TV Review - Better Call Saul Season 1

(This review contains spoilers for Season 1 of Better Call Saul)

When I heard a prequel series to Breaking Bad was in the works, I was sceptical. While the production and quality would no doubt be as good as the original show, I feared illuminating more of the fictional world might somehow diminish it. Some things are just better left alone, especially when it involves a supporting character. What if by giving more depth and complexity to the character of Saul Goodman, the show ended up diluting what made him so engaging in the first place? Scepticism aside, there was no doubt that I would watch the show as soon as it came out. So what's the verdict?

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Better Call Saul is both a compliment to the character and the original show, but is also strong enough to stand on its own. You don't need to have watched Breaking Bad to enjoy this, as it maintains a healthy distance from the original show while carrying on with the themes and style that defined it. Here we see “Saul” (Bob Odenkirk) back when he was using his birthname of Jimmy McGill, trying to make a name for himself while competing with the enormous lawfirm, Hamlin Hamlin & McGill. He also has to look after his brother Chuck (Michael McKean), a partner in HHM who's become housebound due to an imagined allergy to electronics (I don't know a thing about mental conditions so I'll just take Gilligan and Gould's word for it). As his ventures lead him to continuous brushes with the law, Jimmy finds an unlikely ally in a stony-faced tollbooth operator named Mike Ehrmantraut (Jonathan Banks).

Odenkirk's titular crusader is given more depth and backstory, and a surprisingly noble and sensitive man emerges from behind the suits and fast-talking. But he's also very much the man we remember, who can talk like his life depends on it (which it often does) and has a rather grey interpretation of the law. One of his definitive scenes is from episode 2 (“Mijo”) where he's kidnapped by the murderous druglord Tuco Salamanca (Raymond Cruz in an amazing shock cameo). Against the odds, Jimmy is able to talk him out of killing him and his associates – this after they tried to con him and insulted his grandmother. As well as showing Jimmy's resourcefulness and the sheer force of his charisma, it also demonstrates how he goes from being a small-time crook to the lawyer who's got the ear of every lethal criminal in Albuquerque.

The show's biggest connection with Breaking Bad is in its central theme – the feeling of inadequacy in a callous society, and how this can drive people to do terrible things. Like Walter White, Jimmy has watched other people overtake him despite all his hard work. His “office” consists of a tiny boxroom at the back of a beauty salon. His efforts to earn a place at HHM are deliberately quashed by his own brother. We learn how he was forced to move to Albuquerque after rather creatively vandalizing the car of the man who slept with his wife. All this frustration climaxes in a meltdown at a nursing home bingo session. Odenkirk coming apart at the seams while keeping a straight face throughout is one of the most shocking yet moving scenes I've ever seen on television.

The theme of inadequacy is also explored through the Kettlemans, a wealthy couple who are being sued for embezzling $1.5 million. Craig (Jeremy Shamos) is a caricaturishly pathetic man, browbeaten by his wife Betsy (Julie Ann Emery) who forces him to believe that this embezzlement is the right way to punish his employers – despite all evidence to the contrary, as Jimmy sees they haven't a hope of winning the case. This arc comes to an unexpected close when Craig finally asserts himself and takes a deal that will force him to confess his guilt. Throughout these two shows, we've seen the lengths people to which people will go to cover up their wrongdoing and the catastrophic consequences of it. By taking the deal, Craig distinguishes himself from the likes of Jimmy, Mike, and in particular, Heisenberg.

The key point of the show is that playing by the rules always comes with a price. Unsurprisingly, the protagonists are often forced to break the law or their own ethical code to get a result. Jimmy and Mike trick the Kettlemans into their confession by breaking into their house. Chuck deceives his brother to protect the integrity of his lawfirm. Most chillingly of all, Mike's son (who's also a police officer) is murdered for hesitating to take a kickback. Like Breaking Bad, a question mark hangs over the main character – how much is Jimmy's final choice based on his own ambition, and how much was forced on him by the world? Jimmy's desire to be a respected lawyer in the firm feels sincere, but Chuck refuses to give him that chance. Hurt by his betrayal, Jimmy goes back to Chicago for a week and rediscovers his love of scamming people, which prompts him to abandon the opportunity to join a respected lawfirm at the end of the season. We've already seen that even as a lawyer, Jimmy will bend the rules for his own gain, but were his attempts at reform sincere? This question will no doubt be the driving force of the show in the future.

