I was so upset by the second part of Bridgerton Season 3 that I didn’t even want to review it. What was a great build up in Part 1, just ended in utter chaos and dissatisfaction. An attempt at far too much with little payoff, and an ending that felt frayed in a distressing way.

By episode eight, I was almost glad for the season to be over. I had such high hopes, but the totally fumbled the endgame. Was this going to happen every time? Were we doomed to experience the highest of highs, and then a terrible crash with each new season?

Thankfully — with a careful heart and the patience to wait for both parts — Season 4 revived my hope in the series. Stripped back and contained, if a little winding, it refocuses on what matters most. Love. And not just romantic love, but all the love that surrounds us as people.

Bridgerton works best when it inclines less towards society (both at large and in the Regency sense) and more towards the connections between people. It was so focused on the scandal and the intricacies of Lady Whistledown in Season 3, that it loosened its focus on people; on human connection. Be it in joy, in grief, or even in the face of sacrifice.

Yerin Ha and Luke Thompson as the leads, Sophie Baek and Benedict Bridgerton, craft the sort of chemistry that’s hard to replicate. They carry the story so much that I felt it whenever they weren’t on screen, as I was eager to learn more about them individually and as a couple.

The relationship between them is a retelling of the classic Cinderella trope, but it’s also so much more. While understanding the divide between them, they can also see each other for who they truly are, which makes their love hard to fault. There’s an unwavering certainty that makes their story swoon worthy, even in the difficulties they have to endure to be together.

It’s why Episode 3 stands out. The chance for the pair to be together, away from society, at My Cottage, made it apparent why they’re so compelling as a couple and as individual characters. The push and pull of their magnetism felt hard to step away from, which was great to experience in some cinematographic choices as well. The voyeurism of the long shots when one of them is watching the other (often without noticing), or looking at each other from different sides of the same room, felt like we were yearning right along with them. And when they are together, the camera sits close — an electric collision between two people in love, unable to care for the outside world.

In exploring the life of the lower class through Sophie, Bridgerton also broadens its in-universe world. There’s life (almost literally) under the ton’s feet, and “the help” become less silent servants and more characters in their own right, able to have independent voices and deep connections. The clear divide between the classes puts into perspective the privilege the Bridgerton family are afforded, but also blurs it. The familial and platonic connections that they have show us how it’s their best asset, and it’s what makes them so compelling to watch. It also makes the biting performance from Katie Leung as Araminta Gun, Sophie’s stepmother, so delightfully jarring.

I do really like the more ostentatious styling; which is among the few things that Season 3 did right. It brings visual appeal when necessary, so when the shiny dresses and colourful ballrooms are toned down in certain scenes, it’s almost a sigh of relief.

Unfortunately, even though I love the surrounding relationships in the show, they were also my main strife with the season. I appreciate that they all had connecting points to the main story, but the subplots somehow lacked conviction while also feeling far too drawn out — all of them could have done with a little condensing.

Some of them seemed to eat into time that could’ve been better afforded to Sophie and Benedict, to further explore their relationship. The parallel lines playing out were fun at times, but also tedious to go through when there there was so much on the line. Eloise’s arc was a tired rehash of seasons past, with some minor improvements in her growth. Francesca’s story in particular, while important, felt more like it was a heavy preamble for her season, even to the point of sidelining Benedict’s personal growth. All of which may be necessary in the big picture, but still a detriment to this particular narrative.

Ultimately, Season 4 stands out as one of the best since Season 2. It’s emotional, expansive, and so enjoyable to watch. Letting the relationships drive the show, with society as its backdrop, is where it thrives, instead of the other way around.

So, as a viewer and a fan, I’m glad that Bridgerton is picking itself up again. In opposition to how I felt at the end of Season 3, I felt a yearning at the conclusion of this one — much like Sophie and Benedict did towards each other throughout their run. I was left wanting to see the main pair and their love just that little bit more. I was left excited for the future.

(Also, since this is also something of a mini review of the previous installment, Season 3 of Bridgerton gets a limp 3/10 from me.)

Season 4 of Bridgerton is now streaming on Netflix.

The post Bridgerton Season 4 Resparked My Hope in Love (And in the Show) appeared first on Goggler.

That also means it can get tiring. Of course, seeing the same beats and themes is hard to avoid, but with about 15 direct screen adaptations of Sherlock Holmes since 2010, finding something fresh is difficult. How do you add another aspect to a widely beloved character? How do you continue to explore a dynamic as popular as Holmes and Watson?

High Potential does all of that and more. Based on the French-Belgian show HPI, it follows a cleaning lady who becomes a consultant to the LAPD due to her high IQ, analytical skills, and wide breadth of knowledge. Funny and heartfelt, High Potential is the kind of procedural that delivers more than it promises, using its format to weave an engaging, deep story without minimizing the crimes that surround it.

It also happens to have the best iteration of Sherlock Holmes in at least the last two decades.

The Sherlock Holmes of It All

Of course, there’s a reason why there are so many versions of this character. Sherlock Holmes is one of the first fictional detectives of his kind. Conan Doyle pretty much set up the trope for every detective that followed. Since his first appearance in 1887, Sherlock Holmes has gathered a following that has become the basis for superfandoms today.

