Home for Christmas [Hjem til Jul] (TV Show REVIEW) -- Hilariously-real look at Being Single at the holidays (from Norway)

If there’s one thing every unattached person, everywhere, dreads around the holidays, it’s being grilled by family (friends, coworkers, nosy gas-meter readers, etc.) about Why Aren’t You in a Relationship… then getting schooled in What You Need to Do to Get in One (because everyone who's in a relationship thinks they're experts on that, of course). 

[Oh, and if you, dear reader, are one of those happily—or even not-so-happily—married, partnered, or otherwise-coupled folks, engaged in the relentless hounding of all the singletons you know, listen up: No matter if still-single, newly-single, or single-by-choice, we're well aware of the fact that we’re alone; many of us would really like to find The One; and all the pressure you’re putting on us? Not. Helping.]

At least now, though, all those single-(and-not-lovin’-it) people have two brilliant seasons of Home for Christmas (or Hjem Til Jul, in its native Norwegian), now streaming on Netflix, to take away some of the sting… and to make anyone who’s been there, at some point (erm, feeling awkwardly-single around the holidays, not Norway, although that's def on my bucket list), feel good. 

The premise of Season One is easily-relatable: Johanne, a young(ish, at 30) woman has a lot going for her… a steady job, parents and siblings she gets along (well enough) with, a small network of good friends, and a nice flat to live in (with an awesome roommate). The only thing that’s missing—especially around the holidays, and most-especially, at the big family Jul dinner? A boyfriend.

So, encouraged by her delightfully-eccentric (and genuinely good-hearted) roomie, Jørgunn, Johanne sets out to find herself that missing piece (a man) by Christmas (a mere 24 days away). 

Does she succeed? C’mon, you know I’m not about to spill the tea on that. 

But, I will say that the end of the first season ends on a lovely cliffhanger… which then leads directly into the beginning of the equally-enchanting Season Two, when Johanne has a whole new set of problems to deal with (and no, they’re probably not exactly what you might be thinking, so stop feeling like you’ve figured it all out, already).

As you would both expect and sorta hope (Home for Christmas is a show, after all), much awkwardness, some disappointments, and a good deal of hilarity run through all twelve episodes (each season is six eps in length), without ever—hallelujah!—crossing over into the dreaded realms of disbelief, silliness, or triteness. Johanne’s situation (predicament?) always rings completely true; I can either identify with whatever’s happening, or I’ve been in a nearly-identical spot. 

It’s also cool, to me, that this oh-so-relatable series comes from somewhere distinctly not the U.S. (since—let’s be honest—something like ninety-nine percent of holiday rom-coms are set here, which is all sorts of been there, done that). The scenery is gorgeous (I mean, Norway knows snow), the casting is spot-on, and the feel of everything is just a bit more… real. 

Home for Christmas isn’t the—and apologies, here, to anyone who lurves the genre above all else—treacly-sweet variety of rom-com fare that permeates the various networks and platforms around the holidays. Rather, it’s a smart, clever, honest, and funny look at life, and how messy it can be… especially when it comes to what the heart needs, and what the heart wants (whether or not it can ever get it). 

This easily-bingeable series is far and away my pick for holiday rom-com viewing. It is, to me… perfect, and this recommendation is my holiday gift to you. 

~GlamKitty

Wayne (TV Show REVIEW) -- A Boy, a Girl (and a Hare-Brained Roadtrip to Avenge Some Wrongs)

You know how “there’s a fine line between [blank] and [blank]” (insert whatever you’re comparing, here)? Well, for me, there’s a mighty fine line between the right amount of over-the-top whatever, and going so far over that something that the point ends up being lost in a sea of so much stupidity (confusion, disbelief, etc). 

Enter Wayne (which apparently came out nearly two years ago, back when YouTube was dipping its toes into original content, but—more importantly—got picked up recently by Amazon, and thus brought to our collective consciousness), from the writers behind none other than Deadpool. (Look, if Deadpool’s not your bag, I get it, but for me? Seeing that in the tagline made it an “okay, I’m gonna start watching this tonight” kinda thang.)

[Now is when (you either skip this aside down Memory Lane, or stick with me for a hot minute) I should prolly mention that there was actually one other thing in the ad that grabbed me, even before I saw the blurb listing the crazypants creative team behind Wayne: to wit, one sweet-ass 1979 Trans Am (albeit in one of my least-fave T.A. colors, ever—gold, yuck, but still..!). You just don’t see one of those everyday… nor did you, even about a million years ago (fine, I exaggerate), when I bought my first (very, very used) car, a gorgeous ’79 T.A., in Nocturne Blue.]

But back to Wayne… an early scene of which gives us Wayne, in a nutshell: a 16-year-old kid—an underachiever, a “weirdo”, mostly-shunned (or mocked) at school—who walks up to a group of boys hanging out, and throws a big chunk of icy snow through a window behind them, breaking the glass. Why? So someone (the shop owner, and dad to one of the boys, in this case) will come out and beat the ever-lovin’ crap out of him.

Yep, that’s Wayne, for you. Kinda different, that kid. 

