When reality TV plays nice – The Great British Bake-Off

The very last Thursday Next novel has arrived, and will in all likelihood be the juicy subject of my next blog post. Meanwhile, erm...

Yes, there is such a thing as less demanding TV than cosy crime, and the last couple of weeks I've been hooked on it. It's The Great British Bake-Off. Not even the latest series with Nigella, mind you, but seasons from way back which are airing on Swedish TV4 (approximately the equivalent to Britain's ITV) and BBC Nordic. My addiction reminds me of a Masterchef phase (mostly the Professionals version) I went through a couple of years back. Work has been intermittently energy-draining, and when you're stressed, even engaging in the airiest of fictional dramas can be a bit much. Now, for Bake-Off, you need no energy at all.

What's the appeal, though, for someone like me who can't bake for toffee (my cooking isn't great either)? Well, for one thing, I like eating, and Bake-Off heavily features tasty-looking desserts of different kinds. In this respect, it draws you in more than Masterchef, where the dishes could get a bit too fancy sometimes. Moreover, even the bakes that are too full of ingredients I don't much care for (why is everyone so fond of pistachios?) look an absolute treat.

The bakes are the big draw – all those astonishing "show-stoppers" – but admittedly not the only one. I'm fascinated by the social challenges the format puts its contestants through as well. Unlike reality shows like Big Brother, which (reputedly) are focused on making contestants behave badly for the sake of "good TV", the goal of Bake-Off (and to some extent Masterchef) is to create a cosy atmosphere where the contestants are as nice as possible. Mostly, they rise to the challenge, and their social skills impress me almost as much as their baking.

The underlying formula for Bake-Off is similar to the one I remember from various (probably ancient) Masterchef episodes. We have The Stern Judge, preferably male and good-looking in a silver-fox kind of way (in Bake-Off, Paul Hollywood). Then there is The Comparatively Nice Judge, preferably female, not always as easy to please as one might think (Mary Berry, then Prue Leith in the Bake-Off episodes I've seen). I can't remember the names of the judges in Masterchef Professionals, but I do remember a deceptively nice-looking male chef who was an absolute savage. Believe it or not, Hollywood is a pussycat in comparison. 

Along with the judges, we have the Comic Relief in the form of two presenters with no particular knowledge of baking/cooking. Their job is to lark about with the contestants and put them at their ease, with varying degrees of success. These presenters are probably household names in Britain, but I wouldn't know them from Adam. I quite like the vibe of the latest pair I've seen take on the role in Bake-Off, jolly Alison and Goth Noel who's actually a softie. That said, I'm not sure I'd find their antics de-stressing myself.

Through all these trials, the bakers have to keep their temper and show good sportsmanship. The ideal Bake-Off contestant is sweetly happy in victory – though not overdoing the wide-eyed "what, little old me?" humility – and gracious and stoic in defeat. Masterchef often featured the contestants who had to leave the show looking crushed and talking about how "gutted" they were. Bake-Off, wisely, tries to play this aspect down. The ousted bakers smile bravely, admit that they had a bad week and that it was a fair cop, and turn up in the final episode to cheer on the remaining trio. "No tears on Bake-Off", one contestant reminded herself when she got a bit emotional. Though it would be inhuman to follow this rule completely, she had the right idea.

Moreover, as viewers we want the bakers to get on, and they seem to do their very best in that regard, in spite of a process that appears to favour a selection of contestants as eclectic as possible (considering they all have to be great at baking as well). Every sign of camaraderie or generosity towards the other bakers is counted by this viewer as a point in a contestant's favour, and surely not just by me. 

It's a relief to see that the hopeful bakers seem to know what is required of them by way of friendly behaviour. When you're on telly in a programme designed to be feel-good viewing, the cliché about participating being more important than winning is actually true. Forget fierce competitive spirit (what Swedes call vinnarskalle, "winner's noggin"). Even if you were to win the whole competition, no-one will remember you fondly if you're arrogant or a grouch.

It could be argued that programmes like Bake-Off can take as much of a psychological toll on those involved in it as shows like Big Brother, where at least the contestants don't have to act hypocritically decently if they're not up to it. For my part, I prefer to see cosy competitions like Bake-Off as a triumph for niceness – which may be the naïve, consensus-loving Swedish part of me talking. Fika, anyone?

