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."

The Latest Pilots & Procedural Interpretations (Cop This!)

Turns out when it comes to television, we can't stop policing, or at the very least integrating who-dunnit elements into every show. From FBI agents to rent-a-cops, a number of new programs have a hint of procedural in the mix. Here's a rundown on how successfully the formula works for four fresh small screen outings, prompting the question, maybe it's okay to back off from the crime slant sometimes?

LIMITLESS

Yes, it's from the creator of Elementary. How'd you guess?

"Your brain is a miracle but it's not efficient. There's a maze inside everyone's head, 

a labyrinth of missed connections and untapped potential." 

(Limitless, Season 1, Episode 1)

When I first saw the film Limitless, I assumed it was an adaption of a Philip K. Dick story I'd never read. I was wrong, but thematically, the concept feels in line with his fictional explorations.

A mysterious drug expands the mind so the user can access all past memories, and understand complex sciences. The comedown is crazy-harsh though—live hard, and die young. But not pretty. Hell no.

Here the opening chase scene is nicely adrenalized, but the episode loses its smoothness as the story unfolds, struggling between the possibilities the concept offers, and the show's desire to fit within a standardized procedural format.

The most jarring aspect is the voiceover. I blame Mr. Robot! As a television storytelling trend, VO use is out of control. Remember when audiences deduced aspects of the character's personality from what was happening onscreen? #thegoodolddays

The real issue is, these voiceovers are often reiterating exposition. In this case, we're clear on how the lead (Jake McDorman as Brian Finch) feels about the drug; having a voiceover tell us he needs more of the drug is overkill.

After a while the voiceovers are occasionally replaced with a doppelganger hallucination of Brian, who converses with himself. The mix-up is much appreciated.

There are a lot of onscreen graphics—someone's a fan of Sherlock—and time lapse to represent when he's (intellectually) high. The ideas are there for the taking, but the show is hamstrung by its insistence on a procedural path. Ironically, considering the material, this interpretation feels like wasted potential. 

The FBI agents are presented as slightly dense, and prone to jumping to conclusions. Example? When one agent asks the other why she didn't take the shot, I thought, ahhh, because he was an unarmed man standing still on a train platform?? Is it really okay to randomly shoot someone who hasn't been questioned yet because they were in a room with a dead body?

The episode plot that lead to setting up the series dynamic was slightly flat, but to be fair, some of the audience has seen the movie, others haven't. A sense of deja vu was inevitable.

Script slip-up: Brian dials for help and says he's been shot. Later in the call the agent says, "Where is the bullet, is it in your leg still?" Considering they're on the phone, and he never told her the location of his wound, it's either a) a mistake, or b) she's taking the drug too and deduced from his voice that his leg is bleeding. Hint: Option B isn't the answer. Frankly, I would have appreciated the twist.

By the end, Brian can take the drug without negative side effects, and the ambivalent FBI agent becomes his handler so they can solve crimes together. (Nobody needed a mind-expanding drug to see that coming.) 

Bradley Cooper puts in a cameo, and while he's fantastic, that's a problem in itself. He's a movie star for a reason, so in comparison, great performances from the rest of the cast become good, and good efforts suddenly seem lacking.

IN SUMMARY: A solid effort that fails to utilize the concept's potential. When you're the smartest person in the world, what do you do? Help local law enforcement, of course, cause hell, COP SHOW.  

BLINDSPOT

Is there any way we can work in another shot of the lead naked? C'mon people, think!

Blindspot runs into that modern mishap whereby it assumes a bold female lead has been created, when in fact interpretations are leaning uncomfortably in the opposite direction. Here, a woman's body covered in mysterious tattoos becomes an excuse for lingering nude shots, both in the promos and the pilot.

The amnesiac in question is strikingly beautiful, an impression exaggerated by the fact her eye makeup survives drugging and interrogation. (Either that, or federal agencies provide reall-y thorough care these days.)

It's important to state the cast does a good job. The Jane Doe character (played by Jaimie Alexander) just feels too damsel-in-distress; her emerging superhero-like fighting and language skills seem a nod to the modern desire for strong female leads, but it's perfunctory at best. She is still a victim, and one hard to deeply connect with, considering she offers the audience no real personality (yet). FBI agent Kurt Weller (played by Sullivan Stapleton) is set up as her knight in shining armor from the get-go, the show's truly powerful anchoring presence.