Before long we have enough backstory to get a handle on his (seeming) death wish, though. Things aren't exactly rosy in Wayne’s world: life in hardscrabble, lower-working-class Brockton, MA feels like a cheap ticket to nowhere; his mom is long-gone (as in, couldn’t handle being saddled with a kid, so up and skedaddled); his dad is slowly dying (from a cancer caused by his old workplace); and Wayne, well… he’s just trying to make some sense of it all (and evading the landlord, who keeps trying to collect back rents).

When—while making guy-smalltalk in his dad’s room one day (and really, who knows WTH to talk about, with someone who's dying??)—he spots an old snapshot of a muscle car and latches onto it, as something that seems interesting (and like anything but run-of-the-mill deathbed talk), and his dad, of course, is relieved to oblige.

Turns out the Trans Am in the photo used to belong to his dad… until some other fella stole it from him, and the car—with Wayne’s mom inside—hied off (for sunny Florida), never to return. Oh, and the photo? It’s one of several which Mom (and her douchebag fella) have sent Dad, over the intervening years, rubbing his face in the fact that he’d lost.

And then, Dad dies. Like, right after that big ol’ revelation... which should be all the explanation needed for why the finding (and commandeering) of said car—TO AVENGE HIS DEAD FATHER—becomes Wayne’s new purpose in life. (At least it makes a better mission than picking fights with other boys just so he can get beat up.)

Grabbing his dad’s old motorbike, he makes a pitstop to collect Del, who he’s known for all of about a hot minute (trying to sell him Girl Scout cookies she’d nicked)—a girl he’s pretty sure he wants to be his girlfriend (but being 16 and having absolutely ZERO game, that’s about as far as he’s gotten with the concept)—and having no idea exactly how to get to Florida (aside from, “go south”), or how to find Mom once they get there. (Details, schmetails…)

From that point on, Wayne becomes a road trip… not just for Wayne and his (reluctant) Girl Friday, Del, but for the high school principal and Wayne’s best (okay, and only) friend, Orlando, who team up, vowing to rescue Wayne (from his own bad ideas, basically); for the pair of Brockton police working the case, who—in a neat turn!—aren’t exactly not on Wayne’s side; and for Del’s redneck daddy and her moronic older brothers, none of whom actually seem to like Del, but who certainly don’t want anyone else to like (or have) her, either. 

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Wayne is a wild, wacky ride… one unlike any I’ve ever seen, before. It’s bonkers—and often, über-violent. It’s frequently hilarious, even as it's cringe-worthy. It embraces scads of stereotypes like they’re long-lost pals. Notions of right and wrong are a little off-center, to put it mildly. (Remember that Deadpool mention earlier? Okay then, ‘nuff said.) Yet at the center of everything, always, is a beating heart… not a mushy, sappy one (as if), but a tentative, skittish, scarred one that’s been through the wringer and isn’t sure if it even has the right to hope for any damn thing… but can’t stop itself from doing so, just in case.

Many times I found myself comparing Wayne to one of my favorite movie characters, ever: Lloyd Dobler, from Cameron Crowe’s 1989 film, Say Anything. Lloyd, if you recall (and if you don’t, I cannot recommend the film to you highly enough), was another lower-class, parent-less, underachiever, who—while being better-liked than Wayne—was still fairly radical for the time (he wanted to be a professional kickboxer, after all), and who made it his mission to win the sweet girl he was crazy about, despite the odds. Why? Because he was just a regular, hapless guy, with a huge heart… who believed in hope, in his dreams, in family, and that nothing is more important than love. [I wonder, if Say Anything had been made today, if Lloyd might’ve had harder edges, and been more like Wayne…] 

For now, there’s only the one season of Wayne, but if it does well enough on Amazon Prime, a second season seems like a strong possibility. There’s a lot more story that creator Shawn Simmons and his team could tell; here’s hoping they get the chance to do so. 

~GlamKitty

[Note: I actually raced through Wayne more than a month ago, now—starting, but never getting around to finishing, this review, then—but it made the kind of impact I won’t soon forget. :)]

Christmas Ever After (TV movie REVIEW) -- Holiday rom-com unexpectedly charms with heroine who happens to be in a wheelchair

 Let’s get one thing straight from the get-go: I am—in no way, shape, or form—a big romance fan. I mean, yes, sure—absolutely!—I appreciate the heck out of sweet romantic gestures… IRL(!)… but as far as the written word goes, or on the big screen? Yeah, not so much. (Clever-smart rom-coms being not the norm and not straight-up romance, capice?)

So, why do I need to tell you all this, you might ask? (Fair question.) Because I’m about to review an all-about-the-romance film, and it’ll be helpful if you know where I’m comin’ from, right off the bat. (Trust me, this will matter, later on…)

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Normally, I wouldn’t choose to watch a) most Lifetime movies [which isn’t meant as a diss; I just know wherein my heart and soul lie, and it ain’t here], or b) a Christmas romance flick, anywhere, anytime. And yet, I find myself watching… precisely that. (Life: it’s a funny ol’ thing, eh?)

Anyway, for reasons, my viewing matter one night turned out to be the premiere of Lifetime’s new Christmas Ever After—a film which is just as holiday-ish and predictable as it sounds… but also manages to be ground-breaking, in a pretty cool way.

