I’m not a fan of comedians and their shows. Usually it’s too long, and there’s too much secondhand embarrassment to balance out the funny parts. I rejected several of the recommended shows on Netflix: some I couldn’t even handle for ten minutes. But I was cleaning up my list, this was the last remaining one – okay, I’ll try it.
The last comedian show I watched on Netflix was Hannah Gadsby’s. There’s barely no comparing here, which is good for both parties involved.
Wanda Sykes is about American politics and her personal life as a wife, a mother and a woman going through menopause. It’s stone cold sober with a large amount of questions: not very strange considering the subjects.
My biggest relief was that she doesn’t do the thing most male comedians do: wait for laughter. Sykes doesn’t go out with the aim of Being Hilarious – it’s her story telling and her subjects that make you snort.
And talking about length? I only checked how much time I had left once.
Wanda Sykes: Not Normal, Netflix 2019
8 x 60 min.
So many detectives, so many ways to be disappointed by them because they’re all the same. Moody unlikely hero, bitter and/or cheerful sidekick and a case that Might Be Connected to their past. You know them.
Well, everyone is pretty moody in Giri/Haji, that’s something that’s hard to ignore. And except for the lack of che- wait, let me start again.
Giri/Haji is a Japanese/English production which mixes yakuza with London gangs, international police teams, family connections and men unable to share their emotions. Some of them are cops, some of them are criminals. There’s victims of bad personal decisions all across the board.
And all of it just so_damn_cool. Of course, it’s impressive story lines and colourful characters, but just the COOLNESS of it all. No murky colours or badly lit scenes, not the same buildings in London always shown, but above and beyond, gutter and higher.
A show that leaves you behind satisfied, even though you may not agree with the proceedings.
Giri/Haji, Netflix 2019
The first time our father brought Andrea to the Dutch House, Sandy, our housekeeper, came to my sister’s room and told us to come downstairs.
I changed my mind on this book maybe three – four times. Pretty cover -> meh summary -> positive reviews -> where is this story going? -> Oh. Oh wow.
Wasn’t that an exciting trip to go on?
This book is the house it’s about, but at the same time its story never gets as bright and colourful as the interior of the house. Even before the big thing that changes everything happens, there’s a thick gray layer over not just the people of this story, but the story itself.
It doesn’t make the story less appealing, but it did make me long towards that version of the story: if Ann Patchett would halfway flip to the owners under whom the house prospered, I wouldn’t even have minded and this coming from the woman who despises different times – same houses stories.
Still, the story as it is found its way under my skin. On family, on bitterness, on deciding what you need for yourself instead of for someone else. And in the end – yes: oh wow.
The Dutch House, Ann Patchett, HarperCollins 2019
10 x 50 min.
Some things you have to give a second chance, I guess. Even a bit of a third. Worse was that I didn’t like how I didn’t straight away love this. Original fantasy! Puppetry! Diverse world-building! Meanwhile I could only notice how the puppets didn’t completely move the way they should, while plot barely seemed to move at all.
I felt this frustration for 2 – 3 episodes, when episode 4 suddenly clicked (episode 7 is still the best, though). I stopped watching the artistry of it all. Maybe it’s because several plot lines come together, or because you start to catch on to the world these stories move through. The writers hold no punches, making stakes high and losses real and touching. The comedy is cute and cheeky, the terrors legitimately scary.
It’s enthralling and adventurous but I think my biggest argument for watching is how much heart it has.
So yes, it might take some time to adjust to what you’re watching. But try!
The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, Netflix 2019
Old medicine has a way of being remembered, of haunting the land where it was laid.
I like the work of this author – all two books I’ve read by her. Not just because she writes about Canada and a Canada I know little about (of indigenous people), but there is something lush about her writing style. Organic, flowing. And yes, using those clichés makes me feel a little bit iffy.
Empire of Wild uses indigenous stories and mythology again, again in a contemporary (bit less apocalyptic) setting. A lost man is found again, but doesn’t recognise his wife nor their life together. Something wolf-like skulks around. White people threaten the land.
You could call it magic-realistic, but somehow it feels too down to earth for it. These people are so used to living the way they do with the stories they know, that adding whispering winds or lounging ghosts would make things silly instead of magical.
Honestly, I’m just curious to what Cherie Dimaline does next. We’ve had post-apocalyptic and contemporary. Something from the (distant) past?
Empire of Wild, Cherie Dimaline, Random House Canada 2019
8 x 45 min.
Elk jaar neem ik mij voor om vaker TV-series te bloggen, en elk jaar vergeet ik het een beetje. Frontera verde is een Columbiaanse serie die Netflix ‘limited’ noemt dus misschien dat het bij één seizoen blijft. Als je naar het einde van de laatste aflevering kijkt … wie weet.
Maar waar gaat het over? In den beginne is het een detective: er worden lijken gevonden in de jungle en een detective wordt vanuit Bogota er heen gestuurd om dat even snel op te lossen.
