Ultraviolet (1998)

Uneven Ultraviolet Remains Unique and Watchable.

by Kristin Battestella

Writer and director Joe Ahearne (Apparitions) helms six episodes of the 1998 British miniseries Ultraviolet. Despite some unevenness and unrealized potential, unique vampire nuggets keep the series intriguing as Detective Michael Colefield (Jack Davenport) is recruited by hematologist Angela Marsh (Susannah Harker) and ex-soldier Vaughn Rice (Idris Elba) to join an elite vampire hunting unit when his partner Jack (Stephen Moyer) disappears. Father Pearse Harman's (Philip Quast) team uses the latest gear and scientific advancements to defend the unaware public as vampires experiment on humans as part of their global domination plans.

Sunset bridges and photo negatives with no one showing up on them open “Habeas Corpus” before mall chases and underground terminals with security mirrors and circuit cameras that can't see the perpetrator either. Dead informants and stakeouts lead to a jilted bride, internal affairs, garlic gas grenades, and shootouts with unusually sophisticated bullets. Ultraviolet is an interesting mix of procedural drama and subtle supernatural with the eponymous scanners looking for blood and bite marks. The back and forth cryptic does take longer than it should – we're all watching because we know this is about vampires. However, whispers of Vatican sanctioned defenders against creatures who insist they aren't really evil are intriguing amid talk of trading the Middle Ages and old church ways for new technology. The effectiveness of crosses and holy water, after all, is a question of faith. Dusty piles of vampire remains are collected in sealed canisters, halting regeneration of viable subjects as laser procedures stave off infections for those bitten. Break the blacked out windows of a luxury car and the driver gets a little crispy in “In Nomine Patris.” Fortunately, the wealthy and reclusive want to keep their immortal grandfather and son switches quiet as our unique team follows the money trail to vampires building safe houses with secure basements and no windows. Leftover funds go to medical charities and blood banks, of course. Red dust piles on the front seat and testing which witnesses are vampires by flashing a little daylight are more fun than some of the case of the week unevenness. Ultraviolet resorts to episodic encounters rather than fully embracing its unique arc of V Roman Numerals and Stockholm Syndrome decoys who insist no organization has the right to exterminate a superior species. By “Sub Judice,” vampires are studying radiation contamination in their human food supply, and our team each has a moment amid miscarriages, nosebleeds, exhumed coffins, suspicious ultrasounds, and a potential hybrid embryo with immunity to daylight. Ultraviolet provides sophisticated science and a whiff of body horror without shock film making, placing the multi-level moral complications and monstrous drama above the in your face editing and crescendos that often overtake today's horror television. Patients question if our secret agency is right or wrong in telling people what to do – weighing the psychological, medical, and religious toll alongside the provocative horrors. This hour may be heavy handed today, but it's also a creepy parable using real world and fictitious frights. 
 

School bells and altar boys bring shocking violence and blood in “Mea Culpa.” Nobody wants this to be a V case, but the team opens the classroom blinds to see which students recoil. Reporters snoop like private investigators amid meningitis cover ups, crosses, and abuses while testing for infected youths and skin cancer cures mix with vampire patient zeroes and human carriers, blurring who is being good or bad when evil happens right under the church's nose. Ultraviolet again addresses real world issues within fantastic perimeters, however the balance between radical science and vampires feels uneven, more like a SVU weekly meandering between personal, topical, and high tech horror when Ultraviolet needed more focus in its short lifespan. “Terra Incognita” better ties the personal and global together with transfusions, sickle cell cures, and bleeding patients foolishly believing the vampires want peace. Sure, they want to help people when such healing is for their own gain. Medical supply crates are cold and empty when scanned before helicopter surveillance, truck raids, and decoys. Team members are captured, trapped with sunset imminent, and debates rage on which prayers and which gods to call on or what you would do if these vampires could save your loved one. Ultraviolet embraces its vampirism meets realism here – escalating with shocking casket reveals and explosive results. There are a lot of juicy but under cooked details dropped in “Persona Non Grata,” with the reasons behind the vampire experiments, nuclear fallout to blot out the sun, and misfiring standoffs taking a backseat to lesser plots before male on male back alley neck bites, parking with blood around the lips, and whispers of infections add homoerotic layers. Vampires protest how one can't tell the difference between them and humans just by looking at them and object to the food chain structure because they want to save the ecosystem – or so they say. Keeping an open mind on the vampire possibilities is dangerous thanks to regeneration risks, immortality versus cancer diagnosis, and living forever but apart from god debates. The vampires corner our team with silvered tongued speeches and church confrontations as trading vampire dust specimens crosses the line between friend and foe.

Jack Davenport's (Pirates of the Caribbean) Detective Sergeant Michael Colefield just doesn't know who to trust or believe, striking out on his own investigation to find out what happened to his partner when he's not good at covering his tracks. He resigns from regular police work yet disagrees with how this specialized team operates – remaining unsure if he's cut out for this new line of work and sitting on the opposite side of the table to question the team. While viewers enter this world with Michael, Ultraviolet doesn't stay with his point of view and he's never the primary investigator on a case. Davenport is supposed to be the star, but his angry cop brooding and squinting ironically make him look like a vampire. Michael isn't always forthcoming with his information – forcing the team to arrive to the same conclusion separately and thus hampering the case. He becomes more jerky stressed by the final episode, doing some really stupid crap when other events are more interesting than his conflicted characterization and Ultraviolet doesn't have the time. We learn about Susannah Harker's (Chancer) stern hematologist Angela Marsh by Michael asking Vaughn about her late husband and child, for she keeps her guard up by dispensing the scientific details. Angela at times makes victims feel like they are the ones being investigated, but she needs their answers in getting to the bottom of the vampire connection. She insists she is a doctor trying to help people and isn't without compassion, but Angela reserves her emotions unless certain cases cut too close to home. Her house with its sharp, pointy fence is seen briefly, and Angela doesn't mind being called an anti-social parent because she won't let her surviving pre-teen daughter play basketball after dark. The vampire messengers twist her past, using revelations about her husband against her, and Angela seems more like Ultraviolet's star character when we spend more time with her science and situation. Vaughn Rice is also always one step ahead of Michael, and Idris Elba's (Prometheus) ex-army man has all the cool action gear. While said to loose his temper and have PTSD, Vaughn is the team's muscle with no problem roughing up creeps. He doesn't answer to cops and won't quit until he gets the information he needs. Vaughn knows how to not look in a vampire's eyes – shooting first and asking questions later saves Michael several times, too. He gladly shares all the vampire details, calling them leeches and pleased that anesthetics don't work on them and injuries leave them in permanent agony. Although we only learn about Vaughn's military past rather than seeing him at home like everyone else, we know he doesn't believe or use crosses in his arsenal. He's not asking to be saved and just wants one who is dead to stay dead. He likes Michael and wants him to use his potential and stay alive so they can be friends, as outsiders can be used against them and can't know or understand what they do. His bond with Angela, however, is special. They know the traumas that brought them to this organization, and he remains unrequited and protective of her. While the tug and pull of a trio can make for interesting angst, Ultraviolet may have bee more taut with just Angela and Vaughn as a complex duo.

