"I am at a loss to conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that would be truly disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be censured for writing anything that would be proper and becoming for a man."

24 July 2014

50 Shades of No Way in Hell

There's a trailer out for that movie now... that movie based on a series of atrociously written books with derivative Twilight-esque plot which has done more for the bondage sex toy industry than any other piece of pop culture in years, while simultaneously flaunting a horribly abusive relationship as healthy, sexy, and desirable.
So yeah, I'm biased. There was a part of me, however, my own masochistic-for-terrible-things side if you will, which thought that maybe, someday, I'd sit myself down and watch this atrocity. Once it's out on streaming/DVD of course, where the drinks are plenty, the pause button at the ready for vomit-inducing moments, and there is a decided lack of horny housewives surrounding me. Then I saw Jamie Dornan in The Fall.
For those unaware, The Fall is a Netflix series starring Gillian Anderson as a detective who comes to Belfast from England to run an internal/external investigation on the police force and, particularly, a murder inquiry regarding a young woman. The one young woman turns into several by the end of the series, all fitting a distinct aesthetic the killer finds appealing. That killer is Jamie Dornan, and in a rare turn for what could be an extended storyline for a basic procedural, it isn't just the view of the cops we get. We see the killer in his everyday life, as a grief counselor for parents of children who have died in tragic circumstances. We see him at home with his wife, a nurse, and young son and (quite possibly burgeoning psychopathic) daughter. We see him running, stalking, breaking into victims homes, fantasizing about them, and you know, eventually killing them. We see the aftermath; we see his family and his marriage crumbling. We see him nearly kill the babysitter when she finds a token from one of his kills (and her skin-crawling attraction to him even after this incident). We see him wink knowingly at his creepy daughter when she asks if they're driving past a murder scene. We see him as a fully fledged person, and as a killer. It's unsettling to say the least and genuinely terrifying at times. And it is masterfully done. This is all eerily similar to the kind of guy Christian Grey would be in real life (sans the obscene amount of money) as opposed to the demented fairy tale version that appears in print and, likely, on screen.
The first look we have of Jamie Dornan as Christian Grey in the trailer holds that same intensity and predatory look he gets when he's getting ready to murder women -- women who look eerily like the "50 Shades" girl, Ana.

This is my plea to women everywhere: If you still think the idea of Christian Grey is sexy and desirable, if you think having your own uncertainty ignored in favor of a man taking control of you and 'teaching' you to be his object is a positive portrayal of relationships, even if you just think the idea of a little bondage and fetishism in a mainstream movie is naughty in a good way, before you see 50 Shades of Grey, or pick up one of those books again, watch The Fall. Really watch it. Pay attention to how this man acts in public and in private. You may still see something appealing in Christian Grey afterwards, but hopefully at least some part of your brain will register the difference between poorly- written fantasy and a more grounded portrayal of what control-hungry men are really like.

15 July 2014

Weirdus Interruptus

Today's standard post will be replaced by the new "Weird Al" video, because... well. He kind of says it all.


