Ripley. The TV series with Andrew Scott.

If M.C. Escher had written a whydunnit he might have called it Ripley.

I say this because the recent Netflix masterpiece starring Andrew Scott and written & directed by Steve Zallion (he of Schindler’s List fame – more on that later) is an Escherian nightmare of wrong turns, about turns, smart turns and climbs that lead to nowhere.

The plot (Patricia Highsmith’s genius cannot be overstated here) is one of the most elaborate and thrilling I have ever encountered. The world’s greatest crime writers thrown in a room together could not have conjured up anything more magical even if Jesse Armstrong had been put in charge of them. It’s not that it’s full of cliffhangers, as such, it’s the sheer chicanery that Tom Ripley demonstrates as he shape-shifts his way through the lives (and deaths) of himself and his unwitting benefactor Dickie (Deekee) Greenleaf that make this story so compelling.

But let’s start after Highsmith and look at what Steve Zallion brings to the party. Well, for a start, the script is terrific. I don’t know the novel so I don’t know if it’s laugh out loud funny – but this sure is. One might grumble at his mild mocking of Inspector Pietro Ravini’s occasional flaws with the English language, especially his pronunciation of Freddie Miles’ (Meeles) name, but Vittorio Viviani bring a wonderful blend of Inspector Clouseau and Poirot to the part that is delicious. His mild OCD is amusing and that is one of the themes that run through the movie.

Zallion can never have had as much fun making a film as here. He plays tricks with the audience from start to finish and his elaborate use of repetition (posting the mail, riffling through notebooks, application of pen to paper, placing of items on bureaux, zooming in on concierges, framing of the post office, police cars, the cat, stairwells, paintings, drinking (or not) wine, ashtray purchasing, mimicking of Caravaggio and Ripley) is bonkers and dazzling.

The central motif of climbing stairs is extremely interesting. I have two theories on this. 1) it represents class climbing – Ripley is a wannabe, a charlatan and a grifter. He aspires to greater riches and stature and is deeply uncomfortable in society situations such as at Peggy Guggenheim’s party in Venice where he is in real danger of being found out for not being one of ‘us’. He’s always climbing to attain his goal. 2) it represents the futility of the whole police hunt, the whole story, as Ripley outwits every character (even the reasonably savvy Marge) by shifting the sands, rearranging the staircases so that we reach that ‘going nowhere’ outcome that Escher so brilliantly portrays in his paintings.

And lastly there’s his choice of monochrome to create a film noire, but also a work of art. Art is a central metaphor of the series. Caravaggio’s work, his homosexuality and his murderous past are all reflections on Ripley’s own story. Ripley loves Caravaggio with a passion because he admires not just his work but his lifestyle. The fact that Greenleaf’s wannabe painterly skills are appallingly lacking is just a bonus.

The cinematography has to be seen to be believed. Mostly spot on (it’s occasionally a touch overexposed) by Robert Elswit (He’s PT Anderson’s go to guy and won an Oscar for There Will Be Blood – bosh!). It drives the mood and the beauty, aided by a strong soundtrack, and has its moment in the sun when he stunningly, and frankly hilariously, references Schindler’s List with a single step of blood red cat paw prints. One second of red in eight hours of monochrome. You know the scene I’m talking about in both productions, right? Episode 5 if you missed it.

And then theres the acting. Johnny Flynn I could take or leave, Dakota Fanning played her irritating role to perfection (entitled little Sylvia Plathesque romanticist that she is). I’ve talked about the marvellous Vittorio Viviani, but the stars of the piece are the deliciously camp and truly dislikable Eliot Sumer who gets his just desserts as Freddie Meeles and, of course, the joy of Andrew Scott.

What can I say about Andrew Scott that hasn’t already been said? In the last five years he has risen from nowhere to challenge Steven Graham as Britains top actor. I think he has more range than Graham but both are a delight every time they hit our screens.

In this Scott OWNS the screen. His arch, sometimes befuddled playing of the unintended villain that is Tom Ripley is extraordinary. He falls into his murders rather than premeditates them so that makes him OK, right? And we are desperate for him not to be caught, because Scott has intoxicated us with his charm, his humour and his intelligence, all hidden behind a relatively blank canvas of a face. In moments of stress you can see the brain ticking, by micro-movements of Scott’s demeanour. This is acting of the highest calibre and Ripley, not the victims, is our hero.

