Somewhere

Avengers Assemble (2012)

When Joss Whedon was announced as writer/director of the much-delayed, much-anticipated superhero compendium, Avengers Assemble, it was greeted by both whoops of delight and sighs of relief.  One seemingly endless publicity trail later, any doubts as to whether Whedon, directing his second film following 2005’s delightful sci-fi Western, Serenity, could bring in the big bucks have been allayed by mammoth earnings that are likely to see it land in the top five bestselling films of all time.  Reviews have also been universally positive and, indeed, it’s hard to imagine anyone better suited to this particular enterprise.  A long series of introductory scenes are likely to have those that sat through the variable charms of both Iron Man films, Thor, Captain America and The Incredible Hulk tapping their feet, but the film finds its bearings once it’s pitched all its characters together.  A paper-thin story has Thor’s (Chris Hemsworth) disgruntled half-brother, Loki (Tom Hiddleston), stealing a powerful energy device known as The Tesseract from SHIELD.  Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) then proceeds to gather the Avengers – Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr), Thor, Captain America (Chris Evans), Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson), Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner, following a brief stint hypnotised at Loki’s side) and Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) – to help bicker, sucker punch and quip their way through to a barn-stormer of an extended action sequence on the streets of New York City.

Whedon’s strength for writing for large ensembles whilst making each character feel distinct is on fine form, with even oft-overlooked characters such as Black Widow and Hawkeye getting some screen time.  Present too is his whip-smart dialogue and ability to balance pathos, humour and gung-ho action sequences with the lightest of touches.  The cast prove themselves up to the task, with Ruffalo’s rumpled, lonely Hulk a stand-out alongside Scarlett Johansson’s Black Widow, a part considerably beefed up from Iron Man 2, and necessarily so considering how testosterone-heavy Marvel’s superhero stable tends to be.  If there’s a criticism, it’s that Avengers Assemble lacks personality.  Whilst Whedon’s other film this year, po-mo backwoods horror film The Cabin in the Woods fairly crackled with his trademark dialogue and genre play, there’s something altogether glossier about Avengers that makes it harder to fall in love with, a smoothing of the rough edges that makes his other work so memorable.  With so much ground to cover with its characters – and the film’s running length may well not play too well on re-watch – it leaves the plot (Loki invokes some sort of metallic snakes from outer space) as something of an afterthought, ensuring that the film, and particular Whedon’s marshalling of talent, is impressive and enjoyable rather than attaining the gold standard set by Spiderman 2 or X-Men 2.  That being said, this is doubtless smartly-made dumb fun, with its action scenes especially demonstrating a sort of though-out mayhem that’s hugely appealing, if not game-changing.  Hopefully, with a lot of the groundwork now covered, the inevitable sequel will be able to provide something that cuts a little deeper, but for now, you’d be hard pressed to find such guileless good fun elsewhere at the multiplexes.

