Jan. 15th, 2017

proustbot: (But it was she and not the sea we heard)
I watched the first five episodes of Netflix's adaptation of A Series of Unfortunate Events this weekend. I never really got into the books -- they were always a little too young, they were a little too formulaic, and they were a little too arch -- and I was a little bored by the first two episodes, but by the third episode, the series had sunk its hooks into me. Why? Partly it's due to my affection for how broadly Neil Patrick Harris plays Count Olaf, and partly it's because the showrunners have made the series a teensy, teensy bit more optimistic (insofar as the children occasionally allow themselves to hope), and partly it's because the show pumps up the aspect of Mysterious Conspiracies, and I love mysterious conspiracies. Also, I have a soft spot for Barry Sonnenfeld's aesthetic choices.

(Sonnenfeld is clearly the basis for Josephine's portrait of Ike, right? Also, I see you, Daniel Handler Cameo.)

But hey, the main reason is that Patrick Warburton's Lemony Snicket is an inspired delight.

(I am puzzled a little bit by the depiction of Violet. Why is she the one holding the baby in 85-percent of the scenes?)

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