I’ve watched more of Boots, finishing episode four and just barely starting episode five. The show’s message feels clearer now. My initial curiosity is congealing into grim resignation.
Boots isn’t bad. It’s well crafted. The character portrayals and overt construction of masculinity that piqued my curiosity still remain. I can still enjoy picking through and examining them. I can enjoy stripping them for parts.
The show isn’t bad/wrong, the storytelling isn’t bad/wrong, but I like Boots less now.
I’ve seen the first episode of Boots, and I have mixed feelings.
I’m not sure how to engage with the show. It’s the sometimes funny, sometimes awful story of a young gay man named Cameron Cope who joins the Marines (in 1990, when homosexuality in the armed forces was still criminalized) without really knowing what he was getting himself into. Boots is based on the book The Pink Marine by Greg Cope White (no relation to the best of my knowledge), which is apparently a memoir of White’s own time in the Marines.
I’m unsure about Boots because I’m not sure what Boots is trying to say, or what conclusion it’s reaching towards. Does it have a negative message about being in boot camp as a young gay man in 1990? Does it have a positive message about that?
As someone who grew up on Star Trek: The Next Generation,Star Trek: Prodigy didn’t quite feel like a Star Trek show until episode six. That might be a good thing. As much as I love TNG’s broad focus on an ensemble cast with highly episodic story telling, Prodigy’s early adventure-focused plots with clear continuity from one episode to another gives us a narrative throughline that TNG sometimes lacks.
That narrative throughline and dramatic adventure feels a little like Star Trek: Discovery. Discovery felt a little off to me in its first couple seasons, due to its fixation on a single overarching narrative and its exploration of Michael Burnham’s character to the detriment of the broader ensemble cast. It wore the trappings of Star Trek, but felt more like a Star Trek movie turned into a miniseries instead of a Trek TV show. Unlike Discovery, Prodigy bridges the gap from overarching-narrative to interspersed episodic and big-narrative episodes and makes a smooth landing in that Star Trek sweet spot with episodes six and seven. It starts without the Star Trek trappings, but ultimately feels more Trek to me than the first season of Discovery ever did.
Admittedly, I haven’t yet watched much further (I think I’m on episode twelve of season one). I’m not sure that matters. Even with continued exploration of the slightly-more-main characters, the show would have to veer sharply into main-character-ism to lose what it has already established. I think the tonal shift happened at the right time too. The dramatic narrative of the show’s opening episodes feels right for a space adventure, and the transformation into a Star Trek show happens as the crew finally gels and discovers that—despite their disparate backgrounds and disagreements—they share a moral core that is increasingly influenced by the ideals of Starfleet and the Federation.
That transformation feels deeply satisfying. The crew’s growing recognition of their shared moral core feels deeply satisfying too. There’s something funny about that to me; when I started watching Prodigy I wasn’t sure I’d be able to love the show. The first couple episodes felt so strongly like a kids’ show—without the idealistic themes I love and identify with Star Trek—that I feared I’d be stuck enjoying it on only one level as decent children’s fiction. The show’s growth as it moved beyond the opening episodes proved those fears wrong.
If you appreciate good children’s literature (yes, I’m using that to describe a TV show), or if you love Star Trek, then you should do yourself a favor and watch this show. My friends who recommended it to me were totally right. Prodigy takes a couple episodes to really get into gear, but it’s a delight.
This show suffers greatly from my expectations. If I’d never seen the animated show, I’d be more excited about this live action version. I also just rewatched some of the animated A:TLA because I feared that my memories of it might have been too fond, and…
Right around the release of Masters of the Air, I saw a number of moderately critical reviews of the show. None of them were harsh pans, but there was a thread of dissatisfaction that wound through their titles. I didn’t want spoilers, so I limited myself to browsing and skimming. I concluded that these reviews were mostly fluff pieces composed of many words saying little, building a 500+ word post from two rumors, an impression, and a handful of vibes—what I think of as publishing-padding, intended to fill post slots on a website.
For the most part, these reviews changed in tone as the show ran its course.
What I gleaned from these negative reviews was that the reviewers, or whomever they were sourcing their impressions from, had mismatched expectations. They were frustrated, I guess. They were watching Masters of the Air and expecting Band of Brothers.
The first episode of Netflix’s The Gentlemen reminds me of Michael Bay’s Pain & Gain without the leavening of self-awareness. Pain & Gain leaves us, the audience, with enough room to see the idiocy and toxic obsession involved. From the movie’s first moments we are offered a perspective that might empathize with the main characters, but doesn’t ask us to sympathize with or believe them. In that way, Pain & Gain feels like a critique of the stupidity and myopic ambition of its characters.
The Gentlemen might critique its characters’ beliefs… maybe. But The Gentlemen doesn’t offer the distance and outside perspective that Pain & Gain does. Even when it showcases the absurd, the first episode of The Gentlemen takes the main characters seriously and takes their perspectives. It believes its own hype. Instead of offering a self-aware critique of people’s unwillingness to admit that they’re stuck swimming laps in a shallow pool, this first episode puts us inside the fishbowl, trying to find a better fishman.
It’s flashy and stylish and dramatic. It also feels a bit stupid.
This adaptation can’t exist independently of the animated version for me. My familiarity with and love for the animated show clouds my judgment. I don’t think I can just call this show bad, because I’ve really appreciated parts of it, but I also can’t say it’s good.
I don’t like this live action Avatar: The Last Airbender as much as the animated version, for a number of reasons. The two shows feel like two different interpretations of the same starting material, and while I can see why the live action version made at least some of the choices it did, I think some of those choices will rob the show of its dramatic potential down the line. If you’re still on the fence about watching this version of Avatar, let me temper your expectations and tell you what I’ve enjoyed… as well as what I haven’t.
Oh yeah. I’m going to spoil this show. If you haven’t seen the animated version already, do yourself a favor and watch it.
My lack of interest in most of the monsters turned out just fine! That didn’t detract from the show, because Monarch is far more focused on people, and humanity, than on giant stompy monsters. And it was Monarch’s focus on people that I loved.
I think there are some interesting details in why I loved the parts I loved, and what didn’t work as well for me. Come check it out.
Turns out the third episode was perfectly placed to build up my impression that there wasn’t enough character development or emotional grounding going on in the modern day storyline. I’m not going to edit my review, but
Fistful of Wits 