Captain America: Brave New World: Inoffensive popcorn fare

I wasn't sure I'd have enough to say about Captain America: Brave New World to be able to blog about it, but I'll give it a try. For one, it was the first Marvel movie I actually watched at the cinema instead of on TV, and it was worth it. Not just for the big screen experience, but for the nerdy content it unlocks on YouTube – I could watch videos not only about the film itself but about predictions for the MCU's future without getting anything spoiled. I've made a deal with my bladder, though: I will watch MCU movies in the cinema in future, but I'll not stick around for the post-credit scenes if my need is too great. This time, there was no problem (although the post-credit scene was underwhelming).

How was the film itself, then? Well... it's by no means an MCU highlight. I thought the script was weak: the banter between Sam Wilson, the newish Captain America, his new young sidekick Joaquin Torres and the grizzled veteran Isaiah Bradley was leaden; the story was uncompelling at times; and then there were lines like "Any word from Betty, my daughter?". Harrison Ford committed himself to the role of newly-elected President Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross, but neither he nor anyone else was given a lot to work with. Tim Blake Nelson struggled as the main villain (unlike many others, I didn't hate the augmented-brain design), but he had too much motive and too little menace. He might have worked better as a creepy nerd villain rather than an intimidating mastermind.

In spite of all this, not gonna lie, I had a good time. Maybe I was helped by my low expectations. I was not a fan of Falcon and the Winter Soldier with its preachiness, its dwelling on Sam's unnecessary hang-ups and its leniency towards the ghastly terror teen Karli Morgenthau. With the same people involved in the film, I had some fears that were not alleviated by trailer clips like Ross thundering to Sam: "You're not Steve Rogers" and Sam replying cockily "You're right, Sir, I'm not". Yeah, no reason to sound so pleased about that, Sam.

I may have missed it, but I think Sam's cocky reply was cut from the actual film. If I'm not dreaming this, it's significant for the film as a whole. It has the feel of a film that may have been preachy once, but where all the potentially preachy bits have been cut out. If this is a result of the supposedly extensive re-shoots, I can only applaud it. Sam himself is a sweetie, and his compassion and ability to see the best in people make him a good pick for Steve's successor. Much as I love Bucky, Steve made the right call: Captain America needs to be someone not quite as morally flexible as the former Winter Soldier.

The action parts of the film were thrilling enough, though sometimes giggle-inducingly over-the-top (and that's better than being boring). There are standout performances from Ford and from Carl Lumbly as Isaiah. I didn't care for Isaiah's storyline in Falcon and the Winter Soldier where he had to be a symbol of The Victims of America's Past Wrongdoings; however, as simply an old man who has spent decades wrongfully imprisoned and is terrified of going back to jail, he is very moving. All in all, Captain America: Brave New World is a good-enough popcorn flick, worth seeing once, which manages to be just a little bit heartwarming, too.

It raises one question, though: can a film perhaps be too inoffensive, especially when it's labelled a "political thriller"? Just as it's trying really hard not to be too preachy, it's trying just as hard not to have any bearing on real-life politics at all. "Thunderbolt" Ross may be an oldie, and he may turn into a rage monster towards the end, but there are no obvious resemblances between him and any recent American presidents. His main goal is to broker a treaty with Japan which will give them equal access to an extremely valuable mineral. I mean, if only. 

The truncated role of Ross's Chief of Security Ruth Bat-Seraph is another example of the film taking no risks. Her links to Mossad from the comics have been cut, and now she's simply a former Black Widow, which makes no sense seeing how unwilling she is to believe in the villain's mind control (which was exactly what happened to the Black Widows). Making Ruth comic-accurate would have been offensive to some; cutting her out completely after announcing her presence in the film would have been offensive to others; and so she's stuck in the middle as a character with very little significance to the plot.

For me, it's a question of being careful what I wish for. For years, I have been complaining about heavy-handed politics making its way into popular entertainment, and I stand by that. Even when I agree with the views expressed in various films or TV shows (it does happen), they're hammered home in such an annoying way that I start to feel some sympathy for the opposing point of view. By and large, I do prefer Captain America: Brave New World-style tiptoeing to rolling my eyes over ill-expressed political grandstanding. But the price of inoffensiveness may, in some cases, be a little blandness.

