Looking back, the last four weeks’ posts have all covered Netflix original productions, with
the three weeks before that casting Just One More Episode side-eye on further
programmes watched on that platform (including the pandemic’s breakout hit, Tiger King – another Netflix production). So let’s balance things out with the
revelation that I did actually watch something on
Amazon Prime Video in recent times: The Boys. Regular readers will know I am no real fan of
superheroes: I’m yet to see a good explanation for the need to wear Lycra
bodysuits, and by the inevitable climactic fisticuffs to save the world, I have
totally lost interest. But friends had raved
about The Boys and it seemed only right I should give it a chance. After all, it’s nice to be proven right.
I ended up particularly engaged with the launch marketing
campaign way back whenever the show first got released, during a past age when
we were allowed out of our houses to touch others at will. My job in media meant I had been invited to
watch an interview being recorded with Joel Dommett. I’m convinced he’s my twin, even since seeing
him on I’m A Celeb (though by listening to
his podcast Teenage Mixtape
I can see clearly that our music tastes are insurmountably divergent). I had walked across a humid London with two
grads from the office, slurped some complementary wine before enjoying Joel’s
chat with Laura Whitmore
(pre-Love Island, post-Survival Of The Fittest). I was just stuffing my face afterwards with
free ice cream when we were asked if we would stay for a second interview – turned
out they were recording a sesh with Chace Crawford that night
too.
Being young, carefree, spontaneous and loads of fun, I was
happy to stay. I jest: in reality I was
itching to get back to my flat for some lean chicken, sweet potato and a bit of
boxset. But I had already fully sweated
through my underpants on the walk over and self-destructed on my macro
requirements with my scoops of triple chocolate. So, there was Chace, him off Gossip Girl, metres away talking about his new
show: The Boys. Sounded decent. Nevertheless, the evening ended in faux-pas
as we made for the lifts during our exit.
One of the grads declared out loud that poor Chace “is much less good
looking in real life” as our elevator arrived.
Little did he realise that Chace was standing right behind him but was
too gracious to respond. With that
cringe in mind, I owed it to successful Hollywood actor Chace Crawford (who doesn’t
care what media grads think about his face) to watch his new show.
Like Amazon’s other centrepiece, Mr Robot, The Boys has an epic pilot
episode. There is set up galore as we are
shown a world where superheroes are a commodity as commercialised as any US sport,
with merchandise and revenue streams beyond anyone’s wildest capitalist
imagination. What a fun slant to take on
an overdone genre: looking at the business side of rescuing plebs from danger
with x-ray vision and glowing yellow eyes.
I could gladly have just followed a fly-on-the-wall documentary on the
inner workings of Vought International, the fictional corporation that has
globally cornered the market in caped crusaders. But because this is drama, we need to acknowledge
that we are here to see the destruction of this proffered reality for which we
have suspended our disbelief, so it’s no spoiler for me to tell you that the
first season slowly edges us towards the demise of this morally corrupt
business endeavour.
Sadly, so often, a great pilot can result in a huge drop off
in following episodes. Therefore,
instalment two bored me and from then I was kind of done, sitting through the
rest paying little attention and feeling even less. Crawford himself is actually fairly marginal
as The Deep, whose power rests in his abdominal gills. He seemed to be there for comic relief, but
without realising it. And it wasn’t that
funny, just weird. Most of the character
development had gone into his biceps.
Centre stage was, in fact, Karl Urban, as an anti-hero
activist. I don’t know what else he did
as somewhere along the line the terrible decision was made for him to have a
cockney accent. Cue the worst apples-and-pears
dialogue ever recorded. Urban heads up a
bunch of misfits taking on the big corp world – in fact, I think they are the
titular boys, rather than the badly behaved celebrity heroes (who I kind of
preferred). If I could pinpoint the moment
I turned off, it was sadly the arrival in episode two of Frenchie, a generic team
member with the rebels who just left me cold with everything he did. It’s derivative to call things derivative,
but he was derivatively derivative (not the actor, the part).
Nevertheless, there’s plenty to enjoy: explosion-based
action, wry wit, moral conundrums, romance, intrigue, a lens on our hero-worship
of celebrity. Just as the heroes care
little for their fans and the great unwashed they rescue, I felt no real emotional
investment in any of it. I’m pretty sure
it’s all based on some sort of book/comic source material. There’s no way of knowing as I’m not prepared
to google it – it’s better just to fire off an online rinsing, isn’t it really? It’s reassuring to know I won’t need to watch
a second season if there ever is one. I’ll
be too busy getting deep into Netflix’s much more user-friendly menu system,
holding my breath for another season of Elite.
