The bumpy ride of New New Doctor Who

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is a good Ronja adaptation – erm, right, true fans?

My relationship to Ronja the Robber's Daughter by Astrid Lindgren is an odd one for a Swede. I grew up in a massively Lindgren-friendly household and still treasure her stories about among others Pippi Longstocking, Madicken and the Bullerby children (Lasse is my favourite Lindgren character). However, my mum wasn't a big fan of Lindgren's two last books, The Brothers Lionheart and Ronja the Robber's Daughter, and nothing I learnt about them as a child made me want to seek them out myself. Eventually, I did watch the classic film adaptations, but they didn't hook me.

Recently, with new adaptations in the works which I was interested to see, I thought I'd finally acquaint myself with both these books by way of listening to Lindgren's own old recordings of them for Swedish Radio. Though they're not, in my entirely biased opinion, on a par with the Lindgren favourites I grew up with, I'm glad I've cured my ignorance, at least to some degree. I'd argue that The Brothers Lionheart is the better written of the two, and yet Ronja is the one I can most easily picture children getting into.

For one thing, Ronja is unambiguous. Most of Lindgren's fantastical tales can be read in more than one way: you can either take the protagonists' adventures at face value, or interpret them as mere imaginings, albeit beautiful ones, which Lindgren's often sorely tried boys and girls use as coping mechanisms. I tend to stubbornly stick to the face-value reading, except in the rare cases when "real life" offers a happier ending than the fantastic adventures. Even so, it's hard to for instance read the last lines of the story "The Land of Twilight" without tearing up. 

Ronja the Robber's Daughter, on the other hand, is more straightforward, which I imagine children would find comforting. Ronja is the daughter of a robber whose home is in a magical forest. This is made crystal clear. She's not making it up. Also, her months of living in the woods with her best friend Birk must read as blissful wish-fulfilment for anyone who has ever dreamed of living close to nature (not me).

But it's one thing to acknowledge that children appreciate a story, and another to appreciate a story as a child. Which finally leads me to the Netflix TV series based on Ronja the Robber's Daughter (only half of which is available so far). For me, the jaded adult, this is the ideal adaptation. The book treated its child protagonists with respect, but the grown-ups were little more than caricatures, and the tiresome old tropes of sensible child vs foolish adult and sensible woman vs foolish man riled me as far back as in the old film. 

In the Netflix series, the adults are taken more seriously. Mattis, Ronja's father, is given a proper motive to resent a rival band of robbers and its chieftain Borka in particular. What's more, his relationship with Ronja's mother Lovis is a proper, loving one – she doesn't treat him like a silly child, which is a relief. We also get an added subplot about the nearby villagers who suffer from the robbers' exploits, and the bounty hunters (female, which makes sense in this universe) employed to put an end to the nuisance. I was at times more interested in them than in the central story, which is, I suppose, not entirely a good thing.

The question the Netflix Ronja highlights is: what makes a good adaptation? Should you try to tinker with the source material's weaker aspects so they work better, with the risk of losing focus? Or should you faithfully zoom in on what worked in the original and let neglected parts of the plot remain neglected? To be clear, I thought Ronja was very well cast in the Netflix adaptation, and Birk was good too, though as the parts were played by young teenagers, their relationship became a little more proto-romantic than the novel's surrogate-sibling love. But the adults do steal some of the limelight, which real Ronja appreciaters may feel is a shame.

For my part, I've enjoyed the Netflix series so far and am looking forward to the release of the rest of the episodes. True fans could possibly see things differently, though. An equivalent version of The Brothers Lionheart would be one where the grown-ups that were mere ciphers in the book – bad guys and heroic rebels alike – are properly fleshed out, but you momentarily lose track of what's happening to the brothers themselves. Mind you, I would love to see an adaptation like that.

Possible plot lines for the third Downton film (some more possible than others)

There's to be another Downton film/movie? What is this, the new Terminator franchise? Julian Fellowes has already written a convincing ending to the saga of the Crawley family and its servants – three times. Downton Abbey could have ended after the TV series finale, or the first film, or the second film. I'm not sure how Fellowes was persuaded to return to the world of Downton once more, but I bet the producers are happy.

