sehope's Blog

Gotham is a serious place. Such crime, such corruption, such stormy skies. Detective James Gordon, a war hero-turned-cop, may be the most serious part of this dark city.

Fox's new series Gotham was highly anticipated by critics and comic book fans alike. Its third episode airs on Monday. So far, it's taking itself a bit too seriously. But isn't that Batman's modus operandi? It's a little bit pulpy, a little bit shallow, and a lot of fun to watch.

The series opens with - as we might have expected - the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne. A masked man with a gun and shiny shoes steals the Waynes' valuables and murders them in cold blood, while their son, Bruce (David Mazouz), watches.

Detective Gordon (Ben McKenzie), new on the Gotham City Police Department (GCPD) beat and at odds with his jaded partner, Harvey Bullock (Donal Logue), speaks with young Bruce at the scene and promises to find the killer.

"I should have done something," says Bruce.

"Be strong," says Gordon.

Lazy Bullock doesn't want the case, fearing the pressure that will fall on them if they don't quickly solve the murder of the richest folks in Gotham.

In order to expedite a solution, Bullock partners with organized crime lord Carmine Falcone's (John Doman) lieutenant, Fish Mooney (Jada Pinkett Smith), to frame a known small-time criminal. When Gordon discovers that an innocent man was killed to save face, he vows to clean up the department and promises Bruce (again) that he will find the true killer. Justice will be served!

But when Gordon's conscience starts to butt up against the status quo, Bullock has two works for him: "Relax, Junior."

"Relax" may be good advice not only for Detective Gordon, but for the writers of this show.

Superhero stories are meant to be a bit overwrought and larger-than-life, though, right? Realistic? Where's the fun in that? But with lines like "You seem like a nice guy, but this is not a city or a job for nice guys," and "Boy, if you let this hair go frizzy, you will be," there's a bit more silliness than might be warranted.

The direction and camerawork could also stand to take a chill pill. The comic book aesthetic is no doubt difficult to render on screen. Anyone can achieve that saturated, heavily-inked color scheme, but framing shots to look like panels of a comic is an art. Heroes did it beautifully. More recently, so did Guardians of the Galaxy. Director Danny Cannon seems to strive for such a presentation, but in the first episode, everything is closely shot and seemingly haphazardly cut. I wanted to take in the classic Gotham scenery, with its grey haze and harsh up-lighting. The second episode reined it in a bit, but still felt cramped.

Sure, the quick cuts make for a driving pace that moves the show forward and enhances the already-established urgency in Gordon's Very Serious Mission to save the city. But the need for speed also killed some of the drama. There was no break between the bust of the framed "murderer," Pepper, and Penguin's snitch to the major crimes unit. The drama built to a peak, a man was killed and the twist was revealed the very next scene! I realize this is network TV, and we want to be sure the audience catches on, but I want more suspense in my cup of Batman.

Between the cheesy dialogue and pinched arcs, however, there are hints of compelling stories. In truth, this is not the story of Detective Gordon or Bruce Wayne. The most intriguing snapshots so far have been the introductions to the villains. In the first episode alone, we meet the Riddler, who is working as an forensics specialist for GCPD; a young Poison Ivy, the daughter of the man framed for the Waynes' murder; and (most intriguing of all) the Penguin, a shill for Fish Mooney who snitches about the framing.

To prove loyalty to the corrupt police unit and Falcone's operation, Mooney orders Gordon to kill Oswald Cobblepot, called "penguin" for the stilted way he walks. Robin Lord Taylor portrays Cobblepot as spiky and syrupy. His evil is palpable, and his bubbling temper terrifying. Yet, his cause is almost justified. The world has dealt him an unfair hand. He will get ahead, and justice will be served! "Relax" may not be in his vocabulary, but that's okay.

Of course, Gordon doesn't kill him. He misfires the gun and pushes Cobblepot into the water, warning him never to return to Gotham.

Now an embittered and violent man is on the loose. Way to go, Gordon.

In the second episode, titled "Selina Kyle," we follow "Cat" (get it?), as she slinks through Gotham's underworld. Actress Camren Bicondova is ideal for the role of young Catwoman, with her large, wide-set eyes and her feline-like dancer's gait (she's a member of the Hawaiian dance crew 8 Flavahz, runners-up on America's Best Dance Crew's final season). She's also one of the best actors on the show so far. When she tells someone to "relax," I think, "this girl gets it."