We love Andrew Scott, therefore we love Tom Ripley.

You might have guessed by now that I loved this. A straight 10/10.

Baby Reindeer. The Edinburgh Fringe smashes it on Netflix. All Hail Summerhall!

Baby Reindeer has been receiving some great reviews, and I am going to add to that body of opinion.

It was written by, and stars, Richard Gadd but with a supreme supporting performance by Jessica Gunning as Gadd’s stalker Martha. In the stage shows, which provided the inspiration for this 7 part Netflix series, Gadd makes it crystal clear that it is an autobiographical story, in the TV adaptation this is less apparent. But it is all true

We saw the Edinburgh Festival Fringe productions of Monkey See Monkey Do in 2017, at Summerhall, and Baby Reindeer in 2019, also at Summerhall but in the Roundabout.

My wife is not always the most likely to join a standing ovation at a theatre show but at Monkey SeeMonkey do she was the first on their feet. I gave both productions five stars and this nearly gets the same, apart from the fact that Gadd as a stage performer, telling his life story, is arguably better than Gadd as an actor playing a character, based on him, but actually is him, Donny Dunn. This subtle change takes some of the edge off his performance and requires him to act rather than perform. They are different things. I’m niggling though.

A big difference is that the stage shows were both one man monologues, albeit with AV back up, whereas he is graced with a supporting cast here, not least the miraculous performance by his stalker Martha who inhabits this sweet-as-sugar character with a dangerous she-devil interior that only raises its head when she’s not getting her way, and her way would be to own and ravish Gadd.

Gadd’s second nemesis is the theatre impresario Darrien played impeccably by Tom Goodman-Hill who subjects Gadd to massive trauma and was the main antagonist in Monkey See Monkey Do.

The combination of Darrien and Martha, and their collective trauma, create a stultifying inability for Gadd to do anything about his situation. His pathetic attempts at stand up comedy make any positive interest, from anyone, yes anyone, appealing at a subconscious level to Gadd and that may be why he rolls with the punches for so long against enemies that seem, to the viewer, so obviously easy to unlock himself from – but this is the way poor mental health and low self esteem can manifest themselves.

Whilst most of us could easily disassociate ourselves with these two monsters Gadd simply cannot and finds himself descending into blacker and blacker territory.

His only escape is through the fourth key character, the Mexican trans-actress Nava Mau, who plays Gadd’s sort of girlfriend, although it’s not easy. Gadd’s sexuality is so confused that he simply doesn’t know what he’s looking for and it makes for a pretty challenging relationship.

It’s billed as a black comedy and there are comedic moments, and yes, Gadd, is a professional comedian. But don’t come to this looking for laughs. It’s a profound, original and true exploration of the stultifying impacts of poor mental health and it’s performed with sensitivity and great skill.

Surely the year will end up with this on all the top ten lists, in much the same way that “I May Destroy You” did.

It’s quite simply brilliant.

The Power of The Dog: Movie Review

Benedict Cumberbatch. Being a pure bastard.

Well, that’s the bar set for Best Movie at this year’s Oscars.

In which Benedict Cumberbatch blows his back catalogue out of the water in assuming a complex role that simply takes your breath away. It helps that he has the truly magnificent Jane Campion to direct him in what is a virtuoso performance on her part.

The entire movie plays havoc with “Western” stereotypes in a similar way to how Brokeback Mountain totally upended the genre’s conventions. But this is an even more nuanced movie than Brokeback Mountain.

Once again Kirsten Dunst shows how great an actress she is (I loved her in Melancholia and The Virgin Suicides and it’s a real shame that her reputation really lies in fluff and franchise movies, because she is so much better than that). Perhaps, finally, Dunst will be given the recognition she deserves by the Academy. Surely.

She plays the wife of her real life husband (Jesse Plemons)who plays Cumberbatch’s brother. Cumberbatch, a redneck bully with a secret, and Plemons, the more sophisticated of the two, bullied by his brother and manager of the ranch and its rather magnificent “stately” home. The mistrust and disharmony the two exhibit is relentless and deeply unpleasant.

Dunst comes into the family with a pubescent son from her widowed previous marriage (the marvellous Kodi-Smit McPhee – best known as a child actor in The Road and Let Me In, but all grown up now) he’s a pretty boy in a roughneck world, totally out of place and relentlessly bullied, just like his new step father.