His “brilliant-but-damaged” persona lends the perfect thing to latch onto in stories, a hook that adds to his charisma and depth, and stops him from becoming a “Gary Stu,” but still lends to his competency in his adventures. “He’s a genius, therefore he’s a bit strange,” as Mark Gatiss, co-creator of BBC’s Sherlock series, explains, becoming a force that works beside the main lines of justice due to his abilities.

Most adaptations follow this general characterization, as in the aforementioned BBC series, Robert Downey Jr. movies, or Elementary. Sherlock is a genius, but he’s socially inept. Often rude and struggling with his own issues, but continuously able to get down to the root of the mysteries he’s faced with.

In High Potential, Morgan Gillory (played by Kaitlin Olsen, best known for It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia) is the Sherlock character modified and made better. Of course, with an IQ of 160, she’s supremely intelligent, with a hyperfocused brain that’s a perfect asset to the major crimes department. She’s not a detective, though. Far from it. She gets her job at LAPD by happenstance after tampering with a crime board that she had access to only because she’s the cleaning lady.

Instead of being a functioning sociopath like most Holmesian characters, she’s deeply empathetic and kind. In nearly every episode, she shows a level of care for victims and their families that is direct and humanizing, using her power and abilities to help them because she wants the best for everyone. She can be abrasive and blunt, but ultimately, the coldness is replaced with a fun, almost quirky personality. And arguably, it makes her more interesting, and a clever way to reframe old tricks and explore things with a new lens.

Holmes-Watson Contemporaries

Sherlock is nothing without John Watson. The connection between the two (whether perceived as platonic or romantic) is in part why Holmes has stood the test of time, having a narrative foil and a confidant that steadies him. In fact, this parable is probably more directly adapted to the screen compared to the characters themselves. Shows like Bones, The Mentalist, and Castle (all three were airing around the same time, interestingly) depict the dynamic in their own way, but keep the “hot and cold” core of it steady.

Adam Karadec (Daniel Sunjata) is the lead detective of major crimes and Morgan’s Watson. The classic dynamic is twisted on its head with this duo — the detached, calculated character is Karadec, while the emotional, humanistic one is Morgan. They butt heads, especially in the beginning, with Karadec seeing Morgan’s lack of respect for authority as a hindrance. She’s much louder than him too, which takes him aback. In fact, rather than being socially inept, Morgan thrives with people and her connections, has three children, and ends up befriending some of the detectives in the police station. Often, she gets relevant information for cases by talking to ordinary people around the cases. So it’s not only her brilliance that makes her a good consultant, but also her humanity.

From London to Los Angeles and Beyond

All the major and minor inspirations High Potential takes from the British detective only emphasize how its differences make it better.

The gender switch plays into this especially. Sherlock Holmes was a man of privilege and class in Victorian England, which gave him the mobility to live a “bohemian” lifestyle outside social conventions. Morgan grounds the character type by being a working class single mom who, while aware of her abilities, has had it be more of a hindrance all her life until she gets hired by the LAPD. Because she didn’t colour inside the lines, she was vilified and didn’t get chances to show her potential, which is much more realistic, especially for modern audiences.

Morgan even visually contrasts with many Sherlock characters (as well as other characters in her show). Her eccentricities come out in her personality, of course, but they also show in her bright outfits, short skirts, and snazzy patterns, creating a different kind of image, not only for a Holmes iteration but also for a motherly character. She’s allowed to express herself loudly and unapologetically, which is a welcome change.

As a whole, High Potential injects something fresh into the already crowded “genius consultant” story. Morgan Gilloroy mixes the logical with heart; the order with chaos. Instead of making this about how opposing forces create friction, they work in parallel and almost blur the difference, turning its Sherlock Holmes character into a modern, maybe more believable figure. So, yes, undoubtedly the best version of it we’ve seen in a long while.

You can watch High Potential on Disney+.

The post High Potential Is the Best Version of Sherlock Holmes appeared first on Goggler.

Don’t get me wrong. Welcome to Derry is decent and Andy Muschietti, who helmed both It and It Chapter 2, has proven credentials. Plus, considering how King’s novel, published in 1986, has so extensively saturated the popular imagination for four decades, it would’ve been challenging for anyone to find fresh ideas about the story of a small, all-American town in Maine that gets terrorized every 27 years by a child-eating clown.

So rather than reinvent the wheel, Muschietti turns the wheel backwards. There’s a new group of Losers now, with Will Hanlon and his friends. This group’s got better gender representation (the girls outnumber the boys) and more ethnic diversity than the original gang. And where the parents of the OG Losers were either dead or deadbeats, there’s more active family involvement now. Including the grown-ups opened the story in interesting ways, giving us shady military conspiracies, the ugliness of racism, but also warmth and love. 

Yet for all that, watching Welcome to Derry, just felt… tame. Even though Muschietti was clearly determined to cram in as many oblique references and Easter Eggs as possible to connect the series with the sprawling macro-verse of King’s lore. Right up to the finale’s reveal of the timeslip plot device that explains the current generation’s connection to the original Losers. I guess if too many cooks spoil the broth, too many ingredients will do that, too. 

The result of so many competing plot points is tonal whiplash. The constant jumping from the kids, to the adults, and then back again, lacked cohesion. The multi-stranded storylines could’ve worked brilliantly. But it felt like Muschietti himself wasn’t quite sure what to aim for. So without a cohesive tonal glue, when the scares came, they weren’t fully committed. Every time the kids were in peril, the cheap CGI monsters and disguises that Pennywise conjures up, looked like they came straight out of Goosebumps or Hocus Pocus. Never did I imagine Pennywise looking lame.