Cat is nearly captured by conniving kid snatchers (Lili Taylor and Frank Whaley) hoping to sell homeless children to someone named "The Dollmaker." The detectives arrive just in time to save the kids from certain death or exploitation, but Mayor Aubrey James (Richard Kind) uses the event as an excuse to round up homeless kids and send them to a juvenile detention center. Cat escapes that too, and tells Detective Gordon she knows who killed the Waynes.

Meanwhile, Penguin is off killing the preppy-types who probably bullied him his whole life and plotting his takeover of the city. Was it he who arranged to have the Waynes killed, in hopes of starting a war during which he can sneak in the back door and defeat them all? The shiny shoes would make sense…

One final thought on the music. Just like in films, and especially when a TV show takes on a subject that has so much history in film, the music can make or break the drama. It can be used to build tension, develop characters and heighten emotion.

Graeme Revell, who previously scored Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (2001) and Sin City (2005), has written a score for Gotham that feels like… well, something from the guy who brought you the music for Lara Croft and Sin City. It's manic and confusing, jumping from deep, bass-heavy electronic soundscapes, to mediocre orchestral builds, to hard rock and heavy metal. There is no rhyme or reason to what warrants a change of pace, and it feels like there's a climax every five minutes. No suspense, no character. The only levels were loud and ominous.

In a show so close to getting it right, the music could really dampen the self-importance and soften the rough edges. Revell is another Gotham contributor who needs to just relax. Perhaps if he and the others did, we could all settle in and revel in an hour of dark fantasy and world-saving.

Episode 3, "The Balloonman," airs Monday at 8 p.m. on Fox.

With the first season of HBO’s True Detective wrapped up, and after a bevy of glowing reviews and eight weeks of almost constant gushing, I figure it’s time to take stock. What do I love so much about this unusual show? What drew me into the story, and why did I stick with it despite its difficulties and the disturbing messages about human nature and good vs. evil at its core? In fact, isn’t that the primary question of the show? Life can often be horrifying and onerous. Why do we stick with it? Is there a payoff? Does it matter?

In the final two chapters of this story, we moved outside the interrogation room into present day, and followed the detectives as they tied up 17-year-old loose ends. Because we had come to know them so well through the recollections and self-reflective meditations that made up the meat of the season’s content, all narrative about motive and mindset for their actions could be dropped away. We didn’t need any more explanation. We were already there, with them, inside their heads, as they took the final steps in solving the case.

We followed them to the storage unit, and we understood what they were each feeling. We saw Cohle’s eyes, his back turned as Hart watched the videotape of child abuse, and as he took that long drag on his cigarette, we understood. We understood the progress of Hart’s wordless emotion as he watched the video.

Then, suddenly, the dynamic between these two men -- arguably the central set piece of the show -- changed dramatically, and we understood that too. The thickset antagonism between them fell away, just like our need to hear someone tell us why. Their connection, their mutual moral debt, and their shared motive were solidified in that moment by everything that came before it. Finally, they were on the same page. Cohle’s obsessive personality took them there. Hart’s open-mindedness (matured over the course of the show) made their partnership possible. All that was left was to piece together the clues.

If the show’s opening chapters were almost entirely composed of well-executed character development, its final few chapters were mostly story driven -- but with an unusually thorough understanding of the cosmic stakes.

The murder itself (and ultimately, its solution) was fairly simple -- perhaps disappointingly so, for some. Crazy courir de Mardi Gras/voudon cult sacrificed and abused women and children, taking advantage of the chaos following natural disasters and the general ignorance of authorities as to the plight of the rural poor. As terrifying and cringeworthy as it is, it makes sense. There was nothing supernatural about it. There were no giant plot twists; contrary to my earlier predictions, neither Hart nor Cohle was involved. There was a mystery to be solved and a bad guy to be caught, plain and simple.

The truly compelling story was inside the heads of its characters, and in the cosmic meaning of their investigation and what they witnessed and experienced throughout it. That is what made this show so groundbreaking, and so radically different from most of its contemporaries, even in so-called “quality” television. The shrewd literary influences and existential elements that Pizzolatto and Fukunaga brought to their creative process, quoting from the literary supernatural horror genre and graphic novels, made the experience of watching this show much different than your average television viewing experience.