But the son gets under bully boy Cumberbatch’s skin and sees him for what he really is. No need to explain – it’ll only spoil the fun.

Once again Jonny Greenwood pulls out all the stoppers with a brooding, thoughtful and magical score. And the camerawork by Ari Wegner is truly remarkable. She made a deep impression on me with her work on The True History of the Kelly Gang and also in Lady Macbeth.

The movie juggles the relationships between the two brothers and the new wife and her son artfully. The interrelationship between each of them shapeshifts throughout the movie and Dunst’s rapid descent into alcoholism (fuelled by Cumberbatch’s obvious hatred of her) is beautifully directed and performed.

Cumberbatch has never been like this, not even remotely, before. He’s a malevolent, evil force. Dunst is at her equal career best and Campion has rarely, if ever, put a foot wrong throughout her illustrious career. And this is a highlight.

This is a movie to really savour, to relish, but uncomfortably so.

Firefly Lane: Review

This TV show on Netflix is an abomination. An insult to the human race. The lowest level of TV incompetence to have graced our TV screens since Crossroads. In fact it makes Crossroads look a like Martin Scorsese production.

Where does one start in describing this slaughterhouse of televisual ineptitude?

Firstly, it’s a traffic collision of monumental proportions. A black ice F1 race.

The acting is of such a level of blandness as to make tapioca deliriously delicious.

It’s tapioca without the tap, or the oca. Only the i is left, lower case at that.

Acted by crash test dummies.

Scripted by monkeys.

Filmed by the Blind Boys of Alabama.

Soundtracked by Coldplay. Actually, if it WAS soundtracked by Coldplay it would have some merit. It doesn’t even have that.

It time-switches so often in single scenes that Tom Baker would be reaching out for extreme therapy.

It doesn’t even have the saving grace of hotties to get you by.

I’d rather have internal organs removed without anaesthetic than sit through another minute of this gormless guff.

It reeks so much of pish and ham that our house is now an exclusion zone.

You have been warned.

Sputnik: Movie Review

Alien meets Arrival. (With subtitles.)

A Russian horror story set in Khazakstan in which a returning Cosmonaut has been infected, John Hurt-like by an Alien. But rather than bursting terrifyingly out to terrorise its surroundings this particular organ mate uses its host as a hotel room, in fact, more than that, a symbiotic relationship has begun between the two that perhaps only steely ice maiden Tatyana Klimova (Oksana Akinshina) can resolve.

Turns out there’s more to meet the eye in this sub Siberian outpost.

Secretive Russian military operatives can see the value of this symbiosis in creating a fearsome weapon of war and gradually Klimova is drawn into a moral dilemma as her relationship with both the Alien’s host, Konstantin Veshnyakov, and the Alien itself grows.

To be honest you could probably bail on this after an hour or so, its done its best work by then, but what work, and resorts to Hollywood silliness to resolve itself as the writers realise they’ve created too complex a narrative to easily escape. It would actually benefit from being a TV outing with more space to build and resolve its multi-layered contexts.

So, for its opening hour, I highly recommend it. But take the ending with a pinch, a large pinch, of salt.

American Factory: Documentary review

I didn’t think I’d see a better documentary than For Sama this year, and having viewed Netflix’s American Factory last night, the Oscar winner in the documentary category, I stand by that view.

However, this is a fine piece of work.

It tells the story of a Chinese windscreen-manufacturer reseeding the site of a massive General Motors factory in Dayton Ohio some three years after its closure.

The main premise of the film is that this is a meeting of two cultures, both business and anthropological, and how the rise in Chinese commercial enterprise, even deep in rust-belt, Republican USA, is a success that won’t go away.

But the Chinese drive a hard bargain: much lower wages, poorer health and safety ideology, an intolerance of unions and a hard work ethic (in China overtime is compulsory, not optional).

The filmmakers – Stephen Bognar and Julia Rheichert  – are seasoned pros and have an interesting technique that makes this such an agreeable watch.  It’s not controversial, there’s little humour and there are no pyrotechnics.  It’s just a laconic stroll through the lives of the people on both sides of this cultural ravine, gradually exposing what it’s like for each of them.

They take no sides, they critique no-one, but clearly there is stuff in here that could enrage a very large percentage of its viewers, no matter their cultural persuasion.