And yet individually, each plot ingredient works. The most powerful was the African-American struggle for acceptance in a very white town, during the explosive years of Jim Crow and the Civil Rights movement. The tragedy is, even here, the series offers little that’s actually original. That the casual racism of Derry’s white townsfolk metastasises into something far more monstrous than Pennywise is expected. And after Sinners, even the horrific racial violence at the Black Spot club seems like it’s been done before. 

Still, there are good things, too. What impressed me was that the series actually had the cojones to kill children. I know that sounds redundant when there’s a child-devouring primordial entity like Pennywise roaming the sewers, but exceedingly few mainstream American TV shows actually kill kids. There’s this unspoken taboo. Kids can die, sure, but off-screen. And almost never when they’re the main characters. Killing off children is a good, if grim, marker that a TV series is serious.

This seriousness was established way back in the pilot episode. We thought we were watching the original Losers and then three out of five of them get slaughtered at the theatre. How many shows wipe out half their main characters in episode one? This was ballsy and showed real commitment to bloodshed. Plus, it was such great misdirection. Having the kids whose viewpoints we were most closely aligned with, mercilessly massacred, drove home that this was no kids’ show (goofy special effects aside). 

It might seem a strange place to shine, but Welcome to Derry excels not because its violence is gratuitous, but because it treats child death with nuanced respect. Children are going to die, and horrifically, because, well, it’s Pennywise. But they can be brave, and smart, and selfless. And they are honoured with heroism. The finale pays beautiful tribute to one fallen child and the lifelong power his friendship will leave on the Losers and their community. That alone made the entire show worth sticking through.

All episodes of It: Welcome to Derry is now streaming on HBO Max.

The post It: Welcome to Derry Finds New Angles on a Familiar Fear appeared first on Goggler.

Now, those on the right would probably decry as alarmist and “woke” any comparison between today’s America with Gilead, the ultraconservative, theocratic regime in the series. True, Trump hasn’t (yet) signed any Executive Orders criminalising reading or outlawing women from working. But the news headlines from America these days sound frighteningly similar to the horrors that the Hulu series imagined across its six seasons.

I’ve got receipts. So here are just a few examples of how America is swinging perilously towards Gilead. 

Project 2025: Initially, when Trump was running for office the second time, he disavowed any connection to Project 2025, which was a call to action that was drafted by the right-wing Heritage Foundation. One of its aims was to restore the traditional, nuclear family as the cherished ideal for American life. This means promoting “healthy marriages” which, by definition, excludes, even delegitimises, other family structures like single and same-sex parents. 

Project 2025 reads like a blueprint Gilead’s Commanders would’ve used to justify overthrowing a democratically elected government. Just as Trump’s been busy dismantling and discrediting every government arm. Still, the blame doesn’t all fall on him. The novel and series show how the collapse of liberal democracy comes with the general population growing so apathetic that they’d support burning the current system down. Considering how Trump won the popular vote in 2024, at least half the population want his vision of America.

Zombie Pregnancy: One of the most morbid events from Season 3 of The Handmaid’s Tale was when the black handmaid, Natalie, gets shot. The only reason she receives any medical attention is because she’s pregnant. Though Natalie is braindead, she’s still a “holy vessel,” so she’s kept alive until the baby’s full term.

Earlier this year, Adriana Smith, an African-American woman from Georgia, was declared brain-dead at nine weeks pregnant. Under Georgia’s LIFE Act, Adriana was kept on life support against her family’s will. Like Natalie, Adriana was only allowed by the state to die once she’d served her biological destiny of giving birth. 

The Tradwife: Remember when Trump promised that he’d protect women, “whether they liked it or not?” Well, Aunty Lydia did say that there are two kinds of freedoms: “freedom to and freedom from.” What Gilead and Trump would offer women is freedom from – everything, it seems. Take the Hulu series’ most fascinating character, Serena Joy/Waterford/Wharton. Pre-Gilead, Serena controversially championed domestic feminism. She genuinely believed that by embracing traditional values and taking their place in the home, women could save the world. 

Serena got everything she wanted, and became as much the oppressor as the oppressed. In a stroke of brilliance, the series made Serena young, unlike her original book incarnation. But would any young, modern woman really want these things? Well, take influencer Estee Williams, who went viral on TikTok for showcasing 1950s-style traditional homemaking as an aspirational choice. The tradwife is a reactionary countermeasure to the perceived threats posed to the family and society by career-driven women.

While Season 6 of The Handmaid’s Tale often felt more like a filler season for the upcoming spinoff The Testaments, the final season returns at a critical time. June Osborne/Offred reminds us that only by fighting the good fight, even in the bleakest of times, can freedom survive and win. Before Trump, I thought that Atwood was overly optimistic in her belief that oppressive tyrannies must fall. But Atwood partly wrote her novel while living in West Berlin. Just four years after the book was published in 1985, the Berlin Wall fell. So there’s hope for America’s recovery.

Atwood’s prescience comes by reading the past. She famously said that nothing in The Handmaid’s Tale didn’t happen to someone, somewhere, in history. The novel and TV series so accurately foresaw today’s political environment in the West because Atwood keeps her eyes open. As June says, “I was asleep before. That’s how we let it happen.” The only way to prevent the rise of ultraconservative extremism is to be politically awake. Sleep, and we might soon find ourselves under His eye.

