Hemlock Grove: Why Season Three Is The Best Offering

Since Halloween is here, what better than a Hemlock Grove post to celebrate the spooky season? The latest and sadly last addition to the Netflix series is easily my favorite. (Note: contains spoilers.)

I should probably add a caveat: I am not a horror aficionado. By which I mean I'm one of those people who closes their eyes during gory scenes. (I managed to be eating dinner the first time Peter transformed into a werewolf. Hemlock Grove 1, Me 0.)

Season one was interesting, but erratic and heavily stylized, sometimes to its own disadvantage—too hot. The second season was overly focused on Miranda and baby Nadia—too cold. Season three? Definitely the porridge that was just right.

Loved the opening credits.

Fear is an integral cog in the horror experience, but fear comes in many forms. A large part of what makes the third season of Hemlock Grove compelling viewing is the quality of the fear driving the characters: each time the emotion is associated with, or birthed from, love.

Rather than straightforward terror, this kind of manifestation of fear is insidious, powerful, and for me, much more compelling than gore. The slow build also helps imbue the last season with an insistent sense of foreboding.

Here are examples of the fear/love connection in the third season narrative:

-Andreas' love for Destiny and the idea of future children inspires a husband/father fear that births a disturbing level of ambition.

-Peter's fear is a driving force—his love for his cousin Destiny makes him fear for the quality of her future with Andreas, and he fears losing his bond with Destiny after handing her fiancé over for execution.

-Roman's greatest fear, aside from never finding his daughter again, is losing Peter's love and friendship, to the point where he kills Destiny so Peter won't find out she was injured fighting him.

Even when Peter and Roman are on the path to killing each other, love is at the core of their convoluted, tortured responses. 

Such an interesting dynamic.

Another pro is how the season in no way follows the expected story arc. I assumed the ten episodes would focus on finding Miranda and Nadia. I thought maybe the baby would have one of those supernatural growth spurts that saw her become an insta-teen.

I did not expect the show to shelve that storyline for most of the season. This narrative decision is so surprising it almost qualifies as a twist. Instead we wander through the psyche of Dr. Pryce, a much more interesting and enlightening use of screen time. Dr. Pryce simultaneously fears and craves love, and is moving toward an epiphany for most of the season in an increasingly chaotic and fascinating way.

Shelley's love was bright and sweet, and her storyline offset the increasingly dark relationships on the show. The jarring contrast in the powerful scene between Roman and Shelley in his home, in terms of their emotional landscapes—she's pondering a path of peaceful passion while Roman is consumed with hate—worked beautifully to separate Shelley from the rest of the regular cast, emotionally as well as physically.

True love conquers all, even in Hemlock Grove.

The series has always suffered from too much Olivia. I understand a villain is required, but you also need to engage with the character. I don't know if it was the casting, or the writing, but Famke Janssen as Olivia wasn't as dastardly enthralling as she should have been. When you gained insight into the experiences that had shaped her (via flashbacks) rather than becoming interested in her as a multifaceted character, you resented the extra screen time she was getting. Something tells me this wasn't the desired effect.

In the third season we're offered a much more unusual bringer-of-chaos: Olivia's abandoned daughter Annie. Annie is like a Christian missionary from centuries back who would travel to far off lands with the goal of saving heathens, only to kill the whole tribe by introducing measles. She is the most dangerous character because she deludes herself into believing her intentions are good, when in fact she is self-duplicitous and displays an astonishing level of hypocrisy. 

Few characters have wreaked as much havoc (and in Hemlock Grove, that's saying something). She, of course, expresses deep remorse regularly with self-flagullating dialogue, but continues to destroy a number of lives. Prime examples:

-Her obsession with Roman, an obviously very young, very vulnerable, and very damaged individual. After he confesses to his mother mind-controlling him and forcing him to rape his cousin, Annie immediately instigates a sexual relationship, despite being his sister. 

-She opens the door, literally, to the series' tragic conclusion by admitting Destiny into the house for a showdown with Roman. 

-Roman kill Destiny without Annie really intervening. Despite all her kickass action scenes to this point, suddenly a boot to his face or a solid right fist is beyond her.