Romance-novelist Izzi finds herself experiencing that bane of all writers, from time immemorial—writer’s block—so, making excuses (and promises) to her editor, she flees Manhattan for her annual Christmas vacay to a charming bed-&-breakfast in quaint Silver Springs (a tiny little village in upstate New York), vowing to hammer out the ending to the latest in her ongoing series (when not wassailing and caroling, presumably—this is CharmingTown, USA, after all).

A couple of hiccups in her normal, treasured routine assail her upon arrival, though: she discovers that her beloved lodge has just been sold, and is now under new management, and said management—the previous owner’s son, Matt—just so happens to be a dead-ringer for the hero of her series (as depicted on those bodice-ripping paperback covers). 

I mean, seriously… that latter would give anyone pause, wouldn’t it? 

Back to the plot, though… of course there’s a meet-cute between pretty, smart Izzi and hunky, good-guy Matt… and of course there’s chemistry, because, well—you did read the first couple ‘graphs of this article, right?—that’s just part and parcel, here. And, obviously, there must also needs be numerous obstacles to True Love’s Path… namely, an attractive someone else vying for Matt’s interest, his situation (single father of tween girl, so some amount of cray-cray to be expected), Izzi’s sitch (successful single woman—rewarding writing career! exciting Manhattan life! but also, no one to come home to at night!), and a certain amount of bridging aaaall those distances between the twain. (C'mon, romance has a formula!) 

Will everything somehow work out? Will these two eminently-likable singletons find their Happily Ever Afters (with each other)? Will all be right with the world?? (Let’s just work on the assumption such questions don't actually need answering, m’kay?)

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So, all the above aside, there may (or may not) be an elephant in the room… but really, it only exists if you already know about it: our sweet, talented heroine, Izzi, happens to be in a wheelchair. But—here’s the really-cool part—it isn’t a big deal. 

I don’t say this in any way to minimize the fact that she uses a chair, nor that showing a competent, “regular” person can do so; the point is, Christmas Ever After doesn’t make doesn't make the story about that. (Her being chair-bound isn’t given any teary explanations or backstory, nor does Izzi feel the need to apologize for not being able to do some particular physical thing… instead, her chair is treated no differently than someone’s wearing glasses, or walking with a cane [sighted or no], or having a speech impediment, or… any one of the multitude of things that can in some manner affect one’s physical abilities, whether temporarily or permanently, while having no impact on one’s mind.) And that is a pretty big statement… in a NON-statementy kind of way. 

Tony-award-winning (and wheelchair-bound) actress Ali Stroker delivers a heartfelt performance as Izzi, letting us see her as a smart, successful, “normal” woman in her own right (never someone to feel sorry for), and Daniel di Tomasso has a sweet turn as the still-healing single dad, Matt. (Honestly, I have no more complaint of them than of anyone else doing similarly by-the-book, romance-y things; they do their jobs well, and of course I rooted for them to work out the kinks in their budding relationship, so they could reach that satisfying HEA.)

Major kudos, as well, to the director (Pat Kiely), writers (Tanner Bean and Katrina Mathewson), and everyone involved with the technical details during the fifteen days of shooting Christmas Ever After, all accomplished in the midst of COVID,  following those stringent protocols to keep everyone safe (and providing the rest of the world with a little bit of happy, because of their labors). 

(Hopefully) there will never again be a year quite like 2020… but it’s really pretty neat that there are little bursts of innocent, heartwarming joy and good energies, like Christmas Ever After, that will live on, long after 2020 has passed.

TL;DR: It definitely isn't my normal cuppa tea [which is actually a stout cuppa joe, in the a.m., or a strong-and-beautiful cocktail, in the p.m.], but Christmas Ever After is nonetheless an easy recommendation, in the do-good, feel-good, be-well vibe that I think Every.Single.One.Of.Us.Needs.More.Of. in 2020.  ~GlamKitty

Under Suspicion (TV show REVIEW) -- Family, friends, & other liars deliver plenty of thrills in Spanish drama

You know those ancient TV “family” shows that pop up in syndication on random channels (the ones with numbers so high on the cable or satellite list that you never, ever scroll that far)? I’d rather count the tiles in my bathroom floor than have to sit through something like Leave it to Beaver, My Three Sons, or The Waltons.

Why? Because honestly, I’ve never known anyone who had anything like that kind of family; real families are always messy—and usually, a whole lot more crazypants—than those sanitized, unfailingly-polite depictions… and I bet that’s always been the case. (If I wanna watch a fantasy, I’ll find something with dragons or vampires or… basically anything that doesn’t involve Stepford Families. And, if I want to watch a family drama, well… it won’t be saccharine-sweet.)

So, when a nice, juicy thriller—about Really Bad Stuff Happening to a Very Messy Family—pops up in the PBS Masterpiece (on Amazon) new releases list, I’m down for it.

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Under Suspicion (or Bajo Sospecha, in its native tongue) is an eight-part suspense series (which would actually take more than nine hours to view, if you were thinking of doing a mega-binge, so you’ve been warned) from Spain.

A police commissioner from the city is called after a young girl goes missing from a private family party on her communion day, in the pretty little mountain town of Cienfuegos. 

