Harris on the rise of the machines

It's high time for a book-themed post – only, unsurprisingly, it won't be about a Nobel Prize winner. It is safe to say that the Nobel Prize Project is languishing somewhat. I gave up on A Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez after only 40 pages (why I lasted the course with Vargas Llosa and not García Márquez I really would not want to speculate). With Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak, I'm doing somewhat better – I've made it 150 pages in, and am just interested enough to keep reading. But it's going slowly, and I find myself starting and finishing far lighter fare in parallel to plodding through Zhivago.

One of the books I had no problem finishing while leaving Zhivago aside was The Fear Index by Robert Harris. This was how badly I wanted a gripping read; although I had made up my mind not to try this Harris offering, I ended up reading it anyway, while inwardly steeling myself.  When I saw on the blurb that the main character was a hedge fund manager, Alex Hoffmann, who is suddenly targeted by an unknown enemy set on pushing his fear buttons, I imagined I knew what kind of story I was in for. I thought Alex would be an arrogant city slicker and the main aim of the novel would be to Teach Him A Lesson. 

Luckily, this enjoyable thriller wasn't the cautionary tale for the rich I had feared it would be. True, it is a bit sniffy about wealth-creation, but the main target is not supposedly greedy individuals (as in, more adept at making money than you or me or Harris), but the potential dangers of artificial intelligence. Alex is not some smooth city type, but rather a socially awkward scientist who's perfecting an algorithm designed to make better market choices than any traders of flesh and blood. It's his business partner Hugo's job to do the smooth-talking while Alex can go on working with his algorithm – only, sometimes he has to show himself and make a suitably brainboxy impression. It's on a day like this, when he's set to present a new and improved algorithm to a bunch of hard-nosed clients, that his life starts spiralling out of control.

Now, generally I'm favourably inclined towards technological advances, especially if they make my life more comfortable. But I'm not above indulging in some mild technophobia if need be – it's preferable to wealth-bashing, anyhow. It was a bit alarming, I must confess, to learn that algorithm-based market trading is apparently A Thing. Hugo complains at one point that the fund's office is full not of tough traders with balls of steel, but of nerdy boffins with dandruff in their hair. For my part, I always imagined market traders to be of the steel-balled, human kind. I've been impatient with the lemming-like tendencies of financial markets to drop and keep dropping at the slightest hint of alarm. Why are city boys so jittery, I've asked myself – can't they exercise some restraint and common sense? If a lot of financial decisions are indeed made by computers following a pre-programmed pattern, it would explain a lot; common sense is hard to program.

Having said that, this is not by any means a realistic thriller, nor is it meant to be. It reminded me of Harris's earlier book Archangel in that it starts off from a premise you can get on board with and then takes it to such lengths that you end up shaking your head in disbelief. All the same, the notion that the same kind of AI that comes up with suggestions for further viewing on your streaming service might one day decide on how your savings are invested is chilling enough to build a paranoia-feeding thriller on. In a way, I'm glad it went over the top, because it has the calming effect of reminding you that this is all fiction. Whatever happens financial-algorithm-wise in the real world, it will never turn out like this. Surely?

Yes, Andor is very good indeed – but what is the Rebellion up to?

I know everyone isn't a fan of the Star Wars TV shows (animated and live-action) airing on Disney+. But I generally like them, and I'll make this bold claim for them: they give you a better understanding of why the Empire had to be defeated. The fact that the Empire randomly blew up a planet (where there was rebellious activity, to be sure, but it was a whole planet) and that their leader is a cackling megalomaniac who believes in channelling hatred and anger may be enough for some, but not for me. Seeing as there are so many cool Empire villains, and I'm not a firm believer in the Jedi code (the Sith code seems much more sensible), I have to be reminded now and again that the Rebellion was actually a good thing. 

The Disney+ shows give me these useful reminders. In The Bad Batch, we see the Empire clamping down on Separatist and Republic planets alike, much to the consternation of the latter, who have been encouraged to see the Empire as the Republic's natural successor. In The Book of Boba Fett, tough guy Cad Bane – who hasn't been above working for Palpatine in his day – reminds the people of a freedom-loving town that Boba Fett is no hero and "worked for the Empire"; even Bane understands that the Empire are the baddies in everyone's eyes, and he may even share a bit of that disdain. In several shows, we see characters who start out in the Empire's employ – Sergeant Kallus in Rebels, Tala in Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mayfeld in The Mandalorian – but become disillusioned and turn against it when they realise just how murderous Palpatine's reign is. This is a particularly good ploy in my opinion. These characters didn't always turn up their noses at the Empire; they were convinced by what they themselves experienced that their employer was evil. 