The other recurring character who's given more depth is of course Mike, whose grim implacability is a nice contrast with Jimmy's ingrained spin. Mike is exactly as we remember him, calmly yet firmly refusing to buy the bullshit of a world he's seen too much of. That is, apart from Episode 6 (“Five-O”) where he becomes the focus and we finally see what brought him to Albuquerque in the first place. The whole episode is given over to an origin story, meaning the current thread with the Kettelmans comes to a halt, something which I'm sure annoyed a number of people. But it's all made worth it by the ending where Mike opens up to his daughter-in-law, and for the first time we see Mike as a vulnerable human being, not a sullen bulldog.

It's not just Jonathan Banks' masterful performance that makes this scene so crucial to the character, It also provides the link between Mike the Grunt, and Mike the loving grandfather, a jarring dichotomy never really explored before. Mike is grieving for his son, who was killed because of the corrupt culture that Mike himself has held up. This explains why he's so unusually nurturing and affectionate towards Kaylee – he's trying to be the father she doesn't have anymore.

As for new characters, we meet Kim Wexler (Rhea Seehorn) who also works at HHM. Although her role is largely based on giving the firm a more human presence and being a love interest for Jimmy, Seehorn doesn't play her as too nice or friendly, so she doesn't come across as trite. Her cool professionalism also highlights her more compassionate moments, such as when she asks her boss, Howard Hamlin (Patrick Fabian) to tell her why he still won't let Jimmy join the firm. Hamlin is entertaining to watch play off against Jimmy. Like Kim, his character never becomes a caricature despite his obvious role as “the Man” - he comes off as obsequious and insincere, without ever falling into outright slimy. The barely concealed tension between himself and Jimmy makes for a fascinating dynamic, and I hope to see it expanded on in later seasons.

We are also introduced to Mike's daughter-in-law Stacie (Kerry Condon) another character I hope to see more of as her scenes with Mike were some of the best of the season. Given Mike's expanded role we may even find out what happens to her and Kaylee after Mike's murder. The lack of closure is something I felt the Breaking Bad finale was sorely missing. As for villains, there is Tuco's lieutenant Nacho (Michael Manda) whose silent composure is every bit as frightening as Tuco's violent mood swings. Although it's obvious Nacho will end up either dead or on the run (given he's working behind his boss's back) it still makes for an intriguing set-up.

Better Call Saul is a triumphant return for the Breaking Bad team. Here's hoping Jimmy has as much fun on his upward climb as I will watching him – before the inevitable collapse.

TV Review - Game of Thrones (S05E01) "The Wars to Come"

(This review contains spoilers both for the episode 1 and for books 4 and 5 of A Song of Ice and Fire)

So Game of Thrones has finally returned and now we're at an interesting point in its development. With almost all of George RR Martin's books adapted, the show is now having to diverge from its source material, which inevitably has raised the ire of many fans. This is also the first season I've watched having read all the books, meaning I know some of what's going to happen, but other stuff has left me and everyone else in the dark.

Personally, I prefer it like this. The books are amazing, but there are few TV shows that have gripped me quite as much as Game of Thrones has, TV being the breeding ground for predictability it is. As someone who watched the show first and read the books after, I have no problem continuing in the same vein. After all, the books are so much more detailed than the show that there's still a lot more to discover in them, even if you already know the bare-bones plot.

The season 5 pilot sees Tyrion Lannister (Peter Dinklage) arrive in Pentos, where the cryptic Lord Varys (Conleth Hill) tries to rope him into his scheme to help Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke) take the Iron Throne. Daenerys herself is trying to suppress counter-revolution in the city of Meereen. Cersei Lannister (Lena Headey) is reeling from the power vacuum left by Tywin's murder, fearing (not unreasonably) that their former allies will turn on them to seize the Throne for themselves. And at the Wall, Jon Snow (Kit Harrington) tries to reach an agreement between Stannis Baratheon (Stephen Dillane) and Mance Rayder (Ciaran Hinds), leader of the wildlings.