Philip Quast's (Sons and Daughters) Father Pearse Harman likewise keeps his feelings close to the vest. Unfortunately, he's not in best of health but acts unfettered by night sweats, fatigue, and his secret cancer diagnosis. While a warm mentoring figure to Angela in private, he's tough on Michael, forcing him to think beyond basic cop deductions before he himself balks at the idea of vampires evolving into something more than just a predator. Sadly, we don't spend enough time with him – a minister who doesn't seem very devout and fights dirty on a case but refuses to hear anything bad said about the church. We don't know how he came to this unit, so hearing a vampire ask if he got religion because of them rather than having faith first is an interesting tangent from a great one on one that happens too late. Maybe he didn't have to be an uber priestly vampire hunter with an old fashioned kit, but the religious undercurrents in Ultraviolet could have been used more to strengthen characters. Does a man of god who knows about immortality doubt once he has a terminal condition? Guest Corin Redgrave (Excalibur) appears as a vampire ambassador in the last two episodes, and this kind of immediate, known foe should have brought a face to the vampire element much sooner. Ultraviolet wastes time on unnecessary side characters when this shrewd emissary better twists the good versus evil cause. Stephen Moyer (True Blood) is a jerky ladies man who's supposed to be getting married, but it's obvious Jack was corrupt, shady, and blindsiding his partner Michael. Several characters say it is time to move on from Jack's mistakes, yet rather than being the starting plot that opens Michael's eyes, Ultraviolet is still talking about Jack when there are global vampire domination attempts at work. It's small minded to keep tying the story to him, and why is Colette Brown's (Holby City) nice teacher Kirsty going to marry Jack anyway? She tells Michael she deserves to know what's happening, but does she really? Her typical storyline gets old fast, trapping the vampire science and frightening implications in pedestrian paces. Fiona Dolman (Midsomer Murders) as Michael's ex Frances helps him occasionally – her covert skills make one wonder why she wasn't the one recruited – but she's merely here as a go between used by Michael to contact his other girl. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Naturally, there are dated arcades, payphones, and pop music to start Ultraviolet. However, the organs and eerie scoring invoke a gothic mood for the contemporary setting alongside well lit nights, effective red lighting, and the titular purple hues. VHS, pausing and rewinding evidence on big old televisions, fax machines, cassettes, floppy disks, and “the 'net” – it's pleasing to see people use answering machines and corded phones at a desk rather than smartphones everywhere. Those old ass computer programs and poor facial recognition printouts, unfortunately, don't really help the investigation, leaving officials to use white boards and cluttered paperwork instead of high tech abstract ease. Beautiful churches contrast the carbon based bullets and guns with video screens to indicate who is an unseen target – a medieval meets technology mix that brings vampire defense into the twentieth century rather than trying to create something unrealistically futuristic. Vampire spinal taps and sophisticated travel via sunset time-release coffins accent the ultraviolet filming, mirrors, and reflections depending on who's on which side of the glass. Editing matches the intense action late, but we should know more about this unit, such as it's true name or a headquarters facade. Viewers remain in the dark as our team walks around telling people they aren't the police or the government. There is no face to their organization, and it leaves Ultraviolet with a short sighted miniseries tone indeed – as if an overwhelmed writer/director burned himself out before mapping out the balance between story arcs and personal focus that would give the series its legs. Fortunately, there are some cool concepts here with contemporary issues and doctor dilemmas wrapped in unique vampire spins. Ultraviolet will be old hat to some, a blend of police drama and vampire science not intended for everyone. Thankfully, it's pleasing to revisit vampires before the action horror of Underworld and the sappy love of Twilight. Ultraviolet's medieval meets millennial macabre has enough entertainment, cerebral horror, and high concepts to carry its mini marathon.

Bramwell Seasons 1 and 2

Bramwell Series 1 and 2 Worth a Look

by Kristin Battestella

Young, stubborn Doctor Eleanor Bramwell (Jemma Regrave) struggles to fit in with the male dominated Victorian hospitals and instead opens a Thrift Street Infirmary in the downtrodden East End – establishing 1995's Bramwell in a worthy seven episode debut.

The London 1895 operating theater opening “The World of Man” is full of men with scalpels giving instructions on removing ovaries to cure a woman's hysteria. Bloody bandages and dirty rags visualize the risky surgical statistics as our eponymous woman doctor suggests the opposite – would we cut off the testicles of an unhappy man? Sass and piano music contrast the amputation shockers as the upper glass gents barely tolerate this annoying female. After all, it is a woman's fault if she can't have a baby because her aristocrat husband gave her syphilis! Female tears and men's dirty secrets make it difficult for a doctor to find the truth, and Bramwell goes for the heavy topics early. Rather than have medicine bow to social graces, our lady finds new causes via her Thrift Street Infirmary. However, the clinic gets off to a rocky start with chloroform but no masks, delicate bowel surgeries, and jerky patients high and low wanting morphine or champagne amid vaudeville songs, bawdy humor, and a little romance with Shirley Anne Field (Lady Chatterley) in “The Threat of Reprise.” Our doctors promise not to talk about blood and gore when meeting the bishop for a donation, but they will poor tea and discuss urine tests and gutting patients. Drunken men just don't want a woman operating on them, and Bramwell layers The Thrift cases, personal dramas, and underlying themes per episode as mistakes are made and lessons are learned in this still relatively barbaric time in medicine. Sadly, a laundry woman in labor and her husband Idris Elba (Prometheus) fear they'll be found out in “The Outcast's Baby” as of the time whispers about not having delivered any black babies add to the “But she's English!” racist reactions. Fine performances make up for anything on the nose as heathen jokes and thieving suspicions add to the primitive attitudes before a premature breach birth, blood loss, and antiquated equipment lead to gruesome conflicts at the all important society dinner party. Wet nurses must be bribed, everyone argues if the child belongs with its black father or in a white orphanage, and Bramwell's dilemmas don't always have an easy answer.