02 July 2014

Haunted by the Signs

One of these days I'll stop harping on about life's little (or not so little) signs and get on to more exciting things like anti-hero worship, purple shirts of sex, hand porn, netflixing your time away and more (really, I have a list). However, the reason for my day skip in posting schedule happened because I was a bit taken aback by something that occurred yesterday.
Understatement -- I came thiiiiiiis close to having a mini breakdown.
See, it's all well and good when you're on the lookout for signs during life, and when you're getting encouraging nudges to certain things. It's kind of empowering to feel like your current situation of being trapped in a soul-sucking job that barely pays your bills is not the right choice for you, because YOU say it isn't, and life is encouraging you in fits and starts to seek out other possibilities.
It's not so refreshing when the universe slaps you in the face with just how out of place you are.
Imagine you're living in a home and the home is, potentially, haunted. You feel uneasy there. Just being in that environment drains you. It's kind of a nebulous feeling and you're constantly uncomfortable and stressed. Occasionally the furniture rearranges itself and you're deeply unsettled, but you take the oddly stacked chairs off the table and move on with your day. You can't afford to move, but you're looking at other places nonetheless. You're trying to make a plan of escape, but it might take awhile. Then, one morning, out of the blue, you hear a voice. You don't just hear it, there's an apparition with it. A spectral presence with only slight transparency comes right up to you, inches from your face, looks you right in the eye, and says, "GET OUT."
That, in essence is what happened to me yesterday. At my job.
Needless to say I didn't need any coffee after that encounter -- I was shocked into alertness. And then I panicked. And then I got angry. And then I tried to once again look at the wreckage this poltergeist has made of my life and tried to put some logical reasoning in place. There was a fair amount of denial and bargaining internally with what I saw and heard. So by the end of the day I wasn't good for much beyond going home, facebooking, twittering, and Netflixing.
Today is a new day, however. The presence has made itself known loud and clear and I don't intend to ignore it. I'm getting out. Soon.
But I'm still going to do it on my terms -- no matter how many times you rearrange my furniture or drag me towards the abyss of the TV.

Please don't kill me giant demon, I wanna be in the sequel!

24 June 2014

Following Some Signs

I once wrote a post about there being no map for life, no real signposts that tell you where to go, what to do, how to adult, or why schools don't teach practical skills along with other 'necessary' knowledge. While I still hold to that, and the concept of needing to learn how to read and follow your own life because it will always differ from everyone else's life on the planet, I do acknowledge that sometimes the universe sends you tiny messages sprinkled across time to somehow encourage or discourage certain courses. The key is you have to be open to receiving those messages, and you have to be in a constant state of observation regarding yourself and your life -- a thing which is not easy to maintain.
However, sometimes those little messages don't bother with much subtlety. Sometimes the signs aren't a leaf blowing past you on a cool morning, making you think of times past and inspiring you to start a story you've been mulling over for months. Sometimes the signs are someone walking in the door and saying, "I had coffee with someone today who's looking to fill a position and you should write to them now. Right now." Sometimes you're contemplating your current structure and if it's working, and if your deadlines are realistic, and if you're too overwhelmed with projects, and then a string of online articles across various social media slaps you in the face with tips you didn't even know you wanted and you surmise, for a few brief moments, that The Universe is supporting you in a very small way.
And sometimes you're not in the mood to write a blog post because the list of ideas you have for posts just isn't speaking to you today, and then you become inspired anyway because of life's little road signs.
For this moment, right now, something in The Universe seems to be pushing me ahead down a path. Not sure what the path is exactly, or where it leads, or how long it'll take to reach a destination, but I'm open to pursuing it, and sometimes just putting one foot in front of the other and keeping an eye on the world around you is the best you can do.
Well, that and sending your resume off immediately when someone tells you to.


17 June 2014

Only 41(ish) weeks until my next fix...

And I do mean fix. Like a drug. A horrible, abusive drug that I wish I could quit because the highs it used to bring me have dwindled to a scene or two per episode while I spend the rest of the time reaching my hands toward my television, repeating in agonized tones, "What the hell is going on? What are you doooooiiiing?!?"
This, is "Game of Thrones" withdrawal for an avid reader of A Song of Ice and Fire.
Full disclosure, I've only read through the entire series twice. I have read A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings three times now, and the Dunk & Egg tales thrice as well. I'm aware there are people who have read these books far more than I have (most of these wonderful people helped create and maintain sites like Tower of the Hand and the ASOIaF wiki) -- there's also a ton of people who don't reach my level of knowledge on book lore. I'm not here to school you all on that, and risk lots of spoilers in the process. I'm here to talk about addiction to something you know is not going to satisfy you.
They got their claws in fast and deep, HBO did. They crafted the first season of this show in such a way as to allow both the newly initiated and the casual reader to view and enjoy without innumerable changes to the source material. Then came season two, and the eyebrows started to rise. Then came season three, where some sequences lulled you into a false sense of believing things might even out again while somewhere in the back of your mind you knew this wouldn't be possible. Then season four... and not only are you wondering if you've even read the same books as the show's creators, you're questioning your sanity. Because as much as you rant and rail and are constantly appalled by the character assassinations and rapes (both literal and figurative) in the show, you keep watching -- not because you're invested. No. You're addicted, and that is far worse. It's worse because you know in your moments of lucidity that all the joy you once felt has turned into morbid curiosity about which one or two scenes they might get right in this episode. The anticipatory rush you feel when Sunday rolls around turns into rocking on your heels in the corner, staring at a clock until the hour arrives for you to jack in to your viewing.
The magic and wonder has been replaced with an empty, aching need, accompanied after viewing by a hunger for something better, something more deserving of your passionate pleas for great storytelling and dynamic characters and motherfucking ice zombies who are just ice zombies with no explanation of where they come from or what they want beyond the destruction of humanity. Yet this is all you have. You don't have the show, the show has you -- and you know it always will. So you grumble, you sigh, and you set up your countdown widget until next season, absentmindedly tapping veins in your arm every Sunday evening until your drug feeds you again. Winter is coming, but not for a long while...




