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Film/TV TV Features

Kevin McDonald: Superstar

Kevin McDonald grew up in the suburbs outside Toronto, Canada. When he was a teenager, he started making the 45-minute trek into the city to take an improv comedy class at the legendary Second City theater which had produced some of the most significant comedy talent of the last 50 years. “It was a bus, a subway, and a bus to get there,” he says. “I remember for the whole 45 minutes before my first class. I was so nervous, I did a thing that you don’t do in improv: I started writing jokes so I could try to use them when I was at an improv. Of course, it never worked out. It never goes that way.

“I went to Second City workshops, and everybody was over 30. There were only two teenagers in the class. It was me and another teenager named Mike Myers.”

Myers would go on to fame as a cast member of Saturday Night Live, then as the star of the Austin Powers film series. McDonald teamed up with another friend he met at Second City, Dave Foley, to found The Kids in the Hall. The comedy troupe, though born in improv, started concentrating more on writing sketches as they gained a cult following by performing at the Toronto punk rock club The Rivoli in the mid-1980s. SNL producer Lorne Michaels discovered them and developed a sketch comedy show, which debuted on CBC and HBO in 1988. Over five seasons, The Kids in the Hall would go on to become a big influence on all kinds of comedy in the 1990s and beyond. As documented in the 2022 film The Kids in the Hall: Comedy Punks, success definitely went to their heads, and after the harrowing production of their 1996 movie Brain Candy, the Kids wouldn’t work together again for more than a decade. They eventually reunited for an excellent sixth season on Amazon Prime in 2022.

McDonald has appeared in numerous films and TV shows, from Lilo & Stitch to Arrested Development. He’s also forayed into stand-up comedy, which the self-described shy guy says was a difficult transition. “You stop being afraid when you find your own voice,” he says. “I found that my voice was telling stories — I can tell a funny story. In fact, the rock opera was a story I was going to do in stand-up. Then I thought it was too big for stand-up, too operatic.”

When McDonald appears at Memphis’ Black Lodge on Saturday, April 13th, he will be performing Kevin McDonald: Superstar. “I’m doing a rock opera with the gang — I don’t use that word enough, I should use the word ‘gang’ more often — the gang from Bluff City Liars. I wrote it, even though I can’t write songs, and I sing the lead, even though I can’t really sing.”

As you might expect from the title, McDonald says the first song in the cycle is about his Jesus Christ Superstar fandom. “I was a Catholic as a kid, and the only thing I liked at Catholic school was when one of the teachers showed us Jesus Christ Superstar. I was in grade seven and I fell in love with it. I’ve seen it, I’m guessing, between 40 and 50 times.”

As for the rest of the rock opera, McDonald says it is “based on a true story me and Dave Foley from The Kids in the Hall are involved in.”

Backing McDonald will be Memphis folk punkers HEELS. “Brennan [Whalen] and I are both huge Kids in the Hall marks,” says drummer (and comedian in his own right) Josh McLane. “The fact that Brennan is the musical accompaniment and I’m the narrator is a dream come true to say the least!”

“We’ve had a blast working on this show,” says the Liars’ Amber Schalch. “It’s been an excellent way to stretch out our comedy muscles, and we couldn’t be more honored that he’s coming to Memphis to perform and do workshops with us.”

Before the show on Saturday, and then again on Sunday, McDonald will be teaching two comedy workshops with the Bluff City Liars. “Kevin McDonald is such a skilled comedian that he almost makes you think you’re not funny yourself, but then he’s such a good teacher that he alleviates that fear with as much ease as cracking a joke,” says Zephyr McAninch, who was with the Liars when they brought McDonald to Memphis before the pandemic.

Bluff City Liars’ Michael Degnan says the show is not to be missed. “Growing up, The Kids in the Hall were incredibly important and influential on my developing sense of humor. Getting to learn from and perform improv with Kevin when he last came to town was a dream come true. Now getting to help bring his work to life takes that dream to a new level, and I’m ecstatic that we’ll get to do so alongside HEELS and Savannah Bearden who have both been responsible for so much great entertainment in Memphis for the last decade.”

See Kevin McDonald Superstar at Black Lodge on Saturday, April 13, 8 p.m. Tickets are $25 and can be purchased at tinyurl.com/2bhjpy2z.

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Film/TV TV Features

True Detective: Night Country

Since its debut on HBO in 2014, True Detective has been a galvanizing show. Showrunner Nic Pizzolatto’s first season featured Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson as detectives searching for an occultic serial killer in Louisiana over the course of two decades. It was unique in television, in that Pizzolatto wrote all eight episodes himself, and Cary Joji Fukunaga was the sole credited director. (Normally, TV shows have several writers who collaborate on scripts. The mandatory minimum size of these writer’s rooms was a major issue in last year’s Writer’s Guild of America strike.) 

