Perry Mason: REVUE Season 1 – Black for Twitchy’s 1920s

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Matthew Rhys has been wobbled to Hollywood from the age of depression, watching evil lurk in the hearts of men.

We assume there’s a million stories in the city naked. This Perry Mason review has a crack in a clever seven or eight. If it was a soap opera, it would translate into one a week, everything is fine, but here it’s an act of juggling.

There is a transparent central narrative from which all the others derive and from which they return, and that is meaty enough to bring the show. Plots b, of course, are being developed, but there is a constant fear that they will simply be removed, which happens, as happens, at the expense of a.

What doesn’t help are the harsh paintings of the characters. This isn’t bad in itself, but it’s nothing that worries anyone who has experienced fiction. Matthew Rhys is properly wrinkled and spasmodic as Perry Mason, betting the lead role as he walks around Los Angeles with a slapped ass-face, but from him, everyone knows his role and sticks to it rigidly. You have your depraved people who mock and your victims discouraged, who, again, are not bad interpreters yet who don’t give us anything strange.

The genuine strength of the screen is like a period piece, and not just in terms of recreating the sepia age. Although it does so generously as anyone might expect, it’s also the rare beast of a Los Angeles exhibition that speaks of Los Angeles, rather than the leaders who raised their hands and made the decision to shoot it in the street. And even more impressively, this doesn’t translate into an obsession with the media.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re talking about the film industry; However, if you looked for a production like this, with a hard fixer going from the film’s set to the film’s set, look at salvation, Caesar of the Coen brothers! instead. The extra Perry Mason that goes in this sense is a minor character who is a transparent pastiche of the unjustly disgraced Fatty Arbuckle.

The media, on the other hand, is so ubiquitous that it’s surprising to never see a newspaper turn toward the camera. It’s never in the center, however, if there’s a scene in a public place, it’s likely that the lanterns will be heard somewhere, which explains the length and ferocity of some crowds. And this psychology of the crowd leads perfectly to the other explanation of why the exhibition is so clearly the Angelican: religion.

Although Mormons, Southern California, and Los Angeles have been the starting point for local American sects, however, there is rarely much in the media; if that’s the case, they’re the few creators who have the courage to take a pop. in Scientology.Array But Perry Mason gives a proud position to the attractive turn, say, that the city of Hollywood is embracing evangelical Christianity, that one feels trapped in a thorny non-secular war by the opportunity to offer a gift shop.

At one point, the exhibition mentions forest lawn cemetery in Hollywood, presented in the same gentle circus as the rest of the devout mania in question, which is interesting, because the exhibition had already reminded me of Evelyn Waugh’s Beloved. the faithful Catholic Waugh had necessarily vomited in disgust after witnessing the sticky technique of Forest Lawn’s death at Disneyland. The Loved One also represented more than a few deceived messianic characters, sometimes for Waugh, all of whom were secular in nature: here they conduct gospel songs by passing the collecting dishes (and are, by nature, some of the most animated artists). And with faith itself reduced to a mere trap for tourists, what hope for the rest of society?

The answer, through Waugh and reflected here, is not much. There are some islets of imperfect decency in a swamp that bubbles with general misconduct; in other words, it’s black. This is where it helps to be an HBO production, to be able to go out and constitute the breasts, blood and swearing that the original black pulp had to dance with care. Nudity and violence are distributed sparingly, the highest characters do not need much provocation to curse like stevedores. This probably happened in the 1930s, especially since there were more port workers at the time, but it is something relatively new to be constituted.

The only nod to time is that there is no creativity in vulgarity, as you would in The Thick Of It definitively after 2000: it was a time when simply saying ‘whore’ still had weight to warn her that the call is on the way. . It is played bluntly, as is the sadness of the crime that triggered everything and the dramas that followed in the courts, and “drama” is in fact the word for them. This is where all the psychology of the old crowd breaks down, and perhaps it’s too transparent what the writers were most eager to get to.

It’s hard to blame them for that, even though, in general, there probably aren’t enough scenes in the courtroom (a matter of opinion, certainly, and I’d say the same about the first drama directed by a Better Call Saul TV lawyer). Almost all that happens is, in the end, the service, and Perry Mason would have been better looking for this plot balance. Perhaps the most productive scene of the thing is a moment has been the trial, where Perry has one of the smiling villains on the stand and dismantles them, only for this to be revealed as an overly positive fantasy.

A few more moments like that, and this iteration of Perry Mason may have been something other people deserve to communicate about. Instead, they are more fashionable manufacturers that rediscover the hammers and screwdrivers of the black toolbox. They take care of them quite deftly, but cautiously, they don’t dare check that they do something new.

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