Meanwhile, the Rebellion is shown doing noble things such as rescuing Force-sensitive children from the clutches of sinister Inquisitors. Surely, though they may be less fun than the Empire character-wise, not even I can question that the rebels are the good guys and needed to win.

And then, Andor comes along.

Now don't get me wrong, Andor is a really good TV series. There's a reason it's been so critically acclaimed. The writing is zingy, the characters are interesting, and we get a different, thrilleresque view of the Star Wars universe. The only complaint I've heard against the show is that some find it "slow", but it's not, at least not in the way House of the Dragon and The Rings of Power are slow. There are always two or three episodes that serve as build-up for action-packed payoffs, but even in these build-up episodes there's no slowing down of the pacy dialogue. Instead of someone saying something weighty, followed by a pause where we see everyone's reaction to it, the lines whip back and forth at a fair lick. After having watched shows like the two I just mentioned, I found this very refreshing. It made me want to check out the Bourne films, also created by Tony Gilroy, and that's not something I've felt a need to do before.

However, for me, one of the show's strengths is also one of its weaknesses. It adds nuance to the black-and-white Star Wars struggle, showing that the rebels are far from squeaky clean and that not everyone who works for the Empire is a monster. But maybe it does a little too good a job of muddying the waters. There were times during this series where I watched the rebels at work and said to myself "Remind me again why I should root for these bastards?". An especially memorable interlude is when a band of rebels, seeking to rob an Imperial station of their workers' payload, hold an Imperial officer's wife and son (who happens to be sick) hostage in order to get away with the loot. When the officer's colleague threatens the rebels and tells them to "let the boy go", he is unceremoniously killed. To cap it all, when the officer complains that "you'll kill us all anyway", the rebel commander, Vel, answers sanctimoniously: "No, that's what you would do." Say what? Did she just try to claim the moral high ground over the guy whose family she's holding at gunpoint? 

This is just one example of the dodgy morals of the Rebellion as presented here. We do still get chilling examples of what the Empire is up to (some of which don't make a lot of sense), and moments that will fuel the revolutionary ardour of anyone, like a desperate prison break (Andy Serkis is killing it as the old lag nearing the end of his sentence who realises that there is, in fact, only "one way out"). But I for one found the message that you have a free pass to be as dastardly as you like if it takes down a greater evil somewhat troubling. 

After all, the rebels of today are the rulers of tomorrow. I wouldn't want the likes of Vel or the shifty rebel leader Luthen anywhere near the executive power of my galaxy. Luthen, at least, knows that he is compromised: Stellan Skarsgård's monologue on the subject is a strong moment (though I'd argue that Luthen has "sacrificed" less than the innocents who have been put at risk by his strategies). But at the end of the day, I can see both Vel and Luthen able to find excuses for using a weapon of mass destruction such as the Death Star themselves if it was in their hands. In which case, how much has the Galaxy gained by them winning?

Questions like these are interesting to dwell on. I like the way Andor, while being very entertaining, also gets me thinking about the ends and means problem. If I'm not such a natural born rebel as Gilroy, it doesn't matter; I don't feel the show is pointing a finger at me and saying "if you don't think what we think, you're dumb". That's worth a lot these days. I will say this, though: the questionable rebel tactics make the Rebellion look very different from the one Luke and Han joined and Leia was already a part of in Star Wars: A New Hope. Andor is a great thriller series, and I highly recommend it as such (not one for the kids, though). But to me, it doesn't quite feel like Star Wars.

Things to look forward to in 2023

I had planned to blog about Andor (which is really good, by the way) and have a serious "do ends justify the means?"-discussion about the pros and cons of ruthless rebel tactics, but – sorry, I'm just too tired. So a new year's list post it is, where I will probably forget to mention some obvious items because of ignorance or brain-mushiness. I will get to Andor next year. I think. Anyway...