Each subsequent season of the anthology show has featured a different pair of detectives who can barely stand each other solving weird crimes. For season 2 in 2015, it was Colin Farrell and Rachel McAdams; season 3 featured Mahershala Ali and Carmen Ejogo in 2019. Pizzolatto started to develop season 4, but then left HBO in favor of a new deal at FX. Barry Jenkins and Issa López took over as executive producers, and took the show in a new direction — or least to a new locale. 

Season four carries the subtitle Night Country because it is set in the fictional Alaskan town of Ennis, located above the Arctic Circle where the sun doesn’t rise at all during the depths of winter. Jodi Foster stars as Liz Danvers, Ennis’ chief of police. It’s a major casting coup, since Foster hasn’t been a regular in a TV series since the mid-1970s. And it pays off. Foster is one of the best actors of her or any other generation, and the greatest pleasure of Night Country is getting to spend six episodes watching her construct and tear down a complex character.

If I had to describe Capt. Danvers in one word, it would be “harsh.”  She’s hard on everyone, from her stepdaughter Leah (Isabella Star LeBlanc) to protege Pete Prior (Finn Bennett), to her off-and-on lover of twenty years, Capt. Ted Connelly (Christopher Eccleston). But Danver’s harshest of all to her former partner, Evangeline Navarro (Kali Reis, a former professional women’s boxing champion.) Navarro and Danvers split after their response to a murder-suicide case fell under scrutiny from their superiors, and led to both being reassigned to the backwater (or should I say “back-ice”) of Ennis. 

Navarro sees ghosts, but that’s apparently not unusual in this town, where the veil between worlds seems thin. The former partners are forced back together when the entire crew of an arctic research station is found dead on the ice, frozen together in what Danvers calls a “corpsicle.” One of the few clues is a severed human tongue left behind in the station which belonged to a Native American woman named Annie Kowtok (Nivi Pedersen), whose murder Navarro has been obsessively investigating for years. How are the two crimes connected, and what do they have to do with the mining company that is polluting the community’s water? 

Foster’s virtuosic performance brings it all together, even as some of the subplots spiral off into the arctic darkness. She’s a manic ball of snarling energy, hinting at the secret pain that causes her to lash out at everyone around her. 

Lopez’s direction on all six episodes is exceptional. She brings elements of Lynchian surrealism (quiet northern town exists in uneasy proximity to an ancient supernatural force) and the John Carpenter horror classic The Thing. She knows how to produce a good jump scare, and how to hint at unknowable horrors lurking just offscreen. Like True Detective’s first season, Night Country benefits greatly from being the product of a singular artistic vision. 

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Film/TV TV Features

Shōgun on FX

Long before the days of prestige TV, the miniseries was the closest network television came to the kind of serialized storytelling now familiar from The Sopranos and Game of Thrones. The greatest of all the miniseries was Shōgun, which attracted 30 million viewers per night over the course of five episodes in 1980. Shōgun was adapted from a 1,200-page doorstop of a novel by James Clavell, and starred bearded heartthrob Richard Chamberlain and legendary Japanese actor Toshiro Mifune. Clavell’s hero John Blackthorne’s story was loosely based on the life of William Adams, who, in 1600, became the first Englishman to reach Japan. 

With networks searching for the next Game of Thrones, Shōgun seems to fit the bill nicely for FX. It’s a period costume drama with lots of political intrigue, violence, and sex. While the Japan of the feudal Edo period didn’t have actual dragons, it’s been a source of fascination for anime and live action stories alike for decades. Plus, it’s got ninjas! What’s not to love? 

The action starts onboard the Erasmus, a Dutch trading ship that is the last survivor of what was once a fleet of five. Blackthorne (Cosmo Jarvis) is the pilot and navigator whose job it is to find Japan, but things have gotten so out of hand on this two-year voyage that the captain kills himself in the first scene. The Erasmus does eventually find Japan, but instead of sailing triumphantly into port, it kind of washes up on the beach. The crew who haven’t starved to death are so weak with scurvy they barely even notice when a squad of samurai board the vessel. The Erasmus is full of South American silver, various trade goods, and most importantly, hundreds of muskets and twenty heavy cannon. 

The cache weapons are of great interest to the five competing daimyo, lords who were left in charge of Japan after the death of the former ruler. They are to share power until the crown prince comes of age — unless one of them can maneuver the others out of the way and install himself as shogun, or military dictator. At first, the scheming Kashigi Yabushige (Tadanobu Asano) tries to quietly confiscate the ship’s cargo so he can expand his coastal fiefdom. But his machinations are easily detected by Lord Yoshii Toranaga (Hiroyuki Sanada), the old ruler’s former confidante who swoops in and brings Blackthorne to Osaka Castle, where he is attending a meeting of the five houses called by Ishido Kazunari (Takehiro Hira). It’s an open secret that Ishido intends to use this meeting to turn the other regents against Toranaga, so the old warrior plays for time while trying to find a way to wiggle out of his bind and keep his word to his dead emperor. 

