Former friends turned enemies – an irresistible trope (at least for me)

Last week was exhausting, which means I'm a bit late with my blogging. Even now, I'm reaching for the easy option blog-wise. Instead of explaining why Pixar's Hoppers is really watchable and not at all the simplistic "Man the Destroyer" fable I had feared (my least favourite cliché or trope, together with "Eat the rich", and "Who are the monsters here"), I'm going to write about Young Sherlock on Prime.

There's no shortage of films or TV projects that want to hitch a ride on the Sherlock train without having much – if anything – to do with the great detective as described by Arthur Conan Doyle. I've mentioned these Holmesian rip-offs a number of times: the Guy Ritchie movies, the Enola Holmes atrocity (I never did watch the second film), The Irregulars on Netflix. Young Sherlock is undoubtedly the same kind of thing. And yet, as with The Irregulars, I ended up enjoying the series on its own terms, even if it is far from "the spirit of the original". 

I'm not going to go into the matter of why Holmes's good name keeps getting exploited again, as it's well-trodden ground. Instead I'll concentrate on another aspect of the series, the irresistible hook that kept me watching even though the banter of the first couple of episodes was pretty tired. In Young Sherlock, we see the future detective teaming up with an Irish Oxford undergraduate called – drum roll – James Moriarty.

Predictable? Yes. Wonderfully inventive? Not really. But it doesn't need to be. I'm a sucker for a story showing how the hero and his arch-enemy used to be friends. It's why I once sat through an enormously long film (which I think was meant as a TV series, something the DVD I rented did not make clear) called Neverland. It's why I've started to watch the TV series Smallville, in spite of having zero investment in the Superman universe (I'm admittedly only two episodes in, but so far Lex is being a great pal to Clark). It's why Master episodes in Doctor Who appeal to me, in spite of The Master being a bit too chaotic a villain for my liking. The friends-turned-enemies trope is "You and I are not so different" and the hero-villain team-up rolled into one, and I love it.

Admittedly, it could be more cleverly done than in Young Sherlock. You have to ask yourself why a Holmes-Moriarty team-up is so appealing when Holmes isn't behaving noticeably like Holmes and Moriarty isn't behaving noticeably like Moriarty. This Sherlock mostly resembles the Guy Ritchie movie version of Sherlock Holmes in his youth, which makes sense as Guy Ritchie directed some of this TV show's episodes as well. Young Moriarty is charming, full or Irish blarney and has some unscrupulousness about him, but there's little hint of a future criminal mastermind at work, or for that matter a future Mathematics Professor. They are less two geniuses trying to think their way to a solution to their problems, and more two boisterous young men who get into scrapes.

There are some hints that these are bright young lads, admittedly, and that they are uniquely on each other's wave length. While we don't get scenes where Sherlock rattles off brilliant deductions, we do see his power of observation, illustrated by time slowing down while he takes in all the details in a scene or a room. Intriguingly, we see Moriarty joining him in these moments, while he follows the same trains of thought. He is the only one who can enter young Sherlock's "mind palace" (to borrow a concept from BBC's Sherlock).

All in all, though, the show's main charm comes not from any impressive detective work on the part of the protagonists, but more from being a ripping yarn. I was a little doubtful during the first episodes, but when the series switches focus to an unsolved mystery from Sherlock's childhood, the plot thickens and becomes more gripping. However, there are no prizes for guessing who the ultimate Big Bad is (not Colin Firth's blunt Empire builder, no), and the motivation of at least one important character remains something of a mystery. 

This is not the kind of show that makes you feel clever for watching it. But if a 19th-century caper involving two bright hotheads, a female Chinese assassin, a former asylum inmate who (naturally) turns out not to be mad at all and the stiff straight man trying to keep some control over the situation sounds fun to you, you could do worse than giving Young Sherlock a watch. After all, Conan Doyle himself appreciated a good adventure story.                      

Ballet Shoes: The first "shoe" book, and the best (probably)

What to do when a book post is due, but you go through your self-indulgence reads much faster than your slightly more ambitious ones? Try to write about the self-indulgence reads, of course – not that that's necessarily easy, especially when it's a classic like Noel Streatfeild's Ballet Shoes (yes, her name is spelled like that: Kathleen in You've Got Mail got it right).

Recently, I tore through Streatfeild books like a maniac, starting with a reread of the Gemma books (sadly out of print) and then moving on to other old favourites. Ballet Shoes was the book that started it all, and the reason a number of Streatfeild books were reissued with shoe-related names like Theatre Shoes (originally Curtain Up), Skating Shoes (aka White Boots) and my favourite marketing tour de force, Travelling Shoes (for Apple Bough). As far as I can make out, this ploy started during Streatfeild's life time, so she must have approved, though I can imagine her being quite sardonic about it.

Anyway, it only makes sense to profit from the goodwill of Ballet Shoes. It is a classic for a reason, and sets the tone for many of Streatfeild's subsequent books that deal with similar themes and, to some extent, characters. Nana in Ballet Shoes is pretty much the same character as Hannah in Curtain Up/Theatre Shoes and Nana in White Boots/Skating Shoes, though they are supposed to be different women, and as late as in the Gemma books Lydia Robinson's single-mindedness when it comes to her dancing is reminiscent of Posy Fossil's.

Ballet Shoes, then, is very much the place to start if you want to try Streatfeild. Rereading it as an adult, I'm gripped by it in the same way as when I first read it (or rather, had it read to me) as a child. Or perhaps not precisely in the same way: you dive into a fictional world more whole-heartedly as a kid, while your adult self can't help being a little more analytical. Not necessarily more critical, mind you, but instead of just accepting the magic you nod and think "that was pretty well thought-out".

When I was a child, the lives of the three adopted Fossil girls with their different talents seemed like sheer wish-fulfilment. What I notice as an adult is that these kids work hard. There's precious little leisure in their lives even before they start earning money, at the age of twelve. The genteel poverty also hits home a little more forcefully. As a child, I was apt to groan "what, again?" when new audition frocks were needed; it didn't seem so many chapters ago that Pauline got a new one and everyone had to be ingenious in order to drum up the money. What I'd plain forgotten was that all of poor Petrova's birthday money is spent on those new frocks – and she doesn't even like stage work.

Dare I say it, the three girls seem to work quite a bit harder than their guardian Sylvia aka Garnie who, though very sweet, is rather a passive character. Yes, she runs a boarding house, but she is helped by a cook and maid and (the unpaid) Nana. As for any decision-making, it's up to Nana and the incredibly helpful boarders. I understand better now why Sylvia feels guilty about accepting the girls' money, and why she was saddled with a chest complaint in the TV adaptation of Ballet Shoes, in order to make her more in need of looking after.

Luckily Pauline and Posy Fossil take to acting and dancing respectively and consequently don't mind the hard work. The arrangement is toughest for engine-obsessed Petrova, who doesn't enjoy her time at The Children's Academy for Dancing and Stage Training run by Madame Fidolia one bit. Here, the old childhood magic holds, though, because I still think Madame Fidolia's Academy sounds absolutely wonderful and can't really pity someone for "having" to go there. 

Both in Ballet Shoes and in Curtain Up, the conceit that the child protagonists "have" to enlist at the Academy in order to make money grates a little. Yes, in both cases, two-thirds of the enlisted children soon feel at home, but they're not allowed to join simply because they want to go on the stage. It riled me as a stage-struck child and it riles me still. (I may get back to Curtain Up in the future; I think I could fill half a blog post with ranting about how the clearly talented and imaginative Mark gives up stage life for nonsensical reasons, encouraged by his sister who should know better.)

Is Ballet Shoes Streatfeild's best book? That's debatable: after all, it is her debut book, and in later books her trademark humour and Streatfeildisms are more in evidence (candidly revealing what the characters actually think rather than what they're supposed to think). White Boots is in many ways a more complex story, what with all the intricate plots the grown-up characters think of in order to keep the friendship of Lalla and Harriet intact. However, you can't beat Ballet Shoes when it comes to the atmosphere and set-up: whether in the Academy or in the Fossils' ramshackle home, this is a fictional world you want to spend lots of time in.                    

A fine year for Austen adaptations? Who knows...

I have to confess to feeling pretty tired today, too tired – as it turns out – for any analytical thinking. Even searching reviews of old children's classics are beyond me (I will get to the three best "shoe books" by Noel Streatfeild eventually). But when I have no energy to bellyache over future costume dramas, then all hope is truly lost, so I'll try that.

According to a video I caught on YouTube, 2026 will be a big year for Austen adaptations. The claim was made on the strength of two TV series and one film – one of the TV series is already airing (in Great Britain, if not here in Sweden) and the other two projects are in the pipeline. The simple question to answer, which even I should manage in my knackered state, is: do they look as if they'll be any good?

The Other Bennet Sister: Not really an Austen adaptation, but taking place in the Austen universe, as it were, as it's an adaptation of Janice Hadlow's novel with the same name. I really liked the novel  when I read it a couple of years ago; it made a good case for Mary Bennet without vilifying the other characters. The clips I've seen have looked promising, and the one review I've read so far was very positive indeed. 

There is a risk, of course, that the adaptation will overplay its hand when it comes to decrying the precarious position of Regency women. Not that it wasn't precarious, but I find I'm becoming more and more irritated with period dramas which tut-tut too loudly over the past (and I didn't have much patience with them to begin with). All the same, I'm cautiously looking forward to The Other Bennet Sister.