And of course, as an avid fan, I'm not exactly complaining either; I'm always up for another spot of Downton. However, with so many plot lines already tied up in tidy bows, it will be a challenge for Fellowes to find new ways of bringing the story forward (ideally without ruining the happy endings already engineered in previous Downton content). But not impossible. Here are some storylines I wouldn't mind seeing in a new Downton movie.

Mary's marriage and old beaux: Mary's love life keeps being affected by out-of-universe events. When Dan Stevens opted out, Fellowes had to kill off Matthew Crawley, the love of her life. Now, her second marriage to Henry Talbot is endangered because of the commitments of much-sought-after Matthew Goode, who plays him. Goode's other acting projects meant that he was entirely absent from Downton movie number two, which meant that in-universe, the once loving couple appeared to be estranged (and Henry racing again? Why?). It was the one major disappointment with the second film, and now Fellowes has a chance to fix it.

How, though? Supposing Goode can't or won't appear in this film either, what then? We simply can't have another film with Mary sighing over an absent husband. If Henry Talbot isn't present, he must be got rid of – either through divorce or death.

While it would be rotten luck for poor Mary to lose two husbands to violent death, it would be less messy plot-wise than divorce. Whatever grim alternative Fellowes chooses, I hope the third film is set some years after the event, so that Mary is free to form a new attachment – or rediscover an old one. Surely this is the ideal opportunity to make Lady Mary and Charles Blake (do they have a ship name? Chary? Pig Rescuers?) happen?

Of course, the least harrowing thing for Mary would be if her second marriage did not have to end. If Goode can be coaxed back into the fold, the plot could instead be about him and Mary finding their way back to happiness. I wouldn't mind if an old beau of Mary's – Blake or, why not, Sir Richard Carlisle – gave Talbot a good talking to and pointed out just how much he has to lose by neglecting his wife.

Edith's Marigold secret: Fellowes has been wary of connecting the film plots to the series plots too much in the previous films, but maybe this time he'll consider us die-hard fans. The fact that Marigold is Edith's natural daughter and not just adopted is a secret just waiting to be discovered by a nosy journalist or some other credible threat. A lot of drama could be elicited by the family's and servants' combined efforts to shut the snoop up. I wouldn't mind seeing Edith showing some of her sister's steel and face the challenge bravely instead of just whining.

Peter Coyle's belated appearance: Remember Peter Coyle, Miss Baxter's old flame who persuaded her to steal for him? What if we could finally get to meet this fatal charmer? He would reappear in Miss Baxter's life, filling Molesley with self-doubt by being handsome and charismatic. Once the cad is ousted, however, Molesley will learn that Miss Baxter was never once tempted to return to Coyle and thinks Molesley is worth a hundred of him. That would be moving to see, though I doubt Molesley would be allowed to be caught up in a dramatic storyline rather than a comic one; Kevin Doyle is too good a comedian for Fellowes not to utilise him for high jinks.

The Bateses' future: Yes, you may well wonder: I'm actually, voluntarily, asking for another plot focusing on Mr and Mrs Bates. Even I have been a little embarrassed by the way the admittedly annoying Bates has been shoved into the background in the two films. Perhaps it's time for the couple to face a more grounded problem than various murder charges? 

Back in series two of Downton Abbey, Bates wanted to open a small hotel together with Anna, and she seemed all in favour of the idea. The way things turned out, though, they're still pretty much stuck at Downton. What if Bates finally wanted to move on, but Anna felt guilty for "abandoning" Mary? Mary could resolve the matter in the end by insisting that Anna go and live her own life, but it would make for some drama.

The Butler question: Look, Andy can't possibly become the household's new butler and handle Mr Mason's old farm. Being a farmer, even with an energetic spouse, is decidedly not a part-time job. The Crawleys need to find a new butler, and fast. This could be the "comic relief" part of the film, maybe involving Denker and Spratt (though I'm not sure how I would explain why Denker is still around). And if Mr Carson finally gets to do something right or say something wise in the course of this story unfolding, then so much the better.

