A pal of mine read my review of “Condor” earlier and opined that John Hurt was a better actor than William Hurt.
I told him that someone should call an ambulance BECAUSE THEY’RE BOTH HURT.
He suggested that I have someone read and approve my jokes before I post them. It is an abiding challenge in my life that those close to me fail to appreciate my greatness.
DC Comics.
When Season 1 of “Condor” was good — and it almost always was — it was a cinema-quality spy thriller. This was a smart, suspenseful, well made TV show that was very nearly perfect — I’d rate it a 9 out of 10.
“Condor” was adapted loosely from James Grady’s 1974 book, “Six Days of the Condor,” and its famous film adaptation the following year, “Three Days of the Condor.” I’ve neither read the former or seen the latter, but I can tell you that this new iteration of the story is intelligently written, nicely directed and edited, and well performed by its actors. It seems to channel the modus operandi of Tom Clancy’s books and films — showing multiple thoughtful characters plotting and acting either against or alongside one another — while the show keeps the tension high with sequences of surprise violence. (And there is indeed some disturbing violence here, particularly when the story calls for it to be perpetrated against non-combatants. “Condor” aired on the Audience channel on DirecTV; I suspect its content might be too much for a regular network.)
William Hurt has always been a goddam national treasure, as far as I’m concerned. (I may be biased in my appraisal of his work, as I grew up watching him in films like 1983’s “Gorky Park” and 1988’s “The Accidental Tourist.” I think he’s one of the best actors out there.) Seeing his talent colliding with Bob Balaban’s on screen should make this show required viewing for anyone who enjoys spy thrillers. (There is an extended, loaded exchange between them in a coffee shop here that is absolutely priceless.)
The whole cast is great. I’ve never been a fan of Brendan Fraser, simply because his movies are usually too goofy for me — but he shines in “Condor,” playing against type as an awkward villain.
Leem Lubany is terrific as the story’s merciless assassin. (See my comments above about the violence.) The role doesn’t call for her to have much range, as her character is a somewhat stoical sociopath. But she looks and sounds the part — combining sex appeal with an incongruous, calm, homicidal intensity. She reminded me a lot of Mandy, Mia Kirshner’s priceless, plot-driving assassin in Fox’s “24” (2001-2014).
If “Condor” has a failing, then it lies with its saccharine protagonists. The screenwriters seem to have gone to great lengths to paint an edgy, unpredictable, violent world full of compromised good guys and moral ambiguity. Why, then, are its handful of young heroes so implausibly perfect? The putative hero is “Joe,” nicely played Max Irons, who is just fine in the role. But the writers make him so idealistic, so gentle, so smart and so kind that it just requires too much suspension of disbelief. At one point I even wanted to see a bad guy at least punch him in the face, simply for being a goody-goody. It makes the story feel weird, too. (Who wants to see Jesus in a violent spy thriller?) The few other protagonists that we see here are also too good — they feel like thinly drawn, cookie-cutter heroes and not real people.
There are some plot implausibilities, too, that I’ve seen pointed out by other reviewers. (I have arrived at the resignation that others are simply far more perceptive about these things than I am.) But there was nothing that affected my enjoyment of Season 1.
“Condor” is great stuff. I recommend it.
“Damn the wars but bless the soldier.” — T. L. Moffitt
“Occidental Song,” by Georg Trakl
O the soul’s nocturnal wing beat:
Shepherds, we once moved along dusking forests
And the red deer, the green flower and the babbling well followed
Full of humbleness. O, the ancient tone of the cricket,
Blood blooming on the sacrificial stone,
And the cry of a lonely bird over the pond’s green stillness.
O, you crusades and glowing tortures
Of the flesh, falling of purple fruit
In the evening garden, where in bygone times the pious disciples walked,
Warriors now, awakened out of wounds and starry dreams.
O, the soft cyan-bundle of night.
O, you times of stillness and golden autumns,
When we peaceful monks pressed the purple grape;
And hill and forest shone all around.
O, you hunts and castles, rest of evening,
When in his chamber man pondered the righteous,
Struggled in mute prayer for God’s living head.
O, the bitter hour of decline,
When we behold a stony countenance in black waters.
But in radiance the lovers lift the silver eyelids:
O n e gender. Incense flows from rosy pillows
And the sweet song of the resurrected.
When your girlfriend gives you the silent treatment, you’re both fighting and not fighting.
The dilemma is known as “Schrodinger’s spat.”
Charlton Comics.
A friend of mine got these from a pal who keeps chickens and ducks. (The big ones are the duck eggs.)
Then in wrath Beowulf threw the shining blade upon the ground. He would trust no more in weapons but with his hands alone would he fight.
Seizing the Water Witch by the shoulders, he dragged her downwards. But she grappled with him fiercely. Then was there a fearful fight in that dim hall, deep under the water, far from all hope of help.
Back and forth the two swayed, the strong warrior in armour and the direful Water Witch. So strong was she that at last she bore him to the ground and kneeled upon his breast. She drew her dagger. Now she would avenge her son, her only son.
— Henrietta Elizabeth Marshall
“Peace … is a morbid condition, due to a surplus of civilians, which war seeks to remedy.”
— from Cyril Connolly’s satirical “What Will He Do Next?”
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 