Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Friday, September 25, 2015 — 5A

‘Executioner’ not 
so well executed

New FX series 

pushes the 
boundaries 

By MATT BARNAUSKAS

Daily Arts WRiter

This article contains spoilers for 

the finale of “Sons of Anarchy.” 

Kurt Sutter, for better or worse, 

has 
become 

a go-to guy 
for FX. Ever 
since 
his 

involvement 
as a writer 
and eventual 
producer for 
Shawn Ryan’s 
“The Shield,” 
Sutter has risen in prominence 
among the network with “Sons 
of Anarchy,” which became one 
of FX’s most popular series at the 
time of its finale in 2014.

Now, in 2015, Sutter continues 

to call FX home with his newest 
series, “The Bastard Executioner,” 
a show that continues the usual 
themes that dominate his earlier 
work while displaying some of the 
showrunner’s biggest flaws.

At the core of Sutter’s creations 

is violence. His worlds are nasty 
and brutal, forming a cycle of suf-
fering and despair that few can 
escape. In “Sons of Anarchy,” Jax 
Teller fought for seven seasons to 
end the savagery around SAM-
CRO, only to be sucked into its 
black hole of barbarity, with death 
being the only salvation for the 
troubled biker.

This idea echoes within “The 

Bastard Executioner” through the 
story of medieval warrior Wilkin 
Brattle (Lee Jones, “Home and 

Away”). Opening with a flashback, 
Brattle lies wounded on the battle-
field when a vision of a child tells 
him to “Lay down the sword” and 
“Live the life of a different man.”

Brattle, still haunted by visions 

of his tormented past, takes the 
words to heart and settles in Wales 
with his wife Petra (Elen Rhys, 
“World War Z”). Living in a time 
of political upheaval and rebel-
lion against the power of England, 
Brattle finds his promise hard to 
keep as, armed with a club instead 
of a sword, he assists the local reb-
els in their guerilla resistance.

One of the biggest issues “Sons 

of Anarchy” experienced during 
its extended run was the general 
expansion of its storyline and sub-
plots into an unruly and bloated 
beast. This issue carries over to 
“The Bastard Executioner” as 
the weight of the narrative nearly 
crushes 
the 
premiere. 
Clock-

ing in at just over 90 minutes, the 
premiere takes a long time intro-
ducing its huge cast of main and 
supporting characters, with sev-
eral killed off within the same epi-
sode. It’s unfortunate because the 
ensemble is impressive, but there’s 
not really enough time for most of 
them to forge an initial connection 
to the audience.

Not until 40 minutes into the 

pilot, when villains Baron Ventris 
(Brían F. O’Byrne, “Aquarius”) and 
Milus Corbett (Stephen Moyer, 
“True Blood”) order the massacre 
of Brattle’s village, does the narra-
tive truly pick up.

The village massacre is just one 

of many sequences of extended 
violence, but it is definitely the 
most disturbing as mostly women 
and children, including the preg-
nant Petra, are slaughtered in 
the dark, and orange flames shed 

light on the atrocity. Sutter never 
shies away from viciousness, but 
it sometimes seems a little much, 
as if he wants to show how many 
different ways a person can be 
stabbed in one episode.

Under the direction of Paris 

Barclay, director of 15 “Sons of 
Anarchy” episodes, most of these 
scenes work on a basic level. Brat-
tle’s vengeful ambush of Ventris 
in a hayfield is a highlight of the 
pilot, if only for the appearance of 
“The Americans” ’s Matthew Rhys 
as a Welsh rebel leader. However, 
there are missteps. The choice of 
an electric guitar to orchestrate 
the village massacre feels tonally 
unwelcome, and the opening flash-
back displays some color over-sat-
uration that makes the scene feel 
somewhat cheap.

It’s funny that the show is 

called, “The Bastard Executioner,” 
but Brattle, under the urgings of 
the mysterious and manipulative 
healer, Annora (“Sons of Anarchy” 
alum Katey Sagal), doesn’t truly 
assume the title position until 
more than an hour has passed, 
when he takes the identity of the 
deceased executioner, Maddox 
(Felix Scott, “The Interceptor”)

In that fact lies “The Bastard 

Executioner” ’s biggest issue — 
inside this swollen premiere are 
decent foundations for a series. 
Brattle’s first execution is a well-
done moment of choice, merg-
ing the show’s past and present 
through the man’s visions. Unfor-
tunately, the show is so extrane-
ously dense that it takes far too 
long to get to this point. Sutter 
needs to cast aside this unneces-
sary baggage present in the pilot 
and cut to the heart of the new 
series if he hopes to bring contin-
ued success to FX.

FX

“Just pretend we’re ‘Game of Thrones’.”

A

The Bastard 
Executioner

Series Premiere 
Tuesdays at 
10 p.m.

FX

TV REVIEW
New ‘Who’ revives 
old doctor’s panache

By DREW MARON

Daily Arts Writer

The Doctor is in the building 

and he brought horrible puns 
and an electric guitar. Were you 
expecting 
someone 
else?