Glee, Season 3, Episode 22: Goodbye

After a weak, scatter-shot season that seemed to fritter away any remaining good will this show had accumulated over the years, Glee went out with a (relative) bang. “Goodbye” was pretty much a summation of everything the show does best, even if it traded shamelessly on the audience’s affection for Season 1.  Unusually for a season finale, there was almost little to no plot for much of the episode, with the characters saying goodbye to high school and looking uncertainly to the future.  Rachel gets into NYADA, but Kurt doesn’t, and Finn doesn’t get into acting school either; Quinn has a heartfelt farewell with Sue; Puck passes his history test; Brittany flunks out; Santana  decides that she doesn’t want to go to a middling university and is instead given money by her mother (Gloria Estefan!) to pursue her dreams elsewhere.  In a wise, affecting decision, the show splits up Finn and Rachel, as the former joins the army as a way of forcing Rachel to pursue her own dreams in New York.  There were some well-chosen trips down memory lane - a repeat performance of “Sit Down, You’re Rocking The Boat,” Burt’s rendition of “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)” - but, for the most part, the focus seemed to be on saying goodbye to faded dreams and past mistakes and forging ahead.  By focusing on Rachel, the episode found a sense of urgency that it’s been lacking all season.  Her dream to reach Broadway is one of the few through-lines of all three seasons and, unlike Smash’s dogged insistence in the magical wonder that is Katherine McPhee, Lea Michele makes for a credible star.  In an episode full of minor successes and crushing set-backs, Rachel’s move to New York gave the episode both a dramatic backbone and a sense that maybe, just maybe, there’s life left in the show yet.  Once high school shows graduate, they often have trouble adjusting to the new series of problems and settings that adult life both provides and necessitates.  By moving Rachel to New York and, one must assume, finding a way for Kurt to follow her there, along with potential appearances from Santana and Quinn, Glee has the opportunity to rid itself of some of its dead weight.  How much more of an interesting show could it be were we to focus on Rachel’s frustrated attempts to make it in New York?  How much more interesting would Kurt be in a different setting where he was allowed to be something more than a martyr for Ryan Murphy’s attempt to create a positive role model at the expense of character growth?  Likewise, wouldn’t this be a wonderful opportunity to dispose of characters like Rory, Sam and Sugar that have never been interesting, whilst also saying goodbye to those characters like Mercedes and Puck that the show has forgot how to write for?  I’m not sure how any of this could work, and this being Glee, there’s a fair chance that it will just be a different kind of hot mess, but by sending some of its characters off onto the horizon, it has a real chance to write its many wrongs.

Awake, Season 1, Episode 13: Turtles All The Way Down

With the hardly surprising news that Awake had been cancelled, what remained to be seen was how the show could wrap up its twisty premise satisfactorily in the few episodes it had left.  And it manages to, just about. “Turtles All The Way Down” features another fairly bog-standard slice of procedural nonsense, albeit with more emotional stakes, as Britten comes to realise Harper’s involvement in the accident that killed his wife/son and proceeds to try and take her down in both worlds.  Things take a notably weird turn early on when, in the Red World, Britten is imprisoned for the murder of his ex-partner, only to come face-to-face with his alternate self.  A nice sense of dream logic pervades these scenes, something that Awake has always excelled at, as both his therapists argue over the validity of their respective treatments, and Britten is given a glimpse of the evidence that will help him nail Harper in the Green World.  Talking afterwards with his therapist, she again convinces him that he needs to put one reality aside and live completely in the other.  It’s at this moment that she freezes, her door swinging open onto Britten’s bedroom and - apparently - a third reality that includes both his wife and his son.  It’s the perfect ending for an imperfect, at times frustrating, often rewarding series.  As a police procedural, Awake has never really succeeded, especially when it’s been forced to cut corners in its attempts to squeeze in a crime in each reality.  As a study of the way we come to terms with loss, and of one man’s fractured psyche, it’s frequently been excellent.  People will interpret Britten’s “happy ending” differently, of course, but to me, and from the clues scattered throughout the episode beforehand, that the Red World, the one in which Britten didn’t succeed, was the “real” one, and that Britten chooses to commit himself to a new illusion, one in which neither his wife nor his son died.  Sure, there are still some loose ends left dangling, but I’m unsure where a second series of this show could have really gone.  In fact, I find myself slightly mourning the loss of Killen’s previous show, also cancelled, about dual identities -Lone Star - that was much more firmly rooted in its character beats than the procedural or science-fiction aspects that Awake sometimes leant on.

Mad Men, Season 5, Episode 10: Christmas Waltz

In years to come, when people revisit Mad Men on DVD, this will be remembered as the episode where Don and Joan got drunk together.  True, there was plenty else going on in “Christmas Waltz,” but this particular scene was its centrepiece, a mournful, sexy, boozy break away from the office for two people that, this season,  have found themselves further than ever from what they thought they wanted.  This jaunt, where the two also play at being husband and wife for a Jaguar salesman, is prompted by Greg serving Joan divorce papers at the office, a cruelty that leaves her so furious that she throws a model airplane at the ditzy receptionist.  Don is likewise reaching breaking point.  Just like Joan, he’s been given a second chance at a happy life and he doesn’t know how or why things appear to be fucking up quite so badly with Megan, who this week takes him to some experimental theatre with an anti-capitalist bent that he can’t help but take personally.  The argument they have when he returns home drunk looks awfully similar to his blazing rows with Betty who, as we saw in last week’s episode, is having a remarkably similar (although necessarily more muted) crisis of confidence in her “perfect” second marriage.

