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Kirk Bage (1775 KP) rated Tales from the Loop in TV
Jan 22, 2021
Such is the competition for our attention on the major streaming services, and such is the daunting depth of choice, that sometimes something of real quality can slip through the net for a while. I like to think that eventually, everything gets the audience it deserves, because eventually enough people that appreciated it will find it and pass it on. But it is apparent that good things can go under the radar very easily for one reason or another.
Everything about the production and presentation of Amazon’s Tales From the Loop suggests they thought it might be a bigger hit, or at least they had enough faith in it to let it be different from the mass appeal conventions that apply to sci-fi shows. They have proved this many times in recent years, with shows like The Man In the High Castle and The Expanse favouring patient and mature story-telling over interminable flashbangs and whizzpops usually found in the more action based sci-fi on Netflix and others (The Handmaid’s Tale being another notable exception).
Having raised myself auto-didactically on the oldest traditions of science fiction writing in novel and short story form since my teenage years, I can say with some amateur authority that the point of using sci-fi ideas was always about the people and the parallels to social reality and politics that could be highlighted by putting them in a “what-if” situation. The lazer guns and spaceships and evil aliens were much more a product of Hollywood, and still are. Great science fiction writing can and usually does revolve around a very simple change to the world we know, an inversion or a convention or a technology that turns how we live on its head. At its best it is philosophical and moral poetry.
Tales From the Loop, inspired by the beguiling paintings of Swedish Artist Simon Stålenhag aspires to return to these principles, eschewing breakneck pace and unnecessary exposition at every turn – it is entirely content to confuse and sometimes even bore you with its patient, melancholy approach, testing almost if you are worthy to reach the prize of deeper meaning buried away in the final few episodes.
The idea of Stålenhag’s work is to juxtapose a familiar and mundane landscape with a detail of technology that does not exist in our reality. Often it is something broken, run-down or neglected, leaving a strange sadness and beauty behind that has you wondering who once made this and what was it for, and why is it no longer loved? The untold stories objects and hidden lives, secrets and desires that have been lost, is what this sensitive and delicate show is about. It is about the interconnection of lives caught in time, and the sci-fi / tech conceit is only the hanger that coat is put on. Which… I love.
The surface idea is that we are looking at the inhabitants of a small American town that once relied on farming and community, but now has been changed by the presence of an underground facility that deals with experimental physics and finding ways to make impossible things possible. They call it The Loop. It is never fully explained where it came from, or why, or what it is truly capable of – the mystery is always allowed to remain mostly a mystery – which, again, I love!
Many people in the town work at The Loop and rely on it for their livelihoods and collective economy, including Jonathon Pryce and Rebecca Hall, who are ostensibly the show’s main characters. But most folk have no idea what is really going on. Each episode focuses on one or two members of the community that interweave with one another; several important people begin as background dressing and become more prevalent as the full story of their lives and connections unfolds. But no one character is in every episode… which, you know, I love.
Their lives, that seem simple at first glance, are revealed to be complex tapestries of emotion and personal history, revolving around how The Loop has affected them and the things they love. The progression and unfolding of the detail is so deliberate and usually under-explained that very often you don’t realise the effect the full image will have. And when it does catch up with you it becomes a very moving and meaningful experience. Characters that you don’t understand or even like at first come into sharper focus as we reach the climax of the season and grow to learn why they are the way they are. The story arcs of Pryce and Hall in particular are very satisfying, tragic yet utterly beautiful to comprehend.
A lot of the criticism you will see about the show will concentrate on how slow it all is. I am totally convinced this is a deliberate artistic choice to weed out the thrill junkies. They are very welcome to go elsewhere, and it sounds as if many of them did, basing their reviews on one or two half watched episodes they couldn’t be bothered to engage with or wonder at. Which is why I think in time the respect for this as a work of art will come back around.
