The Inquisitive J

Well, it's nice to see this whole thing is still here underneath all this dust. How are you guys? I hope life has been kind, and that you are all as creative, positive, and driven as I remember.

It has been years since I posted on here, so all of this will take some getting used to. But I miss the process and the catharsis of having a space where I could express myself and push myself to make articles I could be proud of, even if it was only ever me reading them. I've been lucky enough to have had other venues and accomplishments in the intervening years that have been fulfilling in their own way. But sometimes, you just want a humble blog to call your own, you know?

Special thanks to the School of Movies community, who I have been talking films and other media with online for years. You're all wonderful people, and maybe with my own space here I can stop flooding some of the Discord channels with paragraphs of text on this or that movie and tv show, eh?

Anyway, this will all be a bumpy return where not everything falls into place all at once. So if you're still here, bear with me as I tidy the place up a bit and get back into the swing of all this. And if I'm just talking to myself, then even better!

I'll be back soon with two best of 2023 posts to get us started, as well as some completely out of context episode write-ups for The Zeta Project, an obscure show that I have been watching and putting together writeups on-and-off on the School of Movies community discord. That's just to tidy up and settle some old business. From there... who knows? But I can't wait to find out.

In the meantime, you can catch up on what I've been up to over at Through the Wind Door, a podcast I started with a friend of mine to talk about New Century. You remember, that book series I kept gushing about and told you all to check out? Well, it's still good. Better, even, and there's been a whole bunch more since we last talked. The latest one is called Castle of the Moon, and it has a lady Dracula and terrific Gothic Sex Appeal, a term I coined once when discussing the Castlevania Netflix show.

Wait, did you guys watch that show? I feel like that's one tumblr would have gone nuts over. Really need to check out Nocturne soon...

Anyway, I've been on this podcast since 2020, my co-host and editor talk through each chapter of each book (just like my episode / chapter write-ups I used to do back here in the day). We have interviews with the author and his cast of voice actors, and they are all not only lovely people, but talented as all heck. We also have tangent episodes where we talk about other media that captures our attention, like introducing my co-host to 10 classic horror movies, or Insomniac's Spider-Man 2. Actually, here, let me show you the first part of our multiple episode recording session on that one, that's a pretty good place to start.

Chapter Twenty: Off-Road Warriors

You can listen to the full episode here.

Well damn, that was an intense dose of adrenaline via audio, wasn’t it?

Raven immediately sets the foreboding tone, a notable change from the sweet tranquillity of the previous chapter’s closing moments. His grave description of the convoy of Mad Max-looking scary-crazy-bastards (and yes, this is about to be a Steampunk Fury Road episode, and you should have no objections to that) coming over the horizon sells the real danger that these men represent. The language paints a captivating yet frightening picture of demented vehicles, using harsh consonants to convey the sturdiness of these reinforced crafts, and hissing adjectives to emphasise the sharp, hostile shapes of these clawed, pointed carriages. Best line of the section is certainly “nothing was uniform save for the manifestly apparent expulsion of normality”. It instantly cements the chaotic, violent mindset of the men approaching the mine.

         These men call themselves the Southern Cross. Among their number is a man who’s fashioned himself into a bear (the talons fixed to his limbs make me think of a twisted, older and more cruel version of Miguel and his mongoose claw), and, as the band blows their own war trumpets in an act that is as aggressive as it is indicative of their own inflated self-importance over others, the ensuing danger becomes intensified, and chillingly unavoidable. We get the first glimpse of their leader, who wears a horse’s skull and appears to fancy himself a pale rider of death with the white, bone-like motif of his carriage and horses (I’m picturing Overwatch’s Reaper in both appearance and edgy lack of self-awareness). A lieutenant riding ahead of the pack addresses Raven. While Raven is the one who embodies the more dignified aspects of the bird with whom he shares his name, this lieutenant is the one who resembles a squawking, shrill parrot, wearing a beaked plague doctor’s mask and shrieking demands at Raven. He claims that “the Lord of Brimstone” has arrived. Oh this is going to go well.

             Raven dashes inside, hurriedly relaying the situation to the others. Within minutes, the few remaining mine workers and the team have brought Tabitha, who, lest we forget, is still going through labour (but still exhibiting her leadership skills even now by issuing orders, reinforcing that whole theme I talked about last time about motherhood / pregnancy not getting in the way of authoritative women being damn good at their jobs), inside SteamHeart. They don’t have enough soldiers to defend this post, and help isn’t coming, so things are looking grim. Even so, Annie assures us that “we’re not dying here like rats in a trap. Hell, that’s like, my one rule.”, and Laureta Sela’s delivery of that second part alleviates some of the tension by getting a chuckle out of me with that great line. As the group approach the gates, however, the pressure of the situation is once again felt as Harry informs the team that, even with SteamHeart’s technological superiority, it will take some serious damage if it charges headfirst into the enemy through the gate, and likely won’t be able to break free of them if it does so.

         Annie starts a dialogue with them through the loudspeaker. Abigail wanted to try, demonstrating her continuing desire to work on being a better figure of authority after giving the speech to the theatre a few chapters back, but Annie bluntly shoots that down as she knows they’ll have a better chance if she takes charge of this. Even so, it goes about as well as you’d expect – they don’t heed Annie’s firm warnings, and spout off rhetoric that, in addition to being violently psychotic, is grossly suggestive. Both the birdman and horse leader demand they “open wiiiide, each and every one of you; we are coming in!” Eeurggh… fuck these guys.

         The team devise a plan of escape after Jae-Hyun proposes he opens the gate to give the rest of them a chance, acknowledging the certainty that this will result in his own death. His brushing of Tabitha’s cheek indicates the loyalty and love he has for his leader who he will lay down his own life for. He steps out of SteamHeart to meet his fate, adjusting his hat as he does so; if clothes maketh the man, then this act highlights the dignity of this man in the face of these monstrously dressed, hollow creatures who call themselves men. The Southern Cross enter the mine after Hyun opens the gates, and the plague doctor spouts more inane speeches about surrender being the sensible choice in the face of such a rapturous occasion (resembling a combination of Loki in the first Avengers saying “isn’t this so much easier?!”, and a Jim Sterling character). In an instant, Harry springs SteamHeart into action, shooting forward and knocking horses and riders aside as it does so. The episode has been building anticipation to this moment – things are going to kick off hard.

         Jae-Hyun pulls the squawking doctor off his horse, and the response of arrows shot in his direction kills both men, though only the doctor meets his death with a scream. I’m torn on Jae-Hyun’s death, as it feels as if we were barely just starting to get to know this coolly tempered character, and the stern composure with which he met his death makes him someone I wish we got to spend more time with. However, I also think a character like this really helps heighten the stakes of the ensuing sequence, as well as hammers home the point that the victory of our heroes doesn’t come without sacrifice. The resilience Jae-Hyun showed as he met his death in order to save the lives of others, while still demonstrating a fighting spirit that showed he was a man who wouldn’t let monsters like these do what they wanted without retribution, makes the most of the small amount of time we spend with him. If we were to have a character with such a journey within SteamHeart, and I think that both the sequence and the story as a whole are stronger for it, I’m also glad that a specific effort is made to make this character not just a generic white guy. Instead, it’s a character of Asian descent who clearly has a defined look, style, and personality outside of what we see of him here in this book. It gives the world and the people in it a little more dimension, and reminds us that the way forward toward a more heroic and noble world is through unity and collaboration between all of us. That’s how we get to see the best of humanity. But for the worst of humanity, like the racist, murderous Southern Cross, it’s pretty satisfying to see someone of a different ethnicity literally pull them off their horse and, when it comes down to it, show that they are the better man when they each meet their deaths.

         Anyway, back to the action – I’ll do my best to make my writing engaging and analytical, but to be frank, it’s so easy to lose myself in the flow of this sequence. It’s tense as hell, compelling, features detailed description of well-choreographed action, the voice actors are all delivering their lines with pitch-perfect urgency and intensity, and all of this is packaged together (in this audio version of the book) with some truly immersive editing and sound effect choices. It’s the best action sequence of New Century to date.

         As SteamHeart breaks away, the Southern Cross give chase, abandoning their initial goal of the mine as they now want the technology of their craft, as well as to take out their frothing anger on the crew. The grassland beneath them is uneven, which isn’t good for Tabitha during all of this, so James urges Harry to seek the smoothest route. Individual horse riders catch up and start flinging projectiles at SteamHeart’s glowing cables, which you have to imagine is a weak point of the craft (kind of like those glowing spots on a videogame boss). Annie and Butler take position in SteamHeart’s sniping openings. Abigail and Jeremy are handing out ammo and hammering out any projectiles which pierce the hull of the craft, showing that this thing isn’t impervious to damage, and will fall if it takes too much. Harry is doing a mixture of evasive and ramming manoeuvres, resulting in some awesome displays of destruction as enemy carriages splinter, flip, and crash. God, this is good stuff to listen to.

         James takes over narration from Raven (incidentally, Raven was a good choice for this first part, as his journalistic ability to report the specifics of events puts you right in the action of this sequence). He recruits Jeremy, instructing him to sterilise some linens using steam from the craft’s internal pipes. Tabitha grips James’ hands as she fights the pain, and the two “breathe together”, something Harry and Tabitha did at the end of the last episode – there’s a lot of power in matching and sharing the breathing of someone else as they go through something hard that pushes them to the edge. James hides nothing from Tabitha when she asks him if he’s delivered many babies before; he’s assisted on several occasions, but this is the first time he’s delivered one himself. But even as weapons hammer the hull next to them, James assures with compassionate determination that they’re going to do this right, and that there will be another “little person in the world” in a short while, which is how they’re going to survive. It’s an exchange of nervous fear as everything happens around them, mixed with hopeful resilience.

         We switch to Annie. An approaching enemy vehicle has attached lassos to SteamHeart. Abigail, Harry, and Annie take this in, realise how they need to counter this, and brace themselves; SteamHeart builds energy in a roaring moment of anticipation before Harry jams the wheel and hammers the breaks, making the back of SteamHeart swing like an almighty pendulum, smashing the enemy vehicle in a spectacular moment of destruction.

         Now the Bear (whose cries make him sound like Tom Hardy’s Bane) and his vehicle are coming down on them. One of the Southern Cross leaps onto the windshield and embeds his tomahawk in the window and narrowly misses Harry. The proud mechanic indignantly cries out that these fuckers are “tearing my baby apart!”, and Abigail steps out the hatch to punish the window assailant by shooting him point blank in the elbow. If I recall correctly, her weapon of choice right now is a sawn-off shotgun, making the impact of this even meatier and wince-inducing [Editor’s Correction: I’ve been informed that Abigail’s weapon is a shotgun, but not a sawn-off. It’s a lever-action, short-barrel, short-stock shotgun, made for her by Harry, John Browning and William Winchester. Think Arnie during the truck chase scene in Terminator 2]. Annie asks her what the hell she thinks she’s doing, before Abby swings across to the Bear’s carriage using one of the lassos. Annie’s concern is understandable; Abigail is her charge, a possessor of the Endowment (and one who very recently demonstrated can actually put it to good use by closing these portals), and this chaotic and dangerous situation might force Annie to do what Arlington asked of her and shoot Abigail before the Endowment can be lost, which is the last thing she wants to do. We see these frantic thoughts race through her mind as she trains her rifle over the Bear and Abigail’s fight. The Bear seems to be enjoying the duel, demanding his comrades leave her alone and that he be the one to take her down. Abigail catches herself on his armour, but she spits blood in his eye, dodges his club, and, with one guided megaton hit of a punch that slows the world down to a crawl, destroys his balls.

Brutal. Awesome.

         As he reels, Abigail ropes the Bear and kicks the driver, snaring him and launching the Bear into the air as Annie tags in with a shot that severs the rope and sends him flying and crashing. A feathered carriage comes in from the side, putting Abigail in danger. Annie calls out for a bottle of bourbon, and Raven assists by giving her his whisky, though he lets her know that she owes him a drink. This, and a lot of other little asides and exchanges during this sequence is what communicates the character of the people engaged in this fight, which makes it all the more exciting and thrilling. It’s people we know and care about who are participating in this and fighting for their lives, not just nameless faces. For that same reason, it’s also what makes it tense and frightening; I really don’t want to lose anyone in this group. But, for the time being, Raven tears a piece of fabric from his shirt and jams it into the bottle, showing he understands exactly what Annie had in mind. He lights it with his cigarette (another indication of his personality – it’s amusing to see that even in this life-or-death situation, Raven prioritises having a lit cigarette in his mouth), and Annie passes the Molotov to Abigail after she realised what the two were planning and came up to them. The synthesis of this teamwork and co-operation between multiple members of the party is really satisfying to watch. Annie lays down covering fire at the feathered carriage to distract them as Abigail slings the bottle, and Annie, like John Marston activating Dead Eye, focuses her attention as time slows down and hits the bottle with one last bullet. Wild fire ignites the carriage. Annie lets out a guttural and sorely earned “YYYYESSS!”

         The last carriage is the Lord of Brimstone with his skeleton crew and his bone-white ride. They have dynamite – oh dear. Abigail extends a hand out to Annie, emphasising her support and belief in her that she can make this shot. She pulls Annie onto the roof, and as Annie is pulled into the open air before she lands next to Abby, she sees everything clearly, and identifies her target. She takes her shot immediately, and it lands, hitting the guy behind Brimstone, who was holding a stick of dynamite, which he drops inside the carriage – right next to all the other dynamite. The explosion destroys the carriage, and the leader is shot out like a comical firework, engulfed in fire, ash, and bone. Hey, he was the one who called himself “Brimstone” and obsessed over his boney white aesthetic – I’d say he got exactly what he always wanted.

         With a crash, the world goes quiet. We hear a heartbeat slow down, providing a fantastic transition that takes us from the adrenaline of this sequence back down to a place where we can catch our breath. But we’re soon reminded that, while all of this is going on, Tabitha is still facing her own fight as she’s in the middle of giving birth to her baby. As James guides the baby out, provides support to Tabitha, and things escalate to their peak, the explosion echoes out behind them as Tabitha experiences her own release as the baby boy comes out, safe. The music instantly adapts to the sweet innocence of the moment. The crew re-centre themselves, Harry slows down SteamHeart, and now that everything is okay and everyone is safe… Annie punches Abigail in the side, in an act of frustration that ends up hurting her more than Abigail (Annie is after all not quite as used to throwing punches as Abigail is, as we remember from that brawl in Secret Rooms which Abby and James adapted to but which took Annie by surprise and disorientated her). Abigail responds that, while she may have taken a risky move, they all survived and made it through this. The tone is quietly triumphant, intimate, and optimistic. Our heroes have made it through this.

         James shares Abby’s gratitude for the moment, and as Butler tells him he’s done a good thing here as Tabitha holds her child close to her, he experiences a sense of tranquil acceptance. James has been experiencing doubts about himself and his usefulness ever since he acquired the Endowment. At the end of Secret Rooms, he even wondered if he would be any good as a doctor after effectively losing one half of his eyes. But by helping another, by bringing this new life into the world, James has realised he can make enough of a difference to be at peace with himself, if only for now. It’s a revelation that endears me to James, as I’ve often found that, at times where I doubt my own self-worth, the best thing I can do is to seek out ways I can help other people, whether it’s in big ways or little ways. If I can make someone else’s day a little easier, then that alone makes me feel like I’m doing alright. And that’s a sentiment I love to see in fiction like this.

Chapter 19: The Woman on the Zinc Mine

The final cover of SteamHeart is really something else - and yes, I’m going to be using it more for these posts as I go on.

You can listen to the full episode here.

         Having arrived in Missouri, the party make their way to the zinc mines where “Agent Z” resides. Abigail is uneasy as she assesses the fortifications, reminding herself of her time at Weirwood where, due to her position as one of Katherine’s most trusted seconds, protection and fortification of a small-scale settlement and its population was a daily concern that she became heavily involved with. Abigail knows what’s needed to keep a residence safe from those who would take advantage of isolated settlements cut off from the protection of densely inhabited civilisation, and the appearance of the yard in front of them doesn’t reassure her. They’re shown in by Jae-Hyun, a stoic gentleman who cuts a striking figure in his bowler hat. As he asks them not to get his boss too excited before introducing her, we see the bone-collecting, piano-playing, enterprising Tabitha for the first time in a long, long while. We see why Jae-Hyun said what he did when she steps out in the late stages of pregnancy, telling us that while Jae-Hyun may be rather serious and stern in character, he is nevertheless deeply caring and protective of the woman he works for.

         Abigail once again demonstrates her open affection for the people she forms connections with, being the first to greet Tabitha, immediately stepping forward to excitedly, but tenderly hug her friend who she hasn’t seen in ages. Tabitha tells her and the group that, while there are other mines here and there, she’s proud to say that hers is the source of most of the zinc that gets sent to the government. Hearing this and the way she discusses the state of things at this site she has taken responsibility for is impressive as hell, and another fine example of New Century continuously providing us with examples of inspiring women in positions of power who have a real aptitude for it. It’s also especially encouraging to learn that Tabitha has achieved all of this during her pregnancy. First, that’s an impressively short timescale for her to have set all this up. And second, I appreciate this story showing us a female character whose agency isn’t suddenly taken away once she’s pregnant. Tabitha had a goal in mind, and she was highly motivated to make it a reality; her pregnancy is obviously a big deal, and it will undoubtedly affect things moving forward, but it doesn’t change her drive or her capability, and that’s really cool to see.