Events elsewhere were marginally less interesting, as we drop in on Kinsey to see that he has joined the Hare Krishnas.  His newfound religious fervour of course stems from his feelings for another devotée, Lakshmi, since, as he explains to Harry, he’s really interested in writing TV scripts.  When he gives Harry a heavy-handed spec script for Star Trek, which debuted the previous year, it becomes apparent that he’s every bit as untalented as he is enthusiastic.  After Harry realises that Lakshmi is merely using Kinsey because he’s such a good recruiter (and her seduction of Harry rang false here), Harry refuses to tell his friend the truth and, in an act that’s either horribly cruel or uncharacteristically kind, sends him off to California in search of stardom.  Unlike previous characters that we’ve dropped in on such as Midge or Duck (or, should the time come, Sal), Kinsey is a character that’s worked well as part of the scenery, and amusingly as a certain faux-bohemian archetype back in Season 2, but who we don’t care enough about otherwise to make his fate seem relevant.  Tying him to Harry, one of the show’s most blandly obsequeious characters doesn’t help, but outside of the fascinating glimpse into the rise of spirituality in the late 60s, there wasn’t much substance here.

Lane’s storyline was also frustrating, albeit for a different reason.  His money troubles, and skimming money off the company account to pay his own debts, felt very much like table-setting, something which Mad Men is very rarely in the business of, so perfectly executed are its plot machinations as to appear inevitable by the time they’ve gathered momentum.  Now, this is clearly a story that will return to bite both Lane and SCDP, but, again, Lane is really a character that works best as an adjunct to other characters’ storylines, such as his consolation of Joan in the season opener, or the evening he painted the town red with Don in Season 4.  This isn’t necessarily a plot that won’t ever bear fruit, but it doesn’t involve enough quite yet.

Glee, Season 3, Episodes 20-21: Props and Nationals

Glee has rarely stumbled when it comes to its competition episodes, even if it’s stumbled repeatedly elsewhere, and this two-parter was a mostly solid, if not impeccable, example of what keeps so many of its viewers feeling like they’re gluttons for punishment. “Props” begins by commenting on the sidelining of Tina, one of founding members of the Glee club but routinely ignored by just about everybody, including the writers of the show itself.  Following a bump to the head, Tina experiences a daydream where the characters have all conveniently body-swapped, a story point that was much-touted by the network but which, clocking in at a little over ten minutes, isn’t the disaster you’d expect.  The lesson of the episode, in which Tina learns to come to terms with being on the sidelines and stop being so selfish as to get in the way of Rachel’s inevitable stardom is a bitter pill to swallow, particularly because the writers have a habit of blaming their characters for mistakes they themselves are making (the show has been down this road with Mercedes before back when she didn’t tow the party line as far as Rachel is concerned).  But, that aside, the character moments were fairly sweet, and at least it had the good sense to tie up the mess of a storyline involving Beiste’s abusive marriage.  This was all a curtain call, however, for “Nationals.”  New Directions’ coast to victory was a foregone conclusion, but the performances were lively, joyous even, in a way that Glee hasn’t been for some time.  The show has been leading up to the Glee Club finally reaching their “moment” for some time now, and it still managed to be moving in spite of its excessive use of slow-motion and an unnecessary (not to mention barely deserved) Best Teacher award for Mr. Schue.  The streamlining of the story helped harness one of the show’s great strengths, an able and likeable ensemble of supporting players that – okay – have hardly been treated consistently or fairly, but still make for a surprisingly large cast of characters that the show has made us care for over the past three years.  It’s not the emotional peak it would have been had Ryan Murphy stuck with his original decision to phase out those characters that graduated, but in its own slipshod sort of way, this was the best Glee is capable of at this point in its run.

