Ben Tobin Johnson's Blog

I have no empirical evidence to support this claim, but I don’t think we take song order seriously enough. By “song order,” I mean literally the order in which songs appear on an album or playlist. You can call it whatever you want – song order, track listing, album organization – you get the point.

I don’t want to point fingers here (lookin’ at you, shuffle button) and hey, there’s nothing wrong with letting algorithms decide what song you listen to next on a given day. That said, constructing a deliberate musical journey is an art form; perhaps a peculiarly subjective one – but an art form nonetheless.

Some of my favorite albums became my favorite albums because of how they exercised and demonstrated this art form. Occasionally though, I come across an album that fails to live up to its own potential simply because the songs haven’t been arranged according to my exacting intuitions.

It was just one such album that inspired this post.

Leading up to its release, I was downright excited – 3 of the singles had already become near-instant favorites. I couldn’t wait to see these songs in their natural habitat and explore the work as a whole. And maybe that was my mistake; building my expectations a bit too high. The album – Worlds Apart by Make Them Suffer – is not a shambles by any stretch, I just couldn’t help but feel that it suffered from the aforementioned problem of suboptimal song order. It also came out July of 2017, so this post should implicitly illustrate how hard it was to shake that idea.

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I decided to build a playlist with the songs in the order I would have imperiously chosen, were the choice left with me. Below you will find links to said playlist(s), as well as a breakdown of why I chose the order I did.

A quick word on the lyrics: we’re dealing with a concept album here, so lyrics are more than usually important in tying everything together. My reimagining of this album was driven largely by the music and my personal ideas about musical dynamics and has thus resulted in a nonlinear, Tarantino-esque take on its story. That said, I have tried to maintain some semblance of lyrical structure throughout as you’ll see below.

A final word about/for/to the band: while I’m being critical of this release, I don’t come from a place of spite or condescension. I really believe in this album, and I say that as someone who got kind of bored with the djenty-deathcore sound of previous albums. Full disclosure, I had gotten kind of bored with the entire band. Then I heard “Fireworks,” made a point not to miss “Uncharted,” and…here we are.

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So if any of you are reading this, BookaNickJordanJayaSean, I hope you’ll take it as a compliment that I couldn’t get this album out of my head. And also I chose that order for your names because it sounded the best when I spoke it out loud.

I give you, Worlds Apart – Reimagined (copyright The Contortionist)

Listen on Spotify or Google Play

Vortex (Interdimensional Spiral Hindering Inexplicable Euphoria)
The First Movement
Midnight Run
Power Overwhelming
Fireworks
Contact
Ether
Dead Plains
Grinding Teeth
Save Yourself
Uncharted

So, we start things off with a nice, naked drumline (complete with cymbal swell!) that could go in literally any direction.

If you’re a recovering metal elitist like myself, you’re still wondering where this is headed. Assuming you haven’t heard any of the singles, the band’s previous material leaves you expecting something in the vicinity of Bleeding Through by way of Born of Osiris. Your expectations aren’t super high. Then. The rest of the band comes in with these dreamy keys and this could-still-kinda-go-anywhere guitar work. As the song evolves and unfolds, it drip feeds you an almost-overture of the rest of the album, which is exactly what an opening track is for. You get a preview of what Booka is going to bring to the album (and band as a whole). You get the full range of Sean’s screams/growls/vocal ALLCAPS. You get the djenty-deathcore guitar riffs, and for the most part it’s nothing you haven’t heard from Make Them Suffer before. But there’s something new, a kind of Deftones factor – prog sensibilities married to nu metal’s torrid affair with rhythm in an all-purpose-core marinade.

On to The First Movement (whose title most plainly gives away my tampering with the lineup). It’s a bit more accessible than its predecessor, but this is not to its fault. After an initial overture, it’s not uncommon to commence an opera or musical in earnest with a familiar theme or recognizable melody. Booka gets more air time, the song has a somewhat uptempo energy well-suited to building early momentum in the album, and it continues the “new” sound announced by the band in Vortex, just in case we were worried it would only be an intro thing. Finally, the song resolves in this delightfully odd way. If music ever paints pictures for you, the picture painted by the last few seconds of this song is a balloon spiraling in that frantic, haphazard way balloons do in their dying moments, then veering off into the corner behind a book shelf where it will remain – alone and choking with dust – forever.

We’re back to square one, in a sense. The album could go any direction from here; will the next track be driven by momentum from the previous song’s melody or cacophony? Here my recovering metal elitism steps in and argues for BROOTALITY. The album has already proven it knows how to make pretty music, what better time to punch the listener’s ears in the face?

Hence Track 3, starring Midnight Run

Ears still ringing, now is the perfect time for a curveball. Track 1 promised heavy stuff, pretty stuff, and proggy stuff. The first two are covered, so Track 4 is the perfect spot to put a song whose reach exceeds its grasp, if ya got one, and I think ya got one with Power Overwhelming. I don’t really like this song, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a perfect spot for it in this lineup. Plus, with its cyberpunk dreamscape outro, it’s the perfect wingman to a big single, which follows.

Fireworks returns the listener to some of the territory outlined in the first two tracks, thus fulfilling obligations to consistency and coherence. The album already has a distinct identity, we’re just now reaching the midpoint, and the best is still yet to come.

How about a breather?

Power Overwhelming hinted at ambient soundscapes and we have an uneven number of tracks. With Contact we get a brief respite from the intensity of the full band while retaining the sonic character that’s already been established. And like I said, we have an uneven number of tracks; something about the symmetry of an instrumental break between two 5-song collections – like a two-part miniseries – just feels good on my brain.

About that uneven number of songs though… Worlds Apart has ten tracks, so what am I talking about?