However, Bramwell's Second eight episode 1996 Season struggles with an uneven start before a strong mid-season thanks to the cholera outbreak of “The New Formula.” Vomiting and boiling water escalate to quarantines and radical new medicines – The Thrift is ill equipped for such contagious crowds and blood everywhere. Doctors disagree on the source, disinfecting the ward, and how to treat foreign patients. The more ambitious physicians accept the treatment risks, jeopardizing one to save another with desperate and ambiguous but necessary decisions resulting in shocking miscalculations and upsetting fatalities. “The International Connection” begins with stereotypical Native American views and judging intelligence on the size of the so-called sub race skull as imperial rich white attitudes decide it's better for a poor child to be adopted abroad. This suave would be savior claims he's helping the children even as he calls them dumb, dirty urchins prone to steal and shouts at his fainting and bruising young wife Kelly Reilly (Eden Lake). Barbaric positions on battered women, self harm, and the measure of human intelligence being the deciding factor on how you treat a person are rightfully called ridiculous while those who stand up because the needs of the child are more important are berated as sentimental and spineless. This is a surprisingly timely and strong episode layering several issues. Alas, the street fair, fun house mirrors, and bemusing mermaids of “The Carnival Attraction” lead to monstrous stigmas and dangerous surgeries to correct a girl's facial deformity. Is she better off in the freak show or risking an operation for a chance at a normal life? The procedure goes forth despite disagreements on the course of action, employer interference, and the possibility of brain damage. Once again, The Thrift oversteps its bounds of care amid abuse, abandonment, and blame before a post-carriage accident exam reveals a lady patient is really male prostitute Hans Matheson (The Tudors) in “The Identity Loss.” Our female doctor understands the role reversal despite others' homophobia and sodomite pointing fingers hypocrisy. They cut his long hair over his preference for a feminine appearance, and when he's attacked by other patients, the police don't exactly care. No one's willing to donate blood for a jury rigged transfusion, and although he's conflicted at his so-called wickedness, he asks what he did wrong. While this is a very topical episode today, in the mid-nineties such themes were not often discussed, yet sophomore Bramwell does so a year before Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman does in its fifth season.

Unfortunately, Bramwell does have several less than stellar outings including “The Doctor's Committal” when the Thrift staff go looking for tuberculous and find a foul mouthed man refusing to admit he's in ill health. The gentleman doctors at the club have wealthy patients throwing their money away on new, unproven electric therapy, but our doctors won't walk away from those who don't want to be saved – and intrude right into their family affairs with elite no divorce attitudes and institutionalizing a man who'd rather live in uncouth happy squalor over upper class fronting. When doctors are causing trouble rather than helping, it makes for an unlikable hour. Bramwell has an early series arc establishing the clinic, but most episodes are individual crusades of the week with heavy social commentaries and no lighthearted breaks, simple Victorian cases, or explorations on the supporting cast. The overall drama is fine, but early in Year Two, A/B style plotlines tackle too much. Newfangled elevators, rail cars, and train delays lead to a well done disaster with sideways cameras, screaming zooms, and darkness in “The Rule of Thuggery.” Rescuing those trapped, leg injuries, broken arms, and dangerous debris provide fine shocks in this Series Two premiere as in the field amputations without morphine escalate into lingering trauma and gangrene. Sadly, this disaster plot degrades into thugs coercing patients because a crook wants to launder his dirty money through the infirmary. The gangster charity cum East End intimidation is hammy when neighborhood strong arming could have been an ongoing issue instead of shoehorning such themes into another story. St. Jude's Hospital is looking for a clinic assistant in “The Strain of Conscience,” and the stuffy committee that won't hire women makes Eleanor prove herself yet again by taking a test when there's a pregnant teen prostitute at The Thrift asking for an abortion so her pimp won't beat and starve her. Our lady doctor will probably always have to prove herself, but social vindication should not be what's the more important plot here.

Jemma Redgrave (Holby City and yes of those Redgraves) as Doctor Eleanor Bramwell chooses to be a surgeon in East End, eighteen inch waists and fainting spells be damned! She's not afraid to stand between an angry man and his quarry if medicine and compassion warrant, for her goal is to preserve the healthy and to work where she's needed, treating people regardless of what kind of person they are – an admirable but not always practical quest. Eleanor crudely sews a skirt into wide leg trousers to ride her bicycle and gets loud with unruly patients at The Thrift. She's both educated and determined but inexperienced as a doctor and often in over her head. Eleanor will crusade for the poor even when terrible people don't deserve such care yet she gets snotty with her frumpy society patients and looks down on a dance hall maven. Her judgment is clouded, and Bramwell allows its lead to be imperfect. Although sometimes the pursed lips and scene chewing is obvious, Eleanor can also be stubborn and fresh to those who help her, and she's too busy taking on every battle to notice when others exhaust themselves for her cause. Despite child welfare and labor injuries, “The Thrift of the Hunter” is the first time anything other than doctoring gets her attention – and it's the titular too good to be true neurologist who's curious about this radical lady surgeon. Scandals, marriages of convenience, and deceptions make for a more personal, humanizing episode as Eleanor cries at her bureau over men making her look the fool. The Series One finale “The Ideal Suitor” also has men arguing over how strong willed women need strong willed men, and Eleanor is taken down a peg over the barefisted boxing, army uniforms, and knockout injuries. She insists she's not a schoolgirl, but the awkward courting leads to a choice between marriage or medicine, for in this era, a woman can't do both. Blind patients and brain surgery are also tense enough without Bramwell resorting to sexual violence threats as proof of why she needs a man to protect her, but Series Two has her neglecting her clinic for a charming Irish rogue. It's surprising to see her crusade so easily dropped since the entire show is about her being emphatically against the malaise of high end medicine, but by “The Final Days” Season Two finale, Eleanor is off on a secret weekend vacation with her best gowns and hair down, forgetting any medical disagreements with Doctor O'Neill when they are mistaken for Mr. and Mrs. Bramwell. Maybe she's always meant to be unlucky in love, however it's frustrating that she can be so naive and emotionally attached to a man who does not give or earn her professional respect.