Community, Season 3, Episodes 20-22: Digital Estate Planning, The First Chang Dynasty and Introduction to Finality

With the confirmation that Dan Harmon will no longer be continuing as showrunner, news that comes on the back of several other key staff writers leaving, this three-part finale offered an example of the sort of range his always-ambitious show was capable of.  “Digital Estate Planning” was the high concept episode, and the most well-executed one that the show has produced since “Remedial Chaos Theory,” with the characters transformed into 8-bit video game characters in order to win Pierce’s father’s inheritance.  Challenged by Pierce’s nefarious (subsequently sympathetic) half-brother, it’s the sort of flight of fancy and imagination thatCommunityis so often praised for.  This was followed by an elaborate genre parody, as the group break out the Dean from captivity in a rough approximation of anOcean’s Eleven-style heist film.  Whilst this was probably my least favourite of the three, since it leans on Season 3’s least successful subplot - Chang’s army - but even this was grounded in the group’s genuine love for Greendale that so clearly rooted last week’s “Curriculum Unavailable.” The last episode, “Introduction To Finality” (what a title) so clearly works as a series finale as well as a season finale, that had we not known that Harmon were to be leaving the show, this still would very much have felt like a goodbye.  Troy, having agreed to join the air conditioner repair school in exchange for the group’s freedom in the previous episode finds himself involved in a murder conspiracy when Dean Laybourne expires, whilst Britta employs herself as Abed’s psychiatrist just as Evil Abed starts to take over proceedings, and Shirley and Pierce are at loggerheads over who gets to sign the deed for their new sandwich shop now that Subway has shipped out.  Crucially, even though the characters spend most of their time apart, the episode’s emotional throughline - that their friendship has not only helped them become better people, but that the true test of becoming an adult isn’t succumbing to reality, but in allowing ourselves to be there for our friends, even as they change - was powerful enough that even a slightly goopy credit-closing Jeff Winger speech could spoil it.  A final montage that sees Troy move into the Dreamatorium, Shirley and Pierce resolve their sandwich shop issues and Jeff realising that his future is in his friends rather than his career was a wonderful emotional pay-off to a season that’s had its disappointing patches (on balance, this wasn’t quite as joyously good fun as Season 2), but was always ambitious, either in terms of its inclination towards more serialised storytelling, or its carefully delineated character beats.  Some of the concept episodes didn’t land quite as well as they have in the past, in part a result of the writers having re-written so much of the sitcom rulebook in Season 2 that a suspicion that we might have seen it all before began to creep in.  I’d also argue, however, that the show managed to utilise its absurdly talented ensemble better, with Britta and Shirley in particular having more moments to shine this past year than in Seasons 1 and 2 combined, and the writers finally finding a way to write Annie out of a corner as she came to realise the limitations of her own fantasies concerning Jeff.  So whilst Season 3 never quite hit the heights of last year, it was arguably more ambitious, better serialised and more thoughtfully grounded in its character work.  With Dan Harmon moving on, the most likely outcome for the show seems to be that NBC’s newly appointed showrunners will tone down Community’s eccentricities.  But if that happens, and Community Season 4 isn’t quite the same show we’ve known and loved these past two years, this was a pretty fantastic way to end things.

