Is The Acolyte unfair to the Jedi?

OK. Star Wars time. Sort of.

The latest Disney + show in the Star Wars franchise, The Acolyte, has sparked a lot of controversy. For my part, I was lukewarm towards it. That in itself is not a good sign, given that I'm usually very easy to please when it comes to Star Wars content (I loved The Bad Batch earlier this year, for instance, but then that was genuinely good, wasn't it?). If I were to rank the live action Star Wars Disney + shows, The Acolyte would come in last, though it's a tough call – The Book of Boba Fett only just wins out because it has a Cad Bane cameo and some Mando. 

But that doesn't mean I hate The Acolyte. It had some muddled storytelling, and the characterisation was somewhat lacking; the series failed to make us care about the new characters it introduced, which is a pity, as we could do with some new blood in Star Wars stories. However, there were some good acting performances including a fetching villain. Though the writing didn't blow me away, I didn't find it groanworthy either. Also, for those who like lightsabre battles, the ones in The Acolyte were nicely choreographed. 

The Force witches (or "Thread" witches, I suppose, as it's what they call the Force) were irritating, though. Can someone tell me why witches and covens are such a thing nowadays in popular entertainment? I would have thought female magic wielders who want to be girl bosses would do well to stay away from covens, which tend to be about surrendering your power to someone else (or, in this case, to "the power of maaany").

But I digress. The main reason so many Star Wars fans took against this series, some before it even aired, was that they got the impression that it would tarnish the Jedi. Defenders of the series haven't helped its cause by highlighting the way it shows "the weaknesses of the Jedi" as one of its good points. For myself, I'm not fond of the Jedi, but I understand if long-term Star Wars fans don't care to see their childhood heroes trashed, and I acknowledge that there are unfair ways to criticise these famous lightsabre-wielding light-side users.

So, bearing in mind that I'm a bit of a Jedi sceptic, did I think The Acolyte was too hard on them? Well, yes and no. To start with, I wouldn't say that Jedi-bashing plays such a large part in the story as all that. 

The series takes place about 100 years before the Star Wars prequels and tells the tale of two sisters, twins (kinda-it's complicated) Osha and Mae. Hidden away on a faraway planet, they're about to be taken up in the coven of the aforementioned space witches when a group of Jedi enter the scene. Mae wants to become a witch, Osha wants to become a Jedi. Complications and conflicts ensue, which the two girls see different parts of, and it ends with the whole coven dead and their hideout burnt down. Osha, who blames Mae, is taken in by the Jedi. Mae, left behind and believed dead, blames the Jedi.

Sixteen years later, Mae resurfaces, trained by a mysterious (though not very) dark-side Force user, and starts to take out the Jedi she encountered all those years ago. Osha – who never managed to become a Jedi and has left the order – is first accused, but it quickly becomes clear (thankfully) that she's not the culprit, and she's roped in by her old master Sol to track down her long-lost sister and bring her to task. The identity of Mae's master is revealed soon enough, but the question remains what really happened sixteen years ago.

When we finally get the whole story, I for one could very well understand why the Jedi acted the way they did. Certainly, some of the group behaved badly, but you could argue that their more questionable decisions were motivated by non-Jedi-like emotions such as selfishness, fear and blind attachments. There's nothing in the telling of the Jedi vs witches conflict that directly contradicts the Jedi creed – in fact, it could be used as a cautionary tale on how dangerous it is for Jedi to give in to their emotions. Plus, the witches were certainly no blameless victims either. 

Where the series is unfair to the Jedi, in my view, is when it shows how the whole thing is covered up by cool and responsible-seeming members of the Order. Throughout the series, Jedi bigwig Vernestra seems surprisingly anxious about bad PR, as the Jedi Council is facing some opposition by the Senate, and is eager to gloss over as many past and present Jedi mistakes as she can. Now, my beef with the Jedi has to do with their forbidding personal attachments and generally being a bunch of self-righteous killjoys. But I have never seen them as shady or power hungry – isn't that more of a Sith thing? It was hard to believe in Jedi as responsibility-dodging politicos. Surely, owning up to your faults and taking the rap for it (which would probably be harsh and disproportionate) would be the true Jedi way?

Vernestra has a quarrel with a senator at the end of the series where the senator starts to address my own problems with the Jedi. He points out that they claim to be able to control an ungovernable force – by which he doesn't mean the Force itself but their own emotions – and predicts that one day one of these repressed warriors will snap and will be hard to stop. I'm with him on that one: all that emotion-repressing surely can't be healthy, and one would have thought that the hate and fear of the Dark Side could more easily be overcome by positive emotions such as love and friendship rather than sterile serenity. But as for the Jedi being a dangerous "cult", you could say the same about those annoying witches.

The perfect beach read (or very nearly)

After being so harsh on Doctor Who last time, I'm in the mood to "say something nice", as Missy would put it. Perhaps confirming that an acclaimed romance author is, indeed, very good (in my view, that is) would be a good idea, even if it doesn't make for a startlingly original post?