That’s what makes it work.  That and a good soundtrack and a pleasing use of cinematography.

It’s not doc of the year, for me, but it IS an intelligent piece of documentary film-making that is as far from the Michael Moore one-sided tidal-wave of opinion and argument as one could get, and, for that, it is to be admired.

Marriage Story: Movie Review.

The movie the attorneys didn’t want to be made.

In which a loving but separating couple (played by Adam Driver and Scarlett Johansson) blow any possibility of a harmonious separation by bringing in their legal aides.

It’s a sad old movie in which the couple’s divorce seesaws from still best friends to raging monsters. Their natural inclination seems to favour behaviour at the friendlier end of the spectrum, but by employing teams of attorneys (at great cost), whose only interests are fiscal and competitive, any of the harmony that remains between Driver and Johansson is cruelly exposed and used as a weakness.

In the hands of a director less skilled than Noah Baumbach (Margot at the Wedding, Frances Ha) we could easily have ended up with either a black comedy or an overwrought drama, but this finds a line between the two, by steering a complex and subtle, and lengthy,  dialogue (he is the writer) that does not allow the viewer to particularly side with either protagonist – both have their faults and their virtues – but it’s the actions of  their attorneys that bring out the worst, not the best, in them.

That said my wife and I both fell for Driver’s side of the story (and only found out afterwards that the movie is based on Baumbach’s own experience of divorcing Jennifer Jason Leigh, so maybe it’s not quite as agnostic as we thought.

It’s a slow build, with several long monologues that just finish, mostly, before they outstay their welcomes.

But there are also moments of humour.  The visit of a social worker is laugh out loud funny and the rehearsal scene where Johansson prepares her terrified sister to hand over the divorce papers is likewise an absolute comic joy.

But overall it’s both deeply personal and very affecting at times, more than once I was reaching for the Kleenex, and part of that is down to the casting and the highly personal cinematography that shows off the two leads at their most naked (emotionally) and vulnerable with long, lingering close ups on each of them.  That’s one reason that the big screen is always better than the TV for feature films.  Like The Irishman, though, this is a Netflix original and will not be on the big screen for long.

Driver is at the top of his game and that means there are three serious Oscar best actor contenders this year – himself, De Niro and Phoenix.  All three would win in any average year. Driver’s one take performance of Stephen Sondheim’s “Being Alive” at a piano bar is a real highlight and is about a man’;s lack of commitment.  It’s an excellent counterpoint to Randy Newman’s typically accomplished, and in parts quite jaunty, score.

Johannson puts in a career-best shift.  Not only is his beauty put to one side .  No make up and often unflattering close ups, but she acts her socks off.

Also of great note is laura Dern’s performance as her lawyer and a cameo role for a sprightly, 83 year old, Alan Alda.

It’s a slow burn but it comes highly recommended from me (and my wife).  Just go see it in the cinema.

 

 

 

 

The Irishman, movie review: Yet another Scorsese masterpiece.

Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, The King Of Comedy, Goodfellas, Casino, Cape Fear, The Departed, Shutter Island, The Wolf of Wall Street, Silence and now The Irishman.  Most Directors would give a limb to have made just one of these magisterial films.  That list numbers 12.  And then there’s a bunch more of note sitting just below these.

The cinema industry is up in arms at Netflix pinching surely one of Scorsese’s last great outings from under their noses.

£200m was pumped into this movie that’s been sitting around, unmade for a decade.

It tempted Joe Pesci out of his retirement and put Pacino, Pesci and De Niro under Scorsese’s gaze for the first time.

And what a gaze.

In a 210 minute film that gives about 5 to women this is a man’s, man’s, man’s outing to outman all of its lofty predecessors, but there were many women in the audience of the big screen showing I attended and they loved it.

Anna Pacquin, De Niro’s daughter, is the only female character of note in the movie (the wives are fairly incidental).  Her single scripted word screams volumes from the screen and makes her appearance meritorious despite its paucity.

Pacino and Pesci are wonderful, but it’s a De Niro movie.  Scorsese’s real muse this bookend’s both of their careers starting with Taxi Driver and surely ending here.  It’s a massive performance full of grit, humour and pathos.  It’s simply breathtaking.  Especially when you consider the mid – late career crud that De Niro has been serving us.

