Posted in Books, entertainment, Review, Writing

A Closed and Common Orbit by Becky Chambers

isbn9781473621442I had not read the first novel set in this universe (The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet), but I will be doing so post-haste after reading this sort-of sequel and finding myself lost in admiration. It’s a long time since I enjoyed a novel as much as this.

I understand this picks up towards the end of the previous outing, but features (in the main) different characters and a different setting. An artificial intelligence (AI), appropriately named after Ida Lovelace, wakes up in a new – illegal – body, is given a new name, and negotiates its way through the (limiting) experience of passing for human.

Such is one strand of this novel, which alternates Lovelace’s story with that of the human who has agreed to help it/her in this new life. We meet this human as Pepper, an inveterate tinkerer whose own history is gradually revealed in the alternate chapters.

What could one story have to do with the other, apart from the coincidence that one was assisting the other in establishing a new life and identity? Well, of course, it turns out that Pepper knows all about establishing a new life and identity and has a particular sympathy for AIs. Their different stories intertwine and then the title of the book makes sense, as the events in one person’s past history seem to mirror/echo the events taking place in the other person’s present.

This is space opera but not; a small and human story taking place in an imagined universe in which there is interplanetary trade and travel and in which humans are aliens living amongst other aliens. Most of all, this is an incredibly moving story about loneliness and difference and identity and coming to terms with it all.

So good. So jealous.

Posted in bastards, documentary, entertainment, Podcasts, Review

Notes on Shit Town

Now, I’ve had enough, my box is clean

You know what I’m sayin’ and you know what I mean

From now on you’d best get on someone else

While you’re doin’ it, keep that juice to yourself

Odds and ends, odds and ends

Lost time is not found again

Bob Dylan, “Odds and Ends”

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Spoilers for S-Town below.

Since the original Serial (and consider this your regular reminder that I listened to it before you did), podcasting has exploded all over again into a smorgasbord of true crime, true stories, true documentaries, true meditations and true history.

Serial itself spawned an array of spin-off shows, with mixed results. The original Adnan Syed / Hae Min Lee story was continued and given more detail and depth by the Undisclosed crew, who (notwithstanding patchy production quality) managed to bring a nitpicking legal rigour to the story that led to a landmark court case. It’s fair to say that Adnan wouldn’t have got his post-conviction hearing without the tireless work of people who picked up the thread abandoned by Serial, once it had reached its concluding shrug of a final episode.

Then there was Serial season 2, which focused on a case (Bowe Bergdahl’s desertion of his post in Afghanistan) that had far less global resonance, and in the end a lot less human interest than they’d perhaps hoped. It too ended on an inconclusive note, and perhaps people started to yearn for a less open-ended style of podcast. It must be hard being Serial.

Meanwhile, true crime stories spring up all over the place, and the recent Missing Richard Simmons tried to create a fascinating mystery over the abrupt retirement of a minor celebrity. Again, the global recognition wasn’t there, and I’m afraid Missing Richard Simmons (which credited three production companies) was being hyped by certain media organisations trying to muscle in on the success of podcasting. (Stitcher)

The second season of Undisclosed was a salutary lesson for the Serial people. Rather than casting the net wider, it focused on another potential miscarriage of justice, this time in a small town in Georgia. Giving the people what they want, in other words. The case of Joey Watkins lifted the lid on the petty jealousies and rivalries of a small community, and gave an insight into the aimless and violent lives of American teenagers living on the edge. It demonstrated the sad poverty of outlook and opportunity in such towns, and how ordinary teenage angst and upset can lead to deadly violence in the land of the gun. It also revealed how easy it is to end up rotting in jail, all avenues of appeals used up, even though nobody believes anymore that you committed the crime for which you’re in.

Counting against this second season, however, was the nitpicking detail brought to the case by the team of lawyers, which dragged the narrative into the weeds of 24 episodes. It turns out that 8-10 episodes is a sound length for a pod-umentary. Very few people can stick the course for the full 24.

Which brings us to what might have been Serial Season 3, but which instead has been spun off into its own brand: S-Town, or Shit Town. All seven episodes dropped at once.