Pride and Prejudice on Netflix: Netflix doesn't have the best track record when it comes to Austen adaptations. This looks like a more serious attempt than the insane Persuasion from a few years back, though. Weighty actor names have been secured for it: I may be suffering slightly from Olivia Colman fatigue, but there's no denying she's a solid choice for Mrs Bennet, and I can't wait to see Rufus Sewell's Mr Bennet (is Mr Bennet really allowed to be more attractive than the story's love interests?) and Fiona Shaw's Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

What of the central couple, then? Here, I'm more wary. Emma Corrin was a great Princess Diana in The Crown, and made for an amusingly chaotic villain in Deadpool and Wolverine. However, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Corrin got the part of Elizabeth Bennet before announcing themselves to be non-binary. Lizzy Bennet is all woman, and casting an actor in the role who doesn't commit to womanhood is something of an insult to us gals. Corrin could still be good, though.

If you think that's a shallow argument for doubting someone's suitability for a part, then how about this? Jack Lowden, judging from the pictures I've managed to unearth on IMDB, looks nothing like I imagine Mr Darcy. Still, for all I know, he could be a brilliant actor who will carry it off. Also, a spot of hair dye did wonders for Colin Firth, so maybe they'll use the same treatment here? I'm all for ginger men as a rule, but Mr Darcy is... not ginger.

This adaptation of Pride and Prejudice will be worth a watch, even if, as I think we can assume, it won't be able to hold a candle to the BBC version. But as it's a straightforward adaptation of Austen's most beloved book (though I'm more fond of Emma myself), the risk that it'll crash and burn is much higher  than with The Other Bennet Sister.

Sense and Sensibility: Before the aforementioned YouTube video, I had no idea this film was coming out this year, or even existed. For me it's an unknown quantity, which in itself is pretty exciting. The only name I recognised from the cast list was Fiona Shaw, again, in the very different from Lady Catherine role of Mrs Jennings. The casting director hasn't been too lazy but has gone for more unknown names (either that or I'm just hopelessly out of touch), and I respect that.

Now, if there's one thing that's harder to pull off than making a TV adaptation of Pride and Prejudice that can be mentioned on the same day as the Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth one, it's making a new Sense and Sensibility film when the perfection of the 1995 film exists. All the same, it should be possible to put a slightly different spin on the source material. Sense and Sensibility isn't such a polished product of a novel as Pride and Prejudice, but that can give an adapter a little more leeway.

Not much is known, and much can go wrong, but I'll watch this – as well as the other adaptations, naturally. Be prepared for much bellyaching if they prove to be horrible.

All right, season four of Bridgerton is actually pretty good

Has it come to this? Am I really reduced to blogging about Bridgerton?

As has perhaps become apparent, I'm not the greatest fan of this sumptuous smash hit of a Netflix series. That it should be my kind of thing has only made me more irritated with it when it's fallen short. To be honest, though, my biggest gripe with the show is not the languid pacing (wafer-thin main plots drawn out over eight hour-long episodes per season) or its shallow characterisation but the baleful influence the Bridgerton universe has had on costume dramas as a whole.

From the very first trailer, it was clear: this is Regency England, Jim, but not as we know it. Inexplicably, as it seemed then, the Regency ton was depicted as prettily and modishly diverse. It was as anachronistic as if a Rolls Royce had driven through the streets or the Queen had consulted an iPad to keep track of social events. 

The series later made clear that what we were looking at was an alternative universe, one where George III married a feisty African princess called Charlotte instead of a retiring German princess called Charlotte. Still, the conceit has never quite worked for me. Here's the thing: aristocracy is based on heredity. That's why many, including me, aren't frightfully keen on it. The older the family, according to this kind of thinking, the higher the prestige. The real English Regency élite would not have welcomed foreigners from far-off lands, even if they were high-born in their own countries, into their inner circle without a grumble. Much less would they have allowed the interlopers to supplant local families, at least not without a social upheaval equalling the one taking place in France at the same time. No revolution has shaken the Regency society of Bridgerton, however: the social mores of the ton remain what they've always been.

So what of it, you may ask: can't I give this one series a pass? After all, the premise, far-fetched as it is, has allowed the showcasing of talented actors who would otherwise not have been given the opportunity to try their hands at Regency foppery. And yes, I would be prepared to accept Bridgerton on its own terms, if it hadn't been for the domino effect. The show's success has led to even more wildly unhistorical imitations which don't even bother with the alternative-universe excuse, like the Netflix Persuasion or the episode "Rogue" in Doctor Who. Ideology is trumping common sense when it comes to period dramas; you can even see it in high-prestige projects like the final series of Wolf Hall. This is not exclusively Bridgerton's fault, but it makes its self-congratulating tone hard to bear.

All right then, let's say Bridgerton takes place in a realm entirely separate from any historical reality, a little like the fairy-tale realms of Once Upon A Time. How well does the actual drama work? As mentioned, I have been underwhelmed by previous seasons, but season four was a welcome surprise, and not only because it was an adaptation of sorts of the classic Cinderella story, something I am a sucker for. 

Yerin Ha makes an enchanting romantic lead as Sophie. I was less sure about Luke Thompson's Benedict, but their chemistry carried all before it. The episode where they got to know each other under the watchful eyes of Benedict's old retainers, Mr and Mrs Crabtree, while Benedict recovered from an attack at his "cottage" (a minor mansion), was a delight. Elsewhere, the subplots knitted together better than I'm used to from Bridgerton, and the character moments between the Bridgerton family members actually carried some weight. 

I was particularly pleased to see that Eloise, whom I have wanted to like (as Claudia Jessie is quite winning) but who I must admit has been a bit of a pill in previous seasons, was finally mending her ways after having been called out on her self-absorption by her younger sister Hyacinth. When she reconciled with Cressida, a supposed mean girl (more sinned against than sinning in my opinion) who was brutally shafted in the previous season but who now finally gets her happy ending, I could have cheered.

The season ends with a perfect hook. Throughout the series, a gossip sheet penned by "Lady Whistledown" has been a continuing connective plot thread. We got to know, somewhat too early in the series, who the Lady was, but now someone else has taken over the role, unbeknown to the original writer who has given the sheet up. I find myself quite engaged in the mystery. Bridgerton has won me over: just don't confuse it with history.

So, Wonder Man was not what I expected (but still good)

This could prove to be a tricky post to write. While I really liked Wonder Man, it's not the kind of series I usually have that much to say about. Though under the Marvel umbrella, it's not really that nerdy, but more of a straightforward drama about friendship. And that was what was surprising about it.

Not the lack of nerdiness, mind you. The marketing of this series made it clear that there would not be much superheroing going on, although one of the protagonists has superpowers. However, I did get the impression that the show would be a light-hearted comedy. I thought the setup of an art-house director taking on a superhero movie would be much more central to the plot than it was, and a source for friendly Hollywood satire and meta-humour.

And it is, up to a point. But the focus is on the friendship developing between Simon Williams, a young, serious American actor who has yet to catch a break, and Trevor Slattery, a has-been, cheerfully immoral British actor whose comeback is hampered by the fact that in the past he posed as a terrorist called The Mandarin.

Simon is losing gigs by over-analyzing his bit-parts, when he hears about a remake of an old cheesy superhero classic called Wonder Man. The old film has personal significance to him, and he feels he just has to get the starring role. The problem is, not only is he difficult to work with, he's also hiding his superpowers (which basically consist of blowing stuff up with ionic whatsits while remaining unscathed) as superpowered actors are more or less banned in Hollywood. Trevor, on the other hand, has been arrested for his past misdeeds by a policing agency (especially interested in superpowered people) called the DODC. He strikes a deal with them to get close to and dig out the dirt on Simon, who's already under suspicion. Only then, of course, he warms to Simon and no longer wants to sell him out.

Simon and Trevor becoming real friends is a given, but not the way it's depicted. I've always has a lot of time for Trevor (he also appeared in Iron Man 3 and Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings), played with enjoyable lightness of touch by the Grand Old Man of drama Ben Kingsley. What I hadn't banked was that I'd care so much for Yahya Abdul-Mateen II's troubled Simon. The power dynamic between the two actors is different from what I'd imagined it would be. In his previous appearances, Trevor Slattery was the comic relief, and the protagonists more or less rolled their eyes at him. Simon, though, looks up to him as a mentor and quickly realises what a good actor he is. Trevor ends up with the upper hand, and zero idea of what to do with it.

As someone stage-struck since childhood, I especially liked the acting-related parts of the plot – like Simon and Trevor bonding over favourite passages in plays (and films?), or art-house director Von Kovak's putting actors vying for the roles of Wonder Man and his sidekick Barnaby through barmy-seeming improv exercises. The improv brings forth some great acting from the hopefuls, and when Simon tries to fob Von Kovak off with something already scripted he calls him out immediately ("that was a scene from Pretty Woman"). Von Kovak's no fool. 

The acting shenanigans are only part of it, though. I did not expect this series to lean so heavily into drama as it did. I caught myself thinking that if it hadn't been branded Marvel, I'd probably have thought it Too Serious for Me and not given it a chance. There's an episode where Simon attends his Haitian-born mother's birthday with Trevor in tow, and you realise what an outsider he has been most of his life, what with the neighbours barely making an effort to be civil and Simon's punchable successful brother showing his displeasure with the prodigal (Ma Williams stands by her boy, though). A self-contained episode shows the horrific incident involving DeMarr "Doorman" Davis which led to the Hollywood ban on superpowered people. Though it has its funny moments, the episode is mostly gut-wrenching as it shows the tragic rise and fall of a decent man who didn't even want to be famous.