Thomas plotting (for the greater good): Shock confession: I wouldn't have minded if Thomas were not in the film. He got his happy ending in Downton Abbey: A New Era, and I really don't want Fellowes to mess it up. But Robert James-Collier is slated to return, so here's how you could use him: Thomas is visiting his old servant friends (kind of) and gets involved in one of the ongoing storylines, such as Peter Coyle's return or the Marigold conundrum. The servants persuade him to help by doing what he (arguably) does best: scheming. Once Coyle or the Marigold snooper has been foiled, partly by Thomas's plans, he can go back to Guy Dexter (I don't think they'll be able to bag Dominic West for another Downton performance, so Guy will have to wait off-screen). That would work, right?

In all probability, none of these possible plots will make an appearance in the third film, except perhaps the fixing of Mary's marital problems. I haven't even found a way to incorporate Uncle Harold (who we know will return) into any of the storylines. But a girl can dream.         

Eurovision 2024: You're welcome to it, Switzerland

What do you mean, there's an elephant in the room? Where? Wait, there are two now?

Yeah, there's no denying Eurovision got a little tense this year. Although, in my entirely unbiased opinion, Sweden did an excellent job of hosting the competition – we threw anything but the kitchen sink at it: the Crown Princess, Abbatars, "Hooked on a Feeling" and self-deprecating numbers about our Eurovision obsession – the atmosphere was strained at times, and by the end even the ebullient Petra Mede seemed to be struggling to keep a smile on her face. Though the winning song wasn't my cup of tea, I'm actually relieved Sweden didn't win again. Yes, really. Switzerland, you're good to go. Good luck.

But this shouldn't mean that there isn't any blogging to be got out of it all, so I'll give it a try while carefully avoiding the elephants (sorry).

Black Sabbath of the year (what, again?): Ireland Back in 2021, I was shocked by the singer from Cyprus apparently taking villain fangirling too far. I guess it's debatable what is worse: the seductive hummability of Cyprus's song back then or this occult shriek-fest. At least Bambi Thug is honest about wanting to be a witch pretty badly. Still, in my book, this is worse. As far as I could make out, Bambi wants to curse their (I think?) ex, and is prepared to snog any demon in order to make it happen. There's a malevolence here that was missing from Cyprus's ditzy groupie in 2021 (plus it's still just possible that the latter was singing about a Mexican bandit). Let's hope that the pentagram was the right way up, because then it's actually supposed to ward off evil spirits.

Misunderstanding of the brief of the year: United Kingdom The UK's song was actually not bad at all, if you closed your eyes. But that number! Look, Eurovision is pretty gay, it's true. But it's gay in a glitzy, Pride Parade, feathers and sparkles kind of way. Not in a groping-guys-in-a-dirty-bathroom kind of way. No-one, gay or straight, wants grimy realism on Eurovision day. That said, zero points from televoters was harsh. It's important to remember that this doesn't mean that no-one voted for the UK, simply that the number didn't make the top ten in any of the voting countries (I'm not sure that's much of a consolation).

Fairy tale of the year: Norway Norway didn't do very well, but at least they made the finals, and as a fairy-tale nerd I'm fascinated by the tale they were singing about. What happened? Did the girl drink her brother's blood? Or did she sensibly decide to simply remain a wolf? I must look it up.

Big cats of the year: Luxemburg Take an upbeat, blissfully mainstream pop song, sung partly in French by a perky, dependable artist, then add gigantic leopards in the light show. What do you get? My favourite Eurovision entry in 2024. The competition may have been full of oddballs this years – the Finn from last year started some sort of trend which will probably be stone dead come 2025 – but this is what tigers like me like.

Intense Big Five artists of the year: France and Germany France's soupy love song was stronger than Germany's forgettable ballad, but both male singers gave it their all and managed to climb to a respectable fourth and twelfth place respectively (you may think twelfth place isn't much to write home about; trust me, for Germany, it is). I hope the traditional French ballad from France trend lasts forever, but of course it won't.

Earworms of the year: Italy and Austria When I found myself humming a song from this year's competition a few days later, it wasn't the ones from Luxemburg or Cyprus (good this year and not witchy) which I actually voted for but Italy's. "Da-da-da-da-da-da La Noia" may be the only line I know, but it certainly sticks in the brain. This, and Austria's "Dum-de-dum-de-dum-dum we will rave". Great artistry? Doubtful. Earworms? Definitely.