It’s focused on the petty jealousies and rivalries of a small town in… Alabama. At the beginning, it seems to focus on a possible murder and possible miscarriage of justice (in the form of a cover-up). It features a colourful, larger-than-life character who is flamboyantly (probably) gay in a redneck community, not unlike the missing Richard Simmons had been when he was young. So it seemed to be a mash-up of the original Serial, the second season of Undisclosed, and even Missing Richard Simmons.

But then things take a turn.

At first, as I listened, I thought this was going to be a meditation upon what you might call Broken America, the Deep South of grinding poverty, not just in economic terms, but cultural and aspirational poverty, which manifests itself in racism, sexism, Trumpism. What would it be, the show seemed to be asking, to be an intelligent, educated, liberal in a small town to the south and west of Birmingham, Alabama? And are there corrupt police, and senseless violence and cover-ups and favours and sexual assaults, and a disproportionate number of child abusers?

Then came the turn, and the show became instead about the death by suicide of an individual who seemed complex and strange, a puzzle of a man whose contradictory personality seemed to be embodied in the hedge maze he’d created on his land, a labyrinth with multiple solutions. Who was this man? Was he a millionaire, or was he broke? Did he have gold buried on his land? Did he leave a will? If he hated tattoos, why did he have so many of them? Who are all these people who claim ownership of his stuff?

So then it was about that: a still-interesting, but perhaps smaller story of a life lived in a small town, of a man so depressed at the state of the world that he couldn’t bear it any more, and all the people whose lives he touched.

And then, I think, as I listened to the sixth and then seventh episodes, I came full circle, and decided that the show was about Broken America, and that the central metaphor of the podcast was not this man, or his maze, or his gold, but his profession: clock restorer.

The show’s opening episode talks about the marks left on old clocks by the people who make and repair them: witness marks. And by the end, you understand that this “deep dive” into the intimate life of a lonely and depressed middle-aged man is all about looking for the witness marks of a well-lived life, but also about thinking back to the lost time that is not found again. And then there’s the lost America, the great democratic experiment, which has descended into a mere sketch of the country of Benjamin Franklin and Frederick Douglass.

As America sinks into its swamp of wilful ignorance and denial of reality, here is the story of a man, a modern-day Ben Franklin, an inventive polymath and raconteur, who tried to face up to the truth but who gave in to despair. And, at this time, at this precise moment, we are all facing this choice. Whether you consider climate change, which is being officially denied by America’s new buffoon of a president; or Brexit; or the erosion of the tax base and the end of social cohesion: there are a great many reasons to despair. And here is a show about a man who got lost in the maze of that despair and then gave into it and killed himself. And the question is, what do we do? How do we bear witness to our times and also live through them?

Posted in Books, musings, Publishing, Review, Writing

Last Year by Robert Charles Wilson

bdd04d_9e31b247d83045dca8fa43475cbff922While not ever quite reaching the heights of his very best work, RCW has been putting out a book every year or so that is readable, interesting, and entertaining. If you offered me, say, something of the quality of Spin or The Chronoliths every two or three years; or something decent like The Affinities or Burning Paradise  on a more regular basis, I’d have to think hard. Wilson’s stock in trade is the technological sublime: a technology that humans do not quite understand that nevertheless has profound influence on human culture. In Last Year, the technology is The Mirror, a kind of time portal that allows you to visit the past of a world that is similar to your own, but not the same world (so that any changes you introduce do not affect your own time line).

What’s it about?  The attempted assassination of Ulysses S. Grant, transtemporal gun smuggling, horses and helicopters, tasers and tong wars, the luxury resort industry, two Gilded Ages in a violent confrontation, and the nature of time itself.

This allows Wilson to take us into Julian Comstock territory, with a protagonist who is an 1870s drifter, whilst mixing in 21st century types  such as a security chief who is both a US army veteran and a woman; or an Elon Musk (or is it Donald Trump) type leader who seems okay at first but later reveals his true nature.

The City of Futurity appears in the mid-western 1870s, offering locals a tour of the attractions in the world to come (amid tight security preventing actual time travel) and visitors from the 21st century a vacation in the Gilded Age, the post civil war United States, a country on the eve of electricity, the phonograph, radio, and moving pictures. Except, spoilers: anything the 19th Century can produce pales into insignificance next to the wonders on display in Tower Two.