There is nothing to fault in the production at all. From the opening credits to the end of each episode, what you get is a very highly polished and considered look and feel, designed to evoke certain feelings over others – a wistfulness, an ennui, a bittersweet smile of knowing, perhaps. It invites you to watch patiently and relate, not to watch eagerly and expect… which, you know, I love.
The photography is crisp and well framed always; the music is subtle but effective; the dialogue is often sparing and well chosen (no detail is merely thrown away); and the direction is of a remarkably uniform vision, considering each episode is a different guest professional, including such prestigious names as Jodie Foster, Mark Romanek and Andrew Stanton.
I absolutely urge anyone that isn’t put off by a little sentiment to give this one a try. Sadness and regret in life is not something to shun and be afraid of, they are parts of human experience, and I love art that explores them as concepts. Put that art in a science fiction context and I am bound to love it even more. Like the final moments of Blade Runner, we know that one day all these moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. We have to take time to see the beauty while we can, even if that beauty is painful.
It may not be for you – I don’t think it is better or worse than other things, just more… me. There is every chance that if it isn’t you… you will hate it. If you do begin, however, please see it to the finish before casting judgement – the final episode directed by Jodie Foster is truly wonderful: a pay-off of such emotion after your investment of seven previous stories, tying it all together perfectly. Rarely have I felt so stupid for not understanding the point of something sooner, or been more pleased that I hadn’t. The final moment of the season is literally unforgettable, and gets richer in my imagination by the day.
Will there be a second season? There certainly could be. Was it enough of a success to justify the investment? Hmm, not sure. Either way, it either sits as a perfect self contained collection of fine, old-fashioned sci-fi stories, or I’d be happy to see it expand, as long as the temptation isn’t to listen to the negative reviews and pander to the fast-food mentality that has already rejected it without fully understanding it. Because nothing needs to change here. A thing of beauty, recommended to those who like beautiful and delicate things.
Everything about the production and presentation of Amazon’s Tales From the Loop suggests they thought it might be a bigger hit, or at least they had enough faith in it to let it be different from the mass appeal conventions that apply to sci-fi shows. They have proved this many times in recent years, with shows like The Man In the High Castle and The Expanse favouring patient and mature story-telling over interminable flashbangs and whizzpops usually found in the more action based sci-fi on Netflix and others (The Handmaid’s Tale being another notable exception).
Having raised myself auto-didactically on the oldest traditions of science fiction writing in novel and short story form since my teenage years, I can say with some amateur authority that the point of using sci-fi ideas was always about the people and the parallels to social reality and politics that could be highlighted by putting them in a “what-if” situation. The lazer guns and spaceships and evil aliens were much more a product of Hollywood, and still are. Great science fiction writing can and usually does revolve around a very simple change to the world we know, an inversion or a convention or a technology that turns how we live on its head. At its best it is philosophical and moral poetry.
Tales From the Loop, inspired by the beguiling paintings of Swedish Artist Simon Stålenhag aspires to return to these principles, eschewing breakneck pace and unnecessary exposition at every turn – it is entirely content to confuse and sometimes even bore you with its patient, melancholy approach, testing almost if you are worthy to reach the prize of deeper meaning buried away in the final few episodes.
The idea of Stålenhag’s work is to juxtapose a familiar and mundane landscape with a detail of technology that does not exist in our reality. Often it is something broken, run-down or neglected, leaving a strange sadness and beauty behind that has you wondering who once made this and what was it for, and why is it no longer loved? The untold stories objects and hidden lives, secrets and desires that have been lost, is what this sensitive and delicate show is about. It is about the interconnection of lives caught in time, and the sci-fi / tech conceit is only the hanger that coat is put on. Which… I love.
The surface idea is that we are looking at the inhabitants of a small American town that once relied on farming and community, but now has been changed by the presence of an underground facility that deals with experimental physics and finding ways to make impossible things possible. They call it The Loop. It is never fully explained where it came from, or why, or what it is truly capable of – the mystery is always allowed to remain mostly a mystery – which, again, I love!
