martin-intercultural

I love 1940s cinema in general and the film noir genre in particular. I have also watched several Veronica Lake vehicles before and enjoyed them. Therefore it pains me to say that I can't quite remember the last time I got quite so utterly confused watching a movie. In some places I actually believed for a minute that my DVD player must have accidentally skipped several scenes. Characters jump into the fray completely out of nowhere and we are expected to figure out instantly who they are and what their relationship is with everyone else. Maybe on paper this was a gripping and intricate story. But there is certainly an art in presenting that story to the viewer, and in this case it just didn't work. I tried to shrug this off and focus on the Forties glamor instead, but even that is hard to do when you have ceased to understand what is unfolding on the screen.

Making a Christmas special out of a murder investigation story is no mean feat. In that regard, I give kudos to the creators for the urban legend-y, "I Know What You Did Last Summer"-type mise en scène. From there on, though, the web becomes so tangled, with characters some of whom are never shown and only mentioned in passing, that towards the end I frankly lost track of who's who and who's whose father (and why bring him into the story at all) etc. A sign of flawed dramatization, surely. Interracial BFFs in 70s Northumberland, of all places? Unconvincing. (Watch some actual 70s UK shows, even those set in London, and tell me otherwise.) That said, Vera is still her heart-warming if somewhat rotund self. And all's well that ends well.

With such comedic talent assembled in one series, the outcome is decent but rather timid. I, too, found the 80s version wickedly funny - Geraldine McEwan in particular took huge risks with her "30s fag hag" role (and boy, did it pay off!) - and therefore this remake felt like it was lurching from almost a frame-by-frame copy-and-paste job to a desperately over-the-top retelling and embellishing. Previously, Miranda Richardson had been laugh-out-loud funny in almost every vehicle I had seen her in; yet here, she somehow never came into her own. Overall, the main impetus seemed to be one of the BBC trying to out-ITV ITV, so to speak. That said, the show makes for decent-enough viewing on a home-alone evening, and the gardens, interiors and costumes are luscious indeed.

Reviewers have put this show on a pedestal. I'll just say what's in my heart, based on what I have observed:

• Writing, acting, camera work - those are what draw a viewer in. Drone shots of Oxford spires and other such gimmicks - not so much. For the most part they reek of James Bond imitations, or "this one goes out to our US audience out there!"
• Prequels are tough. Personally, I might have preferred if the hero was wholly unconnected to the venerable Morse. I have tried and failed to connect the two versions of this character.

• I do enjoy classical music. But there is a time and place. Having it thunder at me every two minutes in the middle of a police drama just feels overdone. So does stretching the opening credits to a quasi-sleek five-minute montage.

• Mr. Thursday... Why oh why do I hear Maigret speaking every time the actor opens his mouth? How very distracting.

• What I loved, in a bittersweet way, is the depiction of soul-destroying workplace dynamics. The transition from school, where intellect was rewarded, to the real world, where it is perceived as a threat (and leads to all manner of dire, cruel consequences), is shown and felt quite masterfully here. Kudos to Shaun Evans for bringing the necessary dose of vulnerability to this setup.

• Overall, an enjoyable if somewhat overrated series. When I'm done with the DVD I shall gift it to someone.

The background story was complex and intriguing. The mature guest star's acting outstanding as usual. On the other hand, the actress playing Marion seemed to have been groomed in that 2010s acting tradition of "blurting out one's lines in an expressionless fashion." Her actions as per the script were likewise one-dimensional. It is also hard not no notice that every major character, male and female, old and young, has aged considerably at this point and piled on the pounds. And the preachy, proto-progressive foreshadowing of today's gender politics does not exactly add to the viewer appeal. I expect the BBC to challenge and problematize my thinking, not drag it to the one pre-approved "truth."

I enjoyed the first 60 minutes: Good writing, solid acting, a complex and intricate yet not convoluted plot. A timeless and believable tale of corporate vileness and criminality. From there on, however, the story discarded all of its Britishness and gravitas in favor of out-Hollywooding Hollywood: Childhood flashbacks. Everyone has a Big Hero inside them, just waiting to burst out. And of course, a triumphant, nick-of-time, against-all-odds Happy Ending. I have no doubt that the format appealed to the mainstream, big-network US audience, as the glowing reviews on this site attest. Unsurprisingly, to achieve that appeal, the creators threw out the window every last bit of the subtlety and ambiguity that have, at least in my book, made the show worth watching.