Mad Men, Season 5, Episode 9: Dark Shadows

Still, presumably, pregnant, but not layered in quite so many prosthetics, January Jones makes a welcome reappearance in “Dark Shadows,” the weakest episode of Season 5 so far, though no less fascinating in its way.  Betty has flirted with therapy before, but now we see that she has joined Weight Watchers in an attempt to “reduce,” a class that encourages its attendees to discuss their feelings within a safe environment.  Following a visit to Don’s modern apartment and, significantly, after snatching a glimpse of Megan’s nubile form scampering out of the bedroom, Betty returns home to scarf whipped cream straight from the can, before spitting it out disgustedly in the sink.  As ever, Betty’s self-loathing finds an outlet in her children, (although one has to doubt Betty actually believes she’s doing any damage there) informing Sally of Don’s previous wife, Anna in the hope of stirring tension between the Drapers.  It’s a plot that everyone concerned sees through quickly enough, but just as Sally seems to have picked up her mother’s knack for cruelty by episode’s end – telling Betty that mention of Anna led to a scene of fond reminiscence is precisely the thing to set her on edge – her father is, in a different way, similarly dishonest.  Note that he only reveals what he has to regarding Anna, and certainly nothing about his other identity.  In a season that has seen Sally repeatedly exposed to an adult world she’s not capable of fully understanding, this move towards cruelty and deception (in other words, mirroring her parents’ behaviour) was sad to see.  An air of nihilism ran through the entire episode, really, with Betty – surely the most demonised of the characters off-screen – appearing bitter and pathetic as ever, but without much sympathy extended towards her.  Her brief moments of trying to vocalise a contentedness that she clear doesn’t feel, both with Henry and at the dinner table over her meagre Thanksgiving feast, were moving but brief, lending the episode its own peculiar air of cruelty.

In another variation on “Dark Shadows” theme of substitutions and “making do” was Don’s flaccid professional rivalry with Ginsberg.  Both prepare campaigns for a snow cone manufacturer.  Ginsberg’s is fresh, funny and young, whilst Don’s is smart, but uninvolving, and appears to miss the point of the product.  It’s a rare case of the show not being able to demonstrate Don’s talent.  Although we’re supposed to find Ginsberg’s pitch superior, I’m not certain we’re meant to see Don’s as a dud (and, indeed, the clients go for it), and that has to count against the episode.  By failing to properly root Don’s actions in his own sense of malaise – which this season has been very adept at doing up to this point – again makes his acts seem cruel, maybe even needlessly so.

Only Roger’s storyline, involving a dinner with ex-wife Jane that ends in him making love to her in her new apartment, rings with any sort of emotional truth.  After using her heritage as a prop to gain traction with some Jewish clients, the storyline was cut through with Roger’s typically good-humoured prejudice (the line about “Fiddler on the Roof” was particularly good) and his underlying sense that the rug is somehow being pulled from under him.  That the storyline also gives Cooper something to do and humanises Jane in the process doesn’t hurt, but Roger’s understanding that he’s ruined his ex-wife’s new home by giving her a whole new set of unpleasant memories landed better than anything else tonight.  It’s not that “Dark Shadows” was a bad episode exactly, but it showed its characters at their most infantile, callous and cold-hearted, playing off old sympathies rather than anything new.  As such, much of its humour appeared a little too mean-spirited (Betty and the whipped cream, Don’s efficient put-down of Ginsberg in the elevator, even Campbell’s almost stereotypically Campbell-esque fantasy of a woman who had forgotten him until she saw him in New York Magazine), and Mad Men is usually so adept at giving its audience a hefty dose of empathy along with the finer cruelties it serves up so deliciously.

Mad Men, Season 5, Episode 8: Lady Lazarus

“It’s not whipped cream, but it’s good.”  For an episode that dealt in substitutes and alternatives, this summed things up nicely.  Megan admits to Don that she wants to give up advertising for her original dream of acting, but only after she lies to him and Peggy before sneaking off to an audition.  Surprisingly, Don seems to take it in his stride, although a heated argument with Peggy later in the episode, and an ominous empty elevator shaft suggest that this might be a darker portent of things to come.  There’s a wonderful moment early on where we get to see Mr. and Mrs. Draper enacting a routine that they plan to use on Cool Whip.  It’s a deliberately cutesy bit that plays up the supposedly blissful marriage that they must share together, but the show filters it through Peggy’s perspective.  Having just heard from Megan that she’s unhappy working in advertising, she sees this for what it is: an act.  Later depictions of Megan are also designed to arouse suspicion, which seems appropriate given how much of a talking point her character has been all season amongst viewers.  Is she, as Joan suggests, “just one of those girls” that floats through life being perfect at everything?  Or is there, as Peggy thinks, something more?  Certainly Don feels like he’s had the rug pulled out from under him, with Megan’s tearful final day in the office followed by a bare-footed recreation of wedded bliss when he returns home for supper.  Both the show itself and the characters within it seem to be shouting, “Who is this woman?”