         We get set up with something akin to a sidequest, though it’s a sidequest that aligns with the group’s main journey as they set out for Wind Doors to study and interact with. Tabitha’s running low on people to secure this place, and the supply line has been interfered with by groups who either want to profit off the zinc, or otherwise just cause trouble and have their way. She’s called for help multiple times, but nothing’s come of it. Tabitha suggests she show the group the local Wind Door, and then they can move on to Jefferson to request a garrison for backup. The problem, however, is that while Tabitha and her group have held out up till now, she’s weeks, possibly even days away from giving birth, and the crew of SteamHeart aren’t planning on leaving her, particularly James, as the only doctor at hand. What with this being fiction, I’m inclined to agree that odds are Tabitha will go into labour right as the group comes under attack.

         We move on to a section narrated by Jeremy; the group’s first encounter with a Wind Door. The journey of this sequence is powerful and compelling. Jeremy’s anticipation as he approaches a portal to another world, the manifestation of everything that drives him, is intensely felt as he describes the scene as if he were looking at the most beautiful painting. You get the impression that, even if he wasn’t recording his thoughts like this, this majestic scene of something singular and otherworldly being hidden in this obscure corner of the world would nevertheless be burned into his memory forever. The conversation about finding/making a ladder tall enough for someone to reach the portal makes it plain, however, that even if what would happen next did not occur, his dream of throwing himself at the portal and seeing what happens next was an impossibility. Jeremy chides himself for not thinking of bringing a ladder, but the truth is it would be unlikely for a 30 foot step-ladder to exist, making one would take time they don’t have, and, even if they did manage all of that, they still wouldn’t be able to chance someone inadvertently falling through the other side, presumably to their death, considering the height of the Wind Door. There’s too many factors at play which make the tantalising idea of touching this door to another world an impossibility. When Abigail begins to close the portal (looking absolutely striking as she does so with her billowing green coat and red hair as she channels her dormant powers, in an act that’s very akin to the most memorable Jean Grey moments), it pains Jeremy and the curious reader. The music combines with his narration to create a sense of something amazing happening, but at the cost of another amazing thing being taken out of this world forever. My favourite line is a simple one; as Abigail exclaims “I’m doing it!” with a great effort as she closes the portal, Matt Wardle’s delivery of Jeremy’s comment “And she really was” conveys the character’s recognition of his teammate’s achievement, and that, despite his disappointment at coming so close but falling short of his own goal, he is compassionate towards others and genuinely acknowledges what a feat Abigail is managing. The story near the beginning of SteamHeart in which the young Jeremy turns back home midway through his journey to a potentially wondrous sight for the sake of his friend told us that, for as much as Jeremy is intensely driven by his desire to see the magical and the indescribable, he does not put the safety and happiness of others before his own ambition. He demonstrates that again here, acknowledging the success that Abigail has achieved. Though it is hard not to feel some of his regret as he looks back at the site as they leave to get Tabitha back home, remembering the beautiful picture that was there a few moments ago, and now only seeing a place like any other. Its “out of date flag” shows just how forgotten by the world this place is, and how the Wind Door it once housed now has that same status of being a thing of the past.

         So yeah, no time to celebrate the portal being closed and thereby proving that this mission is doable and their struggles aren’t all for nought – Tabitha’s gone into labour! Luckily a doctor is at hand with James present, which very nearly wasn’t the case before the team showed up. So, with any luck, this should all go relatively smoothly and without any interruption, right?

…anyway, the team return to the mine and set Tabitha up in her bedroom. Hours pass, and gradually the room is reduced to just Tabitha and James as they head into a long night together. Harry enters, and asks to speak with Tabitha alone. Before James leaves, however, she intercepts him to ask a question which catches him off-guard; will he and Abigail get married one day? I mean, it’s definitely a question that’s been on shippers, er, I mean readers and listeners’ minds, so I’m just glad someone came out and asked it straight out. This scene is relayed via James’ narration, and in addition to the answer he gives Harry, we also get a glimpse of what’s been on his mind – how Abigail closed the portal on her own while he could do nothing, reinforcing the impression James has of him being “surplus to requirement” next to Abigail when it comes to their shared endowment. The pragmatic James is finding it difficult to come to terms with his inability to contribute in any way to a task of such great importance, and the good doctor seems to feel so much responsibility, whether it’s for lives that could’ve been saved if he had made different decisions, or for his patients, or for the condition he has been given. What good is this ability if it does nothing but hinder his skills as a doctor? All of these thoughts make a prospective relationship with Abigail difficult for James to envision, so he tells Harry no, thinking that his response has disappointed her. But…hmm. I’m not so sure.

         James leaves, and the role of narrator passes to Tabitha. She doesn’t have much of an idea what Harry would want with her, focusing on trying not to lash out when her next contraction comes around. Harry works her way to what she really wants to ask Tabitha, commenting on how she’s having this baby without a man around, how that’s not wrong and in fact really freaking brave, and finally tries to confirm her suspicions by asking Tabitha if she likes men, anticipating the answer to be no. The conversation that follows is sweet, wholesome, and just very healthy to hear. Tabitha plays the role of a really helpful schoolteacher – like, the kind of schoolteacher who should exist and should be teaching young people everywhere about the range of sexual orientations that exist and makes young developing people feel less awkward and less alone for feeling differently to heteronormative peers. Tabitha gently asks Harry if she’s feeling conflicted, not pushing her in any direction, but giving her the chance to air what’s been on her mind and in her heart.

         We listen to Harry as she reasons out what she’s been feeling, thinking that she’s expected to land a husband, and, if that was to be the case, then James fit the bill pretty well as someone she respects and who exhibits many of the qualities she likes in people, such as kindness, intelligence, and politeness. But even with all that on paper, the key ingredient of buzzing attraction isn’t there for her, unlike how it is with… well, when the conversation turns towards Abigail, and her pre-existing relationship with Tabitha, it becomes clear who Harry really has a thing for. Tabitha confesses that she and Abigail “spent a little time together” when they last saw each other, which, okay, is a surprise! Not that they would get together for a bit, as the way Abigail talked with Tabitha and thought about her, you could certainly see an attraction there. I guess I just never put two and two together and figured out that they might already have hooked up (and that explains Abigail’s hushed comments earlier on in the episode when she says that if she’d had known Tabitha was pregnant when they met, she would have done…something, differently).

Chapter Eighteen: Where Will You Be?

The full episode can be listened to here.

An episode of quiet introspection and softly spoken declarations of resolve.

After Abigail made her speech in the theatre to the people of Indianapolis, she spends part of her evening on top of SteamHeart, finding Annie had the same idea. The chapter more or less focuses entirely on this scene, taking the opportunity to delve into some of Annie’s thoughts on recent matters, and Abigail’s questions about the future. The action of Abigail sitting down so that they “tentatively rested our backs against each other” sets the tone. It makes this an intimate moment where the two may not necessarily see each other (suggesting that they don’t have as much of an understanding of one another as they will by the end of this conversation), but they nevertheless share enough trust that they can each have their back to the other person and let their guard down, despite their tentativeness indicating that this doesn’t come easily.

         Annie initiates the conversation, commending Abigail on how she handled herself in front of the crowd. She notes the impression of humbleness Abigail gave off, as this is unusual for her. Abigail chalks it up to the stage enabling the performer in her, but Annie follows up on this remark by asking if that means she wasn’t really feeling humble as she said those things. This is the first of multiple points in the conversation where the two characters ask a searching question of the other, hoping to incite honest responses as the interviewee looks deep within herself. On this particular matter, however, Abigail, changes the subject, enquiring whether they’ll be departing Indianapolis tomorrow. Annie answers yes, as she believes the team is ready. Abigail takes her turn at a probing question as she asks if Annie feels she is ready. Like Abigail, Annie hesitates, not giving a definitive answer. It seems neither character has all the answers about how they feel.

         Annie apologises for not being a better leader, which, you know, it’s been a little while, so it might be clearer to me where this is coming from on the re-listen, but I felt Annie was being a little hard on herself with this remark, though I do understand why she would hold herself up to high standards. Abigail however responds half-jokingly that she was ready to take the sheriff badge off of Annie herself. Annie starts to share, telling Abigail that the death of the Arlingtons brought into focus how responsible she is for all this. Suddenly the feeling of there always being someone back at high command is pulled out from under her, and it seems like, in practice, her word is where all the important decisions get made. That’s definitely a lot to take in for a mission this important, even for an officer with as much experience as Annie.

         Abigail points out that the group and the country still has Truth and Katherine looking out for them. Even after conceding that, Annie worries about what will befall them if they lose Harry. She defies estimation – what Harry can create and invent is so valuable and beyond what other people can either imagine or bring into being, and that’s how Annie saw Thomas and Sarah. They both envisioned a future where humanity could survive into the new century and worked tirelessly to make that happen. Without people like that, people who weren’t just visionaries but actually had a decent idea how to make those visions into reality, Annie doesn’t have high hopes. Abigail argues that, while folks like Katherine aren’t “beyond genius”, that doesn’t stop them from being able to make a difference and contribute to that optimistic future coming to pass. She’s finally able to give Annie an answer and say that she meant what she said during the speech, or at the very least said “what I hope is true”. That’s enough to give Abigail fuel to keep trying to manage the hand she and the rest of the world have been dealt. And whether it’s from her own internal strength, talking this over with Abigail and hearing her words, or a combination of both, Annie resolves to focus not on whether the new higher ups can match up to the old, and instead look to her own status as a figure of authority and work on being a better leader.

         Abigail echoes my sentiments from earlier and says that Annie shouldn’t hold herself to “beyond genius” levels of acumen. When Annie deflects this by asking what the consequences will be if she doesn’t shape up, Abigail tries a different approach by running the title question of the episode – where will you be? Specifically, when, or if they are successful in this mission and they survive into the next century, where does Annie want to be? Essentially, Abigail wants to know what Annie’s best case outcome of all of this is, and, more importantly, she wants Annie to know as well, because she suspects Annie hasn’t allowed herself to entertain the thought, and having it might just give her something to work towards.

         The first thing she knows is that she wants to live in a future where she’s done killing people, and she holsters the gun which she had out, indicating her vigilance against the threat she’s constantly thinking about. After that, she has fun thinking about the possibility of pursuing her sewing, something which Abigail definitively says she won’t take part in due to her distaste for dresses (which she demonstrated in the run-up to the ball earlier on in SteamHeart). As for Butler, Annie wants him to be safe and done with the army as well, but she shares her worries that it might be difficult for him to give that up after being so adept at it for so long, something which Annie understands and seems to share. It’s not that they enjoy killing, but the pride they take in seeing through the many dangerous missions they’ve taken part in is compelling. Even after knowing each other so well, we see that there are some situations Annie and Butler can’t say with certainty they’d know how the other would act.

         When Annie asks Abigail where she wants to be, she’s able to say with relative ease what she’d envision James wanting to do – take on Thomas’ position. However, she admits to having no idea what she wants, as this topic was a means to helping Annie be optimistic about the future. Abigail’s certainty in what the other half of her pairing would want to do and lack of certainty for herself is a contrast to Annie, who has more ease in saying where she’d like to be than she does with giving an answer on behalf of Butler, her partner. Duos and partners with singular bonds are a recurring theme in New Century, but moments like this demonstrate how different each pairing is. The suggestion of following Commander Wilson’s path and becoming an explorer holds some appeal, leading to Abigail listing off his numerous roles, including a spy, diplomat, geographer, and even translating the Karma Sutra, which, even in an alternate America that’s lived with the Wendigo for more than a decade, is causing quite the stir. But that kind of life is not quite what Abigail wants, and, speaking honestly, she admits that the future terrifies her. That’s something I’ve experienced at different points in my life – I vividly remember facing feelings of existential anxiety as a kid when I thought about the future as a concrete thing that I’d have to face one day. I’ve improved and more or less got over myself, but I’d be lying if I said those fears have entirely gone away.

         Going back to Abigail, she brings up her desire to find her parents, the one vision of the future she still holds onto, even after so much time having passed since Secret Rooms. This prompts a conversation about whether this is for the best, as Annie argues that she’s chasing the past, fighting against a decision her parents made to safeguard her future. Abigail counters by voicing her own displeasure at having her life be decided for her, a part of her character which the Definitive Edition of Secret Rooms brought into focus. This hurts Annie, as Abigail is inadvertently suggesting that she wishes she led a life where she wouldn’t have met her or the rest of Team Steam. She doesn’t mean to imply she feels that way, but it’s understandably still upsetting to hear. Abigail states she’s “a painfully honest son of a bitch”, pointing out how the openness of conversations like this can be a positive experience with the potential to sooth recent sadness and provide a rekindled sense of optimism for the future, but it can also lead to feelings coming out in the open which hurt to hear, even if the person feeling them doesn’t intend them to. That isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, and can be part of the process of being more honest with one another, but it is something to be conscious of in heart-to-heart conversations like this. In this instance, it leads to the slightly inflamed (but admittedly kind of amusing) exchange of Annie calling Abigail a “stubborn red headed mule” and Abby calling her a “stuck-up murderous pixie” (which, upon reflection, is a harsh jab against a person who’s just shared her regret at leading a lifestyle where she has to kill people). Even so, the two can agree to Abigail wanting to take control by getting to the Wind Doors and hopefully make a difference, and Annie doing her best to help her get there. They get up as the conversation draws to a close, and as they head down below, Annie asks if she can borrow Abigail’s “Indian sex manual”, to which Abigail responds “I left my copy back in Washington” with an audible smirk on her face. It’s a funny, but oddly sweet way to end the exchange, as it’s both a moment of down-to-earth levity after a deep conversation, and one last piece of honesty shared between the two where Annie expresses an interest in the book, and Abigail admits to owning a copy.

         Before we reach the credits, we hear Harry’s brief letter to Truth, which was sent from the Indianapolis Outpost, meaning she sent it before they would leave the next morning. Harry misses her sister and appreciates her kindness, but she doesn’t “need” to return home. Instead, she asserts that they are traveling on the road again today. This resuming of the journey has that much more weight behind it as a result of Harry deciding its time to move forward as SteamHeart’s mechanic and driver. And she does this “for mum and dad”. A short but powerful and emotional close to the episode.

Chapter Seventeen: Winds of Virginia

There’s something quite affecting about this being the first chapter I tackle after an extended period away; I’ll try my best to explain why as we come to the chapter’s concluding moments and my closing thoughts, but for now, let’s go over the beats and discuss what stands out in this chapter.

         The crew arrive at Indianapolis, still recovering after the news of the Arlingtons’ deaths. Butler reflects on the state of the city, providing some insight into how settlements like this leave vast portions of the city uninhabited due to the significantly diminished population, which is a contrast to how crowded Washington has become after the government re-established itself and civilians began flocking to the city. For those looking for a sense of security which the largest population and a seat of government can provide, it’s an attractive place to live in, but for those who can’t help but feel uneasy around people, particularly large crowds, it holds little appeal. The comparison between Indianapolis and Washington, as well as the discussion of the different attitudes people have towards the capital reinforce the impression that the Reunified States aren’t necessarily so unified; different pockets of civilisation showcase different attitudes towards the best means of survival, as well as different outlooks on the sort of life people want to live for as long as they are alive. It’s worldbuilding, and it’s worldbuilding that draws upon the very relatable idea of different people simply placing different value on human contact; some will need a lot of people around to feel safe, while others only feel safe when they are away from people.

         So, Abigail (looking for any excuse to get out of SteamHeart for a bit and eager to do anything which will help take their minds off of things) suggests taking in a local show, and the rest of the team agrees. It’s not long after the play starts that they realise that it’s a dramatisation of the life of Katherine Holloway, James and Abigail’s former guardian and the newly appointed Director of the National Intelligence Agency. Specifically, this is retelling the parts of her life that she shared in her segment of The Cartographer’s Handbook. It’s set up to be accessible entertainment to appeal to the general crowds with two-dimensional and stereotyped depictions of James and Abigail (though “I like punching!” gets a laugh out of me each time I revisit the chapter) and clichéd lines like “Ms. Holloway, I’m supposed to ask YOU that! Ha!” *pause for laughter from the theatre audience*. It’s also clearly meant to be propaganda, espousing “the New American work ethic”, as well as the virtues exhibited in Katherine’s actions throughout this story which they wish to encourage in the people of America, such as her dedication, resistance against those who would take advantage of flourishing settlements, and her determination to keep fighting. By the end, all the parts which would make those who actually were there roll their eyes aren’t enough to put Team Steam off the play, as even the most cynical of their number concede they got something out of it. It’s fun to have a tongue-in-cheek riff of some of the events up to this point (and yes, there is a clear comparison to be made to a particular episode of a terrific TV show, as acknowledged in this chapter’s epilogue), but I find it especially refreshing that one of these joking looks at a piece of propaganda in a fictional setting comes away from it without being entirely dismissive. It’s important to be critical of over-dramatic entertainment with an agenda, but what is sometimes lost in these discussions, both in and out of fiction, is the ability for media, any media, to have genuinely positive and profound influence over people. Examine and consider the stories you engage with, but don’t disparage the people who take away commendable messages from them which don’t cause harm to others, or who find something legitimately meaningful to them, or those who just needed something to take them out of a dark place long enough that they could take their first steps back into normality.