Alicia Vega has disappeared—into thin air—from the locked grounds of the family’s restaurant (closed to business for the day)… leaving only suspects whom no one wants to suspect: the family. 

Determining that standard policing is unlikely to be successful, Comisario Casas opts to bring in Laura, a no-nonsense new inspector who’s just received her certification as a psychologist. Pairing her up with Victor Garcia—a wildcard detective he’s worked with previously—Casas arranges for the pair to go undercover, as a teacher and her spouse… but also as neighbors of the Vega family.

Before long, Laura and Victor realize that there’s a lot more going on than just one missing 7-year-old girl, with major fractures old and new between seemingly every member of the extended family: Roberto Vega and his wife, Carmen, and their other two children, elder Emilia and Ali’s twin, Pablo; Roberto’s brother Andrés and his wife, Begoña, and their daughter Nuria, a classmate of Ali’s; the brothers’ divorced sister Inés; the patriarch and matriarch of the Vega clan, Germán and Pilar; and Carmen’s younger brother, Eduardo, and his girlfriend, Leti.

Using methods both orthodox—Laura’s analyses of the various suspects’ behaviors and words—and not-so-acceptable—Victor’s totally-unsanctioned bugging of the Vega house—leads them closer to finding out the truth… but just as they think they’re getting a handle on the situation, the game changes again. 

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Under Suspicion may not break any new ground, but it’s nonetheless extremely easy to get hooked on; after the first ten or so minutes, I was all in. The twists and turns—some predictable, others wholly unexpected—kept coming, and I never got bored, through my week of streaming it.

Visually, it’s fantastic to look at; Cienfuegos is a picturesque, quaint little town, and the Vega family quite an attractive bunch of characters. [The only actors I was already familiar with were Pedro Alonso, as Roberto Vega, who I know from the thrilling Money Heist, Yon González, as Victor, from the nighttime-telenovela-ish Gran Hotel, and Lluís Homar, as Casas, also from Gran Hotel.] More importantly, though, the cast are all uniformly good in their roles.

That isn’t to say it’s the best show ever (but you probably already knew that). Several times I found myself groaning, with “COME ON, you can’t tail people that close and them NEVER SEE YOU!”, or “Why on earth are you not looking at him/her right now?!” obvious “duh” moments, but on the whole, it’s a solid piece that doesn’t telegraph where it’s going… and holds up very well, indeed including the denouement and conclusion. 

Whether you’re in the mood for a gripping family drama that feels real, or have a hankering for a juicy thriller that’ll keep you thinking, guessing, and wondering, you should definitely consider giving Under Suspicion a look. 

~GlamKitty

[The first season of Under Suspicion, reviewed here, was actually released much earlier—back in 2014—in Spain, but is new to PBS Masterpiece/Amazon, hence referring to it as a “new release”.]

The Hollow Places, by T. Kingfisher (Horror REVIEW) -- On the other side of the wall, there lurks some seriously-scary stuff

Something that every good storyteller knows: a great story doesn’t need flash, sex, an exotic location, a hot hero, or any other element obviously thrown in to grab the audience’s attention… such things are far better used as a dash of pink Himalayan salt, rather than a heavy pour from the navy blue Morton’s canister. (Sure, they can be a lot of fun, but feel pretty one-note in a hurry, if relied upon to be the meat of any story.)

No, what a great story actually needs is something the audience can really relate to, on a personal level… and generally, that isn’t anything very fancy, at all.

So let’s just do the whole TL;DR bit right up front, and say that T. Kingfisher’s The Hollow Places absolutely NAILS some damn fine story-telling, okay?

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Kara—a thirtyish (give or take) gal—is as “regular” as they come: she’s been married for several years, but finds herself recently (surprise!) divorced (her ex-hubby’s decision)... out of home (she let him keep the house)... and struggling (self-employed as a graphic designer, but not attached to any big design firm, so… yeah, times are tough). 

So, when the uncle she’s incredibly fond of—Uncle Earl, proud proprietor of the fantastic “Glory to God Museum of Natural Wonders, Curiosities, and Taxidermy” (are you hooked right there? because, honestly, I sure was)—reaches out and offers a part-time job (helping him with his life’s work, that two-story-hotbed-of-oddities) with bed-and-board (because frankly, he hasn’t been doing so hot and could use some assistance), Kara jumps at the chance to flee. Even if, in this case, said fleeing leads her to "picturesque" Hog Chapel, North Carolina… a teeny-tiny podunk town blessed with a hilarious name.

Things are pretty good, for a spell. Kara (or “Carrot”, to Uncle Earl) spends her days monitoring the museum—mostly, selling t-shirts and other gewgaws to tourists, and cataloguing the (never-before-catalogued) oddities so that her uncle (and, probably, his insurance company) might finally, someday, know precisely what items have found a home under his roof.

When Uncle Earl’s bad knees finally give out (for good), though—necessitating his traveling to “the big city” (Charlotte) for surgery…and leaving the GtGMoNWCaT in Kara’s hands—well, that’s when things start happening.