In terms of sheer TV-making quality, this was possibly the best story of the entire series. The camera work, the editing, the interplay of light and shadow, the background music - all these came together in a neo-noir thriller. The acting, especially by the one-off female protagonists, was exquisite and startling as ever. Unfortunately, with the 2020s approaching and with the BBC as the project's owner, the creators let themselves down by failing to resist an agenda. I totally accept that rape was relativized and sometimes dismissed as a crime - in the 1960s and today. Sadly, in the story this becomes a jumping board for laying it on thick in painting all men as brutes and pigs. Milking viewers' sentiments for a reaction. The show deserves better. So does the audience.

I understand that the show is meant to be a capsule of the Sixties. That comes with painful clashes between the old world and the new world. Birth pangs and all. Sadly, the creators of this particular story went off the rails and ended up serving us a big pile of content that is not just raw and gratuitously violent but actively repelling. Stinky garbage everywhere (the garbage collectors are on strike, we get it). Rats used as a football, because why not. And 20-minute discussions about who broke a pub chair over whose head. Not a likeable or at least pleasant-looking character in sight. Till now I don't know who done it - and frankly, I don't care.

The creators tried to stretch 60-70 minutes' worth of material into 90 minutes, and it shows. They throw every conceivable crime drama trope and a kitchen sink at us (urbanization, slumdog solidarity, police brutality, sexism, ethics, muses and their broken vessels, precocious child...) - yet for me at least, nothing stuck. By the time the resolution started unfolding, I neither followed the plot anymore nor cared, to be honest. It didn't help that unlike every previous story, this one was singularly devoid of humor and the signature odd-couple chemistry, with normally hilarious characters sulking in the corner most of the time.

Although I'm not British, I was born in 1971, a time when echoes of the 1960s were still palpable everywhere. As such, I struggle with some of the episode's, and the show's references - or, to be more precise, sensibilities. Particularly those that are commonplace in the 21st century, yet seem debatable in the context of early-60s North East England. A high-ranking policeman's daughter "separated" from her husband - and later living with another man while still married? De facto shared custody of a couple's children? Uneducated folks casually mentioning postnatal depression? None of this sits very well with how I picture society at the time - highly conservative and family-oriented. Remember what happened, less than a decade earlier, when Princess Margaret fell for a married man? Her family said No, and that was that. I don't think the upper-middle classes in County Durham circa 1964 would have operated very differently.

I was quite skeptical at first: The 1960s? On TV, that era is rarely recreated well, i.e., without slipping into painful clichés such as beehive hairdos and Elvis-like pastels everywhere. Martin Shaw as the wise old man - when I remember him so clearly as the playboy from The Professionals. The grimy North East and its gloomy skies, done to death on other recent shows like Vera. The odd-couple dynamics - which has been around forever. And yet, the creators play their cards so well and use the ingredients so wisely, the end product draws you in and won't let go. Partly that is because both of the main characters embody timeless archetypes, of surrendering one's youth (and even family and personal happiness in general) vs. Finding one's feet in the confusing and ambiguous space that is police work. All in all, an impressive show.

Having read the synopsis, I was looking forward to this story, thinking it might present some complex characters and also allow Lewis's sidekick to come out of his shell.

Sadly, that was not to be and I found myself fast-forwarding through many scenes. Jerky, aggressive camera work, violence, blasphemy - it all felt over-the-top, cheesy and unnecessary. As if the director was just picking up a bit of cred in preparation for a stint on CSI Miami or some such.

The shock & awe approach did eat into the time and space that was needed for the characters to show some depth and development. With all the crazy antics exploding all around them, they remained understandably two-dimensional.

Also, England in 2008 seems like an odd setting for love-that-dare-not-speak-its-name to be a matter of life and death, surely.

Other than that, the ladies still can't keep their hands off Lewis. Which is becoming less and less believable with every episode. Never mind that throughout the run of Inspector Morse, he was the simpleton, created to make Morse look extra clever, much like Hastings once was to Poirot, and always whining about having missed his tea. But c'mon, the guy looks like he's had three heart attacks in the past two weeks!

Meanwhile, Lewis's vitriolic boss, whom we have come to love to hate, is suddenly all nurturing and doesn't mind rolling up her sleeves to help. All in all, I just hope this episode wasn't a harbinger of things to come, i.e., some focus group-based retooling and second-guessing of what up till now has been an exquisite series.