So the upper-class cad is the hero? OK, then

I'm in an intense escapism period book-wise, which explains why there will be a lot of TV and film posts in a row. I've already milked authors like Stephanie Garber and Emily Henry for their blog worth, and don't have that much to add, except a strong recommendation to read them if you want to retreat to a happy book place (and like the genres they're writing in – that's pretty crucial). To find the same kind of escapism on TV, however, is proving surprisingly hard.

All right, that's a forced transition, as I watched the British drama/soap Rivals on Disney Plus last year and not just now. Nevertheless, it is the kind of series you are supposed to watch in an escapist mood. It's based on one of the "bonkbusters" penned by Dame Jilly Cooper, who seems beguilingly jolly. That the fictional county her stories take place in is called "Rutshire" says a lot. What's more, the series appears to be faithful to the spirit of the author: both the setting and the characters' outlook have a near-authentic Eighties feel. This should be right up my alley. But it isn't, quite.

To be honest, I thought it dragged a bit. At the same time, it is well-acted, and every time I was close to giving up a new plot development happened that had me thinking "OK, I want to see how this plays out". But I did spend lot of time wondering why I didn't get more into the series. Now, afterwards, I also wonder: if this show wasn't for me, then who is it for?

Quite a lot of people, it turns out. Rivals is a hit, and I've heard people I'd have thought would have minded the overall positive way upper-class stud Rupert Campbell-Black is depicted (I'll come back to that) praising its watchability. So what is holding me back from joining more wholeheartedly in the fun?

Could it be my bourgeois outlook? It's a strong possibility. I assumed, at the start of the series, that Campbell-Black would be seen as a bad guy, albeit possibly a redeemable one. I actually started Riders by Jilly Cooper once but didn't persevere, and in that novel, I got the impression that Campbell-Black was the villain (though the author clearly shared his pro-hunting stance). In Rivals, though, it didn't take long to figure out that in the rivalry between Campbell-Black and local media mogul Lord Baddingham, we are supposed to side with the former.

Now, I can find it endearing when the English gentry catches a break in the world of TV entertainment. It doesn't happen that often – caricatures of British poshos abound in dramas like Midsomer Murders, Morse and its spinoffs, and many, many others. When Downton Abbey dared to portray the Crawleys as decent people (on the whole), critics sneered. So in a way, I admire Dame Jilly for standing up for the toffs and not giving a whistle for street cred. At the same time, I am solidly middle-class myself, and if there's a fight between a nob and an upstart, I want to be able to side with the upstart.

That's hardly possible here, though, as Baddingham (the upstart in this scenario) is a thoroughly bad lot, and not in an alluring way. It's amazing the way David Tennant can turn off his considerable charm like a tap as Baddingham. There's a brief flash of Doctorish charisma as he's trying to persuade his mistress to go to Spain with him, and an equally brief flicker of vulnerability when he confronts said mistress with a particularly heinous betrayal. But otherwise, Tennant as Baddingham is in continuous creep mode.

So is the series snobbish, then? Well, it tries not to be. It does its best to give us truculent middle-classers reasons to dislike Baddingham that have nothing to do with his modest beginnings. Look how careless he is with his employees. Look at his brusqueness and his prejudices. Look how he puts professionalism aside for petty vengeance. Above all, look how little he appreciates his loyal and supportive wife.  Also, Baddingham finds himself at odds with the hard-hitting left-leaning journalist Declan O'Hara and the successful but teddy-bearish businessman Freddie Jones – just in case we were starting to suspect that his lack of poshness is an issue.

I know I shouldn't be too sniffy about obvious manipulativeness from a show like this, but I can't help finding it a bit tiresome. Another example is how the audience is bludgeoned into hoping Freddie and romance writer Lizzie Vereker (both married) will finally get it off. Lizzie's husband James is the most parodically one-dimensional bad hubby you can imagine. He ignores her. He puts her down. He cheats on her, flagrantly. He straight up recoils when she wants to rekindle their relationship. "Why don't you just divorce the wanker?" Campbell-Black asks, and that is certainly the question.

