Working Title

Please help me, I am forever so behind on these, & what I do not record I will forget forever.


Time of Eve, anime, 2010
This has an ideal runtime and microformat. The individual vignettes aren't particularly in-depth exploration of speculative concepts/worldbuilding/the laws of robotics; they're equally fueled by pathos and the human condition, so the short episode length gives room to develop those things without allowing them to grow maudlin—a good emotional balance. The effect is cumulative—not especially cleverly so, it's pretty straightforward "interwoven ensemble with overarching character growth," but it's satisfying. I wish this pushed its speculative/robotics elements further, but, frankly, I'm satisfied with the whole thing, it's engaging and evocative and sweet and I sure do like androids.

A Series of Unfortunate Events, season 1, 2017
I'm surprised to find I enjoyed this more than the book series—and I didn't love the books, but didn't expect them to improve upon adaptation. The weakness of the books is how much depends on the meta-narrative and how little of that there actually is; rewriting it with a better idea of what that narrative will be, and with more outside PoVs, makes it more substantial and creates a better overarching flow. The humor is great, the set design is great, it feels faithful without merely reiterating, a condensed "best of" the atmosphere and themes; a sincere and pleasant surprise. I'm only sad that the second season isn't out yet, because the Quagmire Triplets were always my favorites.

The Great British Bake Off, series 6, 2015
They finally got rid of the awful, belabored pause before weekly reveals! That was the only thing I ever hated about this series, and I'm glad to see it go. This is a weird season: weekly performances are irregular and inconsistent and vaguely underwhelming; the finale is superb. It makes me feel validated in my doubts re: whether the challenges and judging metrics actually reflect the contestants's skills, but whatever: it has solid payoff and this is as charming and pure as ever. What a delightful show.

Arrival, film, 2016, dir. Denis Villeneuve
50% "gosh, the alien/language concept design is good"; 50% "I really just want to read the short story" (so I immediately put the collection on hold). Short fiction adapts so well to film length that it makes me wonder why we insist on adapting novels: the pacing is just right, the speculative and plot elements are just deep enough to thoroughly explore, there's no feeling of being rushed or abridged or shallow. What makes this worthwhile as a film is some of the imagery, alien design (the language really is fantastic), and viewer preconceptions re: flashbacks as narrative device; it's awfully white and straight and boring as a romance, though—underwhelming characters with no particular chemistry, although I like Amy Adams's pale restraint. If I sound critical, I'm not; I thought this was a satisfying as a 2-hour experience.

Interstellar, film, 2014, dir. Christopher Nolan
I have a lot of feelings, and most of them are terror: wormholes! black holes! water planet! time as a dimension! space, just as a thing in general!—I find all this terrifying, in a fascinated by authentically panicky way. The imagery and plot does a solid job of making these concepts comprehensible and still vast (save perhaps for the fourth+ dimension—the imagery there almost works, but it's so emotionally-laden and interpersonal as to, ironically, make it feel localized, small). But Blight-as-worldbuilding is shallow, and a lot of the human element is oppressive and obvious, which deadens things; I wish more of it were on the scale of Dr. Brand's love or the effects of relativity: private motivations for the characters, sincere and intense but with limited effect on the setting or plot. But as a speculative narrative, one within the realm of the plausible but intentionally alien, distant, and awe-inspiring, this is effectively the space version of the disaster porn in a disaster flick—space porn, is that a thing? It's captivating in a nightmareish way, which, I suppose, is exactly what I wanted.

Legend, complete series, 1995
One of Devon's childhood shows, which he got as a birthday present, so we watched it together. It's honestly not as awful as I expected. The frontier setting is less idealized or racist than it could be, but still has a great atmosphere; the character dynamics are hammy but sincerely endearing; the mystery plots are episodic but decently written. Not a new favorite, shows its age, and the mix of tone and science fantasy Western makes it understandably niche, but it exceeded expectations.

Person of Interest, entire series, 2011-2016
This reminds me a lot of Fringe: a crime serial with a speculative premise that becomes increasingly predominant; an imperfect found family, confronted with apocalypses of increasing scale. (See also: Buffy, X-Files—the negotiation between episodic and overarching in speculative television has been a long conversation.) I'm a sucker for this setup, and a bigger sucker for the themes at play, for artificial intelligences and human/machine intimacies; and the premise also opens the door to creative tropes and narrative techniques, to flashbacks and alternate realities, to structural inversions (like the functions of the numbers in 2.22 "God Mode"). It's sometimes inconsistent, sometimes too playful, sometimes repetitive in structure (especially the pacing of the action sequences), but I sincerely love it, both for its genre-mashing premise and for the characters (especially Root and Shaw).