Ether. Originally released as a single, then released with the Old Souls/Lord of Woe compilation, Ether is one of my aces in the hole. Not only does the opening riff dovetail *perfectly* with the closing seconds of Contact, the single sounds right at home with the rest of the band’s aforementioned Deftones factor. Sean is also on record as having said he wished it could have been a part of this album, so now it is. Its outro, too, dovetails nicely with the track that follows.

Dead Plains feels like the heavier but slightly less adventurous cousin of Power Overwhelming in that it’s one of the album’s less compelling moments. Still, there’s some lyrical connection to the previous song (perhaps Izanami took Sean up on his offer). To its credit, it does feature some of Sean’s deepest growls on the record.

Grinding Teeth brings back Booka, and not a moment too soon, along with those soaring melodies she throws like knives into heaven.

Save Yourself does an almost match-on-action cut with the ending tempo of Grinding Teeth, which is about as much thematic coherence as can be coaxed from this unfortunately unimpressive track. I say “unfortunately” because Save Yourself is meant to close out Worlds Apart, and it’s just not anywhere near the best track on the album. It’s also unfortunate because Sean bares his soul in a near-breathless spoken word piece that’s meant to serve as the album’s climax. With all the sincerity in the world, Save Yourself simply doesn’t bring the album’s previous promises to a satisfying culmination, not for me anyway.

Never fear, however, I’ve got one more ace in the hole: Uncharted. This song is my absolute favorite from the album, and in a neck-n-neck contest for career favorite with Let Me In and Widower. Plus, this way, the tragic piano motifs that close out Save Yourself get a mulligan in the wonderstruck piano motifs that herald your arrival at the apex with Uncharted. All of the album’s musical foreshadowing is fulfilled in this track, and its lyrics are made all the more enervating as a sendoff for the album rather than another single embedded somewhere in the middle.

But wait, there’s more!

Put this bad boy on repeat and you’ve not only got the perfect lineup, but the perfect loop. Uncharted sends the listener off into the great beyond, while Vortex sucks them right back in. You could say…Vortex completes the cycle.

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And that’s that.

Thanks for reading!

During my undergraduate time at Texas A&M, I was a member of the Corps of Cadets. As such, I lived on the quad on the south side of campus, near the cluster of dorms and central hub of south side student activity referred to as The Commons.

The Commons Lobby was generally unremarkable; if you’ve seen one student life/activity center on a given state university campus, you’ve pretty much seen them all.

[image error]There was a small food court and a convenience store (“the” c-store), several lounges with couches that wound up and/or came from government surplus outlets, a piano here and there, foosball and pool tables, the works. Much of this was repeated on the lower level, with the notable exception of a second food court that wasn’t operating during my freshman year.

This changed in my sophomore year. The underground food court – dubbed The Tomato Bar – opened to near-instant popularity and acclaim. Why? The food was actually good.

If you were lucky, dining halls like Sbisa (north side) could be relied upon for above average fare and one or two other spots offered more than the customary microwave-ready cuisine. For the most part, however, college campus food was exactly that – especially when it came to the Corps dining hall, Duncan (at which I held my first on-campus job).

At The Tomato Bar, just about everything was made fresh right in front of you – sandwiches, salads, you name it. My favorite was the pasta bar. You took a bowl, loaded it with as many fixin’s as you could fit (meat, veggies, etc.) then handed it to the cook, told them which pasta/sauce combination you wanted, and a few minutes later had a hot meal that hadn’t spent 99% of its life in a vacuum-sealed and/or preservative-rich amniotic sac.

It was real food, prepared by hand, and you could count on it pretty much any time of the day; little wonder it became the overnight sensation it did.

It’s hard to overstate how quickly and completely The Tomato Bar became the focal point of campus cuisine in 2007. I would go so far as to say it enhanced the sense of community enjoyed by those of us who lived on campus, especially we south-side folk.

Finally, Dining Services had actually lived up to its name and we were more than happy to give them our money in return. It was a win for everyone.

Then it was gone.

Without warning or official notice, The Tomato Bar was permanently shut down. Only through the same word-of-mouth that initially made it so popular did I learn that it had evidently violated the building’s fire code. A feeble attempt to capitalize on its success took the form of “The Tomato Bar Express” in the upstairs food court, but all the two really had in common was the name.

The Tomato Bar was a net positive for all involved, benefiting the bodies and wallets of those fortunate enough to have been a part of its brief, glorious existence. In the end, however, all that mattered was a technicality.

[image error]This is not to disparage building codes. The Tomato Bar’s ultimate fate could have been far more grim – even fatal – had it survived long enough to invite any number of crises whose statistical likelihood increases over time. Sore as I still am about this, even the chance of such a tragedy is good reason to exercise some caution.

The point here is that I learned an important lesson that day: no matter how strongly you feel, how united your cause, how blameless your position, how universally beloved your object – nothing lasts.

As pushes to destroy net neutrality have surfaced again and again, in defiance of virtually everyone’s wishes, the Tomato Bar has been on my mind. I feel as though we’re approaching another such moment, where a beloved net positive (pun intended) is taken away against our collective will. Then again, maybe this onerous attempt to re-consolidate control of information will be decisively defeated once and for all, and the internet as we know it will endure for the foreseeable future.

I doubt it, but…you never know.

I don’t want to imply I’m raising a white flag in the fight for net neutrality. That said, I’m not hanging all my hopes on one outcome either. If/when net neutrality bites the dust, it will join a storied lineage of things that were just too good to last – among them, The Tomato Bar.

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I find a strange comfort in the inevitability of such dissolution.

And there’s always Elon Musk’s satellite internet plans.

This will sound like hyperbole, but I genuinely believe the Star Wars prequels left a mark on my generation.

Then again, maybe it’s just me.

There’s something acutely deflating about squandered potential – more so than your garden variety disappointment – and the cringe only intensifies with the scale of difference between what might have been and what, unfortunately, is.