For one, it was much more emotionally taxing. Because of the depth of understanding conveyed by Cohle’s long monologues and the potent electricity between the detectives, my empathy sensors were operating on overdrive for an hour every week. Pizzolatto’s clear but substantial writing, combined Fukunaga’s brilliantly intimate direction allowed me to crawl inside the characters in a truly visceral communion. (Now, I ask: does that say something about the writing/directing of the show… or does it say something about me?)

It was also an intellectually stimulating journey the likes of which I’m not sure I’ve ever found on the small screen.

It was complicated, but I was more confused than stimulated. Same goes for Lost -- one of my all-time favorite series, and an originator of “made for the internet TV,” with all of its metaphors and biblical/philosophical references. Even Breaking Bad, which is widely considered the greatest feat of storytelling and production of the current Golden Age of television, didn’t leave me this mentally enraptured; equally emotionally taxed, maybe, but Vince Gilligan et. al’s writing just does not hold a candle to Pizzolatto’s. I’m afraid Heisenberg has been officially stripped of the title of "King of the Antiheroes."

Michael Calia at the Wall Street Journal predicted very early on that this kind of existential elucidation might make for some pretty revolutionary television.

“Millions of viewers are hearing Cohle’s worldview weekly, and many might just find that it makes some kind of troubling sense.” 

Certainly, any television that leaves its audience enlightened, for better or for worse, is a success in my book. There is enough mindless escapism on television to last us all a lifetime -- and there’s nothing wrong with that. Sometimes escape is necessary and good. But a show than can bathe us in a sort of existential wash of philosophy and deep thinking, in a way that sticks with us after it ends and maybe even makes us surf the web or (oh my!) read a book to follow up on that spark of curiosity, is a more rare species of television.

In the season’s final moments, Hart -- ever the antagonist and emotionally reserved of the pair -- broke down, unsure of how to answer the ultimate question: “Are you okay?” Cohle, ever the cerebral, rustic, pragmatic type, whose emotional spectrum seemed heretofore to run from calm to angry and back again, broke down in anguished longing for the love of his dead daughter. If these men (especially Cohle) are being presented as the apotheosis of masculinity, as Emily Nussbaum’s earlier New Yorker piece suggested (in a deservedly skeptical manner, at the time), then True Detective, in its conclusion, can be credited with presenting at the very least a more nuanced position on possible incarnations of masculinity.

Sure, as Nussbaum’s critique of the finale lays out, there were many holes and unanswered questions. What was all that business with Hart’s daughter arranging her dolls into a gang rape? About those Tuttles -- are we okay with the fact that the master feeding the monster got away?

Here, I return to my initial question: does it matter? Really. In the scheme of this wide, atmospheric story about humanity and its evils, do we really need to know those answers to be satisfied? Sometimes, isn’t the opportunity to speculate and come to our own conclusions acceptable? I’m sure there is a great divide on this among fans and critics of the show, and it’s certainly a much broader debate than I’m prepared to handle right now. But my short answer for this narrow case is: I don’t think so. I personally am perfectly satisfied with an existential glossing over of the details in favor of a larger, big-picture “feeling.” Then again, that’s how I felt about the end of Lost, and I get a lot of flack for that.

Looking forward, there have been nearly infinite speculations as to the details of True Detective’s potential second season. Check out the Twitter hashtag #TrueDetectiveSeason2 for some insightful (and not-so-insightful, but mostly hilarious) conjecture.

Tim Molloy at The Wrap did a great roundup of the most salient rumors, prefacing his piece with the notion that, in fact, we don’t even know if there will be a second season at all. However, since the show was announced as an anthology (different plot, characters every season), and due to all the critical acclaim it has received, I think it’s safe to say we’ll be seeing more of it.

But what will “it” be exactly? Same setting? Same kind of story (buddy-cop-meets-existential-horror-and-stuff)? Will there even be two protagonists next time? Where will it be set? Who will star? Who will direct? Most importantly: what’s the premiere date I should put into my countdown app?!

Of course, I have a few thoughts of my own as to what I’d like to see. Naturally, I’m excited about the prospect (as revealed to HitFix’s Alan Sepinwall post-finale) of more fully-realized female characters. Ideally, they would be protagonists, but either way I’d like to see more women with agency throughout the show.