All seasons of The Handmaid’s Tale are now streaming HBO Max.

The post The Handmaid’s Tale Is Prescient Because It Understands the Past appeared first on Goggler.

I was a gymnast all throughout my childhood, right up until my last years in high school. I used to train where the gymnasts in the show trained. I was training at the same level that theses characters were. And while I was a part of the sister sport, rhythmic gymnastics, instead, it still felt like I had a lot of personal attachment to this series.

The world of gymnastics is complicated and harsh, and it was a real issue for me whenever people underestimated it. Gymnastics is often used as a gimmick. A talking point. Barely taken seriously.

Which is why, even though I was enthusiastic about watching the series, I came to it with a critical eye. I expected something soapy. I expected something that would leave me cringing. 

Generasi: Perfect 10 blew my expectations out the water.

As a TV show, it builds up wonderfully. A mountain climb of a narrative that just gets more intense with each episode, unraveling different aspects of these character’s lives and psyches, before eventually hitting a breaking point by the last two episodes. It’s a hard watch at times, but never hard enough that I ever wanted to stop. The realism here is heightened with dramatic flair, reinforcing that notion of how life can sometimes be stranger than fiction.

The first half of the last episode in particular is wonderful and worthy of a whole star by itself. A metaphorical tensing, and then sigh of relief, that leads to a slightly unsatisfying end for some characters, but one that makes total narrative sense. 

Exaggeration may be typical in the world of film and TV, but some scenes were so close to my own experience, that they felt both vindicating and anxiety-inducing at the same time. Generasi: Perfect 10 felt like a look into a real gymnast’s experiences, right down to the all too familiar public comments about decency, and often disheartening view of the sport that even those closest to the athlete refuse to understand.

The story hits those universal coming-of-age themes, but it also explores genuine issues that plague the gymnastics world – like abuse disguised as discipline – all wrapped up in complicated, layered arcs and led by characters that you love, hate to love, and love to hate. By the end, there’s only really one character that is truly antagonistic, and they’re really a symbol of the larger problem of exploiting young women and their dreams.

There’s a very real care and craft that was put into the making of Generasi: Perfect 10. Showrunner Nas Addina seemed to cradle much of show — she helped write the story and script, alongside creating it — and her passion shines through. Knowing how young she is, it’s exciting to see what else she comes up with, and her potential growth from something like this.

That’s nothing to say about how the collective cast was a joy to watch onscreen. Arena Wan heads the show as Ezrina “Ezie” Riyad Azfar, and she has a leading woman quality that’s subtle in the best possible way, growing in confidence just like the show does. Coach Sue (Sofia Jane) and Nazma (Sherie Merlis) were also standouts as the yin and yang of Ezie’s maternal figures in the show.

My personal favourite performance though, was Ellyza Azizi as Ezie’s best friend Amal with her Terengganu dialect and cheery disposition that leads into heartbreaking depth. (Definitely one of the only characters in the show you can root for the whole time…)

Now when I talk about Generasi: Perfect 10 as a mountain of a narrative, I mean it. It’s an uphill climb, with an exposition-filled episode one that’s difficult to jump into, but ultimately worth it. It feels like the narrative build up there could’ve been shortened, and there were some choices that felt slightly weird too. 

The addition of actual legendary Malaysian gymnast Farah Ann Abdul Hadi as an in-universe character is understandble, but also made it hard to suspend disbelief in some parts, especially when she eventually appears in the show. 

The rest of the hang ups I have are a bit more personal, definitely nitpicky, so take these with a pinch of salt. But a lot of the action of the actual gymnastics can come off wonky, with body doubles and angles that try their best to match the actresses, but comes off awkward. The makeup and hair could also be overdone in some instances, especially in the school scenes, where it looked a lot less natural than it should have been, which didn’t help selling some of the action.

That said, Generasi: Perfect 10 is a passionately made, painfully realistic depiction of the life of artistic gymnasts in Malaysia. It’s a coming-of-age story that’s filled to the brim with layered characters and arcs, led by a great majority female ensemble. A high recommended watch from me. It most definitely has this ex-gymnast’s stamp of approval!

Generasi: Perfect 10 is now showing on Astro via On Demand and Astro GO.

The post Watching Generasi: Perfect 10 as an Ex-Gymnast Triggered and Healed Me appeared first on Goggler.

Based on a popular YA book series by Holly Jackson, A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder (henceforth AGGGTM because it’s a mouthful) reaches much further and asks questions that affect more than the main characters. That is, in part, because it’s a mystery thriller show first, but the ages and transitional period that the main characters are in are a big proponent that makes it feel like a coming-of-age story as well.

Pointedly, one of the main questions Pip (played by Emma Myers) has to struggle with is whether she’s fundamentally a good person or not, and that in itself was pleasantly surprising to see.

It fits in with the plot pretty seamlessly, too, since the show focuses on Pip trying to solve the murder of a local golden girl, Andie Bell, that happened five years prior. It was initially done to fulfill her EPQ (Extended Project Qualification, essentially her final year project), but it quickly devolves into something more complicated and related to her own grievances.