Since this is only the season opener, The Wars to Come is more about putting the pieces in place. It opens with Cersei remembering an encounter with a witch from childhood, who tells her that a younger queen will one day usurp her. The most obvious suspect is of course Margaery Tyrell (Natalie Dormer), who we can see does want Cersei out of the way by marrying her to her brother. One of the great things about the show is it gives more depth and motivation to characters who don't have POV status in the books. Margaery is certainly one of the show's most fascinating characters, because you're not quite sure what her motivations are, whether you've read the books or not. We know she's ambitious, but does that make her as cold-blooded as Cersei? From her dealings with Joffrey, we can see she'd certainly make a better queen, because she at least knows that treating your poorer subjects well is a good way to stop them rebelling against you. Is Margaery as much a monster as her rival or is she just politically savvy? After all, if there's anything this series has taught us, it's that you can't afford to be too nice, as evinced from poor dead Ned's head.

Understandably, Tyrion isn't in a mood to do anything productive after the ordeal he was put through last season. We do however get an interesting glimpse into Varys' character when he talks of the powerful oppressing the powerless, and how Daenerys could mean the end of that. It's a nice retort to Littlefinger's “Chaos is a Ladder” speech from season 3, and shows that while the two men use very similar means to get what they want, their ends could be wildly different. I stress “could be” because it is Varys after all. Varys is another character who's fiendishly hard to pin down, meaning he could end up one of the most controversial characters between the two media. He's so enigmatic, D&D's interpretation of him could prove wildly different to Martin's vision.

The Meereen subplot also focuses on setting up future events – in this case, introducing the Sons of the Harpy, a sinister cabal bent on overthrowing the new queen. Tellingly, their gruesome introduction comes right after the pulling down of the immense Harpy, just when it seems as if Daenerys's hold on the city is assured. Once again, power proves to be a treacherous, unpredictable thing in Martin's universe.

As well as Tyrion's disillusionment, the episode's emotional core is Jon's, but more importantly Mance's dilemma. Mance can bend the knee to Stannis and spare himself a horrific fate, but in doing so he will shatter everything he's been building towards by making the wildlings lose faith in him. Ciarán Hinds gives a wonderfully nuanced performance when he hears what they have planned for him. For once, we see Mance's armour crack and we're reminded that for all his mythification, he's just another man, and a Sworn Brother once. In this scene, Jon is an extension of Mance: he represents his past and the world he once belonged to. And by the end of the episode, Jon becomes his saviour as well, by defying a southron god and saving him from an agonizing death.

Or does he? This is where, as a book-reader, I was a tad confused. "Mance's" execution plays out differently here, where instead of screaming and renouncing all, he struggles not to let the Red God's servants see his fear – another fine turn from Hinds. So ... was that really Mance that was burned, or was it another wildling (most likely Tormund) in disguise? Given how Mance's demeanour differs so much here from the books, I wonder if D&D are already going off-track by killing Mance before his time?

This time, not even Martin has all the answers. But with the pieces in place, Game of Thrones looks set for another amazing season.

Book Review - Bleak House (Charles Dickens)

The classical genre isn't one that I'm overly familiar with. While I've studied a few texts for university work, I've never sat down and read one in my own time. For a long time, I never really strayed outside the science fiction or fantasy genre. I decided if I should branch out, I should at least start with a name and a story I was familiar with. I've a vague recollection of a BBC adaptation of Dicken's gargantuan tome, made about ten years ago. So despite its great length, Bleak House felt a good place to start.

The story is a vast one, spread all over England with an endless amount of characters. The plot orbits an illegitimate girl named Esther Summerson, who is adopted by a man named John Jarndyce, the namesake of a notoriously complex and long-running Chancery suit. Meanwhile, Esther's estranged mother, Lady Dedlock, struggles to keep her secret safe while being threatened by the ruthless lawyer Mr Tulkinghorn. Multiple subplots cling to these narratives, but these two are the main ones.

Despite its length, the story revolves around a few key themes, and many of its characters share similar traits which highlight these themes. Parasitism is one of the most prominent, as shown through the likes of Harold Skimpole, one of the novel's most repugnant characters. Skimpole is a man of many friends, hopping from one to another like a flea, charming them out of their money. But what seperates him from other parasites such as Mr Smallweed or Mr Vholes, is the manner in which he does so. Smallweed for instance, is clearly a grotesque; decrepit and sunken in his chair, hurling insults and cushions at his senile wife. Smallweed is a moneylender, and claims to be the friend of his clients, but does so in such an obsequious manner that the pretense is obvious. Smallweed takes great pleasure in ensnaring his clients, then lording it over them when things turn against them, as happens to Mr George.