There is no shortage of discerning criticism on the shallowness of season one’s characterization of women as accessories to men’s stories. It’s an age-old problem in media. A quick Google search will net you thousands upon thousands of smart and rightful condemnations of an industry run by men, writing stories from male points of view and marginalizing female creators left and right, for decades.

I’m not a subscriber to the school of feminism that says a lack of fully-realized women is a deal breaker in terms of a show’s quality. In fact, I am completely on board with Willa Paskin’s earlier suggestion that the shallowness of True Detective’s women might be intentional (even though she later walked it back). It’s just another effect of that communion with the protagonists and their motives. These men treat their women like objects, so we are meant to see them that way. I’m not of the worn out school of creative feminism that says that “strong” women need to be ass-kickers, doing “man things” and asserting their “feminine agency.”

That said, I have this sneaking hunch that Pizzolatto has a previously unrevealed ability to create truly great female characters. She doesn’t have to be a brilliant solver of mysteries or a crime-fighting Buffy. She just has to have a story. Motives. Thoughts. Hopes. A rich inner life. Given how fully-realized Pizzolatto’s protagonists (albeit male) have been throughout the first season, I (dare I say it?) I trust him. His realization of female characters in a similarly dark, complex tableaux will certainly be a test of his quality as a creator, and a poor realization will really change my tune from serious gushing to serious groaning. However, if his season one characters are any indication, I think we can expect great things.

I am no stranger to nerdery. I’m a band geek, a theater kid, and an unapologetic fan of all things Harry Potter. But my nerdery took to new heights on Friday night, when I headed off to the Fayetteville Free Library in Fayetteville, NY for their annual Downton Abbey finale party and fundraiser.

I walked into the library and immediately felt at home among my fellow Downton fans. All decked out in our 1920s formalwear, we played Downton Abbey trivia, took pictures and had some refreshments. The crowd was mostly older, and some of the costumes weren’t costumes at all: the man who won the costume contest was wearing an authentic set of tails sewn in the 1920s. The mood was joyous and delightfully nerdy as we all waited for the screening of the finale.

Oh, about that. The finale. I’d almost forgot it happened at all.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been binge-watching House of Cards and immersed in the dark, complex literary references of True Detective. Maybe I was expecting something more exciting based on last season’s outrageous conclusion, with the shocking death of Matthew Crawley at the 11th hour. Or maybe it’s only now that I’m realizing how little this story has really moved along since the beginning of its fourth season.

The season finale took us off the abbey’s lush grounds into the heart of London, where the family was staying to attend Rose’s debutante presentation. In British aristocratic custom, Rose (along with a hundred other young ladies) is paraded before the king, the queen, and eligible bachelors within the upper classes who might like to snatch her up and marry her. All the while the Crawley family worked together to save face for the Prince of Wales, who came to Rose’s after-party to offer a first dance. Is young Rose about to embark on another scandalous romance? Juicy.

But mostly, the episode felt a little bit like a dying balloon. 

In a few moments, it looked able to hold its own and rise again in triumph, defying all the forces of gravity and gravitas pulling it down. The scene in which Mary, Rose and Charles Blake sneak into Mr. Samson’s apartment building to recover a love letter that Samson hopes to use to blackmail the Prince of Wales and his lover was mildly exciting. However, the drama of that storyline is dwarfed by the real story behind Edward and Freda’s affair. Now that is a juicy story.

Meanwhile Mary continues her usual flirtations with the cadre of suitors following her like poor ducklings. Evelyn Napier is now totally off the scene, but neither Charles Blake or Anthony Gillingham is willing to concede. Mary learns that Charles is, in fact, a worthy competitor: he is the heir of a wealthy estate just like her own. This no doubt complicates her situation further, and it is sure to drag on (and on) in season five. 

I am glad to see at the very least that Mary’s priority remains the estate and her son. She doesn’t need a man, really, but in this world she should marry anyway - eventually. Who shall it be? Honestly, I hope a more exciting choice comes along.