It all kicks off innocuously enough, when she finds a big hole, one night, in the drywall (no doubt accidentally caved in by some careless tourist’s graceless stumble). Enlisting the aid of her new friend/next-door neighbor—Simon, the delightfully-flamboyant (also-escaping-reality-by-moving-to-podunk) barista, who provides her with gratis cups-of-joe every day—she endeavors to figure out how to cheaply repair the big gaping hole in one of the museum’s upstairs walls.

The thing is, once they take a closer look at it, there’s obviously something more to it than just a hole; this hole has… extra space, and seems to continue far beyond your everyday… well, literal hole-in-the-wall.

So, our intrepid duo investigate… as you do, when unexpected things suddenly appear. They step through the hole, and find themselves… okay, in a narrow, dark hallway, or sorts. (But, seriously, that in itself is weird enough; this is an upstairs room, not a basement, so there shouldn’t be any surprise hallways or caverns or whatnots.) 

And what they find… oooh, well, What. They. Find.(!!) It isn’t just joists and dust bunnies and insulation and a squirrel carcass or two, in there… no, it’s a full-on bunker… complete with the (stomach-clenching) words “Pray They Are Hungry”, etched on one of the walls.

You KNOW they can’t just leave it at that. I mean, pray who is hungry? And, hungry for what?? 

If any place on earth is gonna have cryptic messages from… well, someone… (from another world? reality? alternate universe?), it’s gonna be the Glory to God Museum, now, isn’t it? 

But the real question is… how do a couple of very normal (like, by otherworldly standards) humans, living in a podunk town, deal with such things? It’s only—you know—the Fate of the Entire Universe (as We Know It), at stake, here…
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T. Kingfisher (or Ursula Vernon, as she’s probably more-commonly known) is clearly a storyteller… because she reels off a heckuva fine tale in The Hollow Places. 

This one hits all the notes: Kara (or Carrot, lol) is a more-than-worthy heroine… an everywoman (or  “everyperson”) who's entirely relatable--and likable, to boot. Her compadre-in-terror, Simon (the barista, who, as a Floridian, has a history such that perhaps only other folks from Florida can possibly hope to boast—or deny) makes for a fine foil/partner-in-crime… the sort I really hope I find myself nearby if I’m ever faced with similar circumstances. Uncle Earl… well, if the religious side of my family also had a measure of crazy-fun, they might dream of being as delightful as him.

But let’s not forget the worlds—yes, plural—that Kingfisher creates, because there are definitely two, here. No, I’m not talking about the “regular”, mundane one that all of us—Kara, included—inhabit; rather, there’s the world inside the museum (and trust me, you need to read the book to get a handle on that ball o’ crazypants), as well as… well, the other world(s), just on the other side of that gaping hole in the wall. (Not-a-spoiler: You do NOT want to find yourself in that/those worlds.)

How it all shakes out—because, I mean, you already know it does, somehow, right?—is where the real fun lies. Also, all the scaries, because yep, this one is chock-full o’ scary stuff (that feels hyper-real).

A Halloween treat, you ask? Why yes, there’s no trick here… but most definitely, quite a treat. Hope you enjoy The Hollow Places as much as I did. :)

~GlamKitty

Black Box (TV movie REVIEW) -- Chilling entry from the Blumhouse team

2020… welp, it’s a year like no other, innit?

Still, we do the best we can; we… adapt, certainly but also try to maintain as much of a sense of normalcy as possible. (Honestly, it’s that, or give up, and quitting is so not an option.)

Anyway, that's why I've been trying to do some of the “normal” October stuff. (I mean, trick-or-treating, or the adult version—getting costumed up and partying till the wee hours—is totally out of the equation, but the less-people-y stuff? Like, solo, or with my nearest-and-dearest? Still do-able.)

So, in a year that's all about surviving-from-the-safety-of-home? Reading and watching seasonally-chilling fare throughout the month is a no-brainer… which brings me to tonight's watch, Black Box, from the Blumhouse (streaming on Amazon).

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A young woman introduces her emotional husband to their newborn daughter… a tender family moment touchingly captured on video.

Fade out—then back in—to the same man (Nolan), several years later... seemingly sort of lost in the business of getting dressed in the morning. His daydreaming is interrupted by his young daughter (Ava), now seven or eight years old… who proceeds to remind him not only of the time, but also of his impending work appointment, the fact that she cannot be late for school, and the facial expressions he should make at his interview... all while she finishes tying the necktie he couldn't quite seem to navigate. 

(It's a sweet scene, but clearly, something not-quite-right is goin’ on here; we just don’t really know what, yet, or how bad things are.)

A scene or two later, though, we begin to understand: Nolan has some sort of brain issue (cancer? trauma? we still don't know), leaving him struggling to remember who he is (or much of anything, at all, frankly, if the post-it notes on cupboard doors are any indication), and his wife has died, leaving little Ava a sort of caretaker for her dad.

Making matters worse, Nolan is not only virtually unemployable, in his present condition, but his malfunctioning brain is causing him to act out--such as uncharacteristically yelling at and scaring Ava, apparently (in a scene referred to, but not shown)--leaving him wondering how he/they can survive.

[Cue ominous music...]

He finally goes to see one of the specialist brain doctors who’ve been beating down his door (well, jamming up his voicemail inbox) since he had a tragic accident, causing him to spend time in a coma (aha! so that explains the amnesia and confusion!)… because what else would anyone in his shoes do?

