Streaming non-recommendation: Netflix's crappy German time-travel series, DARK

Yes, I know that conventional wisdom  has long insisted that Germans (and German movies) have no sense of humor. But Look Who's Back, to use just one recent example, disproves that theory entirely. Unfortunately, the idea bounced back into my mind while viewing the dismal new Netflix-produced German series entitled DARK, which is now available pretty much worldwide via the cable behemoth. There's not a moment of levity, lightness or anything approaching humor anywhere to be seen in these ten tiresome, derivative and annoying 50-minute episodes.

This is one of those series chock full of pseudo-science, pseudo-religion, pseudo-philosophy, and pseudo-entertainment that keep promising some kind of coalescence that never arrives. Worse, it consistently trips over its own ideas. All about time travel, supposedly made possible every 33 years via our not-quite reliable calendar, it posits a bunch of kidnapped children used in some experiment (above) to facilitate this time travel who keep turning up dead (the experiments evidently continually fail).

And yet, as we see throughout the series, time travel in this sodden little German town is not just possible but is increasingly discovered by a number of its citizens (the one above, for instance), who simply open a couple of doors in a cave beneath the earth (see poster, top) and find themselves either backward or forward in time by those 33 years.

Yet the movement of those citizens is certainly well known to the "experimenter," so what's the point of keeping up the experiments on that rather silly-looking machine? This piece of nonsense is only the worst example of stupid plotting that relies completely on the viewer's inability to stop and "think" for a moment or two. There's so little logic in so much that happens here (the dead come back to life, along with other nonsensical dreck) that you might as well place your brain on hold as you watch.

Yes, the series offers its titular "noir-ish" themes, cinematography, ugliness and gloom. All this is offered up with the kind of expert professionalism we now expect out of Netflix. But then it merely keeps repeating the stuff, over and over, until one has to ask (to quote Peggy Lee), Is that all there is?

Nuclear energy is also on view here, and is part and parcel of the town's problems, as are other things like lust and love (unrequited, of course). The characters are as sullen and sodden a bunch as you will have ever seen in any TV or cable series. The only humor finally arises mostly from how utterly lacking in any the series actually is. It almost becomes something of an inside joke. You can image the producers, writers and directors watching the day's shoot and suddenly saying, "Oh, my god -- that actor just smiled. Delete that moment immediately!"

The performers are mostly good-looking and get the job done, but as we keep moving from 2019 back to 1986 and then (in the last three episodes) 1953 and piecing together exactly who is the grandfather of this one or the mother of that one, not only our interest but any chance to care much about these people dissipates. Also, the series lasts twice as long as it needs to, thanks to its very slow pacing and the camera constantly stopping to focus on a character's angst for maybe two to three times as long as necessary to get the point across. (Were the filmmakers worried that we might miss the abject "seriousness" of all their fine work?)

The finale helps in no way whatsoever, except to begin a whole new section in what I imagine is the year 2052. The series keeps promising some closure, none of which ever arrives. Dark exists to simply string us along. Perhaps that's its point, but if so, then it's mostly for folk who enjoy being diddled without ever reaching a climax. (Think of it as the television equivalent of Tantra Yoga.)

Netflix has just announced that it is renewing Dark for a second season. Good luck -- but count me out. These eight hours-plus have now taken their place as my biggest waste of time this year.

Streaming: Netflix's version of Marvel's DAREDEVIL proves noirish, nifty stuff

After the big-nothing that comprised the earlier version of twelve years ago, the new DAREDEVIL that debuted last week via the Netflix streaming service provides just about everything that the former dud lacked -- from the noirish and dank cityscape, in which bad things keep happening to good people, to the dark, monochromatic outfit our hero wears to hide his identity, to the wonderfully indeterminate time frame in which this story seems to exist.  (Is all this taking place it now, in the recent past, or maybe the near future? We can't really tell nor does it much matter. The place exists as a kind of ever-current depiction of the "big, scary, hugely corrupted city.")

TrustMovies is only now into the fourth episode of the thirteen that incorporate Daredevil's first season, each one coming in between 48 and 59 minutes. The tale -- of a boy, blinded in an accident in which he saved the life of an old man, now grown into a young man who has honed his other senses to their keenest levels so that he has become a lawyer by day (above, left, with his partner, played by Elden Henson) and vigilante by night, working out of Hell's Kitchen in the kind of uber-corrupt city that New York is always threatening to become -- seems a fine one for the episodic-yet-connected sort of series that Daredevil appears to be, at least at this point in its unfurling.

Bingers will probably do the entire first season in a day or weekend. It will most likely take me at least one week, given my episode-or-two-per-day approach. But I'm already hooked -- especially by the casting of Charlie Cox as Matt Murdock, a great "everyman" hero whose open, welcoming face and more-than-fit body makes him seem surprisingly real, but just a little more handsome and sexy (and a lot more alert) than your everyday "everyman." This is a the kind of character, coupled to a performance by the actor, that audiences will root for -- big-time.

Created by Drew Goddard (shown at right), the series makes clear from the outset that we will be fed Matt's backstory, in which his father figures most prominently, in bits and pieces, as is appropriate. The action scenes, of which there are plenty, are done extremely well -- cleverly straddling the line between real and just a little more than that -- while the casting of the female leads, Deborah Ann Wohl (below, right) and Rosario Dawson (at bottom, right) in the initial episodes, provides strength, smarts and pulchritude.