David Calder (Widows) as Eleanor's father Robert is often caught in the middle between the man's man doctoring and when his daughter is in the right. He wants her to tend the ladies in his private practice, but warns high horse Eleanor when she meddles with patient emotions or vulnerability without any social discretion or considering their own family reputation. Robert wishes her late mother had been there to soften their daughter rather than let the hard world harden her, but he has a medicinal whiskey with Eleanor each night whether she heeds his regimental surgeon expertise or not. Kind Dad gives up his train seat to a little girl, goes on house calls despite his own broken arm, and tries to set up his uninterested daughter with a former soldier friend when not objecting to her new style low cut gown. He still wants to pick the man to look after Eleanor, failing to realize she doesn't need looking after by anyone. Robert's often angry over the risks at The Thrift and the surgical dangers at such improper facilities but in his own practice he'd rather not cheat a patient or tell them what they want to hear – making an enemy of important colleagues who provide high society placebos. However, certain cases also bring back painful wartime memories, and Robert questions his daughter's ambition when her patients are caught in the crossfire. When she lies about her relationships with men, Robert's shocked by her behavior yet relents on her romance because he is a good father who loves her regardless. In “The Return of the Betrayer” the elder Bramwell begrudgingly allows his penniless sister to return home amid the upscale dinner parties, sing a longs, and well earned fellowships threatened by her arrival. It's twenty years too late for forgiving her debts or scandalous living in sin with a married man, and this hour is one of the stronger episodes from Year Two in balancing both the at home and the hospital. Eleanor suggests her aunt take on The Thrift administrator role, and it might have been interesting to have a charming, outspoken society dame as a recurring character. Unfortunately, this spicy sister can't quite get respectable thanks to a young doctor Andrew Lincoln (The Walking Dead).

Kevin McMonagle's (Your Cheatin' Heart) Scottish Doctor Joe Marsham is also right when he says Eleanor brings everything on herself. He's comes to Thrift Street as a part time anesthetist before becoming a full time surgeon not afraid to tell it like it is to patients or either Bramwell. Marsham plays the soundboard for both father and daughter, toeing the line on their high ideals as needed because loyalty to the patient is the more important than lining his pockets. Though married and forced to do a dangerous operation on his own daughter, Marsham's jealous of Eleanor's suitors, saying she has more understanding that his wife and her strength is often what keeps him going. She likewise relies on his peacekeeping, but Marsham deflects on his true feelings to keep their friendship undamaged. He takes his doctoring seriously and wants everybody to pretend like they are in a proper infirmary without all their emotional turmoil. Andrew Connolly's (Fair City) introduction as St. Jude's doctor Finn O'Neill, however, is much more upfront. He doesn't want a woman doctor at his hospital but any antagonism with Eleanor is forgotten in half an episode – he wants her to lecture and loves her unusual personality! Of course, she uses his research opportunity to shock all her male colleagues with her latest infirmary case, and using a patient to prove a point impresses him. Finn also tosses out an ill woman running into his hospital screaming for help, and he's a two faced, unlikable example of what's wrong with medicine then and now. Eleanor calls him out over his using her infirmary when it suits him, but Bramwell rushes their relationship with his soulmates talk, making her look the other way when people die amid his trial and error medical science. He claims he's dedicated to saving lives and will do whatever it takes to treat the sick, glowing things Eleanor falls for while her father rightfully calls him a seducer and scheming opportunist. He confesses his love and asks for her hand in marriage a little late – after everyone is supposedly overreacting over his scandalous history.

Former patient and amputee Bentley becomes porter at The Thrift, using his crutch against unruly ruffians a time or two. Although as the series progresses, he goes sans support and Bramwell goes out of its way to never show Cliff Parisi's (EastEnders) from the knees down, leaving the audience to forget his missing foot rather than address any struggle. In Series Two, Ben Brazier (Layer Cake) as Bentley's equally sarcastic son Sidney helps at the infirmary, and both have a cantankerously endearing relationship with Ruth Sheen's (Another Year) Nurse Ethel Carr. Initially there as required, Nurse Carr makes an interesting counterpoint to the doctors with her affectionate bedside manner. She rightly prescribes that sometimes all a young patient needs is love and stands by Eleanor even when struck by attackers. Bentley calls her the pearl in his oyster who's a pain in his ass and “soft as shit,” but Nurse Carr enjoys giving Sidney some tough love. She confronts Eleanor too, thinking the doctor is often her own worst enemy for picking the wrong battles over the wrong clientele. Keeley Gainey (No Bananas) as Kate the Bramwell's long time maid is also solid as maids go, remaining supportive and praying for patients, but Bramwell could have done much more with its ensemble, focusing on their plights or dilemmas rather than tackling so many big issues. Michele Dotrice (Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em) as the ward's widowed benefactor Lady Cora Peters is initially shocked and fainting, but she wants to be where her wealth will do good. She handles the clinic's administration while charming more dough from other elites. Despite growing frail herself, Lady Cora wears a brave face and questions why Eleanor always criticizes or creates problems where there are none. It could have been fun to see her become more medically hands compared to Robert Hardy's (All Creatures Great and Small) mean, arrogant Doctor Herbert Hamilton. He'd rather do a hysterectomy on a healthy woman to cover for her noble husband, and Eleanor rightly calls him a greedy, past it charlatan placing politics above medicine when he tells her women were only made to be wives. He presents himself as doing no wrong in “The Trust of Kings,” but even his young medical students question his practice. Hamilton refuses to take The Thrift seriously, denying their use of a new x-ray machine and doing a patient more harm by ignoring overexposure warnings. He prescribes laudanum for the rich and misdiagnoses a woman as emotional when it is really a then fatal appendix. Typical!

Such maids, tea time, and English decorum add to Bramwell's late Victorian feathers, top hats, long skirts, fitted jackets, puffy sleeves, silk frocks, pocket watches, and white gloves. Those giant sleeves seem just a little impractical amid the blood splattered surgery aprons, medical bags, and nurses caps! How does all that fabric get into the tighter fitting coats? Despite candlelight dinners, gas lamps, ink blotters, crystal, pianos, and carriages; the downtrodden cobblestone and industrial mood remain gritty and dirty thanks to leeches, gross autopsies, intestines, bone saws, and onscreen amputations. Bramwell is a more realistic drama compared to the romantic, bright, western style of the earlier set but released two years prior Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman. The subdued palette and older, flat picture isn't very colorful, however, that adds to that East End bitter, primitive Victorian medical equipment, retro needles, vintage tourniquets, and bad teeth. Bicycles, boat races, and park strolls provide some whimsy amid cluttered period interiors relying on window light schemes – early microscopes, flash powder cameras, tea cups, and walking sticks carry an old fashioned charm. I chuckle also at every episode title needing an unnecessary “the,” and you could have a drinking game for every time they say “anesthetist” with their decidedly British pronunciation. Brief crass language and slang are also nothing too offensive or overly Cockney amid each largely dialogue driven fifty minutes. Ten episodes from Series One and Two were written by Lucy Gannon (Peak Practice) with director David Tucker (A Very Peculiar Practice) helming eleven hours of Bramwell, creating a cohesive but sensitive journey for our lady doctor.