Such is the case with the prequels generally speaking, but it’s particularly the case with Anakin Skywalker – the tragic figure around whom the entire sprawling saga ultimately orbits. From start to finish, his story spills over with compelling moments, memorable encounters, and deeply moving themes. But the…shall we say, underwhelming execution… that characterizes the prequels renders these flashes of brilliance little more than dingy glints. What few achievements the prequels can claim often go thus overlooked.

Enter: John Williams.

[image error]No, YOU!

The man appears superhuman in his ability to conjure iconic melodies from nothing but thought, and this dexterity has resulted in some of the most beloved songs and themes in the world. But it’s one of his lesser-known pieces (at least commercially speaking) that has me writing all this down: “Anakin’s Theme” from The Phantom Menace. I hesitate to declare any one entry in Williams’ career the greatest or most important, if for no other reason than the overwhelming number of contenders. Nonetheless, I submit that “Anakin’s Theme” is easily among his all-time greatest despite its comparative lack of press, and one of the most brilliant themes ever written in the history of cinema. Seriously.

The piece is a nothing short of a master class in the use of music as a storytelling device. In a mere three minutes and nine seconds of orchestral interplay, Williams introduces you to this infamous character, walks you through the major turning points in his life, and cultivates an understanding of who he truly is. And every second of it more powerful and poignant than anything that appeared on screen during Episodes I, II, and III.

 

(And here I invite you to follow along with this song playing in the background for maximum effect)

The opening moments are quiet, modest – reflecting Anakin’s humble beginnings as a slave child on Tattooine. Gentle woodwinds in higher octaves convey a sense of vulnerability, even naivety; Anakin’s youth in a nutshell. But it’s only seconds before that modest introduction gives way to a backdrop of flowing strings, repeating the unassuming motif we just heard in the song’s opening moments. This might seem trivial, but look again; before 30 seconds have elapsed, Williams has established contrast in this character merely through the surgical application of the London Symphony Orchestra.

Anakin’s humble origins provide him with a chip on his shoulder, a built in excuse to be that much more assertive and stubborn. Thus, the theme persists in its efforts to flesh itself out.

So as the core motif repeats – assured by the growing number of accompanying instruments – it briefly veers off melody as an upwelling of subtly dissonant strings emerges for a moment (straddling the :29 mark) then blends back into the surrounding harmony. This gesture might seem irrelevant outside of a discussion on musical theory, but Williams’ genius is on startling display here. Hardly having finished introducing contrast to the piece, Williams immediately offers us a glimpse of the darkness ahead. It blends in so well with its surroundings that you almost don’t even notice the dissonance if you’re not on the hunt for semitones, yet this is the beginning of a slow spiral toward annihilation.

Then, as the motif again repeats, and is again gently rebuffed by the dissonant foreshadowing of minor key goings-on yet to come, it changes course and attempts to establish a new melody. Here, our sympathy is cultivated for this poor damned soul; trying to avert the calamity that lies before him by choosing a new path.

That path, of course, is reflected in the piece’s shift toward a more restrained, noble arrangement: the Jedi way. While stoic, this new melody is nevertheless steeped in a classically romantic sensibility – mirroring Anakin’s fatal flaw. Further, this romanticism is buttressed by fragments of beloved themes from the original trilogy. It’s only too easy to be swept away by the lyricism and elegance that has suddenly transformed “Anakin’s Theme.”

But all too soon this romantic indulgence eclipses the understated stoicism, subverting its newfound maturity and further transforming the piece into an homage to lovelorn agony. Anakin has reached for the right thing, he has tried to temper his vehemence with the moderate teachings of the Jedi, but his passions routinely overwhelm his judgment. These passions are keenly felt however, and keenly transmitted through the orchestra. We yearn, right along with Anakin. We begin to hope. Yet even here, in this new melody, that dissonant upwelling of strings accosts us again (1:13), briefly driving the music back to the humble vulnerability of its commencement.

So again, the music strikes out with its theme and hero resolute. Maybe this time Anakin will control the passions that threaten to destroy his world, but it doesn’t look good. We’re swept up and off our feet as the music succumbs to that intoxicating romanticism, then deliriously drifts, starry-eyed, down a scale that lands among a familiar collection of notes: “The Imperial March” – Darth Vader’s theme. It’s barely a hint, but there it is (1:54-1:56). Chronologically speaking this is what the mother of all villain themes looks like at its inception: barely a measure, emerging from a piece torn between light and dark. Here too is illustrated Anakin’s defiance eventually culminating in his corruption, summarized in Yoda’s ominous pronouncement: “Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate…leads to suffering.”

The scale we just drifted down is clambered up again, so that it may once more be traversed from major key ephemera into minor key royalty. The diminutive “Imperial March,” at this proportion, almost seems more mischievous than evil. How could suffering grow from something so simple, subtle, and familiar?

At last it’s time to return to the core motif – that vulnerable, naive melody at the emotional ground zero of Anakin’s story. We’ve heard it try to find a way passed the dissonant strings and now, as it again drifts towards them, the music feels oddly resigned – as if it’s given up. Sure enough, by the time that thorn in Anakin’s flesh wells up for the last time, the main theme has mutated to accommodate its foreboding rather than resist.

The Dark Side has won.

As if to remind us of the inevitability of Anakin’s fate – and even perhaps our own – the inchoate Imperial theme takes over “Anakin’s Theme,” subsuming the entire structure of the song in mournful cello strokes until…there is nothing of Anakin’s theme left.

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But the song has one last trick up its sleeve: the strings (and a quiet harp in the background) seem to resolve in a dark, minor key environment courtesy of the aforementioned demise of Anakin’s theme. However, the final notes technically resolve into a perfect fifth – notes that both minor and major have in common. Thus, if you focus, you as the listener can decide the ultimate character of the piece’s conclusion. Does it come to rest in the bleak maw of a minor key or reclaim that cautious, major key optimism with its last breath?