[More ominous music, duh.]

This is where I can’t really tell you more, since the whole point is that you do not know what’s gonna happen. (But stuff does happen… oh, yes, it most definitely does!)

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For me, the low-budget Blumhouse movies are a mixed bag; of the ones I’ve seen, most have fallen sort of middle-of-the-road… harmless ways to pass the time, but not necessarily things I’d recommend as “worth your while”. Black Box, on the other hand, is.

First, the casting is terrific. Mamadou Athie is fantastic as the tortured Nolan, portraying tenderness, confusion, frustration, and rage equally well. Amanda Christine is perfection as Ava, a smart and wise-beyond-her-years little girl, with way too much life heaped upon her narrow shoulders. And—unsurprisingly—Phylicia Rashad is, in turns, radiant, magnetic, intense, and scary as the brain specialist, Dr. Brooks.

The directing (by Emmanuel Osei-Kuffour) is likewise spot-on. He gets the most out of each of his actors, while skillfully ramping up the tension and general feeling of unease and uncertainty, in a pretty tight 100 minutes of runtime. 

There are some minor special effects which are just that: effective enough at furthering the story, because this movie works on mounting dread rather than being flashy. 

And finally, the resolution is satisfying, leaving you feeling fulfilled, and able to finally let out the breath you may or may not have realized you were holding. 

Black Box doesn't really do anything new, but what it does, it does with competence, making it an easy-to-recommend horror watch… whether you’re watching in October 2020, or any other month of a given year. 

~GlamKitty 

Still Life, by Val McDermid (REVIEW) -- Engrossing, female-led cold case tale from an absolute master of the genre

A waterlogged body, pulled from the ocean by an unsuspecting fisherman. A staid, middle-aged Scottish civil servant, missing for years, finally declared legally dead. The body of an unknown female, now little more than bones, found in a derelict camper van hidden in a recently-deceased woman’s garage. And, a flashy, louche, anti-establishment artist, who committed suicide a decade ago. 

There are a lot of dead people woven throughout Val McDermid’s latest crime thriller, Still Life… but, as always, the much-lauded Scottish mystery maven manages to fashion a terrific tapestry from all the pieces and parts.

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Detective Chief Inspector Karen Pirie takes her job as head of a cold cases squad very seriously—even more so, after losing her own life partner a few years earlier, and feeling firsthand how devastating the not knowing can be, until a loved one’s murder is resolved. Still, some cases are gonna be trickier than others, no matter how dedicated the team.

Take this latest one. When an avenue of investigation leads to a case she worked on previously—one which as yet remains unsolved—it feels almost like a personal affront to Karen, a reminder of her own failure… which, to someone as driven as she, is also all the impetus she needs to go full-on gangbusters.

So, armed with her trusty cadre of underlings and colleagues in complementary fields (forensic pathologists, computer techs, and the like)—while feeling intense pressure from a superior who detests her (and everyone else)—Karen sets out to get this one right… or else.

Little does she know that the various investigative avenues will involve travel to a half-dozen other countries, taking her from the upper echelons of government to jazz clubs to a secluded commune, with lessons in art history and fraud, along the way. 

And, since regular life doesn’t stop (for anyone) just because work gets busy, there’s also a personal bump in the road to deal with: the man responsible for her partner’s death is being released from prison… much, much sooner than Karen is prepared to handle. 

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I’ve been a fan of McDermid’s for a looooong time, now… meaning there’s a pretty high bar to meet (or top) with each successive story, but—particularly with both her Karen Pirie and Tony Hill series—she always delivers a winner.

From vivid descriptions of place to crystal-clear depictions of her characters (appearances, motivations, foibles, moods, etc.), McDermid is a master at creating a setting and atmosphere that’s practically tangible… which never fails to draw me fully into the story, as it does, once more, in Still Life. This is a cracking-good yarn—smart as hell, cultured but edgy, and populated by a group of people who come across as very real. I enjoyed it immensely.

One final note: Still Life is the first book I’ve read which mentions COVID-19 (in a small way, since the majority of the story takes place right on the cusp of the worldwide pandemic, but still), and I’ve gotta say, living through it for the past 7+ months, now? McDermid’s inclusion of something so monumental—this unknowable entity that’s about to take over the fictional world, too—just feels right. 

~GlamKitty 

The Nesting, by C. J. Cooke (REVIEW) -- Suspenseful, horrific, and thrilling, with a face in the fjord, and spirits in the snow

A troubled young woman—fresh from trying (and failing) to end it all—finds new life with a grieving family that’s still trying to come to terms with their own sorrow after the loss of their young matriarch, in the picturesque wilds of rural Norway… that’s the bare-bones premise of C.J. Cooke’s latest thriller, The Nesting. 

Better, though, to add that it’s a gothic horror, eco-thriller, psychological suspense, and supernatural fairy tale, by turns… lest you’re tempted to write it off as a sappy romance (which it most definitely is not).

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Lexi Ellis hasn’t had what you’d call a great life, but things have gotten progressively worse, of late, and—on the heels of a botched suicide attempt—having her boyfriend of several years suddenly decide to end things is one more straw than she can handle.