Why is Ludwig so enjoyable?

I always underestimate how much travel takes out of you, as I tend to forget how much time and energy is needed for preparations beforehand and settling back into old routines afterwards. Of course, the travelling itself is worth it, but I can't claim that I return from it well-rested.

Which is my excuse for being late with my blogging. Even now, I need to find a suitably lightweight blog subject. Like cosy crime. Fortunately, Swedish Television has decided to air a generous number of comforting British crime shows as an autumn pick-me-up for us dog-tired Swedes. Somewhat unexpectedly, the second series of Ludwig is the one I've had the most time for this far.

Now, don't get me wrong, I really liked the first series of Ludwig as well. Only, one would have thought that I'd care even more for a show like Bookish, where the viewer actually has a sporting chance of solving the mystery, or Marble Hall Murders, where I've read the book (a great read for a long train ride). I had a good time with both these shows. I was a bit surprised by the description of Knecht Ruprecht as an ultra-scary Krampus-like figure in Bookish – surely not? – and I have notes concerning the unnecessary changes to the plot of Marble Hall Murders (Why Corfu? Why "The Tiny People"? Why isn't Julia stout?), never mind that it's the author himself who's made them. But these are merely quibbles, when there's slick storytelling and the cream of British actordom to enjoy in both series.

Ludwig, however, brought a satisfaction all of its own, which is hard to explain seeing as there's a minimal chance for the audience to work out each episode's murder mystery. Instead, you sit back and watch puzzle master John Taylor aka Ludwig be brilliant as he solves murders, now as himself rather than masquerading as his absentee twin brother James. The mysteries have a classic puzzle element, and though it doesn't always play as decisive a role in the solving of the crime as we're led to believe, there is no way we as viewers can crack the case with the information we are given.

This makes Ludwig a more unusual crime series than it at first appears. It doesn't really invite us to do any detecting of our own, which ought to damage the show but strangely doesn't. There's something relaxing about simply watching a character being clever rather than trying to be clever yourself – it's a bit like those Sherlockian deductions which are there simply to make you marvel (and not think too hard about ways in which they cheat). I've always scoffed at the assumption that whodunnits are satisfying because everything is tied up neatly, as opposed to the often messy reality of crime fighting. But in Ludwig's case it might actually be true. I love watching John tie a case up in a pretty bow and be successful at work in spite of his social ineptness.

That doesn't mean the show is perfect. Secondary characters like the new Detective Constables are often thinly sketched, the overarching mystery of James's disappearance grows ever more outlandish (a murdering local politician? Really?), and the second series takes no time to remind us of what actually happened in series one which aired about a year ago. A "previously on" would have been appreciated (maybe there was one which we Swedish viewers missed?). 

Nevertheless, the hook of the overarching plot still holds: we want James to be found and his disappearance to be explained, but at the same time we don't want John to have to give up his place as part of a loving family. David Mitchell is funnier than in the first series, but he also sells the poignancy of his reply when James's wife Lucy asks him why he doesn't believe James simply ran away because he was tired of his life: "Because it's so nice."            

I'm up for series three, though I suspect they can't spin out the James mystery for more than three series. And I wonder if they can possibly find a non-preposterous conclusion to the "murderous local bigwig" plot.

Agents of Shield: some much-needed love for the middle manager

When I recently finished my rewatch of Agents of Shield, which I first watched a couple of years ago, I felt quite melancholic. This TV series, which first started to air well before the Disney Plus era (though it's not that old: it's roughly contemporary with Once Upon A Time), might actually be the best Marvel series out there. Granted, I've not seen more than one episode of the acclaimed Daredevil, which seems a little too gritty for me. But I would argue that Agents of Shield trumps most of the Disney Plus TV series at least – and I'm a big defender of Marvel's Disney Plus series.