Putting these problematic issues aside, the procedural elements are not really innovative enough for a pilot.

I had problems believing no one in the entire American government had access to a translator for a particular Chinese dialect. Cue eye roll. Also, wouldn't the Jane Doe character be undergoing serious psychological assessment and study? When it's decided she can tag along with fieldwork, I couldn't help rolling my eyes.

Basically the pilot kept—hiccupping. My bro would say, chill, it's not a documentary, but there are elements of procedural dramas that need to feel real world enough for me to stay engaged.

Cinematically, the pilot was extremely stylized. Similar to a music video in places (dark and blue-cold), MTV shows came to mind. Occasionally stunning, with great editing and pacing, the visual style was intense. A number of shots were beautiful, but the constant camera motion and the spinning and out of focus elements blurred within the frame were almost too much for me. 

Certain times the pilot appeared determinedly stylized, regardless of whether or not the scene benefited. For example—when an agent is questioning Jane Doe at a table, the edits were plagued by unnecessary subtle camera shake (or as I call it, "camera shiver"). Did that really work within the context of the scene? Was it really bringing something extra to the table? (Pardon the pun.)

On a side note: The cute British doctor or forensics type who makes quirky comments is becoming a bit of a trope. Not that I mind, just interesting to see. Also, there's a chance I may have watched too much Supernatural. When Weller found the sulphur, my immediate thought was, of course: the baddies are demons.

By the end of the pilot, the series had been set up for a procedural future. Our agent and woman-suffering-chemically-induced-amnesia will now solve the mysteries put forward by the tattoos on her body. Clues were also dropped for a narrative that would span the whole season, if not the series.

IN SUMMARY: Slightly let down by an uninspired dot-to-dot (or is that tatt-to-tatt?) procedural plot, and a problematic vision of a "strong" female lead. I really wanted to like Blindspot more, and will watch a few episodes to see how the show unfolds.

MINORITY REPORT

Props for a future where selfie cameras can fly...

Minority Report is a great opportunity for a film-to-television transition, but it stumbles in execution. Once again, instead of strengthening the story, the procedural elements hinder it.

Out of all the new pilots, the lead character here (Stark Sands as Dash) felt the most real. His suffering was interesting, his attempts to grasp at fragments of the future were heartbreaking, and his loneliness was palpable. Earnest and troubled, I wish we could have just watched Stark alone for a few episodes in a not-so-brave new world before crossing paths with his future odd couple procedural partner.

The film Minority Report was based on a Philip K. Dick story and there are always many layers to his narrative. Here, the pilot hints at all these really complex, fascinating issues, then skims past them to provide time for clunkier set up scenes with the police characters, and it's an odd choice.

Someone really tried with this series; you felt it in the clever little gadgets and special effects representing future tech. But these snippets weren't enough to salvage the wreckage they were making throughout the script with the stale cop storylines.

Visually the show would have been better off adopting the camera and lighting options of Blindspot. Everything is too bright, and deserved more space and time, in terms of execution. The audience needed to brood. They needed to feel a little lost in the dark with Dash. The bright shots and slightly distant camera work kept viewers from connecting. And the cops, well, they are the least interesting pieces of the puzzle.

Mind-blowing elements skimmed over include: criminals who were incarcerated before committing a crime; the revelation that the precogs' visions didn't always match, inferring destiny wasn't fixed, something the government covered up; learning Dash's participation in the program wasn't voluntary; discovering how ill-treated the "criminals" were; and the different prejudices that had evolved since the period the film was set in.

Instead, we got to watch tacky police banter, with agents wearing rehashes of cyber wardrobes from the nineties. I kept having flashbacks to Razor and Blade from Hackers whenever the character of Akeela came onscreen, and it wasn't helping me take the investigative team seriously.

IN SUMMARY: Minority Report had the potential to be psychologically challenging, but the final product isn't brave enough, and sticks too tightly to a shallower format, which is a pity.

SCREAM QUEENS

Murder scene dialogue delivered entirely in text messages. What's not to like?

"You are an awful person."

"Maybe. But I'm rich and I'm pretty so it doesn't really matter."