15 June 2014

The Blog Has Risen

Whenever I return to a blog after a long absence, I feel the need for two things:
1) To exclaim, "I'm not dead yet," like that plucky old man in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.


2) To offer up explanations for my absence, even if no one cares because I feel obligated to give reasons for what really comes down to either: I've been busy and told myself doing this blog wasn't productive (which is a lie), or I've been caught up in my own mind in a manner that kept me from doing what I want and need to do in favor of engaging that monster of Depression and letting it win for a while (which is very true, and not an excuse, but a reason -- sadly).

What really matters is that I'm back, and to anyone still paying attention to my little corner of the internet, thanks for sticking around. I've got a plan and a schedule to resume posts shortly (as in this week), so tell your friends (internet or IRL ones, or both) to watch this space for updates soon.

06 February 2014

In Olympic Russia, Hotel Checks You

Expectation:

It's a bit modernist, but seems stable -- what could go wrong?
Reality:

Oh, well, that's not good. Probably an isolated incident...
Erm...
WHAT.

Unless you've somehow put a block on anything Olympics-related, you've probably seen those 'reality' images seventy times over by now. As if the socio-political aspects of this year's games wasn't contaminated enough by a government vocally bashing a not-small portion of humanity there's, well, contaminated water, open manhole covers, floor-less lobbies, and a sense of unfinished-ness permeating Sochi -- and the games have only just started.
Now, Russia is generally a winter-sports wonderland, but if the infrastructure of the host city is this unprepared for just the sheer number of people coming for the games, it really raises questions about their preparedness for the games themselves. Are the halfpipes structurally stable? Are the slopes maintained well enough? Are the speed skating tracks even?
And who the hell was in charge of maintaining the construction schedule for the press, visitor, and athlete hotels?

I'm not boycotting watching this year's games, for many reasons, the foundation of which is I want to support the athletes who have spent their whole lives working toward these games. There are new events and new Olympians mixed in with the classic games and seasoned athletes. These people are what the games are about, not the ridiculous, homophobic, misguided government backing these games, not the already ludicrous accommodations and state of the host city, not the pomp and circumstance of the opening ceremonies, but the actual people participating. The athletes are what I care about. They're what I've always cared about.
You choose to boycott these games, for whatever reason, that's fine. Personal choices, not going to judge. Just remember: however these games play out over the next two weeks, the more focus given to the participants' achievements and how everyone going to Russia overcomes the obvious issues present there, the better we all will be as people.

That being said, calling out governments and officials on horrendous lack of planning, structuring, organization and implementation in any endeavour is not unwarranted. The more social media advances, the more opportunity we have to showcase these flaws not just at the Olympics, but any time, anywhere -- not through assumptions and false accusations, but through simple evidence. If nothing else, hopefully these Olympics will show some leaders that not all their inadequacies can be brushed aside using money and/or force, from the country level down through the smallest company.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go draft my Olympic viewing schedule from the comfort of my fully plumbed, entirely floored room.