The 60th anniversary Doctor Who specials So I know I've tried to play it cool and manage expectations when it comes to the return of Russell T Davies as show-runner, but... oh boy, this just looks so good. David Tennant back as an interim Doctor until Ncuti Gatwa takes over the reins; Donna Noble, one of the best RTD companions, back and possibly regaining memories from her time with the Doctor (I know more sophisticated fans have praised Davies for the "hard choice" of never letting Donna get her memories back, but I for one won't be disappointed if she does – I'm not one for hard choices); Donna's family reappearing, including her probably-not-as-snooty-anymore mum Sylvia and the late Bernard Cribbins as lovely grandpa Wilf; and last but not least, Neil Patrick Harris as a promisingly flamboyant-looking villain who must surely be the much-talked-about Celestial Toymaker. I know Harris as Barney from How I Met Your Mother, but I'm sure he'll be "legend-ary" as a villainous mastermind. And if the show has a deal with Disney + now, does that mean that Swedes get to see it almost at the same time as Brits? Here's hoping!

The Gilded Age season two It's no new Downton, yet. But with any luck, it's getting there. I'm amazed we can already look forward to the second season, after we had to wait so long for the first one, but if HBO trailers can be trusted, it's coming next year. I'm excited to get a new dose of the excellent Mr Russell, plus I'll be able to get two blog posts out of it: one where I follow up my predictions for season two, and one where I make new ones for season three (which must be in the works). There hasn't been that much talk about the show, but someone, somewhere, can still make The Gilded Age happen. I'm certain of it.

Grand Admiral Thrawn in live action – and a new Mandalorian season All right, so Andor is probably, objectively, the best-written live-action Star Wars TV show so far, and I did enjoy it. But if I'm honest, The Mandalorian remains my personal favourite. I just like the characters more than the ones in Andor (though the latter are intriguingly complex), and The Mandalorian has more of a classic Star Wars feel, along with an atmospheric Space Western vibe I really like – and I'm not even that into Westerns usually. Ahsoka will also be coming this year, where we'll surely get to see Grand Admiral Thrawn. Come now, I didn't sit through Rebels for nothing. Thrawn wasn't all I hoped he would be in that series, but he was still a tasty villain, and he cannot remain abducted by space whales. That's just waste of Star Wars villain talent.

Loki season two Well, what can I say? I mean, it's Loki! As I thought the first season got better and better as it went on, my expectations for season two are pretty high. They'd better start giving us some answers about how all these timeline retcons work though, as well as explain why Sylvie's timeline was pruned in the first place (my theory is, because she showed worrying tendencies towards becoming heroic).

Sanditon series three I googled "costume dramas 2023" in order to find something to balance out all this geekery and... this is what I can come up with. Yes, a Great Expectations adaptation will also be airing, but as it seems to be from the same people who made a "dark" A Christmas Carol which sounds so awful I haven't been able to bring myself to watch it, my hopes aren't that high. But Sanditon series three will probably be fun. Maybe poor Charlotte will finally get her man in this one?

Possibly, a new Thursday Next novel by Jasper Fforde Look, I don't need earnest immigration allegories from the creator of the Goliath Corporation. Just gimme more Thursday.                            

The Crown season five: Is Peter Morgan getting tired of royals?

Yep, I, too, thought the Mohamed Al-Fayed episode was the best one.

That's not my only unoriginal reaction to season five of The Crown. Did I notice that this season was overall kinder to the British royal family than the last two seasons? Yes I did. Was I appalled that Peter Morgan used the death of a child – a real-life tragedy – as the starting point of a questionable, speculative plot-line? Yes, I was. Was I surprised at how sympathetically "tampon-gate" was handled? Yes, pleasantly surprised even – it was nice to hear someone make the point that private conversations between lovers often are embarrassing and idiotic, though I have a hard time imagining this sentiment coming from Princess Anne. Did I gape over the effrontery of adding lines to the Queen's "Annus Horribilis" speech (though I admit I don't remember much of it, so you could have fooled me) and inventing a cringey conversation between John Major and Prince Charles where the latter tries to convince the former that the Queen has had her day? Yes... well, you get the picture by now.