(Scream Queens, Season 1, Episode 1)

This is mash-up television. Lots of genres thrown together in a blender, with subtle and not so subtle stabs at beauty, sexuality, and of course, sorority culture. Chanel No. 1 (played by Emma Roberts) is equal parts intimidating and pathetic. Jamie Lee Curtis as the Dean is brilliant. I also thought the other Chanel's were well cast. (Yes, you read that correctly—IT'S A CHANEL WORLD OUT THERE.)

The creator list includes Glee and American Horror Story credits, and combines the best of both worlds in this outing. Granted, making fun of today's materialistic and shallow teen culture is a bit like shooting fish in a barrel, but nonetheless, there are lines here worthy of Mean Girls and Heathers level quotage. Speaking of Heathers, the scene with the girls buried in the lawn was a definite homage. Please let there be croquet in a future episode!

(And I'll never think of TLC's Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls the same way again, btw.)

It's important to leave logic at the door. I still don't understand why they hid Chanel No. 2's body (vale Ariana Grande, your death scene was HILARIOUS), when they had another body in the garden, but hey, logic isn't this show's strong point. It's all about sassy social commentary. Oh, and the slashing.

I like that it's sort of a procedural, but not really. I mean, there are murders, and everyone is trying to solve them. Or hide the evidence. Or find the bodies they've misplaced, but still, it's a who-dunnit at the core. So far the cops aren't getting much of a look in, and the rent-a-cops aren't doing too well either. (Should have kept to those laps around the Best Buy carpark, Shondell.)

The whole thing is rife with terrible stereotypes but to me it seemed like it was making fun of them, or their continued existence/employment in film and television. Audiences will likely be confused by Scream Queens to some extent, because it appears serious, and then seriously spoofs itself. #WTF Tonally, the show jumps all over the place, but that's part of its charm. 

I love the strange hit-and-miss weirdness. This is one series that for sure isn't allowing itself to be weakened by the procedural/unsolved crime aspects. Scream Queens is strangely fun, and shows that you can include murders and unsolved crimes without hamstringing a series.

IN SUMMARY: Scream Queens is loud and bold and tackily gory, just as the name implies. Definitely fun viewing. 

Scifi TV Moms aka The Future of Motherhood

Flashback to the 1984 tv series V. Possibly the greatest
subliminal commercial for safe sex & teen abstinence.

In recent times, motherhood has been a dominant theme in various science fiction outings.

The representations vary from interesting to problematic—depending on your interpretation. That's what's great about television; it's a completely personal experience. You end up following a television show, returning episode after episode, because aspects of the narrative, or the characters, appeal. How, or why, varies greatly; sometimes a viewer can't explain the connection. That's the beauty of entertainment—the complex, incredible puzzle of what will appeal to the psyche.

Many people have spoken, and written, on the representation of motherhood across myriad forms of storytelling, so I'm barely dipping the tip of the nail of my tiniest toe into a giant pool, if not an ocean of thoughtful text on the subject. This blog focuses on recent science fiction television's fascination with motherhood, and my reaction to the angles taken, making this an opinion piece more than anything else.

But that's what I love about small screen fare. Everyone is free to reach their own conclusions (basically a mix of opinion and reaction), and can, in a sense, vote with their viewing for the continuation of programs that intrigue, relax, inspire, and/or entertain them. 

Here are my thoughts on the concept of motherhood in the following (relatively fresh) science fiction outings, and the role it played (pardon the pun) in the narrative:

CONTINUUM

Kira aptly holding the key to the
past, present, and future in her hands.

For me, the presence of motherhood in the narrative worked wonderfully in this series. Since this is a beautifully written, thematically complex offering that's probably not surprising. Unlike many other scifi shows that have a grand concept they never explore properly, or characters that lack a certain psychological subtlety, Continuum delivers on all fronts.

Kiera's motherhood is used to tether the character to her original timeline, and to show the audience softer elements of her personality (in contrast to her rigid future cop default workplace persona). 

When it came to establishing an emotional tether, her husband wasn't an option because of their flawed relationship. If she'd ignored all the signs the future she came from was corrupt and questionable just to return to a romantic interest, the audience would have been disappointed, given her character growth during the series. (Also, making him unfaithful freed her up romantically in the present day.)