Some locals are hired to work security, including Jesse Cullum, a man on the run from his violent and traumatic past in San Francisco. Cullum inadvertently comes to the attention of his bosses as being especially competent, and he’s given additional duties: tracking down smuggled contraband (Glock handguns, iPhones and solar chargers) and chasing runners: people from the 21st who decide they want to live in the land of no indoor plumbing and no antibiotics.

Jesse is partnered with Elizabeth DePaul, former soldier, single mother, and they explore each other’s worlds, cautiously but earnestly, knowing there’s no future in it. She comes from a different timeline; he’s got a past.

Someone goes missing; someone starts sending messages to downtrodden groups, informing them of the shitty deal they’re about to get from history, and it all kicks off.

Is there a metaphor here? Twin towers representing the future and commerce, aligned against forces of superstition, bigotry and ignorance. Is there hope in the future? Can we overcome our own histories and find a better world?

Probably.

Hard to put down, I finished it too quickly (as usual), and now I guess I’m waiting for something coming out in 2018

Posted in bastards, movies, Review

Swallows and Amazons (2016)

photoThis 2016 adaptation of Arthur Ransome’s first S&A book sank without trace as far as I was concerned. I remember reading about the pointless name change from Titty to Tatty, which smacked of the kind of asinine decision that gets made when there are six separate production companies involved. How anything gets made with so many captains on deck, I don’t know.

I rented it on iTunes, and watched with a kind of fascinated horror – mixed with tearful nostalgia for the books I read as a boy and the 1974 film adaptation (which, for the record, had one production company and one distributor). That version featured my schoolboy crush, Kit Seymour, as the “Ruthless” Nancy Blackett, an actress who appears to have been plucked from obscurity, immortalised on celluloid, and then forgotten by posterity. The children in the 1974 film were, for the most part, cast for their ability to handle a boat rather than their training at some stage school. They were clearly non-actors and yet, for all that, were natural enough in their parts. The magic of film is that you only have to capture that one good take.

To be fair to 2016 Swallows and Amazons, then, it couldn’t hope to compare to that slice of my childhood, even if it had stuck to the fucking plot. But these charlatans, these bunglers, couldn’t even do that. Alarm bells begin to ring almost immediately, in the sequence featuring the children travelling up to the Lake District. There’s some nonsense involving men chasing each other around on the train. It’s as if a drunk editor was editing this film and The 39 Steps at the same time, and got mixed up.

Sure, Arthur Ransome was a spy and adventurer who witnessed the Russian Revolution, but we don’t need that biographical nonsense in the film. Its presence is a clear sign that the producers had nothing but contempt for the material and the audience: what could we do to make this shit interesting? The spy crap continues throughout, taking up valuable screen time that should be devoted to the children and their story, which at times seems so neglected it’s reduced to the status of a sub-plot.

And after all this indulgent espionage peril is spooned into the film, like so much thin gruel, it doesn’t manage to whet the appetite. As one reviewer pointed out, the sequence in which the kids lose their picnic hamper overboard is more gripping, by far, than the attempted kidnap by Russian spies of the Captain Flint character – who could so easily have been left as grumpy uncle novelist trying to finish a book instead of indulging his nieces’ pirate fantasies. The food the children manage to procure, in the hungry 1930s, is such an important part of the story that the loss of the picnic hamper is as devastatingly dramatic as this film manages to be.

Still, there are moments. Or, there is one moment. The discovery of the Swallow in the boathouse had an emotional impact that was squandered by the lack of attention that the film paid to the actual sailing. The shame of it all is that, what you really want out of this is the chance to make some of the other books into films: Swallowdale, Winter Holiday, We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea, Pigeon Post, The Picts and the Martyrs… there are some really good storylines to be had, and all of the books had really strong female characters baked in, with no retrofitting required.