Is it a little dishonest to float a show like this under the Marvel banner when it's so different from what you connect with Marvel (not just when it comes to superheroing but also fun and games)? Maybe, but as long as a show is good I don't think it has to excuse itself, and Wonder Man is good. I'm guessing it's thanks to the Marvel connection that the ending is as satisfying as it is instead of ultra-bleak, as it could very well have been in a different context. Simon, Trevor and their friendship will pull through – but the same can probably not be said for "Doorman" Davis.

The Night Manager season two: the good, the bad and the boring

Of the shows I've watched on Amazon Prime recently, there was one where one of the heroes made a passionate case against the unchecked proliferation of weapons and was willing to risk his life to stop it, though you could also see the point of his emotionally damaged antagonist. And then there was The Night Manager season two. 

Yes, Jonathan Pine is back, and I'm sorry to say as personality-less as ever. Over the years, when I've reread my first blog post about The Night Manager, I've felt guilty about my cattiness regarding Tom Hiddleston in the role. What did I mean when I called him "not conventionally handsome"? He is too! There's nothing wrong at all with the spacing of his eyes. Just look what an absolute dish he is as Loki in numerous Marvel films. What was I thinking?

The second season of The Night Manager comforts me a little, as it reminds me what a yawn-inducing cipher Pine is. The role settles itself over Hiddleston like a wet blanket, dousing all mischievous Loki charm. Pine doesn't even have a sense of humour; he just spends the whole series looking anxious. At least he's not all bronzed and beefcaked this time around, so he looks all right, from my point of view. Oh, and at the start of the season, we see that he has a cat called Corky (of whom he seems fond – the cat, that is, not his season one murder victim). With that, I've run out of nice things to say about the character. Better luck in Doomsday, Tom.

Why this neglect of proper character development for the hero? I suspect the head writer of the series, David Farr, is a bit of a villain-lover. He certainly invests more vim into depicting the baddies: although by no means complex, they are a lot more colourful than Pine and his allies. It's funny, because I didn't get this feeling from the first season, which had a certain tone of moral outrage. Now, although the villain plan is so evil you just have to root for Pine & Co regardless, the slight disdain towards the rich, privileged and criminal is replaced by shameless fascination. Pine seemed perfectly fine shrugging off Richard Roper and his fate at the end of season one. In season two, ten years later, he's still obsessed by Roper and his legacy, and so is the series.

It's hard to review season two of The Night Manager without spoilers (English newspapers didn't even try, so I got the main twist spoiled and was miffed, although it was rather an obvious one). Anyway, the  setup is that Pine once again has to go undercover after he gets wind of the dealings of Teddy Dos Santos, who calls himself "Roper's true heir". Dos Santos is also into illegal arms dealing, in spite of having his HQ in Colombia, where you'd have thought it would be tempting to get into other kinds of shady trades. I don't quite understand why they made the Night Manager baddies arms dealers. Wouldn't drugs be more boo-hissable? Or is this just my Swedish bias?

At the start, I thought I'd like season two more than the sluggishly paced first season. The thriller elements worked well, and Diego Calva's Dos Santos was a charming villain. He had lots more chemistry with Hiddleston's Pine than Pine's potential love interest, sultry Roxana (Camila Morrone), and single-handedly provided most of it. It soon becomes clear that Dos Santos is merely a pawn and not the Big Bad (of course not, he's way too cute). After That Twist at the end of episode three, there are still many enjoyable scenes and nail-biting sequences, but there's no denying the plot's bizarre. One of the protagonists from the first season has to act completely out of character for it all to happen.

Still, if you see it as entertaining, high-octane thriller nonsense with no pretensions to hard-hitting realism, season two of The Night Manager is a good time – up until the highly disappointing ending. I know there's a season three in the works, but really, what was that? I'm not sure how a third season will be able to salvage the whole, to be honest. Though I'll watch it, naturally. I need to know what happened to Corky the cat.

The show I alluded to in the first paragraph? The Legend of Vox Machina, animated, R-rated fantasy inspired by a game I've never played. And yet, it has considerably more complex and likeable characters than a supposedly high-prestige BBC drama like The Night Manager. That's the way of the world.

Chibnall does Christie – and it could have been worse

"From the creator of Broadchurch", an ad boasted, and my heart sank. When I nominated Seven Dials on Netflix as one of the 2026 shows I was looking forward to, I had no idea that the script-writer would be none other than Chris Chibnall, the inventor of The Timeless Child and the bane of Gallifrey.

I had a lot of problems with Chibnall's run as Doctor Who showrunner, which wasn't unexpected, as I didn't care for the Who episodes he penned during the reigns of his predecessors Russell T Davies and Steven Moffat either. Now, however, after RTD has botched his return to the show so badly, I've started wondering whether I judged Chibs too harshly. There were parts of his Doctor Who run I liked, such as the Flux series and The Power of the Doctor. Consequently, I was prepared to give his version of The Mystery of the Seven Dials (simply called Seven Dials on Netflix) a fair chance – or fairish at any rate.

In the end, Seven Dials turned out to be a solid good watch. Chibnall proved to be a better Christie adapter than Sarah Phelps, just as his Doctor Who run (with hindsight) can be said to be better than the RTD 2/Disney Plus era. The problem is, that's not saying an awful lot. I was grateful Chibnall didn't mess around more with the source material than he did, but there were still lots of moments when I had reason to recall why his Who scripts irritated me in the first place.

The basic plot is more or less the same as in Christie's novel, and her twists are intact. Chibnall has added one twist of his own, but I didn't think it detracted from the original story. Other tweaks of the plot were pardonable too. I don't quite understand why Bundle had to be in love with the first murder victim – it causes her to mooch around a great deal during the whole first episode – but I didn't mind it much. Gender-swapping Lord Caterham to an almost equally unlikeable Lady Caterham worked quite well, especially as she's played by Helena Bonham Carter. Mandatory diversity is built into the plot by making Ronnie Devereux of Indian descent and the brilliant researcher from Cameroon rather than Germany, but if we have to play the diversity game I much prefer these kinds of changes to "colour-blind" casting.

What is less easy to bear are the outbreaks of clumsy commentary, as if Chibnall just had to leave his 21th-century fingerprints everywhere. Sir Oswald Coote lunges into a Brash Capitalist rant about how class can be bought at one time, for no good reason that I can see. A whole scene is dedicated to showing how harsh Lady Coote has been to a maid. Lady Coote in the book was a good-natured creature who was bullied by the Caterhams' gardener, but I accept that making her sharper adds her to the roster of likely suspects, which is no bad thing. However, she doesn't have to turn into a servant terroriser. Lady Caterham's snobbishness is very on the nose, and the Cameroonian scientist makes a whole little speech about how he and others on the African continent had to fight at the behest of "European white men" which sounds a great deal more 2020s rather than 1920s.

It's not as if Chibnall has that good a grasp of the period he apparently feels superior to. When George Lomax laments the lack of political interest of young women, Bundle replies sweetly "gives us the vote and we just might [take an interest]", whereupon Lomax guffaws patronisingly. It's true that Bundle wouldn't have had the vote in 1925, but married women of 30 and over already had the right to vote since 1918, so the idea of extending this right further wouldn't have felt far-fetched even for Lomax. Lady Caterham tells Bundle that Bundle's brother died because of the mistakes of a "drunken old general". The High Command during World War One hasn't had the best press, but that is surely an oversimplified view of what went down. Officers trained in traditional warfare were ill-equipped to make tactical decisions in the first truly modern war; I would argue that their age and state of inebriation didn't have much to do with it.

But enough complaining. Chibnall may not be able to refrain completely from Chibnallisms, but compared to some of the pontificating we've had from other script-writers, and the right-out distortions of the source material we got from Phelps, they are simply mild annoyances. The best thing about this adaptation is not the script but the stellar casting. Mia McKenna-Bruce is spot-on as Bundle (though Chibnall should have given her a better grasp of grammar). Helena Bonham Carter is fun, as always. Martin Freeman makes a surprisingly convincing Battle, and his first confrontation with McKenna-Bruce's Bundle adds a welcome sparkle to the proceedings. Edward Bluemel is excellent as Jimmy Thesiger, and Alexander Macqueen is genuinely funny as Lomax. You wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of Mark Lewis Jones's Sir Oswald Coote, especially not if he was carrying his rifle and you were an aristo.

It's a shame that a few things are dragged out or added unnecessarily, while other aspects of the plot which were important in the book – Bill Eversleigh's feeling for Bundle, the efficiency of Pongo – get very little room. But all in all, this isn't a bad Seven Dials version. If Chibnall chooses to do a sequel of some kind (maybe adapting The Secret of Chimneys, though that would be reversing the original chronological order of the novels), I'm here for it. 

Apologies to Nora Roberts

A good while back (in 2017, which is a horrifying nine years ago) I was pretty harsh on Nora Roberts, on the basis on The Next Always which I tried to read and then gave up on. I owe her an apology, because since then I've enjoyed plenty of her novels – but as audiobooks, not as paperbacks.

Roberts is a good example of the differences between an audiobook and a paper novel. Things you like listening to would not necessarily thrill you as reading matter, and vice versa. The typical Nora Roberts novel is, in my view, ideal for the audiobook medium. I had an especially good time with her latest Lost Bride trilogy: Inheritance, The Mirror and The Seven Rings. The plot in brief: Sonya, a feisty web designer who's just thrown out her cheating fiancé and quit her job, inherits a lovely Maine mansion from an unknown uncle. It is full of friendly ghosts, plus one hostile one. Sonya has to figure out how to break a curse in order to help the friendly ghosts to move on, as clues are conveniently drip-fed to her.

Plot-wise, the whole story could easily be condensed into one volume. But as an audiobook listener, I appreciated the hanging-out-with-characters scenes which annoyed me in The Next Always. I wallowed in the cosiness of it all while I did my chores and Sonya, her best friend Cleo and their respective love interests cooked and ate good food, went for outings, acquired charming pets, interacted with the friendly ghosts (that was my favourite part) and were successful at their jobs. 