         Harry speaks for what seems to be the first time in ages, and she commends the Blushing Pilgrims for giving these people something which uplifts them. Her assessment that “The Cartographer’s Handbook… this new story… people like them” is a correct one, and I’m not just talking about within the narrative either. Harry tells us that this doesn’t mean she’s suddenly alright, but she’s nevertheless glad she saw this, continuing New Century’s trend of presenting well-observed depictions of grief and depression, and the steps we take to cope with them.

         Harry asks if they can see it again the next night, and while tickets are selling out, Annie makes a point of telling the theatre staff that the real James Penrose and Abigail Grey will be in attendance, which makes getting tickets a lot easier. As a result, Abigail is asked to give a speech – a test of her developing skills as a high-ranking officer, Cartographer, and, now, highly visible public figure, all three of which demand the ability to inspire. As she speaks, Annie keeps a watchful eye out for potential threats, ruminating on the deaths of Hayes and the Arlingtons and resolving not to let the same thing come to pass with her most recent charge. Annie and Butler are some of the most capable soldiers and fighters in all of New Century, but witnessing these moments of redoubled determination and seeing that they are motivated by regret and self-doubt over whether they really did enough to prevent past losses shows their human vulnerability. It also stresses that the admirable qualities of these two characters aren’t a result of them always winning, but of how they find it in themselves to take their regret and shape it into something which helps their drive to succeed in the future. Annie doesn’t have it all figured out, but her approach to figuring it out is to identify what she can do and still has control over and focus her energy on that.

         Back to Abigail’s speech – she discusses the assassination of the Arlingtons and the instructions of their replacement, Katherine Holloway. She reads out Katherine’s letter to the audience, showing some of the real-life strength of character of the woman who inspired this play as she acknowledges what has been lost, and affirms her intentions to work with Truth to ensure that what the Arlingtons were working towards will come to pass. After Abigail finishes relaying the words of her mentor figure, she starts to say her own thoughts as she speaks to the crowd. She makes a point of commending what these people are doing, and after the parts of the episode where she rolled her eyes at the blunt depiction of her character, the sincerity of her words illustrates the perspective and thoughtfulness she has developed over time. Her speech is positively received by the crowd, but, more importantly, it stirs something in Harry. It’s a testament to how much of a chord Abigail struck with the crowd and the person who most needed to hear those words, and it indicates that the fires of Harry’s spirit and creativity have been rekindled by the note of hope and resilience in Abigail’s speech.

         We reach the chapter’s concluding moments as we transition to a few days later, and Harry is back in the driver’s seat. Seeing her return to her work and to the upkeep of SteamHeart is heartening, and hearing this wonderful mechanic’s process of returning to a kind of stable normality be described as attending to “much needed repairs” is a beautifully fitting phrase. As Annie watches Harry’s focus, she says the words which surprised me by how much they affected me; “[I] pondered my own return from inactivity. Was I moving now to meet one frightening scenario, or to get away from another?” At the time of writing this, I am coming back to writing on this blog of mine after my own period of “inactivity”. This year has not been without progress and personal accomplishments, but what has loomed over me for far too many months is an ineffable sense of uncertainty, inadequacy, and, at the worst of times, despair. I’ve felt out of balance. But little by little, I’ve tried to right myself, take back control, and regain a sense of who I am and what I want to be. As I consider the practical and mental challenges ahead of me, I can certainly say that there are frightening scenarios ahead of me. But like Annie, I can’t help but look at the last few months and feel as if I’m taking some steps away from the frightening scenario I so desperately wanted out of.

The following was adapted from a presentation I gave at 2019 Doctoral College Conference held by the University of Surrey. It is part of a broader project on the history of US stop-motion and acts as a brief window into a chapter in progress on Ray Harryhausen and his films. The presentation was 10 minutes long with questions, and was intended for audiences who would be interested in the subject matter, but not necessarily be experts in the field of stop-motion, special effects, or even animation or film studies. This is a deviation from the film reviews and articles I do on this blog, but adapting parts of my academic research into smaller, digestible pieces like this is something I’d like to do more of in the future. So read, enjoy, and, by all means, provide feedback!

The man you see in the image above is Ray Harryhausen. I expect that name will be familiar to at least some of you if you are fans of classic US fantasy adventure films like Jason and the Argonauts or Clash of the Titans, as Ray Harryhausen was the animator who provided the special effects for not only these films, but thirteen other fantasy and sci-fi films ranging from the 1950s to the early 1980s. The action sequences of these features showcased live-action actors interacting with beasts, statuesque golems, and an assortment of supernatural creatures which Harryhausen would render through the medium of stop-motion. This method of animation involves a physical model being photographed one frame at a time as the animator manipulates the model to create incremental movements which come together to form coherent movement when projected on screen, with a contemporary example being Wallace & Gromit. Harryhausen would intersplice his stop-motion animation with live-action footage using a ‘split-screen rear-projection process’. The live-action component of the sequence would be filmed first, then projected onto a rear screen and the stop-motion animation would be shot in front of this screen. Harryhausen’s legacy of stop-motion animation makes him a key figure in any study of the history of both special effects and stop-motion, but his reputation extends not only to practitioners of these disciplines, but to the filmgoing public and to directors like Peter Jackson, James Cameron, and Guillermo del Toro.

          Part of this can be attributed to the marketing of these films, which can be observed in these stills taken from the original trailer for the 1958 film The 7th Voyage of Sinbad. The trailer showcases sequences from the film which feature Harryhausen’s effects, repeatedly proclaiming ‘This is Dynamation!’, a term devised to distinguish Harryhausen’s stop-motion from more traditional forms of animation. The perception of these effects was important in the marketing for these films as features like this trailer indicate that this process of Dynamation wasn’t just implemented as a piece of technical trickery to be kept secret behind the curtain, but was proudly displayed as a means of drawing viewers in to watch these films. The Dynamation for these key action sequences is embedded in the perceived identity of these films. But if that is the case, what can be said about the identity of the stop-motion characters who are front and centre in these memorable sequences, Harryhausen’s assortment of Dynamation creatures? Having established how Harryhausen and his effects became so widely known, I propose that the status of these animated creatures as the main visual attraction for these films makes them not simply dangerous and repulsive monsters we want to see the heroes vanquish along their journeys, but rather presents them as fantastical creatures who audiences are encouraged to revel in the act of witnessing them; they are not repulsive, but attractive for viewers. Therefore, I’m going to suggest in my talk today that, for as dangerous as these creatures may be in the context of the narrative, there is an element at play in these films which allows for the possibility for audiences to become enamoured with these monsters, and even lament their passing when they are eventually defeated.

          An element of this tragic component can be traced back to one of the most important influences on Harryhausen’s career as a stop-motion animator – Willis O’Brien, the special effects artist for such films as 1925’s The Lost World, and, most famously the original 1933 King Kong, which Harryhausen has repeatedly cited as the film that sparked his interest in stop-motion, eventually leading to him working under Willis O’Brien as an assistant animator on Mighty Joe Young in 1949. Harryhausen would evoke particularly iconic moments from King Kong, the film that had such an effect on him, in his own work.

          In King Kong, there is a sequence in which the female lead, Ann, is captured by the native people of Skull Island and offered up to Kong as a sacrifice. Scenes with similar set-ups can be observed in Clash of the Titans and Sinbad and the Golden Voyage, in which the people of Joppa offer princess Andromeda to the Kraken and Margiana is presented as a sacrifice to the One-Eyed Centaur respectively. These scenes call to mind the recognisable imagery of the iconic first appearance of Kong in his original film, creating parallels between these creatures and Kong as each monster towers over a woman being offered to them as a sacrifice. This paints these monsters as imposing threats, but it also frames them as creatures who are revered within the narrative, encouraging the audience to also be taken aback by these creatures as they make their grand entrances.

          With these associations with Kong being made, each film builds on this connection with King Kong by having these creatures share Kong’s fate. At the end of King Kong, the ape meets a tragic end as the planes shoot him down from the Empire State Building. It’s a memorably tragic conclusion to Kong’s tale as humans bring him out of his natural environment and place him in a man-made city in which he is so incompatible that it results in the death of this unique creature. In Clash of the Titans, Perseus arrives on the scene of Andromeda’s sacrifice and presents the Kraken with the head of the Medusa, turning it to stone whereupon the Kraken collapses under its own weight. The Kraken may not be visibly conflicted over inflicting harm on human characters (as opposed to Kong and his protectiveness over Ann), but much like how Kong was brought to New York in chains, the film twice shows the audience that the Kraken is kept in a cage by the Gods of Olympus, let loose only when it suits their purposes. The Kraken, a Titan who once ruled over the Earth before the Gods took over, is reduced to a prisoner, just as Kong was a king on Skull Island, but is brought to New York to entertain crowds. The Kraken is framed as being much less than he once was, before he is destroyed by the live-action human characters in the film. 

          After the Centaur carries Margiana away in The Golden Voyage of Sinbad, he appears in the film’s climax assisting the film’s villain before being brought down by Sinbad as he repeatedly stabs him in the back. Despite being explicitly labelled as a ‘Guardian of Evil’ by the film’s dialogue, the Centaur does not harm Margiana, just as Kong does not harm Ann. Additionally, the animation of the Centaur’s death throes continue for some time, lingering on the creature’s pain as it gasps for air and unsuccessfully struggles to remove Sinbad’s dagger from the back of his shoulder before finally dying. Through Harryhausen establishing parallels between these creatures and Kong’s status as a revered and imposing beast, these similarly violent ends at the hands of the human characters has the potential to be read as the loss of something unique, and perhaps even a creature that has been mistreated and misused by the sentient humans and human-like Gods around them.

           While the deaths of Harryhausen’s creatures should logically represent a victory for the live-action heroes of these films, there is nevertheless a heavy weight to the moment when these creatures cease to move, which encourages viewers to consider what has been lost. Now that I’ve established the connection between some of Harryhausen’s creatures and King Kong’s story, I’m going to examine how stop-motion contributes to the sense of loss in these scenes. The movement of stop-motion carries an inherent connection to the uncanny, a psychological phenomenon which is associated with that momentary unease we experience when we’re uncertain whether to register an object, person, or scenario as either familiar or unfamiliar, alive or dead. The physicality of stop-motion models gives them the appearance of puppets and dolls, and, as Paul Wells says, ‘the puppet is the embodiment of some degree of living spirit and energy but also inhuman and remote’. While the uncanny nature of stop-motion is an indication of a viewer being somewhat conscious of the puppet’s lifeless quality as an inanimate object in the real world, it simultaneously indicates the audience’s recognition of the life-like qualities of the puppet’s performance. However, in these moments where Harryhausen’s creatures cease to move, that tension between life and the absence of life ceases to be, marking a clear distinction from when the creature appeared to be active, albeit in an uncanny fashion, and its deathly inertness. Once they stop moving, the uncanniness dissipates, making the shift in how we perceive the character or creature being rendered in stop-motion that much more pronounced. The death scenes for each of Harryhausen’s creatures carry that much more impact because the uncanniness of stop-motion makes us aware of what life is being instilled in these physical models while they are alive in the context of the narrative.

          The final shot of 1953’s The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms focuses not on the human characters, but on the death of the Rhedosaurus. As the silhouette of its body is cast against the flames, the film calls to mind the destruction caused by this creature, and yet its motionless body contrasts against the flickering flames, emphasising its lifelessness even further. Earlier in the film, a professor expresses wonder at seeing the Rhedosaurus. Even though his fascination with the creature results in his death, the acknowledgement of this perspective that the Rhedosaurus is a source of amazement recognises the fantastic spectacle of this creature – that the camera’s gaze in the film’s final moments rests not on the human characters but on the Rhedosaurus is an indication of how invested the audience is expected to be in this creature’s ultimate fate. The lingering shot of its inert body invites the possibility that its death is indeed lamentable.

After an animated masterpiece gave us what many consider to be the new best Spider-Man film, and after a monumental finale to a developing narrative that was twenty-two movies in the making, what hope does a sequel to Spider-Man: Homecoming, a movie praised by many but seen by others as not much more than just middle-of-the-road, have of satisfying an audience who have been especially well catered for when it comes to superhero movies connected to the man who does whatever a spider can?

Well, it turns out it’s got a pretty good shot, because I got a lot more out of Spider-Man: Far from Home than I ever expected I would.

         Jon Watts returns from Spider-Man: Homecoming as the director for its sequel, and with that comes a cemented sense of identity, as Far from Home takes the praiseworthy parts of Homecoming’s personality and places even more emphasis on those elements. The aesthetic for the Home series isn’t as palpably noticeable as something like Guardians of the Galaxy or Taika Waititi’s Thor: Ragnarok, but it nevertheless maintains a consistent tone with the previous film which makes this particular perspective of the MCU feel lived in. There’s a charmingly grounded feel to how characters will engage in idle conversation about certain major events from other MCU films in a way that jokingly downplays moments or story beats that were presented with heart-wrenching gravitas in other films. It’s amusing for invested audience members, but it’s also an effective method of reminding you that this world is inhabited by a population who are routinely affected by world-spanning comic book shenanigans, but don’t have the advantage of hearing first hand what the hell is going on. As such, developments like Captain America going on the run become background news that gym teachers are only semi-aware of in the previous film, and, in Far From Home, the “blip” that erased half the population then brought them back 5 years later is just another thing that people have grown to live with. The film even feels comfortable enough to use it for comedic effect when one of the characters uses the blip to put Flash in his place when he’s being insufferable, and that is so endearing. As a result, while the visual aesthetics of these MCU Spider-Man films may not be as immediately striking or distinctive as other branches of this franchise, they provide a consistent tone of down-to-earth sincerity and people just getting on with their lives that makes them really pleasant experiences.  

         And while last year’s Ant-Man and the Wasp was an enjoyably sprightly heist movie which nevertheless felt out of place and too rushed out after we were still reeling from the weighty punch of Infinity War, Far from Home not only improves on its namesake predecessor, but also acts as a remarkably suitable follow-up to Endgame. The sombreness of Endgame’s first half and the epic scale of its second half are contrasted by the everyday levity and more personal stakes shown in this film. The action is inventive and varied enough that you’re interested to see how Spider-Man deals with foes we’re not used to seeing cinematic depictions of him fight against (elemental and… other, more spoiler-y threats), in environments that are labelled as ‘far from home’, outside of his typical comfort zone of New York. The comedy works because of a comforting sense of cohesion to the characters which make them work well together, and yet the dialogue is natural and flexible enough that you always see the individual traits of each character shine through. With a diverse cast of commendable talents like this, that’s a treat.

         But while the film is a remarkably appreciated light-hearted palate cleanser, that doesn’t mean it’s pulling its punches with its heavier dramatic moments. This film deals with a teenager who watched someone he looked up to die in front of his eyes, and is now confronted with a world filled with iconography and heated discussion about that idol, and some of that fervent conversation is even directed at him as everyone asks if he will be the person to step up and take the place of his hero. It’s an emotional state that makes you feel so much for Peter, especially as Tom Holland has gone from strength to strength and solidifies himself as the definitive version of a young Peter Parker in my eyes. He’s killing it in this, selling the subtle balance between Peter having some newfound confidence to be able to stand up for himself and make his own decisions about what he wants and who he is, while also being racked with guilt, expressing uncertainty of the world of large-scale superheroics that he’s had a taste of but isn’t sure he wants to go back to, and retrospectively questions his own actions. A subtle detail in the film that does a lot to convey Peter’s current state of mind is his spidey-sense (Peter-tingle) not being quite as sharp as we might expect it to be – Peter is having trouble trusting his instincts. This, and his general anxiety over where he’s heading and his fears of the past are masterfully represented in one reality-bending sequence which shows some of the darkest imagery Marvel has ever put in their films as it puts all of Peter’s inner turmoil and doubts up onto the screen.