While I didn't find Rivals to be quite the fizzing champagne bottle of a show I'd hoped, many others did, so it's worth trying out for a good time (be warned, though: there's a jarringly serious rape story right in the middle). Also, I'll be checking out a possible season two, hoping to finally get a handle on Baddingham's mistress Cameron Cook whose motives are a mystery to me – which is welcome in a story where not many things remain mysterious. But Rupert Campbell-Black? Not my type.

Bewildered thoughts on The Diplomat season two

The Netflix series The Diplomat should make for a good blog subject when you are recovering from a cold. Because it is, in many respects, like a fever dream.

My greatest difficulty will be to pinpoint my biggest questions about the series. I think I'll settle for two: did the different writers of the series even know what the others were planning to put in it plot-wise? And what kind of show is The Diplomat even trying to be? I have a third big question which is more personal – Why am I more OK with the bizarre plot twist introduced at the end of season two than the bizarre plot twist introduced in season one, which had me fuming? – but I don't think I can get into that too much without being spoilery. Also, my reactions are possibly not as mysterious as all that.

To start from the beginning of the second season, three whole episodes seemed to confirm the aforementioned season one plot twist. As Kate Wyler, the US ambassador in Great Britain, put forward her wild theory as to who was really responsible for the bombing of a British ship, she wasn't seriously called into question by her aides and advisors, who should have known better. Instead, they bought into it all, and nervous steps were taken in order to outfox a very unlikely Big Bad. What's worse, the writing seemed to have lost its zing, and the characters tried one's patience, especially Kate and her right hand man Stuart. I mean, I know Stuart survived a car bomb and lost a valued colleague. Still, did he have to be so whiny?

To be honest, I only stuck with the series so I could have the pleasure of rubbishing it later (and spoiling everything). But then, episode four came along and something happened. The zing was back. Stuart stopped being irritating and became quite likeable again, especially when dealing ineptly with his exasperated ex Eidra. We were given some vital information about the bombing of the ship which made the reasons behind it just a grain more plausible. And then, finally, the series back-tracked from previous idiocies. In episode five Allison Janney turned up as a highly competent but hard-ball-playing US Vice President, and things were definitely back on track.

So what happened there? The second season had the opposite trajectory from the first for me: there I was hooked first, disgruntled later, while here I was close to giving up, then hooked in again. It feels as if there are two sets of writers wanting to tell different stories. And that doesn't just go for the political shenanigans. At the end of season one, you had the feeling that we were supposed to root for Kate ditching her wild card husband Hal and hooking up with Austin Dennison, the British Foreign Secretary. But as the ground shifted in season two, Dennison didn't exactly turn out to be someone you could steal horses with (to use a German expression). I was glad, as I thought Dennison was stiff and humourless. Also, Hal is played by Rufus Sewell, so obviously I reckoned Kate should stick with him.

At the very least, I would guess that the writers of The Diplomat did not have the whole plot thought out beforehand. For example, Kate's dithering in the last episodes on whether she should try for the position of Vice President or not feels like a way for the writers to keep their options open. Which leads me to question number two: what kind of show is this? What's the right frame of mind to watch it (if you want to watch it at all)?

Where I went wrong at first was to regard The Diplomat as a fairly ambitious political drama – not as good as The West Wing, naturally, but at least created with the same kind of viewership in mind. But The Diplomat is not even in the same genre as The West Wing. The politics can be absurd, because the politics is not the main concern of the story. It's only there to provide an excuse for dramatic set pieces and character conflict. The Diplomat is less a political thriller, and more a soap opera with some thriller aspects. If you can accept that it bears no hint of a resemblance to how British or American politics work in real life, you can still have fun with it. Although I'm very much afraid Hal will turn out to be the ultimate bad guy in yet another twist somewhere further down the line. (How? I don't know. It's a mystery.)

Also, am I the only one who wouldn't be altogether averse to a gung-ho British PM like Nicol Trowbridge right about now? Just me? OK.