Would all this have bored me had I read it? Possibly. The Lost Bride trilogy did not try to interest me in the minutiae of renovating a hotel or helping a kid in the bathroom, so I think I would have liked it more than The Next Always even on paper. What I am sure of is that I got more enjoyment from the trilogy as listening matter than I would have got in book form.

When I read, I like the story to have some momentum and not get too stuck in one particular place, however appealing that place may be. In an audiobook, on the other hand, I don't mind dwelling for a little longer than necessary story-wise in a pleasant fictional world. So the attractive settings and friendly banter of Roberts's novels work very well. The sex scenes are a bit of a trial for me, as I don't much care for the Rugged Hero type that Roberts's heroines fancy, but that's a minor quibble.

Conversely, there are gripping reads that work less well as audiobooks. If a novel has a huge cast of characters, for instance, it's a disadvantage for an audiobook as you can't just flip back the pages to remind yourself who X was, then easily find where you were again. If an author has a certain style you're particularly partial to, it can fly by you too easily while you're distracted by making the bed or cleaning the kitchen. For this reason, I only occasionally listen to my downloaded audiobook version of A Tale of Two Cities, although it is very nicely read by Martin Jarvis. It would be interesting to find out if P.G. Wodehouse works in the audiobook medium or not: I suspect not, but I could be wrong.

So, sorry, Nora, for not finding the best way to enjoy your novels sooner. If I can find something equally feel-good in paper form as Blue Dahlia (the Roberts novel I'm currently listening to) to get me through January, I'll be very lucky.

Zootopia/Zootropolis 2 – Is the sequel better than the original?

I do appreciate the Epiphany holiday, which comes around just when you're feeling a bit grumpy that Christmas is in essence over. Not if the Three Wise Men have anything to say about it, it's not! For some lucky Swedish employees like me, what with the 6th being on a Tuesday, we get an extra "squeeze day" off this year. But it does mean that I have no excuse not to get a blog post in.

It's time to talk about Zootopia 2, released as Zootropolis 2 in Europe (why? I guess I could ask AI). Although Zootropolis 2 is in my opinion a somewhat better title – would you really name a city "Zootopia"? – I'll stick to the original title for the rest of the post for simplicity's sake. Zootopia 2 has become a smash hit which Disney Animation sorely needed, and also happens to be a very good film. But is it as good as the original Zootopia, or even better?

The plot is more or less what you'd expect. Optimistic bunny cop Judy Hopps and her new (police) partner, the cynical fox Nick Wilde, investigate another mystery that turns out to be a conspiracy, and end up being chased by their colleagues all over the city while trying to fix everything. Meanwhile, their partnership comes under strain. Somewhat unexpectedly, Judy is the one most willing to break rules for the Greater Good while Nick wants to play it safe. They fight, they make up, they become closer, and their reputation as crime-solvers is finally restored, while the city learns a new lesson in tolerance, this time towards reptiles.

I had a lot of time for the first film (or movie, as we're talking Disney and the US), so it's a relief that the sequel is as enjoyable as it is. I love Judy and Nick and their dynamic, and of course I ship them – judging by the reaction of a shady ant-eater when they're posing as a couple undercover, interspecies relationships are unusual but not impossible in this world. On rewatching the first Zootopia on Disney Plus, I also have to admit that in some ways, the sequel is a shade better than the original.

For one, it has the edge when it comes to pacing. The first Zootopia had to introduce us to the whole concept of the animal-ruled world and its capital, so the first half can feel meandering. When the sequel comes along, we're already on board, and the plot unfolds in a more streamlined way, which will probably make the sequel a tad more rewatchable. The focus on the Hopps-Wilde relationship is very welcome (though kids may fidget a bit in their big heart-to-heart scenes). Here, it truly feels as if the sequel isn't just repeating the same beats as the original, but digs deeper. New side characters like Gary De Snake are endearing, the animation top-notch (of course) and the Zootopia cityscapes as fascinating as ever, with lots of little gags strewn in to chuckle over.

In one instance, though, the original trumps the sequel, and because of the kind of movies Zootopia and Zootopia 2 are it's not unimportant. I thought the discussion about the nature of prejudice was way more interesting in Zootopia than in Zootopia 2.

Yes, you heard me. I'm actually praising the social commentary in an animated film. I willingly admit, normally I'm sick of political messaging being rammed down my throat when all I want is to enjoy a piece of entertainment. How annoyed I get depends on whether I agree with the sentiment (it happens) or the conclusions drawn (not often) by the earnest people who are trying to force-feed me their musings on the State of Society. The "let's fight prejudice" message is a tricky one. In itself, it's not controversial, though there are very different schools of thought on how prejudice is best counteracted (I'll not go into details, not when I should be talking about Zootopia 2). But it really has been done to death, and the very lack of controversy feeds into the messaging fatigue here. It's nice that you're for world peace, dear filmmakers. Can we move on now?

If we have to have a "let's fight prejudice" message in an animated film, though, I thought the first Zootopia handled the topic rather well. It showed that overcoming prejudice isn't always easy, not when your experiences seem to confirm the notions you already have unconsciously tucked away. It acknowledged that "real life is messy" and that it can take time to reach a mutual understanding. Moreover, by showing how the predators, not the prey, become a target for a smear campaign, it highlights that prejudice can cut all sorts of ways. You can be comparatively privileged but still become a victim of prejudices fuelled by envy and resentment. At the same time, it's not as if Vice-Mayor Bellwether (the film's twist villain, a put-upon sheep) didn't have a case.

There's no such nuance in Zootopia 2. We are informed at an early stage by Gary that reptiles "aren't the bad guys – they are", "they" being a family of powerful entrepreneur lynxes who run the city part of Tundra Town and want to expand it. Though the story has its twists and turns, there's nothing in it that overturns this initial statement. As soon as we hear that the lynx family's ancestor, who's supposed to have invented the city's crucial weather machine, is called Ebenezer, we know that he will turn out to be a crook. So, rich lynxes bad, outcast reptiles good. Nothing that we haven't seen in a myriad of other films, and not exactly the kind of setup to make you think. 

I predict that later Zootopia films will go the same way and lean more into the buddy-cop (or possibly something more) dynamic between Judy and Nick rather than explore the prejudice theme. Fine by me, as long as we're acknowledging that this is what's going on, and that there's nothing we can really take away message-wise from a film that tells us to beware of lynxes (they look quite cuddly, though, not gonna lie) and root for the underdog. Zootopia 2 is great fun, and I'm up for the inevitable sequels. But a film of ideas it is not.

Things to look forward to in 2026

Happy Boxing Day! Which is often a reasonably good time to blog, so here goes. There are quite a few projects cultural-consumption-wise that I'm at least moderately excited about, so I'll stick with a roundup of films/TV/the occasional book I'm looking forward to rather than a wish list of what I would like to happen (those are always a bit trickier to write anyway). As in 2025, I'm not expecting to get too carried away and develop a new villain crush or anything, but you never know.

Seven Dials Mystery: Agatha Christie adaptations are a mixed bag, but this one, premiering on Netflix early this year, could be a fun one. The book it's based on is a romp, with some tongue-in-cheek references to the world of P.G. Wodehouse (though you don't have to pick up on them to enjoy it), and an almost guaranteed mood-lifter. The only thing I'm not too keen on in the book is a certain snobbishness – the heroine Lady Eileen aka Bundle is part of the aristocracy, and sometimes a faint contempt for New Money shines through. But Bundle is mostly likeable, unlike her ghastly dad.

I'm relying on Netflix to prune the snobbishness, but I'm a bit nervous about what else they'll change. Bundle seems well-cast, though.

A Tale of Two Cities: Apparently, BBC in collaboration with MGM+ is working on a new adaptation, and it has been a while since the last one. Two Cities isn't one of my favourite Dickens novels (Barsad is fun, but otherwise it's lacking in the male villain department). However, I do like it, and a French Revolution setting is always interesting. 

Moreover, this will give a good indication of whether the Beeb can still do Dickens or if they are too mired in cultural politics to get a classic adaptation right (I could only make it through two episodes of the latest "gritty" Great Expectations). Kit Harington aka Jon Snow in Game of Thrones plays Sydney Carton – no objections from me – but another actor plays his accidental double Charles Darnay. Well, OK then.

One Piece season two: I haven't blogged about this hard-to-define Netflix show – fantasy and pirate adventure mashup is how I'd describe the genre – but I had a great time with the first season of this live-action adaptation of an anime. The fictional world is quite insane, and the premise more than a little strange. The charismatic young protagonist Monkey D. Luffy is dead set from an early age on finding a fabled pirate treasure (the One Piece of the title) and becoming "King of the Pirates". His wild ambition becomes increasingly likely as he gathers a motley crew of talented misfits, acquires a ship and finds (well, steals) a rare map.

What makes the premise strange is that Luffy doesn't actually want to rob anyone, and doesn't seem to realise that this is what pirates do most of the time, rather than just hunt for treasure and go on adventures. Also, no-one points this out to him (his pal Koby, who ends up with the Marines, has a try, but is told that "there are good and bad pirates"). Encountering increasingly sinister pirate captains in the forms of a short-tempered female pirate with a skull-crushing club; a psychotic clown; a creepy con man masquerading as a butler; and finally a fishman with an anti-human bias does not serve as a wake-up call to Luffy. However, the sheer charm of the progatonists and lots of exciting derring-do carry the series through all absurdities (which are entertaining in themselves), so here's hoping they keep it up in the next season.