-She feels compelled to tell Peter that Roman killed his cousin, knowing it will likely destroy Peter as well as Roman. 

The way she brings about Roman's death (to me) implies some part of her intended his destruction all along—possibly not on a conscious level, but as a subconscious extension of her complex issues with their mother.

These elements make her a much more interesting catalyst than Olivia. She moves the story forward whenever the waters are beginning to calm, causing wave after wave of chain reactions, always telling herself it's with the best intentions (road to hell for sure). And in a strange way, you see the family connection between Annie and Olivia.

With a sister like this, who needs enemies?

The ending of the series was mythic, and felt right for the Peter-Roman relationship. At its core, the show has always been about their unusual dynamic. In the first season they are both so horribly lonely, it's impossible to stop watching. 

The series offers a lot of great performances: my favorite was Landon Liboiron, who brought so much depth to his role. I'm not a fan of werewolves (in fiction or film), and not a horror fan, and yet I kept watching because Liboiron made me care what happened to the character of Peter. Destiny was a close second—Kaniehtiio Horn was riveting and offered a very interesting female character.

Next up? Joel de la Fuente as Dr. Johann Pryce and Bill Skarsgård as Roman would be sharing third place on the podium. (But do any of the Skarsgård's ever deliver a disappointing performance?) Roman always felt twisted; as if Skarsgård's was projecting his character's inner turmoil in the way he moved and held himself.

Sad to see Hemlock Grove cease production, but the series definitely went out on a high note. (Or should that be a howl?)

Vale Continuum

Beneath the shiny veneer of social media, we live in interesting times. From shocking statistics on the uneven distribution of global wealth, and struggles to preserve civil liberties—as well as the environment—the battle to build a better future is sometimes bold, sometimes insidious, with technology both helping and hindering. It was from this cultural atmosphere that Continuum first emerged, and proved to be one of the great science fiction television efforts of recent years, if not decades.

On the surface, Continuum offers procedural elements, violent encounters, conspiracies, betrayal, and romance; everything a primetime show is expected to offer. Below the surface, the series is a gem of science fiction and brave storytelling that tackles incredibly complex themes with finesse.

Access to future tech both empowered and disempowered
Kiera throughout the series. A fickle friend at best.

Science fiction as a predictive tool exploring possible outcomes of social, technological, and political trends in today's world is one of the genre's greatest strengths, and most popular incarnations. Classic fiction, like 1984 and Brave New World, take us into potential futures extrapolated from the author's everyday environment.

The show offered many multifaceted female characters.

As fans know, the basic premise of Continuum follows Protector Kiera Cameron and the terrorist cell Liber8, who are thrown back in time from 2077 to 2012. Kiera wants to go home, but to do that successfully she has to stop Liber8 from changing history, thereby obliterating the future she loves. Continuum could just as easily be called Consequence; on a societal level and a personal one, consequences are key, and the time travel trope is used to great effect when exploring this theme.

Kagame in the pilot and Kagame in the finale were representative of their times.

Continuum followed the tradition of what great science fiction is supposed to do—question today's world by extrapolating possible futures. When the series began, some felt the material was anti-corporation and presented the terrorist cell sympathetically. 

The final season dissuaded this notion; the future in which Liberate succeeded in destroying the corporations is revealed to be a dystopian disaster, worse than the democracy-light Big Brother option Kiera and Liber8 hailed from. By the end of the series neither original ideology reigns, because Continuum is not a fairytale looking to gratify the audience with a neat ending.

Seriously, anyone who didn't apply for a transfer from this station after the pilot was insane.
Jokes aside, the role of the police and the potential for privatisation was a recurring concern.

That was the core of the show's power—shades of gray. The goal was to make the audience think. From the first episode our "hero" was flawed, displaying casual brutality as a future enforcer, and scoffing at an intellectual who criticized the loss of democracy. We empathized with her as a mother, but had problems with her ideological stance. Alternately, while we empathized with Liber8's ideological stance (thanks to flashbacks of suffering and persecution), their violent practices could not be condoned or countenanced. Keira was a questionable hero, but Liber8 were questionable villains.