The final Wolf Hall

There must be an end to milking Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall trilogy for blog posts. Even if I finally actually read The Mirror and the Light, instead of just listening to it as an audiobook, I can't possibly have more to say about Mantel's version of Thomas Cromwell after having blogged about Wolf Hall the novel – twice; Bring Up the Bodies – twice; the first series of the TV adaptation of the trilogy; the aforementioned audiobook version of The Mirror and the Light and now, finally, the second series of the TV adaptation. I guess it goes to show that in spite of my gripes – and I've had plenty – I do find this story fascinating.

The second series of Wolf Hall leaves me with two questions I can't quite answer. One, can I recommend this series or not? And two, why don't I like this version of Thomas Cromwell more?

To start with question one, Wolf Hall the TV series has a sharp script, is often mesmerising and contains stellar acting, especially from Mark Rylance as Cromwell and Damian Lewis as Henry VIII but also from just about everyone else. This time around I was especially taken with Harry Melling's Wriothesley. In the novels, Wriothesley was so fox-like his treachery seemed like a foregone conclusion, especially as Cromwell and co. kept jokingly referring to him as "Call Me Risley" or just "Call Me", even to his face. (My theory is that his name is actually pronounced Risley, and he simply tried to convey it in a polite manner.) Melling's Wriothesley, by contrast, suffers pure agony over his own betrayal. That's just one example of the acting quality on offer. I was properly hooked during both the first and last episode of the series, and even got a bit teary as Cromwell in his final speech apologised to his "master", meaning not Henry, as the crowd thought, but the late Cardinal Wolsey.

However, there were other times when the show's sedate pace got me restless. One Swedish journalist wondered, entertainingly, why she had spent twelve hours of her life (counting both series and all twelve episodes of Wolf Hall) watching Cromwell walking from one room to another between dialogues and thoughtful musings. "What's so magnetic about this?" she asked, and I know what she means. I felt the magnetism too, often enough – but not all the time. Sometimes, I just felt impatient with the high-brow-ness of it all. I have principal objections to TV drama that gives itself airs, and this series does. It reminds me most of all of a gigantic filmed play (though it doesn't come off quite as dusty as filmed plays tend to do).

In the end, though, I think I have to recommend the series, with reservations. It does tell an intriguing story with the help of first-class actors. What it doesn't manage to do, even with the help of Rylance's expressive face, is help me understand what Cromwell – the historical or the fictional version – is all about.   

Which leads me to question number two. Why don't I like Mantel's Cromwell more? The answer appears simple enough on the surface: because he's not a charismatic villain in this story. How can a Cromwell who always claims to do the right thing, and often believes it too, hope to compare in my villain-loving eyes to the charms of Danny Webb's weaselly courtier, or James Frain's Catholic-hating powerbroker? It's true that the smugness of Rylance's Cromwell riles me. Smugness is usually the fault of the other guys – the self-righteous ones, the heroes. A great villain can get away with anything, but you have to be a truly A-grade villain (better than Cromwell, certainly) to get away with self-righteousness.

But I think it goes deeper than that. After all three books and two series of television, I'm still not sure I know what makes Mantel's Cromwell tick. Mantel makes much of his devotion to Wolsey, but his actions don't always bear this supposed loyalty out. Yes, he punishes the Cardinal's lesser enemies, but he becomes quite pally with Suffolk, who filched some of Wolsey's land, and keeps serving Henry, who caused Wolsey's fall in the first place. There's even a scene in The Mirror and the Light where Cromwell is suddenly stricken with doubt as to whether he let his Cardinal down at the end. Whoa, buddy. Firstly, you should know whether you were false or not. Secondly, in this version of events, you killed people for being nasty to your beloved Cardinal. If there was any kind of doubt in your mind as to your own actions towards Wolsey, you should maybe have shown more generosity towards others.   

It doesn't help that I feel a certain disconnect between Mantel's Cromwell and the historical Cromwell who, I can't help suspecting, was probably a lot more straightforward. Did the real Cromwell ever give a monkey's about Wolsey? I'm not entirely convinced. 