30 January 2014

Put a Stake In It, PLEASE

It’s over! It’s finally over! It’s over for good!
Wait, maybe not? Oh, Renfield save me…

Previously, I talked a bit about what prevented me from doing weekly recaps of Dracula, and it basically came down to how appalling the series became, and so quickly, both in terms of predictable tropes and character assassination.
Here’s the thing, though. I can move past the predictability and utter nonsense that was the plot of this series -- and only because I’ve become so jaded and cynical in my belief that no one cares about even trying to be original anymore; it’s all a facade, this trend of doing a ‘new twist’ on classics in an attempt to make something seem more 'original' than 'adaptation.' Except it’s not original when you simply borrow from other sources and mash things together. It’s like trying to fit puzzle pieces of different puzzles together and expecting a full picture. But I digress. I’ve become accustomed to this approach, so that part I can get over...ish.
What really astounds me (and confuses me on the part of people who actually seem to like the show) is how the creators of the show gave the audience a swath of characters who are all narcissistic, immature, bitchfacey douchewads with no ability to act like mature, responsible, compassionate adults for more than an episode. By the end of the series every single main character, with the possible exception of Renfield, is deplorable. There’s no one to root for, unless you enjoy rooting for self-involved sycophants and whiner babies.
(Granted, Dracula isn’t the only show with characters like this, but it is the most heavily populated…)

It's difficult to find vampires more narcissistic than The Originals family, but Dracula made ALL its characters as bad as they are...


These characters are taken from a novel wherein there is one wretched, narcissistic jerkface. Just one. And despite the fact that said novel is named for him, he’s not actually in the book a whole lot. This is where my righteous indignation over character assassination shades into outright fury. Not only did you do a mash-up of other stories to craft your plot for the season, rather than maintain any semblance of paying homage to the source material, you also managed to completely mangle every single main character. Not just mangle by giving them attributes and/or flaws and/or character arcs that have nothing to do with how they’re actually written, but turn them into genuinely dislikable people. All of them.
I’m just glad Qunicey was nowhere to be found in this show.
If the series does get renewed, it’ll be interesting to see how they move forward with these characters. And by ‘interesting’ I mean ‘good luck getting any of your audience to give a crap about anyone,’ because there’s a difference between having characters that are flawed and make bad choices, and just having a group of blundering assholes.

12 January 2014

Dracu-zzzz

So back in October, I intended to chronicle my MST3K-esque journey watching Dracula.
Unfortunately life (and NaNoWriMo) intervened for a little while, and while I do have recaps of episodes 2 and 3, by the time I got to episode 4, a disturbing trend emerged (and no, I'm not talking about the continued character assassination of every canonical individual, which is still happening). The trend became this:
Character A does something to or for Character B.
Character B turns into a whiny bitch about it.
Character A apologizes, makes amends, or turns into a whiny little bitch, too.
Lather, rinse, repeat.

Just sit and mope with me, Renfield. I'm too emo to do anything productive.

We're now just past episode 8, and this is still happening. More than global energy subplots involving mysterious sociopolitical/religious orders and tragic pasts, more than the hunt for Dracula (Vlad Tepes, Vlad the Impaler, who we have to repeat all three titles every time we mention his name in case someone didn't know who he was) by a clandestine society of rich white guys who get a woman to do all their heavy duty fighting, more than the potentially emotionally engrossing story of young people exploring their feelings, desires, and sexuality in a healthy, honest way, the show has pretty much turned into a (really bad) soap opera with a vampire. And Dracula is pretty much the king of whiny, bitchy, tantrum-throwing moments.
It's really difficult to even feign interest in a series when every character is horrendously unlikable -- and not because they're wicked or evil or devious, but because they're selfish, whiny, assholes incapable of behaving like rational adults for more than a single episode arc. If I wanted to watch crappy daytime TV I'd watch crappy daytime TV. Don't try and feed me that swill on primetime network television and act like I'm supposed to think it's engaging.

Once you have sex with Mina, will you get rid of the ascot and ridiculous facial hair?