And it’s with the female characters that this film falls tragically short. Nancy and Peggy get precious little screen time, about which I have mixed feelings. The actress cast as Nancy just seemed completely wrong to me. Wrong colouring, wrong age (in year 11 doing GCSE drama, when picked). In a way, it was a mercy, but Nancy is supposed to be the heart and soul of the stories, so it really matters that they go it so wrong. I don’t blame the actors at all. This was clearly a scrambled mess of a production, made by people with no feel for the stories and no understanding of their appeal.

All I want to do now is watch the ’74, to restore my memories.

 

Posted in Books, entertainment, music, Review, Writing

Bruce Springsteen – Born to Run (book)

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Elodie got this for Christmas, but she also got Johnny Marr’s book, so I nabbed this to read quickly. I confess, I’d been looking forward to Elodie receiving it.

Springsteen writes very well – you can hear his voice behind the long sentences, full of detail, full of lists and parataxis. And the story he tells is a fascinating one, full of honesty about his early life, his career, and his battles with depression, which seem to have got harder as he’s got older. He doesn’t mention the incident, but what you read herein puts the 30th birthday cake-into-the-crowd hurling into a new perspective.

The best section is probably the one covering his early life, his extended family which had fallen on hard times, and lived in a crumbling house with just one heater. Springsteen’s often described as ‘blue collar’, but that doesn’t really do justice to the crushing poverty and hardship he experienced. He’s very articulate about his father – the figure who lurks in the background of so many of his songs – whose own mental health battles are so much a part of Springsteen’s formation.

He considers himself lucky to have been born when he was, able to experience rock’s first and second waves directly (Elvis and the Beatles, in shorthand), and then to be part of a vibrant local music scene that was driven and inspired by those waves. And when he finds himself, years later, on stage between Mick Jagger and George Harrison, he reflects on how extraordinary it is that he, just one of thousands of young kids to be inspired to pick up a guitar by the Stones and the Beatles, should end up on that stage.

The early life, the early musical experiences, these are the more interesting parts of this book. He spares us, however, the details of his life on the road, or even too much about the months spent in the studio. He mentions key events, key dates, the well-known difficulties he’s had with capturing the right sound (“stiiiiiiick!”), but he doesn’t dwell too much. He does mention that the hardships of his early life with a road band (cruddy motels etc.) were nothing compared to the cruddy environment he grew up in – it was a step up.

I was looking forward to reading about the times he abandoned (and then re-formed) the E Street Band, though he only hints at the reasons why. It seems clear he grew tired of the ‘Daddy’ role that being The Boss entailed, and it’s even clearer that it was the two members of the band who died young that were the source of greatest pain. The chaotic lives of Danny Federici and ‘C’ (Clarence Clemons) seem to have been ongoing issues. Of the two albums he released on the same day in 1992, the ones that preceded his first non-E-Street tour, he says nothing.

I lost interest a little towards the end. Maybe because I was reading too fast, but I suspect because of the way this book was written. The chapters are short, full of pleasurable passages, but also saltatorial, jumping from point to point, and sometimes repetitive. He says at the end that he originally wrote it out in longhand, over seven years, and it bears the hallmarks of something that has been written as a series of chunks. From about halfway through, there’s less of a narrative, and it becomes more like a memoir than an autobiography. Here’s the time I met Frank Sinatra. Here’s the time I was inducted into the Hall of Fame. Here’s the time there was an earthquake. And so on.

But that’s a quibble for someone who likes to read for the plot, and should not detract from the many interesting chapters and sections that the book contains. It’s a great read for the Bruce fan, or for someone interested in the music business, and maybe even for those with an interest in mental health. In his introduction, he hints that the idea of the book is to explain not just how he can get up on stage and play 3+ hour shows every night, but why. And, of course, the why is the more interesting question.

Posted in entertainment, music, musings, Review

Music Downloads of 2016 – part 3

Part 2 is here… and Part 1 is here.