The Rebel Moon films are not all bad (but hardly the new Star Wars)

It's hard to defend films which don't get much love even from their director. Granted, I have only seen snippets from an interview with Zack Snyder, the director of Rebel Moon – Part One: A Child of Fire and Rebel Moon – Part Two: The Scargiver (which I'll call Rebel Moon 1 and Rebel Moon 2 for convenience). However, he seemed to be talking up his forthcoming R-rated versions of these films at the expense of the PG-13-rated ones now available on Netflix. I must say, these auteur directors can be enigmatic, even downright annoying. Surely, if you want the public to watch versions of your films with crushed skulls and the like, you try to make a decent fist of the versions without crushed skulls instead of half-arsing it and saying "don't worry, the R-rated ones will be better"? If you nail it the first time, people end up wanting more instead of giving up on Rebel Moon before it's even become a franchise.

Having read an article in a film magazine about the Rebel Moon films before their release, I was pretty excited about them. However, like proper Snyder fans (I'm ashamed to say these are the first films directed by him that I've seen), I was disappointed by what we got. So far, we have nothing that could rival the epicness of the Star Wars franchise even on a bad day. But though I feel no great wish to rewatch Rebel Moon 1 and 2, I will give the next film in the series a go (if there is a next one). There are things here I quite enjoy. And I'll say this for Rebel Moon: although it started as a idea for a Star Wars movie turned down by Lucasfilm, this universe doesn't feel like a Star Wars knock-off.

So, all right, there's an evil space empire, and the odd glowing sword pops up, though they aren't essential to the plot. But when is there not an evil empire? When's the last time we saw a good empire on the silver screen? (Napoleon? Sorry, I had to. Still haven't seen it, by the way.) One thing I really liked about these films was the aesthetics of the Rebel Moon universe. The planets and people visited by the protagonists in Rebel Moon 1 borrow traits from different places and historical eras on Earth: the Wild West, the Roman Empire, Ye Olde Japan etc. It's a bit odd, I suppose, considering this is outer space, but it's an idea that sets the Rebel Moon galaxy apart from the Star Wars one, where the look was more classic sci-fi and the planets often felt like they had one trait each (here's a desert – but it's a planet, here's a forest – but it's a planet, here's a big city – but it's a planet etc.).

The star ships look nothing like the Star Wars ones, but are more like clunky locomotives in space. Modes of teleportation are also different, and the advanced medical treatments one of the main villains undergoes are inventively squishy, a far cry from the a-scan-and-you're-fine treatments we mostly get in sci-fi. The music is properly grand and epic. So, plenty to like in the settings and soundtrack, then. That only leaves the problems with details such as story, script and characters.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a peaceful agricultural village, where people live in harmony from the good of the land, is threatened by a superior force (in this case troops from the evil empire, called simply the Imperium). The superior force demands more from the village than it can give, or it will be destroyed. A deadline is given. The villagers are distraught. What to do? They're farmers, not soldiers. One hero (heroine in this case) manages to assemble a motley band of warriors to defend the village. However, that is not enough: the peaceful farmers, and their womenfolk, have to learn to fight for what is theirs and stand up against the oppressors...

Yeah, I know. I haven't even seen The Seven Samurai or The Magnificent Seven, and I have still seen this story so often I've become sick to death of it. A Bugs Life, episodes in Doctor Who and The Mandalorian... this plot seems to be everywhere. It's a mystery to me why Snyder couldn't find a better story to tell in this visually stunning universe he's imagined. What's more, the characters just aren't interesting, with the possible exception of the kick-ass heroine's mild-mannered boyfriend. Some of the acting is fine – Anthony Hopkins voice-acts an enigmatic robot with aplomb – but at other times it's decidedly wonky, and the actors aren't given much to work with. The tormented heroine Kora fights well but is otherwise not compelling, and not a strong enough character to build a franchise on. Her band of fighters are hardly more fleshed out than Asha's side-kicks in Wish, and though we get to hear their back stories they are more or less variations on the same theme (the Imperium attacking out of nowhere and doing their evil empire stuff).

As for the villains... Ed Skrein clearly has fun as the evil dictator's  man on the ground, with heavy irony named Atticus Noble. But he's too much of a parody to ever feel menacing. I kept wishing for the second in command, Cassius (!), who seems much more competent, to live up to his name, knife Atticus and take control. No such luck. I guess Atticus must be seen as the comic relief rather than a serious threat, but it diminishes the tension when the heroes are up against a buffoon. And that haircut.