The atmosphere is quite menacing, a cross between Lynch movies and The X-Files. Morse has clearly been set up, and the way things defy rational explanation im going from bad to worse becomes quite creepy and unsettling in a skilfully visceral way. Ultimately, however, the episode creators bite off more than they can chew: Characters from a distant past; old mentors; old scores getting settled; a villain who represents Morse's nemesis; IT hackers; the impossibility of love... It's too much and it turns the story into a cake. I know quite a bit about Mozart and the Magic Flute and all that. But if you asked me WHY this particular investigation has masonic symbolism swirling all around, in truth I would struggle to give a coherent reply.

...but speaking for the Gen-X audience -- if someone had shown us this episode back in the 90s, I'm pretty sure we would have run for the hills! Parents totally controlled by their rude and obnoxious children. (Sorry; too late to start giving someone an actual upbringing at age 14.) Constant spewing of expletives presented as funny and sexy, and throwing hissy fits about woke pronouns as cute and endearing. Gals who are pushing 60 kicking up some high-school drama about saying I Love U "too soon." And all of this crowned by the already effeminate Aidan weeping like a three-year-old. Wow. One thing I can say with confidence as a viewer: This world I just watched has no place in it for me whatsoever.

Somehow the many pieces of this episode didn't quite fit together. I never found Aidan's character believable during the best of his SATC days (news flash: men who are manly AND artistic AND sensitive pretty much don't exist in the real world). In this series, on top of being weirdly, metrosexually thin for a 50-something dad of three (who used to battle the bulge in his 30s), the actor is plain camping it up, as if this was all a joke and he's ready to burst out laughing. Carrie apparently inherited a 10-figure sum from Big (whom she used to call John and mourn deeply, but now he's "Big" again, and possibly a "Big mistake"), because she's snapping up a palatial four-bed / three-bath apartment in an Old Money part of the city. Meanwhile, Miranda and Charlotte are given hardly any material to work with. As for the rest of the characters, we've long forgotten who they are and what their deal is, despite the writers' desperate attempts at a cliffhanger of sorts ("I'm pregnant!"). Nobody cares; it's like switching to another TV channel by accident and then trying to figure out what in heaven's name is going on. Overall, the previous few episodes managed to bring back the emotional undertones of SATC quite touchingly, but I'm afraid it's been downhill from there.

In today's age of politicized and weaponized everything, this series is both a breath of fresh air and a throwback to a simpler time. The two leads are sophisticated yet personable and relatable, and not in an aggressive, "gonna run the world" sort of way. The plots involve upper-middle-class folks where dark passions lurk and still waters run deep. The dialog and the characters' psychology are witty, well written, and believable. And unlike most crime shows, the way the mystery unfolds is quite easy to follow, partly thanks to the episodes' compact format and length. This is a lighthearted whodunit that isn't out to confuse and outsmart you.

For a classic story that involves mystery, witchcraft, and serial murder, and is portrayed with some A-list TV acting talent, the outcome is regrettably flat. It likes to tell, rather than show, and relies on flasbacks and back stories to a tiring effect. Miss Marple, who should be embodying the tension and conundrums of the unfolding investigation and stringing the story together, is mostly standing around and blabbering, and even that she does much too diffidently. I turned it off about 15 minutes before the end; I just didn't care anymore and couldn't take yet another round of convoluted explanations.

A reasonably entertaining story suffers several setbacks straight from the get-go. Among them, in all the previous Tommy and Tuppence stories I had watched, the two were the epitome of Art Deco cool. Joie de vivre personified. To see them now as a greying, exhausted couple who can barely recall their sleuthing days immediately deflates the episode, knocks the wind out of the viewer and bodes ill for what's to come. Similarly, June Whitfield the comedy legend is unrecognizable. Although normally I'm not a fan of one-trick-pony acts, in this case I was wishing she had reprised her dotty character from AbFab. The list goes on: The scenes where Tuppence and Marple are disguising their true intentions while visiting a village pub just screamed for some wicked humour, comedy-of-error style, which never materialized. Overall, a production where even formidable acting talent chooses to play it safe, thus rendering the outcome quite forgettable.

