The Magicians: Thinking Outside The Box

QUIT DICKING AROUND. DO SOME GODDAMN MAGIC.

Someone gave me a copy of Lev Grossman’s novel The Magicians a few years back. A strange sense of ennui, a greyness, wraps itself around the tale. I could never really relate to the emotional veil that seemed to encapsulate the characters’ experiences. The novel’s protagonist is self-absorbed, intelligent, detached, and depressed: neither the traditional hero nor antihero. Grossman’s sentences were beautiful, and he played with established tropes quite brilliantly, mutating them into new and clever incarnations, but at heart I’m more a lover of the traditional hero’s journey.

Saying that, the book was unique and unsettling and offered insight into an alien mindset, which is always appreciated. The television series managed to hold onto that same, cold emotion while showing more of what simmers beneath the surface of each character: a fascinating mix of cold bleakness, burning resentments, and repressed passions.

I don’t generally address aspects of a novel-to-tv series adaptation: expecting anything other than a new twist on an old tale is shortsighted. I prefer to appreciate the way each medium presents the story. But in this case, I was surprised by my vastly different reactions to particular elements of the narrative in a small screen format (more on that later). Please note: spoilers for episodes 1-3 ahead...

To my mind, at its core the story is about power. In this world I think it’s fair to say knowledge is power, and magic is, in a sense, a metaphor for both power and pain. A lot of television shows today are about saving people, about grandiose love, about noble achievements (whether undertaken willingly or unwillingly). The Magicians is none of the above, which instantly makes it a more difficult sell, and a more interesting one.

Dean: This school exists for a single and timeless purpose. To reveal your innate abilities and hone them to the highest degree. Now what you do with it after that is entirely up to you. If you want to take over the world, we don’t teach that, but give it a go.

The gist of the story is that Brakebills is a secret magic college (pretty much) that accepts Quentin but not his friend Julia. She goes darkside, joining the hedge witches, who will do anything to obtain scraps of spells. Add in books about the magical land of Fillory—with a much darker sell than Narnia—and the audience realizes Quentin and his new friends have a creepier adventure ahead of them than Lucy and co. ever did.

Stylistically, the pilot is slightly erratic, and the second episode rushes the audience (I would have loved to casually hang with the Brakebill’s crew longer and get a more rounded impression of their characters before seeing them immersed in adventures and trials), but the third, to paraphrase Goldilocks, is just right.

That's not to say each episode doesn't have wonderfully memorable moments. The first time Quentin performs magic (and subsequently faints, way to go Q) is fantastic, and the pilot closer introducing The Beast is magnificent. I also loved the way they opened the second episode, like a crime scene procedural, magic-style. The ominous, almost bleak tone often plays against a whimsical humor (Quentin's magical "testing" is bizarrely funny) creating a signature style from the get-go (perfectly showcased by the hedge witch/book sex scene).

The lackadaisical attitude to student welfare scattered through the episodes is also disconcertingly hilarious.

Eliot: That is what’s left of the third year class. Were 20, now 4. No one knows why.

Quentin: They're just gone?

Margo: Rumor has it killed.

Eliot: Or flunked, or got bored, or died 16 perfectly natural deaths. Whatever. We all signed this waiver, hope you read yours—it says spellwork is not unlikely to murder you and if so, oh well.

Margo: So stay on the garden path, kid.

Character-wise, I think the small screen embodiment of Quentin, played by actor Jason Ralph, is what draws me in. I love the way he conveys Quentin’s issues with a nervous stammer, anxious posture, and fidgeting ways. Visually he bleeds insecurity. (Side note: His interactions with partying, Wilde-like Eliot are the show's strongest scenes. That character, portrayed by Hale Appleman, is as amazing as readers of the novel could hope.)

I feel like Quentin is always drowning. In reality, the story revolves around him but he has yet to realize it, and I love this. He isn't powerful, or devious, or playing the long game. He wants to conform and survive the system: that is all.

Dean: Now your meds. Quentin, you haven’t been depressed. You've been alone. And you are not crazy, you’re angry. And you are correct. Everyone, everyone medicates, out there. Here, we hope you won’t need to.

The most problematic element for me is Julia. In the books she was my absolute favorite, a lone rogue more than a little dark and odd. In the show I feel no empathy or connection with the character whatsoever: her storyline doesn’t engage me. I’m not sure if it’s the writing, the casting, or both. Likewise Alice, who I also quite liked in the books, seems a collection of clichés and tropes rather than a real girl. I never forget the actress is "being Alice", and that’s problematic.

For me, standout female characters are Margo, Professor Sunderland, and Eliza. What do they have in common? On reflection, all are empowered. In contrast Julia and Alice lack power in the form of knowledge, and are on the hunt: Julia for magic spells, Alice for details of her brother's fate. 

I would normally be engaged in both searches, on the side of the underdog, but I’m not, which makes me consider this the one notable flaw in the show at present. Julia and Alice are also quite humorless, which doesn't help with empathy and engagement, while the others tend to have moments of whimsy, or wit.

(The actor who plays Julia and the actor who plays Pete were both in Gossip Girl, which I realized while pondering the thought Quentin is like Dan Humphrey: he considers himself an outsider while on the fast-track to becoming the ultimate insider.)

The best part of the show's writing is the way the characters are tied to the lead Quentin: the animosity between him and Penny, his reverential relationship with the Dean, his out-of-character increasingly selfless attitude with Alice, his wary interactions with Margo (mostly through Eliot at this stage), his crackly friendship with Julia’s boyfriend James, and even his chilling first meeting with future nemesis The Beast.

Quentin's interactions with Eliot and Julia are the standouts. His evolving odd couple pairing with Eliot is one of the best aspects of the show (when they confide in each other it fleshes out the characters immensely). Then there is his complex friendship with Julia.

The uncomfortable, attraction-never-addressed issue is a strong part of the set-up. In the pilot, Julia and Quentin's argument is about more than Fillory; it's the way you snap at friends when sexual tension not acknowledged is in play.

In regards to their showdown, I’ve seen a lot of online talk placing Julia as the victim in this scenario, but I actually saw Quentin’s perspective as well. (Not sure if that’s because of the novel?) To me, Julia used Quentin’s friendship to fill in the gaps in her relationship with the less mentally compatible James, all the while aware of Quentin’s attraction to her, and since this is a common real-life practice I dislike, I could see where Quentin’s simmering resentment came from.

 Eliot: Funny little irony they don't tell you. Magic doesn’t come from talent: it comes from pain.

On the technical front, not sure I’m sold on the occasional slight camera shake to create a more documentary feel (I’m guessing). I do appreciate the number of shots each episode that make for beautifully composed stills. Sound is skilfully used on this show to create atmosphere, most notably in the pilot's closing scene. In terms of costuming, the male characters are MUCH better dressed than the female characters. 

In regards to set design and location, I love the modern day and Old World mash-up that is Brakebills. A promotional shot of Quentin approaching Brakebills, dwarfed by the grass and the building in the distance, barely registering against the vastness of the institution, contrasts sharply with the street shots of graffiti (which I think of as symbolizing the hedge witch underground magic scene) where Quentin dominates the frame. I love this distinction.

Final note: Syfy, the quality of your new programming has massively improved in 2016, but what’s with the floating sex scenes? The Expanse and The Magicians both (albeit one scientifically-based and one magically-based). You honestly don't need it, especially before we get to know the characters—it feels way gratuitous. The storytelling is more than enough.