I strongly encourage you to experiment “hearing” both endings and wrestling with their implications.

***

If ever a single piece of film music accomplished more than “Anakin’s Theme” in the same amount of time, I’ve yet to find it (and I’ve been looking). It’s not just that this piece is so hauntingly beautiful, or that it reveals new sides of iconic themes in subtly innovative ways, or even that it exceeds the emotional impact of the film in which it appears (though it does all that, too).

“Anakin’s Theme” tells a profoundly accessible story of love and loss, hope and despair, in a little over three minutes; and it does so without a single word, or so much as one superfluous note.

Genius.

The world has changed.

Not a lie, strictly speaking, but no less misleading than one.

My first contact with the technical death metal band Nile was in a CD Exchange somewhere in San Antonio (I think the one on San Pedro). I came across their album Those Whom the Gods Detest and immediately expected I had found a new favorite.

I was wrong.

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Everything pointed to my falling in love with Nile at first sight; brutally intricate death metal, a musical and lyrical fixation on Ancient Egypt, absurdly cool song titles (lookin’ at you, “Papyrus Containing the Spell to Preserve its Possessor from He Who is in the Water“). I just couldn’t get into them. It was infuriating; I wanted to like this band. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about the music – even as my brain rejected it – that still called to me. I was haunted.

I set them aside, never abandoning the hope that one day I would develop this evidently acquired taste, and life went on.

A few months later, I endured my first break up. This was followed by a tumultuous last semester of college, followed by moving back to San Antonio (from College Station), followed by my first job out of college, first solo apartment, and the complete demise of the religious worldview with which I had been raised.

Ya know, garden variety life went on. 

Of course, life went on after that as well. I met the girl of my dreams, moved with her into a dinky little Shasta trailer in Austin, published my first book, and witnessed my country descend into a political miasma I had never seen before.

Somewhere, amidst these personal and national upheavals, I found my taste for the music of Nile. I don’t know what held me back before, or what exactly had changed. Then again, that past tense-thinking was the problem. I hadn’t changed: I was changing, I am changing.

The more I thought about it, the more I felt deceived by this seeming truism. Yes, the world has changed – but that’s always been the case; and we have always been changing as part of it. The more I fixated on states of having changed, as opposed to eternally changing, the more I found myself blindsided by the basic motions of reality. This might seem like semantic back-flips for their own sake, but it’s these subtle shifts in thinking that often have the furthest-reaching consequences.

Ultimately, this is why Nile’s music haunted me, reeling me back in over and over until it all clicked.

Thousands of years ago, the Egyptian civilization was unparalleled in scope and scale. Pharaohs rose and fell, some of them leaving indelible marks on the land over which they ruled, ensuring their memory would outlast their world.

Life went on.

Then, on a continent the Ancient Egyptians didn’t even know about, a world away, a group of middle-aged Americans erected their own monument to the glories of Ancient Egypt. In place of wood and stone, they crafted with sound and savage fury. Pharaohs who took their last breath eons before lived again in the chaotic symphony of down-tuned guitars, guttural roaring and clockwork drums. Ramses II could not have begun to conceive of a song like “User Maat Re,” yet this does not show how the world changed – rather how it is changing and always will be. I find this both terrifying and exhilarating.

More to the point, I find comfort in learning to navigate this mercurial existence with the aid of middle-aged Americans playing furious death metal. The music is frantic and often unpredictable, mirroring the impermanence of life in a way I find profoundly compelling. The history lessons embedded in the lyrics don’t hurt, either.

Ultimately, change is a permanent state of affairs, and I owe Nile a huge debt of gratitude for providing the means by which I’ve learned to accept that.

I think the more we emphasize that subtle semantic shift, from changed to changing, the better equipped we will be to meet the challenges of the future.

Ten years ago today, my life was irrevocably changed.

I was 18; my sophomore year in the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M only just beginning. I had begun writing for the University newspaper – The Battalion (aka TheBatt) – and had only published one article thus far, a review of 3:10 to Yuma. 

Roughly a week before, I had gathered with my fellow student writers in the Battalion headquarters for our weekly meeting. In a pile on the table around which we sat were several promotional copies of upcoming albums. We were encouraged to sift through the pile for anything that piqued our interest or would make a good article. I remember being vaguely unimpressed with the selection, but one name stood out: Between the Buried and Me. I wasn’t familiar with their work, but the name rang a bell so I volunteered to review their forthcoming album – Colors.

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I wish I could say I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard those first opening notes. I had a habit of listening to music wherever I could, thanks to my trusty (discontinued) 80GB iPod, and Colors became another addition to my walking-to-class/studying-in-the-library rotation. It’s a testament to my naïveté that I didn’t realize my life was changing even with those first forgotten listens, but Colors was the most challenging thing I’d heard up to that point. I assumed I could jump from track to track, get a general impression of the music, maybe find one or two songs I really liked, and hammer out a write-up in an afternoon.

Colors swiftly disabused me of this assumption.

First, the music was unlike anything I had heard before; as if a metal band had been tasked with referencing every conceivable genre of music in a little over an hour and had actually succeeded. Second, while there were transitions (of sorts) between tracks, the entire album played out as one continuous piece of music. I couldn’t just jam the singles until I got sick of them – there were no singles to speak of. I had to listen to the whole thing in a sitting, or as much as possible in the time I had, before starting the dizzying journey all over again.

Colors was playing hard to get.

I’d never had to put so much work into music before, but I quickly learned how rewarding the chase was. When I’d finally completed about a dozen listens-through, I was familiar enough with the album to give it a review but only just beginning my torrid love affair with the music itself.

Colors was a watershed moment for me. All at once, I realized how narrow my conception of music – and art in general – had been. Before, it would never have occurred to me that such wildly distinct sounds and musical traditions could be fused together; much less that the result would be greater than the sum of its parts. Of course, Colors was no accident. As I noted in my review at the time, the whole venture would have disintegrated without the razor-sharp precision and dexterity of virtuoso musicians.