Meanwhile, Blackthorn quickly comes to realize that while he’s the first Englishman to reach Japan, other Europeans have been there for a while. Namely, Portuguese Jesuit missionaries who are building churches in the major cities and converting the Japanese to Christianity. Among the converts is Toda Mariko (Anna Sawai), the cultured courtier of Toranga who serves as translator between her master and the European barbarians. 

The language barrier is the source of much confusion for Blackstone, and humor for the viewers. By 1600, the Portuguese Catholics and English Protestants had been at war on and off for decades. But the Jesuits have conveniently neglected to tell their Japanese hosts that there is more than one country in Europe and more than one flavor of Christianity. As long as the European money keeps flowing in from the church, the daimyo tolerate the annoying missionaries —until Blackthorne tells Toranaga that the Portuguese intend to colonize Japan and install a Christian ruler of their own. 

If nothing else, Shōgun is well cast. Jarvis has Richard Chamberlain’s look down pat, and lends scenes an expressive and often baffled presence. This is in contrast to the outstanding Japanese cast, led by the stoic Sandara, who excel at expressing complex emotion with subtlety. Yoriko Doguchi is particularly great as Lady Kiri No Kata, Toranga’s sharp-tongued consort. 

Showrunners Rachel Kondo and Justin Marks retool the tone of the original, which tended towards Orientalist exoticism, by exploring the complexities of Japanese society and making it clear that Blackthorn, while a quick learner, is mostly bluffing his way through things. The first two episodes are tight plotting engines in the Game of Thrones tradition, but it gets fuzzier in the third, when an elaborate naval battle and chase scene falls flat. But thanks to the excellent cast, if you’re looking for a post-GoT, castle-drama fix, you could do a lot worse.

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Film Features Film/TV TV Features

No One Will Save You

The 1970s were the decade where horror came of age. William Friedkin (RIP) made the genre respectable with The Exorcist, Dario Argento brought it to the art house with Suspiria, and John Carpenter revolutionized it with Halloween. But one of the most frightening single scenes of the decade was from Steven Spielberg in Close Encounters of the Third Kind

Spielberg can do anything, of course, but I have long thought that he is a horror director at heart. In Close Encounters, single mom Jillian (Melinda Dillon) is in bed with the flu in her rural Indiana farmhouse when she notices one of her son Barry’s (Cary Guffey) toys moving by itself. Barry is in the kitchen, where he meets something — we only see his reactions, and the spilt milk that the unseen visitor dropped from the fridge. By the time Jillian makes it downstairs, Barry is chasing his new “friend” outside, where an ominous cloud formation overhead adds to the tense atmosphere. Jillian manages to get her son inside, but the alien visitors, represented by blinding klieg lights, will not be deterred. They try various points of entry, like the chimney, with Barry cheering them on. “Come in through the door!” 

The scene’s climax comes when the aliens slowly unscrew the HVAC vent covers, a moment writer/director Brian Duffield emulates in his new alien invasion flick No One Will Save You. In place of the Melinda Dillon (who was nominated for Best Supporting Actress for CE3K) is Kaitlyn Dever as Brynn, who lives alone in her rural farmhouse, surrounded by her crafts and pictures of her deceased parents and BFF Maude (Dari Lynn Griffin). 

One of the things Spielberg understands is how much horror depends on great sound design. In the recent hit A Quiet Place, the sound design takes center stage because the invading aliens are blind, so everyone has to be real quiet all the time. In No One Will Save You, it’s quiet because no one in Brynn’s small town will talk to her, because they hate her, for reasons that the story slowly reveals. There are only about five words of dialogue spoken in the film’s 93 minutes, which makes A Quiet Place seem positively chatty by comparison. Sound designer James Miller fills the space with spooky creaks, far-off groaning, and unintelligible murmurs. 

Kaitlyn Dever stars in Hulu’s No One Will Save You

Brynn seems lonely and sad, but fairly resigned to her fate as the town pariah, as long as she is left alone to run her Etsy business selling handmade birdhouses. One morning, on her way to the post office, she notices a burned ring in her yard. That night, she gets her first visitor. Duffield uses deep staging and sleight of hand to avoid revealing his antagonists as long as possible. The aliens appear in bokeh or obscured by lens flares — until they’re right up in Brynn’s face, probing her mind. 

Doing No One Will Save You as a semi-silent film is operating with the difficulty setting on high, and it would not work without an actress as talented and disciplined as Dever. Her endlessly expressive eyes sell Brynn’s resigned despair, her creeping terror, her determination to survive, and, when the alien’s mind probe takes her back to the traumatic incident that made her an outcast, her searing regret. 

Like all good horror films, No One Will Save You plays with your existing fears by mapping them onto some external threat. In this case, it’s fear of the dark, fear of the unknown, social anxiety, and, as University of Memphis film professor Marina Levina is fond of saying, “all horror is body horror.”