For the Love of Spock, film, 2016, dir. Adam Nimoy
This is endearing. It touches on a lot of things, all with approximately equal depth—and while some topics summarize nicely in eight minutes, others feel cursory: giving the gay guy a few sentences to talk about slash fandom is particularly insufficient. But the balance between Leonard Nimoy's private life, his career, and the character of Spock is more successful. There's an earnestness here, a sympathy, an active humor; it hits all the right notes and it's what I wanted it to be: informative in a non-exhaustive but honest and consumable way, and, primarily, cathartic.

After the Dark, film, 2013, dir. John Huddles
A shaggy dog story by way of an iterated thought experiment, which is both its strength and failure. The unexpected narrative style briefly engages some interesting tropes, and the parallels between classroom and experiment, and between iterations, may not live up to all the philosophical name-dropping but are interesting. It helps that, despite the slick, implausible teen styling, the acting is passably strong. But there's no real sum to the various parts, and the tone vacillates and fizzles out at the end. This is engaging but not quite satisfying.

Star Trek: Deep Space 9, s6-7, 1997-1999
I actually picked this rewatch back up midway through s5, which is where I'd left off (a few years ago), but as near as memory serves s6-7 were entirely new to me. (Their airdates overlap my family's residence in the UK, which may explain it.) I decided to continue my DS9 journey now because I wanted something socially-aware but escapist, and this is Devon's favorite show to rewatch and so it seemed like a safe bet. I was wrong. It was exhausting. The Dominion war means that late s5 and s6 alternate between grim war episodes and comedy relief episodes, many of them independently successful, but creating an inconsistent overall experience. (Devon later told me that he skips a lot of s6 episodes when rewatching.) S7 has a new major character and a large multi-part ending which stretches some plotlines too long yet still manages manages to back-weight and rush the finale. But this is still far and above the most ambitious and successful Star Trek. I adore a lot of individual tropes (Trill symbionts and Bajoran religion, primarily) (but also Odo!), but it's the cumulative effect which is most impressive: the uncompromising exploration of the Bajoran Occupation, a Black captain, the stationary setting which demands a larger and more consistent plot, even Armin Shimerman's quest to salvage the Ferengi make for an overarching set of themes which aren't always successful but are frequently, intelligently, pointed in the right direction, more demanding and more thorough than many equivalent themes in other Star Trek series. This wasn't the comfort watch I was expecting, but I think I value it more for that.

Voltron: Legendary Defender, s2, 2017
This has much better pacing than the first season! It's more cohesive, less pointlessly episodic while still maintaining that structure, and has better foreshadowing and ramp up; the cliffhanger is less pasted on. The personal/interpersonal focus is shifted: the strife/teamwork between the paladins is less emphasized, even taken for granted; but the focus on Shiro and Keith is bigger and more integrated into the worldbuilding than anything else so far. I could nitpick—the animation isn't as smooth as s1, and the unlockable power-ups is a predictable trope; but that last is occasionally really effective (as with Shiro) and the overall effort is just such a pleasure. This may be less iconic than s1, but it feels like the show has really settled into itself.

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, miniseries, 2015
I'm surprised by how much I liked this, and I expected to like it. The set and costume and makeup are all beautiful; the special effects are sometimes TV-quality but still so evocative. I'd forgotten how successful this narrative is, and/or I'm a better consumer (I was particularly stricken by the women—not an impression I had when I first read it) or I liked this more than the book or I simply need to reread the book; the way in which these characters gain exponential depth as they interact, escaping the limitations of their respective tropes, is particularly fulfilling. What a pleasure to watch.

Dark Matter, seasons 1-2, 2015-2016
Six strangers forced to work together is how found families are born, and this absolutely lives up to its tropes. The cast is made up of heavy-handed archetypes but I love lots of them—especially all the women of the core cast (the android's character growth is especially good.) But mutual distrust also creates a lot of miscommunication-as-plot, which is a trope I detest. I've now mentioned tropes four times, which is indicative: this is pulpy Syfy-channel material, with appropriate pacing, plotting, budget, and the ideal arena to engage tropes with gusto, which this does, and I love it for that.