Her son is a different story. To let go of the timeline she came from would most likely erase his existence, a shockingly difficult act to ask of a mother. As Keira becomes more and more aware that clinging to her old timeline may not be the best choice for society, she continues to do so in great part because her son's existence depends on it. This situation fuels the character's inner conflict, a struggle that feels believable to the audience. 

ORPHAN BLACK

Sarah and Helena.
(Helena is actually my favorite character.)

I haven't seen all episodes currently available, because while I very much enjoy this series and find it entertaining, I don't consider it great scifi. For me the clone characters are too close to caricatures, and often elements of the storyline feel oversimplified. I think the zany humor glosses over the gaps, but unlike most of my friends who would give it a rave 4.75 out of 5, I'd be more inclined to lean toward 3.5.

Once again, motherhood fuels the story from the get-go. The character of Sarah is motivated by the desire to reclaim custody of her daughter Kira. (Personally, I feel the kid was better off with Mrs. S.) Sarah is a flawed hero, and while I like her, frankly she's a bit annoying onscreen. Her love for her daughter is repeatedly touted, referenced by herself and other characters, to the point where it seems in danger of becoming her only defining element.

She's constantly vowing to get her daughter back, threatening anyone who could potentially be a threat to Kira, impulsively dashing here and there when she feels the child may be in danger. For me, she's way too erratic a character, and borders on the traditionally histrionic representation of the mother.

Interestingly enough, Kira seems to exhibit precog skills now and again and occasionally appears more like the parent in the relationship. In this case it's the child character making the motherhood narrative more rounded. Likewise, linking the fertility aspect of the storyline to the health of the clones is a clever twist that makes the motherhood arc even more relevant to the series; a reveal that highlighted some nice writing. 

EXTANT

Space: not as lonely as it's cracked up to be.

From the get-go, Extant struggled under the weight of exceedingly complex themes. I'm guessing the goal was to provide a bridging character for the audience, hence the lead's desire for motherhood, but given the resulting low ratings I think it's clear something was lost in delivery.

For me, Halle Berry's character Molly spends most of the first season a victim. In my mind this is different to a lead that has been victimized; their narrative journey is generally one of self empowerment, in that they find a way to fight back or move forward, even if it's more metaphoric, or emotional. A subtle difference, sure, but a distinction the audience often picks up on. While searching for answers, Molly seems permanently on the edge of hysteria, and despite being so brilliant she made it to space, doesn't appear capable of unraveling what happened to her in a way that empowers the character.

I think the idea was to make her less superhero, more relatable, but she presents too simplistically. I guess I expected more from the lead. Just when you think she's uncovered a new clue she could potentially utilize to gain control of the narrative, the situation repeatedly slips through her fingers. Rather than drawing me in, her lackluster and often shortsighted efforts to unearth the truth both aggravate and alienate.

Making her son at home (basically) a robot and impregnating her with an alien child were story choices that muddied the waters more than anything else. Obviously the goal was to extrapolate on and explore current and potential societal issues (in this case, the "otherness" of alien and AI life, and humanities potential emotional connections) which is one of science fiction's traditional roles, but the plot struggles to do so in an engaging way. Thematically, motherhood fails to tie in seamlessly, as does grief: usually the long-term impact of grief stokes the fires of empathy, but even the reappearance of the dead didn't completely engage me.

I'm yet to catch the next season, but am planning to tune in. Extant is one of those shows where you sense what they're striving for, and I want to see if they manage to hit their stride in the second season.

FALLING SKIES

Is it just me mom, or does my
transformation feel vaguely familiar?

My viewing relationship with Falling Skies has always been problematic. Partly because it maintains the American TV trend for long, flowing, well-conditioned hair on female characters, despite an apocalyptic setting. (Or the fact they're working in the medical section of the camp and really should tie those strands back properly.) 

Aside from that, and a slew of logistical issues (don't get me started), I was interested to see how they would approach Dr. Anne's pregnancy and mothering of Lexi. I was seriously disappointed by the storyline that saw Anne, separated from Tom, search for her daughter while leading a group of people—and essentially lose it.

Basically Anne acts like a crazy person and puts everyone in jeopardy—not to mention is responsible for the slaughter of an innocent truck driver who was trying to save a group of children. Eventually she pushes herself so hard she collapses with a fever. 