Bramwell is a fine period drama not only less saccharin than the more well known Dr. Quinn, but easier to marathon thanks to its shorter seasons. Topical issues and the breaking of Victorian taboos are well presented in a likable feminine frame, making Bramwell a fine little piece that shouldn't be overlooked.

A Bonus Tom Hiddleston Trio

A Bonus Tom Hiddleston Trio

by Kristin Battestella

Call me crazy, but I prefer actor Tom Hiddleston's non-comic book fare to his work in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Gasp! Here's a batch of pictures for your Loki perusal – ranging from a little bit of Hiddy to a whole lot of Hiddy, depending on your dramatic or superhero mood. 

 

Archipelago – Writer and director Joanna Hogg's (Unrelated) 2010 second film featuring Hiddleston will be too dry and too slow to many. This is a very British, very white tale of rich people on vacation who have problems. Fortunately, young Thomas with the windswept noodle hair once again does daddy issues like nobody's business. His Edward is at a quarter life crossroads but his father is absent for this island last hurrah. Birds are chirping, beautiful waves are crashing – the Tresco, Scilly locations should be idyllic but the dirt roads are around the bend unknowns and the blustery coastal freedom contrasts the silent, congested interiors. Mother and sister mention childhood memories of this same getaway, but the isolated rental house is a beige slate drenched in uncomfortable awkwardness. Our tall son hits his head on the attic eaves rather than say the room is literally too small, and siblings bypass one another without acknowledgment. Wine is at the ready, everyone talks over each other about food or the weather, nothing that should be said is, and nobody means what they say. Bleeding heart Edward wants input on his forthcoming AIDS charity endeavor, but his white savior righteousness is misplaced – it isn't about the cause, just his need to do something meaningful. Nobody agrees much less cares what's going on with anyone else because they are too into their own issues and have no idea what they are doing with their lives. Let's talk about the most humane way to boil the lobster instead, yeah! Their chef can speak of her late father, but the family can't mention their absentee dad, preferring to waste an entire conversation on where to sit in an empty restaurant and complain about the food. Whether she morally agrees with the cuisine or not, their chef has a messy hands on job to do. Do you treat her as the help or include her? It's easier for Edward to flirt than converse with his mother and sister, who said his girlfriend couldn't come on this so-called family only escapade. The camera stays still in the common areas as people just shout from another room, interesting blocking that allows the audience to observe while mirroring the confined but disconnected. Maybe long ago the whole family could stay here, but now their dynamics have outgrown and suffocated any nostalgia. Small mundane moments reveal their solitude and boredom – four people can sit in a room and say nothing, remaining formal even with family. The ladies' local painting instructor isn't blood either, but his wisdoms relate to more than the canvas. Painting takes training and particular tools to perfectly capture the environs yet gives such emotion and free form expression if you let it – unlike dad's argumentative, one sided phone calls. Casting a real life painter to paint the landscape within the movie also adds a life imitating art meta even as the camera remains an arms length witness. Only one real conversation is framed in the traditional two person edit and the few close ups include one embarrassed mother and her son walking into a medium shot when his toughness on following his passion is questioned. Most of us must take our lives as is and like it no sabbatical in sight, and it's ob-la-di for the locals whether these rich guests eat pheasants, hug, and get over it or not. Nothing much happens here, there's no real plot to speak of, and those looking for stylish filming will find this plain. Some symbolism is too obvious, and the story could be sharper. We want to know how it got to this or what happens next, but they go on and so shall we, answers or not. The natural constructs create a raw and realistic nuclear social study where nothing is settled – a refreshingly frank change from the polished and trite family happiness so often seen onscreen. 



 Midnight in Paris – I am not a Woody Allen fan, and I was surprised to see this lighthearted 2011 tale won Best Original Screenplay amid other awards acclaim. A mid life crisis writer learning today is better than a glorified past is a pretty straightforward lesson, and Owen Wilson (Wedding Crashers) is both himself and a bumbling Allen placeholder. Ladies Lea Seydoux (Spectre) and Marion Cotillard (La Vie en Rose) are rival younger women ideals while Rachel McAdams (The Notebook) is a typical bridezilla. The terrible in-laws, adultery, detective, and hotel slapstick are unneeded as are uneven annoyances in the present and scenes away from the protagonist. The trying to be natural, on the move conversations through the amazing Franco tours feel like snobby set pieces with forced intellectual comedy. Yes, they are supposed to be mocking nostalgia shops, but why can't they just say antique store like the rest of us? This is an adult fantasy rather than Bill and Ted, but the plot is too obvious in being for audiences of a certain age who want to see the sentimental novelty – which goes directly against the moral of living in the now rather than a rose colored past, toeing the saccharin line with each I see what you did there excursion. Ironically, it's the stellar cast including T. Hiddy as F. Scott Fitzgerald to Alison Pill's (The Newsroom) Zelda, Corey Stoll (The Strain) as Ernest Hemingway, Kathy Bates (American Horror Story) as Gertrude Stein, and yet more famous intelligentsia that make the eponymous period segments the best parts of the show. The divine past patina, Parisian locales, scenic snapshots, vintage cars, and quality jazz are worth the artistic nominations, yet the film seems caught in a pretentious embarrassment of riches over whether the past or present is its star. Let's “Vogue” as many famous people as possible and see how many the audience knows! The punchlines and excellent one-on-one past wisdoms are strengthened by the actors' deliveries, yet more time is wasted on fictitious muses. How is Gertrude Stein a major character but Alice B. Toklas merely opens the door to their salon? Why does it take the aptly named Pender so long to realize what he needed was right – or should I say write there all along? While the fantastic travel simply is and there's no overt technology, our writer never has his novel in progress handy, doesn't carry a pen and paper, and is never seen actually doing any writing. Should he have been alone, drinking, dozing, and doubting if these escapades really happened or if that question matters? Why not spend one vivid night in the past with present bookends instead of meandering between who's who vignettes? This ninety minutes comes off as both stretched overlong and yadda yadda yadda glossing over what actually makes it interesting, losing steam despite some pleasant twists and unexpected moments. Though refreshing to mature viewers with comfortable familiarity compared to busy blockbusters, the superficial, flawed structure largely gets by on the novelty of the historical big names and the impressive actors filling their shoes. Can Hiddleston please play Fitzgerald again in a full on biopic ASAP?