They Look Like People, film, dir. Perry Blackshear, 2016
I'm not sure how to discuss this one without spoilers, so be ye warned. I found this unexpectedly effective as a horror film—it has a strong grasp of tension and pacing and the evocative unseen. But these are also things that freak me out, personally (face blindness is not-infrequently the experience of "have people been replaced by not-people that I'm supposed to assume look the same?" and "is this face correct? is this what faces look like?"), which biases my reaction. Some have lauded this for its human, empathetic depiction of mental illness; it is that, but I'm still not on board with eliding mental illness and speculative themes, and constantly linking mental illness and violent actions. I find myself of a mixed but ultimately positive opinion, and this certainly does a lot with tone and horror despite its tiny cast and budget.

The Girl in the Book, film, dir. Marya Cohn, 2015
A thorny, private, messy personal trauma given a cathartic, neat resolution—so it hits all the right notes and I understand the intent, but it still feels limited. I like the narrative structure, though, exploring the sequences of events in one timeline, their longterm impact in the other. But I can't help negatively comparing this to Blue Car, which was thematically similar but much more messy and bittersweet in resolution: equally important representation, but refusing to be so neat.

Twin Peaks, season 1-2, 1990-1991
Fire Walk with Me, film, dir. David Lynch, 1992
(Spoilers be ye warned, again.) I made multiple false starts on this show before seeing it to conclusion, which I feel is in some way indicative of my overall experience. There's so much to talk about! I'm underwhelmed by some of the iconic elements, the soap opera plotting, laborious pacing, and "quirky" townsfolk—but I love the effect of the ominous and surreal set against that mundanity. The plotting goes off the rails after Laura's arc, and the new romances are a horrible choice—but I love the increasingly prominent role of the Black Lodge. (What imagery!) But I take strong issue with the way that Lynch uses disability to indicate strangeness, in the townsfolk and surreal dreams and the Lodge. I loved Fire Walk with Me, because as much as I admire a successful narrative in absentia it's empowering to make Laura subject (rather than object) of the narrative and Sheryl Lee's portrayal is intimate and convincing. Twin Peaks and I had a rocky start, and I couldn't imagine rewatching it for fun, but I came away with strong opinions and a lot of love for the bits I loved (speech in the Lodge & the entrance to the Lodge; the characterization of Dale Cooper and Audrey Horne in the first arc, and the relationship between them) and love, also, for for its ... intent and iconic cultural effect, I suppose, more than the actual product.

On Tumblr: Dale Cooper vs. Professor Layton; David Lynch uncritically presenting the Other was weird.

Stonehearst Asylum/Eliza Graves, film, 2014, dir. Brad Anderson
There's so much going on here, all of it about halfways successful. The movie can never decide if it's horror, romance, satire, or just an excuse for Gothic extravagance, so is all of those things without total success—it has a fantastic aesthetic, but the tone often contradicts itself. But I'm surprised how watchable this is as an asylum movie—it's a narrative that makes me nervous, but the "inmates take over the aslyum" premise means that representations of institutionalized violence are limited in scope and cast as overtly problematic; that said, the implied farce of the inmates in control is its own microaggression; that said, the narrative affords them a surprising amountof respect, despite the occasional condescension. Eliza is well developed, and her gendered condition treated with the respect—which the obligatory romance and "cure" undermine. It's complicated! The plot's fine, the aesthetic is great, the tone is inconsistent—but it's the themes at play which I find myself remembering.

The Silenced (Gyeongseong School: Disappeared Girls), film, 2015, dir. Lee Hae-young
This makes a tonal shift in the second half, from gothic mystery to action thriller; I appreciate the first half more, but to my surprise the shift didn't lose me—largely because the writing remains solid, no dumb twists, just foreshadowing carried through. This is visually superb, so beautiful with such luscious imagery; I love the themes, the female intimacies (this movie has one (1) male character, bless), and the exploration of sick bodies, revenge/cure fantasies, and the social manipulation of women. This is a quiet gem, and I want more people to watch it.

Tumblr posts: visuals; women and illness narratives.

Penny Dreadful, complete series, 2014-2016
I am so conflicted! This is an aesthetic treat, and the way it engages gothic genre and penny dreadful reiteration of urban fables is compelling; there's some solid casting and the dialog is fantastic—and Eva Green steals the show with the depth of her affect and the way she epitomizes the show's aesthetic. But the plotting goes south midway through season 2, growing messier and more predictable (especially in character deaths and villain motivations, see: killing minority groups, vilifying female power), and the end—both the focus on Ethan in s3, and Vanessa's death—are especially flat. There's fantastic tropes at play here (especially the found family dynamic) and some truly phenomenal episodes (especially the flashbacks); I'm surprised how effectively and respectfully it elides trauma, mental illness, and speculative elements. But it comes out to be a bit of a mess, and not inevitability: the overarching plotting could've been better.