No, make that almost one more straw; the last straw is that he also expects her—now jobless and still recovering mentally and physically—to also move out of his apartment… within the week. 

It can only be serendipity that finds her penniless, lugging a knapsack with her meager belongings around London, riding aimlessly on the train… and eavesdropping on a pair of posh contemporaries sitting in front of her, as they discuss a job opportunity one of them has applied for—a nanny position for a widowed architect, who’s in the process of building a show-stopping summer house for himself and his two young daughters in rural Norway.

Unbeknownst to either of the women, Lexi is paying rapt attention to every word… and covertly snapping screen shots of the filled-out application the woman is showing her friend.

With a little luck—and no small amount of subterfuge—Lexi lands the job… as “Sophie” (the girl on the train). And, in short order, she’s leaving her troubles behind… jetting off to beautiful Norway, and being driven to the remote north, where the land is rugged, fjords are many, and other people are few.

Once she arrives, though, she quickly realizes she’s in way over her head, in a household that expects her to teach a six-year-old and an infant in the Montessori style, and follow a learning-and-activities chart for every waking hour of their day.

Still, she’s made her bed… and gradually, she not only gets a handle on what she’s doing, but she starts to enjoy it. She plays outside in a veritable winter wonderland with the children, discovers how to educate them inside… and finds herself falling in love with them a little more every day.

When she learns why her job exists—the little girls’ mother killed herself, throwing herself off a cliff into the icy fjord—and strange, even dangerous, things start happening—hallucinations? evil spirits?—Lexi realizes the frozen land that has been her savior might also be her downfall, for there’s something very dark going on in that mystical land of white.

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The Nesting, as I said earlier, has many notes. There are classic gothic overtones, with the suicide and the moody, dramatic locale. It’s an eco-thriller, espousing the need to be environmentally aware and to respect the earth around us… with obvious repercussions when we fall short. (Set in Norway—a country that perhaps more than any other embraces the concept of being one with the environment—such messages have an added gravitas, which rings true.)

Psychological suspense? Absolutely. And, the lovely Norse lore which is woven throughout brings in a surprising supernatural element.

With a POV that alternates between Lexi’s and the dead mother’s, The Nesting is a lyrical story that takes its time in the telling (and the unraveling). Like the best fairy tales, it eventually reaches a most-satisfying ending… but only after thoroughly putting its protagonists through the ringer. And who, really, doesn’t want that?

~GlamKitty

Detecting in Amsterdam: a Case of Synchronicity Led to My Recent Binge Watches ("TV Tuesday")

Synchronicity: an apparently meaningful coincidence in time of two or more similar or identical events that are causally unrelated.

Soooooo… pretty sure it wasn’t because I did some search for “cool shows set in Amsterdam” (because I definitely didn’t), but the fact remains, nontheless, that I found myself watching, back-to-back, two different series set… in Amsterdam. 

Anywho, I'm going with "synchronicity is totally a thing", mkay? (The fact that there's also a totally-legit The Police tie-in, here? I mean, just kill me now.)

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The series about the quasi-retired French detective, on holiday with his wife in Amsterdam? Yeah, Baptiste was a no-brainer for me, because I found both seasons of The Missing riveting (My review of the first of that series’ two seasons can be found here.)

Baptiste, let me say, is definitely best appreciated after watching both seasons of The Missing, because—while it certainly stands on its own, just fine—there’s so much added depth, when viewed via the lenses of experience and time

Julien Baptiste fascinates me, with his  calm presence, and almost (but not quite) soporific way of speaking; were I a suspect, it wouldn’t surprise me if that man could get me to admit to ANYthing. 

He's also insightful and patient, but never entirely… because there are plenty of times when he zips off (always in his station wagon, lol) to wherever, to confront or investigate someone, without fully thinking out the consequences of his actions. (That he survived a brain tumor--and is keenly aware he will never again be quite the man he used to be--adds an extra bit of interest.) 

In Baptiste, his focus—when a long-ago (pre-wife days, here) ex-girlfriend-cop asks for his help—is on finding an Englishman’s niece, who's gone missing in Amsterdam. The fact that the girl is a drug addict strikes an extra chord in Julien, because his own daughter (and thus, he and his wife) has/have also struggled with addiction and its repercussions.

But, when Julien actually succeeds in finding the girl—who has drifted into (legal, because Amsterdam) life as a sex worker, to fund her habit—things take a very hard right (or maybe left) turn… and suddenly, nothing Julien has been told about the case, from either the police or the girl’s uncle, rings true.

To say more would be to give away hints of where this multi-layered story goes (which you should already know I’m not about to do), so let’s just leave it at this: Baptiste is a more-than-worthy successor to The Missing, and did NOT leave me disappointed. (And the turns from Tchécky Karyo, in the title role; Tom Hollander [long a secret crush/favorite of mine!], as the uncle; and Jessica Raine, as the Europol officer with a whole lotta baggage, are really, really good.)

~ * ~ *~

Immediately on the heels of that, I landed on Van der Valk—technically a British (and more about that, in a minute) production about a detective in Amsterdam, one Piet Van der Valk. (Do all shows about Dutch police use the last name of one of the detectives in the title..? My inquiring mind wants to know, now...)