The list of Duffield’s influence — Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Under The Skin, Close Encounters, Poltergeist — is solid, but the real test of an artist is how well they synthesize and transcend their influences. The synergy between director and actor elevates No One Will Save You to something greater than the sum of its parts. 

No One Will Save You is now streaming on Hulu. 

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Film/TV TV Features

Ahsoka

Ahsoka Tano was the best new Star Wars character introduced during the prequel era of 1999-2013. She was introduced in The Clone Wars animated series as Anakin Skywalker’s padawan apprentice. Ashley Eckstein voiced the head-tailed Togruta hero as she grew up on-screen during the show’s seven seasons. As the war, the contradictory demands of the Jedi Council, his secret romance with Padmé, and the malign influence of Senator Palpatine slowly changed Anakin from gung ho Jedi to genocidal Sith Lord Darth Vader, it was his relationship with Ahsoka that kept him balanced. But Ahsoka could see what Anakin could not, and she became disillusioned with both the war and Jedi idealism. When she was falsely framed for war crimes in season 5, she became one of the few Jedi to ever resign from the order — as it turned out, just in time to avoid Order 66.

When The Clone Wars returned after cancellation in 2017, showrunner David Filoni spent most of his time wrapping up Ahsoka’s story. But then she returned, 20 years older and much wiser, as Fulcrum, the nascent Rebellion’s most valuable intelligence asset, in Rebels. The character makes her live action debut in the limited series Ahsoka, now portrayed by Rosario Dawson. Filoni, who has been integral to The Mandalorian and other Disney+ live action Star Wars series, returns to oversee the fate of his most beloved creation.

Ahsoka is set in the same era as The Mandalorian. The Empire has been defeated, and the New Republic is struggling to rebuild as much of the galaxy slips into warlordism. Ahsoka and her comrades Sabine Wren (Natasha Liu Bordizzo) and Hera (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) survived the war. But nascent Jedi Ezra Bridger (Eman Esfandi) is missing, having apparently sacrificed himself in the final operation which sent Imperial Grand Admiral Thrawn (Lars Mikkelsen) into exile in a galaxy far, far away. Sabine, who had previously been training with Ahsoka, feels heartbroken and betrayed in the aftermath of the war, while Hera, an ace pilot who fought with the Rebellion, is now a New Republic general. Ahsoka travels with Huyang (voiced by David Tennant), a thousand-year-old droid rescued from the ruins of the Jedi Temple, but her own attitude towards the Jedi remains ambivalent. But she does suspect that a group of defeated Imperials is trying to rescue Thrawn from exile, which is confirmed when Jedi-turned-mercenary Baylan Skoll (Ray Stevenson) rescues Nightsister Morgan Elsbeth (Diana Lee Inosanto) from New Republic captivity. Meanwhile, Sabine is convinced that tracking the Force witch’s movements are the best way to get Ezra back, if he is still alive. Hera is unable to convince the war-weary New Republic to commit assets to the search, so she, Ahsoka, and Sabine set out alone to track down a star map to the distant space whale graveyard where they suspect Thrawn and Ezra have gone.

If all that sounds confusing (Space whales? Yes, they’re a thing.), then you’ve identified the first problem with Ahsoka. After 40 years of movies, comics, novels, and TV series, Star Wars is currently suffering from a bad case of Marvel-itis, where the needs of maintaining the increasingly convoluted continuity take up all available narrative time between the wham-bam space battles and lightsaber duels. Much of the charm of The Mandalorian was that it positioned itself as a monster-of-the-week series apart from the main story. In later seasons, when Luke Skywalker showed up, things went downhill fast.

Ahsoka and Thrawn are both genuinely great characters, but the series gets bogged down in Easter eggs and barely comprehensible lore. Dawson, a legend in her own right, gives an uncharacteristically reserved performance as Ahsoka. (In flashbacks, Ariana Greenblatt portrays young Ahsoka and nails the mischievous spirit Eckstein brought to the role.) Winstead is, as usual, the best thing on-screen, while Stevenson (in his last role before dying in May) understands the level of camp required of a serial villain.

But the biggest problem with Ahsoka is the direction. ILM’s special effects and production design are, as usual, absolutely top-notch, and with the level of acting firepower at his fingertips, Filoni should be able to craft some quality space opera. Yet the bread resolutely fails to rise. The patient, indie-film-inspired editing that works in the political thriller Andor sucks the life out of Ahsoka. The dialogue has been bad even by Star Wars standards. Things liven up when Thrawn arrives in episode 6, but with only two episodes left, it might be too little, too late. Maybe Ahsoka is right, and the Jedi are the problem.

Ahsoka is streaming on Disney+.

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Film/TV TV Features

Young Rock

There’s one thing you can say about Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson — he’s big. Yes, the former Miami Hurricanes defensive tackle turned professional wrestler is physically large — officially, he’s a 6-foot-5, 260-pound pile of muscle and tattoos — but his personality and ambitions are also cartoonishly outsized.