My review, and the transcription of a phone interview with Paul Waggoner, appeared in the paper the week of official release. You may not know this about Texas A&M, but The Battalion isn’t exactly the first place you’d expect to find chatter about metal. Nevertheless, my review (and interview) took up a full page, generously gifting me with a round of animated compliments from Batt veterans, family, and friends alike. It was a good week.

More to the point though, Colors changed my life. That might sound like a dose of hyperbole for effect, but I am completely serious. Colors incinerated my preconceived expectations in a way nothing had before and very few things have since.

It personally introduced me to the intoxicating joy of possibility. It taught me to avoid knee-jerk value judgments. It compelled me to seek out new experiences, to eschew my comfort zone more often.

It opened my mind.

On top of all that, it’s a truly kick ass metal album.

So to the quintet responsible – Tommy, Paul, Dan, Dustie, Blake – thank you, a thousand times. Ten years ago, you blasted a hole in my world through which I found a great deal of myself in the intervening years. Colors can still be regularly found in my recent listening, and that’s not likely to change soon. On the list of moments I’d like to revisit as the proverbial fly on the wall, finding Colors is somewhere in the top ten.

Until Elon Musk conquers time travel, I can only marvel at how seemingly insignificant a gesture it was to pull that promotional copy from that pile on that table ten years ago.

If you’re tired of endlessly scrolling through a buffet of viewing options without a trusty recommendation, you’ve come to the right place! Each week I list a handful of titles I’ve enjoyed to help you shake up your weekly streaming routine.

 

The Great British Baking Show (Great British Bake-Off) (Competition/Reality)

Netflix

[image error]Generally speaking, I can’t stand reality television. Competition shows tend to attract egotists and narcissists whose defensive reactions to constructive criticism and completely unwarranted self-confidence make me literally, unironically sick to my stomach. So I’m surprised as anyone to have been swept off my feet by The Great British Baking Show (or The Great British Bake-Off depending on your market). The premise is simple: each week a group of bakers competes through a series of baking challenges. It’s almost too simple, but the show is carried by the diverse personalities and baking styles the contestants bring with them. On top of that, judges Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry are the kind of tough-but-fair experts you want adjudicating a competition like this. The hosts can be somewhat annoying, but consistently inject levity into the otherwise stressful proceedings. Maybe it’s just the cultural difference between America and the UK, but The Great British Baking Show is mercifully devoid of the toxicity I railed against in my opening sentence. That’s not to say the show is devoid of drama; in fact, far from it. But if you, like me, initially shied away from a reality show for fear it peddles in the loathsome qualities I mentioned above, fear not! The Great British Baking Show almost couldn’t be more family friendly. As of this writing, Netflix has three seasons of The Great British Baking Show, though the show is currently filming an 8th season (re: different markets, slightly different titles, etc) Additional seasons can be purchased through the usual channels: iTunes, YouTube, Google Play, etc.

P. S. You’re gonna want something sweet to snack on with this one. Trust me.

 

Genius of the Ancient World (Documentary)

Netflix

[image error]The BBC really knows how to put together a top-notch documentary series. In this case, historian and author Bettany Hughes explores 3 men from a time long ago whose ideas continue to impact the way we think: Buddha, Socrates, and Confucius. This is not merely a dispassionate overview of these thinkers’ revelations, or a few on-location shots from tourist traps. What makes Genius… such a thought-provoking and engaging watch is how it explores the lives of the figures in question. By providing the historical context in which these men conceived and developed their ideas, the ideas themselves become more accessible. In the same way I’ve rhapsodized about docu-dramas “bringing history to life,” so to speak, so too does Genius of the Ancient World emphasize the living aspect of the history it chronicles. To be sure, the show has to condense its material into an hour run time; this is primarily a survey of highlights. Still, as a starting point for these men and the ideas they brought into the world, Genius of the Ancient World is excellent.

You’ve Got Mail (Romantic Comedy)

Amazon Prime

[image error]You probably haven’t forgotten about this gem from the late, great Nora Ephron. You also probably haven’t watched it recently and that, dear reader, is why it’s on the list. For starters, this movie is just delightful. You’ve got the incomparable chemistry between Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan once again at the center of a saccharine yet sincere romance. You’ve got a colorful cast of side characters – from Dave Chappelle as the token black friend, to Steve Zahn and Heather Burns as the token idiosyncratic friends, to Brinkley, the uncharacteristically well-behaved golden retriever. It’s a winning formula with familiar ingredients, but where You’ve Got Mail really shines is how it elevates the overused tropes upon which its built. You know how in most romantic comedies, there’s the doomed relationship that precedes the two leads getting involved with each other? It’s such a cliche by now that a lot of movies barely bother making this relationship plausible, since it’s whole function is to contrast a happily-ever-after with someone else. Greg Kinnear assumes this time-honored mantel opposite Meg Ryan in the film’s first half. What sets this initial coupling apart from other examples, though, is how right the characters are for each other – at least on paper. They even say something to this effect when the imminent breakup arrives. It’s a small detail, but goes such a long way to making You’ve Got Mail emotionally resonant. That’s to say nothing of the other touches that make this movie so irresistibly charming; the way Meg Ryan, crippled by a cold, renders temperature as teppuhcher… How eloquent the Instant Messenger exchanges between the two leads…  Finally, of course, the movie acts as a kind of time capsule to an America on the brink of internet ubiquity. You’d hardly know it to browse the web now, disingenuous outrage and unfledged hostility everywhere, but there was a time when this newfangled “World Wide Web” was defined by runaway optimism. This is not to say that such naivety was warranted, of course, but that’s a different conversation.

You’ve Got Mail is a wistful reminder of simpler times with shorter usernames and sluggish download speeds. If you’re looking for the warm fuzzies, they’re still here.