Best of all, perhaps, there are almost none of the increasingly leaden and over-used "special effects" that have rendered the Iron Man and Captain America franchises, for any vaguely intelligent audience, more and more difficult to sit through. Dardevil instead counts on smart plot mechanics, great action, and a top cast of professionals to hold us fast.

The writing (those first two episodes are by Mr. Goddard) is fine for this kind of show -- sharp and intelligent but in a quiet, economical, almost underhanded manner. And the direction of the first two episodes by Phil Abraham (Mad Men and The Sopranos) provides everything we need to become immediately involved and very well entertained.

There is simply so much of what they now call "content" available to view these days, that having the opportunity to see yet another series from yet another provider may not seem like anything special. If Daredevil adheres to the interest, pace and style of these first few episodes, I'd call it a keeper, for sure.

HEMLOCK GROVE: Netflix's not-so-hot but very well-cast original series proves mostly vamping

Various dictionary definitions of "vamping" tell us that it is something patched up or refurbished, maybe rehashed, as in a book based mostly on old material. All this could easily describe HEMLOCK GROVE, the original Netflix series that you are likely to have heard the least about, what with House of Cards, Orange Is the New Black, Lilyhammer and even Arrested Develop-ment (not entirely original to Netflix) stealing most of the thunder. But the definition of vamping that most applies to this odd and derivative series is the one that comes from music: an introductory musical passage commonly consisting of a repeated succession of chords played before the start of a solo. Its purpose: to keep that solo at bay for as long as possible.

This solo, in the case of Hemlock Grove -- written/developed/executive produced by Brian McGreevy (at right, below) and directed (six of the episodes, at least) by Deran Sarafian (at left) -- is the question that anyone watching the series will be asking from the very first episode in season one (the series has already been renewed for a second season): Who's the creature that's doing the killing? To avoid answering this question, the series simply vamps. And vamps. And vamps.  There is at best maybe two hours of content (or, say, one full-length movie) to this 13-part show, each part of which takes nearly one hour to unfurl. What this means is an incredible amount of vamping. So much so, that you may very well take

to screaming "Get the fuck on with this!" any number of times during any number of episodes. Because of this vamping, some very good actors are left twirling in the wind, as it were, having to repeat their actions, if not their exact words, again and again, just to keep that solo at bay. This is especially true of Famke Janssen (below) and Dougray Scott, as, respectively, the matriarch and patriarch of branches of the family that control the titular town. (The Janssen character really has the town under her thumb; Scott is simply a sex toy/in-law.) The series has been organized and written very much in the style of soap opera, with all the neces-sary over-writing/under-acting that goes along with this tiresome genre.

TrustMovies actually stopped watching the series twice, then went back to it after a time. As with most soaps, it was quite easy to pick up again. (There is so much vamping going on that nothing much happens. Consequently, anything you've forgotten won't matter much.) Lots of characters are introduced along the way, a number of them pretty young girls who get "offed" by the beast, but two young men finally prove to be the heroes of the piece: Bill Skarsgård (below, left), who plays Janssen's creepy son, whose character broadens a bit during the 13 hours, and sensitive lunk Landon Liboiron (below, right), who plays a new-in-town, gypsy type, high school student with his own mom (Lili Taylor) in tow.

Though the Janssen side of the equation is clearly pretty weird (read supernatural), we learn fairly quickly that Liboiron's family are, uh, werewolves, and we see the special effects department in full force for one major transformation (below) early on.

There's an investigator from the Fish & Wildlife department snooping around who has some connections with a certain branch of the Catholic Church, various police officers who behave crassly or nicely as the script necessitates, and various other family members, each possessing his or her own sad story.

Oh, yes, and the family owns and operates a hospital/medical/
experimental center with another bizarre character (Joel de la Fuente) in charge, and a very secretive, big box inside of which resides... (another question viewers will want answered).

Not to worry. The nasty beast is indeed unmasked in the penultimate episode (this is not one of those keep-the-answer-out-of-reach series like The Killing), and the final show answers some more question but mostly keeps things open for season two.

As I say, there is only enough content here for a couple of hours, but if you're particularly taken with any of the performers or characters, you may give in to the ongoing blather, which certainly succeeds in keeping the series going but not in making it exciting or especially interesting.

By Episode 9, a little suspense and anticipation are engendered, and we get a funny/lovely/creepy story about a fairy -- which shows how some decent writing can suddenly bring a whole series to real, detailed life. But then it's back to the same old tired stuff, mostly family arguments. There is one pretty interesting character: A strange young girl (Freya Tingley, shown center, above) who's determined to become a writer. McGreevy, I am guessing, must have based her on himself.

We do eventually learn the name of the beast -- it's a vargulf, for anyone interested. Some of the directors here seem overly fond of handing us suspenseful moments that come to absolutely nothing. More vamping, I suppose. The pacing is often glacial, due to all the gazing into each other's faces, while pronouncing the strained dialog. There's a good deal of sex, too, but it's nothing you won't have seen elsewhere and better.

It often seems as if, in Hemlock Grove, the creators simply tossed everything they could think of into the mix, feeling sure that something would stick. Something does. But too much else stinks. The show can be streamed only on Netflix, where you can see as much or as little in one sitting as you can handle.