Note this, Phoenix has competition for the Oscar that we all thought was surely a shoo-in only a month or two ago.

The humour is unexpected and one scene, in particular, where an absurd conversation about a fish takes place in a car, reminds us of the Chicken Royale scene in Pulp Fiction.  Clearly Scorsese has been noting the competition and, here, matches or possibly even exceeds them.

This demands to be seen on the big screen.  The monumental running time sits better with a cinema screening where you can tackle it, in its full immensity, without trips to the teapot (or wine cellar – it’s a two bottler).  What it allows Scorsese is the time to tell a complex tale languidly.  It gives him room to explore male relationships, bonding and latterly reflection on a life that has had much shame.

That Scorsese takes maybe 30 minutes to conclude a movie that in other hands would last five is telling.  But it’s exactly this that lies at the heart of an epic that sadly many will just say is boring.

It’s anything but.

Much has been made of the ‘de-aging’ technology, mostly critically, but it really helps to tell a four-decade story using the same actors throughout.  OK, it made De Niro a little rosy-cheeked at times, but it gets away with it.  And the ageing of Pesci, in particular, is amazing.  His final scenes of a man in very old age are moving and gripping.

I was blown away.

 

After Life : TV Series Review

Ricky Gervais has never, ever written a bad script.

And although he is pigeonholed as a comedian, writing comedy-drama he is far more than this.

He is an observer of the deepest human emotions and psyche. How else could David Brent exist?  How else could Derek be considered even remotely acceptable to be the star of a comedy, let alone have Gervais portray the part he had written, rather than cast an actor with learning difficulties?

In this latest offering, brought to us by Netflix, Gervais has reached a creative zenith.  In episode four there is a moment with a rice pudding that is the funniest thing I have ever seen on TV.  In episode 6, I wept for 15 minutes solidly.

It’s the story of a local free newspaper journalist who works to live, it’s not a career, it’s a job to fill the time between leaving his home, and his beloved wife Lisa (Kerry Godliman – Godly talent more like), and returning to spend each and every night with her.

The trouble is she’s just died of cancer and Tony (Gervais) can’t cope.  Only the dog is keeping him alive and it brings his dark cynicism and sarcasm to the fore. It gives him a super-power.  The power to be a total **** to everyone and anyone.  Sometimes to bad people who deserve it, like the school bully, but at other times to borderline cases (like a cheeky chugger).

His dad has Alzheimers and doesn’t recognise him.

His therapist is a moron.

His colleagues, led by the truly outstanding Tony Way as ‘photographer’ Lenny, are all ‘arseholes’.  Except they aren’t.  They’re just ordinary people.

He gradually falls for the nurse who works in his dad’s care home and that has a touch of joy about it.

But more than anything this show just shows that people are largely good.  Even the bad ones like Tony’s naughty postman.

The moments in the graveyard with a grieving widow, played by the magnificent Penelope Wilton, are pure philosophy.

And we have Diane Morgan (Philomena Cunk).

And during the cremation of a junkie that results in Tony standing in the smoke with a nun, it means he has to say to her, “Don’t breathe that in sister, you’ll be off your tits.”

We watched all six episodes back to back and I urge you to do the same.

Better than any TV I have seen in an awful, awful long time.

Utterly perfect.

Thank you Netflix for having the bravery to commission this.

(Oh, and the soundtrack is brilliant too.)

(And so is the dog.)

 

The OA: review

Netflix has surpassed itself with the OA.  It’s a feast of creativity, originality and puzzlement.

Frankly it’s not the sort of show I’d expect to like, loaded to the hilt as it is with mysticism, other dimensions, expressive movement, spells, spiritualism and a central character (the Original Angel) that is as near to a full on hippy as we’ve seen on our screens in forty years.  It’s a fantasy show that’s grounded in reality and borrows in style from Cronenberg and Jonathon Demme.

Part mystery, part meaning of existence it centres on the story of OA who starts out life as a blind Russian girl, daughter of an oligarch who has a near death experience at the age of six when her bus full of junior oligarchs is attacked on a bridge by a terrorist group.  All but her die and for safety she is shipped to America where she is adopted by an ageing couple who, on doctors orders, heavily sedate her for the next 15 years to treat the possible impact of schizophrenia.