Thor – Kenneth Branagh directs this pre-Disney 2011 Marvel escapade with the titular Chris Hemsworth, Our Man Hiddleston as the mischievous Loki, and Anthony Hopkins as Odin leading a fine saga ensemble including Stellan Skarsgard, Idris Elba, Rene Russo, and more. Back then this was a new cinema property, so the need for humorous fish out of water plots tied to contemporary earth is understandable despite the earthly shoehorn's distraction from the out of this world Asgard. Opening crashes and New Mexico comedy with Mary Sue perspectives are unnecessary, and the mostly telling rather than showing prologue may seem too easy along with dated CGI panoramic zooms, busy for the sake of being cool action, and small scale Asgard interiors. I wish Thor wore his helmet more, too, for the little girl in Adventures in Babysitting was happier to wear hers. Fortunately, there are fun costumes, a heroic score, a sweet Rainbow Bridge, and great galactic visuals creating a recognizable space fantasy without placing the spectacle over the frosty enemies, precious relics, and traitors in the House of Odin – unlike many recent blockbusters putting style over substance. These characters also change as Thor learns how to be a hero and Loki becomes a scene stealing villain. No, this isn't really “Loki: Brother of Thor” as some spiffy fan re-edits claim, but the deleted scenes should have been kept for even more sibling rivalry. The Destroyer showdowns match Loki's petty deceptions and tears real or crocodile as well as the side eye, face palm, and “TELL ME!” that launched a thousand GIFs. It's easy to forgive superhero movies as popcorn fun that aren't supposed to be Shakespeare, but Branagh layers the drama with subtle details well paced with action set pieces to heighten each act. This indeed elevates Thor with an extra touch of Bard – unlike the phoned in fan service and tedious interconnections that would otherwise allow Thor: The Dark World to be ignored. Subsequent appearances also reset Thor's lessons learned, leaving his solo movies feeling like they are about everything but what happens to Thor. Thankfully, references to Stark, Fury, and SHIELD are implied pleasantries here – fun moments to audiences in the know rather than a booked through 2020 requirement to consume every single thing in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. That's what irked me about the nineties comic book boom/fallout and still annoys me greatly about the MCU now. With the family friendly parable, brotherly angst, unexpected twists, and great explosions, this Asgard debut doesn't fall into that mind numbing, all comic book movies are the same trap. There are choices to be made for good or ill, a relatable villain, and time for reflection before and after the wild finale. Despite not going full on Asgard, overall this trusts its fantasy and likable characters, keeping this picture fun for repeat viewings. That RadioShack joke, though, ten years from now no one will get that o_O

You Make the Call

I Saw the Light – This 2015 Hank Williams biography is very disjointed, fading in and out from scene to scene with no narrative flow. It's tough to tell which moments are significant or mere transitions, for some vignettes feel shown just because they might have really happened but serve no other purpose in the film. I wasn't flicking away during commercials yet took two and half viewings to assure I hadn't missed anything – save for the half of the picture apparently on the cutting room floor. The artistic spotlights, silhouette schemes, and larger than life stature angles on the man as myth should have been used more alongside the vintage reels, home movie patinas, and black and white interchanges with manager Bradley Whitford (The West Wing) to anchor each chapter instead of the piecemeal time stamps. It's not in media res when you skip half the man's life with little rhyme or reason as to why. Although this is such a rich post-war era with deep Southern culture and lively tunes, there's little flavor here as recording session snippets, a verse or two on stage, mentions of “Jambalaya” being number one, and only two full-ish Opry performances don't make up for this ironic lack of songs. Imagine if King Creole skipped the club scene performances and just referred to them instead! The patchwork writing, directing, and editing seem like there's nothing much to tell – Hank wrote songs, loved his mother, women, and booze but not pain, then he died. Unfortunately, mother Cherry Jones (24) deserves more, and baby mama Wrenn Schmidt (Preservation) and second wife Maddie Hasson (Twisted) are treated insignificantly with a handful of deleted scenes still not nearly enough time. It's also tough to assess Elizabeth Olsen (Martha Marcy May Marlene) – sometimes fittingly forties and other times a modern girl playing dress up – as the unlikable first wife who can't sing, which isn't an easy thing to do. The Luke the Drifter scene is also confusing if you don't know about the pseudonym, and The Drifting Cowboys musicians are a compulsory who is who. Maybe its cliché to have a fictional composite band member/driver as an audience avatar losing his rose colored glasses of Hank, but we need more than this detached, arms length approach. And I say that as someone who isn't really a Hank Williams fan thanks to my Alabama grandmother's ironic use of his lyrics for insults, i.e. “Hey, Good Lookin'” when at your worst. The sad part here is that Tom Hiddleston gives a fine performance. He fits the period hats, suits, and flashy fringe by changing his entire physicality to match the dialect and singing. One would not know he is a British RADA graduate here, yet the plot doesn't give him much to do nor does the camera stay still to make the most of his onscreen zing. He obviously put a huge effort into becoming Hank Williams, and this movie is really only worth watching for his transformation.

 

Prometheus

Despite Its Flaws, Prometheus is Entertaining

By Kristin Battestella

“I feel like there’s a chest burster inside me.”

That’s what I said in the ER this past July when they asked me to answer their polite 1 to 10 point-at-the-smiley-frown pain scale. I didn’t know what was causing the increasingly horrible and unbearable pain beneath my right ribs. I could barely move, breath, or speak. I flailed my arms in pain and accidentally hit the nurse when she tried inserting my IV. Of course, this reminded me of one early hospital scene in Aliens, and later, after I clawed my husband’s hand and drew his blood, I said, “I guess this is what I get for going to see Prometheus!”

Doctors Elizabeth Shaw (Noomi Rapace) and Charlie Holloway (Logan Marshall Greene) petition the Weyland Company to support their archaeological discovery: ancient civilizations each repeated the same astronomical pictograph and alien “Engineers.”  Shaw sees the pattern as an invitation to the stars and the origins of humanity, and the state of the art Prometheus disembarks to the distant LV-223. Only the android David (Michael Fassbender) is awake for the journey while the rest of the crew- including the doctors, Captain Janek (Idris Elba), and Company representative Meredith Vickers (Charlize Theron) remain in hyper sleep. Once they reach the moon, the human crew rises to search an ancient monument full of dead Engineer bodies, mysterious urns, and surprising familiar iconography.  As storms fronts approach on the surface and the crew separates, one by one their fates and faiths are tested, for these Engineers and their perilous DNA projects aren’t as dormant as they seem….