Aaaaaand that is why my next post is going to be dedicated to the complete opposite of Dracula: the utter magnificence that is Sherlock (whose main character is frequently a selfish, whiny, asshole... and yet you love him).

26 October 2013

Dracu-ugh (Episode 1)

Alright. Now that I’ve sobered up from downing an entire bottle of wine in the span of an hour during the initial broadcast of the Dracula premiere, let’s get a bit more specific as to the reasons which caused me to consume an absurd amount of alcohol in such a short time frame.


We open with a couple of dudes seemingly Indiana Jones-ing their way into a crypt in Romania in 1881. As any logical person knows, things entombed in crypts this difficult to get to (and with bodies in caskets that have spikes driven through them) were buried so that no one would open them. People in vampire stories -- not logical. Also, not reliable as business partners as it’s only a moment until one of them is getting their throat slashed to awaken our Big Bad Vampire Daddy, and we have the first misinterpretation of a quote from the book, “The blood is the life.”
Cue transformation of stabnated corpse into Bloodface Rhys-Meyers… which quickly cuts to bathing, shirtless, dripping, sexy JRM surrounded by candles and by this point I assume the creators are hoping the female viewership just gave up caring about anything else other than gazing at tasty manflesh. His dressing is filmed like a Jaguar commercial -- close-up highlighted body parts and tailoring.
 
 
 

Finally the costume porn spell is broken by Dracula speaking to Renfield, presumably acting as a creepy voyeur butler to this costume erotica. (Also, I’m only going to say this once: changing up Renfield’s race to still make him Dracula’s bitch is not culturally inclusive. It is straight up racist.) Dracula casually asks Renfield if all his guests will be photographed on entrance as requested, as though we’re supposed to think that’s deviant yet acceptably weird. It’s not. It’s creepy -- and not in an ‘I vahnt to suck their blood’ way. In a ‘I’m planning who to systematically destroy based on their appearance -- kind of like Hitler’ way. There is a talk of a demonstration, then a casual jab at 1896 Americana as Renfield exits and Dracula ‘eases’ into his slightly Southern, slightly Midwest, slightly off American accent and introduces himself to… himself, as Alexander Grayson.
Cue carriages, grandeur, and ballroom dancing as we’re introduced to the young trio of Mina, Jonathan, and Lucy. Neither girl is wearing a dress even remotely era-appropriate and obviously designed to make them stand out. Lucy is immediately set up as vain, petty, flippant, condescending, and man-crazy. So there’s an immediate character assassination (and I think at this point I finished my second glass of wine).*
Jonathan and Mina express their disdain to each other at being brought to a fancy event where the likes of a journalist and scientist-in-training aren’t likely to find anything in common with the obscenely rich. Especially since the rich in this time period have more propriety than to kiss their not-yet-fiancees in public.
And yet, don’t think that Jonathan and Mina’s poo-poo-ing of the grandeur is only middle-class jealousy. The wealthy aristocracy, business barons, and their nose-up ladies are all a-chatter about how obscene this very American display of wealth is. They’re even surprised so many have come to this ridiculously decadent event… except it’s 1896 in London and at this point the city may as well have been renamed Decadence Central.
Renfield appears on the stairs to introduce the master of Carfax Manor (I hear the creators giggling at their clever book insert), mister Alexander Grayson. While everyone may think he’s an eccentric American making an obscene display of his wealth, that won’t stop them from clapping enthusiastically at his appearance. He saunters down some stairs, takes a cocktail, and then sees Mina. And the world around him disappears. And Mina senses it, too. And I sense a sudden urge to violently hurl my laptop out the window. There’s a flashback or flashforward or insight into their mind-melding or some ridiculous overly-romantic bullshit sequence of them cuddling and caressing in bed before we’re snapped back to the now, and I’m about to snap some writer’s neck.