SPOILERS IN NEXT PARAGRAPH

         But what works especially well in this film for me is how it creates these brilliant parallels to the first Iron Man to commendable effect. Both films feature ceremonies near their opening in which the hero is expected to attend and someone close to them criticises them for not quite presenting themselves correctly (if at all), as well as protagonists who question how the legacy that’s been left to them should be best used, villains who seek to use that legacy and the technology of Tony Stark for their own selfish ends (and both villains use the distraction of a more immediate seeming threat to disguise their manipulations behind the scenes), before concluding with the heroes having their secret identity revealed to the world. And of course, both feature tech-savvy geniuses working on their superhero suit in a holographic workshop while ACDC music plays, and the only thing I love more than that unspoken “this kid has everything in him that made Tony Stark great without him realising it” moment is Peter saying “Oh I love Led Zeppelin”. These parallels allow for a neat bookend of this whole arc of the MCU with Iron Man starting us off while Far from Home brings it, well, home. But they also reinforce the main theme of Peter’s emotional journey as he asks himself if he can, or should be the next Iron Man. The answer, as Happy tells us, is that no one could live up to Tony Stark, not even Tony. Peter doesn’t need to worry about being the next version of someone else, but the first version of himself. The film uses these connections between his character and Tony’s, between Far from Home and Iron Man to show us that we can move forward with confidence as we establish our own identity and take the parts of the people who inspire us along with us. Far from Home echoes a lot of the characteristics of Iron Man but ends up being something new, and it is exactly in that way that Peter ends up honouring Tony’s memory while still moving forward by the end of the film.  

         There’s a lot at play which could have stacked the deck against this film being a critical success; between the explosion of artistic creativity on display in last year’s singular Into the Spider-Verse, and Endgame’s entanglement with gargantuan levels of audience investment allowing for once-in-a-lifetime emotional payoff, I expected for a long time that Far From Home would be unfavourably compared to these two relatively recent blockbuster triumphs. But it was exactly the film I needed for this series after Endgame, and full kudos to the showrunners, I wasn’t anticipating that. It’s packed with youthful sincerity, delivers an adventure with scaled back yet more personal stakes which makes the whole thing feel that much more meaningful, and while I enjoyed seeing the kids in their own environment in the school in the last one, the trip through Europe makes it an enjoyable journey. The more time passes, the more I appreciate about what it achieves under the surface with its character development, inspired connection with other films in the series, and its ability to capture the experience of trying to find your way.

Final Ranking: Silver.

Endings are rarely the definitive final word.

A person’s story can come to an end, but the stories of the people around them and the world they live in carry on, even if that one person isn’t there anymore. That realisation conjures up a whole tangled mess of emotions, but it is the natural way of things. It’s not right to want everything to end with you. In life, we make the most of the time and energy we’re given, and if you make enough right decisions, get lucky, and dedicate enough of yourself, you’ll hopefully get to go with the sense that you did okay, and that those you leave behind are going to be alright. Endings in fiction are as infinitely variable as any other feature of artistic expression, but in narratives with expansive casts or fleshed out worlds, they often leave us with the feeling that we’d only have to stay a little longer and there would be more stories to explore. Just as the real world is bigger than any one lifetime, successfully-established fictional worlds feel much larger than any one set of characters and their narrative.

         For the last eleven years, audiences have enjoyed a series of blockbusters featuring an impressively varied range of stylistic approaches. At their best, these films are deeply satisfying and affecting, delivering poignant moments about characters coming to terms with their own flaws and trying their best to do the right thing. But when considered together, these films have never entirely felt resolved, with each one going out on a lingering note of “just wait for what comes next”. The story was never over for the Marvel Cinematic Universe, because another film was never far away. And now that the grand conclusion has finally come and $2.5 billion worth of us have watched and re-watched it, things are just the same as ever, and yet we’re at a moment that we’ve never seen before and are unlikely to see again for a long time. We’ve reached an ending of the story that begun with Tony Stark and his box of scraps in that cave in 2008. The story is over. But there are more stories to come.

Yes, there will be spoilers ahead. But I say again: this film has crossed over the two and a half billion dollar mark. I’m pretty sure if you’re reading this, you’ll have contributed your drop or two to Marvel’s bucket. So let’s talk about the movie.

         I appreciate the efforts of Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely as screenwriters, Joe and Anthony Russo as directors, and the input of every person involved in deciding the final shape of Endgame’s story to make its structure noticeably different to that of Infinity War. The previous Avengers film is a constant juggling act, relying on the viewer taking to Thanos as a central thread around which the rest of the film is hung. We’re either seeing the various steps Thanos is taking along his journey, hearing about what kind of man he is and what he intends to do, or seeing characters who are consistently on the back foot as they frantically scramble to strategically and mentally prepare for an opponent they’re not ready for. By this point in the series, we’ve been conditioned to expect to see things primarily from the point of view of the dozens of characters aligned with the Avengers, but Infinity War is messy and fractured when you look at it from the perspective of the heroes. And that’s the point – our heroes are fractured, and so there’s no unified effort against the villain as he single-mindedly pursues his goal with continuous success. The Avengers are a mess, and they lose. Thanos is the one who seizes control of the narrative, undoing the decisions and sacrifices made by the heroes as he dictates what his ambitions are and why they are so noble… and because viewers are susceptible to sympathising with the person who names themselves the hero and takes the reins of the narrative, far too many people bought Thanos’ rhetoric. For a year there, we really were seeing think-pieces that said “maybe the genocidal zealot who emotionally manipulates people is right”!

         But Endgame’s structure deliberately contrasts against Infinity War’s. Whereas Infinity War is about heroes being separated and the catastrophe that follows in the wake of this disunity, Endgame presents its heroes as a group of grieving people who are unified through their shared regrets and resolve to overcome their despair together and work towards a singular objective to try and fix everything. The Avengers are disassembled in Infinity War and reassembled in Endgame. As a result, the structure is comparatively more uniform. You can clearly differentiate the film into three distinct thirds – the five-year time skip that shows life on a mournful Earth still coming to terms with half of life being eradicated, the Back to the Future Part II time-travel mission as characters revisit scenarios from previous films, and the big blowout battle where every surviving main superpowered character in the entire franchise is dumped into one battle for your viewing pleasure. Each third offers something different, meaning you cover all of the ground that you’d want to in a dramatic, energetic, and emotional close to a blockbuster saga with literally dozens of characters who are all key players. Each third is impressively balanced, and they all act as strong supporting columns for the film as a result.

         However, because these thirds are as distinct as they are, it’s almost inevitable that you’ll come away saying “I preferred these two parts over that third part, which felt okay but a little unnecessary”. Personally, I think there are plenty of themes (grief and a desire to revisit the past, putting guilt and trauma to rest, and of course, the strength of unity) and character arcs (Nebula finally choosing to integrate herself into a group of people who value her and literally killing the old version of herself who wanted only to please her abusive father-figure being the stand-out one) which help gel each of the film’s three segments together without much resistance. But I have encountered multiple people who have expressed the sentiment that they really liked two thirds but they could take or leave another third – inevitably, which third is which always varies. I can imagine that, if you’re not getting a lot out of one of the segments, Endgame will certainly make you antsy for the film to return to what you felt it was pulling off more successfully. The three distinct thirds can result in a fragmented viewing experience for some audience members. On the other hand, I felt that the clearer, more focused structure not only made the film seem less jumbled than its predecessor, but also made it a suitable companion-piece to Infinity War and its Thanos-centric structure.

         The emotional response I have to Endgame is not the same electric glee I had from seeing the first Avengers, though moments like Cap picking up the hammer, the cinematic equivalent of a double-page spread of every single MCU hero charging towards Thanos’ army in one image, and “she’s got help” all sparked that feeling off inside me with more intensity than I’ve felt for a long time. No, what I feel more than anything about the MCU right now is a paradoxical sense of melancholic yet nevertheless delighted satisfaction. A part of that comes from the strengths of that first third, which, despite my sincere claims that all three sections gel together successfully, is nevertheless my favourite segment of the film (with the possible exception of the epilogue, but we’ll get to that). In this review’s opening paragraphs, I talked about endings not being the definitive final word as life and the world must always carry on. My reflection on that was primarily positive, but in this opening hour, we see the sad alternative form that this concept can take. Thanos killed half the universe and was killed in retaliation – the conflict ends, as does the hope of repairing the damage done by this tragedy. But the universe doesn’t end even with half of its inhabitants being gone. As Steve succinctly says, the survivors have to keep moving forward, “otherwise Thanos should have killed all of us”. It’s an outlook that Steve encourages, even if he can’t fully believe it himself, because he thinks it’s the best way for people to regain control over their unthinkable circumstances. The setup for Endgame presents us with a universe that died a half-death – everything ended for half its population five years ago, while life for the other half of the population persists, and they are trying their best to make sense of that.

         That struggle with grief, both on a colossal and a personal scale, is what unifies every single character, but the difference lies in how they respond to that grief. Black Widow throws herself into her work to try and keep the good that superheroes can do going, but her efforts feel as if they aren’t enough, being told by Okoye that the natural tectonic shifts she’s reporting on aren’t something you actively address with a strike squad and that you have to “handle it by not handling it”. Hawkeye was always the simple guy involved in the Avengers who was kept grounded by his family. Without them, he has nothing to keep him rooted, no home to return to, so he goes in the complete opposite direction and becomes a dedicated avenger in a literal sense, dolling out punishment fuelled by his frustration without any of the purpose and direction that he gained from his connections to friends and family. Hulk / Banner actually come out of this having made some progress, deciding to meditate on what they learned from their losses and literally come together in their grief to become one being, Professor Hulk. Tony and Pepper make the most of the luck they managed to find together, but are both keenly aware of all those who weren’t so lucky, wanting to get back what they lost but keep what they’ve found, which is remarkably human and understandable. Thor… hm. Okay, yes, Thor is a mixed bag. In all honesty, I loved Thor in this film and was empathetic towards his depression and anxiety attacks. I also love that Thor gets to stay as he is and still be shown that he is indeed worthy to wield Mjolnir and fight in the battle alongside all these other heroes without having to change who he is. But I do acknowledge the issues that numerous viewers have raised about some of the jokes made by the other characters being at the expense of Thor’s weight, and how they found it uncomfortable, and, in instances, meanspirited and harmful. I love the current version of Thor and feel Chris Hemsworth injected even more bubbly charm and infectious spirit to his character while blending it with the genuine pathos Thor was going through with remarkable talent. But the film’s tendency to use the character’s weight as an opportunity to make jokes about him being fat is not ideal. I’m glad to see Thor continue as he is into further movies (though it is possible that they’ll say he lost weight between Endgame and Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3), but I sincerely hope we DON’T see the fat-jokes continue as they are. The lighting, music, and performances of everyone in the cast all contribute to this palpable sensation of immense loss, which communicates not only what’s at stake in this epic conclusion, but also how each character involved has been changed by what they’ve had to go through since Infinity War.

         But that only touches on the melancholic side of things; why do I also feel delighted and satisfied as I take in these sombre themes? Well, to put it simply, this one sticks the landing by closing the right doors in the most appropriate way while keeping other doors open in a balanced approach that seems so right. Tony Stark sacrifices his life after declaring “I am Iron Man” one last time, putting everything of himself into doing the right thing when so long ago he enjoyed a life of zero-accountability and kept his work on weapons technology at a safe distance. The image of his first arc-reactor in its memento case reading “Proof that Tony Stark has a heart” floating on the water at his funeral destroyed me at both viewings, because not only have his actions proved this fact as well, but we see numerous people all around this site as they pay their respects, showing the hearts of so many characters we care about who were connected to his. And Steve Rogers, the soldier who could never sit down if he saw a situation pointed south, after standing up against a galactic tyrant and his army, first alone and then with the support of countless men and women rallying to him, finally lets himself rest. Not many people have talked about the new horizons Steve takes in in this film; when the surviving heroes take Rocket’s ship to the Garden Planet, the camera makes a point of focusing on an extreme close-up of Steve’s eye as they travel through hyperspace. Even after nearly a decade of familiarity with this new era, the man out of time, a kid from 1940s Brooklyn, is seeing things that he could’ve never imagined. He’s come so, so far. I can think of no better conclusion than for him to return back home.

          But the film’s epilogue isn’t just concerned with closing the curtain on these heroes as they sit down to rest. Just as these stories end, we see hints of what stories are yet to come for other heroes. In the sequence where the camera pans over the countless faces attending Tony’s funeral, it’s fitting that the last hero we see (before Nick Fury steps into frame under the veranda, concealed in the shadows at the very end, much like his very first entrance as a post-credits tease at the end of Iron Man) is Carol Danvers. Having made her debut just months ago, she is the most recent addition to this universe, so her position at the back of the line reflects that. Her placement halfway up the steps she’s standing on suggests that she’s acting as an embodiment for the road to the future – she is literally on the next step for the series of films Marvel will make as they move forward. And she’s not alone, because other heroes will continue to thrive and flourish as their stories continue. Sam is handed the mantle of Captain America, and what’s achingly beautiful about this exchange is the attitude of the two men involved. Sam views Steve as his friend first and foremost, so he is sincere when he says he’s happy for him. But Sam also respects Steve so much as the man who deserves to be Captain America. Much like how Mjolnir can only be wielded by those who are worthy, Cap’s shield becomes a sacred relic that should only be worn by the right man for the job. And when Steve gently encourages Sam to try the shield on, knowing full well what it means to the world and to both of them, he does so as both Captain America finding the right man to fill his position, and as Sam’s friend Steve, telling him with assurance that he really is one of the best people he knows. When Sam confesses that he feels like the shield belongs to someone else, Steve responds with elegant purity “it doesn’t”. Everything at the core of Captain America, the bravery, the conviction to always stand back up and fight no matter how much it pains them to do so, and the responsibility to always look out for the little guy, are all qualities which never belonged to Steve and Steve alone; those virtues can belong to anyone, and Steve tells his friend that he recognises them in Sam. I cannot wait to see the good that Sam will do as he follows his promise to do his best.  

         Tom Holland’s Spider-Man has been developing a mentee / mentor relationship with Robert Downey Jr.’s Iron Man since Civil War, and here it culminates in a bittersweet arc that lays the groundwork for what I expect will be some fascinating and impactful characterisation in Far From Home in a few months’ time. Tony mourns for Peter most of all, viewing him as a surrogate son who has much of the same inventive genius and drive that he has, with the addition of some compassionate heart and level of responsibility that is far beyond his years. Peter has it in him to be better than Tony, and Tony knows this. So it’s understandable why the loss of that kind, youthful spirit and his limitless potential would hurt Tony so much. In Tony’s dying moments, we share Peter’s tears as we see how much this connection means to them both and realise what is being lost. But we know this is exactly what Tony fought for – the chance for the next generation to live and grow. Holland’s performance when we see Peter return to school hints at his sense of disconnection, as his expression creates the impression that he feels like a stranger in a place with which he once felt so familiar. With the support of his friends, especially Ned, he will find his way in the next step of his journey.

          Endgame provides definitive endings for the journeys of characters we’ve been following for more films than we see most actors get to play Bond, but it also manages to cast a hopeful eye towards the future without compromising its position as a neat conclusion to everything up to this point. In fact, its simultaneous handling of reflective closure and moving forward with renewed purpose makes for a remarkably poignant milestone. Stories rarely strike such a balance between meaningful finality and the uplifting excitement of wanting more stories and knowing you’re going to get them. And that probably sounds shallow and frivolous because, at the end of the day, we’re talking about a successful studio delivering a hyped-up film that promises to be a finale but also serves the financially driven purpose of pitching you a dozen other films and TV series. But through the efforts of over a decade’s worth of dedicated storytellers and creative artists, this series has come to mean more than just another substantial drop in Disney’s bucket. It’s become a fictional world that a massive audience has fallen in love with in the same way that people did with Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Star Wars, The Chronicles of Narnia, Mass Effect, and a hundred other worlds. We’ve rooted for these characters and cried at some of their most emotional moments, and we’ve grown to care so much about the MCU that it represents a living, breathing world for us. And this kind of ending just makes that proximity to reality that much closer. Stories end and lives come to a close, but they often do so in the middle of other people’s lives and stories. After all, Yinsen’s sacrifice in the MCU’s first film, Iron Man is the end of his story, but his death acts as a foundational moment for the man that Tony would grow to be – his ending is a part of Iron Man’s beginning. In Endgame, heroes pass away, lay down arms, or choose to step down from a position they no longer feel a need to hold onto. At the same time, other heroes move onto the next step of their journey, accept new responsibilities, and accept the titles passed onto them from those who know they will do a fine job. It’s a beautiful encapsulation of the natural balance between life and death, between the end of the old and the beginning of something new. It’s the balance that Thanos strived for but never fully understood, as he wanted to cultivate life but in his obsessive crusade ended up sewing nothing but death. It is only right that the heroes are the ones to achieve that balance through their actions and connections with one another.

Final Score: Gold.

Missing Link

As the technical accomplishments and detailed beauty of Laika’s stop-motion films are part of the reason I’ve chosen to study stop-motion animation for my current academic research, you’ll forgive me if I approach their fifth film with some bias. Plus, box office numbers suggest that a lot more people really should be seeing these, so the more voices there are singing Laika’s praises the better, frankly.