 

Plotting A Prequel Conundrum  

Whew! It turns out it was just my gall bladder going, but director Ridley Scott’s return to science fiction with this pseudo Alien prequel was certainly on my mind most of the summer. I’d been waiting over a year for the release – even remaining spoiler free into its approach – and obviously, it’s still on my mind now thru our annual Fasstivus viewings and Vassbender Valentines. The possibility of Alien’s back-story feels like its been in my subconscious for decades. I used to drive my father batty with speculation about how the crash on LV-426 happened, to where – or whom – that homing beacon was transmitting, and how the evil android Ash and the then unnamed but obviously money loving and corrupt Company were involved. Yes, most of these questions from Alien are not answered in Prometheus and that is this film’s blessing and curse. Some may rightfully dismiss Prometheus simply because it answers nothing beyond itself. After all, what’s the point if technically nothing gets us any closer to Alien’s mysteries? The connections and feelings are there, but it seems like Prometheus’ key elements are being spread out for its inevitable sequel or a completely new trilogy. It becomes both rushed in its foreboding yet too disjointed as the plots diverge and reveal. This almost feels like Alien 3, strangely, where one film had to suffice both its brooding horror and action SF predecessors. The internal pace is fine to start, with good cringe inducing moments and a horror styled pattern of storms and entrapped personnel. Though the deleted scenes were apparently cut for length and action pace, it feels as if Prometheus should have continued in this speculative science fiction or horror vein, with complete character intelligence and a scary food for thought.  

There is room to speculate on the alien dangers and high concept religion and faith debates. However, writer Damon Lindelof (Lost) also left serious plot holes, unexplained developments, and changed script scenarios in rewriting newcomer John Spaihts’ original treatment. Nothing short of having all the action taking place on LV-426 as originally envisioned would have appeased die-hard fans. Whether Prometheus was going to be a direct sequel or not, whatever storyline you finally intended to go with – all those decisions should have been settled upon rather than be left hanging in the film. Frankly, nothing – no creature connections, planetary aspirations, or character motivations – should have been held back in the hopes for a sequel. In the theater, I was screaming to myself that this film better dang be successful enough to earn a sequel, otherwise, this will really not just disappoint, but anger the audience. If you open Pandora’s Box, do so all the way.  Innumerable plot holes and character head scratchers and inconsistencies linger in Prometheus. Some of that is answered in the viral and behind the scenes material, but you can’t hinge the full vision of your film on the extras or sequels. Not only are the big spiritual topics not as deep as could be, but the intentional ambiguity is far too on the nose. I thought I was alone in wishing for more from Lindelof’s weak touch, but Prometheus takes the easy way out by dropping its high concepts for a typical big action ending. The first half of the film is brimming with foreboding and body horrors just like Alien, but unexplained secrets become plot contrivances and what should be hidden personal or family connections are too obvious. Perhaps a truly sophisticated slow science fiction morality tale can’t achieve success today, but it feels like Lindelof didn’t even give Prometheus a chance to try.  In the behind the scenes materials, he admits he found Alien boring, and no studio today will accept boring! If one can let go of Alien and accept that Prometheus is not a direct prequel and will not answer your long held questions, then it can be enjoyed thanks to great sets, thoughts, and performances.  Can a hardcore SF viewer accept the plot holes and screenplay mistakes? We don’t really have much of a choice until the supposedly in the works follow up is on the big screen.

Powerful Performances

Well, well, Michael Fassbender does it again! Perhaps his ambiguous android David wasn’t meant to steal the show, but his artificial intrigue and robot speculations are the best part of Prometheus. Though his questionable actions initially support the faith versus science explorations and romance between Shaw and Holloway, David’s seamless orchestration of the crew and events around him subtly exceeds his programming. Fassbender’s (X-Men: First Class, Shame) uniquely devoid wizard behind the curtain pushes and pulls in true Vader fashion, and this malevolent Data is almost like a synthetic child on the verge of sociopathy. David is hyperactive, told not to go somewhere or touch anything, but he continually disobeys any instruction – maybe it’s for his own purpose, maybe not. He’s androgynous and prepubescent, almost not physically developed or impotent and thus uses his superior intellect and the low opinions of others to gain control. Despite his not having emotions, Shaw becomes the twisted object of David’s affection, and he scientifically violates her in a slick and premeditated plot. It’s not desire as we would think, but rather experimental curiosity. It’s third party rape because he can, and thus in David’s mind, he should.  Thanks to Fassbender’s well-played deceptions here and in Prometheus’ viral campaign, there are times where the viewer might swear David damn well does have emotions, and this Pandora of possibilities is a tad frightening.  An android who wants to be like Lawrence of Arabia? There are no Laws of Robotics here, and it’s creepy to see David’s graduation from playing with alien bugs to using human fodder go unchecked – particularly when it is such a cold and logical step to him.  Without internal censors to curb David’s motivations and ambitions, his last shall be first realization that people are inferior is allowed to run amok and create Prometheus’ finest moments.

Naturally then, when Holloway belittles David, it is not only his own undoing, but it sets all of Prometheus’ events in motion. Rather than being the hero, Logan Marshall Green’s (Dark Blue) scientist comes off as big jerk thanks to script and character issues. He drinks because he is unhappy that he has discovered the existence of human progenitors on another planet. Huh? This writing faux pas ironically works in Fassbender’s favor. One might actually be sympathetic to David instead thanks to the way he is insulted or dismissed. The android is kind to Shaw, but her trust is betrayed and it makes for some fine work by Rapace. Noomi (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) is up to snuff as our Ripley successor, oh yes.  Though younger than her co-stars, she may seem a bit too mature against Logan Marshall Green or too upscale European for American audiences. However, this edge is perfect for the deep, heavy, and spiritual Shaw. These beliefs drive her pursuit of science, but they should conflict – and her newfound alien discoveries spearhead Shaw’s reexamination of herself. It all seems kind of lofty or too high brow, but Rapace keeps Shaw likeable and believably kick ass. Yes, there are convoluted script moments and unrealistic post-injury scenes that do take the audience away from the character. She can run around alien planets and climb all over the place after that?! The lack of believability in the plot also takes a bit away from the awesomeness of her alien encounter, but no faults come from Rapace, and I look forward to more of her. 