Maybe, though, this ambiguousness is actually partly why the Wolf Hall trilogy fascinates me. On two levels, it's about achieving great things, but not what you set out to do. Cromwell (as Mantel describes him) wants to be a good servant to Wolsey and to facilitate religious reform; he achieves neither. Mantel, presumably, wanted to get under Thomas Cromwell's skin, but doesn't quite get there. However, it can be gripping to see them try.

The (too) many possibilities of the Multiverse

One of the first multiversal stories I encountered was a Donald Duck comic. The duck protagonist slid into a parallel world somehow, and had some trouble finding his way back home. I remember next to nothing about this adventure – I'm not even sure if its hero was Scrooge or Donald (I think it was Scrooge) – but I remember the "Ooooh, right" moment when he finally figured out what was going on, and how satisfying it was.

Scrooge (or Donald) suddenly remembered the name of the street where he was when everything started to get weird. It had a different name than it usually did. From this memory came the realisation that he was in a parallel universe, similar to his own but just that little bit off. A classic "what's wrong with this picture" tale, for which I'm always an absolute sucker.

This is the kind of multiversal shenanigans I enjoy the most. I like my Multiverse the way I like my time travel: with plenty of illustrations of how small decisions can change everything (no closed "it always happened" time loop, thank you). Or even a small change in circumstances, that works too. The classic romcom Sliding Doors, which is often brought up when discussing stories with what-if scenarios, hinges not on a momentous decision that the heroine makes, but whether she catches a particular train or not. When it comes to multiversal stories, I tend to get extra-nerdy or cod-philosophical: I don't just want to see a different reality, I want to know how it came to be different.

One of the reasons this kind of plot – the "if it hadn't been for if" story, to translate a Swedish (ungrammatical) phrase – appeals to me is that it's so easy to imagine how small changes could have had large consequences in my own life.  Surely it must the same for others too. What if I hadn't got that job? What if I'd chosen another major when studying, or even another university (maybe that's too wild a speculation)? What if I hadn't bonded with one of my besties in primary school? So many important things that happen to you in life seem to happen quite by chance, and could easily have gone another way altogether.

Or could they? Once they're down the rabbit hole of alternative realities, multiversal stories, like time travel stories, can explore "destiny or chance" questions too. It can be just as fascinating to see reality adjust itself in all sorts of improbable ways in order to turn out as it always was (in accordance with the "time as a rubber band" theory) as to see it go completely haywire because someone took another way home from work than usual. The Adjustment Bureau (the film, at least, I haven't read the story) plays with that feeling I think we've all had: that some things were just meant to happen somehow.

But hey, that's just the kind of multiverse stories I like. There are plenty of other kinds. And that, I think, is partly why projects like Marvel's Multiverse Saga have a struggle on their hands. Take the animated Marvel series What If. I happen to enjoy all its three seasons, but the YouTube discussions about the last season that I've seen have tended to be negative. 

Apart from the general consensus that season three wasn't as good as the two others, however, views differed wildly. The post-apocalyptic episode was the best one. The post-apocalyptic episode was the worst one. Seeing a megalomaniac version of Mysterio in it was cool. Seeing Mysterio in it made no sense whatsoever. The episode showing Howard the Duck and Darcy (Jane Foster's sidekick, very human) as a couple was fun and frothy. Or no, it was frankly disturbing. The Watcher intervening in events was no big deal. The Watcher intervening ruined his character. And so on. If the creators of What If watched the same vids as I did, they must have felt confused about where exactly they went wrong.

Quite simply, we tend to want different things from our multiverse stories. Some don't want the nerdy small-events-that-change-everything setup. They'd rather see the Multiverse used as a device for crossovers, mash-ups and different team-ups than we're accustomed to. Deadpool and Wolverine used the Multiverse like that: as an excuse for making meta-jokes about the "dying" Fox universe and its characters (Fox having been bought up by Disney). It had little to say about the importance of choices, but it was a blast. 

I enjoy crossovers too – when it comes to fictional worlds I'm really invested in, I can become obsessed with them. But much as I've come to appreciate the MCU, I'm not quite there yet. As it is, I'll have good time with a multiversal MCU crossover, but I will feel some regret over opportunities lost. When it comes to blending different characters in "what if X had the powers of Y" scenarios, I have no interest in that at all.