This world's Palpatine is called Balisarius, on the other side of the Asterix spectrum to Galbatorix in Eragon. What his motivations are I honestly couldn't tell you: "unlimited power", I guess. The only character he's known to have a personal relationship with is Kora (she's his adopted daughter), and he screws her over. It doesn't make any sense why he's so keen to capture her after that, when surely, for propapaganda purposes, it would be much better to have her remain the empire's most wanted elsewhere, and he has no personal axe to grind. But, well... he's bad, and that's all there is to it. A pity he couldn't be entertainingly bad like Palps.

So no, I'll not be watching the R-rated versions of Rebel Moon 1 and Rebel Moon 2, even though Snyder promises to "deconstruct" the tropes he leans so heavily into in the PG-13 versions. But if there's a film about Kora's search for the lost princess (very Super Mario), I'll watch it: this universe is interesting enough to warrant a better story than what we've seen so far.

Scenes from a marriage, 1870

So, Belgravia: The Next Chapter turned out to be... not quite what I hoped for. Firstly, it wasn't written by Julian Fellowes. I was surprised by how much I ended up minding this. After all, Fellowes isn't the kind of a-zinger-a-minute script writer where you actively think: "Wow, this is so good". That other costume drama supremo, Andrew Davies, farmed out the script-writing of Mr Selfridge and Sanditon to no ill effect; there's clearly plenty of talented telly writers out there. What Fellowes has, though, is a knack of making his characters interesting and/or likeable. That's a talent this series would have benefited from.

Another disappointment was that the series didn't follow the adventures of the offspring of the main couple from the first Belgravia series, Charles Pope/Bellasis and Lady Maria Grey, which would have made it a proper "next generation" sequel. Instead, the connection to the original Belgravia is rather tenuous. Frederick, aka Lord Trenchard, is the bastard child that side character Oliver Trenchard from the first series decided to acknowledge as his own. We see the grown-up Frederick meet and marry the romantically minded Clara. However, he's so troubled by his upbringing and his "father's" disdain that he has a hard time accepting Clara's love, and much marital strife ensues.

I was sorry that Oliver Trenchard, one of the few links to the original series, was portrayed in such a bad light. Accepting his unfaithful wife's child was part of his redemption arc in the first Belgravia, and it detracts from his characterisation there to see him turn against Frederick from the moment he surprisingly gets a son of his own. For all that, I did manage to get into Belgravia: The Next Chapter after a bumpy start. But for seven of its eight episodes, the supposed connection to the first Belgravia was a hindrance rather than a help.

The series is in fact a competently crafted and well-acted (especially from the secondary characters) marital drama with a couple of amusing side intrigues. Some problems remain, though, the major one being that the two protagonists just aren't very engaging. Now, don't get me wrong, it's quite convincing that a naïve, impulsive girl and an emotionally stunted man would experience these kinds of romantic problems in 1870s Belgravia (perhaps even in modern Belgravia). But there's only so much of Frederick sitting around looking miserable in a repressed way, or Clara confiding in a society doctor who clearly has the hots for her, that this viewer can take.

The other problem, as I've hinted, is the branding. From a series called Belgravia: The Next Chapter, it's not unreasonable to expect the same kind of comfort viewing as from its parent series. For most of its run time, though, this drama isn't particularly comforting. I started thinking that I would have liked it more if it hadn't had any connection to Belgravia  whatsoever, and if I'd known roughly what kind of story I could expect from the start.

But – and here's the rub – episode eight was really strong, and tied back to the events of Belgravia in a way I would have been sorry to miss. Finally, after seven episodes of distraught flailing, the characters managed to get their act together in a supremely satisfying way.  

Also, the secondary characters add spice to the story throughout. I wasn't always convinced by Elaine Cassidy's Katherine in The Paradise – though she could act up a storm all right, especially in the second series, she just wasn't the spoilt heiress type  – but she absolutely slays as the loyal lady in waiting Davison. Sophie Winkleman and Miles Jupp manage to wring every drop of pathos they can out of the ducal couple with an epileptic heir (I know this is the late 19th century, but sometimes the characters in this series seem to know less about epilepsy than Marco Polo). There's a fun French marquise who's obviously up to no good and spinning intrigues seemingly just for the heck of it. Clara's envious sister has a solid character arc, and Frederick's brother James is such a pretty parson in distress you wonder how any thug could have the heart to blackmail him, especially when there are more worthwhile things they could be doing.