         Missing Link is notably ambitious in that it strives to deliver an action adventure in the vein of Around the World in 80 Days or The Mummy (the Brendan Fraser one, not the “DARK UNIVERSE” one- yes, that did happen, and it is hard to remember), with multiple thrilling and complex action sequences, all in stop-motion. Given the labour-intensive nature of stop-motion and the limitations you’d typically expect of a medium that’s executed through real models that have a weight and substance to them that makes them less flexibly fluid than cel or digital animation, stories with an emphasis on dynamic action aren’t what you’d typically expect when it comes to stop-motion. And yet Laika demonstrate their full commitment to making Missing Link an energetic blockbuster through impressive choreography and painstakingly realised action set-pieces. While the charming characters and light-hearted tone help you stay engaged with the narrative, you’ll be constantly taken back by the seamless merging of traditional methods and modern technology in the animation which makes you sit up and take notice as you wonder how they managed to put together each scene. The best use of digital effects are the times where you’re not entirely certain it’s even there, and Laika’s approach to this modern tool definitely fits in that category.

         The film never quite reaches a point of emotional intensity that leaves me completely floored, as some of Laika’s previous films have managed to do. I didn’t walk away from the film remembering a moment where a character’s vulnerabilities are laid bare or a difficult but essential lesson is imparted in the most brutally earnest way. So, when compared against ParaNorman or Kubo and the Two Strings, Missing Link left less emotional impact on me. Having said that, the film still conveys numerous themes effectively through key story beats and striking visuals, with its central thesis being the importance of learning empathy towards others, and that you shouldn’t seek validation from close-minded proponents of outdated and toxic principles. As such, through a combination of entertaining characters with likable personality, an emphasis on globetrotting action, its refreshingly positive outlook, and tremendous animation on both the large and the small-scale across the board, Missing Link is a delightful adventure that you should make a point of seeing.

Final Ranking: Silver.

Boasting charm, an infectious sense of humour, and perhaps the best action I’ve seen in a stop-motion film, Missing Link absolutely meets the standard of quality that you’d expect from a Laika production.

 Pet Semetary

As many other people discussing this film have noted, Pet Semetary is a Stephen King story that’s notable for being so bleak that even Stephen King felt it was too dark. He hesitated to submit it for publishing for three years, only submitting it when he needed to meet a deadline for a contract. In the subsequent years, King has been critical of the “nothing matters” mentality of the story. With that in mind, as well as the knowledge that several people I follow whose opinions on film I trust were not fond of it, I was prepared for the possibility that I wouldn't enjoy it, but nevertheless open to the film surprising me. After all, Stephen King is a consistently entertaining storyteller, and I’m always interested to see how people adapt his work. For a while, things seemed okay enough. Then it started to drag around the middle, and then it took a hard, fast, ugly turn, descending into the most distasteful experience I’ve had in a cinema this year.

         As that summary indicates, the set-up is intriguing enough. A family move into a new home, and there are little signs that things aren’t quite right around here, as well as the telltale indications of a traumatic past that have left some of the characters with residual hang-ups that they will inevitably be forced to confront, and the tantalising promise of something unnatural on the horizon that will draw our protagonists in as they descend into horror. It’s competent ground laying work, and apart from the horrifying past of one of the character’s being uncomfortably demonising of the sick, and a lack of a distinctive visual style for the film to call its own, I didn’t have many serious issues with the first third or so.

         Once you approach the middle portion of the film, things start to feel protracted. Even if you haven’t seen a trailer or heard the gist of this story and have a decent idea about the trajectory of its narrative, there comes a point where you start to know exactly where things are heading. Discussions of death and what may or may not come afterwards, repeated reminders of how dangerous and unexpected high-speed vehicles on the road outside their house can be, and allusions to some unknowable force that can make impossible things happen which the father of this family absolutely must not approach are all dots that anyone familiar with the phrase “monkey’s paw” can join together with little difficulty. Without an engaging dynamic between characters (a la IT), a self-aware bizarreness that results in humour, or a notable visual style, there’s little to keep you going as you wait for pieces to very, very slowly fall into place.

         And the final act is just awful. It spits course language and nihilistic vitriol with little substance or point to its depictions of pain, misery, and spitefulness other than to wallow in this negativity with nothing else to say. Actors start to abandon any semblance of understated nuance in favour of ham-fisted bluntness, cursing out characters with an intensity that doesn’t feel earned as they clumsily fight against them in a way that lacks any sense of climactic satisfaction, and, because your investment in these characters rapidly drains with each new questionable decision and unlikable action, there’s no tension to these encounters either. There are numerous instances where the actors will do their best to deliver lines of dialogue that try to be shocking or wryly dark, but the material is so poorly thought out that it awkwardly misses the mark in both categories. It’s especially galling as the film spent so much time and effort on getting to this conclusion that it was trying to amp up as this big, horrifying finale that will shake you, when instead it’s just underwhelming and unpleasant without any purpose to itself. I was wishing for it to end, and yet when the credits began to roll, I couldn’t help but ask “wait, is that it?” It’s a limp ending with little meaning that leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

Final Ranking: Cardboard.

Pet Semetary’s first act offers some potential, but that’s all it is: potential. The middle act spends so long getting to where it needs to be and where the audience knows it’s going that, by the time it gets there, it spends what little time it has left on cruel, structureless nihilism without taking any ownership for the unpleasant material it lays down at your feet.

 Shazam!

The DC movies are in a great place right now. I’ve yet to see James Wan’s Aquaman, but from the abundance of positive things I hear about it, as well as the profound impact Patty Jenkins’ Wonder Woman had on audiences, James Gunn and a whole lot of appealing casting choices being attached to the next Suicide Squad film, and the great feelings I have about the energy that the Birds of Prey teaser indicated, I’m very optimistic about the future of DC films. Now that Shazam! has released and proved to be a positively uplifting delight, my outlook on this series is cheerier than ever!

         Hm? What about that Joaquin Phoenix Joker movie? Well... my feelings towards that are… complicated. I’ll save my thoughts on it for another time, but suffice to say, I think the film has the potential to be great, but I worry about the way it will be received, and that the worst crowd will embrace it and take the wrong lessons from it.

         Anyway, for the here and now, Shazam is a refreshing blend of joyous levity and unexpected intensity. The film offers endearing comedy with teens and pre-teens acting like excited kids who enjoy doing dopey things but can still come across as insightful and having an emotional heart to them that makes you happy to spend time with them. But it’s never saccharine and, through a fleshed out script and a cast of sharp young actors and actresses, there’s a clear sense of authenticity which makes these adolescent characters seem grounded and well-observed. Something I appreciated is that, whenever the film goes into background details of the history of magic in this world, grandiose prophecies of mystical destinies, or the villain going into his sinister plans, it’s usually being talked about by grown adults who are taking themselves way too seriously. The best exemplar of this is Mark Strong who plays the villain, Dr. Sivana, with an intensity that deliberately comes across as hammy, and the young characters within the film pick up on this and play off him in a way that deflates his bluster and points out how ridiculous he’s being. As a result, the tone of Shazam! feels like it’s poking good-natured fun at prior DC projects and other big budget action blockbusters where stone faced adults spout clichéd speeches without any sense of self-awareness. It’s an approach that points out how some modes of behaviour that are often associated with maturity and being an adult are actually quite childish when you take a step back. As a superhero film that focuses on the experience of being the age where you’re young enough that you still enjoy being a kid, but old enough that you want to call adults out on their bullshit, Shazam! is impressively realised and fun as hell.

         But for as light-hearted as it can be, Shazam! nevertheless surprises you with the occasional brutal sequence that catches you off guard with such rapidity that I found it relatively shocking. It’s not so detailed, gory, or explicit enough that I’d say it goes too far, but it’s worth bearing in mind before you show it to a particularly young and impressionable viewer. The benefit of these sequences is that the unexpected escalation accentuates how in over his head Billy is when he eventually comes across a situation that’s genuinely dangerous, as, despite his newfound powers, he is still a kid, and he really shouldn’t be facing this kind of thing. Indeed, the film demonstrates an impressive grasp of and dedication towards themes of maturity as Billy faces difficult truths about something he thought he wanted and realises he’s been looking in the wrong place for what he actually craves, as well as develops into a more responsible version of himself that opens up to being part of a group built on mutual trust. There’s a cleverly subtle visual indication of the progress Billy has made by the end of the film where he remembers to lower his head as he walks through a door while in his superpowered adult form. One of the first things Billy does when he first transforms is hit his head on a train door to show how unused he is to this new body. The simple act of Billy seeing the doorframe and lowering his head as he steps through without any hesitation near the end of the film signifies the control Billy has developed over himself and his own actions, making his journey of maturation resonate that much more with me. The impact of shocking dark turns and the firm, confident grasp the film has on its cohesive themes of maturation and finding your place in life elevates Shazam! from a fun time to an uplifting and refreshing story that I think people are going to really enjoy for a long while.

Final Ranking: Silver.

Energetic, full of character, and with a strongly executed theme of maturation, Shazam! is highly recommended. It is perhaps a little longer than it needs to be, which results in the latter parts of the middle section feeling a little drawn out. Having said that, the finale sends a jolt of electricity through you that makes you forget any objections you might have and remember all the positive qualities that make this film so likable.

 Hellboy (2019)

Oof… why did I decide to end this collection of reviews on Hellboy (2019) and write this after three other sections? Sigh… okay, let’s get this over with.

It would be insincere of me to say I'm the most impassioned proponent of the Guillermo del Toro Hellboy films. I found them memorable and atmospheric, and you could certainly feel the characteristic flair from the many people that put their artistic touch on those films to create something unique that marked them out from other comicbook movies, which is especially impressive in the mid-2000s, pre Iron Man era. But after going through the slog that is Hellboy (2019), I think I’m more appreciative than ever of what del Toro and his team managed to achieve.

         For a while, it seemed like this new R-rated version of Hellboy was angling for a more faithful adaptation of the original books by Mike Mignola, given the various interviews that were had about it over the years. Sadly, the final result feels like the result of too many outside influences dictating what the film should feature, culminating in a hodgepodge of a film which regurgitates character beats from the del Toro films, and rapidly stitches together a half-hearted attempt at a King Arthur narrative to fill in the requisite new material (this is your regular reminder to check out The Kid Who Would Be King, a much better modern reinterpretation of Arthurian lore). The presentation is dour, unenthusiastic, and lacks any atmosphere or personality, and that is something you could never accuse either the Mignola books or the del Toro films of lacking. In the whole film, there are only two sequences that stand out, namely the fight with the three giants and the rampage of the hell creatures in London. Even so, the former is a relatively meaningless sequence that contributes very little to the narrative and lifts right out of the film, while the latter is so sadistic and mean spirited that it made me genuinely uncomfortable. It falls flat as both an adaptation of a beloved fictional series that’s brimming with atmosphere, and as a piece of technical filmmaking as well.

         On top of that, when the tone and general philosophy of the film does emerge out from under the rest of the film’s mediocrity, it reveals itself to be genuinely unpleasant. The film opens with narration that rushes through the backstory with Nimue and the Arthurian set-up and does so with foul-mouthed irreverence. There is a bit of humour to someone casually tossing in the odd bit of shitty language as they tell you about ancient history that should be discussed with pomp and circumstance but is instead being discussed with ill-fitting coarseness. However, there needs to be some personality to go along with it, otherwise it’s implied that the swearing is the character and all that’s there to it. In the case of this opening narration, Ian McShane emphasises each fucking swearword and it becomes clear that the dialogue is using this as a crutch in an effort to make the film seem like it has an identity as this edgy superhero movie that’s different because it swears. It’s a juvenile approach that is laughable when you consider how effortless Ryan Reynolds’ delivery in each Deadpool movie has been, which demonstrates how swearing can be used to accentuate genuinely funny jokes and characters, rather acting as the joke in and of itself.

         And this isn’t even the most egregious part of the film either, it’s simply a bad first impression. The worst aspect of the film’s outlook is how virtually every character espouses the notion that you should stop complaining, stop letting things get to or affect you, and stop taking time to process things. This is especially saddening when Hellboy’s father, a character that was played with wonderful vulnerability and heart-aching humanity by the late great John Hurt, tells Hellboy to “grow some balls” and get on with things, making the emotional culmination of their time together on screen essentially boil down to ‘quit your bitching’. Characters in Hellboy (2019) show next to no empathy towards one another, and they continually reinforce the story’s outlook which, whether inadvertently or not, nevertheless encourages a state of being where you never have time to be open or vulnerable with the people around you. It’s profoundly disheartening to watch, and gives little to no thematic or visual sustenance to get you through a runtime that feels far too long.

Final Ranking: Manure.

Illustration by Chris Kindred.

The horror films which have the most pronounced effect on me are the ones that appear to be communicating not just a nightmarish story, but the palpable experience of being in someone else’s nightmare. Films like The Babadook, John Carpenter’s The Thing, and It Follows examine a very specific kind of threat which places the characters in an unimaginable situation which, once imagined and presented by the film, become these fascinating exercises of introspective thinking.  You lose yourself to the surreal imagery and indefinable atmosphere as you consider what specific anxieties are being examined and tested in this dreamlike story. The best examples of these films seem like the kind of project that means a lot to someone involved, as if they’ve experienced many sleepless nights being haunted by this nightmare, and the best way for them to deal with it is to bring these shadows out into the light and come face to face with them.

         I don’t mean to espouse the idea that commendable horror can only be attributed to auteurs with a burning vision who put entire films together by themselves. Filmmaking is a collaborative craft that requires the contributions of more hardworking specialists than you can keep track of. Set design, lighting, editing, cinematography, and countless areas that go unnoticed all have to come together to get the film’s visuals spot on so that you experience just the right feelings of unease for horror to be effective. The nightmare that these films present us with requires cohesion. Perhaps the people involved in a project have all experienced similar concerns that they can tap into as they pour their fears into a collective consciousness that the final film represents. Or maybe the director, writer, or whoever it is that is personally invested in this nightmare successfully communicates their fears to the other people on the team and entrusts each part of the craft to the right person who can help manage these feelings and articulate them in the correct way.

         Jordan Peele has directed two horror films now, and each one carries that remarkable quality that makes some of my favourite horror films stand out as much as they do. Each of Peele’s films embody the rich, full experience of diving into the headspace of another person and exploring the nightmare that is on display, and the teams he’s worked with have ensured that every aspect of the filmmaking process is working together to achieve that so successfully that it’s frankly staggering. Get Out thrilled me and boasts an impressive structure that continues to be rewarding the longer you spend reflecting on it. But I’ve spent the best part of the last month thinking about Us, reading the amazing insights and interpretations that other people have shared, and I still feel as if I’m not taking in everything this film has to say. This one might just be a new horror favourite.

         If you’re considering this film and are somehow still on the fence about it, even after its widespread critical and commercial success, and for whatever reason you’ve come to hear my thoughts before making a final decision, then that last paragraph should be enough. More often than not, films are improved by going in with a blank slate, and Us rewards the uninitiated viewer with a narrative where new information is drip-fed at a carefully considered rate. It makes the first viewing a process of captivating discovery. The more details that are filled in, the more you appreciate the larger picture that’s being put together. So yeah, if you don’t have an aversion to horror (and even if you do, I’d argue Us is one of the easier films to adjust to and get into if you’re not used to some of the rougher examples of the horror genre), go and see it, then watch it again with a friend to pick up on all the rich texture that’s threaded throughout the film. After this paragraph, I won’t necessarily have an eye on going into spoilers in specific detail, but I do want to talk themes, and I’d say that even that is best left to be discussed after your first viewing. If you want to avoid spoilers, come back to the rest of this article later.

         The atmosphere establishes itself with a masterful confidence through the striking array of visuals offered throughout the runtime. Though the cinematographer Mike Gioulakis has been involved in some divisive projects like Glass and Under the Silver Lake, he’s had experience with some atmospheric horror films that I’ve appreciated, namely It Follows and Split, and he brings that experience to this film with undeniably positive results. There are so many images which range from having a feint uncanniness to them to being intensely unnerving and threatening which stick with you. The framing of Hands Across America as something ritualistic and disconcerting when seen in a different and unknowable context is inventive. The sudden cut to a rabbit that the camera lingers on for the opening credits instils in the audience a sense that following the proverbial white rabbit might just leave us as trapped as this creature. The shadows of the threatening family in the dark become a sinister reflection of the drawing of a typical family we saw in the back of the Wilsons’ car at the start of the film, marking the hard turn we’ve taken into this new segment of the story. Red leaning uncomfortably close to the camera as she stares at Adelaide with an obsessive fascination and drums her fingers with inhumanly clockwork precision cements her status as a disorienting and deeply threatening presence, even after her face has come out of the shadows and is presented to us in full detail.

         And the lighting strikes a perfect tone for this film. There are instances where we see bright, glaring sunlight and it almost feels too intense, due to the palpable feelings of summer that these scenes elicit. This not only contrasts against the scenes where the oppressive darkness of a terrible night engulfs everything as carefully selected light sources cast small amounts of light on these scenes to reveal incomplete pictures of the slightly off-looking faces of the Tethered, but also contributes to part of the film’s subtext. While these figures that embody shadow are encroaching on and threatening the lives of our main cast, there is a sense of imbalance, as if the people who’ve lived in the light all this time are enjoying too much of it, to the point where it’s almost blinding. They even have to take precautions against the light by wearing sunglasses and sitting under the shade while they’re on the beach. Everything on display contributes to the film’s ever-expanding wealth of enduring images and thought-provoking subtext, making for a transportive first-time experience and a rewarding second viewing that invites you to read as deep as you can possibly go.