This is only a handful of the sentiments expressed in more than one review of The Crown with which I am in agreement. So what remains to be said? Is there anything I can add as someone who hasn't had the same feeling of disenchantment as the series became increasingly anti-monarchist as many others, seeing I wasn't that into it in the first place?

Well, the fact that I'm not the only one who thought "Mou Mou" was by far the most fascinating episode (and I may have a slight ruthless-capitalist-patriarch bias) does raise a tentative question. Can it be that Peter Morgan is losing interest in the protagonists of the show, and the main theme of the series (whether all those sacrifices to royal duty Are Really Worth It)? The Waleses' marriage is such a train wreck it's hard not to get sucked in, as in the previous season, but otherwise Morgan has few new points to make about the royals themselves. It's always a treat to see Timothy Dalton, but did we really need a retread of Princess Margaret's grievances in connection with her old amour Peter Townsend? I love Jonathan Pryce, but his main storyline as Prince Philip is his friendship with Penny Knatchbull and how their closeness supposedly makes the Queen jealous. Cases of "emotional infidelity", when a man or woman doesn't betray their partner sexually but romantically moons over another person, deserve to be addressed more often in drama, but my goodness, not like this. If the real Prince Philip offered any solace to a grieving mother at a time when most others would actively have avoided her company, then more power to him. Such an act of kindness doesn't deserve to be cheapened and cast in a doubtful light.

As for the Queen herself, Imelda Staunton puts in a great performance as always, but she feels strangely wasted in the part. Her Queen is softer than Olivia Colman's tough bird, but we don't learn a lot about her personality-wise, and the parallel to the ageing royal yacht Britannia is really laboured. There's something wrong when you suspect that an actor got to flex their acting muscles more in the Harry Potter films than in a relatively high-prestige affair (though not as high-prestige as it once was) like The Crown.

In contrast, the drama feels more inspired when it concerns characters outside the royal family. Al-Fayed's relationship to his valet Sydney Johnson, which develops into a friendship after an inauspicious start (Al-Fayed gets Johnson fired from the Ritz for implied racist reasons, but makes a U-turn when he realises Johnson is the Duke of Windsor's former valet) could be a subject of its own film. Dr Khan, the surgeon who catches Princess Diana's eye, is portrayed as a real sweetie – you understand what Diana sees in him. The conflict between two BBC bosses, if a little forced, is refreshing as Morgan shows more sympathy for the old traditionalist who lost his leg as a war prisoner than the slick moderniser. In the episode where Charles and Diana finally divorce, we see scenes between other divorcing couples which I for one found engaging: here we had ministories about marriage breakdowns which sometimes made me go "Aw, give it another try" and sometimes "Yeah, you two should never have got married".

I can't help wondering whether Peter Morgan regrets having signed up for six seasons of The Crown. He still seems genuinely interested in the Charles and Diana breakup, which is evenhandedly portrayed insofar as the protagonists take turns in behaving really badly. But apart from that, royal affairs don't seem to interest him the way they once did. Maybe he'd rather make a series or film about something else, like the rise of a hard-headed Egyptian businessman and social climber.           

Sanditon series two: A Regency romp that works

The frothy costume drama Sanditon continues after all! It was originally cancelled by ITV after its first series – in spite of, to my knowledge, being generally well received by the costume-drama-loving public – but (if a brief Wiki search is to be believed) PBS and the streaming service BritBox came to the rescue. Series two was aired by Swedish television during the autumn of this year and became a welcome distraction on Saturday evenings. Irritatingly, the series creators (chief among them Andrew Davies), not having learned their lesson from last time, decided to end this series on a cliffhanger as well. At least this time we are assured that the story will go on in a third series.

Why do I like this show, when I was so stern about Netflix's attempt to jazz up Austen's Persuasion and haven't been especially blown away by Bridgerton, which is firmly in the same genre? It's not as if Sanditon has anything to do with its supposed source material anymore. Any tenuous link to the fragment penned by Jane Austen has been snapped long ago. And it's not Great Art by any means. The characters, though engaging enough and well acted, aren't especially complex, and the storylines aren't original – in fact they are cheerfully stolen from such different sources as Cyrano de Bergerac, governess novels and Gaslight. In my post about the first series, I warned against expecting anything Austenesque, and I repeat the warning for this series as well. This is not like Davies's Pride and Prejudice, let alone his Dickens adaptations. But, like the recent Doctor Who special, what we have here is an example of TV entertainment that understands its brief. It promises a light-hearted Regency soap, with romances and intrigues you can gossip and speculate about with other costume-drama nuts, and this is exactly what it delivers.