Many people in the town work at The Loop and rely on it for their livelihoods and collective economy, including Jonathon Pryce and Rebecca Hall, who are ostensibly the show’s main characters. But most folk have no idea what is really going on. Each episode focuses on one or two members of the community that interweave with one another; several important people begin as background dressing and become more prevalent as the full story of their lives and connections unfolds. But no one character is in every episode… which, you know, I love.
Their lives, that seem simple at first glance, are revealed to be complex tapestries of emotion and personal history, revolving around how The Loop has affected them and the things they love. The progression and unfolding of the detail is so deliberate and usually under-explained that very often you don’t realise the effect the full image will have. And when it does catch up with you it becomes a very moving and meaningful experience. Characters that you don’t understand or even like at first come into sharper focus as we reach the climax of the season and grow to learn why they are the way they are. The story arcs of Pryce and Hall in particular are very satisfying, tragic yet utterly beautiful to comprehend.
A lot of the criticism you will see about the show will concentrate on how slow it all is. I am totally convinced this is a deliberate artistic choice to weed out the thrill junkies. They are very welcome to go elsewhere, and it sounds as if many of them did, basing their reviews on one or two half watched episodes they couldn’t be bothered to engage with or wonder at. Which is why I think in time the respect for this as a work of art will come back around.
There is nothing to fault in the production at all. From the opening credits to the end of each episode, what you get is a very highly polished and considered look and feel, designed to evoke certain feelings over others – a wistfulness, an ennui, a bittersweet smile of knowing, perhaps. It invites you to watch patiently and relate, not to watch eagerly and expect… which, you know, I love.
The photography is crisp and well framed always; the music is subtle but effective; the dialogue is often sparing and well chosen (no detail is merely thrown away); and the direction is of a remarkably uniform vision, considering each episode is a different guest professional, including such prestigious names as Jodie Foster, Mark Romanek and Andrew Stanton.
I absolutely urge anyone that isn’t put off by a little sentiment to give this one a try. Sadness and regret in life is not something to shun and be afraid of, they are parts of human experience, and I love art that explores them as concepts. Put that art in a science fiction context and I am bound to love it even more. Like the final moments of Blade Runner, we know that one day all these moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. We have to take time to see the beauty while we can, even if that beauty is painful.
It may not be for you – I don’t think it is better or worse than other things, just more… me. There is every chance that if it isn’t you… you will hate it. If you do begin, however, please see it to the finish before casting judgement – the final episode directed by Jodie Foster is truly wonderful: a pay-off of such emotion after your investment of seven previous stories, tying it all together perfectly. Rarely have I felt so stupid for not understanding the point of something sooner, or been more pleased that I hadn’t. The final moment of the season is literally unforgettable, and gets richer in my imagination by the day.
Will there be a second season? There certainly could be. Was it enough of a success to justify the investment? Hmm, not sure. Either way, it either sits as a perfect self contained collection of fine, old-fashioned sci-fi stories, or I’d be happy to see it expand, as long as the temptation isn’t to listen to the negative reviews and pander to the fast-food mentality that has already rejected it without fully understanding it. Because nothing needs to change here. A thing of beauty, recommended to those who like beautiful and delicate things.
Hadley (567 KP) rated Stranger Things: Runaway Max in Books
Feb 16, 2020
More of Max & Billy's relationship (1 more)
Max's life in California
Brenna Yovanoff wrote this novel after season two of Stranger Things debuted on Netflix. And it reads exactly like season two, but from Max's point-of-view with some flashbacks of her life before Hawkins mixed in to make a pleasurable meal for the eyes.
Max Mayfield is a pre-teen that just moved to Hawkins, Indiana after her mother remarried and added an abusive step-father and step-brother to the family equation. She spends most of her time trying to not want to fit in with the kids at her new school, riding her trusty skateboard behind the building during recess and telling a group of boys who can't stop staring at her to leave her alone. Max's home life has become unbearable to the point that she debates running back to her real father in California. Fortunately, two of those boys that couldn't stop staring try to be friends with her, but when she begins to hang around them, she learns that things are not what they seem in Hawkins, Indiana. Merging with this group of boys, Max's life is forever changed, and probably for the better.