Carlos and Julian developed an interesting relationship.

In the world of Continuum every character believes they are on the right path, yet at some point  the viewer is bound to disagree with their actions. We see their perspectives and histories, understand their motivations, but we don't always agree with their choices. 

Within the framework of the narrative, pressure is often applied. Some character's break, some are slow to change their perspectives. A few put themselves first, others put humanity first. Some will kill many to save one; others will not kill one to save the many. Endless complex ethical and moral scenarios are explored. The audience is encouraged to ponder paths taken and subsequent repercussions; in the end the story does not endorse or subscribe to any particular future, aside from one of moderation.

Seeing these three on the same team was riveting and marked
 a turning point in the series, in terms of narrative possibilities.

In this fictional universe all are flawed, and at some point make (at least one) questionable decision. The characters of Continuum are complex, can disappoint, and are occasionally brave—just like people in real life. Consideration of predestination and fate are added to the theoretical mix because time travel as a storytelling device is fully explored across four seasons, rather than being an introductory tool soon discarded.

Side note: I loved the dichotomy of the stepbrothers Alec and Julian, and their possible futures as ideological enemies. Over time (pardon the pun) their journey helps the audience truly understand that the future is constantly in flux.

Sam is the ghost in the machine of Kiera's mind.

I've blogged before about the theme of motherhood in Continuum. Kiera's yearning for her child in 2077 creates incredible tension in the story, especially when it becomes clear the character can either help work toward a better future for the world, thereby putting her son's existence in danger, or try to maintain the future as she knows it so she can return to her loved ones. The memory of Sam (a contradiction in itself) haunts the storyline. He is the ghost of a possible future our lead character cannot shake.

Sonya and Kellog. Two of the show's most interesting personalities.

My favorite characters, in no particular order, are Kellog, Sonya, Julian, and Emily. I also loved how certain storytelling choices I considered weak on first viewing became fascinating in retrospect. For example, when Alec travelled back in time, thereby resetting the plot, it seemed a waste of bold character development (especially for Carlos), but then I realized the reset illustrated how pointless individual choices can feel when time becomes a malleable concept, far more clearly than a linear narrative ever could.

Absolutely fabulous family dynamic.
Television's most compelling stepbrothers.

Another standout element: having the two versions of Alec diverge wildly till he literally battled to the death with himself (talk about meta). Continuum regularly used love and grief as motivators that could prove advantageous or detrimental to a character's arc. One Alec experienced a level of grief, love, and sacrifice the other had not, bringing about an emotional depth the other Alec could not comprehend.

Experiences change people, that's a core storytelling truth, but Continuum took it further by asking how deeply knowledge of experiences not yet experienced could change a character's perspective. What happens when the future you haven't lived yet is someone else's fixed history, one they bring with them, via memory, to the present day? Continuum explores a glitch in the system of the universe that we, as creatures who live in the moment, have to work to comprehend.

Possibly my favourite scene in the entire series, when the members
of Liber8 learn the future they "saved" would prove worse than the nightmare they came from.

The finale did not disappoint. The ending was, in a word, brilliant. When Kiera started talking about returning to her son in the final season, I was worried years of great science fiction television would be thrown away with a patched on happily ever after. I should have had faith in the quality of the writing; Kiera both did, and did not, achieve her goal. (And what could be a more fitting final moment then a paradox?)

Seeing Jason lucid in the flashbacks to the future  (contradiction
 in terms, I know) highlighted the tragedy of his present day mental state.

The team behind Continuum fused a fairytale ending with a sombre, realistic tragedy. For our hero, wanting to see her son again was her strength and her flaw, and the conclusion echoed this unsettling dynamic magnificently. From the outset Kiera was the wildcard, and as such had the power to completely rearrange the timeline. The only downside to creating a dazzling future for her son? There turned out to be no place for her in it.

"This is the price for making the world a better place. This Sam will grow up in a world free of violence, free of revolution, free of corruption. His future is bright. And it's because of you Kiera. It's the price of love. Real love. You'll understand, in time."