When he was in his wrestling prime around the turn of the century, he attracted the biggest audiences WWE ever saw. But for the last 20 years or so, Johnson has been a movie star. After making his debut as a supporting actor in 2001 with The Mummy Returns, he immediately booked his first lead role in that film’s prequel, 2002’s The Scorpion King. In 2011’s Fast Five, he gave the struggling Fast & Furious series a shot in the arm, introducing a new character and transforming the car-chase franchise into the weird semi-spy thriller thing that is scheduled to clock its 10th installment in 2023.

Notice I called Johnson a “movie star” instead of an “actor.” That’s because actors transform themselves for each new role, while movie stars transform each role into a conduit for the persona they’re selling. John Wayne, for example, always played John Wayne, even when he was ostensibly playing Genghis Khan. Next year, people won’t go to see what Luke Hobbs is up to in Fast X, they’ll go to see The Rock drive cars real fast.

Johnson’s larger-than-life persona, and how it got to be so dang big, is the subject of Young Rock, which is probably the first ever biographical comedy series about someone who is not a comedian — or even very funny. It’s 2032, and Johnson is running for president. He appears on a chat show hosted by Randall Park (playing himself, as several people, including Johnson, do in the future-now world of 2032), where he starts telling stories about his life. As each story unfolds we flash back to the appropriate period of Rock lore: Adrian Groulx plays him at age 10, Bradley Constant at 15, and Uli Latukefu as the young adult Rock.

Johnson’s had a pretty interesting life to provide fodder for the show. He was a third-generation wrestler — his father was Rocky “Soul Man” Johnson, the first Black champion in WWE history, and his mother Ata was the daughter of Samoan wrestling legend Peter Maivia. There’s also a colorful cast of characters, including André the Giant (Matthew Willig), The Iron Sheik (Brett Azar), and “Macho Man” Randy Savage (Kevin Makely), just to name a few.

Both Soul Man and The Rock went through the famously wild Memphis wrestling market on their way to stardom. Rocky was a rival of Jerry “The King” Lawler. Later, Johnson would introduce memories of his stint in the Mid-South with the words, “I was working in Memphis, and it was a grind.”

We know the feeling, Rock.

But it must not have been too bad because after two seasons filming in Queensland, Australia, Young Rock moved company to Memphis. The first episode filmed in the Bluff City, “The People Need You,” premiered last Friday. At the end of season 2, Johnson had just lost the 2032 election to Senator Brayden Taft (Michael Torpey). As season 3 dawns, Park, who functions as the audience surrogate who listens to The Rock’s tall tales, has a new show with a co-host he hates. Johnson has gone into seclusion following his election loss, but after a viral video surfaces of The Rock signing a kid’s autograph, Park goes to visit his old friend, who is spending his time puttering around his farm quoting Theodore Roosevelt’s “The Man in the Arena” speech.

Becky Lynch guest stars as Cyndi Lauper.

The episode’s time jumps and wacky portrayals of real people show that Young Rock didn’t lose a step when it leapt continents. The production values are first-rate — at one point, Downtown’s Front Street is transformed into Saudi Arabia. Johnson recalls the events which led to the downfall of his father’s career, which included an international contract dispute with Vince McMahon (Adam Ray) and a visit to a music video release party for Cyndi Lauper’s (Irish wrestler Becky Lynch) theme song for The Goonies.

Johnson has been pretty open about his ambitions to enter politics, and Young Rock seems designed to burnish his image as a saintly everyman while getting people used to seeing the wrestler/actor as a political candidate. It’s a strategy that has worked before, first with Donald Trump’s stint on another NBC show, The Apprentice. The second time was TV comedian Volodymyr Zelenskyy, who was elected president of Ukraine in April 2019 and was then promptly extorted by Trump, who attempted to get him to lie about Hunter Biden in exchange for American military assistance. The incident led to Trump’s first impeachment. Now, Zelenskyy is a hero of democracy, leading his people against the genocidal Russian invasion. Let’s hope The Rock takes after him.

Young Rock is airing on NBC and streaming on Peacock.

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Film/TV TV Features

The Sandman

Here’s a question: Does Morpheus the Lord of Dreams look like Neil Gaiman, or does Neil Gaiman look like Morpheus?

Back in the late 1980s, Gaiman was a budding young writer for hire, having penned a fan-focused biography of Douglas Adams and some comic scripts for DC. It was a period when the comic book industry was in flux. The “Wham!” and “Zing!” era of superhero stories had gone stale, and new writers were elevating the form by ignoring what had come before. Much like Alan Moore had done with Watchmen, Gaiman picked an obscure character from the DC archives and started from a blank slate. Thus, The Sandman, a guy named Wesley Dodds who wore a gas mask and hunted evildoers with the aid of a sleeping gas gun, became Dream of the Endless, an anthropomorphic representation of what happens when you go to sleep.