Supernatural, season 11, 2015-2016
The big bad of this season wildly overreaches while managing to remain entirely predictable—I don't know how the show could ever have pulled off a big-G God arc, and it shouldn't have tried; Amara's character arc is simplistic and her imagery underwhelming. Yet, somehow, this season has some of my favorite stand-alones, chief among them 11.4 "Baby," a Impala PoV about the daily grind of hunting which is everything I love of this show; I also adored the return of Lucifer, and Misha Collin's acting; and Enemy Mine of the last few episodes; and developments in the Sam/Dean dynamic. Supernatural is always inconsistent, but this was an unusual inconsistency: the small and personal parts of this work beautifully while the overarching plot spirals, forgotten, into the sun.

These are many months belated, and I am ashamed—but better late and incomplete than nothing, because what I don't record I'll forget I watched and never be able to recommend. The takeaways from this batch were: Ravenous, a cult movie that I'm surprised I hadn't encountered before because it is such fun—it feels like it should have overlap with the Saints Row and Repo! "not quite a fandom because it's so small, but there's so many feels in this intense aesthetic and bombastic themes" crowd; Weekend, which has some 201 conversations especially re: gay marriage and a lot of justified anger and convincing intimacy; The Falling, which—I remember watching Heavenly Creatures for the first time and being blindsided by the intimacy and aesthetic and the complex but identifiable themes, and Heavenly Creatures has been for me like The Secret History, a narrative so distinct and compelling that I revisit it frequently while constantly looking for something that satisfies the same hitherto unknown but now ever-present narrative desire—and The Falling does that.


Ravenous, film, 1999, dir. Antonia Bird
The gayest film about cannibalism not based on Hannibal. The humor can be overbearing, but it creates a surreal, overwrought tone which absolutely works. The pacing is strong, and while the second half is fairly predictable the content and character dynamic are so good—I love these themes, bodily intimacy and the taboo and power dynamics and coercion and cannibalism and homosexual overtones, and Ravenous fulfills them with bombast and dark humor and great imagery.

Tomorrow, When the War Began, film, 2010, dir. Stuart Beattie
An unquestionable waste of time. Everything is horrible, from the stock characters (and improbable overage casting) to the telegraphed relationships to the oppressive action sequences and soundtrack to the petty stupidity which fuels much of the plot. And that's to say nothing of the xenophobia and racism! This is awful, and I should have stopped watching at the midway point when I realized as much. (Great title, though.)

The Road Within, film, 2016, dir. Gren Wells
The acting is consistently good, the relationships work overall, and there some empathetic depictions of frustration without tipping the film into the territory of dour. But it's all too predictable, easy, even saccharine. I'm glad to see narratives about mental illness, and so would rather this than nothing, this doesn't contribute much to the conversation. Still, a watchable 90 minutes.

Weekend, film, 2011, dir. Andrew Haigh
A very close, somewhat rambling character study. There's not much movement or plot to speak of, and it manages to hit a dozen predictable gay story touchstones (coming out, gay marriage, infidelity) and indie movie clichés, but it's utterly convincing and often compelling: a lived, diverse experience, an intimate conversation with a stranger, exponentially more complex than many similar narratives—and the mumbled impromptu dialog never goes too far off the rails. I didn't always enjoy this, but it's unquestionably strong.

The Hallow, film, 2015, dir. Corin Hardy
Supremely mediocre. There's such potential in the imagery and setting, and I admire the unexpected lack of subtlety with the speculative elements, but the horror has extraordinarily predictable timing which makes the pacing feel manipulative and hollow (no pun intended). It leaves no lasting impression, and also fails to have any personal or metaphorical depth: characters barely exist and next to nothing is said about the changing social role of the fairies, despite the deforestation premise. An uninspired work with some great imagery.

Uncanny, film, 2015, dir. Matthew Leutwyler
The first half is promising, the second half a disappointment—because the narrative hinges on a plot twist which manages to be predictable without having any convincing foreshadowing or build-up, which undermines the otherwise interesting premise and destroys almost all character development. There's icky gender/rape issues at play here, too, and the final twist/sequel bait is laughably awful. I love android narratives but still wish I hadn't bothered: skip it.