If you’re tired of endlessly scrolling through a buffet of viewing options without a trusty recommendation, you’ve come to the right place! Each week I list a handful of titles I’ve enjoyed to help you shake up your weekly streaming routine.

 

What Happened to Monday (Sci-fi Thriller)

Netflix

[image error]Let’s pretend this recommendation has an invisible asterisk next to it. Why? Well, I’m not recommending it on the grounds that it’s necessarily good; rather that it’s a unique viewing experience, both in spite of its shortcomings and (in a perverse way) because of them. The movie opens on a montage that sets up its dystopian vision of the future: mass overpopulation has led to a one-child policy. Siblings are strictly forbidden. The jackboots enforcing this draconian measure – the Child Allocation Bureau – routinely round up siblings for cryopreservation, assuring distressed family that their kin will be released in “better days ahead.” That arrangement doesn’t really work for Terrence Settman (Willem Dafoe), whose daughter perishes giving birth to septuplets. So, naturally, he names his seven granddaughters after the days of the week and teaches them how to share and coordinate a single identity. If you’re already skeptical about a cast of characters with names like Saturday and Thursday, you should be – the movie never quite overcomes the gimmick. That said, What Happened to Monday has an ace in the hole: Noomi Rapace. I’m not sure if “underrated” is the right word to describe her career, but she doesn’t get the kind of exposure or acclaim I think she deserves. Despite a mostly one-dimensional script, Rapace renders each sister in a distinct, compelling performance. Not only that, each sister’s persona is well-suited to her assigned day of the week: Saturday is a party girl, Sunday is “the believer,” Monday’s kind of a bitch, and so on. This is no mere Parent Trap split-screening, however – Rapace carries the entire film through seven separate roles occupying the screen together in various combinations. It’s worth seeing this movie to witness this spectacle alone, and it’s a good thing because you’ve already seen everything else in better movies. Brutalist architecture at the totalitarian HQ? Check. Nick-of-time “hacking” courtesy of someone sporting glasses, beanie, and standard-issue slacker sweater? Check. Nondescript henchman supervising the hunt for fugitive protagonists? Double-check. Again, Rapace’s septuple tour-de-force is the only unqualified positive here. The rest of the movie is entertaining…albeit jarring, tonally confused, and self-contradictory. It’s a weird ride, to say the least, but it’s got all the makings of a cult classic and – as previously mentioned – SEVEN NOOMI RAPACES.

 

Peep Show (Comedy)

Amazon Prime

[image error]This is one of my all-time favorite shows. I’ve seen every episode at least once, and a few upwards of ten times. The premise borders on contrived: a pair of single guys – slacker Jeremy (Robert Webb) and tightwad Mark (David Mitchell) – slogging through daily life in the UK. Peep Show sets itself apart, however, with two specialties. First, everything is shot from point-of-view; second, Mark and Jeremy’s self-absorbed inner monologue narrates the proceedings. I won’t lie, it’s a bit of an acquired taste…so the sooner you start acquiring it, the better! Peep Show thrives on its characters’ insecurities and dysfunctions; in that sense, I’m tempted to compare it to Seinfeld or It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. There’s a shared focus on unlikable characters stumbling into absurd capers, often with a heavy dose of macabre humor. Peep Show elaborates on this formula, though, with characteristic Britishness – that singular admixture of self-deprecating wit, dry commentary on the general pointlessness of life, and sometimes just plain silliness. Fear not, the Mitchell & Webb duo know when and where to inject the necessary pathos to maintain proper balance. Peep Show is one of those views that doesn’t exactly soar right away; its effects are cumulative. Still, it’s one of the smarter things you can watch involving the mundane crises of middle-class white guys in the UK. More importantly, it’s hilarious.

 

Going Clear: Scientology and the Prison of Belief (Documentary)

HBO

[image error]This doc has already had its time in the sun. It collected a few awards (and nominations) a couple of years back, but it’s no less potent for its absence from the current viral circuit. Going in, I thought I knew a lot about Scientology; I’d seen the South Park episode(s), watched a few interviews with former members, read up on L. Ron Hubbard. I was still floored by what I learned in Going Clear, and I expect you will be as well. Now, the chronicling of flagrant human rights abuses is reason enough to watch this riveting documentary – but it also operates on a more general level. I’ve long been fascinated with the study of religion, but its Achilles heel is that so much crucial development occurred centuries or even millennia ago. With Scientology, however, we have a modern case study in how a religion is born, how it evolves, and what lengths its willing to go to secure its interests. Not only that, but in this particular case study the specifics beliefs are so outlandish they strain the credulity of the most devout believer. Consequently, Going Clear crystallizes a recurring theme in the present cultural and political climate: all too often, people simply do not make sense. Of course, the truth of this revelation is that it’s been a recurring theme for our species as long as we can remember. Nevertheless, Going Clear is a timely reminder that the right combination of wish-thinking, brainwashing, charismatic leadership, and money can be downright lethal.

If you’re tired of endlessly scrolling through a buffet of viewing options without a trusty recommendation, you’ve come to the right place! Each week I list a handful of titles I’ve enjoyed to help you shake up your weekly streaming routine.

EGYPT (Docu-drama)

Netflix

[image error]Before my tryst with docu-dramas went full-blown love affair, I added this seemingly unremarkable gem to my watchlist and promptly forgot about it. Then, a few months back, I queued it up on a whim and wished I had done so well beforehand. In short, Egypt is delightful. As with the previously praised Roman Empire: Reign of Blood, the line between educational and entertaining is barely visible here. The production values leave something to be desired, but I think we’ve reached the point where 2005 qualifies as “dated,” at least where BBC docuseries are concerned. That said, Egypt makes up for its technical difficulties with a trilogy of true stories as outlandish as they are engrossing. Two episodes each are devoted to Egypt’s three principle narratives and the characters populating them; adventurers, treasure hunters, scholars, and circus performers (seriously) responsible for unearthing some of Egypt’s most iconic sites and artifacts. Insofar as it’s possible to accomplish on the small screen, Egypt genuinely manages to provide the viewer with a vicarious taste of what it was like to, say, be the first people in thousands of years to gaze upon the tomb of Tutankhamen (no exaggeration, I got goosebumps).