The Mandalorian and Grogu: As someone who enjoyed all seasons of The Mandalorian, even the third one, I have to include this on my list, though I'm not sure where next Din Djarin's and Grogu's story could go. But I like to spend time in this part of the Star Wars universe, so I'm happy to catch this at the cinema. Let's hope that, if Thrawn makes an appearance, he'll be more impressive than in Ahsoka, and that they don't waste too much time on Grogu-being-cute scenes.

Dark Reading Matter by Jasper Fforde: Finally, a Thursday Next novel! It's apparently the last one, but I understand that; it might be time to wrap up Thursday's story.  

I wasn't as fond of the latest Thursday Next novel, The Woman Who Died A Lot, as the other ones in the series, and I did not care for the last instalment of Fforde's The Last Dragonslayer series (which was never a great favourite of mine) or the stand-alone novel Early Riser. Consequently, I've been a bit worried about Fforde's fictional output lately. What with that obvious immigrants-as-rabbits allegory he wrote (to be fair, I haven't read it, but honestly – I hate this trope), I was afraid that he was suffering from the modern ailment of politicitis which has had a baleful influence on cultural output. But I was pleasantly surprised by the follow-up to Shades of Grey, Red Side Story, which though by no means unpolitical had the old Ffordian verve and inventiveness. So I'm cautiously optimistic. If I like Dark Reading Matter, it might be time for another full-length Jasper Fforde post.

Avengers: Doomsday: It's make-or-break-time for the MCU, and I will be there cheering the Avengers on, or possibly Doctor Doom. And Loki will definitely be in it!

The yearly crop of Netflix Christmas films

'Tis the season for not too demanding blog posts. Last year, I admitted to the guilty pleasure of watching Christmas romcoms on Netflix; this year, I've indulged even more heavily, and might as well give a few tips to those who share my taste for this particular kind of brain rot. Always remembering that we're not talking The Seventh Seal here (fortunately).

The ones to watch while you're wrapping presents (or not at all): The award for the most plotless Christmas rom-coms available on Netflix this year (at least as watched by me) goes to Haul out the Holly and Haul out the Holly: Lit Up. Their main attraction is Lacey Chabert, of Mean Girls and Hot Frosty fame. Emily, a stressed-out woman with Christmas-mad parents, returns home to her small town (of course) after a bad breakup. Only, her parents are disappearing to Florida and the duty of keeping up the over-the-top decorating and Christmas jollities now falls, at least partly, to her. She only wants to have a nice, quiet Christmas but is somehow won over by the collective hysteria. 

In the follow-up, Emily and the other townsfolk feel threatened by a family of influencers (gasp!) who want to take over the festivities completely. I actually somewhat preferred Haul out the Holly: Lit Up to the first film – the dialogue is a bit sharper, and the quirky neighbours have their moments – but there's no denying both films are very thin indeed; Chabert, pro though she is, has her work cut out. Also, the message is confusing. At some point, I'd have liked someone to remind the small-town busybodies that Christmas isn't about the tallness of your nutcracker (that's not a euphemism: this is a thing). Nevertheless, you won't miss much while struggling to wrap up that cosy sweater, which is a plus.      

The stilted ones: Sometimes you just want a Christmas romance that actually is a bit stiff and unconvincing, simply to get into the right frivolous spirit. Paris Christmas Waltz and A Cinderella Christmas Ball are good alternatives for watching while present-wrapping, if you can't face the Haul out the Holly films. The romantic leads struggle to produce any chemistry, the romantic entanglements feel cut and pasted from other Christmas romances, and there's a certain air of cutting corners when it comes to costs. But the surroundings are nice, and there are some surprisingly good performances from side characters. In Paris Christmas Waltz, Paul Freeman nails the wise mentor role (even the Frenchness), and A Cinderella Christmas Ball has a solid supporting cast all round. I especially appreciated the surly guard, the crusty butler and the disgraced Duke who spouted none-too-brilliant words of wisdom with full-on sincerity.

The actually quite good ones: If I'm not mistaken, all the films I've mentioned so far are imported fare, shown but not produced by Netflix. The homegrown crop this year is a cut above: it feels like Netflix is getting the hang of this. True, the best Netflix romcom I've watched this year was not a Christmas one (The Wrong Paris – yep, I'm as surprised as you are). But Champagne Problems isn't half bad either. 

If you opt for only one Christmas romcom set in Paris, please let it be this one and not Paris Christmas Waltz. In Champagne Problems, glamorous business woman Sydney goes to Paris to win a bidding war for a French winery on behalf of her company. She accidentally falls for the owner's estranged son, and complications ensue as she ends up spending the weekend at the vineyard with an assortment of national stereotypes while trying to show her mettle.

Call me easily pleased, but having the French characters talk to each other in actual, correct French, and the German pronounce each obscure German Christmas phenomenon impeccably (because the actors actually are French/German, duh) already gives the project a certain classiness for me. To add to this, the dialogue is pretty fizzy, and the hero, instead of only hanging around gazing longingly at the heroine, actually has his own drama to resolve. Pas mal du tout.

A Merry Little X-Mas was also good fun. Personally, I found the environmentalist female lead character (a yummy mummy played by Alicia Silverstone – man, I'm old) hard to take, but the rival love interests (a toy-boy himbo and an English model really trying not to lose it) of the couple supposedly breaking up kind of stole the show, and there were some solid chuckles along the way. If you need small-town American cosiness, this is better than Haul out the Holly.

The absolutely bonkers one: I had to find one with a premise almost as out there as Hot Frosty, and My Secret Santa fits the bill. Get this: a single mother, who's lost her uninspiring job because of cut-backs, is desperate to find money to send her daughter to... snow-boarding school. A nearby resort offers a 50% discount on the school fees, but their only opening is for an inhouse Santa. So our intrepid heroine disguises herself as a jovial old man and lands the job, while falling for the resort owner's son.

Really, one suspects that someone came up with the idea while drunk. But you have to give Netflix credit: once committed to it, they do their best to make it work, and I had a good time. Not the worst Christmas film Netflix has to offer, but (among the newcomers) undoubtedly the craziest.                         

Very light reading indeed – Regency and meta romances

Sometimes, all you have the energy for is a good, light-hearted romance, preferably without those awkward "I'm serious, me" sections where the heroine Learns About Herself or has to get over some family drama of the decidedly-not-fun-kind. But where to find a romance that is not too embarrassing? I no longer automatically reach for the latest Sophie Kinsella, as she seems to be leaning a bit too much into lesson-learning nowadays. Emily Henry is a find, but she can hardly be expected to turn out more than one book per year. So what else does the genre have to offer?

After a newspaper article recommended Sophie Irwin's A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting, I bought it but was unconvinced by the first couple of paragraphs. Luckily, I gave the novel another try this year, and found that it improved considerably after the first chapter or so. This is classic Regency romance fare: you may not be too surprised by how things turn out, but it's highly enjoyable all the same, and not too anachronistic-seeming. I've stumbled on some shockers in this genre, which were essentially just modern chick-lit in fancy dress, but this feels if not genuinely 19th-century, at least genuinely Georgette Heyerish. 

Also, it's uncommonly clean for a modern romance novel, which is a plus in my book. Honestly, there are only so many sex scenes using "of him" and "of her" phrases ("the scent of him", "the wondrous touch of her") and featuring supernaturally patient guys I can take. More power to Irwin for sparing us them. Her second book A Lady's Guide to Scandal is just as good, even a touch better when it comes to the plotting (at one time, I was genuinely unsure of where the story was going), but the obvious play for the Bridgerton audience bothered me a little.

Elsewhere, Emily Henry seems to have started a new trend: the meta romance. I hesitated before buying Katie Holt's Not in My Book as the plot seemed uncomfortably close to the one in Henry's Beach Read. But though it features a(n aspiring) romance writer and a broody love interest who's into literary fiction and who criticises her in creative writing classes, it's sufficiently its own thing not to feel like a rip-off. The heroine is cute, the hero bearable and "enemies to lovers" a very solid trope. 

I can't help it, I tend to enjoy romances about writing romances – and more often than not I prefer the book-related stuff to the romantic scenes, which was also the case here. Yes, there are sex scenes this time around, with the patient-guy factor very much in evidence, but I'll say this for Holt: when it comes to these scenes, she manages them better than Emily Henry, though Henry has the edge in other respects. Ideal for travelling.

The meta romance sub-genre has its pitfalls, though. Even though I had a good enough time with Cristina Wolf's How to Write a Rom-Com, I had expected more from the premise – jaded publishing assistant sent to a small town to gather ideas for a romance writer, though she really doesn't enjoy small-town romances – than I got. Pointing out that something is a trope doesn't make it less of  a trope in your own story if you don't put a different spin on it. Here, the heroine succumbs to the charms of the small town and the small-town hunk way too easily, plus there's a Liar Revealed story baked in, and that's not a favourite plot-line of mine. But hey, I read the novel. I'm by no means tired of meta romances yet. 

A double dose of cosy crime dramas

The expression "cosy crime" is an odd one. It has a negative, somewhat patronising tinge, and I think few crime writers would whole-heartedly admit to penning "cosies" (as they're called in the latest Carol Goodman – I don't know if it's an established term). People who enjoy cosy crime like myself, though, don't tend to be shy about it, and bookshops sometimes proudly label a whole section of their shelf space as "cosy crime", so their customers don't risk going home with something grim and gritty by mistake. I don't think TV execs mind the term "cosy crime" very much either.