Finding the ideal summer holiday read is always tricky. A summer or so ago, I read and very much enjoyed Emily Henry's Book Lovers. Nevertheless, I didn't immediately follow it up with Beach Read from the same author, which I bought upon finishing Book Lovers. If there was something I minded in Book Lovers, it was that quite a lot of time was spent on the heroine's coming to terms with the death of her mother, and the effect this had on the relationship between her and her sister. It was by no means badly done, but it's not the kind of storyline you expect to feature prominently in a feel-good romance. 

When Beach Read started with the heroine, January, remembering the day her mother got her cancer diagnosis, I thought "here we go again". The mum makes it, but when the book starts January's father has died of a stroke. At his funeral, his former mistress showed up and handed January the key to a beach house which her dad has left her. Now, several months later, January – a romance author with writer's block and a cash-flow problem – is forced to visit the beach house and clear it out for a sale while she tries to regain some inspiration.

It's not the most cheery start to a light-hearted read, but this summer I persevered through the first depressing pages, and the novel soon goes into the feel-good mode one is led to expect from the way it's marketed. January's neighbour turns out to be Gus, her old crush from college and a literary author who she always thought despised her writing. Soon the old enemies-to-friends, friends-to-lovers plot is on its way. I really enjoyed the central conceit that the two authors agree to switch genres – January will try to write something more literary, while Gus tries a romance – and the book-related plotting and discussions that ensue.

It made me reflect on how subjective appreciation of a novel's plot lines can be. I imagine an editor with romance as her speciality would encourage an author like Henry to concentrate on the romance, by no means stint on the length of sex scenes, and play down the bookish parts. An editor would also probably not have any problems with the dead dad storyline as it places January where she needs to be and provides a motive for her sudden doubts of romance and happy endings (her parents' marriage has always seemed like the ur-romance for her).

For my part I loved the bookish parts, found the sex scenes (there are only two of them, but they do go on for a while) tedious, and could have done without the dead dad plot altogether. Though, yes, the pay-off is touching (I'm glad I wasn't actually at the beach when I read it as I snivelled quite a lot), it is something of a foregone conclusion. So there you go. Much depends on personal preferences. What I can say is that Henry's prose style is enjoyable, funny and – unlike that of many authors of up-beat romances – it doesn't make you feel as if your brain is shrinking while you read it.

I found it interesting how January and Gus choose to interpret what a "literary novel" and a "romance" is. It mostly seems to be a question of subject matter for them, and a pessimistic vs optimistic outlook. To me, the difference between a literary and popular work is mostly a question of the importance of language. Ideally, a good literary novel should have an excellent style and a strong plot and characters. However, for a literary author, literary style tends to come before plot (if character is neglected as well, I for one will give up). It should be more difficult for Gus than for January to churn out text, as every sentence has to sing. 

January's "literary" novel sounds interesting and like something I would like to read, but it's more what I'd call middle-brow than high-brow. As for Gus, in not changing the setting of his novel, I'd argue that he misses the brief completely. The setting for a romance is important, and a potentially suicidal cult is... well... not it. Surprisingly, though, the scenes where Gus and January research the cult plot line are fascinating.

So, yes, as you've gathered, I'm really into the "book plot". It was the same in Book Lovers where the heroine – with the help of her love interest – ended up having to edit a novel where the hard-as-nails protagonist clearly seemed based on herself (a plot line that could have been give more space in my view). I've started Henry's Happy Place now and am liking it, though I miss the bookishness. But hey, that's just me.

The bumpy ride of New New Doctor Who

I'm late with my blogging, partly because last week (the week before my summer vacation) was intense, partly because this is not an easy topic. So let's get it over with.

The latest series of Doctor Who, now airing on Disney Plus, has been labelled "season one", so as not to scare off new viewers. We are, then, officially, in a new Doctor Who era. I'll call it New New Who for now, in honour of New New York which featured in episodes like "New Earth" and "Deadlock" back in the good old days of Russell T Davies's first stint as show runner.

Up until now, I've agreed with the commonly held opinion that Davies aka RTD was the show's best show runner, while Steven Moffat was the best script writer. These high expectations make my disappointment in RTD's return all the greater. If Chibnall had still been in charge, I would probably be kinder to the season. There were still episodes I enjoyed, and flashes of the old magic showed even in the episodes I didn't particularly like. But this is RTD. Under his captaincy, Who should be better than just OK.

Who's to blame, then, for the decline of Doctor Who? Disney? Is it likely that I'd say that? No, I've got another scapegoat in mind. I've made it clear more than once, the first time after the overall underwhelming 60th Anniversary Specials, that my enjoyment of Doctor Who would depend on in what degree Davies steered clear of his own irritating brand of political and social commentary. And... well... he didn't.