In six episodes, AGGGTM does a great job of framing the complex questions of how morality and relationships can coexist realistically. It feels a lot more mature in tone compared to the typical Netflix teen-focused shows, definitely less cheesy and more thoughtful, and grounded in a way that’s still entertaining. (That’s probably in part because it was produced and shown on the BBC in the U.K.)

It confronts real life biases and assumptions (like racism and sexism) in a nuanced way. It doesn’t take over the plot, but it’s still a point of contention that makes sense because the assumed killer and boyfriend of the victim, Sal Singh, was an Indian boy in a predominantly white town. 

AGGGTM is a really, really easy watch. It has points of excitement, tension, and adventure that keep the plot moving. With an average of 45 minutes per episode, it’s also a nice weekend watch to indulge in; or a one day, one shot watch if you’re like me.

Surprisingly, one of my personal favourite things about this series is that it’s so refreshingly British. Something that shouldn’t be as rare as it is, but when its peers and predecessors are either aggressively American or Americanized in a significant way (see: Sex Education or XO, Kitty), it’s nice to see how AGGTM is explicitly faithful to its setting. 

The town of Little Kilton is quaint and has so many genuine markers of the culture that it lends itself to a kind of relatability. There’s no turning it into a grand, unrealistic place where teens have parties every other night. Pip and her friends have to deal with their A-Levels exams and focus on university applications. Ravi (played by Zain Iqbal) has to work in a pub after he’s forced to drop out of school due to the fallout of his brother’s death. 

The cast is also part of the reason it avoids the Netflix teen show dilemma. All the actors deliver excellent, realistic portrayals of their characters in their respective situations. Emma Myers, in particular, leads the show with an understated energy that is a far cry from her more popular Netflix role as Enid Sinclair in Wednesday. She does a wonderful job of showing how Pip changes from a “good girl” into someone willing to push boundaries to get answers. 

She does, however, have a questionable British accent at some points. As the only American in the cast, it becomes blatantly obvious when her natural accent starts to slip out. She might have been able to get away with it in other productions, but when everyone around her was talking in their native accent, it’s hard to ignore.

Devastatingly, the thing that makes AGGGTM an easy watch — the meager six-episode run — is also part of its biggest letdowns. Even an extra two episodes could have created a better flow in the show, maybe giving more time towards developing the Singh family, or other underutilized characters in the cast. Some threads felt like they were either wrapped up too quickly, or were nothing more than an afterthought. 

Apparently, book fans have issues with many plot points being left out of the show, too. While I understand the need to cut the bloated parts of a book to fit into the medium of film and TV, the extra content could have helped create a better show overall. 

Now, with Season 2 on its way, I hope the show gets even better coverage and popularity. It’s a genuine step up in quality from what you can usually expect in the genre and on the platform, and I think more teen-focused media should have this realistic aspect to it.

A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder is streaming on Netflix.

The post A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder (And Morality): A Short and Sweet Season 1 appeared first on Goggler.

Many fans swore to boycott the series after Henry Cavill laid down his medallions and sword and Liam Hemsworth picked them up. The loss of Cavill was painful; he embodied Geralt. But I was determined to watch Season 4 without prejudice. After all, it wasn’t Hemsworth’s fault. Someone had to fill Geralt’s boots. And once you get over the uncanny valley effect of seeing another face under the White Wolf’s wig, the change was easy to accept. 

Hemsworth said in interviews that he didn’t want to copy what was done before but find his own way with Geralt. I respect that. Hemsworth’s Geralt is lighter than Cavill’s in all aspects. Hemsworth’s sleeker build means he’s lighter on his feet during fight scenes compared to Cavill’s bulky physicality. And where Cavill’s Butcher of Blaviken was darkly brooding, Hemsworth’s is softer. After everything he’s been through, this change was a natural emotional progression for Geralt. 

Like the Witcher himself, Season 4 was much lighter. The convoluted political intricacies and diplomatic relations of the Continent that so entangled previous seasons were trimmed. Season 4 harked back to Season 1 by splitting Geralt, Ciri, and Yennefer, and giving each their own storylines. Geralt finds himself with an unexpected collection of friends and foes, old and new. There’s a wholesomeness to Geralt now as, together with his gang, the Hanza, he faces a different monster-of-the-week in each episode.

Ciri’s storyline, meanwhile, was so boring it hurt. Assuming the alias Falka, Ciri joins a band of thieves called the Rats. The Rats were paper-thin (I barely remember their names), the actors’ performances were middling, and their Ocean’s heists were lame. The relationship between Ciri and Mistle, insidiously exploitative in the books, was sanitised into a saccharine, made-for-TV romance. While the Rats sank Ciri’s storyline, we can thank bounty hunter Leo Bonhart for doing some much-needed pest control in the finale. 

But it was in Yennefer’s storyline where the failures of the writers were most glaring. This storyline had explosive potential: Yennefer must lead the surviving sorceresses against Vilgefortz and his army at Montecalvo. Instead, we get a montage of the sorceresses training that looked like Sky High; except Sky High was fun. Worse, the rich relationships between characters that had been built over the past seasons were glossed over. 

Why bring back Francesca, with all her pain and rage, only for her to play a supporting part? Why include the other witchers like Vesemir, Coen, and Lambert, only for them to be background fodder at the battle of Montecalvo? Why not mine the emotional depths in the relationships Yennefer has with Vesemir, Francesca, even Triss? We know the writers aren’t incompetent with exploring emotional relationships – they developed Cahir and Geralt’s bond. The sloppy handling of characters here exposes the inconsistent storytelling that continues to hobble the series.