One reason writers themselves are wary of the term is perhaps that it can be unwise to consciously pen a "cosy crime" story. If you sit down thinking: "Right. Let's make this really selling. Cups of tea, shrewd yet loveable senior citizens, fireplaces, cute pets, quirky neighbours, dead earls, here we gooo", chances are you'll end up with a story that is either too cloying or too ironic and underestimates its readership/audience. It's better to start with the mindset that you'd like to write the kind of crime story you yourself enjoy – and then, as often as not, it will turn out a comfortable read or watch. 

As for any moral reservations: it's true that crime is not cosy in real life. But nor is it entertaining in any other way. Criticism against "cosy crime" could be levelled against the whole genre of crime fiction, however glum and gory. We're probably ghouls to like it so much, but hey, no real person is harmed during reading or watching, and it keeps us away from the bear pits.

Circling back to the real subject of the post: I've recently watched not one but two British "cosy crime" dramas, which aired in the UK in the summer and have now found their way to Swedish television. I must admit it took me by surprise to find that they were as good as they were, because on paper they do seem a bit too textbook even for me.

What to say of this pitch? In Ludwig, David Mitchell, the comedian known for his "posh and repressed" persona, plays professional puzzlemaker John aka Ludwig. He's forced to impersonate his much more well-adjusted twin brother when the latter goes missing. The brother's a police detective, and John soon finds that his puzzle-solving flair is a help when cracking murder cases, though he's not great at social interaction.

I was suspicious of this setup as it smacked of "diagnosis crime", i.e. the kind of plot where the problem-solvers are better at their job because they have a touch of Aspergers, autism or OCD. It's a bit overdone. Besides, David Mitchell as nerdy and socially handicapped? Not exactly inventive.

Yet somehow it works. The crimes themselves are nice little puzzles, and the continuing mystery of James's disappearance is intriguing. But what really saves the show from being too run-of-the-mill is John's interaction with his brother's family: his sister-in-law, for whom he has always carried a torch, and his nephew, who isn't half as resentful about his uncle's prolonged stay as he could have been. Anna Maxwell Martin as James's wife, who ruthlessly pushes John out of his comfort zone yet is also very fond of him, is a standout. It's a pity Mitchell doesn't have more scope for his comic timing, though: mostly, he plays it straight.

Another obvious pitch would be Mark Gatiss as a closeted owner of a bookshop, who keeps his books in an eccentric order, enjoys tea and ginger biscuits and solves murders as a side-line in post-war Britain. And that's what we get in Bookish. Gatiss's character is even called Gabriel Book (which means his shop is called Book's, with an apostrophe). He has a harmonious lavender marriage with lovely Trottie, his best friend since childhood, and they own a dog named Dog. Bit too cosy, surely?

However, yet again, the obvious set-up works. The atmosphere is reminiscent of Foyle's War, and we get classic whodunnit plots in enjoyable settings, like a film shoot and a luxury hotel (the latter falling apart a bit). The problem-solving team is easy to root for: Polly Walker as Trottie is a delight, and I like ghoulish girl-next-door Nora and the easy-going Inspector Bliss. The Books' young protegé Jack is less interesting (he mostly walks around looking clueless), but I can take that. As for Gatiss, I admit I prefer his icy Mycroft in Sherlock, but he keeps Book (in some ways an eccentric-Brit cliché) from becoming grating with a touch of vulnerability.

It's heartening to see that even shows that look formulaic on the face of it can turn out to be treats if carried off with a bit of effort and some heart. A focus on core relationships is a good way to make a drama more compelling; it's not all about the problem-solving, even in a whodunnit. I'm looking forward to more Ludwig and Bookish – but no annoying communist housemaids next time, please.

The Diplomat season three is the best one yet – but I still don't know what kind of show it is

Just when I was convinced that The Diplomat was not trying to be the new West Wing, guess what kind of vibes the first episodes of season three gave off? Uh-huh, West Wing vibes, all the more obvious as Allison Janney's Grace Penn is now the President, and her husband is played by fellow ex-West Wing actor Bradley Whitford (boyish Josh's hair's now white – feel old yet?). The first major plot point is about who's going to be Penn's Vice President, and the whole "who sunk the ship?" plot of the first two seasons is shoved firmly in the background.

Soon, though, we're back from the US to the UK and from national to international intrigue. Which is something of a bummer. In spite of being an anglophile (or probably because of it), I prefer The Diplomat when it concerns itself with American rather than British politics. As long as we are on American soil, the show carries itself with more assurance. There may still be preposterous developments (they do not back-track from the revelation in season two, which is pretty hard to swallow), but you feel the home field advantage.

Thankfully, though, even when we're back in the UK, the repartee remains suitably snappy. The writing this season is far more consistently good than in the first two seasons, so even though I've had my misgivings I'm in for future seasons. It's time to give this show its own blogging tag.

But honestly, what is this shape-shifter of a show? Right now, I'd say it's leaning away from soapy thriller and more towards marital drama. It happens to also involve politics, as the central couple – Kate and Hal – are both ambitious politicians who, just to complicate matters, are entirely convinced by the other's statesmanlike qualities. They support each other, but also use each other, until this viewer at least has little clue about what's going on. But it's a pleasant kind of cluelessness.

The characters are sometimes as mysterious as the show's ambitions. I still don't know what Kate actually feels for her husband. In the first season, she was all for ditching him. Something shifted during season two, but then he had just been in a car bombing. This season, the relationship is incessantly on-off. Hal still loves his wife – I think – but he may love politics more, and there are signs that his patience with her private antics is wearing thin, as is her patience with his political schemes.

Fun as all this is to watch, characterisation is not the strong point of this series. It's carried by witty writing and good performances but, when it comes to most of its characters, you can state two opposite things about them, and either of them could be true. Grace Penn has the making of a great President. Grace Penn has the making of a dangerous President. Nicol Trowbridge is a fool. Or perhaps he is a crafty knave. Maybe he secretly loves Kate – or not-so-secretly hates Kate. Dennison is the voice of reason. Dennison is a stuffed shirt, ready to betray his boss at any time (the only thing that makes him credible as a Tory politician). Eidra is still in love with Stuart, or merely exasperated by Stuart... I could go on and on.

As long as we get plenty of one-liners and high-octane marital squabbling, though (and more Janney and Whitford, please!), I'm on board, and not only because Sewell remains impossibly handsome and charismatic as Hal. The next soapy thriller development seems to be just around the corner, but I'm ready to take it. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Who cares – it's watchable.

Miss Austen should be right up my alley, and yet...

Was autumn always this intense? I have trouble even making it to the gym a modest number of times a month, let alone finding the energy for blogging. But I guess I should be able to write about how there's no pleasing some people, in this case me.

A few weeks ago, I watched Miss Austen, a respectable period drama based on a novel by Gill Hornby. It's well-cast, well-acted, and has the admirable goal of defending Jane Austen's beloved sister Cassandra. She's not much liked by literary historians as she burned most of her sister's letters. However, this drama fights Cassandra's corner. An enduring love for Jane and an eagerness to follow her wishes are shown to be the reasons for the letter-burning, rather than an attempt to sanitise Austen's reputation. I think Austen would have warmly approved.

All the same, isn't it kinda boring?

That's certainly not the actors' fault. Both Keeley Hawes (always a safe bet) and Synnøve Karlsen put in engaging performances as the older and younger Cassandra; Patsy Ferran is a perfect Jane; and Jessica Hynes as my personal favourite, passive-aggressive sister-in-law Mary Austen, is a joy. We follow two timelines. The older Cassandra travels to the deathbed of the brother of the man she was supposed to marry, and takes an interest in his daughter Isabella. Isabella's deceased mother was a firm friend of Jane's, and Cassandra finds her sister's letters in an attempt to keep them from her sister-in-law's clutches. While she reads them, memories resurface. That's where the younger Cassandra and Jane – long-dead in the more recent timeline – come in.

The problem is, not much happens in either timeline. Either Hornby or the TV adapters have attempted to jolly things up a bit with a romance or two, but for once I could have done with less of this particular ingredient. Isabella's interest in the local doctor, who reciprocates her feelings but is too proud to ask again after having been shown the door once (by Isabella's dad), is a tepid affair. The young Cassandra meets an absurdly eligible admirer (wholly fictional, I suspect) while on a family holiday, but as we know that both she and Jane ended up single, it's just irritating to watch her push away her chance at love for no apparent reason. The plot drags quite a bit.

What should bring some zip into the proceedings is Jane's writing, but the flashbacks take place very early in her writing career, so there's not much discussion about her published novels. The exception is Persuasion, which the older Cassandra is reading to Isabella. I loved the flashback, taking place later than the other ones, where we see young(ish) Cassy reading the scene of Louisa's accident for the first time and exclaiming "you killed her!", much to Jane's amusement (Louisa lives). In the later timeline, Isabella is equally on the edge of her seat when the scene is read to her by Cassandra. 

This was great, and I could have done with more in the same vein. That Isabella's impertinent maid Dinah eavesdrops and gets ideas on how to bring her mistress and the doctor together was perhaps a melodramatic twist, but hey, I'm not complaining. We needed a reminder, at this point, as to why we should take any interest in these women at all.

The continuing problem with life and works dramas is that novelists' lives – even the most colourful ones – are rarely as interesting as their books. That doesn't mean they themselves were unhappy. The best thing about Miss Austen (besides Mary) is the sisterly bond between Jane and Cassandra, and I can well believe that they lived very contentedly, as long as they could be together. Whether their life really lends itself to the costume-drama treatment, however, is another matter.