On her 21st birthday she goes to meet her father (one of many premonitions) at the foot of the Statue of Liberty but instead meets Hap.  The man who is to become the central feature of her life for the next seven years.

I will stop with the storyline here as the rest will just become spoilers.

What emerges is a hugely complex plot that is impressively gripping and impossible to second guess.  Ten more characters perform as a brilliant ensemble as the story plays out.

It’s odd how Netfilx works, isn’t it?

There are no ads.  Indeed for this there were not even any trailers.

And because there is no ‘schedule’ the episodes can be as long or as short as they need to be which is very refreshing and makes them essentially unairable on traditional television.  One episode is around 65 minutes long, and one only 31, with a variety in between.

The OA is spectacular viewing.  Right up there with Stranger Things as the revelation of 2016 on ‘TV’.  It’s not for everyone but I’d imagine it is for most.

The ending has divided opinion but I for one thought it was good and after a bit of post showing research it’s entirely relevant and actually closes off a huge number of loose ends.

Enjoy.  Wish I could see it again without knowing its meaning.

One last thing.  the Title.  The OA.  It probably means Original Angel but I wonder if it could also derive from Oral Administration (of drugs) or could it be an inverse of Alpha and Omega? As in Jesus Christ proclaiming, as God, that he is the Alpha and the Omega (meaning the beginning and the end of existence).  Just a thought.

13th: Review

I should start by saying that I am not North American.

I am a Scotsman.

A caucasian Scotsman at that.

And yes, a Liberal.

I love the United States and my experiences there have been universally positive.

But these were experiences in areas of privilege and that are essentially cleansed for tourists.  Largely Liberal areas where whites and people of colour live in harmony (Manhattan, Florida, California, Chicago city centre, Toronto).

In these places I did not see the ghettoes and the communities  of colour that this shocking documentary uncovers and that has spurred on the whole Where Black Lives Matter movement.

The title refers to the 13th Amendment to the American constitution that was passed in 1864 and aimed to abolished slavery once and for all.

What 13th sets out to expose is the centuries long political outcome, that has resulted in ‘Mass Incarceration’ mainly of black and coloured men in the USA.

Plea bargaining is one of the most heinous causes of it.  Because without money and facing massive gambles 97% of Black men plead guilty to avoid a trail where sentences will be massive due to minimum incarceration legislation.

In other words they can plead guilty to a crime they did not commit and receive perhaps a three year sentence.  Or they can fight their conviction and, if unsuccessful, face a 30 year Minimum Incarceration, without parole, term.

The odds don’t look good.

So, they typically take the rap and plea bargain.

Under this type of increasingly  aggressive legislation and successive governments’ “War on Drugs” and “War on crime” the US Prison population has risen from 200,000 to 2.5 million since 1970.

Incidentally Crack cocaine conviction (Black working class, inner city) has a significantly longer incarceration minimum to powder cocaine conviction (White, suburban.)

The US has only 5% of the worlds population, but 25% of world’s prison population.

1 in 17 of white men in the USA are incarcerated, but 1 in 3 of Black men are.

Black men represent 6.5% of the US Population, but 40.2% of the prison population.

Does this mean black men in the USA are intrinsically criminal?

No it does not.

It means , the film-makers argue, that there is a political will in all parties and for many, many years to incarcerate black men as a form of replacement of slavery.

It is big business. (ALEC represents the financial interests of corporations.)

It makes politicians look tough.

“The War on Crime” literally, wins votes and Democrats are as guilty of it as Republicans.

Mass incarceration is the new slavery.  Which was replaced by  Convict Leasing, lynchings, the Ku Klux Klan, the Jim Crow segregation laws.  And Yet it was only AFTER  and DESPITE the Civil Rights Act that Mass Incarceration became the ‘solution’.

But there is hope.  Hillary Clinton is planning to redesign the incarceration regime (that her husband dramatically escalated) as started by Obama; the first ever President to visit a Prison and who oversaw the first drop in incarceration numbers in 40 years.

As Trump says (with glee).  “In the good old days this wouldn’t happen (blacks protesting at his events) because they treated them rough.  They’d carry them out on a stretcher.”

It’s a mess and this documentary makes Ia right good job of exposing it.

OK it’s very one-sided and it is represented by extremely articulate coloured American middle class academics and commentators.

But they were not always thus.

I, for one, think it’s a thing of greatness and I’d urge you to watch it.