So in the end I was quite torn about this drama. I do think it would have benefited either from being shorter, or from giving more time to the side plots. What is the shared history (clearly not of the romantic kind) of Davison and the gimlet-eyed servant Fletcher? Why does the marquise meddle in Frederick's and Clara's marriage, something she does not have to do to further her financial goals? I wouldn't have minded spending more time with these characters and less with silly Clara and stuffed shirt Frederick.

All in all, though, the ending was strong enough to cancel out many of my gripes, and it was nice to see John Bellasis getting just a bit of a redemption (though not too much). It's just too bad it had to be at the expense of Oliver's. 

How to fix Disney's Wish

So, Wish finally aired on Disney Plus, in the middle of the week and after the Easter Holidays, when I (and I suspect many others, not least families with kids) would have had more time to watch it. It's not the only puzzling choice Disney has made in connection with this film.

I had a bad conscience in advance. I knew I wouldn't be able to watch the film totally unbiased, after the film has been generally panned by critics and fans. Throughout, I would be asking myself: "what's wrong with it?". At the same time, it's a fairy-tale film with a front-and-centre villain: just what I've asked for from Disney. Wouldn't it be disloyal not to appreciate their efforts? As King Magnifico would say: ungrateful, much?

But no. I don't feel bad anymore. I think it's pretty obvious Disney dropped the ball with this one. As the film is all over the place, a review risks being all over the place as well. Instead, I'll come up with suggestions on what I would have changed about Wish to make it work better, for me at least. It's a smug perspective, but it'll have to do, and I'll better get started 'cause there's a lot to get through.

Lean into the "wish conflict" plot line Before I watched Wish, my guess on what went wrong with it was that Disney made the premise over-elaborate. This is an easy trap to fall into when you construct a fairy tale from scratch. Actually, though, the premise is not at all bad. 

The subjects of the kingdom Rosas have willingly given their dearest wish to their sorcerer-king Magnifico, either on their 18th birthday or when they arrive in the kingdom, in the hope that he may one day grant it. Meanwhile, the wish is stored as a luminescent orb in his tower, and the wisher forgets all about what it was. Now, Magnifico only grants wishes he doesn't consider to be a threat to him or the kingdom, which turns out to be not that many. Asha, the film's heroine, finds out just how restrained he is in his wish-granting during an interview for a job as his apprentice.

The trailers made it look like Asha's goal was to make all the wishes come true, but the film is actually cleverer than that. Instead, what she wants is for the wishes to be returned to the people that have given them, if they're not going to be granted anyway, so that the wishers have a chance of making them come true themselves. Magnifico testily points out that the people who come to Rosas and voluntarily give him their wishes have already given up on making them come true. They see him as their only hope, and if he doesn't grant their wish then at least they don't have to long for something that will never happen.

That's actually an interesting discussion to have. If you're convinced your wish will never come true, is it better to forget it altogether? I'd say no, but the point is worth arguing. Too bad Magnifico goes dark so fast the main difference of opinion between him and Asha is soon forgotten.

Show King Magnifico's back story I had high hopes for Magnifico, and though they're not quite realised he's still the best thing with Wish. Reviewers have been frustrated with him, however, pointing out that he switches from tragic to moustache-twirling villain at the flip of a coin. Is he motivated by his traumatic past or by narcissism? Which is it? Pick a lane!

In fact, I could see a way to connect the Leader of the pack and Beagle boy sides of Magnifico's nature. Instead of using the classic storybook opening to tell us of his back story, why not show it to us in flashbacks? Seeing what he's been through for ourselves would make it easier for us to understand Magnifico's frail ego. His vanity could be linked to insecurity, which in part could be explained by his past. Maybe he wasn't always considered handsome and loveable?