The Weight of these Wings – Miranda Lambert

This is too new and, because it’s a double album, too extensive for me to have anything more than a vague impression so far, but this is Miranda Lambert, so of course it’s on the list. With 24 songs, coming in at an hour and a half plus, this is a monster. A lot of column inches have been expended on the very public breakup of her marriage to Blake Shelton, but I’ve never been interested in all that. Nevertheless, a double album is a statement of some kind. Her previous album, Platinum, had a feeling about it that indicated a loss of patience with an industry – especially radio – that wasn’t willing to give women a fair hearing. Her career has seen an uptick since then, but she’s still the woman who walked out of her first recording session, dissatisfied with the material she was being offered, and she’s now very much in control – and probably the pre-eminent female artist in the industry. Not bad for a third place finisher in the Nashville Star talent show. This set feels edgy and raw, as well as effortlessly confident. Lead single “Vice” sets the tone, while tracks like “Tin Man”, “Six Degrees of Separation” and “Keeper of the Flame” show the breadth and depth of the heartbreak.

Down to My Last Bad Habit – Vince Gill

Still one of the greatest soul singers in Nashville, as well as one of the best guitar players, Vince Gill’s latest set is a welcome collection of emotional songs and tasteful playing. There are a number of collaborations (I think Gill is the collaboratingest artist on the scene) with the likes of Little Big Town (Take Me Down), Cam (I’ll Be Waiting for You) and Chris Botti (One More Mistake I Made), but really he doesn’t need anyone else. Download the title track, plus “Reasons for the Tears I Cry”, “Me and My Girl” and “When It’s Love” and feel the power of that voice.

This is Where I live – William Bell

Best known for a couple of hits back in the day, and for songs like “Born Under a Bad Sign”, which were covered by others, William Bell’s career stretches back to that period between Elvis going into the Army and the Beatles’ first LP. “You Don’t Miss Your Water (Till The Well Runs Dry)” came out in 1961, and his career was then interrupted by military service. So it wasn’t till the later 60s that he finally released his debut album, Soul of a Bell. Another near-decade later, he had a hit with “Tryin’ to Love Two”. He was always a man out of synch, his timeless country soul musical style not dependent on passing fads. His new album, This Is Where I Live, is his first in a decade, and it’s a fine collection of classic sounding soul music which could have been released at any time in the past 50 years. It includes a version of his own “Born Under a Bad Sign”, but I also recommend the track above, “The Three of Me”, the title song, and “All The Things You Can’t Remember”.

Posted in entertainment, music, musings, Review

Music Downloads of 2016 – part 2

Part 1 is here

El Rio – Frankie Ballard

Frankie Ballard’s third album builds on the success of his second, with a stronger set of songs, including a Bob Seger cover (You’ll Accomp’ny Me) and a Chris Stapleton song (El Camino) or two (Cigarette). He continues to follow in the footsteps of Keith Urban, though with a stronger voice and less emphasis on lead guitar. He bears an odd resemblance to my best friend from school, lo those many years ago, down to the apple cheeks and the bandana/scarf. The cover art could come from back in the 70s, too: a slightly out of focus portrait, which looks like the kind of scuffed vinyl cover you might find in a second hand record store. Recorded in Texas, this has a slightly different vibe to most mainstream country. Lots of strong tracks but consider downloading the above, plus “L.A. Woman”, “Wasting Time”.

Love and Lovely Lies – Imogen Clark

This release from the Australian singer-songwriter is more of a double EP than an album (like the original Magical Mystery Tour, I guess). A strong voice laid down with fashionably light reverb against largely acoustic instruments, this is a pleasant diversion, with familiar chord sequences. Download: “You’ll Only Break My Heart” and “Drawing Hearts”, “Here Goes Nothing”.

Ripcord – Keith Urban

Keith Urban’s latest seems to have a harder edge than his more recent work, though there are still nods towards the poppy end of the market, with EDM sounds lurking in the background (“Wasted Time”). This is a tight set, no flab, with some of the tracks coming in under 3 minutes. It’s light on lead guitar but strong on musicianship. Seeing him swap lead guitar for bass on “John Cougar, John Deere, John 3:16” was a revelation (and it’s amazing how many ways country artists come up with celebrating the same things). “Blue Ain’t Your Colour”, “Habit of You” and “Boy Gets a Truck” are worth downloading.

Reckless – Martina McBride

Martina McBride is one of the few top female singers of the 90s and early 00s still hanging in there with regular album releases. Yes, I’m looking at you, Faith Hill, Trisha Yearwood. While Wynonna’s 2016 outing was disappointing, McBride is still reaching the heights – especially with the tour-de-force vocal on the title track, which might be my favourite song of the year. Worth the price of admission for the title track alone, but also download: “It Ain’t Pretty”, “Diamond” (featuring Keith Urban), and “That’s the Thing About Love”.