The Sandman comics, which ran from 1989 to 1996, helped usher in the “graphic novel” era, where readers and critics recognized comics’ potential to tell more serious stories. Gaiman rejected superhero tropes — crossovers with other DC characters (besides the sorcerer John Constantine) were rare — and used Dream as a catalyst for more psychologically complex stories, usually based in his deep knowledge of mythology from many cultures. The Sandman became a cult hit, with Dream’s sister Death, whose look was based on Cinamon Hadly, an American goth girl who was friends with artist Mike Dringenberg, was a breakout character, especially among college-aged women who were picking up comic books for the first time.

As for Dream, he was a pale, skinny guy in a black overcoat who, as drawn by Dave McKean, had a face that kinda looked like the author’s. Soon, Gaiman started wearing all black and adopted the same flyaway haircut. It was partly a branding exercise and partly just a goth living their best life.

After years in development hell, The Sandman finally got a screen adaptation from Netflix in the form of a 10-episode series. It begins, as the comics did, with Dream (Tom Sturridge) imprisoned in a glass sphere by Roderick Burgess (Charles Dance), a 19th century English occultist known as the Magus, whom Morpheus contemptuously calls “an amateur.” He and his son John Dee (played as an adult by David Thewlis) steal Dream’s three magical totems — his gas-mask-like helmet, a bag of magic sand, and a ruby that makes dreams come true — and keep the Lord of Dreams in their basement for more than a century. When he finally escapes, he returns to find his kingdom The Dreaming in tatters, and the humans whose dreams are his charge in not much better shape. Recovering the emblems of his office means a visit to actual, non-development Hell, where he must face off against Lucifer (Gwendoline Christie), and a trip to a small-town diner, where John Dee tries to use stolen dream magic to create a world without lies.

The 10-episode series is devoted to rendering the original stories and art as faithfully as possible. That’s always a tricky proposition because what works in the comics or on the page may not always work on the screen. In this case, the strengths and weaknesses of the series largely flow from the source material. Pains have been taken to recreate frames designed by artists McKean, Dringenberg, and Sam Keith — I have only a passing familiarity with the originals, but I still caught chills from several hauntingly familiar images — but this comes at the expense of expressive camera movement. Some casting choices are inspired, such as Thewlis, who steals the episode “24/7” as the emotionally stunted son of an abusive wizard, and Christie, who plays the devil as a vain and envious fallen angel to absolute perfection. I found Sturridge’s taciturn Morpheus a little off-putting at first, but he grew on me as the show progressed. The only big miss is Patton Oswalt, whose instant recognizability gets in the way of voicing Dream’s sidekick Matthew the Raven.

The Sandman’s deliberate pacing and philosophical tone may not be for everyone, but this faithful adaptation will satisfy legions of Neil Gaiman readers and those fantasy fans who are ready for a new Dream.

The Sandman is streaming on Netflix.

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Film/TV TV Features

Better Call Saul, Season Six

At the end of Citizen Kane, the nameless reporter, who has pursued the mystery of Charles Foster Kane’s last word “Rosebud,” stands with his colleagues amid piles of the great man’s possessions and admits he hasn’t been able to figure out what it meant. “What have you been doing all this time?” they ask.

“Playing with a jigsaw puzzle.”

The sixth and final season of Better Call Saul begins with homage to that famous ending, only instead of executors taking inventory of a mogul’s estate, it’s the government seizing the property of fugitive lawyer Saul Goodman (Bob Odenkirk). Like Breaking Bad, the show it serves as a prequel to, it’s the story of how a fairly normal guy becomes an epic villain. Only in the case of Better Call Saul, we’ve always known where this is going. It’s like Titanic — we know the ship is going to sink; it’s all about the details of how it happened.

When the season begins, Jimmy McGill is more successful than ever, but he’s already in over his head farther than he knows. His new solo criminal practice under the name Saul Goodman is thriving, and he’s flush with cash thanks to his star client, Mexican drug cartel kingpin Lalo Salamanca (Tony Dalton). He’s blissfully unaware of carnage unfolding south of the border, where Gus Fring (Giancarlo Esposito) has ordered a hit on Lalo in his own home — a big no-no in the cartel world. His man on the inside, Nacho (Michael Mando), did his job by unlocking the gate for the gunmen. It’s not his fault that they killed everyone in the house but Lalo, including burning to death the Salamanca family’s beloved grandmother, but he’s the one who’s left without a chair when the music stops.

Meanwhile, back in Albuquerque, Saul and his power-lawyer wife Kim Wexler (Rhea Seehorn) are pursuing an elaborate scheme to win a long-running lawsuit by framing their former boss Howard Hamlin (Patrick Fabian) for cocaine possession. Their machinations generate some much-needed comedy in the persons of Betsy and Craig Kellerman, former clients whose transparent viciousness makes them easy marks.