For one, Agents of Shield has the classic American TV series format of 22-23 episodes per season, with a mid-season finale (where one storyline is often wrapped up in favour of a new one). The last two seasons had "only" 13 episodes each, but that was still plenty. As a European, I'm not used to such generously long seasons: a series/season of ten or so episodes (although they are mostly longer than a typical American-style episode) is considered a lot. Consequently, I was more attuned to the Disney Plus format of six to eight episodes where each episode had to carry a lot of weight than I suspect many Yanks were. Even so, I understood their hankering after the "good old days" of multi-episode TV series.

There is much to be said for the Agents of Shield format. You don't have to be overawed by every episode, or even every storyline. Something you like better will be along in a minute. Meanwhile, you can enjoy the quips and interactions of your favourite characters, whose individual story arcs get plenty of time to develop.

Because that's another thing Agents of Shield has going for it: really engaging characters, who constitute a strong ensemble cast. I know I've expanded on the importance of a likeable ensemble of characters before somewhere, though I can't find the post now. Anyway, Agents of Shield is a good example of ensemble-driven storytelling done right. True, Phil Coulson's select team of agents do need some time to set out their stall in season one, but they soon grow on you, and later additions to the team also work really well, which is important in a long-running series such as this. The likeability of the characters does have one drawback: you are seriously disappointed when an agent has to leave the team, for whatever reason. I'm still a bit peeved about a character death in season two which just seemed unnecessary.

The series is also really rewatchable, as I've now found out. Some storylines were anxiety-inducing the first time around (somber season five is still my least favourite, I think), so knowing roughly how everything plays out helps, though I had forgotten some of the plot twists. I could also acknowledge that certain turns of events that seemed to come out of nowhere first time around actually did make sense upon rewatching (That Twist in season one). Moreover, the dialogue is consistently witty. Comfort viewing at its finest.

Lastly, there is Phil Coulson himself, the leader of the special Shield team whose fates we follow. Coulson is supposed to be dead: in the first Avengers film, we saw him skewered by Loki. So how come he's still around? That's the mystery to be solved in the first season, but the main thing for the viewer is that he's there. Though he climbs in the ranks of (an admittedly shattered) Shield, and his boss Nick Fury goes underground never to be seen in the series after a few guest appearances in season one, Coulson strikes me as the ideal middle manager: gently smiling, full of self-deprecating humour, genuinely concerned for his team, tough and focused when he needs to be. The team members hype him up quite a bit as the series goes on, and it's a credit to the writing – and Clark Gregg's acting – that you totally buy into the hype as a viewer.

In Sweden, "middle manager" has become something of a term of abuse, which I can't help feel is unfair. There are shades of the Medieval argument "it's not the King's fault, it's his wretched tax collectors" about it. Many of the tough day-to-day decisions in an organisation have to be taken by the sorely tried middle management, while their lofty bosses "focus on the big picture". I don't usually have anything against said lofty bosses, mind you. Still, it's nice to see someone like Phil Coulson earn some love for the seconds-in-command out there.

From the swashbuckling to the depressing – some recently read historical novels

It's time for a book-related post, but it's hard to find a common thread tying it together. I think I'll have to go with the historical novel theme, rather than some (actually very entertaining) "family therapy chick-lit" which I've also read recently.

Back to my summer holidays, then, when I read Antonia Hodgson's A Death at Fountains Abbey and The Silver Collar in quick succession. As they take place in the 18th century (more unfamiliar territory for me than the Victorian age), and some serious issues play a part in the stories (the aftermath of the South Sea Bubble and slavery respectively), they kind of count as ambitious reads for me. And yet, they shouldn't, as they are so insanely readable. I had just started Fountains Abbey at the start of a six-day trip to London; by the time of the return flight, I had already finished both it and Silver Collar and had to resort to aforementioned family therapy chick-lit for the return flight.

Hodgson is an author who has clearly done a formidable amount of research, but she wears her learning lightly. There is never a sense of local colour added just to show that she has done her homework: everything feeds into the plot and characterisation. Thomas Hawkins, Hodgson's unruly hero – I'd call him hero rather than anti-hero, as for all his supposed roguishness he has a strong core of decency – is really likeable, and so is the woman he loves fondly and faithfully, the fiery Kitty (who loves him just as much in return). The setup reminds me a bit of Lindsey Davis's Falco novels, before I went off them: the down-on-his-luck protagonist and his lady figuring out mysteries together and making the reader root for them and wish they'd finally tie the knot properly.