Then take the fifth episode of Season 4, “The Joy of Cooking.” Here, Geralt’s Hanza sit around a campfire, cooking and sharing personal stories. Their flashbacks are told through musicals and animation. For taking a creative risk, I applaud Hissrich’s team. This resembled those special episodes the CW did. Except that the CW’s specials were coherent wholes. “The Joy of Cooking,” while trying to be joyous, ends up being a potluck of styles and genres whose separate ingredients don’t quite gel organically. 

For those who refused to watch Season 4 because of the casting change, Liam’s performance is decent, as is Season 4 on the whole. In some ways, it’s even an improvement. But decent isn’t enough to justify what Netflix spends on the franchise. (Debuting very quietly alongside Season 4 was the newest spin-off, The Rats: A Witcher Tale. Wasn’t an entire season with them more than enough?)

Hissrich would do better to focus her energies on improving The Witcher rather than spreading herself too thin with satellite projects. It’s a relief that Season 5 will be the last, although will anyone be left watching? Like its titular character, The Witcher continues limping. Unfortunately, unlike Geralt, the series doesn’t have a friendly vampire to heal its injuries.

Season 4 of The Witcher is now streaming on Netflix.

The post The Witcher, Season 4, Continues to Limp Towards a Middling End appeared first on Goggler.

I have now watched all of Season 3 and can sadly report that any hope I had is dead.

This third season begins after the Shibuya meteor disaster. Arisu has been adulting. He’s happily married to Usagi and works as a trauma counsellor for fellow Shibuya survivors. But the Borderland still wants them. Banda, the murderer who became a Borderland citizen, starts recruiting former players, including Usagi and Arisu, to return for more games. Season 3 had all the right cards to be thrilling and expansive. Instead, it dropped the ball in every way. 

Let’s start with the new characters. Besides Arisu and Usagi, none of the returning players were familiar faces. Sure it was disappointing not seeing Kuina or Chishiya, but even that didn’t bother me. The series could always effortlessly make you love any character, so I was looking forward to knowing the newcomers. Sadly, this time around, everyone felt paper-thin. It was only during the final game that the writers started trying to humanise these new characters with backstories. Which was way too late for anyone to care.

I was gutted during Season 1 when Arisu’s friends, Chota and Karube, died after just three episodes. Their deaths felt visceral. Season 3’s characters were so superficially sketched they bordered on anime stereotypes. Worse, they acted like rookies. As these players cleared all previous games, they should’ve been like the Victors returning to the Quarter Quell in Catching Fire. They should have been formidable opponents for Arisu and Usagi. Instead, they bumbled like entry-level employees getting inducted into the Borderland.

The games themselves were also just dull. The fact that the writers recycled games from the manga that didn’t make the cut in Season 1 explains why they felt so basic. It’s like the writers forgot that this is the Joker stage. Everything should have been wildly insane and extreme. The only game that felt worthy of the Joker was Sacred Fortunes. Having 100 million flaming arrows shot at Arisu for getting an answer wrong made me laugh. 

I love how the games during Seasons 1 and 2 were so exciting and absorbing. The stakes felt high. And once the citizens started playing during the Face Cards stage, they each brought their own unique worldview, and that made each game memorable. In contrast, Season 3’s games felt like inconveniences the writers were desperately rushing through so they could reach the ending and finally confront the true nature of the Joker. 

Season 2’s epic finale/twist/reveal of the meteor strike opened the possibility that the Joker is life itself. The Borderland offered Arisu and the others caught by the blast the chance to play for their lives. The final card left on the table (literally) was the Joker because life, with all its unpredictability, is the hardest game to play. Although Alice in Borderland is just one story in a long tradition of Japanese pop-culture that revolves around disaster, it offered a profound meditation on finding your will to live.

Unfortunately, Season 3 completely eviscerates everything the previous seasons had: the thrill of the games, emotionally rich characters, a deep philosophical mythos. They had a golden opportunity to expand the mythology of the Borderland and Joker. Instead, we got a Squid Game knockoff. It’s like the Alice in Borderland writers had a checklist for everything they could copy: pregnant player? Check. A baby competing? Check. Hinting the game goes to America? Checkmate. 

It’s understandable the Alice in Borderland team wanted to replicated Squid Game’s massive global success. The original series even premiered before Squid Game. So it can’t be easy coming second place to a competitor when you had the lead. Fans like me recognised the depth and excitement that made this one particularly special, superior even, to Squid Game. I’ve always told everyone and anyone who would listen that Alice in Borderland was the superior product. Now, thanks to Season 3, I can never say that again. 

Maybe that’s what disappoints me so deeply. It’s clear Season 3 was largely a cash grab that would coast off Squid Game’s popularity. This completely unnecessary season was a betrayal of the story, the characters, and the fans.

But hey, since everyone who escapes the Borderland forgets their experiences there, maybe I’ll eventually forget that this joke of a season ever existed.

All seasons of Alice in Borderland are now streaming on Netflix.

The post Alice in Borderland: An Utterly Unnecessary Season 3 appeared first on Goggler.

Last week, the romantic entanglement between Belly Conklin and the Fisher brothers finally came to an end. (Well, not quite — a movie has been announced!)