We mangle Dracula’s initial greeting to ‘fit’ a roomful of people, and yet when his little moment is done, he goes back to staring at Mina. Like no one’s going to notice that. Oh, but wait. Lucy does. And so does Jonathan. And so does Mina. But does Alexula stop there? Nope, he saunters right over to Renfield and demands he find out everything about her and Jonathan.
Alexula’s first official introduction is to a woman named Jayne Weatherby, whose hair color is impossibly blonde, and eyebrows impossibly shaped. With her is her ‘friend’ Herr Kruger, who Alexula basically insults as a mask to hide that he probably hates continental Europeans with Germanic last names for reasons only someone who knows about vampire lore would gather.
Alexula then makes directly for some imperialist business-lords who chair a company he would like to obtain patents from. Stunned by his blatant talk of business in front of women, Alexula is shot down and his American status insulted. They leave him and we get the first shot of Alexula’s “I’m going to slaughter some bitches tonight” face.
Jonathan’s been observing this little moment and strolls up to offer Alexula some advice and dirt on the insulting lord, and is then joined by Mina. Alexula introduces himself to Jonathan, who introduces Alexula to Mina who is now gaping at Alexula like most female reporters currently gape at Tom Hiddleston (which I would, too, in their position). 


Mina apologizes for her behaviour by starting to say she thinks they’ve met before, but Alexula finishes that thought for her. Which is, you know, a pretty creepy thing to hear from a guy you’re just meeting even if he does look like JRM. Renfield cockblocks further interaction (as I have a feeling will become habit with him) by telling his master “It’s time.”
Somehow in the ninety seconds that have elapsed, Renfield has found out Jonathan’s name, job, leading traits, and boxing schedule for the month, as well as Mina’s name, lineage, degree program, favorite color, and status as a Byron fangirl.
A dramatic boom enters the music, as does OMG BEN MILES ILY SO MUCH! (I’m sorry, but I tend to fangirl horribly over any cast member from Coupling). 

He and his immaculately coiffed hair observe the same lords and ladies Alexula did, but before we can find out any more about him, Renfield announces it is time for the demonstration. He then saunters down to Jonathan and while initially chiding him for being a member of the press at a strictly no-press event, he quickly recovers by offering him an exclusive interview with Alexula, tomorrow, at the house, alone, no garlic necklaces allowed.
Now it’s time for the demonstration as Alexula hands out lightbulbs during a speech about the dark ages, war, and how not-evolved we still are, but may be with the help of his new invention -- magnetic power that can provide wireless electricity. Somewhere deep beneath the manor (one assumes), stage one is begun with lots of shouting men and steam and levers being thrown (because that’s how you dramatic science). The business-lords, now joined by Patrick Maitland (I’m sorry, but that’s what you get when you’re Ben Miles), are instantly concerned for their petroleum interests, but Patrick tells them not to worry. Meanwhile, nothing is happening yet, so to stage two we must go. More steam, more yelling, more levers. Then, like magic, Mina’s light bulb alights first. Then another, then another, then the room. Alexula gives his best maniacal laugh, but everyone is so awed by the lights that apparently I’m the only one who notices how creepy and over-the-top his reaction is. However, after a few seconds, things start to go wrong downstairs. Sparks are flying, men are getting zapped from a Tesla-coil-esque machine, and demented doubles of Hugh Jackman start appearing. The foreman requests to cut the power, but Alexula, through Renfield, demands a few more seconds to revel. So a couple more explosions happen and the coolant expels itself all over until the foreman does the intelligent thing and shuts everything off.
Alexula soothes the disappointed crowd by making a horrible pun with a long pause. He makes a beeline back to Mina but Lucy thrusts her hand out and introduces herself before he can flirt. Alexula chats to each of them in turn, and pretty much leaves them all enthralled. Jonathan notes that he seems quite taken with Mina, and Lucy is quick to second his assessment, while still being petty and insulting. Then she’s off for cordials. (Seriously, can we please stop making Lucy into a petulant debutante?)

The mysterious Lady Jayne slinks around a corner behind Dracula and comments on his extraordinary display, and his immediate retort is that he didn’t hear her approach -- and yet I heard the distinct sound of a heel hitting stone, so Alexula’s obviously deaf, as are the sound mixers. They walk, they insult-flirt, she invites him to the opera so he can get into her box… yes, really. Did I mention this woman is wearing a feathered choker? She departs and we get Alexula’s “I think I’ll sex that one before I kill her” face.
The ball ends with vague threats from one of the business-lords, and if you didn’t see the blinking ‘dead meat’ sign over his head, the music and Alexula’s expression should have clued you in.