I started this book series with book two, The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins which I also loved, about a year ago. Now I've purchased book one, The Devil in the Marshalsea, and look forward to reading it eventually. I should have read it before Confession, but was put off by the title: now, however, I'm reassured that there is nothing very infernal about Samuel Fleet whose nickname is in the title. However fierce to others, he is remembered by Thomas and Kitty with great warmth. So couldn't his fellow crooks have called him "the ogre of the Marshalsea" or something?

One thing Hodgson's novels do not have, though, is antagonists worthy of a villain-lover's sympathy. The main villains are horrible, enough for a Game of Thrones baddie to say "hold up" a couple of times. But it works plot-wise, and instead sympathy is shown to other shady characters, such as the unhappy fraudster in Fountains Abbey who in an inferior novel would only be an object of moral censure.

Feeling well disposed to historical novels, I started Emma Donoghue's Frog Music: I had read and liked her novel The Sealed Letter, about a fascinating Victorian divorce case, and knew that the writing would be good. And so it was, but goodness, how depressing! The cover and the blurb were, I would argue, intentionally misleading. The cover showed the torso of a woman in a bright dress carrying a pair of fancy boots, and the blurb spoke of "a compelling story of intrigue and murder" involving "three former stars of the Parisian circus", and hinted at some relationship-centred chamber piece ("When an eccentric outsider joins their little circle, secrets unravel, changing everything").

Not with one word is it mentioned that the main reason for the protagonist Blanche's ("an exotic dancer at the House of Mirrors") falling-out with her appalling lover Arthur and his equally ghastly chum Ernest is her and Arthur's singularly unlovely baby. Blanche belatedly rescues the baby from a "baby farm" and then cares for him, mostly out of guilt at first although she eventually starts to love the kid. Arthur and Ernest are miffed. The "eccentric stranger" Jenny Bonnet is only a part of it.

Donoghue is rather too good at describing discomfort, and I trudged through the descriptions of the heat- and smallpox-ridden San Francisco of 1876 and Blanche's tribulations with little enjoyment. Blanche's wearisome child-minding is only the start of it: then, things get worse, as she keeps failing to collect money that is hers and losing what she has. It's all well-written, just decidedly not my cup of tea. There is hope towards the end, but it's precious long in coming. I can't blame myself for sinking into chick-lit and very satisfying fairy-tale-themed fantasy (which I may return to in a later post) after I was finished.

A wicked Snow Queen? Fine by me

It's my second week back at work, and I can't say I feel particularly sprightly. But speculating on the Mouse's future plans usually perks me up, so let's do that.

At the latest D23 event, the audience got to see the first short trailer for Frozen III. (Roman numerals seem to be the norm when it comes to Frozen sequels, something I'm only now picking up on.) My first reaction when I heard that Disney Animation was going to do a Frozen III – and eventually even a Frozen IV – was a groaning "Really?". I wasn't too impressed by Frozen II: yes, the animation was lovely, but the plot was thin and the originally charming characters had started to grate somewhat. Consequently, I did not think Frozen had much left to offer as a franchise. However, after the D23 trailer (how much am I allowed to know about it? I'm assuming a lot as theories based on it have been plentiful on YouTube) I'm starting to wonder if I was wrong.

Look, if Disney has to do sequels, the world of Frozen may actually be one which can be mined for another movie or three, especially if the studio is heading in the direction it seems they are. For one, it appears they are steering away from the dreary Nature vs Civilisation storyline touched upon in Frozen II. The threat in Frozen III looks set to be not some long-dead Arendelle king who screwed over the noble tribe of the Northuldra, but good old magic, as wielded by a wicked counterpart to Elsa. 