Then, showrunners Vince Gilligan and Peter Gould deliver one of their patented rug-pulls. When the Kellermans get wise to the scheme, Saul wants to simply bribe them into silence, but Kim’s solution is so vicious and cold-blooded, it actually shocks Saul. Kim is Better Call Saul’s richest character, and biggest surprise. The woman we met as a try-hard do-gooder, whose attraction to the bad-boy screwup is a mystery to everyone, has emerged as the show’s Lady Macbeth. Of all of the show’s drug lords, street bosses, criminal lawyers, and lawyers who are criminals, she is the most dangerous because no one knows what she wants. Her quest to ruin Howard is unnecessary, and her methods — as fun as they are to watch — are excessive and dangerous. Surely, an operator as shrewd as she understands the risks, so what does she see that we don’t?

The most ironic aspect of this story that revels in earned irony is that the only displays of virtue come from the most hardened, violent criminals. Nacho’s operatic demise in episode 3, “Rock and Hard Place,” grows from his desire to protect his father from the consequences of his life of crime. It’s Fring’s enforcer Mike Ehrmantraut’s (Jonathan Banks) principled stand against civilian casualties that ultimately saves his boss’ bacon when Don Hector (Mark Margolis) starts asking uncomfortable questions about who tried to whack Lalo.

Artistically, Better Call Saul has no rivals on television. The show routinely pulls off bravado shots few would dare attempt, and the writing team is at the top of its game. Since it’s the last season, the executives at AMC seem to have given them carte blanche to do all the crazy stuff that enters their heads.

For all that, Better Call Saul’s artistry is not indulgent. It’s disciplined, visually inventive, emotionally affecting, character-driven filmmaking of the highest order. The most mundane detail, like Kim’s discarded wine-stopper, can become the setup for an emotional punch line. Even the most outlandish moments feel real.

And wither Saul Goodman? Will we end the series understanding how he broke so bad? The opening Citizen Kane reference suggests that the exercise is ultimately futile. The boat sinks, and we may never truly understand why.

Better Call Saul is streaming on AMC+.

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Film/TV TV Features

Foundation

Isaac Asimov’s Foundation trilogy is one of the most influential works of literature ever created. In the early 1940s, Asimov was a struggling science-fiction writer working a day job at the Philadelphia Naval Yard when he read The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. During a meeting with Astounding Science Fiction magazine editor John W. Campbell, he brainstormed an idea: If you were in Imperial Rome with an Enlightenment attitude and foreknowledge of what was coming, would you be able to prevent the Dark Ages that followed?

Foundation’s protagonist is Hari Seldon, a mathematician living on Trantor, the capitol planet of an empire that spans the entire galaxy. He creates a new scientific discipline called “psychohistory,” which he claims can predict the future. Just as physics can predict with great accuracy what will happen if you heat or compress a pool of water but cannot predict what each individual water molecule will do, psychohistory combines psychology and statistics to predict the fate of masses of people, without necessarily predicting each individual’s future.

Gaal Dornick (Lou Llobell) and Hari Seldon (Jared Harris) are academics, exiled to an inhospitable planet for defying the galaxy in an attempt to preserve it.

Seldon discovers that the 12,000-year-old empire is about to collapse, and if nothing is done, a 30,000-year dark age of war and ignorance will descend on the far-flung children of humanity. The collapse is inevitable, but he devises a plan to limit the dark ages to only 1,000 years by gathering together some of the sharpest minds in the empire to create an Encyclopedia Galactica. The preserved knowledge will provide future humans with a foundation from which they can build a new, better civilization.

Leaders of empires hate to be told they’re on their way out, of course, so Seldon and a band of loyal followers are exiled to Terminus, an inhospitable ice-ball on the outer rim of the galaxy. Turns out, establishing a base far away from the center of the collapsing empire is all part of Seldon’s plan. For the next millennia, Seldon’s secret Foundation lurks in the shadows of galactic history, subtly influencing events and providing hope to humanity.

Asimov’s premise resonated with the American elites who flooded colleges in the 1950s. America was an empire now, but unlike Rome, we had the advantage of hindsight. Things would be different this time. But the books were translated into numerous languages and inspired more than just our own imperial hubris. One person who read Asimov at an impressionable age was Osama bin Laden; in Arabic, “The Foundation” translates to “Al-Qaeda.”

Traces of Foundation can be found in all the science fiction that came after, including Dune and Star Wars, both of which feature secret conspiracies against sprawling galactic empires. But adapting the stories for the screen has long been thought impossible — Nobel economist Paul Krugman, who credits Foundation for inspiring his career, called the books “aggressively un-cinematic.” Yet producer David S. Goyer, who wrote Christopher Nolan’s Batman movies, convinced Apple to back a major series for their new streaming service. From the opening credits, it’s obvious Goyer sold it as “Game of Thrones in space.”