So why don't I feel like Jane Austen's good name has been violated, in the same way I did when watching Netflix's Persuasion? It is a bit cheeky to use an Austen fragment as merely a sales pitch for a series and then go completely in your own direction. I'm not fussed about this, though, and I suspect the main reason is that I didn't think Austen's novel fragment was particularly good, at least not by usual Austen standards. And it is only a few chapters long after all. Persuasion, on the other hand, is a completed work, and one of Austen's best novels, if not the best. Anne Elliot is a wonderful, mature heroine, and I feel it's far worse to take liberties with her than with the relatively thinly sketched characters in Sanditon. It's also worth mentioning that though Sanditon is unpretentious and doesn't feel overburdened by background research (a character struggles with a corset at one point, but corsets weren't really a thing when you wore forgiving high-waisted Empire dresses), it's not knowingly, wilfully anachronistic in the same way as the Netflix Persuasion. It does make some attempts to anchor its plot in a recognisable Regency setting.

As for enjoying Sanditon more than Bridgerton, I simply think there is more pace to the former. It's strange considering that the Julia Quinn novels I've read are usually very entertaining, but I find Bridgerton more than a little slow. The material feels as if it's been stretched too thin, and there's not a lot of the original author's wit in the screenplay. Sanditon, by contrast, bounces along and has a wider variety of subplots to keep it going.

What's series two about, then? Well, for one thing, they've killed off poor Sidney, presumably because they couldn't get Theo James back. I thought this too drastic at first, but as there are other characters who are unaccountably absent, I suppose because their actors couldn't or didn't want to return, I could eventually see why they went with this solution (is it likely that Lord Babington wouldn't check on his wife at least once? And do we ever get explained what happened to Diana Parker?). Anyway, poor Charlotte is grieving for Sidney, but eventually other romantic options come along. A dashing Colonel (Tom Weston-Jones, aka hot Compeyson from Dickensian) takes an interest, while Charlotte for her part is intrigued by the reclusive Mr Colbourne, by whom she is employed as a governess for his daughter and niece. There is some mystery concerning his dead wife... Meanwhile, Charlotte's romantic sister gets entangled with various redcoats; prickly heiress Georgiana Lambe is courted by the painter Lockhart, who plays on his unconvential image but doesn't seem entirely trustworthy; Esther Babington, upset that she's been unable to conceive a child, becomes the victim of a plot to to replace her as Lady Denhams's heir; and Thomas Parker frets over Sanditon's finances as usual, this time more and more ably assisted in his endeavours by his younger brother Arthur.

Needless to say, I liked some plot and character developments more than others. If there's one character who has suffered from being so far removed from the original source material, it's Thomas Parker: in Austen's fragment, he is my favourite by far, but in the series not even Kris Marshall's homespun charm can save him from coming across as a prize idiot. I wasn't a fan of the sugar boycott subplot – "moral" boycotts are a pet peeve of mine in any era. On the other hand, I am warming to its instigator Georgiana Lambe (Crystal Clarke): there's some good character development for her and for Arthur Parker (no longer simply "the fat brother") in this series. Also, the boycott plot has the advantage of casting a favourable light on the comic relief characters of the vicar and his spinster sister; they support Georgiana and are genuinely fond of her. For someone who watches a lot of Midsomer Murders and the Morse crime dramas (Morse, Lewis and Endeavour), a kindly vicar in British television makes a nice change.

Rose Williams gives Charlotte a great deal of charm and somehow makes this often frustrating heroine work. How Charlotte can prefer Mr Colbourne to the handsome Colonel is a mystery to me, but I can't wait to find out how it all turns out in the end.

The power of Doctor Who nostalgia

Usually I complain that I don't have enough to blog about. I can't use that excuse at the moment: there are plenty of potential blog topics just waiting to be written up. But does that make things easier? Not really.

