Stuff to watch
Flight of the Conchords: Live in London (HBO Go)
Good news for fans of kiwi dudes Jermaine Clement and Bret McKenzie, who sing duets about, well, David Bowie in space and sexy slow-jam tributes to part-time models: HBO’s brought ‘em back (for one concert, anyway). “You’ll probably notice we’re a bit older than formally,” deadpans Jermaine. “We know people don’t like to look at characters from TV or entertainment getting older, it’s disturbing to them.” “It’s difficult for us, too,” adds Bret. “You’re older as well.”
And so they’re off, touching on new songs, spiels and the occasional manic recorder solo. What made Flight of the Conchords such a fun act (and funny two-season HBO series) was their self-deprecating humor. They usually describe themselves as “New Zealand’s fourth most popular guitar-based digi-bongo a capella-rap-funk-comedy folk duo.” No humble-bragging here.
Haunting of Hill House (Netflix)
The opening credits of The Haunting of Hill House, a Netflix series based on Shirley Jackson’s novel, seem designed by the same people from Westworld: roving shots of alabaster figures, bathed in classical light, as mournful strings swoon. The show draws you in, though, in a way that the last season of Westworld ultimately locked us out: it drops touches of fear here and there, until it builds to a crescendo. There are the Crains, Hugh and Olivia, who move into a creepy old mansion (Hill House) circa 1992 with their five children; weird occurrences cause them to flee in terror instead. Cut to current day, where grown-up son Steven Crain writes books about the Crains’ stay in Hill House, debunking haunted houses. As this 10-parter unfolds, the mood builds into something dripping with dread, almost like the house itself. With Halloween just around the corner, this one should easily slip into your Netflix creepy playlist.
Alias Grace (Netflix)
Those waiting for the next season of A Handmaid’s Tale can dip into this six-part series based on another Margaret Atwood novel. Sarah Gadon is great as Grace Marks, an Irish immigrant to Canada who’s been locked up for 15 years for her part in the death of housekeeper Nancy Montgomery (Anna Paquin); her co-conspirator, an ornery stables man named McDermott (Kerr Logan), is hanged for the crime. It’s another of Atwood’s takes on the tough, brutal choices facing women down through the ages, but in this one, the narrator is as unreliable as the motives of the many predatory men.
As Dr. Simon Jordan (Edward Holcroft) is brought in to evaluate Grace’s mental state and possibly recommend a pardon, we see Grace’s crafty storytelling quickly run circles around the males in this tale; she compares herself to Scheherazade, who told stories to spare her neck from the blade each night. Gadon is a marvel, keeping viewers entranced as easily as Dr. Jordan and the rest. As the ambiguous ending looms, we know Alias Grace is as much about how men view women as it is how women view, and reinvent, themselves.
Maniac (Netflix)
Hollywood cred is clearly important to Netflix. With Maniac, a 10-part sci-fi series in the Charlie Kaufman/Michel Gondry vein, they bag pedigree stars (Emma Stone, Oscar for La La Land; Jonah Hill, Oscar nominee for Money Ball). It’s a bizarre, mind-bending tale directed by Cary Joji Fukanaga (HBO’s True Detective), in which black sheep son of a rich patriarch Owen (Hill) meets up with nervy, chain-smoking Annie (Stone), addicted to clinical drug testing to relieve her anxiety over unpleasant family memories. The two meet up, not cutely, in the waiting room of Neberdine Pharmaceutical, and Maniac grows progressively, well, manic as Owen and Annie start appearing in each other’s dreams, fighting off lemur snatchers and elf assassins. Sally Field stands out as Dr. James’ smothering psychiatrist mom. By the end, reality comes into focus, but it’s a strange ride to get there.
Sharp Objects (HBO)
Based on a twisty Gillian Flynn novel, this eight-part HBO series stars Amy Adams as often-drunk, self-mutilating journalist Camille Preaker, trying to figure out who killed several young girls in her Midwest hometown of Wind Gap, Missouri. It’s a place where locals still act like Southern Belles, drinking lemonade on wooden front porches as young girls roller skate around town getting into all kinds of trouble. Led Zeppelin makes frequent diegetic appearances on the soundtrack, either to reflect a warm, cocooning feeling embraced by the troubled teens of Wind Gap, or to suggest the cray-cray that’s leaking out around the edges. As Jimmy Page used to say to anyone who’d ask: “It’s all about dynamics, the play of light and shadow…”
Adams is not afraid to look and act like a wreck. Director Jean-Marc Valée uses the non-linear, quick-cut editing style that made Big Little Lies such a disorienting hoot to behold. All in all, the story seems stuck in a kind of Southern Gothic caricature, but stick around for the shock ending and post-credits finale. That Eliza Scanlen is a real scary one.