Runaway Max doesn't focus on the supernatural aspect that Stranger Things is known for. Instead, the focus is on a girl's life that gets turned upside down [pun intended] by the introduction of two abusive people that enter it with the intent of either destroying her or making her compliant, the struggle with who she is and who everyone else says she should be, to the desperation for just one real friend. Personally, I believe Yovanoff did an amazing job at telling Stranger Things fans the backstory of our Mad Max. As a result, I have no complaints about this novel whatsoever.
Yovanoff starts readers off with Max riding her skateboard through downtown Hawkins, with Max telling us how she was happy there was an arcade in this small town. Max wipes out on her skateboard, where a woman who will be very familiar to fans, runs out of a store to help her to her feet until the loud sound of engine comes pulling up; enter Billy and his Camaro. All throughout the story, readers get to see more of what was going on inside the Mayfield/Hargrove's household, which viewers of the series were only witness to one of the abuses happening to Billy by his father.
Runaway Max picks up the pace when a familiar scene happens with Max joining Stranger Things regulars: Lucas and Dustin, for Halloween around Hawkins. But with this story, we follow Max home after Will's encounter with a creature from the Upside Down. We learn that Billy never picked Max up, as he was suppose to, and that his father, Neil, is beyond angry when Billy comes home drunk and high:
" When Billy came slamming into the house, the smell came with him, rolling like the clouds of smoke and alcohol wafting out of a dive bar. Like bad weather. He was stumbling a little. His eyes were red-rimmed and heavier than ever, and he still had the leather jacket on, but he wasn't wearing a shirt. The light from the stained-glass lamp on the end table made him look deranged.
Neil breathed in through his nose and heaved himself out of his chair. 'And where the hell have you been?'
'Nowhere,' Billy muttered, and tried to brush past him, but Neil stepped in front of him and stopped him with a hand on his chest.
'What was that?'
Billy ducked his head and mumbled something about a flat tire. I couldn't tell if he was being honest or not - - - probably not - - - but as soon as he said it, it was pretty obvious that I had been lying. Whatever he'd been doing, it definitely hadn't been giving a school friend a ride home.
Neil had stayed ominously quiet, but now he drew himself up and took a step forward so he had Billy trapped against the wall. 'I'm curious to know where you learned to be so disobedient.'
Billy stared back at him. He was standing with his chin down and his jacket open, looking mutinous. He smelled like beer and the dry-skunk smell of Nate's brother, Silas, and all the other eighth-grade boys who got stoned behind the baseball diamond back home. It was the smell of not caring. 'Bite me, Neil. I'm not in the mood.'
For a second, they just stood looking at each other.
Then Neil spoke in a low, dangerous voice. The air was heavy and metallic, like right before a thunderstorm. 'I don't know where you've been or what you've been up to, but you will show me some respect!'
He shouted the last part. His voice sounded much too big in the smallness of the living room, and I winced, even though I was willing myself not to."
After Max quickly heads to her room to count her Halloween candy...
"Out in the living room, Neil was tuning up. For a while, it was just a rumble of voices, softer sometimes, then louder. There was a short, sharp cry and then a flat, meaty sound, like punching the pocket of a baseball glove. "
Runaway Max does a superb job of detailing abuse and the psychology that plays a role in it. Readers, also, get to see more of Billy's abuse towards Max. Focusing on the shift of personality Billy goes through (those who have watched season three of Stranger Things will have more of an understanding behind Billy, I recommend that if you haven't watched that season yet, that you do after reading this book). While all of this is going on, Yovanoff also retells season two, winding it within Max's story effortlessly and concisely:
"Dustin bent over the table, gazing at the creature in his hands like it was the sweetest, most adorable thing. He kept calling it a he, even though it was so weird and shapeless that how could you tell?
