Sometimes when we think about the word “dystopian,” it conjures an image of something like the Earth on fire with an extraterrestrial standing next to it holding a match. Or something like “I, Robot” or “Minority Report.” It’s inconceivable, miserable or far outside our present day or understood reality.
Like the idea that a museum attraction could also be a viewing site for Black torture (the Season 4 episode “Black Museum”), or that forbidden love could only exist in a simulated afterlife (Season 3′s “San Junipero”). Or that an obsession with even a little fame could lead anyone to do just about anything for an audience (Season 1’s “Fifteen Million Merits”).
These storylines weren’t just distant notions plucked from Brooker and his writing team’s imaginations. They come from fears felt in the moment of their premieres, manifested from an online culture growing increasingly consumed with celebrity, racial trauma and widespread concern that love can’t possibly thrive in this bleak timeline.
“Joan Is Awful,” directed by Ally Pankiw, introduces the season with a fast-paced, increasingly paranoid story where AI is, naturally, the central villain. Annie Murphy, most recently known for “Schitt’s Creek” and “Kevin Can F**k Himself,” steps into the title role as a businesswoman who is not exactly unlikable but does unsavory things.
It’s an AI version of her life, with the actual Salma Hayek starring as Joan — and it’s as up to date as the events from right before she sat on the sofa. And just like media sensations in our world, Joan is tirelessly discussed and criticized online, and she’s soon fired from her job. She rushes to find a solution to a problem she doesn’t quite understand — because, who could?
Pankiw seems to breathlessly deliver an episode that most obviously castigates the perils of AI. But it more sneakily hits on other pressing concerns, like the power an audience has to help ruin the life of someone they only know through a manufactured image on a screen. Or the power that a major streamer — say, Netflix — has to use a person’s likeness indefinitely for profit.
“Industry” star Myha’la Herrold plays Pia, a filmmaker who retreats to the Scottish homeland of her boyfriend, Davis (Samuel Blenkin), to begin working with him on a new documentary. But the couple is lured into an entirely different story: his father’s homicide. Right away, Pia is transfixed by the idea of it. Samuel, while understandably skeptical, accepts the film’s new direction.
And of course, nothing good happens from there. Pia and Davis’ research takes them down precarious paths. What might be the most frightening aspect of the whole ordeal, superbly relayed by director Sam Miller, is how successful the documentary is. Their concept immediately attracts a publicist, the film wins a BAFTA award and offers begin to roll in.
Exploitation remains a top concern in discussions of true crime, yet its popularity continues to rise. That’s certainly not because there aren’t other things to watch on TV. Audiences desire these narratives, and they continue to get made — sometimes to the dismay of their storytellers, like in “Loch Henry.”
Director Uta Briesewitz sets up a tale of two protagonists who are readily identifiable for viewers in our celeb-obsessed world. Both Mazey and Bo are trapped in their own type of prison, and one cannot be fed without the other: Mazey’s popularity needs Bo’s industry to propel her, and Bo quite literally needs to buy food with a photo of Mazey.
Kate Mara, Aaron Paul and Josh Hartnett all star in the molasses-slow, 80-minute “Beyond the Sea.” The story, set in 1969, explores the tragic events that unfold after the family of astronaut David (Hartnett) is murdered while he’s on a mission with fellow pilot Cliff (Paul). Mara plays Cliff’s wife, Lana, who agrees to help assuage David’s grief by allowing him to take over her husband’s body so that he can feel the love of a family again.
The story doesn’t move at nearly the pace of the season’s three standout episodes. The conflict that ensues from mixing love and grief always simmers beneath the surface, but once it bubbles over, it’s barely a splatter. The editing isn’t especially tight, and director John Crowley doesn’t get very inspired performances from an otherwise terrific cast.
“Demon 79” doesn’t ask about the cost of her actions, like “Loch Henry” does. Nor does it really ask any questions at all. And the story is just way too on the nose and uninspired for a “Black Mirror” episode. It leans on the horror, but is incurious about it or what it says about the character or us.
This content was originally published here.