Pete, similarly, finds himself having an identity crisis this week, although as ever with Pete, it’s a crisis borne out of his need to fit himself into a certain persona.  After learning that his travel buddy, Howard, is having an affair in the city, Pete shares an awkward drive home with Howard’s wife, Beth.  Even though Pete practically forces his way into her house, she seems to invite his advances, but just as quickly is keen to see him gone, his eyes reminding her of pictures of the earth from space.  Just as Don isn’t sure of the woman he married, so Pete attempts to force an affair with a woman he barely knows, and who seems to be mentally unwell.  Don might be uncertain that Megan is everything she appears to be from the outside, but Pete doesn’t even have the wherewithal to realise that his affair with Beth isn’t just a bad idea because he’s actively destroying a marriage that is, on the surface of things, picture perfect, but that he’s engaging with someone every bit as troubled as he is.  And yet again, Pete can’t see the woods for the trees.  After waiting in a hotel room for a woman who doesn’t come to him, Pete sees Beth again at the end of the episode, drawing a childish heart in the fog of her car window and just as casually wiping it away.  The contrast of the simplistic imagery with the more complicated woman behind it should be a warning signal, but, as with Don, Pete isn’t quite ready to succumb to this complexity and difficulty just yet.  He chooses to see the unhappy wife, sexually unbound and dangerous in a way he feels he can control, just as Don chooses to back away from the empty elevator shaft.  Don is certainly more self-aware of his predicament than Pete (which, admittedly, wouldn’t be hard), but he’s every bit as willing to switch off from everything that he doesn’t want to hear, just as he can’t stand to listen to that Beatles song at the end.

Community, Season 3, Episode 18: Course Listing Unavailable

Much as it pains me to say this, I think this was perhaps the weakest episode of the season so far.  Following Starburns’ death last week, the study group are tasked with holding a memorial service in his honour, which quickly descends into a rally for everything they hate about Greendale.  A riot ensues, which is put out by Chang and his army of child security guards, before the grouip find themselves expelled from Greendale.  There are a lot of interesting ideas floating around here, from the exploration of the ways in which Greendale simultaneously embraces its students differences and looks down on them to the displacing of its central cast from the one thing that seems to unite them.  But the execution was fumbled, with no real story to build this fairly seismic story shift around.  Chang was been a problematic character for the show, working best in the first season as the antagonistic Spanish teacher, but his incarnation as a security guard hasn’t quite panned out, and Ken Jeong has gone from an amusing addition to the show to one of its least amusing characters, all the more so because Ken Jeong’s status on the show means that we’re guaranteed to see him a large number of storylines.  And this particular storyline, in which his machinations against the study group finally bear fruit, is in need of something stronger to hang its cartoon hat on.  That said, the end of the episode, in which the characters are gathered at Troy, Abed and Annie’s flat, is hugely satisfying.  Referencing “Remedial Chaos Theory” with Abed’s mention of “the darkest timeline” and the pizza delivery guy that’s attracted to Britta, Abed and Troy provide the speech (usually reserved for Jeff) that brings everyone together.  Abed maintains that the group will be fine, since they have one another, and Troy, in the episode’s sweetest moment, cuts through Britta’s despondency to tell her that she’s not the worst, she’s the best.  The scene is so good, in fact, that it almost makes up for the uncharacterstically botched episode that precedes it, and if this is a brief stumble in the show’s history, it at least set things up rather excitingly for what’s to come.