Google tells me that this is actually a continuing (after a substantial absence) series, with a new fellow—Marc Warren— taking the reins in what I’m assuming is a reboot. 

Van der Valk concerns an Amsterdam police squad, of which Piet is a lead detective with his own merry crew: Lucienne, the smart/tough/cool lesbian second (and seemingly the closest thing to a BFF that Piet has); Brad de Vries, the cheeky-but-also-kinda-slimy everyman detective; Henrik, the louche (and imminently likable) pathologist; and Job Cloovers, the delightfully-brainy(-but-somewhat-clueless) new protégé, all tasked with solving Amsterdam's homicide cases. 

Those cases (on Amazon, at least, they’re split into two 45-minute eps) feel complete after each has been solved, but there’s always something that leaches over into the next case (or cases)… which I enjoy (because that’s How Life Is, innit?).  

While there’s nothing particularly earth-shattering or new here, the locale—beautiful Amsterdam (which, seriously, after these two series, I suddenly reeeeeally want to visit, someday)—and the compelling characters, have me hooked. Van der Valk is a slick yet believable study which feels modern and realistic, and is easy to watch.

The only (slightly) off-putting thing about this one, for me, is that it feels a bit odd having everyone speaking English, rather than listening to them in their native language, and reading a translation. (I'm a purist, and LOVE getting to hear the sounds and cadence of other languages. Give me a foreign language and subtitles, any day... but of course, YMMV on that.)

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Anyway, maybe I’ll look hard to find something not in Amsterdam for my next binge-watch? Then again, maybe I won’t... ;)

~GlamKitty

It Turns Out, Watching Movies is a Little Bit Different in 2020... (Movie Monday)

Maybe it was because the last movie I streamed was so very, very grim—which, under normal circumstances, I don’t find to be a bad thing, but… oh hey, 2020, you’re still here?!?—or perhaps it was just a mood, but I can’t deny getting loads more pleasure from the fluffy YA piece I watched last night, than from the much-lauded, layered work (from a brilliant writer, no less!) a couple nights before.

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After being wowed by Charlie Kaufman’s I’m Thinking of Ending Things a couple of weeks ago, I was really looking forward to his first directorial piece (which somehow flew under my radar back when), 2008’s Synecdoche, New York. 

It seemed like a safe bet: Kaufman always writes these thought-provoking, mind-bending scripts that are unquestionably his; he’d gathered an impressive cast (including the late Philip Seymour Hoffman, along with Catherine Keener, Samantha Morton, Emily Watson, Michelle Williams, Hope Davis, Tom Noonan, and Dianne Wiest); and the premise of a going-nowhere small-theater director making a mid-life sea change by moving to New York City to live out his brainchild—creating a sort of cinéma vérité play—was intriguing. 

Billed as a comedy-drama, I had a hard time sifting any humor from Synecdoche, though, and most of the time it just felt like a slog, as one bad thing after another happened to Hoffman’s character. A failed career. Having his wife and daughter leave him. Another failed relationship. A less-than-therapeutic therapist. Mystery ailments. And all within the confines of the production which was his later-life’s work/obsession: actors living out their lives (along with his, since he also hired actors to portray him and his family), in a huge mock-up set of NYC, itself. 

Not that his “big production” went any better than the rest of his life, because after (untold) decades, they had yet to show it to an audience; his play remained—like his life—something that just dragged on and on… dismally, depressingly, with only more bumps in the road, never any successes.

Me? I just needed to see an inkling of light at the end of his very, very dark tunnel… but alas, there was none to be had. (I mean, my big takeaway was, “Life is shit, and then you die”, so… for whether it’s down to my being influenced by the godawful-life-suck that is 2020 or some deeper message just not hitting me, this was not a win.)

Doing a sharp 180 from that a couple of days later, I went with the considerably-cheerier Enola Holmes.

Will Enola (based on a Young Adult book series, which I haven’t read) win any prizes or great critical acclaim (aside from Millie Bobby Brown’s delightfully-cheeky/smart turn as the young Miss Homes)? Doubtful. Is it predictable, once you understand what’s going on? Absolutely. (Enola, raised by her mother to be a strong, independent young woman with a mind of her own [after her brothers have gone off to live their lives], suddenly finds herself alone… her mother apparently having run off to somewhere, leaving Enola with a mystery worthy of her now-famous elder brother, to solve. Clearly, she will do so… with numerous adventures and scrapes along the way!) 

But, with its timely topics (equality for females, the fact that no one should be bound by “traditional” roles, etc), neat spin on the whole Sherlock Holmes story (Enola being his MUCH-younger sister, and the obvious focus of this flick), and cleverly breaking the fourth wall (Enola looks at/talks to the camera A LOT, to great effect), it’s a fun little romp in Merry Olde England, that left me, at least, happily satisfied.

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Bottom line: how you feel about a movie—like any piece of art—is a purely subjective matter, dependent on your current mood and mindset. Viewed now, during so much uncertainty, though, I’m giving a nod to Enola Holmes for providing some pleasant escapist fare… and recommending Synecdoche, New York be put off until the world, in general, gets better.

~GlamKitty