When he saw me staring, he asked if I wanted to hold it, and I shook my head, but he turned and tipped it out of his cupped palms and into mine.
It felt cool and squishy, heavier than it looked, and I passed it to Lucas fast. Lucas handed it off to Will, and it made its way around the circle. I was a little relieved to see that I wasn't the only one shrinking back from it. Will was looking at it like it had some kind of disease, and even Mike didn't exactly seem thrilled to touch it. He was the bravest, though, and held it up for a closer look. "
All-in-all, Runaway Max is season two of Stranger Things to-a-tee. But with Max's relationship with Billy being molded more by this novel, it can make even the most die-hard fans look at the two in a different way. There are even small splotches of scenes where Billy seems to want Max as a little sister, one such, when Max catches him in the garage of their California home, working on his car and smoking a cigarette:
" I leaned forward with my knees on my elbows and cupped my chin in my hands. 'At the health assembly in school, they told us that we're not supposed to smoke.'
Billy straightened and closed the hood, wiping his hands with a rag. 'And do you always do everything your teachers tell you?'
That idea was so wrong it was hilarious. My grades were usually okay, but my conduct cards were a mess. I was always in trouble for something- - - talking back, or drawing cartoon hot rods on my desk with a felt pen. I laughed and shook my head.
That seemed to make him happy. He smiled in a slow, lazy way, then pulled the pack of Parliaments out of his shirt pocket. He held it out to me and waited, watching my face until I took one." When readers get to see the small moments between the two, it hurts more to know that Billy is just an abused young man that is reflecting his father's behavior.
Overall, I really enjoyed Max's story, but was it needed? Before season three, I would have said yes, but with what we learned of Billy in season three, I don't think it was completely necessary. I think only die-hard fans of the show will enjoy this book, otherwise watching the series is the majority of the novel.
Max Mayfield is a pre-teen that just moved to Hawkins, Indiana after her mother remarried and added an abusive step-father and step-brother to the family equation. She spends most of her time trying to not want to fit in with the kids at her new school, riding her trusty skateboard behind the building during recess and telling a group of boys who can't stop staring at her to leave her alone. Max's home life has become unbearable to the point that she debates running back to her real father in California. Fortunately, two of those boys that couldn't stop staring try to be friends with her, but when she begins to hang around them, she learns that things are not what they seem in Hawkins, Indiana. Merging with this group of boys, Max's life is forever changed, and probably for the better.
Runaway Max doesn't focus on the supernatural aspect that Stranger Things is known for. Instead, the focus is on a girl's life that gets turned upside down [pun intended] by the introduction of two abusive people that enter it with the intent of either destroying her or making her compliant, the struggle with who she is and who everyone else says she should be, to the desperation for just one real friend. Personally, I believe Yovanoff did an amazing job at telling Stranger Things fans the backstory of our Mad Max. As a result, I have no complaints about this novel whatsoever.
Yovanoff starts readers off with Max riding her skateboard through downtown Hawkins, with Max telling us how she was happy there was an arcade in this small town. Max wipes out on her skateboard, where a woman who will be very familiar to fans, runs out of a store to help her to her feet until the loud sound of engine comes pulling up; enter Billy and his Camaro. All throughout the story, readers get to see more of what was going on inside the Mayfield/Hargrove's household, which viewers of the series were only witness to one of the abuses happening to Billy by his father.
Runaway Max picks up the pace when a familiar scene happens with Max joining Stranger Things regulars: Lucas and Dustin, for Halloween around Hawkins. But with this story, we follow Max home after Will's encounter with a creature from the Upside Down. We learn that Billy never picked Max up, as he was suppose to, and that his father, Neil, is beyond angry when Billy comes home drunk and high:
" When Billy came slamming into the house, the smell came with him, rolling like the clouds of smoke and alcohol wafting out of a dive bar. Like bad weather. He was stumbling a little. His eyes were red-rimmed and heavier than ever, and he still had the leather jacket on, but he wasn't wearing a shirt. The light from the stained-glass lamp on the end table made him look deranged.