Seldon is played by Jared Harris, a veteran of Mad Men and another series described as GOT in space, The Expanse. The arrival on Trantor of Seldon’s protege Gaal Dornick (Lou Llobell), a math genius from a backwater planet who is the only other person in the galaxy able to fully grasp psychohistory, sets events in motion. She and Seldon are arrested for treason by the ruling triumvirate, who are three clones of the long-dead Emperor Cleon. As they’re on trial, a terrorist attack collapses Trantor’s main space elevator, killing millions. The leading suspects in the attack are agents from the feuding planets, Anacreon and Thespis. Unable to determine which planet is responsible, the emperors simply attack both, precipitating a crisis that will ultimately bring down the Empire.

Like the galactic empire, Apple has effectively limitless resources, and the money is on the screen from the beginning. From the vistas of the city-world Trantor to the drowned planet of Synnax, the special effects and production design in the first two episodes are absolutely impeccable. Goyer’s scripts are at their strongest during Seldon’s trial, when Harris is able to project gravitas as he speaks truth to power. But it’s already evident from the turgid dialogue that the heady nature of the story is going to be a major problem going forward. The producers seem to recognize the problem of losing the human elements to the sweep of psychohistory, but not how to fix it. Llobell and her erstwhile lover Raych (Alfred Enoch) don’t have enough romantic chemistry to fill a science experiment. While it’s still early in a long story, it’s not clear if a new TV empire can be built on this Foundation.

Foundation is streaming on Apple TV+.

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Film/TV TV Features

Ken Burns Takes On Muhammad Ali

A documentary is always judged first by its subject. People will love a slapdash doc about a subject they’re interested in more than a skillfully put together documentary about a boring or obscure subject. Judging from the sheer number of documentaries made about him in the last 50 years or so, no one is more interesting than Muhammad Ali. 

I’m not a sports fan, but one of my all time favorite documentaries is When We Were Kings, the 1996 Best Documentary Oscar winner about the 1974 fight between Ali and George Foreman in Kinshasa, in what is now the Democratic Republic of Congo. But that’s the tip of the Ali iceberg. Just last year, documenter Antoine Fuqua dropped What’s My Name? Muhammad Ali

Now, Ken Burns, a contender to the title of The Greatest when it comes to documentaries (television, anyway) takes his swing with a four-part, eight-hour PBS miniseries called simply Muhammad Ali. It is predictably Burnsian, with all of the strengths that implies, but fewer of the weaknesses. 

Burns’ strengths are access, thoroughness, and clarity. The man literally has his own nonprofit foundation dedicated solely to financing his docs, so money to license archival footage is not an issue. After burnishing his reputation for decades as the filmmaker of record for American history, no one is going to say no to talking to him on camera. And Burns’ completely transparent filmmaking, a descendant of the high BBC style seen in epic documents like The World at War, only looks easy because it’s designed to be digestible. It is in fact extraordinarily difficult to pull off, but time and again, Burns does it with low-key panache. 

His signature move of isolating details on still photos and then slowly pulling out to reveal the entire image is deployed to great effect — the key is to find the most interesting face in the picture, and start there. Nine times out of 10, that’s Ali. Inspired by wrester Gorgeous George, he bragged about how beautiful he was, and he was right. Young Ali was startlingly good looking, in better shape than just about anyone on the planet, and dripping with charisma. During his gold medal-winning stint at the 1960 Olympics, a journalist described him as “the Mayor of Olympic Village.” 

Coverage just doesn’t get more thorough than devoting eight hours of prime time television to your subject. Ali was one of the most photographed and filmed people in history, so there’s plenty of material to work with. One of Burns’ best decisions is to let the fights play out much longer than a two-hour doc would allow. From the first time he fought as a teenager, Ali said he would become the greatest boxer of all time, and the proof is in this fight footage. Especially during the second episode, (also entitled “What’s My Name?”) Ali looks superhuman in the ring. Burns sets up the easy cynicism of the boxing press and announcers, only to knock it down when he lets you hear the awe slip into their voices while they watch Ali methodically take apart opponents who were supposed to beat him. 

The length allows Burns to avoid pure hagiography by diving deep into subjects like Ali’s involvement with the Nation of Islam. In what was the most shocking moment of the entire doc for me, personally, Ali praises segregationist governor George Wallace, and says he thinks Black people and white people shouldn’t mix. Burns presents the moment in an extended clip, so there’s no doubt that the director wasn’t taking his subject out of context. Ali meant what he said at that moment, but Burns also shows Ali’s moral evolution and growth as the barely educated Louisville kid sees more of the world and his understanding deepens. 

His rhetorical style of trash talking would go on to inspire everyone from Michael Jordan to Donald Trump — which means he was also responsible for bringing a lot of negativity into the world, as people without his smarts and talent tried to emulate him. Trolls today wish they had Ali’s insight into what will get a rise out of his opponents. 

Burns’ weakness is that he’s long-winded to the point of being boring. But here he is saved by his endlessly fascinating subject. Ali was many things, but he was never boring. And that makes Muhammad Ali essential viewing.