Unlike Tom Mason, a character consistently empowered by his role as a father, becoming a mother transforms Dr. Anne Glass into a manic, obsessive, and questionable leader. When Tom's sons are threatened throughout the series, more often than not the character becomes wise and focused, the emotional bond giving him strength and propelling him into action. In stark contrast, a similar scenario sees Anne overwrought and irrational, her judgment skewed by that gosh darn maternal drive.

As for the actual mothering element, the show overcomes the hassle of introducing a baby on set by adding alien genetic tampering for accelerated growth. (Yes, like the eighties television series V, where Robin's baby Elizabeth quickly reached her teenage years, complete with a similar transformative cocoon.) 

Lexi dies in a moment of self-sacrifice, but prior to this most of her time on the series is spent alienated from Anne, wasting a potentially interesting dynamic. The Lexi plotline shifted to focus on her father/daughter relationship with Tom, because the golden rule in Falling Skies is IT'S ALWAYS ABOUT TOM.

HUMANS

Anita and Laura attempt to reach an uneasy compromise.

At this point (only a few episodes in) Humans feels like a good show but not a scifi classic. I guess my qualms are the broad generalizations. Humans are portrayed as somewhat limited, cruel, and awful. The Synths (robots/androids) are either automatons or innocent victims due to sentience. A few exceptions, but overall, the status quo holds.

Artificial intelligence is prime fodder for scifi exploration, but this feels jaded. And it plays into the idea if you give people permission to indulge in cruelty, they will. The series is fundamentally too pessimistic for my tastes; I believe people would be more likely to become emotionally attached to Synths.

In regards to the blog theme of motherhood in scifi, the series offers the human character Sarah. When her husband purchases a Synth called Anita, the script extrapolates beyond the uncomfortableness a working woman may experience when a nanny or housekeeper begins to fulfill aspects of the mother's traditional role in the home.

Unfortunately after the first two episodes I found Laura so unlikeable I would have been okay with the Synth accidentally knocking her off and burying her in the garden. When Laura asks, "Do you think we love our children because we choose to, or because we have to? Are we hardwired to love them because that's what nature needs to keep it all going?" it doesn't make the character any more likeable.

Anita exhibits traits traditionally considered positive and often associated with motherhood. Laura's protectiveness is expressed in a more aggressive, resentful, even hateful way, seemingly inspired by fear, a representation that doesn't say much for modern mothers. In case you missed the dichotomy at work, the point is then expressed in dialogue that infers one character's actions are a result of logic, the other of love—no matter how erratically said emotion is expressed. 

For me, it's too heavy handed an allocation; I prefer a more subtle script, and frankly, a less bleak take on humanity. Perhaps I'll check out the Swedish version, which I've been told has a slightly more upbeat feel.*

*Side note: A number of the cast (William Hurt, Gemma Chan, and Colin Morgan) are so standout, they make up for the less impressive scenes.

SENSE8 

A chaotic, emotive hit and miss series.

Because the program was sold to me primarily as a science fiction series I wasn't impressed with the pilot episode. In reality this is a drama, and better viewed as such. The core science fiction element provides a narrative tool to intertwine the characters (literally). The rest of the scifi aspects are perfunctory at best: evil corporation and all.

After giving up on the series, I ended up watching the rest of the episodes while sick with a virus, and discovered at heart it's about connections—physical and/or emotional—and self-discovery. The inclusion of what amounts to a psychic link (more or less) primarily serves to up the intensity.

The unfolding story of the character Riley, culminating in the season finale, was brilliant. The loss of a baby, whether stillborn or shortly after birth, is obviously horrific. The impact is far-reaching, and I felt the character's subsequent evolution (explained backward from the present day, piece by piece) was fascinating. At first I felt no real connection to the character, but by the time she's presented to the audience in a flashback as an almost unrecognizable innocent brunette, I felt a strong empathic link.

While many elements of Sense8 are weak, and occasionally overindulgent, evoking an emotional response in the audience is one of the showa greatest strengths. I loved the broad spectrum of women presented in the series, and I think Riley's tragic experience of motherhood is one of the strongest representations of the maternal experience I've seen onscreen in a while.

When Riley was forced to confront the location where she lost the baby, and decides to give up on life, her deep-rooted despair leaked from the screen. I've used the image with Will here not because he saved her, but because he helped her reach an emotional place where she found the strength to save them both.