By contrast, Mr Skimpole seems completely oblivious to the detrimental effect he has on everyone he meets. Whenever confronted by this, he launches into rambling tirades about what a child he is, and thus that he cannot be held accountable for anything. The early descriptions of Skimpole are also deceptive, painting him at first as a friendly sprite-like figure - “He was a little bright creature, with ... a sweet voice, and there was a perfect charm about him”. While Smallweed's guise is so thin he clearly doesn't care about hiding his true nature from people, Skimpole maintains his guise even when everyone else has become disillusioned with him. The most damning example of this is when Esther confronts him on his betrayal of Jo to the police. Skimpole once again attempts to cover himself, but always with a charming smile as if he can really expect to get away with it. He has bought into his own delusion and so refuses to grow out of his childish ways. While Smallweed is unpleasant, Skimpole is absolutely infuriating as a character. While reading I wanted to somehow reach into the text and shake some sense into him.

The parasitism of these characters is reflected in the case itself. Jarndyce and Jarndyce reads like a Lovecraftian abomination – exposing yourself to it leaves you open to losing your mind. “The Mace and Seal” act like a siren that lures people to the courthouse, where the case siphons away their money and their senses. Miss Flite eerily describes to Esther how the case ruined her father, then her brother and sister, and finally she herself is caught in its grip. The story's tone here is highly deterministic, as it claims that there is no way to actively beat the intricacies of the legal system. Mr Jarndyce escapes only by ignoring it completely. The case comes to an end, not by being resolved, but by collapsing under its own costliness. The monster isn't beaten through determination or cleverness, but by being strangled by its own red tape.

The case is reflected in the story's plot, not only in complexity but also in predatoriness. Attempts to assert control over events often meet with disaster, with Mr Tulkinghorn being the most striking example. With his cold calculating manner, Tulkinghorn at first appears the type who would flourish in such an environment. He is not only fiercely intelligent, but pragmatic, never acting on impulse and always in control of himself. His prestige makes him a favourite of the elites, while his connections with the police mean he can dominate the lives of the poorer classes as well. He sees Lady Dedlock as “a study” as he toys with her, showing how his abilities have made him both arrogant and utterly emotionally dettached. But ultimately, Tulkinghorn's menacing nature is a red herring, when he's shot by Lady Dedlock's former maid, one of his agents. It proves a fitting end, where Tulkinghorn becomes a victim of his own games.

At the heart of the story lies Esther Summerson. She gets a narrative thread of her own, which is deeply personal, in contrast with the omniscient narrative which overlooks all the other characters. Esther's account is clearly meant to be the heart of the story, however I found many of her segments very tedious, largely because the characters she meets aren't that interesting. Esther herself was an engaging enough heroine to start with, but I became worn out as the story dragged on and on. The characters surrounding her (Ada, Richard, Mr Jarndyce, Caddy, Charley) aren't much better. I suppose it's the old cliche of the villains and grotesques more interesting than the heroes. Even Esther's relationship with Lady Dedlock failed to stimulate me. The revelation of her parentage does little to advance the plot (at least from Esther's perspective) until towards the end of the story. By this time, I had largely stopped caring.

It doesn't help that Esther spends a lot of time observing other characters' lives, instead of contributing to the story herself. Despite it being her narrative, much of it focuses on her two friends, Richard and Ada, falling in love. I found this subplot to be one of the story's worst elements – the romance is insipid and the two lovers are completely flat. Richard's death at the end of the novel is meant to serve as a tragic climax, but given his blandness beforehand I simply didn't care. Esther also watches as another friend of hers falls in love with a struggling dance instructor. The young couple have to endure his overbearing father, which made this subplot slightly more interesting as it gave the promise of some conflict. Unfortunately, this thread is never resolved and leaves something of a gap in the end. Esther's passivity is also glaringly obvious in the chase section of the story, as she accompanies Inspector Bucket in searching for her estranged mother. While Mr Bucket is the one actively searcing, Esther merely tags along and narrates for benefit of the reader. She is ultimately a useless character and many of her sections suffer as a result.