And that's the next bit of good news: it seems we're getting a front-and-centre all-out dramatic villainess in the classic Disney mould, and frankly it's been a while since. It's like the animators at Disney brought out their old sketches of Elsa, back when she was supposed to be evil (and a more faithful adaptation of H C Andersen's Snow Queen), and thought: "hang on – these are too good to simply throw away". I'm all in favour of actually getting a villainous Snow Queen, especially seeing as the previous two Frozen films have had precious little to do with Andersen's tale. Personally, I would have preferred a foxy male winter-themed villain (where I come from, Jack Frost is not some mischievous teenager as depicted in Dreamworks' Rise of the Guardians  – only saying), but I'll settle for the razzle-dazzle of a Disney villainess.

There are causes for concern, however. On the hero side of things, the Frozen III trailer only features the original team of five: Elsa, Anna, Kristoff, Sven the reindeer and Olaf the snowman. It is telling that not one of the characters of Frozen II was considered important enough to be allowed to join the group. Also, Anna snaps at Kristoff, and this just before they are about to get married (or possibly directly afterwards). Anna and Kristoff's relationship has felt off ever since Frozen II, and if I'm going to be invested in it at all she needs to stop walking all over him. 

As for Olaf, who was fun in the original Frozen and the "Olaf presents" shorts on Disney Plus, he started to get on my nerves in Frozen II. As far as I'm concerned, this character has overstayed his welcome, and I'm afraid giving him a snowwoman love interest will result in him having too high a profile in the new film. It's a cute callback to Frozen II to call her Samantha, though.

Speaking of love interests, I'm not getting my hopes up when it comes to Elsa ever finding love. Here, the well-meaning speculations of the fandom may have hampered her chances. When Elsa was not paired off in Frozen (because she had other things to worry about), some fans started to theorise that she might be lesbian and clamour for a "girlfriend for Elsa". In Frozen II, Elsa's brief interaction with the rather bland Northuldra girl Honeymaren, who was so unimportant to the plot it was easy to suspect that something was left on the cutting-room floor, fuelled further discussions. 

For my part, I can't say I've so far detected any romantic interest on Elsa's side for any character, either male or female. A boyfriend would be as plausible as a girlfriend, in my opinion. But I'm guessing Disney won't introduce a female love interest for Elsa for commercial reasons, nor will they dare to introduce a male love interest for fear of angering the fans who wanted a girlfriend for her. Poor Elsa will have to remain celibate.

The chances of Hans returning and getting a redemption arc are also, let's face it, very slim. But as long as the Frozen films decide to go down the magical mystery route instead of pitting Arendellians against the one-with-nature Northuldra, I'm cautiously optimistic. Scandinavia has a lot of winter-themed folklore and fairy-tales to offer. Maybe the King of the Snowy Mountains, who rejoices when the sun sets for months on end leaving the North in darkness, would be a villain to consider for Frozen IV? Only saying.

Whoa, what are you doing, Jean Grey?

Spider-Man films tend to be the most popular Marvel-related films – partly, I guess, because this is a superhero just about everyone has heard of. You don't have to be a Marvel fan to go to see a Spider-Man flick. For my part, though, being a Marvel fan (or perhaps more correctly an MCU fan) is exactly the reason I saw Spider-Man: Brand New Day at my local cinema, instead of waiting for streaming. I did not want to miss out, though I have to admit Spider-Man is not my favourite superhero franchise.

This has nothing to do with the likeability of Spider-Man himself, quite the opposite. So many Spider-Man films seem intent on giving Peter Parker the worst time possible, and I find it hard to watch. (Life is no picnic for Miles Morales in the Sony Animation flicks either, but he tends not to settle for self-sacrifice so easily.) The serious bits are often well done and in line with the "with great power comes great responsibility" theme (which frankly I'm a little sick of by now), but I prefer not to have to pity the protagonist of a film to this degree. Take Spider-Man 2 from the old run of Spider-Man films directed by Sam Raimi as an example. Interesting character dynamics, superlative villain. But man, Peter's life was a mess.

Life is predictably shitty for Peter this time around as well, but there's hope towards the end. Also, the film never gets too unremittingly dark. While he's still separated from former girlfriend MJ and best friend Ned – who have forgotten his very existence because of an amnesia spell at the end of Spider-Man: No Way Home – Peter is not completely isolated. He has sweet character interactions with his gun-toting reluctant buddy Frank Castle aka the Punisher (I haven't watched any of the Punisher stuff but still enjoyed his role in this film) and the severely maternal NY police chief DeWolff. They only know him as Spider-Man, though, so Peter is still pretty lonely.

