The incredible archive footage, the level of research, the interviews, the music, the sound of Laurence Olivier.
Sublime and unrivalled.
The World at War (1973).
Category Archives: TV
Beef (2023-).
Anxiety, extreme pettiness, and cascading psyches in the suffocating urban nightmare that is modern living, which is a mission at times. You really don’t know what might happen next in this show, and it has a Magnolia (1999) quality to it. The last two episodes approached the ludicrous but then I did consider the overwhelming evidence that these rivals frequently teeter on the barking mad classification, so it all sort of works.
And where would these series be without smartphones? I suppose it’s an accurate reflection of things.
Black comedy with some pathos, and it doesn’t outstay its welcome. Better than most offerings out there.
Madoff: The Monster of Wall Street.
A surprise.
If you wish to see a labyrinth of corporate greed which the financial lay person (me being one of them) can almost understand, then this is one limited series for you.
It’s an addiction. And this is in spite of the cringe slow-motion visuals every other minute of a Madoff doppelgänger circling his office with the same rictus grin, a “financial serial killer” in his element.
As a history lesson, it’s impeccable, and none of the willing participants are let off lightly.
Ozark – another eventual letdown.
It started so well and the jam they are in certainly has its enthralling moments initially but the series soon ran out of ideas, each successive sticky situation more risible and repetitive. Though the characters remain credible, their incessant switching allegiances started to grind my gears, and so too did Laura Linney’s Lady Macbeth impersonation; probably the most embarrassing I’ve seen, I’ve been more terrified of an unflushed shite in a KFC.
There isn’t really anyone worth caring about, especially as they all get increasingly Walter White. Unlike Breaking Bad, this, aside from a bit of Harris Yulin banter, is bereft of humour of any kind.
The most vexing: the characters’ addiction to addressing one another by name EVERY FUCKING SENTENCE.
“Listen, Marty.”
“I am listening, Wendy.”
“I don’t think you are, Marty.”
No one speaks like this.
Like the later seasons of House of Cards (US), I lost interest in everything so committed the Wikipedia thing.
No regrets.
Better Call Saul was the best.
Well, that was one magisterial journey. A flawless show, every episode a veritable treat for the eyes and ears. To be just that bit more reflective, it was better than Breaking Bad, though dependent upon it.
Nothing much else to add, really.
Magical.
House of Cards (UK). What a ride!
Well, it wasn’t quite up there with the first two seasons of the Kevin Spacey bad boys (may his career rest in peace), but this was glorious at times. And one has to take into account it’s a BBC serial from 1990. Those were shoddy days for quality drama.
Ian Richardson has a certain … magnetism about him. He defines Machiavellian.
Back to basics with Game of Thrones.
It’s time to pay a visit to Westeros again, but on this occasion I’ll be ending my stay after season six. Those last two installments were frankly shite, so I won’t be bothering with them.
Now, let’s get shocked when Ned Stark loses his head.
Pieces of Her (2022) defines derivative.
A well-acted shitter (Toni Collette is marvellous in everything) but this descended into farce after about 30 unexpectedly disturbing minutes – I thought this was meant to be one of those quirky coming-of-age dramedies which can be quite therapeutic on occasion. The horrific MacGuffin had me almost turning the show off, such was its realism and relevance. I give it some kudos for that.
Things got messy thereon, however, and I’m referring to the script. It wasn’t going anywhere and I was losing interest with every gnawingly predictable moment, a pile-on of scenes from other thrillers. By the second episode I was lost in the world of far superior stuff demanding a second viewing.
I pulled the plug.
I hope you follow my lead (see what I did there?).
Rubbish.
Gunpowder, Treason & Plot (2004) is Robert Carlyle at his most Robert Carlyle.
For the exposition, I thought this one of the worst performances I’d ever seen. It was like Carlyle watched Richard III – play or any movie – and decided to limp about like Crookback for the duration of a gunpowder plot. And spice it up with a bit of Begbie. His James VI/I is a foul-mouthed little bastard with no grace or manners, an opportunistic cockroach who would murder an OAP for a bag of sugar.
I was thinking this and then I thought: this is 1603+. These creatures chucked one another onto bonfires and ripped their entrails apart. And the same sort would do the same today if they could. And then I got the genius of the performance.
Carlyle is keeping it real.
This is the only place I could find it. It’s very good, and with a young(ish) Michael Fassbender as Guy Fawkes:
Kramer’s coffee table book about coffee tables is the only coffee table book I ever want on a coffee table.
Just to be postmodern and stuff.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 