The Falling, film, 2014, dir. Carol Morley
There's little plot to speak of here, and much of it is buried under the intense school girl/English countryside/coming of age/sexual awakening/psychosomatic illness/mental illness in (young) women/intimate relationships/lesbian/incest aesthetic—and I don't care, because every one of those descriptors is phenomenal and this film fulfills them. The ending is too neat, undermining a lot of early work done to explore the inextricable relationship between the socialization of young women, concepts of illness, and proscribed/natural/enforced behavior. But all the rest is pretty fantastic. This reminded me a lot of Heavenly Creatures and Cracks.

I recently completed The Great Star Trek: TOS first viewing; I grew up on TNG and Voyager and DS9, but had never watched TOS until just now. As I watched, I read along with Eugene Myers and Torie Atkinson's re-watch, here on Tor.com, with the third season on The Viewscreen. Torie's analyses I found particularly relevant, both because she came it from the same position as me (familiar with most of Star Trek, but not with TOS), but particularly because of how she examines and confronts Roddenberry's attempts, successes, and failures in exploring and representing equality.

Star Trek: The Original Series, complete series, 1966-69
This exceeded my expectations. It's not as forward-thinking as Roddenberry's vision demanded, which I don't think the time period excuses, given Roddenberry's intent. But the intent is so good, and more than occasionally effective; the underlying sense of wonder is inspiring, the cast and the inter-character dynamics are phenomenal, and Spock—Spock I adore, and I now understand how much Nimoy brought to the show and character. The number of authentically enjoyable episodes balances the amount of formulaic or ridiculous drivel, and while the third season lags it only feels like a preponderance of the bad elements that were there throughout—although most of the series clichés, especially Kirk's womanizing and the lady of the week, seem to come from this season rather than the show entire. I regret that the show prioritizes the return to status quo, but it was inevitable consequence of the genre's development. In sum: not near corny as I expected it to be; dated, flawed, certainly, but authentically enjoyable. I agree with Torie Atkinson's thoughts in the Star Trek Re-watch: Season 1 Wrap-Up: the sincerity and unidealized optimism is surprisingly effective.

Star Trek: The Motion Picture, film, 1979, dir. Robert Wise
I can appreciate this for what it is: an homage, love letter, and the celebration of an effects budget. The same things which are wearisome—namely, the long, slow shots of the ship and other special effects—are in some ways the most endearing: it's almost fanservice, the frank admiration of some of the most beloved bits of TOS. Pity about the recycled plot, and putting the band back together stymies character progression (although Spock, as always, is strong). TMP isn't great as a movie, but I appreciate it as a revival.

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, film, 1982, dir. Nicholas Meyer
Not much I can say that hasn't been said. Khan's characterization feels flat—I wanted something more than the definitive obsession with Kirk. The rest of the cast fairs far better, with solid characterization and character progression; I adore Spock in the captain's seat, and the intercast dynamics are fantastic. This successfully translates the feel of the show into movie format: similar ethos, movie-appropriate pacing, and a satisfying number of subplots; the end is strong. But I fail to find it as memorable as TMP—perhaps because it's simply more traditional and successful a film.

Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, film, 1984, dir. Leonard Nimoy
Another one that I enjoyed, despite general consensus. I love successful narratives-in-absentia, and so respond well to a story that orbits an absent character. And how lovely, to see McCoy given more complexity. This is a smaller, more private story; melancholy, personal, heartsick; the destruction of the Enterprise contributes significantly to this tone. I hate back from the dead plotlines in principle, and I didn't care one whit about the B-plot or the villain; the film certainly has flaws. But the small parts of it which work well I treasure.

Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, film, 1986, dir. Leonard Nimoy
A humorous installment is well-timed and surprisingly effective, and—other than the ridiculous premise—this has great pacing and strong character moments. TVH absolutely tips towards embarrassment squick, but it never oversteps, thank goodness. It's charming and silly, the cast has just enough substance, and it's utterly engaging to watch—but not, ultimately, particularly memorable or complex.

Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, film, 1989, dir. William Shatner
I could have done without. There's some well-intended elements—namely, to give glimpses into the backstory and private lives of the crew—but they're ineffective; meanwhile, the humor is cringe-inducing and while the plot echoes some reoccurring series themes, it does a poor job of it and the fake god is particularly clumsy. I wish it had gone in a different direction—I would have loved to better explore the experience of a Vulcan with emotions.

Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, film, 1991, dir. Nicholas Meyer
This is such a rewarding endnote. The murder-mystery plot isn't flawless (the courtroom scene is frustrating, despite the appearance of Michael Dorn; the clue-search aboard the ship tends toward silly), but the balance of the plot's momentum and the depth of the metaphor is almost flawless. I love to see Kirk confronted, to see him proven wrong and forced to change; I love a bit less Spock's flaws, but the Kirk/Spock/McCoy dynamic in this film is some of my favorite in the series entire. This may be the most enjoyable and watchable of the films—and final voice-over and the signatures on the stars was the most perfect of all possible conclusions. (Reader, I cried.)

This is the final cruise of the Starship Enterprise under my command. This ship and her history will shortly become the care of another crew. To them and their posterity will we commit our future. They will continue the voyages we have begun, and journey to all the undiscovered countries, boldly going where no man ... where no one has gone before.

Bonus, crossposted from Tumblr: ( In defense of 3.20 The Way to Eden )

Supernatural, season 9, 2014-15
Rowena is a delight, and I enjoy Crowley's progression—bravo to the show for exploring how soft he's gone. Otherwise: a disappointment. The Mark is too reminescent of S8's post-Purgatory effects, but significantly less compelling. The big bad is a mess—is it Styne? Rowena? the Mark has no face and so makes for an indistinct and unsatisfying enemy, and the show fails to capitalize on the quandary of how to win a fight when the only face of the enemy is yourself. Charlie's death is as predictably problematic as this show can conceivably be; the sudden twist ending is transparent sequel bait, and the entire last episode has predictable pacing. This is midgrade, messy, unremarkable Supernatural.

Circle, film, 2015, dir. Aaron Hann & Mario Miscione
I'm a sucker for this sort of survival setup, yet this did little for me. What makes survival games work is the way that individuals react to life and death competition, but there's no room for characters here. Instead, Circle has soundbite distillations of "American values," cursory and unproductive caricatures of sexism/racism/homophobia. Tension sustains the film, but the staccato pacing doesn't allow for tension to build or the narrative to flow. It's constrained and frantic and small, distinctly not awful; the end is strong. But I'm unimpressed.

The Duke of Burgundy, film, 2014, dir. Peter Strickland
Beautiful, rich, but too self-aware. This is a gorgeous dreamworld of texture and sound and scripted erotic play, balanced by heavy emotional emphasis which is at times almost unpleasant to watch because the character's needs are so transparent. But it can get lost under artsy montage, the worst of which is a dream-sequence entered via a crotch close-up (I mean, really); it's too smug and too arty. I think of this better in retrospect than I enjoyed it at the time—great potential, a bit too much beauty, and it doesn't work with my sense of humor.

Cloverfield, film, 2008, dir. Mat Reeves
I went into this thinking it was a monster delay film—I suppose I was mistaken, because the monster is all over the place, and inconsistent, and too convenient—most especially the presence of the smaller parasites. As a found footage film, this is decent, although I never grew invested in the interpersonal elements which are necessary to ground the apocalypse. The scale of the disaster is nice, although the monster itself is bland. In sum: merely competent.

Broadchurch, series 2, 2015
The writing here is better than the first series: less episodic, more cohesive as a whole. The casting and character arcs remain strong, especially Ellie, both in her family life and in her interactions with Hardy. But the emotional register and atmosphere are banal. It's uncreative: compare to Tana French's In the Woods: similar dual cases, small towns, PoV even, but the atmosphere is much more intense and the emotional focus has more intent, simply has more to say. The circumstances here are strange, even contrived, but most of the dynamics are disappointing in their normalcy.

Black Mirror, series 1-2 & Christmas Special, 2011-14
The natural result of mainstream media picking up spec-fic with the self-satisfied smugness of one who thinks they've come up with something new while failing to realize they have no genre experience to support them. Slick, well-acted, and pointedly cruel—but riddled with plotholes and unable to do anything with the potentially interesting near-future scenarios other than to see their effects on the entirely uninteresting lives of mostly-white straight people. It's watchable but the satire grows tiresome, obsessed with the petty evils of social media, and it buries its potential in over-trod emotional ground. Everywhere, every day, I can see upper-middle class white marriages fall apart due to possessive husband and frigid wives; there's better vehicles to explore "everyone records every moment of their lives" and "I spoke with the avatar of my dead partner."