         As the story of Us follows a family of characters thrust into a nightmarish situation rather than one person’s isolation in a terrible place like in Get Out, we get an ensemble of main characters and a range of dynamics to go over, and the casting makes this area of the film rock solid, especially as the majority of them are pulling double duty.  Winston Duke has an effortless charisma as a performer that makes you laugh with his characters and latch onto them, even as Gabe, the husband of Lupita Nyong’o’s Adelaide, has his shortcomings which are deliberately pointed out to us to show how in over his head he is.  His efforts to control and order things (at first just to push his idea of an ideal family vacation) are tested once the horror descends and he tries to ground and rationalise the threat to his family, even as he’s directly confronted with its uncanny, otherworldly nature, and this could come across in a wholly unsympathetic light. And yet Duke makes sure that you remain sympathetic to Gabe and like him enough that you don’t want to see bad things happen to him.

         The two young actors are also commendable. Shahadi Wright Joseph plays the teenage daughter of the Wilson family Zora, and while she’s positioned as being a little too caught up in her phone, Wright Joseph manages the balance well so that you can clearly see her insight and sharp-thinking while also appreciating that Zora is still a young teenager. She also has a keen grasp on comedic delivery, providing some of the best tension-relieving moments in the film. Meanwhile, Evan Alex delivers an appropriately subdued performance as Jason, a quiet and withdrawn boy who notices things other characters don’t and considers them more deeply than you might think for someone of his age. Outside of the main cast, the most notable performance comes from Elisabeth Moss as Kitty and her Tethered other Dahlia. In one scene that simply takes in Dahlia looking at herself in the mirror, Moss conveys so much without ever giving away too much of what Dahlia is. We see her smile as she stares into her reflection and dreams about what she might have, but then she unexpectedly screams with unusual silence as she tries and fails to let her inexpressible pain and frustrations out, and finally gives into the twisted humour of her situation as her sobs give way to demented laughs. It’s a varied and impressive cast which fits together to create a fascinating set of characters that feed into the larger narrative of complicated individuals who aren’t bad people, but nevertheless have internal anxieties, pains, and negative traits which take the form of these uncanny shadows.

         But even among this strong cast, Lupita Nyong’o’s performance as both the central protagonist Adelaide and its antagonist Red is one of the film’s greatest features. In his review of the film, Moviebob provides the best encapsulation for what Nyong’o achieves in Us: “It could be argued Nyong’o is giving one of, if not the, best female horror lead performances ever, basically having to play both Michael Myers and Laurie Strode at the same time”. The central themes of Us can and have been read in countless ways, from the erosion of Native American culture, to communication and connection between family members who are at risk of growing distant, to class and social divisions in contemporary America to name a few. But the most immediately apparent and elemental theme which Us explores is the idea of the shadow-self, a dark reflection of who we are and what we could be, and the inextricable presence it has in our own lives and identity. I’d argue Nyong’o’s performance as Adelaide and Red not only cements this theme, but acts as its foundation for the rest of the film to build upon it. The duality between the two characters emphasises their connection as two sides of one identity. Red moves with meticulous precision due to her intense passion for dance, whereas Adelaide stopped performing as a dancer as she grew up. Adelaide has trouble with speaking and articulation despite having no physical health issues with her voice, while Red, as the only Tethered who can speak, is by default the most outspoken of her group despite the physical strain it takes for her to speak. They are opposing but connected, like the two blades that face inwards on a pair of scissors that cross in the middle, which is the universal weapon of choice for the Tethered. As the film nears its conclusion, Adelaide becomes more animalistic as she fights, to the point where the way she moves and the noises she makes paint her as seeming less human and more akin to one of the Tethered. The more she fights to overcome and destroy her shadow, the more like her shadow she becomes. In the film’s closing moments, Nyong’o’s expressions convey Adelaide’s newfound clarity and understanding of herself which act as the perfect conclusion to this story. Our awareness of the darker side of ourselves may lead us to the desire to cut it out of our lives completely, but that’s not something we can really do. Instead, we must find a way to come to terms with the darker part of ourselves, and continue to live with and manage it with the support of friends and family who are aware of that darker side of ourselves but don’t reject us for it.

         The successes of Us are so abundant that its weaknesses fade so far into the background that they become trivial. When compared against the air-tight structure of the director’s previous film, Us is comparatively less single-mindedly focused on one central theme that it can build its entire narrative around like Get Out is. That’s not necessarily a failing on Us’s part, but I can appreciate that some viewers might prefer the lazer focus of Get Out. Also, while the finale is an absolute showstopper, it does skim over some details to shove Gabe and Zora to the side with nothing to do in order to prioritise Adelaide and Jason. As such, I felt the strings were pulling on the characters to get them where the film decided they needed to be just a little too hard. But these and any other flaws that might be pointed out to me do little to off-balance the triumph that the rest of the film represents. It’s deliciously dream-like yet grounded by enjoyable characters who feel like real people. It tells a thrilling story that is steeped in thought-provoking symbolism without ever overloading you or getting lost in pretention. In short, Us is a captivating and well-coordinated dance with the shadows that linger just below the surface.

Final Ranking: Platinum.

Chapter 16: Devastation

You can listen to the full episode here.

The chapter opens with us hearing the rest of Truth’s messages to the group, which we had started at the end of the last chapter. The message details the nature of Thomas & Sarah’s assassination and affirm that the mission must carry on, just as the Arlingtons would’ve wished. Truth asks Annie that she breaks the news to Harry gently, which is a terrible responsibility to be given. The fourth message is for Harry. It offers a sister’s condolences for a loss they both share, and tells her that if she wants to return home, she can.

         The next section is a recording of Harry’s reaction to losing her parents, and its as raw and painful to listen to as you would imagine. Laureta Sela uses her familiarity with Harry’s speech patterns and quiet voice to emphasise the shock to her system that this news brings. She conveys Harry’s disbelief in the incomplete fragments of sentences she says at the start, before letting out these soft, hurt sobs that come from someone who’s just lost something they thought they could never bear to be without.

         Abigail describes to us what the next few days were like, and how Harry responded to this devastating news. She separated herself from the group and spent her time inside SteamHeart, a place that Harry had built to make people feel safe in. It makes sense that she would want to be here, inside a space where the rest of the world feels closed off. Butler stayed close by, but didn’t press her into speaking, demonstrating how well he has gotten to know Harry and how to respect what she and her mind need in different situations. Though I’m sure that even he wishes he knew what to do to help her in these unthinkable circumstances. Harry’s typical speech is not as fast-paced as James’, but when you hear her vocalise her thought process, it’s clear that her mind is constantly moving, steadily moving on and on as it works out the correct approach or solution for whatever task she has her mind focused on in that particular moment. But Abigail describes her eyes now as being unfocused, her breathing having slowed down, and the air around her being quiet. The mechanics inside Harry which seem to be perpetually in motion have now come to a sudden cold stop, and it pains the people around her to see her be so dramatically affected like this. But they know that this is what needs to happen, and that it should not be seen as something to be avoided, but gently accounted for. So they wait, giving her as much time as they can spare.

         Abigail moves on from this to reflect on the experiment with the mushrooms and the differences between the way it had affected her and the way it had affected James. They both came out of the experience feeling not liberated, but trapped, but where Abigail feels she differs is that she still feels a residual clarity of thought towards not only the people she knows around her, but to everyone. Perhaps James has come away with everything seeming even more clouded than it already was for him. It’s as if he’s even more resigned to his pessimistic assessment that he’ll never gain anything useful from this Star-filled eye, and he will never get something that makes up for what he has lost. But whatever satisfaction Abigail had felt from feeling this universal connection, it had suddenly left her as soon as Harry received this news, and Abigail’s intense empathy for other people has caused her own emotions to solely experience a small part of the heartache that Harry is feeling as she grieves. Abigail’s impulse to approach Harry and hug her is reminiscent of the impulse she expressed in the previous chapter to kiss Annie, Butler, and Harry when she was under the effects of the mushrooms. Abigail wants to reach out to those around her, and her desire to share physical contact and affection goes two ways, as she realises that she could do with someone taking her aside, hugging her, and telling her that things will be okay herself. With the Arlingtons gone, there’s a lot of uncertainty, both for the future of the mission, and for what the point of this mission is if two of the people who orchestrated it are now gone.

         Annie looks around her to see the devastation on the faces of her teammates, knowing that she has to deftly control her own sorrow to a fine enough point that she appears to be both resolute enough to lift herself up and carry on, yet also displays enough of her sadness to let the people following her know that she isn’t made of stone, and that they can manage this. It sounds like too much to ask of anyone, but Annie knows it’s her duty as the commanding officer on this mission. Indeed, given the reputation that has been put onto her as the heroic and invincible figure leading this now famous group, she almost certainly feels this pressure even more so. But despite her resolve to move forward, the group has stayed in one place for four days. Harry is the driver of SteamHeart, and if the mechanisms inside her stop working, then SteamHeart shuts down as well. Annie wants to help Harry move forward, but she’s unresponsive to any of Annie’s attempts to help her cope. Annie laments the group’s inability to move either forward or backward. Even though Butler has been learning how to drive SteamHeart and believes he can take the wheel if he’s called upon, he nevertheless wants to wait until Harry gives some sort of sign that this is okay. Annie could order Butler to take the wheel anyway to make progress happen, but her compassion and understanding of the human spirit leads to her deciding to give it more time. She summarises this attitude towards the importance of maintaining your internal strength in a powerful way: “there is no point pushing forward if this breaks us. We must heal.” The most sensible thing for the mission right now is for the members of Team Steam to not force progress, but to take the time to mend. This is an outlook that I could do with embodying more in the future during times of physical and emotional stress.

         Butler approaches Harry after a week of rest to gently ask if he can at least briefly take control of SteamHeart, to which she agrees. Things progress gently and steadily enough as Butler settles into his role as the backup driver. He takes this opportunity to share his own remorse at the deaths of Thomas & Sarah, two people who, as he points out here, he had gotten to know pretty well over the last few months and the events of Arlington. The friendly and trusting relationship he had built up with the two of them was uplifting to see, and acknowledging the personal things that our protagonists value which have been lost with the deaths of Thomas & Sarah makes the tragedy and the grief surrounding it feel that much more real. Indeed, the writing throughout this chapter focuses on very real observations of what it’s like to experience grief, like Butler’s comments that the grief being shared and reciprocated by everyone in Team Steam made it easier and harder at the same time. Grief is a complicated, messy thing that can’t be neatly resolved, and it leaves you in an awkward state between action and inaction. Everyone’s different, and every loss is different, so you’re left without a clue as to whether you should be doing more, doing less, talking with people, giving them space, and a dozen other things that jab at you as you wait and hope for things to get better.

         Butler takes the opportunity while he’s behind the wheel to take a detour north, near Darke County, to drive past some of the sites of his wife’s childhood. Butler suggests they see Annie’s childhood home, not only to see what it’s like and who’s living there now, but to also rest there for the night. Annie turns this down, not irritably, but with genuine certainty that she doesn’t want to see that home from her past again, as she has it in her mind, and in her heart. Butler gently conveys his understanding and accepts this as he turns back to the main road.

         Abigail catches glimpses of people in another land during a dream, hearing distorted voices as they conduct their conversation which we can’t quite make out. Readers / listeners of The Princess Thieves will recognise the scene we’re overhearing, but to Abigail this is all unfamiliar, and she wakes up in confusion. She wakes Jeremy up as well, describing what she saw and the colours of the lights she’s seeing quite clearly now while he makes notes. They go through the number and colours of the lights she sees, each one representing a different portal. There’s a green one in England, a yellow one in Egypt, which is the same colour as the Southern Door, and a second flickering light close by to the Southern Door, which, due to its purple colouring, I have to assume is the one to Rama. However, there is apparently a second purple one in West Virginia, so it’s possible that there are at least two portals to Rama that are currently open. There’s another yellow portal to the far north, to which Agent Wilson is currently leading an expedition (it seems there are at least three portals in the world that lead to the Wendigos’ yellow world), and a pale green portal in Missouri.

         Abigail further demonstrates what I believe are her developing abilities as an empath as the first thing she describes about the blonde woman in England is that she was upset about something, showing that it’s her emotions which she felt most clearly. After discussing this dream, Abigail asks the right question when she checks to see if Jeremy or anyone in America has any idea what’s going on in England right now. Jeremy’s response all but confirms that he does, and his remark that he isn’t allowed to talk about it, but really really wants to, is as close as he can come to assuring Abigail that he has some idea about the situation of the British Isles as we saw it in The Princess Thieves. He dances around what he actually wants to ask, doing as much as he can to question the specifics of his dream without giving away classified information. This prompts Abigail into remembering that M, from her mushroom visions, was there. Abigail pleads with Jeremy to tell James that the people of his homeland are safe, even if he won’t tell either of them any more than that. Jeremy tells her that he can’t do that, hinting at a plan that Thomas and Sarah had which they can follow once they return to Washington after the mission is completed. What that plan is, what information they have on the current state of the British Isles, and where this might be leading is all enticing stuff, and I’m glad to see seeds for future stories planted here, because I am anxious to see more of Gwen’s story, and how it might connect with Team Steam in the future.

Chapter Fifteen: A Short Cut to…

You can listen to the full episode here.

James approaches a lake where Raven sits nearby. His manner of walking into the lake and submerging himself in the water instead of taking the clothes off to wash them by hand is a little unusual, but foreshadows what James will be doing later on in the chapter; he is immersing himself in an element, or environment, or whatever you would call the cosmic and ethereal place his mind takes him to later on, and that element renders him weightless. It’s a very different sensation to walking on solid ground through familiar air. James coming out of the water and sitting next to Raven as he drips potentially alludes to him coming down after his experience, as he’s returned to Earth, but remnants of the space that he was just immersed in still cling to him, running off of him as either drops of water, or impressions of ideas and abstract concepts.

         James begins a conversation with an initially unresponsive Raven, sharing his hypothesis that he might be able to understand and make better use of his Endowment if he reaches the correct mental and/or spiritual state. James eventually gets to what he had come here to ask Raven, which is whether he knows any Native American shamans who might be experienced in guiding people through spiritual matters. James usually speaks very quickly, as he is often voicing his thoughts at the same rapid rate that his mind processes them. At this point of the conversation with Raven, however, he says each word with an uncertain and apologetic pause –  he doesn’t want to make unfounded assumptions about Native American culture and cause offense, but he also wants to explore every potential avenue that could help further their mission. James places a lot of importance in the act of making progress, but he’s not so narrowly focused on that that he loses perspective and doesn’t take these things into consideration and display genuine signs of internal conflict at approaching Raven to ask him this.

         Raven realises that this was Arlington’s hidden motive for including him on this mission. He didn’t just want him there to document this journey, he knew that Raven was a shaman and had placed him next to James and Abigail in the hopes that this would lead to more progress in understanding their Endowment. After venting his frustrations over this, James admits that he had suspected this but did not want to presume, but, in any case, this is most fortunate. The exchange that follows is one of the first glimpses we were given of SteamHeart after The Princess Thieves had wrapped up. James asks if Raven will teach him to better understand the power inside him, Raven says he will and feigns a dramatic revelation that James is “the child of the prophecy!”, which James momentarily believes and asks if that’s true, to which Raven irritably responds “No!”, scoffs, and calls James a jackass. It’s a delightful and memorable excerpt that charms you into wanting to see more characterful interactions like this, and conveys the playful irreverence this series and the author has towards ‘Chosen One’ narratives which have become rather tiring in recent years.

         They continue their conversation as Raven turns the idea over in his head. He doesn’t have a high opinion of his own abilities as a shaman, meaning there’s only so much he can help James and Abigail. This is a wise development, as it stops Raven from being the all-knowing mystic minority, as he’s informed enough about this aspect of his culture that he can lend perspective, but his ethnicity doesn’t mean he’s fully versed in every part of Native American culture. Still, he may be out of his depth when it comes to offering spiritual guidance on a matter that none of them have any familiarity with, but he knows that this is important enough that he should nevertheless try. He suggests they either wait until they find a shaman who’s more suited to this, or they try some mushrooms he’s got in his bag that might help James and Abigail tap into whatever it is they need to tap into. In Raven’s words, “they’ll get you pretty fucked up”.

          That afternoon, James makes his case to Annie, who is firmly opposed to the idea. Her remark that she’s aware of the dangers of eating mushrooms from the forest reminds us of Annie’s extensive familiarity with woodland environments that we saw in Chapter Eleven. She asks Raven for more information, and he shows her the bag of mushrooms, which he points out was fuller when he first acquired them, which is Raven’s way or assuring her that he’s taken a fair few of these himself and they didn’t kill him. They are Teonanácatl, “flesh of the Gods”, and Raven claims they will bring things which are locked away to the surface. This is perhaps why this is the chapter where James tells the rest of the group about their past with Lucy. Annie asks if it can hurt them, and Raven says truthfully that it might make them sick, or even overwhelm their senses, which, given the uncertain nature of what it is that James and Abigail’s new eyes allow them to “sense”, could be so overpowering that it results in a deep trauma that stays with them. Annie eventually relents, and when Abigail approaches the group as they discuss this, she’s told what it is they’re planning to do, which she takes on board relatively quickly and without much objection, apart from pointing out that this could lead to them inadvertently opening up more portals. James admits that he’s half-hoping that this is exactly what happens, because at least then they’ll know. It seems that James is growing increasingly perturbed at his lack of progress with this Endowment, and wants some proof that he’s gained something from losing one of his eyes, even if something disastrous has to happen for him to get this proof.