Jonathan is typing with his photo of Mina beside his typewriter. His accented-roomie schools him to ask for Mina’s hand before someone else does, which segues directly into Mina and Lucy’s slumber party where Lucy is taunting Mina about the weirdo American leering at her, and yet seems to hold him in a better light than Jonathan whose biggest character flaw is being ‘boring.’ (And I want to cry with rage.) Mina begs Lucy to talk about something other than her dislike of Jonathan. Then there’s a random ‘whooshing’ sound that apparently all of London hears, except the drunk soon-to-be-dead lord, who gets yanked away from his doorstep and whose arterial spray splashes artfully on his numbered pillar.

Alexula justifies to Renfield ripping the man apart basically because he was rude (I think we just found Hannibal’s bff) as Renfield tosses the lord’s photo into the fireplace. Now we’re on to discussing Alexula’s plans to destroy the corrupt and powerful and entitled Order of the Dragon. The crux of it is they’re an elitist war council that murders, pillages, rapes, degrades in the name of… we’re not really told. Basically Alexula is planning a holy war against a group that engages in their own nebulous holy war. It’s really convoluted because it tries to both entangle itself with the actual Order of the Dragon while muddling everything that had to do with the actual Order’s real purpose -- especially the fact that the main inspiration for Dracula was a member of this Order, as were other members of his family. And let’s not forget the burning of peasants flashback. Alexula’s big plan however, is to stop their reign by directing the future of world power from petroleum to magnetic, and, you know, killing every member he can sink his fangs into.
At this point I’m drunk, angry, frustrated, and wondering how such perfect portraits of every person entering that party were taken.

It’s a foggy night in London town, and the dead lord’s house is being broken into by the Herr and his neck checked for signs of bite marks. Rather than make a thorough home exam, Kruger cuts off the lord’s head, carries it in a hatbox through town, and drops it off to Lady Jayne. Because obviously no one’s opening that man’s coffin again and won’t notice his head’s gone…
Lady Jayne brings the head to Patrick, all stuffed with garlic, onions, and sage, ready for roasting on a spit. There’s talk of the last time a vampire ravaged London and they had to cover it up -- 1888, which, for those not in the know, they illuminate us was the year of Jack the Ripper. Yup. The Ripper was a vampire. Because THAT’S original…
They decide to put Kruger on patrol to watch over the other business-council-lords, so long as, Patrick stipulates, no one knows he’s around -- because unexpected Germans make Brits nervous for some reason… (too soon?) And the official explanation for ‘unexplained’ death? Dog attack.
We enter a classroom where students are learning science via reading the tabloids. Mina covers for her male chatterboxes to their professor for reasons I don’t pretend to understand.
Meanwhile, Jonathan is waiting for Alexula and opens a giant shutter where sunlight then streams in. Alexula arrives and Jonathan extends a hand to shake, directly into the beam of light. Alexula hesitates, then gives a firm shake and gestures Jonathan to a chair. Alexula turns away to get a drink, and we see his hand is burnt. (At this point I am a) infuriated that Dracula is not sun-resistant and b) questioning his rationale in picking the house, room, and time of day to meet Jonathan knowing full well he could burst into flame.)

After Alexula casually pushes his chair out of direct sunlight, they have an interesting chat about why Alexula is here and the basic message is that Alexula is claiming to look out for the future of humanity by encouraging scientific developments while acknowledging his lineage as a member of the ‘old world’ privileged class. And while this is totally out of canon character for Dracula, it’s a well crafted moment, and my biggest annoyance was actually that Jonathan’s notes aren’t in shorthand. I don’t give a shit what his personal assessments of Alexula are, as we’ll likely get those when his story is published. I do care that he has journalistic integrity and knows how to properly notate for the time period.