Following, film, 1999, dir. Christopher Nolan
I love the initial setup, the dehumanization/violation that comes from an desire to be intimate with strangers; likewise, the character growth that follows the path of this obsession. But as a thriller, the twists are too neat—it's competent, with engaging non-linearity and good pacing (although the final twist is predictable), but it's too traditional and the thriller aspects overshadow the far more interesting relationships that fill early parts of the film. In short, exactly what I'd expect of Nolan's first effort.

WataMote (Watashi ga Motenai no wa Dō Kangaetemo Omaera ga Warui!/No Matter How I Look at It, It’s You Guys' Fault I’m Not Popular!), anime, 2013, Silver Link
This is one of the better depictions of social anxiety that I've seen. It also has some circumspect trappings, but—to give the show the benefit of the doubt—that may be because Tomoko lacks awareness, failing to question her own internalized misogyny in particular: unfortunate without narrative context, but realistic. WataMote frequently feels like it's on the edge of failure: too painful, too exaggerated, too crass, at moments even too optimistic. But the humor serves both to lighten the mood and to explore the pessimism that piggybacks onto anxiety, and when the show looks towards a hopeful ending it does it without dismissing the Tomoko's ongoing problems. I'm frankly thankful that this imperfect little story exists.

K, anime, 2012, GoHands
The larger than life ensemble cast color-coded for your convenience reminds me strongly of Durarara!!, but K's not as half clever. Still, I enjoyed it. I have a few quibbles: the fanservice is real and it's miserable; the first few episodes are funnier than they need to be and slow the plot. But the large cast creates a number of fantastic characters and compelling dynamics, and even the aspects that aren't particularly complex have satisfying emotional appeal. This is more engaging than it is intelligent, but there's nothing wrong with that.

Wakfu, animated, season 2, Ankama Animation
The only real downfall of Wakfu's fantastic first season was that it took too long to develop momentum. I'm disappointed that the second season has the same flaw: there's too many episodic episodes—with (heavy-handed) foreshadowing, to be sure, and each is fun individually, but they slow the pacing. Otherwise: amazing. This has one of my favorite ensemble casts, and I remain in awe of the strong characters and their dynamic, meaningful interactions. And when it gets going, the plot is great—the last ~4 episodes are worth the wait. There's some disappointing off-color humor in this season, but despite that and other quibbles I honestly cannot recommend Wakfu too highly. Give it a try, it may surprise you.

The House of the Devil, film, 2009, dir. Ti West
Insufficient. The slow-burn suspense almost works, but the end doesn't pay off—the frantic pacing of the climax should be effective, but there's no substance: little cultural or personal framing for the evil, no relationship between villain and victim, it just doesn't say much. I suppose narrative purpose isn't essential to horror, but I prefer it—especially in something that requires investment rather than simple entertainment, as Ti West's films usually do. At least I liked this more than The Innkeepers!

Once Upon a Time, season 4, 2014-2015
The messiest season by far, this one just rolled off of me. There's good bits in the Elsa storyline—although the Frozen girls feel particularly out of place even in this hodgepodge (although not as much as Cruella!)—it's sensitive and surprisingly good-willed, a nice change from OUaT's "dark" retellings. The Heroes and Villains arc is less successful: Belle's moment of definitive bravery is fantastic, but it's undercut by the plot that follows; inverting heroes and villains makes for messy storytelling rather than anything meaningfully subtle. At its heart, this is just more OUaT, with all witless storytelling and bad makeup and interesting character dynamics you'd expect—but this is my least favorite season so far.

A Simple Plan, film, 1998, dir. Sam Raimi
A straightforward but effective take on the premise of a small, uneasy group forced into a conspiracy. It's discomforting to watch for exactly the right reason: everything feels justified yet is obviously unacceptable, and that tension provides significant immersion and momentum. The ending is overwrought and hinges on coincidence, but to be honest I didn't much mind. If you can overlook the limited scope and obvious flaws of the film (the all-white, nearly all-male cast among them, although there's some interesting class dynamics at play), this entirely satisfying.

Jupiter Ascending, film, 2015, dirs. Andy Wachowski and Lana Wachowski
This reminds me of YA literature: consumable trash filmed through a female lens—which doesn't make it magically non-problematic, but does make it a refreshing take on wish fulfillment. I don't care for the amount of spectacle; the action scenes in particular grow wearisome. But to my surprise, I love the my-love-interest-the-bodyguard dynamic, male as powerful and useful but subservient to female choice—full disclosure, this is a trope I adore (see: my love for Enslaved), but I'm still surprised that Jupiter Ascending pulled it off so well; I shipped the hetero leads and, let me tell you, that never happens. Anyway: not great, but a different and much improved variety of trash, and worth two hours of my time.