We don't spend too much time with the mopey stuff, however. This was one of the most enjoyable Spider-Man flicks I've seen, if not the most enjoyable. The characters are really likeable, the plot is preposterous but fun, the pacing works and the film looks great. I'm certainly glad I went to see it on the big screen. I only have one gripe, but being me it's not a small one, as it concerns the villain.

As has been widely speculated beforehand, the red-headed girl with telepathic abilities who gives Spider-Man so much grief during the first two-thirds (or even three-fourths) of the film turns out to be – ta-daaa – this universe's version of Jean Grey, known in other reiterations as a famous member of the X-Men team and all-round good egg. In the MCU, the X-Men don't exist – yet – and this is supposed to be this particular character's origin story.

Except she is horrible. Not as in badly acted – Sadie Sink does a good job with all the teenage angst – but as in behaving despicably and then being excused because of her heart-tugging motivation. I don't have a good track record when it comes to giving a teenage girl villain a break because "she's just a kid" (hello and goodbye Karli Morgenthau), and I would have thought Mind-Control Girl would have got away too easily even if she'd turned out to be someone else. But seriously, Jean Grey? Is no-one else bothered by this?

True, I haven't read the X-Men comics, but I have watched the original X-Men animated series, its recent follow-up X-Men -97, uncanonical high-school take X-Men: Evolution and all the Fox X-Men films, so I think I have a pretty good handle on the kind of character Jean Grey is supposed to be. In essence, she's a good girl. She and Scott Summers aka Cyclops are the Snow White and Prince Charming of the X-Men team. This means they can come across as a bit of a goody-two-shoes couple, but it also means they can serve as an anchor in an often highly-strung and morally conflicted team. Script-writers seem to love an "evil Jean" storyline, which is probably why the Dark Phoenix story arc has been adapted so many times (we've also had a Jean clone who went dark). But in order for a storyline like that to make sense and have the intended impact, we have to have a sense of what a decent person Jean Grey normally is.

Young girl Jean in Spider-Man: Brand New Day may have a reason for her fury, but if she'd only told Spider-Man all about it – and she has plenty of opportunity – then he could have helped her, and he and others would have been spared plenty of misery. As it is, Jean keeps her reasons for attacking the perpetually shady Department of Damage Control to herself, and in the process invades the minds of countless New Yorkers, among them MJ. She tortures Peter emotionally, has no compunction regarding the innocents whose minds she uses in her quest, and may even cause bloodshed (what happened to the guy who was run over, or the whole portion of the town she possessed when enraged?). Finally, she mends her fences with Spidey, but never apologises or faces up to all that she's done. 

Supremely charismatic villains might get away with a shoddy redemption arc like this, because they're villains. We're not too fussed about them apologising for their crimes – villain-lovers like me like them just the way they are. But a famous heroine, whose moral judgement we'll sooner or later be asked to trust in? What kind of an origin story is this for her? 

Still, what do I know: maybe Jean was a real wild child in the comics until Professor X took care of her education. And it's not as if I like Nice Jean that much. She seems suspiciously OK with letting Wolverine trail after her like a faithful Dobbin, when someone should really tell him to cut his losses and find another girl. 

As a Spider-Man film, Spider-Man: Brand New Day passes with flying colours. I just wish we had got another kind of villain instead of Puzzlingly Nasty Jean (nothing wrong with Obviously Shady DoDC Guy, though).

The parent problem of Disney's Descendants films

I'm perfectly aware that I'm not the target audience for the Descendants franchise. These breezy fairy-tale-meets-high-school-rom-com flicks are aimed at young viewers, specifically teenagers – at a guess, closer to fourteen than nineteen. Nevertheless, I can't help enjoying them. 

The original premise of the films is to let the children of famous Disney villains attend the same high school as the kids of famous heroes and see what happens. For this scenario to come about, the creators had to dream up a land (Auradon) where all the heroes hung out, and The Isle of the Lost to which all the villains had been banished. It did not make a lick of sense, but it was fun and spawned a jaunty trilogy centering on the villain kid quartet Mal, Evie, Carlos and Jay and their hero-kid love interests. Mal especially, played by rising star Dove Cameron, was the heroine (sometimes anti-heroine) of this trilogy.