Arguments for and against a Downton Abbey next-generation sequel

When Downton Abbey the series ended, I spent a post arguing for and against the idea of a Downton film (or movie). So it is only fitting that now the final Downton film has aired, I should do something similar, and look at why it could be a good idea – or not – to follow up with a new TV series, this time focusing on the next generation of Downton inhabitants and their friends and relations. Well, whether it is fitting or not, I'm going to do it, and that despite the fact that there is to my knowledge not a hint of a rumour that Fellowes or anyone else has any such project in mind.

For: I can't be the only one who's thought about it? The original Downton characters have made their farewell to the audience, in a very decided manner, in Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale. The trailer stated "It's time to say goodbye", almost as a plea to the fans: "Please, don't force Julian to write any more of these". Another movie would be such an obvious cash grab I don't think even we tolerant Downton fans would stand for it. Enough is enough.

But... what if we jumped forward in time, ten or fifteen years or so, and instead caught up with the Downton children as young adults? We have the bones of a new central cast of characters there: George, Sybil, Caroline, Marigold, Tom Branson's new kid (I forget the name)... These often invisible children haven't been given much personality of their own, so they'd be almost like new characters, but still tied to the "Downtonverse". The settings would still be the castle, the Dower House, the village etc., places we've grown to know and love.

I'm generally tired of World War Two dramas, but I dare say we can't miss out on the nervous tension surrounding the question: will George, the heir, make it back from the war alive? There's even room to explore a new version of the Obscure Heir plot which started off the original series. Some long-lost cousin could be revealed to be the heir should George die, and this time it might not be a good egg like Matthew but a very unsavoury character. Moreover, Downton Abbey surely lends itself to being a centre for evacuated children, or something else war-related, with juicy Foyle's War-esque plot lines as a result.

On the other hand, from the Thirties to the Forties isn't that much of a time jump, which could become a problem if you constantly have to check in on old characters and don't give the new ones the space they need. A bigger time jump to the Fifties could give Fellowes or other writers the opportunity to clear the field by stating that at least some of the old guard has passed away. And we could still have the vague threat of an unsuitable heir apparent after George (who, of course, makes it through the war). Here, the vibe would be more Agatha Christie (without the murders!) than Foyle's War.

One original character who would still be very much alive – and bickering, though with less vitriol than in their young days, with her sister – is Lady Mary who, as foreshadowed in the original series, will take the place of the Dowager Countess. Now that's a decent pitch for a period drama, surely? 

Against: The personality-less depiction of the Downton kids means that we aren't exactly on the edge of our seats waiting to see what happens to them. The biggest argument against a next-gen. sequel though, in my book, is the trickiness of the genre itself. One might think that a next generation sequel risks doing less damage to the original than a sequel taking place directly after another story ends. After all, we would mainly be following new characters and storylines. However, a sequel has to address what happens to the original characters, and as a next-gen. sequel takes place so much later than the original story, whatever is said about the original characters' lives is pretty much set in stone. There's no way of walking back from it later on.

To take an example in a completely different genre: recently, Netflix in Sweden finally aired the animated series Avatar: The Last Airbender, which I hadn't seen before but with which, apparently, a whole generation of Nickelodeon viewers have grown up. I surprised myself with how much I got into it and, after chomping through all three seasons pretty swiftly, couldn't wait to check out the next-generation-and-then-some sequel The Legend of Korra (bizarrely showing on another streaming service). 

New avatar, new characters taking centre stage, the original protagonists either aged purveyors of wisdom on the sidelines or dead: so far, so good. But when the middle-aged children of Aang, the now deceased titular character of the original series, get in a fight we're suddenly told that Aang favourised the son who'd inherited his air-bending gift over the others. This sounds very unlike the fun-loving, warm-hearted character we got to know in Avatar: The Last Airbender, and Aang never gets the chance to set the record straight or make it up with his kids. Because, by this time, he's already dead.

This detail didn't ruin The Legend of Korra for me, but it saddened me a bit, and the Star Wars sequels had similar problems with their original golden trio. Imagine how miffed we would be if we found out, twenty years on, that Molesley never hit the big time with his film scripts or Andy and Daisy ended up fighting every other day. Even if their life would then take a better turn, much time would have been wasted, and there would be no way the already past decades could improve. 

On the other hand, if nothing at all happens to the original Downton crew for twenty years, it gives the impression that they've been in a sort of stasis waiting for a new story to come along. This isn't very  satisfying either, narratively speaking.

At the end of the day, I'm still in favour of a next-generation Downton Abbey TV series. But I acknowledge that it would not be easy to get it right.                      

Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale is strictly for the fans (and that's OK)

It's been an intense week, and I was tempted to give blogging a miss. But I can't very well do that, as it's Downton time!

Yes, last weekend, I in company with two other avid Downton fans had the greatest time at the cinema watching Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale. We weren't alone, either: the cinema was more packed than I've seen it in a long while, and the audience was in a positive mood. The scene where Mrs Patmore declared to Daisy that she was "the daughter I never had" was especially popular, drawing an "aaah" from some audience members. There were snivels and giggles at appropriate moments. All in all, if you're a Downton enthusiast, it's very hard not to enjoy this last hurrah. If you're not, you'd most likely be bored to tears.

I had first planned to follow up on my predictions in my usual manner, but there is little point as absolutely none of them came true. Well, they addressed the Henry question, explaining his no-show with divorce rather than death, but that's about it. 

Mary's old beaux appearing? No such luck. Edith's Marigold secret playing a role? Nope – I'm not sure we even got to see Marigold. Peter Coyle making an appearance? Not even close (though that surely would have been better than the Molesley storyline we got). The Bateses' future? Not much drama there: they both decamped to the Dower House with Lord and Lady Grantham, but the thought that they could quit the servant life never even occurred to them. The butler question? Not a question, it seems: what with Andy staying on at Downton as butler and Daisy as cook, I'm wondering who's actually taking care of Mr Mason's farm. Thomas plotting? Chance would be a fine thing.

I don't think I've ever been as consistently wrong in my predictions before, but in my defence, it's not as if there was much going on instead of my suggested plot lines. The Grand Finale wasn't big on plot, and what little conflict there was had to come from external sources (a quite foxy American swindler, and the absent Henry who by this time counts as an external source). Instead, the film's aim was clearly to give the fans a last opportunity to hang out with (as Disney DVD sequel trailers used to put it) "all your favourite characters". 

This aim was fulfilled. We could leave Downton Abbey with the comfortable feeling that everything will be all right, and everyone gets on quite well really, even Mary and Edith. No need to think too hard about what the outbreak of World War Two (still years away at the end of the film) will mean for young George.

But is the film any good, I hear you wonder? Is it as good as the series? Is it the best of the films, or the worst? I did ponder these questions while watching it, but found them unexpectedly hard to answer. I think I have to say, The Grand Finale is not as good as the series, and probably sits in the middle script- and plot-wise when it comes to the films: better than the Upstairs, Downstairs rip-off that is the first movie but less snappy and pacy than the second. However, of all the proposed endings of Downton Abbey that we've been offered, this is by far the most satisfying, and that is quite a feat. For that reason, I suspect The Grand Finale will have a special place in fans' hearts for the years to come, and the question of how good it is as a film will be considered less important. Only, if you've never watched Downton, for pity's sake don't start with this.

Of course I'm thrilled for Thomas, even though he's so de-fanged at this point everyone seems to have forgotten he was once a villain. His end vignette, complete with the Hollywood sign in the background framing his still harmonious romance with the glamorous Guy Dexter, is all an often sorely tried Thomas apologist could wish for (though he had more chemistry with the nefarious Duke in the very first episode, but never mind). All's well that ends well for my Tommy, even if his entertainingly bitchy lines are a thing of the past.                     

On a roll with books, until...

Judging from my latest blog posts, one would have thought that I'd not done much reading lately. In fact, I was doing pretty well with my reading until not so long ago – I've just been too lazy to blog about it. I finally read books which I actually owned instead of just buying new ones, got in some ambitious reads and finished books I had previously discarded after only having read a few pages. For a while, I was feeling pretty smug, and then the inevitable happened: I got stuck.

The problem is not when you don't get any further with one book, but when they pile up. My first mistake was when I vaingloriously decided that it was finally time to read Sketches by Boz from cover to cover. It's the only major work by Dickens I've only read a fraction of, and that simply wouldn't do. Not for the first time, though, I soon came to a halt, and not by any means because the book is bad or un-Dickensian. There are a lot of humorous descriptions to make one chuckle. The problem is that because of the genre, the sketches are mostly just that: descriptions, with little dialogue or story. With Dickens, I want human drama, preferably with a lot of cutting lines by villains and suchlike. I can stand descriptive parts of his novels because they're so brilliantly written and often funny, but without a plot to hook me I find even the wittiest tableau of a London street hard going.

All right, then, so maybe I could postpone Sketches by Boz a bit longer and read it more piecemeal. But there were other substantial books I could try. I looked forward to Kept by D.J. Taylor, clearly as Neo-Victorian as they come. It was a bit hefty – which is only natural when you want to emulate the Victorian novel – so maybe not ideal to lug to work for my lunch break. My plan was this: at home, I would read Kept, and at work I would dip into The New Penguin Book of American Short Stories. Ambitious, yes, but I could take it: just look at how easily I got into Wuthering Heights a couple of months ago!

You can guess what happened next. I never knew Yanks could be such a downcast lot. Nothing wrong with the writing, it was just so depressing. After four short stories, I started on the Nathaniel Hawthorne one, stopped after about a page with a disgruntled "OK, so she's totally a witch" and set this volume aside as well.

As for Kept, it's annoyingly well-written, which means I have no excuse to give up on it until after a mandatory hundred pages. But the plot lines so far just don't interest me. The art of poaching wild birds' eggs? Some ghastly madwoman locked up somewhere? I need to persevere, but what did I find when I last tried? A lengthy description of a London street!