New to the show is Paul Giamatti, playing Cora’s playboy brother Harold, an American senator. In an effort to distance himself from the Teapot Dome Scandal, Harold comes to London for Rose’s presentation. Clearly jaded by love, Harold meets and quickly falls head over heels for a British gal, just as his valet falls head over heels for Daisy. Nothing comes from either of these brief trysts, and the Americans leave the scene as quickly as they came.

Thankfully, there are hints that Edith may yet become the strong, independent lady I have always hoped she would be. Linda Holmes at the NPR Monkey See blog wrote a brilliant essay this week on Edith and her decision to bring her baby girl back from Switzerland. Though the whole shamed-into-silence thing still irks me, Edith’s newfound gall is heartening.

All in all, this finale felt a bit like a walk in the park with some of my favorite people. It’s nice to see everyone getting on so well, finding their paths, fighting the good fight, and so on and so forth. The challenge comes in this: though I’m pleased there were no surprise deaths this year, there were also no real cliffhangers. There are no truly pressing conflicts left unresolved. 

Sure, Mr. Bates’ integrity is still up in the air, but I still maintain that he didn’t do it. Frankly, I’m kind of worn out on this whole “Bates is a secret bad guy” idea. 

And sure, we still don’t know what Thomas has over Baxter. But after that sweet scene on the beach, where Baxter found her bravery, stood up to Thomas and admitted to Moseley that she has a past (don’t we all), do we really care anymore?

I’m not alone in wondering if Downton Abbey is nearing its end. At this point, I could stop watching Downton Abbey and be perfectly content. It’s been a wonderful show, with loveable and loathsome characters, and plot lines that alternately made me clutch my pearls, cover my eyes in horror, and cry like a baby for happy and sad reasons alike. And what better way to end than that beautiful moment between Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson by the sea?

But I’m tired. A fifth season is currently in production, and I do plan to watch it when it comes to our side of the pond. I hope Fellowes can float to a pleasing end that feels neither drawn out nor manufactured. I’d hate to see it grow stale. Better to admit that we’ve had some good times and walk away. Like Lady Mary, I think I’m finally ready to move on.

For a show that I have admired for its ability to open up and explore small spaces and time periods, True Detective this week took us through almost a decade of developments.

Up to this point, we have remained in the interview room. We have relived the investigation of Dora Lange’s murder through a series of recollections and learned about our two protagonists through their interactions with each other in flashbacks and their present-day monologues.

We have seen the change in each of them that happened sometime between 1995 and 2012, but until this week, we couldn’t begin to understand what caused that change. What caused Cohle to go off the grid, while Hart sits in front of the investigators in a suit, jaded but collected? With three episodes left in the season, we are given a first inkling toward understanding.

As the episode opens, Cohle and Ginger - the biker gang leader whom Cohle kidnapped during the shootout at the end of episode four - meet with Dewall, whom Cohle believes will lead him to Reggie Ledoux. Sure enough, though the initial meeting goes sour, Cohle and Hart are able to follow Dewall to the compound in the wilderness where we last saw the “monster” in the gas mask.

Here, at this significant moment, the detectives’ story as recalled to the present-day investigators again diverges from what we see in the flashback.

Before recounting the full sequence of events at the compound, Hart demands to see the new discovery file and to know why the detectives Gilbough and Papania are investigating Cohle, now, 17 years later. He is angry that they are questioning the story that both he and Cohle have told the same way for 17 years.

“It only went down the one way,” he insists.

The detectives invite him to finish, and promise to tell him what’s going on. He and Cohle go on, in their separate interviews, to describe how they worked their way onto the boobie-trapped premises, where they were spotted and encountered machine gun fire. They had no choice but to move in on the dwelling, where Hart encountered and shot Reggie Ledoux in the head. Dewall, trying to escape, stepped on one of his own boobie-traps - a land mine - and was blown to bits. The pair then entered the dwelling and found two children, one who had been missing since January and dead less than a day. The other had not been reported missing yet, and was catatonic. They scooped up the children and left the compound.

As with last week’s shootout scene, what the detectives describe and what we as the audience witness are quite different.

In fact, they were not set upon with machine gun fire upon entering the premises. They were able to sneak into the house, cuff Ledoux and bring him outside. While searching the premises for Dewall (who did, in fact, step on his own land mine), Hart finds the children.

In past episodes, despite each character’s flaws in integrity, we have seen their commitment to the protection of children. Hart fears the effect his missteps will have on his children; Cohle lost a child in a tragic accident - an event that destroyed his entire life.