         Most of the rest of the episode is a series of recordings of their experiment with the Teonanácatl that evening. James and Abigail are sat besides a campfire with Annie, Butler, and Raven, and the atmospheric sounds of the fire and the night-time chirps of the unseen animals inhabiting the deserted countryside make this an engaging sensory experience.

         At 10:20, the effects begin to show themselves, with the light of the fire looking particularly intense to Abigail, and, from the sounds of James’ low mumbles of agreement, I’d wager he’s experiencing something similar. This would be what Raven was talking about when he mentioned the mushrooms overwhelming the senses, as they seem to make everything more pronounced. Abigail’s mention of “much brighter spots shining out of the darkness” makes me think of stars and the other worlds out there represented by the lights that her Endowed eye can see.

         At 10:30, James notes some geometric shapes in the air, believing them to be significant. If the mushrooms do indeed help people reach a deeper understanding of the universe around them, then perhaps this is James’ mathematical brain breaking down his surroundings to their most elemental, fundamental shapes which act as building blocks for the universe. Abigail, meanwhile, is seeing the stars even more brightly. She has been able to see lights through her starlit eye more easily than James, so it makes sense that these lights would be especially dazzling for her. Though James does tell her that he sees them too – maybe he’s able to see what she sees through her, through the perspective she brings to his life. Abigail wants “to grow things”, hinting at her recent thoughts on the natural world that she reflected on in Chapter Fourteen.

         At 10:40, James has taken off his eyepatch, giving his starlit eye the chance to take in whatever it can see and surrendering himself to his senses. His words begin to fail him as he loses the thread of what he was describing, a rare thing for James. He is blown away by the uncountable number of edges, corners, and borders of the shapes around him, as is Abigail by the millions of connections she feels to other people. The picture this paints is similar to how Cerebro is sometimes depicted in X-Men media, with countless lights infinitely reflected and refracted, with each one representing another living person that you can connect with. Both Abigail and James touch on the idea of their world being linked with multiple worlds they don’t even know about, whether it’s the notion that “we can feel all the other directions, we just can’t name them”, or Abigail’s remark that “we think we’re alone in all of this, but we’re together … always”. For as often as Abigail brings up her difficulties with social interaction, her soul reaches out to form relationships with so many people, from James, to Lucy, to Tabitha, to Annie, to Harry, to her parents, and to any number of people she might meet in the future. In this moment, Abigail understands just how connected they all are with one another.

         At 10:50, Abigail tells James that she’s in love with him. She says she was afraid to tell him before, and James gently tells her not to be, before telling her in a moment of honest vulnerability that he loves her too. They both know in this moment of complete clarity that they truly feel this way about one another. It’s when the weight of their past resurfaces to pull them back to Earth later on that this one unrestrained moment of love becomes an unreachable reality to them.

         After that moment of intensity, we hear James’ amusing revelations about carrots at 11:00. Meanwhile, Abigail demonstrates her compassion for others by telling Annie she loves her as well, and for a moment, she seems to have plans to tell Harry the same thing. Butler agrees with her comments about Annie being beautiful, but cuts Abigail short after she mentions kissing Annie on the lips, perhaps less so to do with being concerned about his wife being kissed by another person and more to do with making sure that the recording doesn’t pick up anything that Abigail might regret having said later. James talks about seeing through the world, like seeing a window pane, with the people of the world leaving faint finger prints on the glass. But James can only see them, he can’t interact with them (the Cerebro parallels grow stronger). In a note of dejected resignation, James says “it’s not going to happen”, and the recording ends. He could be talking about how this experiment won’t help him tap into his powers, or how the mission isn’t going to succeed, or that humanity isn’t going to make it through this, or all of that at once. Whatever the case, we’re hearing James feel truly feels powerless in this moment.

         An hour later, at midnight, we overhear parts of Abigail’s conversation with an unseen figure. As soon as she says “if you’re so wise”, I had an inkling that she had somehow established a connection with Merlaine from The Princess Thieves. Abigail mentions the impossibility of crossing oceans in SteamHeart, which could mean Merlaine suggested that Team Steam come to Britain to meet her there. Abigail describes Merlaine’s appearance to the rest of the group, all but confirming to fans of The Princess Thieves who this is while giving the uninitiated another mysterious aspect to this chapter. Abigail’s kind remarks to ‘M’ (which incidentally cements the mental image I have of Merlaine resembling Judi Dench) and her genuine sadness at seeing her go shows Abigail forming yet another connection. I’m both intrigued and delighted to hear M promise that they will meet again. This pleasantness is short-lived, however, as James has a sudden fit of vomiting, which sets Abigail off, and we’re treated to a combination of squelching sound effects and retching vocal noises that, quite frankly, is enough to make a queasy listener feel sick themselves. The pair are beginning to come down hard.

         Half an hour later, at 12:30, Abigail is sobbing. I’m not sure if this means she’s necessarily crying or not, but it sounds like she’s pretty tearful as her sudden fall back to Earth floods her emotions. Abigail hasn’t been able to cry for many years, so this is as close as she’s ever gotten, which is pretty significant. It emphasises just how hard she’s fallen after feeling freed from all the hardships and painful parts of life, and how impossible facing that seems after knowing what it feels like to be weightless, even if just for a little while. Raven urges Abigail to understand that the images, the illusions that she experienced which felt so real are still “constructs we make for ourselves. That freedom you felt? You bring it with you.” I think there are several ways you can take this advice or interpret it, but the way I see it, it seems that Raven is saying that the sensation she experienced when she felt weightless wasn’t an ethereal truth outside of her reach, but was instead a realisation of her way of viewing and understanding the world. The “freedom” that comes from that understanding feels so clear when you’re detached from reality, and when you come back to face the everyday hardships of life, it can be hard to hold onto that ideal understanding of what it means to be free. It’s up to you to try and take that understanding and incorporate it into how you navigate the conflicts of life and the world.

         At 12:45, we check in on James, whose grief for Lucy is resurfacing. James quietly says with shame and horror that “I killed her. Both of us did”, showing that he still blames himself for what happened, and that his and Abigail’s connection to this traumatic event still has a hold on both of them. It seems he and Abigail still believe what she said at Lucy’s funeral all those years ago, that “this will never not be our fault”. This section ends with James asking that the recording device be switched off. This is likely the moment where the two of them tell Annie and Butler about the events of Weirwood. This marks the end of the recordings documenting this experiment.

         James records his feelings the next morning in a journal entry, confirming his mournful resignation over his inability to control his Endowment and the impossibility for him and Abigail to ever move past their guilt over what happened to Lucy. He could neither talk with Abigail nor relisten to the recordings that day, the emotional collapse of the last parts of the experiment being too difficult to confront. The next day they continued with their journey, stopping at the military encampment at the edge of Columbus. We hear some details of the new geographic layout of the territories controlled by the Reunified States and those that have been granted to Seth. But none of that matters once the group reaches the telegraph centre and receive word from Washington of the deaths of Thomas and Sarah Arlington. The telegraph is read to us by a deeply shaken Truth who is forcing herself to carry on in her duties, and the episode ends with her asking Annie not to tell Harry yet.

Captain Marvel is uplifting and rock solid. The low lighting makes a few scenes hard to make out, and I wasn't heavily invested in the broader plot of what was going on in the background, but I was fully engaged in Carol's story; Brie Larson shines as this cinematic hero.

          On top of that, the film has an airtight cast who are all having fun, a greatly realised aesthetic and well-chosen list of joyful songs, some instantly iconic lines that will inspire, and a killer sequence of shots edited together that will be profoundly moving for so many.

A new film from Joe Cornish, the director who gave us Attack the Block, The Kid Who Would be King is another entertaining British film about kids fighting unearthly forces while the story emphasises the values of people who view each other with hostility and distrust coming together and breaking down their divisions. The difference this time is, rather than teenagers fighting off an alien invasion on a council estate, we're watching pre-teen schoolkids get wrapped up in a modern-day Arthuian Legend. If you remember my Late to the Party review of Attack the Block, you'll know there are parts of it I admire, but the total experience wasn't for me. This time, I came away rather fond of this film.

         The music is one of the film's aspects that I most appreciated. While there are several action sequences where the music doesn't quite reach the memorable heights of the movie’s parts, in-between the action there is a compelling use of synth which creates atmospheric and warm music that gives this film its heart. It's the kind of sound you'd expect to hear in an old childhood favourite real-world meets fantasy film that you watched all the time as a kid (think Flight of the Navigator), or in more recent nostalgic media like Stranger Things, or even the director’s other film Attack the Block. It gives the film a sense of earnestness and an enjoyable aesthetic which is occasionally missing from the visuals. The way magic is presented is also distinctive and done very well. Part of why it's enjoyable to experience is that the playful music creates a theme for Merlin which is always filled with a peculiar bounciness that mirrors how the other characters would see him, which makes the things we see him do whimsically delightful. Another factor to why it works as well as it does is the rapid hand movements used to create magic - it’s mesmerising, and always done with a sense of purposefulness and urgency which makes the hand movements required to produce magic seem calculated rather than just a series of random flailing movements. And when you do see magic happen, it feels electric and dangerous, like it will pass in an instant but leave a permanent impression on the people and world around the person who conjured it.

         On the whole, the actors do a fine enough job. An emphasis on child performances often invites scrutinization, but I'd say I liked everyone and felt I was watching real kids respond to these situations. Having said that, sometimes the script is a little too specific and rigid in its attempts to have characters say what needs to be said or get across some key exposition. As such, the performances of the young cast feel less free-flowing and instantly charming than what you'd see in something like IT: Chapter One. Whether the performances feel natural or not, there’s nevertheless an earnest effort being put into making the key scenes work, which means you do get some dramatic scenes which have an emotional punch to them. That goes a long way, and it provides ample content for audiences to connect with these characters throughout the film. But if I had to pick, Angus Imrie, who plays the young Merlin, is probably the highlight due to his distinct energy and enthusiasm.

         The Kid Who Would Be King works as a decent introduction to the hero’s journey, so if you or someone you know are really into stories with that kind of framework, you'll definitely get something out of this film. It's particularly poignant because the return home, a meaningful and important step in the traditional hero's journey, is, in this case, a return home to the domestic and everyday world of contemporary Britain. The film closes with an acknowledgement that things are still looking bleak in a lot of ways throughout the country, and while it never explicitly states the anxiety-inducing and all too familiar phrase 'Brexit', it might as well. There's so much uncertainty surrounding what the future holds for us right now, and those frightening feelings are absolutely picked up on and shared by the younger generation. Children are always susceptible to feeling powerless, but I'd imagine the rapid changes the world is seeing these last few years is making that alienating experience even more pronounced. The Kid Who Would be King tells a story squarely aimed at kids (though it is absolutely capable of being enjoyed and meaningful to older viewers) that hands the power back to them. The course of the journey emphasises core values that Alex and his friends take to heart, and they take them home to heal old pains, reconnect with loved ones, come together with others, and walk forward to the future to do their best to make things better. If the return home is an opportunity to make the home better using what you've learned along your journey, then this is a great set of values that British kids, and all kids really, should take to heart from experiencing the journey of this story.

         As for my last few quibbles with the film, I'd say that certain characters, specifically the two bullies who join the group, kind of stop developing after their key scene a little over halfway through the movie. After that, you just see them continue as they are, and there’s not much more to them after their key development has been realised. I would have liked to have seen more about what they want to do next or where they go from here after having made this progress, because as is, they seem to be stuck two thirds of the way through an unfinished character journey. Also, this is a very little thing, but I didn’t like the way Merlin would use his magic towards the end of the film. Minor spoilers, but right after Alex explains to his headmistress that all of Britain will be put under slavery if the evil forces they're up against triumph, Merlin casts a mind control spell over her to facilitate the main group's goals. After that, they do the same to all the other teachers and herd them into a classroom where they sit, like cattle. It just feels a little misplaced, poorly conceived, and antithetical to what the heroes are trying to achieve, because they're more or less forcing the teachers to do things for them that they wouldn't ordinarily have done, which is not too far away from making them, even if only temporarily, slaves to help them achieve their own means.

         But The Kid Who Would Be King is, overall, a well-executed adventure movie that will hit its mark with kids of a similar age to the main characters. It’s for kids who enjoy fantasy but are also smart enough to be concerned about the things in the world that aren’t looking too great right now. The Brexit parallels are immediately apparent, but it also touches on pervading concerns such as climate change, homelessness, and generally the huge problems of the world which hit you in the face every day on your walk to work, or, indeed, to school. It’s got a purposefulness to it, and it’s very direct with what it wants to talk about, and that’s a positive thing to see in media today. It has a message in one hand and has its other hand stretched out to lead you on an enjoyable adventure, if you want to come along. It’s not a film that set the world on fire for me personally, but it will be inspiring to a lot of people who are at just the point in their lives when they need to hear what this movie has to say. One line in particular that I will carry with me is “if your legends say otherwise, maybe it’s time to rewrite them”. The stories that have shaped us and generations before us do not have to be the final word on who we are and who we can be, because it’s entirely up to us to write our own stories.

Final Ranking: Bronze.

Chapter Fourteen: Forgotten Places

You can listen to the full episode here.

We return to SteamHeart, which has now begun its journey proper. Even after four days of travel, James does not think he’s learned all there is to learn about this machine home he’s so fascinated with. His description of the mechanisms, the huge wheels, the experience of looking out the port holes when they go off-road and seeing the rolling landscape and skies of the countryside is enjoyably immersive. The interior of SteamHeart sounds like a home, being large enough to move around a lot, and has little pockets here and there where different members of the crew have taken to situating themselves, much like the different rooms you would find crew members in in the Normandy in the Mass Effect series. Abigail and Annie are often together in the mid-section, enjoying the chance to further develop their friendship which shows just how far they’ve come since their first days together when Abigail questioned Annie’s orders. Still, while I’m sure that Annie is genuinely enjoying the chance to rekindle her friendship with Abigail, she’s also likely staying close to her because of Arlington’s orders. The charge she has been given is a heavy weight on Annie’s shoulders, and I suspect she wants to make sure she gives everything she can to make sure she never has to kill Abigail, and if developing a sincere friendship and a deep level of trust can help her achieve that, I’m sure Annie will want to try her best to make that happen.

         The co-pilot seat is in regular rotation between Jeremy, Butler, and James, as it provides an excellent view of the land. Of course, Frank wants to be there to learn how to drive SteamHeart so he can occasionally relieve Harry of driving duty and give her a chance to rest. But Jeremy and James are both deeply inquisitive souls, so they would naturally be drawn to the place with the best view of unknown territory. I hope we get to see a conversation between the two of them at some point, as the dynamic would be fun to watch. Raven sticks to the rear carriage where he can write in a warm environment. Of the crew, he appears to be the least integrated into the group. I’m curious to see how this will develop. At night, the benches and seating can be modified into beds and hammocks, and, at first, the idea of sleeping in SteamHeart while listening to the natural night-time sounds of the landscape outside seems like a cosy and wonderful way to fall asleep. But then James points out that they’re always listening out for the call of a Wendigo, and you remember the treacherous dangers that they might still encounter here in the wilds. Another source of danger that James goes into is the people they encounter along the way. Some are merely curious, and the crew will wave at many of the people SteamHeart passes by in an effort to positively connect with the general public, one of the goals of their mission. But on two occasions, people have fired bullets at SteamHeart, and although they didn’t penetrate its armour and Butler & Annie were able to see them off without too much trouble or bloodshed on either end, it is nevertheless worrying. Hearing this feels like those random encounters you’d have in a roleplaying game on your way from one location to another – they break up the smoothness of the journey enough to emphasise that the world our characters inhabit is a dangerous place where just the act of traveling can be deadly if you’re not careful enough, but they’re not so calamitous or noteworthy that they prove to be much trouble to well-equipped and experienced adventurers. They make the journey a little more interesting, but they’re not significant enough that they’re worth spending a great amount of time on.

         Abigail is less keen on life inside SteamHeart. Her journal entry was written eleven days after their departure, a week after James’ which was written four days after departure. The rumbling, the claustrophobia (interesting that James says it’s big enough inside to run while Abigail conversely finds it too tight and stifling; I love the Yin & Yang duality of these two), and the excessive amount of waiting is wearing on her. The necessary stops SteamHeart takes to refuel means they aren’t exactly barrelling towards the Wind Door, which is making Abigail and Annie, who wants to get this done and get it done fast, anxious. It is the safest method of travel, however, and even Abigail doesn’t deny that.