With the tragic death of one of the leads (Cameron Boyce who played Carlos), the franchise ground to a halt for a while. Then it started up again with what seems set to be a new, Wonderland-centred trilogy, where Red, the daughter of the Queen of Hearts, and Chloe, the daughter of Cinderella and her prince, get up to time-travel shenanigans in order to improve the present, and then have to deal with the consequences. Recently, the fifth Descendants film, Descendants: Wicked Wonderland, premiered on Disney Channel and (fortunately for me) Disney Plus.

To sum up, the franchise contains fairy-tale crossovers, (non-snide) Disney references, romances, bouncy hummable tunes and ongoing riffs on the hero-villain dynamic. It's basically five films' (and counting) worth of "you and I are not so different" storylines. Of course I'll keep watching! Heck, age is just a number.

There are problems, though, when a geek like me troubles her decades-too-old brain with the logic of a franchise that's only supposed to be a fun time for high-school kids. I'm not too concerned with the sloppy world building when it comes to timelines, the way the fairy-tale federation of Auradon is run or the morally questionable choice of assembling all villains and their children in a penal colony. Having the parent generation of villains and heroes attend the same magic high school doesn't add up, but I'll let that pass. I don't question the blending of modern times with fairy-tale narratives. What bothers me are all the missing parents. Who are they? Where are they?

It started in the very first Descendants film: while the hero kids mostly had two parents (as a carry-over from the original stories), the villain kids were only introduced as the kids of Maleficent (Mal), the Evil Queen (Evie), Cruella de Vil (Carlos) and Jafar (Jay). Not a peep about who their other parents were. While we eventually (in film number three) learned that Mal's dad is Hades, the rest of the quartet's second parents remain a mystery. It wasn't just the villain spawn either. Fairy Godmother has a daughter called Jane, and Dopey has a son called Doug. Nice to know that Dopey scored, but with whom?

If it had ended there, I could have lived with it, as it's quite fun to speculate and invent head-canons regarding probable pairings. But each film introduced new young protagonists, and almost every time only one of their parents (a famous villain, mostly) was mentioned. That way, the problem has grown exponentially to a point where even a whole film exclusively dedicated to tying up loose parent threads (which we're never going to get anyway) wouldn't be enough. For crying out loud, even Smee has twins. How did that happen?

What makes me mind this quirk of the Descendants films much more than I should is, I think, all the lost storytelling opportunities. I believe someone somewhere claimed that the films were to be considered as Disney canon, but come on, they're clearly not. Which means they could have gone nuts and fan-fictioned away by pairing Disney villains up any old way, which would then enrich the possibilities when it comes to the villains' offspring. The "VKs" (villain kids) would have two sources of villain genes to worry about rather than one. There could be clandestine villain-hero hook-ups, of the romantic or scandalous kind. Who is Jane's dad – is there perhaps a reason Fairy Godmother keeps her on such a tight leash?

Surely the target audience, consisting as it does to a great extent of teenage girls, has to wonder about this too and bemoan the lost opportunities for even more Disney-related "ships"? I'm at a loss to explain this storytelling nonchalance. Maybe, considering the young audience, the creators have chosen to be a bit shy when it comes to procreative matters. We learnt in Descendants 3 that Maleficent and Hades are supposed to have been married when Mal was conceived, although they then split up. Now, I can imagine the Disney versions of Hades and Maleficent having an affair, but married? It's as if the powers that be don't want to sully their viewers' minds too much with contemplations on the possibly irregular relationships which resulted in villain kids such as Evie, Carlos, Jay and many more.

To anyone progressively minded who feels the need to snigger at this and at Maleficent's and Hades's "marriage", I have a question: Who, exactly, is Bow's mother in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power? I'm not disputing that his two dads are super cute and shippable, but someone must have carried Bow for nine months in her womb, no? Sometimes, progressive media have their own problems with the birds and the bees.