Upon finding the children - one dead and one in traumatized stupor - Hart storms outside and shoots Ledoux, point blank, in the head. From there, the pair sets out to create the crime scene they later relayed to their supervisors in a debrief, and again to the present-day investigators. Hart cleans the scene around Ledoux while Cohle, in an epic use of slow motion camera work, peppers the compound in machine gun fire. They recover the children, and leave the compound.

After Hart tells the story, he talks about the seven years that then passed - the “good years.” He got back together with Maggie, and Cohle became famous for his ability to manipulate and lift confessions from suspects in the interrogation room. The present-day detectives ask when things began to change with Cohle.

In 2002, we see Cohle interrogating a double murder suspect. The man confesses, but then says that he wants to make a deal.

“I know things.”

When Cohle asks what he knows, the man says that he knows they did not catch the real killer of Dora Lange, and that the person who did it is still out there, killing.

Cohle’s temper escalates in an instant, and he beats the man, asking for a name. He comes back the next day to interrogate the man again, but the man has committed suicide in his cell after receiving a mysterious phone call from a payphone. Cohle, quietly hysterical, opens an investigation, telling Hart that he thinks the phone call caused the man to kill himself.

In the present day, as promised, the detectives give Hart the current discovery file. It turns out they are questioning the story of the investigation, because Cohle’s stories “don’t add up.” They believe that he fixed the investigation of Dora Lange’s murder because he was somehow involved. They invite Hart to think about where all of the evidence came from; Cohle brought it all into the case. They believe the Rianne Olivier murder, which Cohle connected to the Dora Lange case by the association between Charlie Lange and Reggie Ledoux, was in service of a bone Cohle had to pick with Ledoux, from his days undercover. They believe that in 2002, it was Cohle who made the phone call to the dead prisoner.

Worst of all, they seem to believe that Cohle is the real murderer in both the Dora Lange case and the present day Lake Charles murder case.

Do I believe it? Not for a second.

I do not believe that Cohle is a murderer. I believe that Cohle is a man living in the second act of The King in Yellow.

If you haven’t read Michael M. Hughes fascinating piece on io9 from last Friday, you should. In it, he details how True Detective is one extremely well executed Easter egg hunt for fans of the weird fiction literary genre.

I won’t rewrite Hughes’ piece, but to summarize: The King in Yellow is a fictional play from Robert W. Chambers’ 1895 collection of short stories of the same title. According to the story, the first act of the play draws you in, and the second act, is a “revelation of horrible, decadent, incomprehensible truths about the universe” that “brings despair, depravity, and insanity to anyone who reads it or sees it performed.” In his piece, Hughes details many of the references that Pizzolatto has made in True Detective’s first five episodes.

There were countless references to the story (which, I confess, I have yet to read) in this episode alone, including much of what Ledoux says while handcuffed in the yard of the compound, and Cohle’s “M-brain” theory that everything that has happened is destined to happen again. “Time is a flat circle” and we are bound to go around and around, over and over again, into eternity.

Perhaps this is the “horrible, decadent, incomprehensible truth” that marks “the secret fate of all life.”

We are well aware at this point that Cohle has seen, fought, and continues to fight his share of demons. The monster in the compound is but one, and because history is doomed to repeat itself, he is far from “gone forever.” The fate of the children in the compound is another demon - another horror bound to repeat itself. This is not a game of “one down, two to go.” The monsters are ever-present - they live in our very humanity.

With the presumed killer dead three episodes before the end, I am drawn back to the parallels between True Detective and Twin Peaks, which had a similarly whirlwind solution to its central murder in the episode “Lonely Souls.” This was an unfortunate choice for David Lynch and Mark Frost as it stagnated their otherwise groundbreaking series. However, it will likely work better in the confined first season of True Detective as it enters its definitive third act.

I imagine Pizzolatto will spend the remaining three episodes further rounding out his brilliant characters and grazing more deep existential truths. We’ve learned Cohle’s “secret fate of all life,” and now we must learn exactly what that means for the rest of us.

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Check out this awesome graphical tribute to True Detective by designer and illustrater Nigel Evan Dennis: http://www.wekeeptheotherbadmenfromthedoor.com/