Esther is paralleled with Lady Dedlock, who also lies at the story's heart, yet is for the most part passive. However, Dickens here at least has a point to make. Lady Dedlock's paralysis is meant to show how empty life in the nobility can be. She may be wealthy and have a devoted and influential husband, but she is powerless against Mr Tulkinghorn's grim determination. Despite her status, Lady Dedlock is no more in control of her own life than any of the other characters. Her aloof manner for much of the story would also appear to make her as cold as the likes of Tulkinghorn, but it turns out this is only to mask her inner turmoil. Her failure to act against Mr Tulkinghorn gives her fate more poignancy; if she had killed him herself, it would have made the chance of a happy ending remote. But the fact that she flees as a result of a misunderstanding makes her fate seem more avoidable, and thus more tragic.

If Esther and Lady Dedlock are the heart of the story, Inspector Bucket is the brain. I found him to be the most fascinating character, due to his multi-dimensionality. He is introduced in the manner of a villain – acting as Mr Tulkinghorn's muscle to fetch Jo the sweeper as a witness. Later on though, he proves to be a sharp-witted man who not only catches Mr Tulkinghorn's murderer, but also sees through the vanity and shallowness of the people who clamour for financial aid from Sir Leicester Dedlock. Mr Bucket is also gracious to Esther, and comforts her as they try to find her mother. But this warmth clashes with his behaviour around Jo, which is nothing short of thuggish. Mr Bucket is also indirectly responsible for Jo's death, as he snatches him from the nurturing halls of Bleak House (to protect Mr Tulkinghorn's secrets) and leaves him to waste away in the slums of London. Although perceptive and compassionate, Mr Bucket also demonstrates the double standard of a society that is fair to some, but merciless to others.

The story's biggest flaw has to be its length. The copy I read was 990 pages long, but could have lost about 300 and wouldn't have suffered for it. The volume of characters makes it hard to recall exactly who everyone is and what their connections are with each other. The Jellyby family subplot, for instance, is one which could have been dropped. While I enjoyed the story for its themes and its vast scope, I felt Dickens became overindulgent in places. It's ironic that a story that attacks convoluted bureaucracy can't avoid being long-winded itself in places. With all that said, I would heartily recommed Bleak House. Its satire of a society peopled with memorable caricatures makes it a highly memorable read.

Book Review - The Little Sister (Raymond Chandler)

The Little Sister is the fifth book in the Philip Marlowe series. It starts with a girl from Kansas named Orfamay Quest hiring Marlowe to find her brother, Orrin. Marlowe's investigation leads him to a string of ice-pick murders, disenchanted movie stars and shady doctors.

Raymond Chandler's books are known for their nigh impenetrable plotting. I remember being completely dumbfounded reading The Big Sleep and not understanding the denoument at all. The Little Sister is much the same. I tried to keep all the information in my head but gave up halfway through, deciding that I would have to come back and read it some day. Not that that's a bad thing in itself. After all, reading a book more than once should be a sign of quality.

The plot may be a struggle, but the book thrives on atmosphere. It starts off on the lower rung of society with Marlowe investigating some rundown motels, then moves to the glitzy (but just as corrupt) world of Hollywood. The settings may be diverse, but they all carry the same hollow, washed-out feeling.

Marlowe himself carries this feeling throughout the book. In one scene, he discovers a man has stolen $150 from a freshly murdered corpse. Rather than report him, Marlowe lets him keep the money and allows him to flee the scene. Something similar happens at the very end of the book, where Marlowe hesitates to act to prevent a tragedy. Despite his attempts to maintain some semblance of honour (like protecting his clients even if it means getting arrested) Marlowe ultimately comes across like someone with little to no faith in society. The story itself doesn't seem to have much faith either, showing the police, the medical profession and Hollywood all through a jaded lense.

There's a multitude of characters for a 300-page book, two of which I found especially memorable. One of them was Flack, the housekeeper of the Van Nuys Hotel. The remarkable thing about Flack was how vivid he was despite his small role in the story. His characterisation was simple (lazy, greedy, cowardly) but his grotesqueness made him stand out. Flack symbolizes the corruption at the heart of this society, where people are ready to eat each other alive to stay on top.