For those unfamiliar, yes, Belly found herself caught between two brothers, Conrad and Jeremiah. But we’ve seen this before, haven’t we? Immortal brothers Stefan and Damon could’ve fallen for anyone across centuries, yet somehow always ended up chasing the same women.

In all these stories, the love triangle has always been the crowd-puller, and the success of Jenny Han’s books, along with the series, proves that the trope has stood the test of time.

For me, what set this series apart was how much it brought back memories of those early-2000s shows, often so angsty, melodramatic, but still carefree in a way. From the very first scene, The Summer I Turned Pretty carried both the pang and the pleasure of nostalgia. Dawson’s Creek fans will know exactly what I mean — the seaside town, the messy prom scene, and of course, the Pacey versus Dawson debate.

Here, Team Conrad takes the win, and rightly so. The finale confirms that The Summer I Turned Pretty is ultimately a love story between two childhood friends, tied together with an invisible string. Some fans wondered if the show would stray from the books. Others speculated, with the way most shows or movies go these days, a scenario where love doesn’t end in happily-ever-after but in something more grounded in reality, that Belly might choose herself. Personally, I’m glad the show followed the original ending. First, I say let’s let love have its day. Second, don’t come at me Team Jeremiah, but sometimes first loves deserve their day.

Having author Jenny Han co-run the show ensured it stayed true to the books even while expanding storylines by weaving in plots around sexuality (arguably a more contemporary take) and giving side characters more depth. It’s important to note that this balance isn’t always guaranteed. Take House of the Dragon, which basically did the same thing, yet despite the author’s involvement, ended up alienating fans by straying from the spirit of its source material. Here, while Han breathed new life into her story, she did so without losing sight of its heart.

The finale, while flawed, still felt wholesome. That said, Season 3 more than deserves its lukewarm reception. The wedding plot was painful to sit through, and Belly easily felt like the most underwritten character compared to everyone else. At times it was like watching “The Summer I Turned Pretty… but Less Interesting than Everyone Else.” Taylor even got a lively subplot straight out of Gilmore Girls or Ginny & Georgia, while Belly all but faded into the background of her own story. It wasn’t until the very end that we finally caught a glimpse into her inner world.

This means that for much of the season, she felt more like a shadow of her former self. Given everything she’s been through, it’s not surprising for her to turn out this way and, to be fair, Season 2 had already delved into this. But Season 3 Belly came off dull for one too many episodes. Defined more by her boyfriend than her own dreams, it became hard to see why the Fisher brothers remained so captivated by her. Only in hindsight does it feel intentional.

As Taylor bluntly puts it, Belly was losing herself in Jeremiah, though it was more spelled out than shown. Some might argue the show hinted at this all along, but the truth is we saw other characters’ thought processes far more often and clearly than her own. The series would’ve fared much better if it had simply let us sit inside her head. What were her motivations, her confusion, her internal chaos?

By the time her Paris self-discovery arc arrived, it felt too little, too late. Still, this period of isolation mattered. Even if it began as an act of self-imposed exile rather than a journey of re-evaluation, at the end of the day, Belly needed to process her guilt. Granted, running away from your problem and towards Paris on a whim probably shouldn’t have even been an option. But if anything, it was oddly refreshing to see Belly step away from the Beach House, and even further away from the Fisher boys.

The last episode wove together multiple storylines but the heart of it all was Belly and Conrad, shown on European time, in what felt like a clear homage to Richard Linklater’s Before trilogy — the non-stop conversations spanning a single evening, the stolen glances and quick look aways (a nod to the listening booth scene), dancing to no music, and that raw, overdue conversation. What began a little awkwardly, ended on a high, complete with a chase scene that feels nearly obsolete in our hyperconnected era. It also didn’t hurt that everything was gorgeously shot and acted with such tenderness.

By the final scene though, what struck me most was how her lack of introspection does, in fact, reinforce the notion that she is, in many ways, an unreliable narrator. The stark contrast between her POV and Conrad’s made this even clearer. It’s now painfully obvious that her childhood crush was never one-sided — he had always seen her in the same light, long before the summer she turned pretty.

Some fans claim that this ending came at Jeremiah’s expense, even calling it character assassination. I disagree. If anyone is still wondering what would’ve happened had Belly chosen Jeremiah instead, the doomed wedding plot already gave us the answer. Everything leading up to it was the aftermath of both Belly and Jeremiah choosing the wrong person.

They were, in essence, best friends bound by grief. Conrad chose to suffer in silence, but Belly and Jeremiah leaned on each other instead. What started as comfort eventually grew into a codependent relationship, one where both — not just Belly — lost their sense of self. They were happy together, yes, but not good for each other. Belly could never be fully transparent with him, and kept trying to convince herself that because everything felt easy, Jeremiah must be the one. Meanwhile, Jeremiah would never be completely secure unless Conrad was out of the picture, except this was a reflection of his deep-rooted inferiority complex, not just in this particular romantic rivalry, but sadly, in almost everything else as well.

Truthfully, even if Belly had chosen Conrad first, there was no guarantee it would’ve worked out. What made the ending possible was each of them outgrowing their worst tendencies. And although I have no doubt Belly did love both brothers, in the end, it was Conrad who chose to pursue her. They’d once loved the idealised versions of each other but by the time he surprised her in Paris, they were both different people, that both seem to recognize. Their reunion wasn’t fate alone — it was timing, growth, and choice.