Make the Queen evil (but loyal to her husband) Whenever a creative decision had to be made about Wish, the powers that be seemed to have made the wrong one. Apparently, someone had the idea of making Magnifico and his wife an villainous power couple, but it was left by the wayside. Instead, the Queen is all against using dark magic and such, which means sooner or later, for plot reasons, she will have to turn against her own husband.

If there's one cliché I hate more than any other, it's the "Oh, you're a bad guy now? Then I don't love you anymore" one. Quite apart from everything else, that's not how the Force works. Love tends to trump moral judgement. In the case of Queen Amaya, Wish initially made a good job of pressuring her into a situation where she simply had to sell out hubby (something he wasn't that sad about). But come the finale, she was far too chipper about his gruesome fate. She once loved this man. She should be heartbroken.

How much better it would have been to make her his evil ally and another enemy for Asha and Co. to defeat. Then the hinted-at prequel-to-Snow White elements of the story at the end would have gained in significance.

Make the Star a boy – and a love interest to Asha Another idea that was scrapped along the way. When a troubled Asha wishes upon a star after her failed interview with Magnifico, an actual wishing star comes down from the sky to help her. But instead of the studio going with one suggested concept of the Star as a boy of Asha's own age (17), the Star in the film is a cute little side character whose actual magic powers are unclear. Asha is a pretty standard New Disney Heroine with her "oh look, she's clumsy and nervous, isn't that relatable?" ways. That approach is getting tired by now. A proper romance – for the first time in ages in an animated Disney film – would have made her stand out more as a heroine.

Get rid of the cutesie-wutesie bits The film first started to go off the rails with the song "You're A Star", a nauseatingly saccharine and inconsequential number featuring singing animals, trees and mushrooms. Another fiasco is a song performance by over-excited hens conducted by Asha's baby goat Valentino. I thought Valentino was charming in the first trailer, but it turns out that the trailer contained his one funny line. All the others are so aggressively unfunny it almost looks like sabotage, and he adds nothing to the story. If one cute sidekick has to be retained, an improvement would have been not to give Valentino the gift of speech until the finale. Then he could just make cute faces throughout the story and finally trot out his one funny line at the end.

Cut Asha's mother and develop her friends Legend has it that the dreaded Jeffrey Katzenberg had the writers of Disney's Aladdin cut the hero's mother from the script: "the mom's a zero". Say what you like about Katzenberg, he's savvy: Aladdin's mother was not missed.

I'm sorry to say Asha's mom is a bit of a zero too. To be frank I didn't care much about her old grandfather either, but at least he had a plot function to fill. Asha's mother does practically nothing. She could easily have been removed from the story. Or, one of Asha's band of seven friends, whose personalities (or lack thereof) are based on Snow White's seven dwarfs, could have been adjusted to fill the part. Dahlia (based on Doc) seems motherly enough.

The seven friends are severely underdeveloped as characters, and of course you could have cut them too, or at least some of them. But another route to take would have been to flesh out the characterisation a bit. It's a mystery to me that only one of them has given his wish to Magnifico. Surely, not all the others are under 18 years of age? Including Dahlia the castle cook? Also, it makes it laughably easy to predict which of them will betray Asha. 

It would be better if most of the friends had given away their wishes and it had some effect on their personality. At one time in the story, Magnifico destroys the wishes of three random townsfolk who have been vaguely uppity in order to make a magic staff. Wouldn't the impact have been much greater if the wishes had belonged to three of Asha's friends? Plus at the end, you could make a little gag of Gabo (Grumpy) staying cynical even after getting his wish back, because that's just how he is.

Make the film 2-D or rethink the watercolour aesthetic The backdrops in Wish, like Magnifico's castle, are truly stunning. But the watercolour-y softer lines on the characters' faces look downright strange at times; I had a hard time looking at Asha's old grandpa. If the film creators wanted to lean into a celebratory "old-fashioned" Disney look, they should have gone the whole way and made the film (at least appear) hand-drawn.

Skip the clunky Disney references Yes, yes, Disney celebrated its 100th year last year, we get it. I don't mind characters from other animated Disney films showing up in the end credits, in fact I enjoyed that. But the clumsy references throughout the film were just pointless. Keep the ones to Snow White, seeing as it was the first animated Disney film: the dwarf-inspired friends, the magic mirror (and in my version an evil queen too). Cut all the rest.