One comparably easy topic should be The Power of the Doctor, Chris Chibnall's sign-off as Doctor Who show-runner and the Thirteenth Doctor's final adventure. But not even that is plain sailing. I enjoyed it, despite its flaws, and now I have to explain why.

If series thirteen, the Flux series, was overstuffed with plot lines and characters, that's even more the case here. At least in Flux, the different storylines usually had some sort of pay-off, and there was only one serious plot thread left dangling at the end, namely: what happened to the Universe? Seeing as its apparent destruction hasn't been brought up since, I presume that it's fine, somehow. The annihilation of the Daleks was clearly not long-lasting either, but that's nothing new in Who. All in all, though, you realised why the different components were there. The Ravagers, the Sontarans, the Dog Aliens (sorry, can't remember what they were called), the Grand Serpent, Williamson the "mad mole", the Weeping Angels – though it wouldn't, in my view, have been impossible to lift some of them out of the story, they did all have some part to play.

Now on the other hand, I have no idea why many of the plot lines in The Power of the Doctor were included, especially those that were supposed to be part of the Master's plan. Did the Qurunx have to be part of the plot? Or for that matter the whole "conversion planet"? What was Vinder's part in the story? Why was the Master masquerading as Rasputin? Or is he supposed to have actually been Rasputin? Why did he deface fifteen famous paintings? Why did he kidnap and shrink fifteen seismologists – was that necessary to the "cover the Earth with lava" part of the plot, or what? Did we need a Cyberman-Dalek-Master team-up when the Cybermen and Daleks were usually just standing around and acting as muscle for the Master? Some of the story elements were so cool I wished Chibnall would have stripped back the episode content and made more of the remaining plot lines. For instance, I was glad to see Ashad again, one of the best villains from series twelve, but in the end he acted little differently from how an ordinary Cyberman commander would. More could have been made of his anti-human stance versus Kate Stewart's pro-human one.

I would rather have the messiness of late Chibnall Who, though, than the flaws of early Chibnall Who. The Power of the Doctor delivered where it had to: on the nostalgia front. Doctor Who specials, especially ones that mark the end of a Doctor's career, aren't the kind of episodes where you introduce new exciting characters or story arcs – it's where you pay tribute to all the show has offered in the past. Chibnall understood the brief and delivered. The nostalgia content was more geared towards Classic Who than New Who, but maybe that is only fair. After all, Chibnall's Timeless Child nonsense could be said to be most disrespectful to the classic Doctors, in implying that the history they provided the character with was not enough. By including old companions as well as old Doctors in his story, Chibnall had the chance to make amends – to some extent at least.

Strangely enough, seeing as I'm not nearly as well-versed in Classic Who as in New Who, the Classic Who nostalgia was what I appreciated most in The Power of the Doctor. Grumpy Tegan and enthusiastic explosions expert Ace were a great addition to the general shenanigans, and each got to share a moment with "their" Doctor, with moving results. Having the Doctor encounter versions of herself in a sort of regeneration limbo where it didn't seem strange that they had all aged considerably was a really clever move. In the end we even caught a glimpse of some more classic companions, including one of the very first, and I was all there for it.  

Also, does it really matter why we get Sacha Dhawan's Master as Rasputin when we get Sacha Dhawan's Master as Rasputin? Dhawan is still a great Master: not as funny as in his other appearances, I thought, but nailing the underlying sadness of the character, whose maniacal outbursts somehow ring hollow. And there are funny moments too. A Cyberman and Dalek sharing a bemused glance as the Master does a dance number to the Boney M. hit Rasputin is priceless.

Also – a significant negative virtue this for a Chibnall offering – there is no preaching. Absolutely none. Just pure nerdy Who fun, ending in a not entirely unforeseen but welcome return of a familiar face. I believe Russell T Davies and Steven Moffat would both have done more with the plot elements in The Power of the Doctor than Chibnall did. Nevertheless, even if the final meal could be improved upon, Chibnall deserves credit for getting the delicious ingredients together.

And next year we get an RTD-penned three-part special run with the (sort of) new Doctor... I can't wait. The Celestial Toymaker sounds like a very promising villain.

What's the deal with magic schools?