I do, however, wish more religious connections were made out right between this trio. After all, we have a worshiped alien being birthed by a woman named Elizabeth after an impregnation orchestrated by a surrogate father. In keeping with the ABC android names of the previous films in the franchise, we have a D for David. But why the name David instead of any other D name? Was there meant to be some sort of Root of Jesse lineage and messianic message? It is Christmas aboard the ship after all, and the Shaw praying scene in the trailer was cut from the final film. One of the new creatures in Prometheus is also called a “deacon.” What exactly is all this religious iconography supposed to mean? Humanity is seeking out their alien creators and thus outgrowing their divine masters, and in some ways, David is doing the same thing to his human inventors. This ideological succession, oedipal shadings, and patricide hopes are touched upon in the script and chewed on nicely by the players when its given to them. The triumvirate keeps the entertainment and intelligence afloat for the audience, but unfortunately, the shaky foundations in the writing don’t answer these lofty questions. Had the cast been given complete character motivations and plot aspirations, nothing could have stopped Prometheus.

Poorly Handled Ensemble

Oscar winner Charlize Theron (Monster) is ice queen good fun as Prometheus’ resident secret wielding company representative, but there could have been a lot more to her character than what we receive.  If you think about Vickers’ background and motivation too much, too many nonsensical red herrings emerge. Her big secret is quite obvious, but whether she is a human or robot isn’t hardly addressed, nor is her alternating bitchy, sympathy, intelligence and stupidity. As with David, serious Scott fans could have had their hearts set a flutter by Vickers and possible Blade Runner connections. Unfortunately, as is, the character ends up meh despite Theron’s best attempts to counter the iffy scripting. Likewise, it is always a delight to see Guy Pearce (L.A. Confidential) and that therein is another big hole in what could have been Prometheus glory. I’m going to be nice and say the aging make up isn’t that bad – we just know it is Guy Pearce and would rather see him be the power hungry and creator- complexed young Weyland as seen in the Ted Talks viral video. Why couldn’t he have a pre-mission briefing instead of that weird hologram recording? That right there would have gone a long way in explaining all the characters and their reasons for signing on to such a space flight! The waste of creative character developments and potential is actually almost as in your face as Weyland’s actual not so surprise twist!

 

Although the supporting cast is most definitely talented enough, they aren’t given much to do beyond making mistakes or being barely there. Idris Elba (Luther) certainly has the presence to be the rogue captain of this wonderful ensemble, but his heroics and humor are so broadly written all over the board in crayon that we can’t fully care about Janek despite Elba’s charisma.  He’s devil may care but spiritually sensitive and cares about his crew and ultimately, humanity. However, Janek doesn’t give two shits about crewmen in jeopardy and doesn’t bother to ask what the mission entails. This isn’t multi-dimensional character development; it’s more like the captain is just a script placeholder to use whenever something is needed. It’s a sacrilegious waste of Elba, and Rafe Spall (Anonymous), Sean Harris (Outlaw), and Kate Dickie (Game of Thrones, Red Road – Did no one in this production see Red Road?!) become plot points for alien high jinks instead of being truly developed characters. 

Similarly, we never really get to meet the potentially charming Emun Elliott (Black Death) and Benedict Wong (Dirty Pretty Things), and there are even more unnamed disappearing and reappearing soldiers aboard the titular vessel. If we’re not going to spend some time with these crewmembers in order to know their fears or faults intimately in a slow build of apprehension and peril, how can the viewer appreciate them? Deleted scenes and alternate takes improve the troop slightly, but the audience never gets the feeling this crew is in it together, as in Alien or Aliens. Sure, we need a conspirator or two, but these folks are so divided, it seems like they each had different versions of the script from which to work. If you’re not fans of the players, it is tempting to fast forward thru their stupidity and squandered opportunities. As Prometheus is, this talent becomes padding for the body count in the final act. 

 

Positive Bells and Whistles

Fortunately, whatever you may think of Prometheus, it looks damn great, simply smashing. Instead of a dark and congested submarine – perhaps expected by our recent trends toward brooding, bleak, apocalyptic futures – the palette here is bright SF, with sweet looking, large-scale special effects and an imaginative ship design. It all looks sweeping, epic, and state of the art but somehow still natural and practical – a realistic progression and scientific advancement on our current technologies. There are some Alien allusions in the designs as well, and Prometheus does meld soundly as the mechanical precursor but 21^st century offshoot to the franchise. Fortunately, the action scenes aren’t brimmed with unnecessary cool gadgetry for the sake of instant technological flash. The detailed and well-thought production here will outlast the in the moment product placements so often found in today’s films – remember all that MSN crap in The Island? Prometheus is not ‘sponsored by Sony’ in your face, and unlike the eighties 3D hurrah, there are no ridiculous foreground objects and actions thrusting at the screen desperation.  I dislike 3D and chose not to see Prometheus as such, however, you can still tell which swooping CGI effects shots are meant to be in the multidimensional glory. Thankfully, the exceptional Icelandic waterfalls and galactic scenery aren’t overruled or at worst ruined by the 3D as so many films are. 

Ironically, while writing this review, I received the Prometheus 4 Disc Collector’s Edition as a gift from my husband.  Of course, I’m not as interested in the 3D blu-ray disc as I am all the other critical bells, whistles, and special features.  I haven’t even gotten thru all the exhaustive behind the scenes interviews, production galleries, screen tests, commentaries, and more. Like the immensely detailed Prometheus: The Art of the Film companion book, alternate concepts, deleted scenes, storyboard ideas that didn’t make it into the film, and even those screen tests and viral videos all help to piece together a lot of the head scratching and character flaws in Prometheus.  The aforementioned video and several other blu ray and DVD editions are now available of course, each with varying degrees of special features. However, I thought it might still be amusing to share some of the quick notes from my original Prometheus Monday afternoon summer theater experience, for these trailer observations seem particularly prophetic now: “Frankenweenie looks dumb. Savages is too Oliver Stone generic, The Watch the usual comedy. Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter looks too action badass can’t see the forest for the CGI, and Rock of Ages has great music but what a crappy ass cast! I would see none in the theater and would not be surprised if some or all do poorly.”   Hehe.

There is most certainly an audience for Prometheus, and viewers should see it at least twice for complete entertainment value – even more for finite assessment. Love it or hate it, general science fiction fans looking for a return to mature, sophisticated tales can find something here, and Alien fans tired of the Predator crossovers should definitely have a look. Granted, the separation from total Alien connections and the “is it or isn’t it” on the nose marketing approach was a deception to audiences expecting complete franchise resolutions. That audience burn alone is enough to not see Prometheus. Again, those expectations both helped put people in the seats to pad Prometheus’ box office and hurt its reputation by disappointing longtime fans.  Because of these botched Alien connections and the fly by night scripting, a necessary sequel is indeed forthcoming, although I wish the powers that be hadn’t mashed up Prometheus in anticipation of a follow up film or two and box office splendor. Behind the scenes flaws and Alien relations aside, Prometheus is nonetheless entertaining for fans of the cast and science fiction lovers.