It started merely as an annoyance. The first episode "Space Babies" (or second if you count the Christmas special "The Church on Ruby Road" which I still think is great) had some political commentary smuggled in, but it was puzzling rather than anything else. The issue with "Space Babies" was rather its over-childish plot, where nappies and a "bogey man" literally made out of bogeys played important parts. Not a good jumping-on point for the uninitiated, in spite of all the crammed-in exposition.

Then came "The Devil's Chord", which, again, wasn't overtly political, but seemed rather too pleased with itself for starring the drag artist Jinkx Monsoon as the villain Maestro. I thought the concept and look of Maestro weren't bad, and I didn't mind the pronoun quibbling this time around as it fitted the story – when Maestro wearily explained "I'm 'them'" to a suitably non-plussed gent of the 1920's, it had echoes of "I am legion". But you must have pace when serving up an OTT villain, and this episode lingered far too long on Monsoon's scenery-chewing. The pace was off throughout, and in spite of the Beatles playing a part, we didn't get to hear a single Beatles song. 

The third episode was "Boom", penned by the great Steven Moffat himself. Surely now things would start to look up? Well, yes and no. There was much witty quick-fire dialogue, but we also got sanctimonious shots fired at the military, the church, AI and, of course, every Who writer's favourite target, Big Bad Capitalism. 

This is one of two episodes where the commentary crossed the line for me from merely irritating to downright offensive, when the Doctor spluttered to one of the "anglican marines": "Faith! The magic word that keeps you never having to think for yourself." Firstly, no, that's not what faith is. Secondly, how does a Doctor Who writer have the gall to put this on paper, when Who writers are the most notorious bunch of group-thinkers you can find? Script-writers with the wrong opinions are put in the dog house, and steps are taken to actively scare away viewers with the wrong opinions. "Thinking for yourself" is not encouraged.

I was as good as done with Who at this point, and then "73 Yards" came along, which I thought was an  excellent supernatural chiller. I'm not without notes, and the impact could lessen with time. I assumed, for instance, that the Welsh populist politican Roger ap Gwilliam who becomes "the most dangerous Prime Minister in history" (and this in a field which includes Harry Saxon aka the Master) either was or was possessed by the spirit of "Mad Jack", let out when the Doctor tramples on a fairy circle, and was thus a supernatural threat. But when Ruby finally manages to undo the whole fairy-circle-trampling timeline, Gwilliam is still a factor, so what gives? If he turns out to be just an ordinary bloke who wants to nuke the world for some reason, then I'll be mad myself. Nevertheless, this episode had plenty of atmosphere and is probably my favourite of the season.

So my hopes were raised again, and then "Dot and Bubble" came along, an amazingly unsubtle "social media bad" episode – the consciously unlikeable protagonist Lindy can't even walk without her bubble of media content around her where arrows tell her where to go. But this wasn't even the worst of it. People have gushed over the episode as a "masterclass of messaging" for tackling racism. Lindy and her all-white pals turn down the Doctor's help at the end, because he isn't "one of them" – that is, it's heavily implied, because he's black. What commentators have overlooked is that this supposedly brave bit of denunciation of prejudice is heavily prejudiced itself. The episode's lesson seems to be that rich, social-media-obsessed youngsters are horrible, that if AI turned sentient it would rise up against them, and that they deserve to die. 

Oh, but it's all right to savagely attack "rich kids", isn't it, especially if they're white? They're so privileged, they can take it. I'm sure that kind of thinking never led to anything bad.

The last three episodes of the season I liked. I had my issues with "Rogue", such as the fact that the writers clearly hadn't done any research about the Regency whatsoever except watch Bridgerton (which is more a fantasy drama than a historical one). But Rogue was a charming character, a bit of a Captain Jack clone, but I like Captain Jack. His romance with this Doctor was believable enough to me; I'm  ready to roll with the concept that romantic/sexual preferences can change with each Time Lord regeneration, and besides, judging by the Master (which perhaps one shouldn't), Time Lords are up for just about anything.

Many reviews I've seen were disappointed by the finale, but this was good old RTD Who for me – complete with the problems of RTD Who or indeed any Doctor Who in the form of an all-to-easily-defeated Big Bad and giant plot holes. I don't mind. Give me powerful confrontations; emotional beats that work; what others may call gobbledegook but what I call Whovian poetry, such as the harbinger character rattling off the members of the Pantheon of Discord with all their promising villainous attributes; and finally new mysteries which may not have a satisfying payoff but are fun while they last, and I'll not complain.

All I ask is that I'm spared political posturing which aims neither to convince the doubtful, nor bolster those who think as the writers do, but only to provoke those who don't share Davies's supposedly enlightened outlook. It's not so much agenda pushing as agenda shoving, not so much messaging (as no reasoned argument is made) as a parading of views. Doctor Who is supposed to have a broader appeal than, say, Davies's It's a Sin, and it's a problem when viewers are more or less told they're not good enough to watch a show they may have grown up with.

"I don't care what you think", the Doctor says in "Dot and Bubble", "And you can say whatever you want. You can think absolutely anything. I will do anything, if you just allow me to save your lives." Oh, Doctor. If only that were true.