Maar maar dan (spannend trommelgeroffel)! Zijn er bovennatuurlijke elementen of zijn het hallucinerende middelen, kloppen de tijden nog wel, en wie is die vreemde vrouw?
Het is geen heel toegankelijke serie: sommige verhaallijnen meanderen iets te veel en de hoofdpersoon is ook nog makkelijk te waarderen/steunen. Door het heen en weer-gespring van verhaal- en tijdlijnen moet je ook je aandacht er bij houden. Aan de andere kant zorgt dit wel voor een andere ervaring van iets moois en ongemakkelijks en meer groen dan de willekeurige stadsinwoner per maand mee krijgt. Het is – om het heel naar te zeggen – een ervaring.
En wat er nu aan de hand is met die moorden? Och, ondergeschikt aan de rest.
Frontera verde, Netflix 2019
In the moonlit room overlooking the city of faith, a priest knelt before Ephyra and begged for his life.
Am I going to say it? I’m going to say it. This is another ‘I thought this would be a stand-alone fantasy YA’ failure on my part. Of COURSE it’s part of a series, rookie mistake!
The nice thing is that you don’t really notice until it’s too late. The question of ‘how is this going to be cleanly rolled up in so little pages left’ doesn’t show up until 3/4 into the book, and even then Katy Rose Pool doesn’t use neon-light warnings to guide you to the open ending. The ending isn’t even that open, which to me – avid hater of open endings – is a relief.
Except for the ages of the protagonists, it’s not very YA either (little romance, little teen-specific issues) and the fantasy part delivers. Scary cult, people with gifts, threatening apocalypse, royals et cetera. The world-building makes you wonder if this is supposed to be our past or our distance future: just look at the map used.
With five protagonists it sometimes feels a bit like some get more time in the spotlight than others; it also makes it easy to quickly get a preference. Maybe in the next book(s) the attention will shifts and you might feel more for other characters.
All in all, a nothing-wrong-with fantasy. If I’d see the sequel in the library, I wouldn’t ignore it.
There Will Come a Darkness, Katy Rose Pool, MacMillan 2019
I can’t give you the first sentence of this book, because that sentence takes approximately 35 pages to finish. Does it even ever finish, or is it just paused by another story line that does use other punctuation than commas?
I didn’t finish this book either. I read a lot of the pages, I read the last few but I didn’t read the majority of the almost 1000 pages.
The majority of those 1000 pages are a stream of conscious about an American housewife that bakes pies. After about two-third of the book there are layers added, issues, maybe even traumas that can help you understand the endless circling of her thoughts, but by then I had long checked out. The blurb on the cover ‘Ulysses got nothing on this’ should have warned me; I thought it was just about the size of the book. No, it was about the run-on-sentence.
I appreciate how the author and the publisher (there’s a page in the back explaining things and how they want to support original stories) wanted to offer something different, and maybe I’m just too anxious and too much of a control freak to appreciate this.
So, if someone read it or will read it, I’d love to get a summary about what’s going on, because I gave up the fight.
Ducks, Newburyport, Lucy Ellman 2019
Most of recorded human history is one big data gap.
Good gravy, just when you thought you already knew, things turn out to be so much worse. Next to a sexist gap in pay, safety and health there is a huge one in the thing that drives pretty much all of society: data.
Why is the default ‘he’? Why is there still a riddle about a doctor whose husband died, and why do too many people involved with design viewing women as ‘men with boobs’? Well, because societies worldwide have made it so, and not enough people in powerful positions protest it. And it turns out to be lethal for women.
Invisible Women isn’t particularly uplifting material: there’s just so many numbers and anecdotes on things that went wrong and are going wrong and men not giving a damn about it. How do we rally for change when the entire history of humanity is against us?
Because in some cases and in some countries things have changed and are changing. And you can never change something you don’t know anything about. And because it might save your life to know.
Invisible Women: Data Bias in a World Designed for Men, Caroline Criado Perez, Abrams Press 2019
Let me begin again.
Golly gosh, how to explain this? It’s a memoir, it’s a fever dream, it’s an obituary – maybe? And did I like all of it, any of it, only the parts that I read at night? It was, in a way, beautiful, though. A kind of experience hard to put into words.
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous is one of those titles that seem to be singing around in ‘Serious Reader’ circles for a while. It’s not loud enough to feel like it’s been hyped, nor is a celebrity book club attached, but there is the vibe of “Haven’t you read it yet?” around it. To me, anyway.
Ocean Vuong wrote poetry before, and it shows in his descriptions, his look on life, how it feels like he weighed every word before putting it down. It’s in juxtaposition with the subjects he writes down: the suffering of his grandmother and mother, the lack of family, being an immigrant child, being the only different one while growing up. All of it feels absolutely anchor-less.
Can you have an opinion about something that runs through your mind like sand through your hands? I’m sure you can, but I’m just going to stick with ‘an experience’ and a weird feeling of honour that Vuong allowed you in.
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong, Penguin Random House 2019