Because if there’s one thing the finale makes clear, it’s that love, by itself, was never enough. The writers clearly meant to frame Belly and Conrad as destined-to-be (all the Easter Eggs pointed in that direction), but the fact they finally came together as more mature, healed versions of themselves proves it took more than just destiny. For them to find their way back to each other, it took years, personal growth, and a conscious decision to choose one another. That’s what made it believable. A rom-com ending, but still anchored in something real.

While fans have often been harsh on both Conrad and Jeremiah depending on their individual affiliations, it’s really Belly who’s received the harshest criticism. Yet the finale reminds us that she’s still so young — only now, she’s a little wiser while figuring it all out. Watching her finally confront her insecurities, take accountability, forgive herself, and take a leap of faith with Conrad, somehow healed something in me too.

Now, while I wouldn’t have the ending any other way, this season did give me flashbacks to the last season of How I Met Your Mother. We sat through almost an entire season gearing up for Belly and Jeremiah’s wedding, only for the story to hit fast-forward in the final episodes and land her with Conrad. The difference here is that it feels a little more forgivable since we know the upcoming movie will likely give us more time with them. (But yes, I remain bitter about the HIMYM ending.)

With all its missteps, The Summer I Turned Pretty has still cemented itself as this generation’s defining love triangle saga — messy but addictive and impossible not to get pulled into. Of course, it’s also a teen soap, with moments so cringey (those group dance scenes…) I’d rather pretend they never happened. Still, I ate it all up. And honestly, I can’t wait to meet these characters again soon.

Perhaps we’ll finally see the letter Susannah wrote for Belly on her actual wedding day. Perhaps Jeremiah will find someone who brings out the best in him. Perhaps Adam will finally become the father he should’ve been all along. Perhaps we’ll just see more of Steven and Taylor. God knows I’d eat that up too. But most of all, perhaps we’ll finally see more of Belly and Conrad, together, in the present, simply happy.

The Summer I Turned Pretty is now streaming on Prime Video.

The post The Summer I Turned Pretty Gave First Love Its Day appeared first on Goggler.

SecUnit is a private security cyborg that hacks its governing module, freeing itself from its programming commands. Secretly nicknaming itself Murderbot, SecUnit could have gone amok, killing the humans who annoy it. Instead, SecUnit downloads soap operas and binges Sanctuary Moon. When researchers from PreservationAux bring SecUnit on their planet exploration mission, it must hide its newfound autonomy while protecting the humans whose frailty and stupidity keep interrupting its precious TV watching time.

Both the TV series and Wells’ novels have found widespread love among the neurodivergent community. And it’s no wonder. SecUnit is coded as non-neurotypical and asexual. It can read social cues, but experiences acute anxiety whenever it must interact with the humans under its care. It gets aggravated with small talk and struggles with the torture of making eye contact. But the best part is that SecUnit learns how to model its behaviour from the unlikeliest source: soap operas. 

As someone who teaches and writes about TV shows, what I adored most about SecUnit is its obsession with watching serials. For SecUnit, TV shows are deeply comforting. The stories of TV allow it to inhabit familiar worlds with characters who are almost friends, but without the pressure of having to actually interact with anyone. I loved when SecUnit observes the PreservationAux leader having a panic attack, and in a deeply tender moment, shares its favourite episode of Sanctuary Moon to calm her down. 

Now, most posthumans in fiction dream of becoming human or more human-like. They desire some indefinable, ineffable quality that somehow magically makes one human. Having their personhood acknowledged is passing the ultimate Turing test for them. We’ve seen this desire in iconic characters, from Data and the holographic doctor from the Star Trek franchise, to Robin Williams’ portrayal of Andrew Martin in Bicentennial Man, and David’s Pinocchio-like wish to become a “real boy” in A.I. Artificial Intelligence. 

SecUnit bypasses all this heavy philosophical lifting. It doesn’t care about becoming and being human. It doesn’t embark on a search for a Nirvana-like humanity that will transcend its programming and somehow grant its existence validity. SecUnit thinks humans suck. The people it knows are messy, clingy, sloppy, and die easily. SecUnit is happy being itself and by itself, watching Sanctury Moon. Part of the comedy is that SecUnit’s critical opinions of humanity are delivered by Alexander Skarsgård in a droll, dry voice.

Skarsgård has made a career of playing iconic men from literature, like Eric Northman from True Blood and Tarzan from, well, Tarzan. Like SecUnit, these characters present as physically human, but perpetually occupy positions on the margins of society. I find it interesting that all these characters Skarsgård plays, from a vampire, to a wild man, to a cyborg, have no desire to integrate into modern human society. They are happy as themselves and almost weary, even contemptuous, of being too human. That says a lot, doesn’t it?

Murderbot raises big themes like identity, self-governance, social acceptance, corporate greed, and indentured slavery. But the series never gets too bogged down on the heavy staff. It mocks the most holy tenets of Western ideology like capitalism and ownership, while also jabbing at liberalism (the PreservationAux team is a gender fluid, thruple-forming, polyamorous bunch, with co-dependency issues). At its core, Murderbot is about a “guy” who hates his job and can’t stand his colleagues. But he tries anyway. And that’s exactly what makes SecUnit so human. (But shhh, don’t tell it that!). 

All episodes of Murderbot are now streaming on Apple TV Plus.

The post Do Murderbots Dream of Electric Sheep? appeared first on Goggler.