Part 3 to follow…

Posted in entertainment, music, Review

Music Downloads of 2016 – Part 1

In alphabetical order:

Cold Snap – Anthony D’Amato

New Jersey Native with some Springsteen influence, D’Amato is a singer-songwriter who paints on a wide canvas. Sounds are a pleasing mix of rock guitars and drums, mandolin, and a young-sounding vocal. Watch the creepy video below for “Rain on a Strange Roof” and also consider downloading: “Oh My Goodness”, “Ballad of the Undecided”, and “I Don’t Know About You”.

Big Day in a Small Town – Brandy Clark

This follow-up to 12 Stories is another strong collection of songs, with slick commercial production that does the songs justice. For me, Clark has a voice with real depth and power that makes Kacey Musgrave seem a little one dimensional in comparison. Her lyrics, too, are more layered and complex. Take away the production and the songs can still punch you in the gut. You’ll see what I mean if you watch the acoustic live performance of ‘You Can Come Over’ below. The whole album is great, but consider these: ‘Soap Opera’, ‘Girl Next Door’, ‘Love Can Go to Hell’, and ‘Daughter’.

Skeletons – Connor (Christian)

Don’t know what it is about Connor Christian, or just Connor, as he’s currently styling himself. Three albums, all in a similar style, but under three different identities/brands. The Southern Gothic, Connor Christian and Southern Gothic, and now this. Rolling piano, acoustic and electric guitars, strong fiddle playing. He’s as good as ever – and deserves a wider audience – but I’m concerned that with such a generic name, he’s hard to find, even if you go looking. The lyric video for “Every Song”, for example, has had (drumroll) 144 views. And only 6 likes (7 now). Consider downloading: ‘Run To’, ‘Georgia Moonshine’ and ‘Say It to Me One More Time’.

Fighter – David Nail

David Nail’s new album sounds instantly familiar, and doesn’t represent much of a progression from his previous outing. But of all the country singers out there singing about trucks and blue jeans, he’s the most acceptable, managing to attract collaborations from the likes of Lori McKenna (‘Home’) and Vince Gill (‘I Won’t Let You Go’), and a surprising tendency towards the ballads. I suspect legions of female fans are enjoying the likes of ‘Champagne Promise’. His pleasant voice is matched with strong melodies and highly competent musicianship. By way of contrast with Connor above, Nail’s video for “Night’s On Fire” has over 8 million views.

Hard Trouble, Ain’t Settled – Donovan Woods

Our third beard in a row, Donovan Woods is the songwriter behind Tim McGraw’s compelling hit ‘Portland, Maine’. His album features his strangely soft and sweet voice accompanied by tightly strummed and muted acoustic guitar and ambient, atmospheric pads. Download: ‘Between Cities’, ‘May 21, 2012’, ‘The First Time’.

Posted in musings, Review

Philips Oneblade trimmer and shaver

81sckf4kznl-_sl1500_Here’s a product I ordered on a whim a while ago, which has quietly revolutionised my life.

I’ve always been a wet shave guy, mainly because every electric razor I ever tried gave me a rash, but I’ve always hated the colossal faff involved in shaving. The only thing worse than shaving is having a beard, which (for me) is also itchy after a while. This is possibly because my hair is curly, and even my beard grows in random directions.

I’ve tried a compromise, various degrees of stubble, but my neck especially is prone to itch/rash because of upward or inward growing hairs, so I have to keep that trimmed. Anyway, I ended up in a messy trade-off involving beard trimmers, razors, shaving gels and oils, after shave balms, and so on.

And then I saw an offer on the Philips Oneblade system and ordered it. The immediate objection to this system is the cost of replacement blades (£11.99 on Amazon), which is a shocker. But, and here’s the thing, a single blade lasts up to 4 months (based on 2 shaves per week), which means that the two that came with my kit should last up to 16 months, given that I’ve been using it just once a week. And instead of a draw/shelf full of creams, balms, blades and so on, I just have this thing and its plastic combs (mine came with 4). In any event, four Gilette Fusion blades costs £12.59, so it probably works out a lot cheaper.