Finally, there are multiverse stories where the other worlds the protagonists encounter are completely different, in a "what if the world was ruled by bees?" or "what if we were all potatoes?" kind of way. That could be fun to watch, but it's not what I primarily want from the Multiverse. That, to my mind, is fantasy, which is a different genre. I'm sure there are plenty who'd disagree, however. The Multiverse can be multiple things to multiple potential fans – and that is exactly its problem.

Long John Silver in space

The post-Christmas-holiday blog post is always a hard one. Even writing about something as straightforward and enjoyable as Skeleton Crew is going to be a challenge. And yet it really shouldn't be difficult, because this was the perfect example of a show that decided, early on, what it wanted to be and then stuck with it, without over-complicating things. It wanted to be a coming-of-age story with adventures and pirates thrown in, and it succeeded. That the series was set in the Star Wars universe was a bonus, but didn't distract from the story it wanted to tell.

The finale, which streamed yesterday (at least here in Sweden), stuck the landing, although it was a safe landing rather than a spectacular one. Mysteries that had been hinted at throughout the show were not really resolved or resolved in an off-hand kind of way that far from blew your mind. In the end, though, it didn't matter that much. What Skeleton Crew focused on – its child protagonists, their experiences in an often hostile universe, and their relationship to one another and the enigmatic Jod – it did really well.

The premise is simple enough. A bunch of kids – hero-worshipping dreamer Wim, the timorous but loyal Neel, bossy would-be rebel Fern and her introvert tech-savvy friend KB – live a sheltered but stiflingly regulated life on the peaceful planet At Attin. One day they come across a hidden star ship and accidentally take off to the skies. There are all sorts of complications to coming home. The children learn that their supposedly boring planet is the stuff of legends and hidden away from the rest of the galaxy. The only help they get is from a rusty old pirate droid and a ragged Force-sensitive man called Jod Na Nawood. Wim thinks he's a Jedi. It turns out he's a pirate, but the question is just how hard-bitten he is.

Though the child actors are all excellent – a feat in itself – the favourite part of the series for me was, unsurprisingly, Jod, as played by Jude Law who once again excels in a pirate role. Skeleton Crew unashamedly borrows from a number of pirate yarns (the droid is called SM 33 as a nod to Captain Hook's sidekick Smee), and Jod is clearly closely modelled on Long John Silver in Treasure Island. 

This is good news, not only because Silver is a classy high-prestige villain. One of Silver's many fascinating traits is that you never find out whether he really cares a button for Jim Hawkins. Sentimentalist as I am, I would like to think that he does, and I have a fondness for adaptations where Silver is allowed to have a soft spot for the boy. Nevertheless, in the original novel, there's always an ulterior motive that can explain why Silver is being nice to Jim. You're left guessing if there is any true feeling behind it all, or if he's just being his manipulative self.

The same ambivalence is found in the character of Jod. Sometimes he seems to bond with the children, sometimes he's only looking out for number one. Almost everyone the children come across who also knows Jod warns them not to trust him. So, as with Silver, you're kept guessing. Even when you think you've figured him out, there's a trace of ambiguity left until the very end.

My second favourite thing in the series was SM 33, voiced with salty gusto by Nick Frost. At the beginning I thought he would turn against the kids at some point – starting a conversation with any kind of Smee with the line "I killed your Captain" didn't seem like a great idea – but the story takes another turn, and I didn't mind being wrong one bit. SM 33 has his dark moments, but they tend to be connected to his programming, while when he can get around it and do what he most wants to do, he's on the children's side. He probably never believed Fern was a captain-killer anyway.

I've heard the viewing figures for Skeleton Crew have not been great, which is a shame. Let's hope they improve in the coming weeks through word of mouth. This is fun and charming family viewing, and the palate cleanser the Star Wars franchise needs after the Acolyte misfire. Though I do realise that Star Wars can't always play it as safe as this. 

