I thought that The Cheese Bukowski was the best burger I ever invented, but The Cheesy Carpetbagger just might be my true piece de resistance.
You just fry melted provolone over the burger itself, and colby jack cheese over a slice of honey ham beside it in the pan. Then serve on toast, maybe with a cheesy one-liner. Teach these Southerners how we do it in New York.
Illustration of “The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual,” which appeared in The Strand Magazine in May, 1893. Original caption was “REGINALD MUSGRAVE.”
“Bandersnatch” is a difficult episode of Netflix’ “Black Mirror” to review — it isn’t really an “episode” or a “movie;” it’s more of an interactive online game that is reminiscent of the “Choose-Your-Own Adventure” young-adult books of the 1980’s. (I believe they are actually name-checked in “Bandersnatch’s” main narrative, before it branches off into multiple stories.) This main narrative follows a troubled young computer programmer (expertly played by Fionn Whitehead) as he begins to question his own reality while struggling with demons from his past.
From there, “Bandersnatch” unfolds according to the viewer’s choices. (Netflix has configured the episode so that viewers control the protagonist simply by clicking options with their computer’s cursor.) The meta-fictional twist here is that Whitehead’s protagonist is himself developing a groundbreaking multiple-choice style video game for his employer. (The episode is set in 1984, when interactive games had not yet developed alongside arcade-style games.) What follows is a seemingly indeterminate number of stories, with “Black Mirror’s” predictably disturbing surprises.
I’ve read that there are four “main endings” at which the show’s writer, Charlie Brooker, thinks most viewers will arrive. There are supposedly a great number of other endings, as well — and the viewer can reverse the course of a narrative and follow a different path. It’s all interesting stuff, even if it’s a little complicated.
So I’m not sure how to review it. And I’m not sure I’m the best guy to offer such an opinion, as I am not the target audience for an experiment like this. I’ve always been a “movie guy,” and not a “video game guy” — I’m the kind of milquetoast man that would rather be passively entertained by a story than involved, in real-time, in its creation. I want a cohesive story with a clear denoument that was intended by the writer and director — not a mongrelized story that I helped come up with myself. (Yes, I know that makes me sound like the precise opposite of cool and fun and creative, but I’m just being honest.) I trust “Black Mirror” to knock my socks off with it’s storytelling — Brooker is a goddam genius, and this show is nothing less than the 21st Century’s “Twilight Zone.
I certainly liked “Bandersnatch.” A key expository sequence in the first pathway I selected made me smile and laugh (due to the show’s intended black humor, of course). I’d rate this viewing experience an 8 out of 10, for the fun I had with it.
But I do hope this is the only episode of its kind. There are disadvantages that this experimental format probably cannot escape. Pacing, plot structure and story cohesion all typically go right out the window after “rewinding” and story options are introduced. I also had the compulsion, upon completing my first story arc, to return to the action and find an ending that was “correct” or possibly better. And when my next narrative meandered, I wondered whether I was “doing it right.” This lacked the cinematic quality that is characteristic of “Black Mirror” episodes, and ultimately felt like a video game.
I had another quibble too, and it’s admittedly a strange one. Many elements of “Bandersnatch’s” 1980’s setting here are garish, bizarre or unpleasant. (Some of the characters — particularly the father — were so off-putting that they made revisiting a story sequence almost irritating.) I suppose that this was probably a deliberate choice by Brooker and by episode director David Slade — possibly to capture the vibe of the Philip K. Dick stories that are this episode’s obvious inspiration. But I don’t think it was necessary to the plot. Consider how different a story like this might be if it were filmed with the starkly beautiful visuals of the 2017 “Crocodile” episode directed by John Hillcoat.
Postscript — there was one metafictional twist that only I could enjoy. And that’s a shame, because it was pretty neat. When Will Poulter’s character here tells Whitehead’s that they’ve “met before,” that struck a chord with me personally — because Poulter, who has blond hair here, looks a lot like an old pal of mine from college. That was weird.
I told Brent Spiner on Twitter that I hope he endorses a presidential candidate, because I want to vote for someone whose positions are supported by Data.
And NOBODY laughed. WHY can’t people understand how BRILLIANT I am?
Image Comics.
He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn’t a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his
generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their
education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.
Image Comics.
Eilis Dillon’s “The Singing Cave” was another favorite childhood book of mine for the obvious reasons — a young boy explores a seaside cave and discovers a Viking skeleton, complete with a sword and armor. That pretty much hit all the right notes for me when I was in early gradeschool in the 1980’s. (Some sort of age-appropriate young-adult mystery unfolded after the skeleton disappeared, possibly involving the townspeople, but I don’t even remember that very well. What thrilled me and stayed with me was the kid finding a armored Viking skeleton in a cave.)
The book was published first in 1959 in the United Kingdom by Faber & Faber; Dillon was Irish and the story was set in Ireland. It was released here in America the following year by the now defunct Funk & Wagnalls — the same company that produced those huge reference books that Gen X’ers remember lugging around before the arrival of CD-Roms. (Funk & Wagnalls is a name I haven’t heard in a very long time. It turns out they quite bein’ a thing in 1997.)
I went through one hell of a Viking Phase when I was a kid. (I suppose it wasn’t too different from other kids wanting to be pirates.) I was thrilled with stories about Leif Erikson, and I was pretty happy that his last name sounded like my first. It would be years later when my parents told me that I was actually named after another Viking, Erik the Red, albeit very indirectly. (My parents like the name featured in the “Erik” cigars television commercial.)
I might have talked about this at the blog before, but I even constructed my own “Viking ship” with the kid next door when I was very young. It probably wasn’t seaworthy; it was really just a wooden pallet with some two-by-fours nailed together as a mast, and a white sheet for a sail. (Where had we gotten that sheet? It seems to me that if I’d stolen it from the laundry, I’d have gotten into some trouble for that with my Mom.) Bizarrely, my friend and I etched a bright red Spanish Cross on the sail — even though that emblem had nothing to do with the Vikings. You kinda can’t excuse our stupidity because we were kids … we’d seen plenty of pictures of the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria in school.
My Dad also cautioned me and my buddy that our Viking ship might not float. (The hindsight of adulthood assures me that it definitely wouldn’t have floated, but my Dad didn’t want to dash our hopes too abruptly.) He explained to us patiently in the backyard that in order for something to float, it had to “displace its own weight in water.” And … I actually understood that, surprisingly enough. It’s probably the only physics lesson I’ve understood in my life.
In fact … I don’t think we even had a plan in place for moving that boat from the backyard to the water. We were so enamored with the concept of shipbuilding that we kinda didn’t think things through very far at all.
Dark Horse Comics.