 

Tour De Pharmacy (Comedy)

HBO

[image error]Mockumentaries, when properly helmed, are some of my favorite things. In the spirit of tennis mockumentary Seven Days in Hell, Tour De Pharmacy cooks up a cockamamie controversy in the biking world: the year every rider in the Tour De France was disqualified for drug use…except the five who managed to get away with it. The quintet of fictional athletes – played by Andy Samberg, John Cena, Orlando Bloom, Daveed Diggs, and Freddie Highmore – each bring their own brand of absurdity to the proceedings (Cena is especially hilarious). “Interviews” scattered throughout include the likes of Kevin Bacon, Maya Rudolph, Nathan Fielder, National Treasure Jeff Goldblum, and Lance Armstrong (who repeatedly fails to conceal his identity). That’s a pretty bare-bones description followed by a list of names, but if you know how you feel about mockumentaries and the people involved in this one, you have a pretty good idea of what to expect. Tour De Pharmacy swings for the fences on most of its sight gags and running jokes, and the reliance on vulgarity might be too excessive for some. For me, though, it was the perfect balance of witty and wacky.

 

Benny and Joon (Comedy/Drama)

Amazon Prime

[image error]Remember this one? There was a time, before superheroes and sequels were everywhere, when studios cranked out middle-of-the-road character studies along with everything else. Perhaps “character study” is a bit grandiose for the mostly-sweet Benny and Joon, but there aren’t as many ready comparisons as you might think. Benny (Aidan Quinn) is the sole caretaker of his mentally ill sister, Joon (Mary Stuart Masterson). We never get a full explanation of exactly what afflicts Joon, though schizophrenia is heavily implied. All’s well – insofar as that arrangement can be – until Buster-Keaton-devotee Sam (Johnny Depp) enters their lives. It sounds trite, I know – but it’s too easy to underestimate this one. While Joon’s illness is often trivialized, Masterson’s performance is complex and fierce without veering into manic-pixie-dream-girl territory. She doesn’t condescend to her character (or the audience, for that matter) and the resulting dynamics transcend the script’s limitations. Similarly, Depp channels a naive authenticity through Sam that almost makes you forget why you’re sick of him in 2017.

A “warts and all” assessment of this movie would remark on how much of Quinn’s career was carried solely by those piercing blue eyes. It would further chide the film for reducing Academy Award Winner Julianne Moore to a starry eyed, sighing romance-macguffin for Quinn’s Benny. But, for better or worse, Benny and Joon is an artifact of the early 90s – a less socially conscious time preoccupied with the frostbitten thousand-yard-stare of Aidan Quinn and the wholesome oddity of this newcomer Johnny Depp kid. Given that, however, Benny and Joon knows the way to your heartstrings; perfect for lazy Sunday afternoon viewing.

 

If you’re tired of endlessly scrolling through a buffet of viewing options without a trusty recommendation, you’ve come to the right place! Each week I list a handful of titles I’ve enjoyed to help you shake up your weekly streaming routine.

 

ROMAN EMPIRE: REIGN OF BLOOD (Docu-drama)

Netflix

[image error]Lately I’ve developed a taste for docu-dramas, thanks in part to this lavish 6 episode series. Reign of Blood chronicles the rise of Commodus and the disastrous consequences Rome ultimately suffered as a result. About 70% of its screentime is spent in the costume-drama portion of the proceedings (punctuated by Sean Bean’s grave narration), while the other 30% features interviews with historians and Ken Burns-esque studies of ancient reliefs, sculptures, and paintings. Fortunately for us, both pieces are rendered with an emphasis on production value and the resulting ~6 hours is as educational as it is entertaining. In fact, I’ve become a bit spoiled by the format. Listening to experts discuss the competing characters and factions at work in ancient Rome is one thing; getting to see it play out (albeit with ample historical license) goes a long way toward truly understanding the events and people involved. It’s the perfect balance between showing and telling, and the riveting subject matter is thus made all the more captivating.

My hope is that the Title: Subtitle format implies more entries are forthcoming….perhaps ROMAN EMPIRE: FURTHERMORE, CARTHAGE MUST BE DESTROYED or ROMAN EMPIRE: THE ONE WITH THE FIVE EMPERORS. Either way, if you have even a passing interest in history or Rome or Sean Bean’s voice, you’re gonna love this one.

 

THE SPOILS BEFORE DYING (Comedy)

Netflix

[image error]To call this a mere spoof or satire would be a terrible disservice. The show opens on wine-drunk writer and self-described “Undisputed Master of Dramatic Fiction” Eric Jonrosh (Will Ferrell), who proceeds to introduce his latest masterpiece: The Spoils Before Dying. What follows is a 6 episode send-up of melodramatic miniseries and so-called “television events” – in this case, centering on a jazz player named Rock Banyon (Michael Kenneth Williams) attempting to clear his name after being framed for murder. The humor is offbeat and idiosyncratic to say the very least, but Spoils doesn’t skimp on the hard-boiled noir story at its core. Other SNL alums like Kristen Wiig, Maya Rudolph and Chris Parnell join the fun, as does as a barely recognizable Haley Joel Osment in the role of Rock’s manager, Alistair St. Barnaby-Bixby-Jones (Spoils is lousy with these ridiculous footnotes). It’s not a laugh-a-minute watch, nor is it the pathologically raunchy exercise that Ferrell’s presence might imply. That said, when it’s funny – it’s hilarious. And when it’s weird, it’s practically unhinged. You get the distinct impression that everyone involved showed up to shoot each day and just had as much fun as possible.