Big Hero 6, film, 2014, dirs. Chris Williams and Don Hall,
This should feel like merch bait, and it's so emotionally heavy-handed, and the antagonist(s) are shallow and I could do without the manpain motivation, and the end is predictable. And yet: I cared; I cared immensely. It's manipulative but effective, the character design is simplistic but charming, and Baymax is phenomenal. This is how to do mascot characters! Make them adorable and a little silly but also make them central to the story, make them the emotional lynchpin as well as the comic relief. (Great soundtrack, too.)

Kill la Kill, anime, 2013, Trigger
I loved Gurren Lagann, which was successful because it looks a simple concept and spiraled (ahahaha) it larger and larger—it was a deceptive, brilliant, effective device. Kill la Kill isn't simple and it certainly isn't brilliant. It's so energetic and ridiculous that it takes some time to adjust, but I did—and I enjoyed the show. To my particular surprise, I like the emotional and interpersonal arcs; they're hamfisted and obvious but have just enough underlying nuance, and the result is endearing. (Most especially, Mako.) But the plot's a mess. Spiral Power is an entire show worth of fridge brilliance; clothing-is-evil-except-not-also-fanservice lacks cogency and purpose. Is it unfair to compare this to TTGL? Probably, but oh well. Kill la Kill had bits I liked but as a whole was an unsuccessful successor.

Higurashi no Naku Koro ni (When the Cicadas Cry), anime, 2006, Studio Deen
Let's all take a moment to appreciate just how well the When They Cry series handles bad ends. They become tools to explore how a limited cast reacts to wildly different stressors, to explore multiple permeations and sides of the same story, and, best of all, the cumulative effect of the bad ends is the whole point. There's no frustrating dissonance between persistent viewer memory and reset character timelines—instead, the gap between them is the core the plot. Of course, the series originated as a visual novel—but games screw this up all the time! When They Cry is an aware, engaged, utterly satisfying take on the trope. (I've talked about this in length on Tumblr.)

The art is simplistic. The empty-eyed psychopathic tendencies of apparently all schoolchildren can be repetitive, although Keiichi's paranoia is a compelling change of pace. Higurashi isn't hugely refined, to be sure. But the scenery-chewing is its own delight, and what this series gets right I simply adore.

Breaking the Girls, film, 2013, dir. Jamie Babbit
The plot twists are written for their own sake rather than to develop any sort of interior logic, which means that as this gets twistier—especially in the last ten minutes—it tanks. But the premise is intriguing, and the atmosphere of idyllic sunny California populated by the rich and obsessive and cruel caries much of the film; it's watchable.

The One I Love, film, 2014, dir. Charlie McDowell
The premise is whimsical and unique and spins a normative couple's story into something much more lively—but as the plot unwisely grows meatier, it derails what's working well and replaces it with half-cocked, unsatisfying sci-fi. Good casting, the improv dialog is a mixed success (frequently charming, but as often mundane), more interesting than I expected, a thoughtful effort—but it fails.

Elena Undone, film, 2010, dir. Nicole Conn
I like this more than I expected. There's a freshness in the characters and their relationships, a joy and life and convincing connection; it's more of a coming of age than a seduction, empowering and suffused with agency. All the surrounding trappings are a disappointment: I could distinctly do without the smarmy soulmates theme and the ham-fisted religious bigotry, but they don't quite override what makes this film refreshing.

You Will Be Mine (Je te mangerais), film, 2009, Sophie Laloy
In theory, this is perfect; in practice, it's lacking. The relationship is extreme without being wholehearted, and the views of the women involved too piecemeal—Marie, in particular. There's a sense that she's more powerful than the narrative lets on, which has such potential and intrigue, but it goes unexplored. The atmosphere, casting, and concept are all lovely, but the execution lacks conviction; I came away disappointed.

The Babadook, film, 2014, dir. Jennifer Kent
It's not flawless: the message can get lost when it feels more like gaslighting (the police station scene, in particular); while the Babadook imagery is phenomenal, the supernatural elements have an overblown and comic vibe; the ending is almost but not quite unforgivably neat. But this is suffused with intent, from set design to metaphor; a beautiful, claustrophobic, effective film about grief—and, as much, about single parenting a difficult child. Yet I didn't love it. It's just too unpleasant to watch, the frustration and isolation too real and sympathetic, and clashing with the grandiosity of the horror.