitting as she goes to progressively more extreme measures to protect her power. From the shocking opening scene, Freudian slips and Hale’s cynical use of the sympathy afforded to a widow, gender is at the heart of the cultural commentary of the show, providing thematic relevancy and a unique angle for the final season to explore. Whilst her asides to the camera are more hit and miss than Frank’s, at their most effective they paint a haunting picture of a character whose growth over 73 episodes has been extraordinary. With enemies closing in from all sides, we can’t help but invest in the new President’s domestic and international struggles with Cards retaining all the dramatic weight we have come to expect from a show that redefined the landscape of television.

“At its worst, it is an uneven season of hard-hitting but seemingly unconnected moments”

Despite the power of its central performance and a main plotline more focused and high-stakes than the previous Presidential offerings, the supporting cast still fail to make much of an impact. The addition of the Shepherds creates a degree of in-universe implausibility (where have these all-powerful billionaires been for the past five years?) and adds very little indeed. Anette, Bill and Duncan’s storylines go absolutely nowhere, as the writer appear so uninvested in their uninteresting premises they abandon them half-way through with little or no consequence. The show never really commits to any of its secondary storylines with prestigious talents like Patricia Clarkson (playing the mysterious Jane Davis) and Jayne Atkinson (the long-suffering Cathy Durant) criminally underused. At its worst, it is an uneven season of hard-hitting but seemingly unconnected moments (the flashbacks feel especially redundant), with Doug Stamper (Michael Kelly) being the only other character that really matters. Frank’s most loyal servant must choose between the lesser of two evils to protect his master’s legacy; which creates the conflict that leads to the show’s surprising yet satisfying conclusion. Even when the show plunges off the deep end of plausibility and is hampered by the Spacey saga (the refusal to even play archived voice recordings is a frustrating one) the dynamic between Claire and Doug grounds the material in the past and elevates its intensity, as we root for an implausible happy ending where both overcome the prevailing (if undefined) political rivals that surround them.

Last year, I wrote that season five ended with ‘the stakes raised, the knives out and the deck wobbling… we are left crying out for more.’ How much has changed, and yet how little. Despite its surreal tonal shifts and narrative detours, House of Cards’ sixth season shows enough promise and ends in such a manner that the final season of political intrigue simply does not feel like enough. In a post-Frank world, Cards has done the impossible – redefining itself with an equally effective lead performance and premise – leaving us once again crying out for more.

Daredevil: Season 3 – Review

13 episodes. 13 damn episodes. The obsession with this arbitrary number has certainly proved unlucky for the Netflix corner of the MCU. Even those who sat through 26 episodes of Harlem’s Hero and the mercifully shorter 23 episodes of a posh white brat not doing nearly enough fist-ing greeted their cancellation with a mild shrug and went about their day. There were no Brooklyn Nine-Nine-esque protests or petitions; these were shows destined to fade to obscurity, whose only major accomplishments will likely be the dubious distinction of providing the hardest questions in future Marvel trivia nights. Whilst Daredevil’s excellent first season allowed us to glimpse at a small-screen, R-rated addition to the interconnected cinematic universe we all know and love that positively brimmed with potential, just a few years later the grind of these tediously plotted, agonisingly slowly-paced shows has turned many away. Even the wrongfully acclaimed King of Marvel TV (long live Queen Jessica) has fallen victim to the curse of 13, with its second season containing about six episodes worth of interesting television and its third – whilst an improvement – still feels at least three episodes too long. While there’s much to admire in Daredevil Season 3, comparisons to The Dark Knight and Infinity War feel like unearned superlatives, for reasons that go beyond its excessively lengthy nature.

Vincent D’Onofrio, who plays Wilson Fisk

Vincent D’Onofrio’s turn as the Kingpin has long been the highlight of this show and his return to the heart of the action this year is a welcome one. Nonetheless, it’s hard to shake the feeling we might have been given too much of a good thing. Fisk’s convoluted and ridiculous convenient plan suggests he might have inherited Heimdall’s all-seeing omniscience with his reliance on almost magical twists making Doctor Stephen Strange – not Matt Murdock – his natural enemy. Furthermore, his motivation to be reunited with Vanessa rings hollow, as she is a character neither he nor the audience have spent nearly enough time with. Even the potentially topical theme of a rich white man manipulating the law is barely explored here, as the writers coast on the goodwill earned by his far more nuanced portrayal in the superior Season One. That is not to say the white-suited villain does not have his moments, for his thinly-contained rage keeps your eyes gripped to the screen every time he appears, but rather that they are fewer and less impactful than before, a significant factor in the overall decline in quality and entertainment value of Daredevil.

“one cannot help watching the final epic showdown of the season with jaw agape as plot, themes and action collide in a scene for the ages”

Thank God then for our hero Matt Murdock whose struggles with his Catholic faith, lack of vision and enduring a lifetime’s worth of losses make the series watchable even in its more ponderous moments, as we root for him to grow both as a hero and a person. Even if the to-ing and fro-ing on the morality of killing Fisk quickly wears thin, Charlie Cox’s subtle portrayal of pain keeps this discussion grounded in a character study we can invest in – while the show takes the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen in a direction that feels both familiar and fresh. Greater still is Wilson Bethel’s portrayal of Special Agent Poindexter (a.k.a. Bullseye) who provides almost every highlight of the season. Everything from the tremendous flashback sequence in episode four, which grounds the character in subtlety and sympathy, to his breath-taking action scenes where his unfaltering aim and unique ricocheting ability, make him a formidable and memorable foe. The action this season is big-budget movie quality, with one eleven minute one-take hallway masterpiece rightfully being singled out for particular praise, whilst the added focus on Matt’s heightened senses in combat situations represent Daredevil at its absolute best. While the road to get there is undeniably rocky, one cannot help watching the final epic showdown of the season with jaw agape as plot, themes and action collide in a scene for the ages, leading to a deeply satisfying conclusion that makes all of what went before completely worth it.

Daredevil Season 3 is a curious beast. For every predictably dull Foggy and Karen moment (including a momentum-killing episode dedicated to the latter) there is the surprising success of a character like Agent Nadeem or Sister Maggie who each add something to the series and its core characters. It is a season with 8-to-10 episodes of truly thrilling content packaged within the frustrating fluff of a studio-mandated thirteen-episode run-time, a devil with far too much detail. Until someone has the guts to tell the Man with No Fear’s story a little more concisely, Daredevil will remain agonisingly on the cusp of true greatness.