...and their grandmother (literally, in the next episode) -- what are they adding to the story, might I ask? What is their connection to Carrie, Charlotte and Miranda?... I've been watching the show quite closely. But in all honesty, at this point I have no idea who they are or what their deal is -- beyond giving us a walking cliché of impossibly wealthy, successful, glamorous etc. People. Yawn. The end result is bizarre. It's like watching two separate shows somehow spliced over one another. If the idea was to celebrate diversity and all that, this is a very awkward and superficial way to do that. Ultimately, it serves no one.

The film is not without its flaws, I agree. But as someone who lost the person closest to him, suddenly and unexpectedly, at the age of 40+, I cannot describe how much I relate to the tragedy and heartache that are portrayed in this story. On top of that, I happen to have lived in Hong Kong many years ago, and afterwards visited several times with my loved one; at times even staying in oceanside places much like those near Dr Han's hospital.

All in all, the sense of loss, nostalgia, times gone by that are captured here resonate with me more strongly than just about any other film. I come back to it every couple years and have a good cry.

Generally, I am a big fan of britcoms. And this one seemed to have so much going for it: A stellar cast, an attractive premise, a leafy suburban London setting.

Having sat through two episodes, though, I am aghast at how poorly written and, as a result, unfunny, the show is. Promising plot lines are instantly discarded, without any development. Characters who were thrown into near-violent situations are, two minutes later, just chillin' and sticking around; no further action.

If you want to have a laugh, you need to be able to laugh at literally anything and everything. 32 fridges delivered to your house! (We never learn why, how, or what happened to them.) A front yard filled with inflatable sex toys! (Ditto.) And so the tedium keeps unfolding.

A total and utter failure.

At first, I struggled with the accents and generally expected very little from a show that seemed grimy for the sake of being grimy. "Social issues; the long-deindustrialized North; dislocation... ...we get it, ITV", I thought to myself.

After a few episodes, though, Vera had me mesmerized. If you are 50+ and living alone, the central character captures the heartbreak like no one else on TV. Part wisdom, part resignation, part tremendous maturity and hence humanity.

Not many actors can be shown silently eating soup at a fellow officer's house and yet project almost with an inaudible scream the anguish they are feeling. Like the greatest of film and TV stars, Vera "does nothing" to devastating effect. It will have you crying one minute and laughing the next.

In the little details, this show can be pure genius: The middle-aged detective's poorly suppressed exasperation with bureaucracy, relatives, neighbors and the world in general. The higher-ups' sheer stiffness and iciness. The gone-too-soon loved ones who turn out not to have been loved at all.

Underneath this mastery, though, and all the more jarring as a result, is the show's proto-woke-ness. Splitting the sexes in particular is a major theme: 80% of the male characters are not only single-mindedly dedicated to controlling and brutalizing the opposite sex, they take great and vocal pride in their misogyny.

I certainly don't wish to trivialize, in any way, shape or form, violence against women. And by the same token, I find it hard to enjoy TV programs that scream 'Agenda' - especially when it is the same Agenda, episode after episode. What a shame that a TV creation that sidesteps every cliché with such skill goes on to bury the viewer in a most clichéd treatment of social issues.

I love a good British mystery, especially of the pre-2000 variety. Hence I was excited when YouTube suggested I watch a few episodes of Ruth Rendell.

But boy, what a disappointment. What could be a reasonably entertaining (and even then, hardly more than that) 30-minute story gets shamelessly dragged out into four (4) episodes of 50 minutes each. Someone's getting married? Great; let's show the church; the guests arriving; the brides sashaying down the isle; the ceremony; the 'Just Married'; the couple driving off on their honeymoon. Etc. Etc. Never mind that it serves no purpose in the story whatsoever.

I can see how a lonely old person in the 1980s, with a total of two programs on their black-and-white telly, might give it a go. But for today's viewer, this show is the definition of boring.

I'm a Gen X-er in his early 50s. I don't use social media and I don't take selfies. Hence I never thought I would be defending and praising this show. But it turned out to be well-acted, nicely paced, funny, and visually pleasing. Quite a few other series I have watched over the years made the age-old "American in Paris" story cringeworthy and almost unbearable to watch (Sex and The City immediately comes to mind).

Yes, one could pick on clichés and stereotypes and less-than-believable plot lines. But hey, it's light-hearted comedy. Not to mention fantasy, produced at a time when travel has become nearly off limits for many of us. Lastly, I don't recall critics pillorying 'Ugly Betty' as simplistic and less than believable. If a straight-out-a-Queens-community-college girl can take the world of Manhattan high fashion by storm - well, so can a young American who has found herself in Paris, surely.