Originally this entry was about The Spoils of Babylon – an identical premise that focused on a different selection from Jonrosh’s fictional catalogue. Unfortunately, it’s no longer streaming on Netflix, but is available (at a per episode charge) on other streaming services like Google Play, YouTube, iTunes, etc. So if you dig The Spoils Before Dying, you’ll definitely dig the first foray into Spoils-territory, ya dig?

 

WHILE WE’RE YOUNG (Comedy/Drama)

Amazon Prime

[image error]Ah, Millennials – we’re a bit of a mixed bag, wouldn’t you agree? While We’re Young grapples with this emergent generational gap, though it’s not as on-the-nose about it. Josh (Ben Stiller) and Cornelia (Naomi Watts) are a childless couple in their mid-forties who befriend a couple in their mid-twenties, Jamie (Kylo Ren – I mean Adam Driver) and Darby (Amanda Seyfried). Josh, a documentary filmmaker worrying over his latest bloated project, finds something of a protege in Jamie who, in turn, sees Josh as his ship-come-in. But there’s more to Jamie than meets the eye and whether that’s a bad or good thing depends somewhat on your perspective. While We’re Young doesn’t go out of its way to wrap things up with a pat homily or a wisdom-nugget. Rather, a sense of almost unbearable honesty frames these characters with neither their best nor worst features as the focal point. Writer/Director Noah Baumbach has made a name for himself chronicling the struggles of dysfunctional characters, and in that sense While We’re Young is no different from the bulk of his work. Where it stands out is in tackling how different kindred spirits can still be, merely for having been born in different decades. It’s a charming film with some well-earned laughs and solid performances from the entire cast.

(Bonus! If you’re a documentary-nut like me, a smattering of references will give you that lovely burst of joy that’s then tempered by a lack of friends with whom to share it.

You know the one.)

If you’re tired of endlessly scrolling through a buffet of viewing options without a trusty recommendation, you’ve come to the right place! Each week I list a handful of titles I’ve enjoyed to help you shake up your weekly streaming routine.

Let’s dive right in, shall we?

 

HOW TO GROW A PLANET (Documentary)

Netflix

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If you’re anything like I was before watching this series, you probably didn’t spend too much time thinking about plants. Even if you did, you probably didn’t spend too much time thinking about how they shaped the evolution of life because – as the show points out – it’s something of a developing story. But after this stunningly gorgeous 3-part series, believe me, plants will blow. your. mind. Hosted by geologist Iain Stewart, How to Grow a Planet scintillates with an infectious sense of wonder, thanks in part to excellent cinematography and an evidently generous travel budget. But it’s not only the intriguing places the show visits, like the “lost world” islands of New Caledonia populated by flora and fauna that exist nowhere else in the world. The show digs into how the evolution of plant life impacted the rest of the planet as a whole – like chance encounters between primitive flowers and primitive insects that revolutionized how plants reproduced, or mutations in early bacteria that literally changed the color of Earth. It is truly fascinating stuff set to a gripping soundtrack; John Murphy’s iconic “Adagio in D Minor” gets a lot of mileage, as do microwaved snippets of incidental music from Hans Zimmer’s catalogue (namely Batman Begins, oddly enough). On top of it all, Stewart presents the various factoids and explanations with a refreshing enthusiasm.

You will never look at plants the same way again.

P.S. This one’s leaving Netflix September 1st, so catch it before it’s too late!

 

CATASTROPHE (Comedy/Drama)

Amazon Prime

[image error]You know that charming, annoyingly perfect couple at the center of most romances? Catastrophe can’t stand them. So in their place is Rob (Rob Delaney) and Sharon (Sharon Horgan), a messy, unfiltered pair of transatlantic 40-somethings who wind up accidentally pregnant. In the hands of lesser folk, this series would be about as dull as that description sounds. But Rob and Sharon share some real chemistry that makes them both believable and genuinely delightful to watch. The show also boasts a colorful collection of side characters from Rob’s battleaxe of a mother (Carrie Fisher, May the Force be with her) to Sharon’s idiosyncratic gal pal Fran (Ashley Jensen) and pretty much everyone in between. But where Catastrophe really shines is its yin-yang approach to tragedy and comedy, both of which take turns driving the story. It’s more than a little trite to praise a work of fiction for its authenticity, but Catastrophe oozes with a sincerity that sets it apart from your average exercise in unlikely-couple-vs-domestic-hijinks. At 3 seasons (thus far) of only 6 half-hour episodes each, it’s an easy binge. But if you enjoyed it as much as I did, you’ll want to ration yourself.

 

CASTLEVANIA (Horror/Drama – Animated)

Netflix

[image error]Speaking of easy binges, this one’s only one season of 4 half-hour episodes, but that’s not really the headline. Based on the eponymous video game franchise, Castlevania is all about the basics. As a standalone story, you don’t need to be a gamer or even have played any of the (many, many) games to enjoy this morbid exercise. What you do need, though, is a taste for the grim and macabre. Think Doctor Who goes to Hell, animated by an amalgam of death metal album covers. But it’s not all demons literally raining from the sky; Castlevania makes the most of an abbreviated run time with excellent character development and voice acting. Dracula (Graham McTavish) has rarely been so sympathetic a villain, especially considering the interdimensional carnage he unleashes upon the terrified inhabitants of Wallachia. Trevor Belmont (Richard Armitage), meanwhile, traces familiar tropes as a reluctant monster slayer forced to confront a past he can’t escape.

On the whole, Castlevania is not without flaw; it ends rather abruptly and as I mentioned before, it’s surprisingly brief. But if you’re interested in a horror-fantasy sundae with a sci-fi cherry on top, Castlevania might be your new favorite.