I was skeptical. How could one thing act as a beard trimmer and a regular razor? But it really does. It’s smooth over your skin and doesn’t cause a rash, can be used wet or dry, and can be easily cleaned by rinsing under a tap. It really couldn’t be more straightforward. So I can shave with it, or put on one of the combs and just trim the beard. I’m only using it once a week, and it’s so fast that I’ve honestly only had to charge it up once since I bought it. It’s convenient for travel, too. I reckon I could charge it before leaving home and use it in France for the whole of the summer holiday.

I didn’t write a review straight away because I’ve bought so many things over the years and abandoned them, so I didn’t quite believe in it, but I was walking past the shaving section in the supermarket the other day and kind of automatically paused. Do I need anything…? Oh. Of course not. I don’t ever need to get that stuff.

All I need now is the patience to bother making my beard symmetrical.

 

Posted in Review, Television

Gilmore Gone Girls

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As a recent convert to Gilmore Girls, I am of course fully qualified to comment on the Netflix revival A Year in the Life.

I became aware of this show only through its occasional positive mentions in passing on the Incomparable network. It’s hard to imagine I would otherwise have caught it. It was broadcast on the satellite channels Nickleodeon and Hallmark before being rebroadcast on E4 and now 5*. Neither of the latter are channels whose listings I check (not target demo). Anyway, knowing the revival was forthcoming, I decided to try it out and ended up bingeing the first seven seasons on Netflix.

What makes Gilmore Girls great is – obviously – the snappy, witty dialogue, reminiscent as it is of classical Hollywood screwball comedy. It’s Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, Jimmy Stewart, Rosalind Russell. The scripts are breathless, pages and pages longer than standard minute-per-page screenplays, stuffed with witty repartée. In television terms, you can draw a line from Buffy through Gilmore Girls to Laura Mars. And just like those other shows, Gilmore Girls manages to create huge emotional beats, seemingly out of nowhere. The special sauce of the show is the way you can be hit sideways by the impact of one of these emotional moments. They’re earned, too, not the result of shameful manipulation but growing out of the ongoing storylines and character developments.

There were some problematic elements. The almost overwhelming whiteness of the cast, for example, with Yanic Truesdale the sole person of colour in the regular credits. Then there’s the occasional whiff of whiny white privilege. Lorelai turns her back on her privileged upbringing, but her daughter Rory more or less embraces it wholeheartedly, sitting on the edge of a crowd of money-no-object types with no steel in her backbone. But these were minor quibbles, mere backdrop to the more uplifting parts of the show.

So it’s hardly surprising I watched the latter seasons of the original show through a veil of tears. I know people often say that Season 7 is barely canon, but (the brief and forgotten marriage aside) even Season 7 isn’t that bad. It’s mostly guilty of prolonging the Lorelai-Luke standoff for 22 episodes too many.

So to the four extended episodes of the Netflix revival, and the Ten Years After of Gilmore Girls. The headline news is that original showrunner Amy Sherman-Palladino is back, and so able to give the show the ending she was unable to give it for Season 7.

What do we find? For me, there were two and a half decent episodes in the four, interspersed with some ill-advised self-indulgencies. The show always hinted at an interest in musical theatre but perhaps never had the budget nor episode time to indulge it. Freed by the Netflix dollars and the double-length episodes, the producers threw in a couple of extended song/dance sequences which just didn’t belong. Add in some false relationship peril, a couple of unnecessary side trips, and Rory’s apparent ability to commute freely to and from London with no jet lag effects (not to mention no job), and there’s too much cruft here. My least favourite interlude featured the spoilt brats of the Life and Death Brigade, who could have ended up on the cutting room floor with no regrets.

Once you get past the distractions wrought by ageing, weight loss, possible botox, and unconvincing hairpieces, it was enjoyable enough, though never reaching the heights of the original series. Everybody wanted to know what the last four words were. My bet was wrong on that. I’d watch it again if they made more. On the other hand, there’s something to be said for the forever youngness of cancelled shows.