The other character to have an impact on me was Detective Lieutenant Christy French. Despite his hatred for Marlowe for disrupting his investigations, there were striking similarities between them. Like Marlowe, French feels disenchanted in a world he feels doesn't recognise his hard work; he gives a resonant speech on it in Chapter 29. And while he and his partners enjoy letting Marlowe sweat, French is shown to have a personal code when it comes to abusing suspects. The story contrasts him with the more thuggish Moses Maglashan. The connection between Marlowe and French is more proof of the destructive effect of this society – the institutional constraints of the force, and Marlowe's duties to his clients put them fiercely at odds with each other, even though they're ultimately very similar.

In conclusion, this book is to be enjoyed for its atmosphere and stylish character depictions which convey the damaging effect of the world of the story. It's not a book to brighten up your day and it will no doubt leave you scratching your head at the plot, but it's worth it nonetheless. Chandler makes the story tantalising enough that I hope to return to it some day, hopefully to gain a better understanding of it.

Short Story Review - Twenty Lights to the Land of Snow (Michael Bishop)

First published in 2012 in "Going Interstellar"

(This review contains spoilers)

“Twenty Lights to the Land of Snow” is a short story by Michael Bishop, where a future community of Tibetans and their Buddhist followers flee persecution in a spaceship bound for the planet Guge. When the Dalai Lama dies suddenly, a young girl called Greta Bryn Brasswell is chosen to succeed him. The story follows the course of Greta's life as she tries to cope with this new responsibility.

One interesting aspect of this story is that there isn't much in the way of plot; instead it only gives the reader little glimpses into Greta's life. A few times the story teases what could become the main plot (hinting the Dalai Lama was actually murdered, Greta finding out her mother had an affair, etc) but doesn't follow up on it. The story is a slow-burner and seeks more to establish a contemplatative tone, rather than a plot.

It achieves this effect through the way Greta's life is presented to the reader. Her life is shown in little vignettes, none of which last very long. Although the story is very personal and shows a lot of Greta's fear and excitement, the episodic narrative maintains a certain distance between her and the reader. This is fitting given her elevation to Dalai Lama, but I also felt it created some problems.

Greta herself was a fascinating character at the beginning, especially in how her feelings towards her title kept changing. The story opens when she's seven, and at that age her sulky refusal to accept her title feels like a child refusing to go to bed. As she becomes a young woman, this turns to a genuine fear of the weight of responsibility. However, this doesn't stop her being resentful when a boy named Jetsun is named the Dalai Lama by a rival group of monks. Greta's contradictions humanise her greatly, as they reflect the uncertainty that comes from responsibility.

All the other characters are fairly forgettable, with the exception of Greta's parents. Her mother's pressuring her into accepting her title came across as emotional blackmail, and seems downright cruel when we learn the circumstances behind Greta being chosen. Greta's father, it turns out, only joined the expedition out of love for his wife, but has since become disillusioned with Buddhism, which he regards as an “oceanic dettachment”. I found something tragic in his character, having made a momentous choice that he can't back out of. Greta's shock at learning of her mother's infidelity and her father's disillusionment adds to the feeling of dettachment in the prose, as she realises her parents are nothing like how she imagined them.

The story tries to maintain a happier view of family: Greta acts as a maternal figure to a girl called Alicia, and later has a daughter whom she dotes on. But I found these parts of the story comparatively hollow and saccharine.

I also felt Greta changed far too rapidly in the second half of the story after she is formally sworn in as the new Dalai Lama. Her acceptance of her role and her decision to have a child felt far too sudden and didn't seem to fit with what we'd seen of her before. Her more serene manner towards the end also makes her less interesting as she has less to struggle against. This disconnect, while fitting for the subject matter, comes at the cost of interesting characterisation. And while the story is clearly aiming for an emotionally subdued tone, I felt it was missing something by not having a proper resolution between Greta and her parents.

In conclusion, I would say “Twenty Lights to “The Land of Snow”” starts off as an interesting coming-of-age story, but suffers from an abrupt shift in characterisation and becomes less interesting once its protagonist stops developing.