We’re back with Mina at school where she’s meeting her professor in his very dark office. She’s concerned about being able to become her prof’s research assistant after exams. She’s by far the most intelligent in class, but she sucks at hands-on surgical work because cutting people makes her squeamish. So we’ve built Mina up as incredibly bright and engaging in a professional course not afforded to 95% of women at this point in time… only to strip all that away in saying that she’s a great scholar and bookworm but when she sees blood she practically faints.**
Her professor tells her to suck it up and have confidence while also giving her cryptic advice about the heart never lying. She leaves and goes outside, being passed by her male classmates all saying goodnight as she stands around waiting for who the fuck knows. Apparently we’re not supposed to think this is odd as Alexula creeps around pillars watching her with his coat collar turned up. Yes, really. 

She stands alone, reading a book in the dark as he stalks all around her, disappearing when she finally senses something. Then, a female (apparently a friend) comes up and murmurs something about sorry for being late and they walk off into the dark together. Another woman crosses past them, notices Alexula, and gives him flirty sex eyes. And since he can’t get his rocks off with Mina yet, it’s time for a quick fondle-bite-kill with this girl.
And now to the opera, where Alexula has donated his box for the evening to Jonathan and Mina (who is dressed like Belle for some reason). Lady Jayne hip-wags to her own box, the opera begins, and look who decided he wanted into her box after all. And look, her box is directly across from where Jonathan and Mina sit. So Alexula can sex up Lady Jane while looking longingly across the opera house at Mina. (And as gorgeous and enchanting as JRM is, the fact that we’re supposed to root for this guy to be with Mina is insulting.)

The Order lords are gossip-bitching about Alexula taking control of their dead buddies assets, though the elder one isn’t terribly concerned. Alexula stalks the younger from the rooftops when suddenly Kruger shoots him in the leg. What ensues is an insanely ridiculous semi-slow-mo fight between the two of them that predictably ends with Kruger suffering from a bad case of katana to jugular. (Yes, Dracula owns, carries, and fights with a katana.) 

Alexula can’t suppress the urge to speechify to him before he dies, though, promising to kill everyone in the Order.
Meanwhile, Lady Jayne twirls katanas of her own in a practice arena complete with punching bags she slices up (which is just a waste of good punching bags), and a caged female vampire. Jayne wants to know who her sire is, but the vamp won’t tell. So Jayne coos all about her known methods of torture to get vampires to talk. The vamp girl is unimpressed and there is a stalemate.
Back at Castle Carfax, Alexula tries to drink away his anger (because that always works), and into the room swans Professor Van Helsing… and this is where I downed the last ¼ bottle of wine. Basically, Dracula is on Van Helsing’s leash, and Van Helsing is the one leading and directing the crusade against the Order because they killed his family. Van Helsing is the brains, Dracula is the brawn. And my desire for vengeance against the creators of this show is almost as strong as theirs against the Order.




So what did I like?
I like the completely fabricated character Ben Miles is playing. Partially for his cool collectedness, and partially because it’s Ben Miles.
I liked the interview scene (aside from aforementioned attention to proper journalism note taking), because even though it takes Dracula in a completely non-canonical direction for why he’s in London, it’s one that does actually make sense in context of the show.
I like most of the cast, even when I can’t stand their character (or what’s being done with their character).


As a final note, I’m just going to keep track of how many people Dracula kills every week -- and what that total is when Mina finally, inevitably, falls for him.
Week one kill count: 3


* No offence to Katie McGrath. I genuinely adore her and really hope her character gets something more to do than is indicated in this episode. But I fear she’ll fall into the same trap set up for Morgana in Merlin (beyond season 3) where she’s written into a corner and has to find her own way in an increasingly poorly written role.


** If this is how you inject feminism into a character you didn’t think was feminist to begin with -- FUCK YOU. Canon Mina may hold to the strict, patriarchal ideals of her time, but she is intelligent, resourceful, brave, strong, compassionate, does not shy away from danger or blood, and is more modern than she would even think to give herself credit for. She also doesn’t fall in love with a mass murderer.

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