What conclusions can be drawn? Nothing most readers don't already know: that it's darned hard to find a reading strategy which allows you to virtuously work your way through the piles of books you've bought without getting stuck somewhere. When I was younger, I tried the tactic of alternating between Ambitious Book Projects and self-indulgence reads, but that put too much pressure on the latter and involved far too many ABPs for my liking. 

This time around, I went into a regular self-indulgence bonanza. I re-read the last three Thursday Next novels (I've had my doubts about some of Jasper Fforde's latest novels, but the Thursday Next ones really are brilliant); devoured, for the first time since childhood, an old Swedish translation of Betty Cavanna's A Touch of Magic, a delicious example of having your cake and eating it when it comes to historical fiction (you're invited to tut-tut over the frivolous Shippen girls while at the same time revelling in the drama of balls and suitors); and finally tucked into a Young Adult novel irresistibly called Do You Ship It? I wasn't sure at first, but yes, I did.

Will all this self-indulgence reading give me strength to start up with slightly heavier stuff again?  I've started on The Warm Hands of Ghosts by Katherine Arden, but the jury's still out. Pros: if I know Arden, there will be folklore elements and possibly a villain in the works. Cons: death, disaster and World War One.

The Gilded Age season three: prediction follow-up

Rejoice, costume-drama lovers – we made The Gilded Age happen! At the start, there wasn't as much buzz about the series as one would have thought, seeing that it's created by Julian "Downton" Fellowes. But now it seems to have gathered momentum and a sizeable fanbase, and I'm guessing it's in no small part thanks to a pacy and strong third season.

By now, it's become clearer what the series is, and what it isn't. It won't deliver exactly the same kind of drama as Downton did (I'll go more into that in a bit), but for what it is – a fun romp with the occasional scene that goes a little deeper, set in a glamorous time and with largely likeable characters – it's very good, and I suspect the best costume drama we will get in quite some time.

On to the follow-up to my predictions for this season. I'll try not to be too insanely spoilery, but I do want to gloat as I got more things right than I usually do in my prediction posts.

Gladys will marry the Duke – but not divorce yet YES All right, this one wasn't a hard one to call (though I also guessed what the trailer's divorce talk was really about, and that I am smug about). It was pretty clear from the trailer and on-set footage that there was going to be a wedding, and Gladys was the obvious pick for the bride part. Less predictably, her union with the fortune-hunting Duke hasn't turned out too terribly this far. The Duke of Buckingham aka Hector seems quite a nice chap, if a little prone to be pushed around by the women in his life. Then again, he's not the only man in The Gilded Age to be hen-pecked.

I really liked this turn of events. Not only because it was unexpected, but because it shows that Fellowes and his co-writer Sonja Warfield (who seems to be a strong addition to the team, judging by the episodes she's credited as co-writing) haven't set out to copy out well-known real-life dramas from the Gilded Age and simply foist them on their fictional characters. The Russells may be inspired by the Vanderbilts, but that doesn't mean Gladys is destined to be unhappy with her Duke, as little as it means that her parents are destined to divorce. It's nice to know that there isn't a historical cheat sheet which will give away what'll happen in the series – it makes it far more interesting.       

Agnes and Bertha will both try to stop Larrian (maybe even together) NO, BUT... Agnes and Bertha were shown to be in agreement once this season, but only about a fairly minor plot point. As far as Larrian is concerned, there's as little communication between the two matriarchs as ever. We did get to see, though, that Agnes was not thrilled about the prospect of welcoming Larry as her nephew-in-law, and was eager to encourage any doubts on Marian's side.

Was there ever as wet a blanket as Marian, I wonder? Her paramour isn't exactly the most exciting character either, though he does at least prove to be a capable business man. It is a shame that the central romance  of the series doesn't generate more heat, but there it is. Many great stories have had somewhat underwhelming hero-heroine romances. At least the concept of romance isn't spurned, and for this one should be grateful. Only, shockingly, I find myself missing bitchy Lady Mary. 

Peggy's new love interest's parents (probably the dad) will make trouble YES, BUT... I was right, except it was the prospective mother-in-law who had objections to Peggy, not Dr Kirkland's dad, who was all in favour of the match, though not very forcefully. The Kirkland men continue the Gilded Age trend of being rather too easily manipulated by their womenfolk.  

As for Peggy, she is a little too perfect, but she does have more bounce and more chemistry with her chosen man than Marian does. And the whole idea of including a "black elite" plot line in the series is genius. It's interesting in itself to learn more about the affluent black upper-middle class in late 19th-century New York, and it saves the series from going down the "colour-blind casting" route, of which I'm not a fan (I will save you the rant for now, but I'm not just thinking of the phenomenon from my pale-face perspective, honest). Peggy could do with a relatable flaw or two, but her part of the story is still engaging.    

The butler alliance will be sealed by events (I hope) NOT REALLY, NO I mean, Church and Bannister are friendly enough to each other now. But they're not united in any cause, and though the Van Rhijns/Brookes and Russells are starting to interact a little more, their servants hardly mix at all this season.

Here's where one of the big differences to Downton comes in. It has become clear by now that The Gilded Age isn't really an "upstairs-downstairs" drama. In the original Upstairs, Downstairs, the plot lines were fairly evenly distributed between the Bellamys and the servants, though with a slight advantage for the servants – even events upstairs were largely viewed from their point of view. In Downton Abbey, there was still an even distribution of plot lines, and a slightly mellower approach to servant-master relationships which angered many an armchair socialist (though it's not as if the Bellamys were bad employers, or the Crawleys unfailingly good ones). 

In The Gilded Age, on the other hand, the focus is squarely on the upstairs families. The servants are nice and all, and get more screen time than in, say, The Forsyte Saga, but they don't get many juicy plot lines or for that matter much character development. They're pretty much stuck the way they were in season one. I think Fellowes may have had more plans for the servant side of things at the start, but gave up when all the different characters and plots became too much to juggle.        

Oscar will try to make money YES It's not all plain sailing for doe-eyed Oscar, but at least he's a surprisingly dab hand at business. The plan he has lined up for next season could prove to be interesting.

In the any other business category, one can note that this was yet another strong season for Aunt Ada (though I could have done without the temperance plot), but not the strongest for my favourite George Russell. He did eventually stand up to Bertha, but only after it could have done any good for Gladys or anyone else. His continuing coldness towards Bertha just seems mulish at this point. Plus his sacking of Clay was completely uncalled-for, even if Clay turned out to be a worm later on. J. P. Morgan was quite fun, though.      

The Fantastic Four: First Steps: a good superhero movie, but not much MCU (for good or bad)

I may be a late joiner sometimes – that's certainly true of my interest in the MCU, which until about four years ago was non-existent. But once I'm into something, I tend to stick with it and hope desperately for it not to fail. You could say I'm very Swedish in that regard. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed that The Fantastic Four: First Steps will be considered a success, and a drop-off in box-office sales for its second weekend won't be too bad a sign (I mean, it still topped the box-office list domestically, so there's that).

What did I think of it myself? To use a quote from a reaction compilation video on YouTube: I liked it, but didn't love it. Make no mistake, though, it's well worth watching on the big screen, and the two-hour run time is relatively humane. (Is the length of films an equality issue? I have a vague impression that guys can hold it better, especially the young ones, and are thus more positive towards three-hour extravaganzas.)

The strengths of Fantastic Four are very strong indeed. It has likeable characters and is set in a world you are happy to explore. The acting is great and there's a lot of chemistry between the protagonists; they are convincing as "Marvel's First Family". I have a special soft spot for Joseph Quinn's Johnny Storm, and loved the scene where he managed to get through to the Silver Surfer and stir her conscience – after their semi-flirtation, which I also enjoyed, things suddenly got very serious.

The film also does many of the things that those in the know have urged Marvel to do for years. It introduces new characters, and does not rely on nostalgia (not for old MCU films, at any rate). No homework is required: people can watch Fantastic Four without having seen a single MCU film or TV show and follow it fine. Because the film's literally set in another universe, the world building feels fresh and inventive. The sassy "Marvel humour" everyone claims to be sick of is largely absent. The four protagonists' banter is more a way of bonding with one another than anything else, and draws an indulgent chuckle rather than right-out laughs. The effects are good and not rushed: main villain Galactus is an impressive sight.

My personal problem with this is that I like the classic MCU ingredients. I'm by no means tired of "Marvel humour" – it's one of the things that drew me into the MCU in the first place. Another canny thing the MCU films tended to do was to mix other genres with the superhero stuff, in order to attract mainstreamers like me. I was, after all, firmly anti-cape at one time, and to this day the action pieces where protagonists show off their "powers" are still what interests me least about a superhero flick (maybe in competition with all the agonising about "secret identities", which is mercifully absent from this as from most MCU movies).

It has been said approvingly of Fantastic Four, as of its box-office DC rival Superman, that they are very "comic-booky" films designed to win back comic-book readers who've found the Marvel and DC film universes a bit dreary. I can see that. Less dreariness is certainly welcome. But I'm not a comic-book reader – at least not the kind who's read superhero comics. It could be that exactly the ingredients that work best for "real" fans, who actually know and love the comic-book originals of these characters, slightly push away ignorant "normies" like myself.

But if you're into superhero movies, you should definitely watch this one. The story is a bit hokey, and some choices the characters make unfathomable (at one time, I sat whining quietly in my cinema seat: "no, don't tell them"), but it's well made and engaging. For my personal part, though, I think I prefer Thunderbolts*: a slice of the good old MCU, "Marvel humour" and all.