Neil breathed in through his nose and heaved himself out of his chair. 'And where the hell have you been?'
'Nowhere,' Billy muttered, and tried to brush past him, but Neil stepped in front of him and stopped him with a hand on his chest.
'What was that?'
Billy ducked his head and mumbled something about a flat tire. I couldn't tell if he was being honest or not - - - probably not - - - but as soon as he said it, it was pretty obvious that I had been lying. Whatever he'd been doing, it definitely hadn't been giving a school friend a ride home.
Neil had stayed ominously quiet, but now he drew himself up and took a step forward so he had Billy trapped against the wall. 'I'm curious to know where you learned to be so disobedient.'
Billy stared back at him. He was standing with his chin down and his jacket open, looking mutinous. He smelled like beer and the dry-skunk smell of Nate's brother, Silas, and all the other eighth-grade boys who got stoned behind the baseball diamond back home. It was the smell of not caring. 'Bite me, Neil. I'm not in the mood.'
For a second, they just stood looking at each other.
Then Neil spoke in a low, dangerous voice. The air was heavy and metallic, like right before a thunderstorm. 'I don't know where you've been or what you've been up to, but you will show me some respect!'
He shouted the last part. His voice sounded much too big in the smallness of the living room, and I winced, even though I was willing myself not to."
After Max quickly heads to her room to count her Halloween candy...
"Out in the living room, Neil was tuning up. For a while, it was just a rumble of voices, softer sometimes, then louder. There was a short, sharp cry and then a flat, meaty sound, like punching the pocket of a baseball glove. "
Runaway Max does a superb job of detailing abuse and the psychology that plays a role in it. Readers, also, get to see more of Billy's abuse towards Max. Focusing on the shift of personality Billy goes through (those who have watched season three of Stranger Things will have more of an understanding behind Billy, I recommend that if you haven't watched that season yet, that you do after reading this book). While all of this is going on, Yovanoff also retells season two, winding it within Max's story effortlessly and concisely:
"Dustin bent over the table, gazing at the creature in his hands like it was the sweetest, most adorable thing. He kept calling it a he, even though it was so weird and shapeless that how could you tell?
When he saw me staring, he asked if I wanted to hold it, and I shook my head, but he turned and tipped it out of his cupped palms and into mine.
It felt cool and squishy, heavier than it looked, and I passed it to Lucas fast. Lucas handed it off to Will, and it made its way around the circle. I was a little relieved to see that I wasn't the only one shrinking back from it. Will was looking at it like it had some kind of disease, and even Mike didn't exactly seem thrilled to touch it. He was the bravest, though, and held it up for a closer look. "
All-in-all, Runaway Max is season two of Stranger Things to-a-tee. But with Max's relationship with Billy being molded more by this novel, it can make even the most die-hard fans look at the two in a different way. There are even small splotches of scenes where Billy seems to want Max as a little sister, one such, when Max catches him in the garage of their California home, working on his car and smoking a cigarette:
" I leaned forward with my knees on my elbows and cupped my chin in my hands. 'At the health assembly in school, they told us that we're not supposed to smoke.'
Billy straightened and closed the hood, wiping his hands with a rag. 'And do you always do everything your teachers tell you?'
That idea was so wrong it was hilarious. My grades were usually okay, but my conduct cards were a mess. I was always in trouble for something- - - talking back, or drawing cartoon hot rods on my desk with a felt pen. I laughed and shook my head.
That seemed to make him happy. He smiled in a slow, lazy way, then pulled the pack of Parliaments out of his shirt pocket. He held it out to me and waited, watching my face until I took one." When readers get to see the small moments between the two, it hurts more to know that Billy is just an abused young man that is reflecting his father's behavior.
Overall, I really enjoyed Max's story, but was it needed? Before season three, I would have said yes, but with what we learned of Billy in season three, I don't think it was completely necessary. I think only die-hard fans of the show will enjoy this book, otherwise watching the series is the majority of the novel.