Jay makes ominous intimations. Jesse is stupid and shallow; she’s all anger, malice and aggression. Harry is in peril when he is mistaken for Wells. Snow and Killer Frost bond over their narcissistic mothers. Barry whines. Harry is menaced by the baddie du jour who has no genuine chill. Killer Frost is a charlatan and not credibly creepy. Zoom kills and there are more bloody consequences due to him being crazy.
Barry has no emotional fortitude. Harry has a really bad idea. The baddie du jour looks like a melted DJ Qualls. Where is Henry? This was okay and I’m tired of Barry and his never-ending whining and consternation. Joe is an ass and will Snow stop pissing off a cold and imperious serial killer?
“I’m one of your mistakes.”
“Woke up one day: cold, pale.”
“You robbed me of her.”
“There is no helping you.”
“Why is it that bad guys always insist on having the creepiest hideouts?”
“I swore on her grave no less.”
There is a sword wielding art thief, Jane dresses in a ‘Great Gatsby’ reject dress, Kurt is nicknamed Stubbles and the world will live in darkness if not for Jane and her gang apparently. A dancing guy fires off guns and cocaine is passed around on a silver platter. There are complications and a fairly obvious twist. Jane meets Kurt’s dad. Mayfair reunites with someone.
“These people will kill me eventually.”
“Non-verbal sexual clues.”
“I left that part technically vague.”
“Fleshy meat paw.”
“Explosive shotgun charge.”
“Lady Tommy Lee Jones.”
“Horrifically vandalised hotel suite.”
“Mustard on the beat, ho!”
“These stairs go down too!”
“She’s just an innocent hooker!”
“I’d beat your ass for free.”
This was not elegantly modulated. Oliver couldn’t be bothered delivering Tommy’s eulogy and shrugged off how he soured relations between himself and Tommy. New Canary tells Oliver he was selective in whom he saved. Nyssa shows up. This had no great drama. Felicity makes it all about her. Diggle and his stupid helmet tries to kill Damien’s wife. There is bad acting and the anti-vigilante task force is revived.
I don’t care about Damien’s mad vision for the city. Laurel was discriminatorily dismissed. This show is overly dependant on flashbacks. Both Oliver’s childhood friends are dead. Laurel and Oliver made out after Tommy’s funeral, which was classy. Damien has Lazarus Pit water, does anyone recall that?
Oliver is a cosy purveyor of platitudes. Damien and his bitch-wife are ensconced in power. Laurel’s blood-soaked Black Canary costume is on display in the Arrowcave, how did they get it back? Thea annoys. Laurel’s mother finally shows up. Oliver outs Laurel as the Black Canary at her funeral, which should have major repercussions. Things are denormlaised. Barry shows up, how did he have his speed at the funereal? Damien and co are barbaric, inhuman and downright evil. The Black Canary is on Laurel’s tombstone; she was 31 and never used her proper name. Felicity bitches. This was BAD: Laurel thrived on negative attention and turned to drink and drugs because Oliver rejected her not because she got Tommy killed.
“Let her come. Let her try.”
“There’s blood in her lungs, she’ll choke to death.”
“You look like you eat a lot standing up.”
“How did you know that?”
“The man who killed my wife is in Miami.”
“I will not stop, ever.”
There is dated opening credits and music. The rooms look like stage sets. It is 1805 and servants set a huge table with pink china. This is from the makers of ‘I, Claudius’, I barely recall the 1956 Audrey Hepburn movie. There are bad wigs and apparently Bob Hoskins was the original choice for Napoleon. Pierre (Hopkins) and Kuragin (Baker) hang out. Natasha is horrible and has no obvious respect for anyone. There are loads and loads of characters. An actor who looks like Martin Freeman plays one of Natasha’s brothers. There is no sheer visual grandeur just lots of hysterical women.
This is a hyper-theatrical tale of grim history and absurdity and banality. Natasha is wholeheartedly unpleasant and is played by Morag Hood in an open-mouthed, swivel-eyed loon performance. One cutting appraisal of her acting at the time was: “Can she help it if she arouses throughout the country an unquenchable desire to throw a tarpaulin over her and nail down the corners.”
The sets don’t look sumptuous enough and the script isn’t intellectually provocative. There are no difficult emotions. Pierre has social dialogue. This is an appallingly bleak vision of pre-revolutionary Russian populated by jackasses. Why are rich Russians sitting on wicker furniture? Was wicker furniture a thing in 1805?
One instinctively recoils from Natasha and her ACTINGS and over-confident charm. People plot and mumble. Sonya howls and wants to marry Nikolai (the one who looks like Martin Freeman). The women’s jewels are a bit pound shop and this was a time-passer.
“Everything’s in the serving.”
“It’s too rude Mama.”
“But he’s illegitimate!”
“Do you think it’s seemly playing cards in the house of a dying man?”
“How can I pay my respects if he’s unconscious?”
“He’s very nearly dead.”
“One has to be polite.”
“I do so like to see a young man in uniform.”
“When did I ever insist?”
“Sonya stole Natasha’s doll and hid it up her skirt.”
“I suppose they would.”
“So very sordid.”
“I had it and you didn’t.”
“Setting him against us.”
“You vile woman!”
“Crush the hydra of Revolution.”
“Less and less of a credit to you.”
“Don’t you find father rather trying?”
“If you get killed, it would be a grief to me.”
“I don’t take kindly to imputations of bad faith.”
“What is it I’m attracted to?”
Your life’s happiness depends on your decision.”