         During their stops, they go out to scout and interact with the public, explaining their mission, handing out signed posters (Abigail’s idea, taking a leaf out of her own signed copy of The Cartographer’s Handbook), and doing everything they can to make a good impression. Sometimes, they’d spend the night in a town that was friendly to them and their cause, and Abigail would take the chance to sleep outdoors, away from the confines of SteamHeart. Of course, where Abigail goes Annie chooses to follow, not wanting to leave anything to chance. The stars make Abigail think of Lucy, and given her connection to the stars, I can see why. Also, interestingly, she thinks of Tabitha. Abigail got along very well with Tabitha for the short time they spent together, and I have to wonder if her interest in her is partly romantic. Anyway, we’re told that Abigail learned the same story about the Wolves and Annie’s past as we have heard over the course of SteamHeart, which catches the characters up to speed and also stresses their developing friendship, especially as Abigail reciprocated this by telling Annie about her past and the story we heard in Weirwood. The conversation eventually turns towards an aged, eccentric, yet perplexing storyteller named Old Ned, who Annie had met on the road in Arlington. The two of them agree that her description of the man matches Malloy, the old storyteller that they had encountered in Secret Rooms. This storyteller is one of the stranger unsolved mysteries of New Century, especially as he doesn’t seem to want anything other than to tell stories on the one or two occasions this character has showed up. Is that all he wants, or is there something more? I’m always down for enigmatic storyteller characters, so this mystery has its hooks in me.

         Abigail tells us of the abandoned areas that were once inhabited by human life. The narration paints a picture of nature slowly and surely, but not maliciously, taking over and covering these environments in a strange balance between an abundance of natural life and a ghostly sense of humans who suddenly stopped living here one day, and never came back to spend the rest of the lives they would have spent here. In one such environment, Abigail considers the vast quietness, wondering if the world really is seeing the last few days of humanity before they leave forever, and the planet will stay peaceful, quiet, and empty. It’s a frightening thought, and yet also strangely comforting to me. It makes me think that if the worst happens, if we ran out of time on Earth, then at least a beautiful serenity would cover the world. Even if I’m not around to experience it, that doesn’t sound too bad.

         We move on to a journal entry from Butler which details an excursion to the woods to hunt deer that he took with Abigail during one of SteamHeart’s frequent stops. He notices that Abigail is quieter and seems more contemplative than usual. He leaves her alone, however, as they continue to explore the woods. They come across a dead deer, and, upon close examination, Butler concludes that this was the work of a wolf. They resolve to find it and kill it, as Butler believes the wolf may have been infected with rabies, and given the dangers of a lethal infection that induces frantic behaviour spreading from animal to animal, he’s keen to stop this here and now. The parallel between a rabies-infected wolf and the Wendigos is not lost on the two of them. Abigail asks Butler if he really can’t leave it be and let the wolf die on its own, as no-one asked him to do this, and he knows this, but he simply answers that it’s there, whether he’s asked to deal with it or not. It’s simply not in Frank’s nature to leave things alone if something needs to be done about it. They set off again, this time on the lookout for wolves, and the music reflects the descent they’ve taken into this almost fairy-tale like ominous place; the dark woods where a savage wolf resides.

         As they study their surroundings, Butler reflects on the self-destructive nature of a rabid wolf, how it neglects looking after itself and simply lashes out at anything it can find. He comments that the Wendigo would’ve died out years ago if it was more like that, which leads to Abigail making the remark that they would both still have families if that were the case. The comment hangs in the air, until she asks Butler if he still thinks about the family he lost. This jabs at Butler, and he does not hide his frustration that she would even ask something like that. Abigail doesn’t backpedal however, as her body language communicates that, even after she’s seen that this very personal question has upset Butler, she still wants to hear his answer. Butler answers truthfully that he misses them, but he has to deal with what is, and not spend his life wondering what could have been. Abby tells him that she means no disrespect, and yet she continues along the thread of questions she’s started, wanting to know if he ever feels bad that he had to lose his family in order to have the life he now shares with Annie. Her recent thoughts about humanity being in its last days have put her in a profoundly reflective mood, so it rings true that Abby would be in a place where she’s starting to ask deep, probing questions not only to herself, but to others as well. But this is putting Butler on edge, making his emotions bubble over as he begins to lose his focus and starts to feel multiple doubts about going into these woods, taking Abigail with him, and how he’s generally been handling his duties on this mission up to this point.

         But before Butler can answer Abigail’s question, the wolf is on them, and they need to act fast. The two of them each land a shot on the creature, and, in the aftermath, Abigail apologises for being distracting and tells Butler she’ll back off. Butler thanks Abby for shooting when she did, as it most likely ended up saving his life. Butler is given a free pass to move on from their previous conversation, but when he realises that being lost in the past meant he didn’t sense the wolf approaching, he decides to confront the issue bothering him, helping him to re-centre himself and move forward. He admits to Abigail that he does feel some guilt, not only because he’ll always miss his lost family members and doesn’t want to feel like he’s left them behind, but also because he worries that him feeling this is betraying Annie in some way. He loves Annie so much that his life before he met her feels like a dream he woke up from. When Abby says she hopes she meets someone she can love as much as that “one day”, I have to wonder if her crooked smile is a bittersweet indication that she actually already has met someone like that, but she either doesn’t feel her love with as much certainty and intensity as Butler and Annie do, or she thinks that the people who could make her feel that way are lost to her now.

         The two are joined by a group of strangers, and now the uneasy atmosphere of the woods gets even worse as the two sides cautiously exchange words with one another. The strangers were also hunting the wolf, which had been killing their sheep. When Butler tests whether him and Abby killing it for them has put them on good enough terms for their two groups to do some trading, one of the men makes it plain that they aren’t welcome here. Butler appeals to their leader, requesting that they be permitted to stay the night if they promise to keep to themselves. The leader grants them this at least for killing the wolf, but he specifically instructs Butler and Abigail to take them, the rest of their group, and SteamHeart and leave in the morning. SteamHeart is already making people nervous, and while they were able to make it away from this encounter, who knows who else Team Steam will meet in the dark woods along their journey, and how they’ll react to the presence of this strange machine.

Chapter Thirteen: Homeward Bound

You can listen to the full episode here.

We briefly shift our focus away from the crew of SteamHeart to check in on Miguel and Hrao. They’ve made their way to Memphis, and though Miguel has done his best to cover Hrao with some tarpaulin as they move through the city, he’s nervous and fears that people will discover her sooner or later. We overhear little snippets of conversation that mention a great black lion that was spotted a few months ago and has put the locals on edge. Miguel worries that the people’s curiosity of this creature and others like it will make them immediately hostile towards Hrao if they find her, but I have to wonder what this creature was exactly. Of course, since it was a big cat, your mind goes to the same place as Miguel’s and you assume it came from Hrao’s world. But with all the portals and increasingly frequent sightings of the sort of unfamiliar creatures that that strange old man Malloy tells his stories about, the black lion could be anything and have no connection to the feline inhabitants of Rama. One possibility is that they’re referring to the Manticore which killed the Vice-President, and this bit of information is meant to indicate the timescale of when Tiger’s Eye took place in relation to the rest of the events of the first phase of New Century. Or, maybe this creature really is from Rama. If that’s the case, I see two possibilities; either this is one of the Lions from the society that represents a serious danger to the cats of Hrao’s continent, which, depending on the nature of the Lion and his intentions, could be a real problem for our heroes here in the Reunified States, or it is the ominous entity which Hrao encounters later on in this chapter. Whatever the case, this background detail hints at a lot of possibilities and reinforces the impression that the world of New Century is full of unexplored mysteries and extends beyond what we see happen in the main body of the texts of each story.

         Miguel and Hrao eventually make their way to his father’s house. The smells, sights, and sounds of these new surroundings are undoubtedly overwhelming for Hrao’s acute senses, but she waits outside in a hidden alcove while Miguel braves whatever life waits for him inside. The first indication that things have changed significantly between the last time he was here and now is the repainted yellow door – the threshold to the interior of this house is unfamiliar, and crossing that threshold will take him not to his old life, but to an alien environment that Miguel neither recognises nor wants to be a part of. His father, Francisco, answers the door, and the low ringing bells of the music immediately makes the listener feel ill at ease here. Miguel demonstrates his newfound deft athleticism by moving around his father to see who else he hears inside the house, showing how Miguel has changed and developed through his time with Hrao and the bond they share. Miguel is confronted with a greying woman and her two sturdy-looking sons sitting at the table. Francisco speaks as if he’s never met Miguel before in his life, but Miguel determinedly pushes his connection, offering information about Francisco’s life that he knows will be enough to prove what he says to these strangers. Miguel is not only stronger now, but we also see his quick-thinking and, more importantly, the courage he has which helps him to stand his ground and disagree with what his father says and what he wants Miguel to say.

         Francisco pulls Miguel aside into his old bedroom, where the two can talk and ask each other questions. Miguel is taken aback and disappointed in how his father has changed and adapted so quickly after Miguel had gone, and yet has not changed the worst aspects of himself in the slightest. Francisco enquires whether Miguel brought back any treasure as he had set out to do. He doesn’t even check to see if he’s alright. Francisco offers not a home for Miguel to return to, but a place where he can work to earn the right to what room Francisco and his new family can spare. He talks as if Miguel abandoned him and says that he had to fend for himself in Memphis, which is a twisted way of looking at the disappearance of your own child. Not only that, but Francisco’s complaints would be laughable if they weren’t so disgustingly petty and manipulative when you consider how Miguel, a boy not even in his teenage years, was thrown into an entirely different world where he genuinely came close to death on multiple occasions, and yet he showed the bravery and fortitude to survive. Apparently, Louisa, the woman at the table, took pity on Francisco and showed him kindness when he said he was a recent widower, which, of course, is a lie. He lost his wife to the Wendigos years ago, and in remembering this, Miguel now realises that his father had left his mother and the rest of his family behind. Francisco is terrible, and he blames Miguel for everything and acts as if he is the wronged father who, in his mercy, forgives his son. It’s a horrible way to mistreat your own family, and when Miguel decides to leave this house and the people behind at the end of the scene, I breathe a deep sigh of relief.

         Outside, the air “smells the wrong kind of familiar” (a wonderfully apt phrase to describe coming back to a place you know but don’t feel welcome in after spending time somewhere else that you grew attached to and found family in), and Hrao isn’t where Miguel left her. His fear that he had dreamt her is understandable, not only for how terrible it would be to be stuck with this family he wants nothing to do with, but because the world of Rama and the tone of Tiger’s Eye is very dreamlike, so the idea that everything he had experienced these last few months never happened isn’t so ludicrous. They find each other, and Miguel signs to Hrao that the people who live here are “another tribe”, that he wants nothing to do with them, and that his place is with her. This makes Hrao, and the listener, smile.

         As they make their way north towards the forests, Hrao begins to show signs of illness. Her hunting technique is off, she’s out of breath, and, after collapsing and asking for water, Miguel rushes off to the stream to fetch some, worrying that if he makes a mistake, Hrao “may not live to see another tomorrow”. The next section begins with us hearing, for the first time since Tiger’s Eye, Maureen Foley delivering new lines as Hrao. It has been far too long. She states that it is “tomorrow”, tying in directly with Miguel’s last word in the previous section of the episode and making us curious yet apprehensive to see what this sickness has done to Hrao. The tone returns to that mystical and dreamlike stream of consciousness that made Tiger’s Eye so captivating to listen to. As Miguel leaves from the cave they are residing in to fetch medicine, Hrao slides in and out of consciousness, eventually coming face to face with an ethereal figure, a tall black cat, that she recognises as The Father of Passing. She asks if it’s her time and says in a weak, pleading, yet sincere voice, “I want to stay…I have to look after my son”. This affirms how far Hrao has come, going from the hunter who went about her days in a weary trance and moved through life automatically at the start of Tiger’s Eye to this person who doesn’t want to go because she has something to live for. This moment is also significant in that Hrao turned away from the gods of her people when she lost her daughter. Perhaps her time with Miguel has helped bring her spirit back to her, as if her detachment from life during her day-to-day routine of hunting at the start of Tiger’s Eye was just her isolated body, severed from the world of spirits where the gods of her people reside. However, this moment is also significant because, as Hrao points out, she is seeing the Father of Passing here in Centrum, in Miguel’s world. It makes the nature of these deities even more uncertain, as you wonder not only whether they truly exist, but if they can exist in all worlds of the New Century multiverse.

         After this, Hrao is visited by the Fire Lion, a figure that seems to represent life and hope, just as the Father of Passing represents death. His words and presence fill the cave and Hrao with a nourishing light, and, shortly after, Miguel arrives, having brought medicine from a vet, which is amusing to hear from Hrao’s perspective who is uncertain what he means by “cat healer”. As Hrao rests and recovers next to her son, reassured by Miguel looking less worried than he was before, she tells us that the black figure remains in the cave with them. She does not look directly at him and his blue eyes again that day, but he is nevertheless not too far away. Hrao reflects on how Miguel also suffered from a severe illness during his first few days in Rama, which cements the duality of the bond between the two of them (pairs and fated duos are a recurring theme in New Century, after all) as they are each following similar patterns as they spend time in each other’s worlds. But with time and nurturing from her, Miguel grew, adapting to the world of Rama until he became who he is today. The episode ends with Hrao wondering if the same will happen to her here in Centrum, asking “what would I be like after tomorrow?” I truly don’t know what Hrao will be, how the people of the Reunified States and the crew of SteamHeart will react to her when they meet her, or what role she has in the journey ahead. But despite my apprehensive fears, I can’t wait to find out, and am ecstatic to see more of her in New Century.

I love films that make me want to study them. All the pieces of Roma fit together with so much purpose that I want to break down individual parts of the film and teach a class on them. This is the kind of movie that will get eaten up by Film Studies courses; if I heard that someone was leading a lecture on it, I’d want to sit in on that session. But don’t worry –Roma isn’t an impenetrable film that only feels satisfying after a fourth viewing and three hours of discussion. It’s an emotional and deeply personal film that instantly gratifies you with striking and thought-provoking visuals that elicit nostalgia, melancholy, unity, the horrors of traumatic situations, bleak or absurd humour, and all the other parts of himself that director Alfonso Cuarón put into this film.

         A Netflix film that I hope will headline a few Academy Awards headlines before too long, Roma is a semi-autobiographical film from Alfonso Cuarón that tells the story of someone who means a great deal to him from a part of his childhood during the early 1970s’ in Mexico City. The film gives us a look at what the climate was like at the time, showing numerous parts of what people would have experienced, both positive and negative. We see the sorts of films and television that the central middle-class family would have watched, an example of an earthquake and how it affects a populated area, a trip to the beach, a New Year’s Eve party, and even a student protest that turns ugly, which might be a depiction of the Corpus Christi Massacre of 1971. All of this is more-or-less viewed from the perspective of Cleo, the live-in maid of the central family.

         It’s a film where you look back over everything that happens in it once you’re done and you can’t believe how eventful it is, and yet it never feels that way as you’re watching it. Every scene takes its time, presenting its little slices of life without skimming over the details. Because of this, each moment feels mundane and grounded, as you’ll often think you’re just watching people go about their relatively every-day activities. In one of the scene’s most bizarre and memorable scenes, you’re presented with a dangerous situation where people are trying their best to prevent devastation, and yet the camera eventually focuses on one person singing to himself as if he’s in a daze, indifferent to what’s going on around him. This is an example of how, even when the most cataclysmic, heartbreaking tragedies happen in the film, they’re still presented as another part of life, and life goes on. There’s little-to-no use of non-diegetic music in the film, and when combined with the film being shot in black-and-white, that makes the events of Roma feel like we’re seeing a stark, unglamourised look at everything that transpires. Roma comes across as if Alfonso Cuarón is trying his best to show us these memories of people and places from his past as they really were, and the effect is hypnotic. The elements of the film come together to transport you to this time and place, making the events of the film hit you that much harder because, even if you’re not consciously aware that these are based on things that really happened, you nevertheless feel like what’s being presented to you is real.

         But while the sound, naturalistic performances, and pacing of each scene make you feel like you’re seeing parts of everyday life, the cinematography makes sure that what you are seeing always carries an unspoken weight to it. The camera always frames its subjects in the best possible way to convey the impressions you’re intended to have of certain people, places, or situations throughout the film. The visuals emphasise the tender connections shared between people after they almost lost each other, the pathetic and vindictive nature of hypocritical men, the crushing reality of seeing a tragedy happen in front of you and being powerless to change its outcome, and so many other parts of life that Cuarón explores throughout the film. The film tackles some stuff that will truly test you, especially because it often does so through these unflinching shots which either linger on the upsetting scene for longer than you ever thought you could take, or presents them front and centre for the viewer to take in. Even so, the film consistently presents its visuals with such creative artistry that I couldn’t help but soak in the talent that was on display in every shot. It gets you through the toughest parts of the film, and, by the end, the new beginnings that we leave the story on makes you feel hopeful for the future. As the credits rolled, I felt deeply fulfilled by the visual journey the film had taken me on through these memories of the past.

Final Ranking: Gold.