If House of the Dragon and The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power have one thing in common (besides pacing issues), it's that they take themselves very seriously – one could argue, more seriously than any franchise in which dragons are a thing should. The Netflix film The School for Good and Evil looked like the perfect antidote fantasy-wise. One film reviewer compared its vibe to Barbara Cartland, which made it an appealing prospect when I was looking for fluffy weekend entertainment. The film's length was a bit daunting at approximately two hours twenty minutes, but fairy-tale based fantasy is the part of the genre I enjoy most, so I had to give it a go.

Not long after I started watching I thought to myself: "I forgot fairy tales are usually meant for kids". Even if the film started getting into slightly more adult (or at least teenage) concerns later on, this reminds you more of early than late Harry Potter (I'm talking about the HP films here as I haven't read the books). If you're a grown-up, this is by no means required viewing. Having said that, I wasn't bored. It was light-hearted fun in the same vein as Harry Potter and the Disney Descendants films and had the sense to question its own daft premise.

Is The School for Good and Evil derivative, then? I think it's fair to say it is. It's based on a book series where the first book was published 2013, well after the Harry Potter craze had started – though, it has to be said, two years before the first Descendants movie. Just tell me if the film setup sounds familiar: The School for Good and Evil is a school where future fairy-tale characters are trained for the roles they are to play as good and evil protagonists in various tales. Two girls who feel out of place in a humdrum village read about it and one of them, who imagines herself as a princess, longs to go there. In the end, they are both taken there, but the princess-wannabe is dropped off at the School for Evil, while her no-nonsense friend (believed to be a witch in their home village) is dropped off in the School for Good. Much what-am-I-doing-here-ing ensues.

Yeah, we've seen this before. We've had magic plus school, fairy tales plus school, fictional characters plus school... Without having seen it, I believe the whole training for future roles in fairy tales thing was the premise for the animated series Ever After High which the Descendants films were accused of borrowing from. The critical look at what is considered good and evil in a fairy-tale context we recognise from Once Upon A Time and, I hate to admit it, the Shrek movies. Fervent Oncer that I am, I will always claim that Once tackled the subject matter best by nuancing the picture rather than just flipping the coin and making the good characters bad and vice versa: the villains, though incredibly charismatic, are still villains, and still have to reform to get their happy endings – well, sort of. For all that, I'm not above a bit of simple ragging of vain, empty-headed princes and princesses, but no-one can say that it's original. 

The School for Good and Evil does less simple coin-flipping than the Shrek films or, say, Maleficent, and I liked the way it called out the nasty actions that "good" characters sometimes commit in classic fairy tales. On the other hand, the fairy-tale flavour is pretty generic: most of the school pupils are supposed to be the offspring of existing good and bad characters, but they don't particularly resemble their famous parents. Instead, you pretty much have goth kids versus popular kids. Sophie, the girl who's dropped off at the School for Evil, thinks she belongs in the School for Good because she's pretty, but her selfishness is supposed to make evil the better fit. But plenty of the princesses in the School for Good are equally self-obsessed, so her confusion is understandable. Seeing as the franchises I've mentioned aren't churning out new material, though, I can make do with this kind of fare. It's not the best fairy-tale-based fantasy has to offer, but it's not the worst either.

One thing I find hard to understand, though, is the popularity of the magic school. When Harry Potter rose to fame, I sort of saw it: there was the combination of two popular genres, (children's) fantasy and tales from boarding school à la Malory Towers, and it seemed like a fun enough idea for one book series for kids. But since then, I've come across magic schools time and time again. There's the Blythewood book series by Carol Goodman; the Winx TV series on Netflix that I've quite enjoyed (I know it's for teens, but... Robert James-Collier is in it, and that's my excuse); a book series by Naomi Novik which features a school that, I suppose as a contrast to other fictional magic schools, is sinister and not cosy at all; the list could go on. And here's the thing. Learning magic at school – even a sinister one – is lame. It deglamourises and demystifies magic. Maybe child readers fondly imagine that if they were taught spells and potions at school they'd enjoy it. Well, they'd be wrong. Even the most interesting subject loses its charm when you have to do homework on it.

I vastly prefer fantasy franchises where magic is either self-taught or the subject of one-on-one tutorials with suitably cool mentors. Learning the ropes from a (non-demonic) sorcerer who's at the top of his game: now that's what I call real magic. Being stuck in a school just isn't enchanting enough.