Things to look forward to (or at least check out) in 2025

In many ways, cultural-consumption-wise, 2025 promises to be the same procedure as last year. That is, there will be continuations of series and franchises I enjoy, but I've yet to see something new slated for 2025 where I think "wow, I've got to watch this". As for books, I'm as likely to make a discovery in my own bookshelves as among the latest book arrivals (though I wouldn't mind a new Sarah Waters novel, for instance). 

YouTube nerds often talk about their "latest obsession". It's been a while since I've had a new obsession, and I'm not a hundred per cent sure I want one. If I find one – whether in the world of TV, film or books – it will probably be by chance rather than through purposeful searching. The items on this list, however, I will at least check out and probably enjoy.

Downton Abbey 3:  No need to go into detail: I've already blogged about the upcoming Downton film at some length. Am I surprised that Downton is coming back a third time at the cinema? Yep. Would I rather have seen a new story as compelling as Downton, which already has a satisfying ending, unfold? Maybe. Am I complaining? No, siree, as long as they don't mess up Thomas's love life. According to IMDB, Dominic West is returning as Guy Dexter, so it looks hopeful.

The Gilded Age season three: As far as I know, The Gilded Age will return next year, though I've yet to see a trailer for it. When it's out, it will be time for me to make the usual hit-and-miss predictions. As of now, I've no idea where this series might be heading, other than that a romance between Marian and Larry is definitely on the cards. Let's hope that they both acquire a little more personality in the process. Also, I want more servant plotlines.

Andor OK. So. I know that Andor is good. I'm grateful to it for adding a little cred to the Star Wars brand at a time when fans are disgruntled with it and apt to blame Disney for absolutely everything (though Disney seldom gets any credit when something Star Wars-related that the fans do like is released). And of course I'll watch it and admire the deft dialogue and storytelling, as well as the complex characters. 

To be frank, though, I'm not exactly excited for it. I find the premise that it's all right for the rebels to behave like swine if it's for the greater good of toppling the Evil Empire hard to swallow. Meanwhile, we have Skeleton Crew, which is much more light-hearted fare but which I confess is more my cup of tea (so far) than the somewhat disturbing politics of Andor. The galaxy far, far away is not yet on its last legs – I hope.

The Fantastic Four: First Steps and Thunderbolts* (yes, the asterisk is part of the title): Talking about struggling franchises, Marvel has had some tough years, but found favour with its fanbase this year with Deadpool and Wolverine. After an epic amount of homework – the X-men films and the previous two Deadpool films – I also watched it and really liked it. What's more, I've heard novices that have not done any homework to speak of praise it, which is, as Palps would say, a surprise to be sure but a welcome one. I may yet blog about how the film got away with a multiverse story where other films have failed (the answer is, basically: nothing clever, just two very charismatic leads).

What about this year, then? The upcoming TV projects seem all right, but not wildly thrilling. I had some hopes for the animated Spider-Man series, but judging from the trailer it seems awfully down with the kids (or rather teenagers). On the film front, Thunderbolts* seems promising, as the Thunderbolts team contains some interesting and/or funny antiheroes from previous films. But Fantastic Four is the studio's biggest swing, as it will introduce us comic-book ignoramuses to a new quartet of heroes in a completely new setting.

Now, of course I know that in the comic world, the Fantastic Four have been around since the year dot. There have been other film adaptations of their adventures as well, so they're not new from that perspective. But they're new in the MCU, and aren't tied to the previous complicated web of MCU stories. We are, in a sense, entering a new Enchanted Forest (I'm not one to forgo a Once Upon A Time reference). let's just hope it is enchanted. The casting is great: I'm particularly pleased to see that Joseph Quinn will be joining the MCU team. Others know him from Stranger Things (which I haven't seen); I know him as the actor who made the viewer sympathise with Arthur Havisham and Catherine the Great's useless son.

The Night Manager seasons two and three: I was somewhat sarcastic about the original The Night Manager series and, predictably enough, I think Tom Hiddleston would be better employed playing brainy, possibly redeemable villains rather than a strong, silent bore like Jonathan Pine. All the same, I'm curious. Where can the story possibly go after the first season? We didn't actually see Richard Roper get killed: will he escape his captors and return, out for blood? Will there be justice for Corky?