It’s 
quite 

a hard thing 
to 
review 

“Doctor 
Who” 
because 
no 

matter what 
you think of 
it, someone, 
somewhere 
will disagree with everything you 
have ever stood for. Some folks 
stopped watching after William 
Hartnell’s First Doctor (like, you 
know, your grandparents), while 
others have only ever seen Matt 
Smith’s Eleven.

The current era has been 

met with controversy (to say 
the least), namely directed at 
show-runner 
Steven 
Moffat 

(“Sherlock”) and his inability 
to bring more diversity to the 
Who Universe. I personally 
agree with this sentiment, yet 

I still respect the ineluctable 
contribution Moffat has made 
to taking The Doctor out of 
your parent’s basement and into 
the hearts of the entire world. 
I also have to say that I love 
Peter Capaldi’s Doctor. Believe 
it or not, Moffat is way more 
attuned to the original vision of 
the Doctor than most fans wish 
to admit. In his first adventures, 
the Doctor was shrewd, rude 
and a little impatient with his 
human companions. He was, in 
short, a grumpy old man who 
had just about had it up to here 
with the universe, and he didn’t 
care who he forced to listen. 
Clearly, this is the iteration 
of the Doctor Moffat feels the 
most connected to, and it’s one 
I prefer to Matt Smith’s quirky, 
bouncy ball of fun. Moffat, 
someone who gets a bad rep 
for making “Doctor Who” a tad 
too serious, still knows how to 
fill his odd-ball time-lord with 
lovable idiosyncrasies, this time 
an electric guitar and sunglasses 
in 1198 A.D. England.

Like 
many 
of 
Moffat’s 

adventures 
into 
the 
Who 

Universe, 
the 
season 
nine 

premiere, 
“The 
Magician’s 

Apprentice,” treats the canon 
and mythology of the Doctor 
like a giant sandbox filled 
with previously unanswered 
(and sometimes unanswerable) 
questions. 
“The 
Magician’s 

Apprentice” continues in the 
vein of “Into the Dalek” (a 
personal 
favorite 
of 
mine) 

by 
exploring 
the 
creation, 

psychology and circumstances 
behind a species of absolute 
evil, the Daleks. Moffat’s ideas 
are often so insane, yet obvious, 
you feel yourself always asking 
why no one has ever thought of 
doing it before.

In this case, we explore the 

exact relationship the Doctor 
has with Davros, the inventor 
of the Daleks. There’s more 

A

Dr. Who

Season 9 
Premiere 
Saturdays 
at 9 p.m.

BBC America

than a little “Harry Potter” 
vibe to this episode, as Davros’s 
serpentine servants abduct the 
Doctor, Clara (Jenna Louise 
Coleman, “Captain America: 
The First Avenger”) and the 
Master (Michelle Gomez, “The 
Brink”). The trio are brought to 
Davros’s homeworld of Skaro 
so that the Doctor may speak 
with the inventor before he 
dies … or so it seems.

The episode ends on a “To 

Be 
Continued” 
card 
which 

will undoubtedly anger those 
who have dismissed the more 

serialized format “Doctor Who” 
has taken on at the helm of 
Moffat. The format feels more 
like serialized prose or stories, 
like that of Dickens and other 
authors of Victorian serials.

The one thing I’m uncertain 

about the new season is the 
direction of the Master as a 
possible 
anti-hero. 
Moffat 

makes 
it 
clear 
with 
the 

Master’s murder of the agents 
that this is still the Master and 
should not be trusted, but I still 
don’t believe that the entire 
millennia of conflict between 

the Master and the Doctor was 
just “flirting.” That being said, 
the show does do a great deal 
in contextualizing the Doctor’s 
hatred of the Master with his 
hatred of Davros. The Master 
is still a Time Lord / Lady, and 
there’s definitely a familiarity 
there, even if the show presents 
it as more intimate than some 
fans might be comfortable 
with. With Davros, the biggest 
thing the Doctor can relate to 
is the fact that they have both 
done horrible things which 
they self-justify. 

BBC AMERICA

“Look at my pants.”

The season 9 
premier treats 
the canon like a 
giant sandbox.

MUSIC NOTEBOOK

Oh, Fetty Wap, won’t 
you come my way? 

By MELINA GLUSAC

Daily Arts Writer

The year is 1738. Many people 

are plagued with smallpox or 
other legitimate, more pressing 
problems (FOMO on the birth 
of King George III?) — but me, 
myself? I’m stricken with Fetty 
Wap fever.

Before we get down to it, 

there’s one thing you should 
know: hip hop is not my 
preferred genre. This just in — 
white girl from cushy Michigan 
suburb not the world’s biggest 
fan of rap music. More at 11.

It’s no secret, and it’s no 

surprise. David Bowie gets me 
going, as do Sarah Vaughan, 
Elliott Smith and The Kinks. 
Of course, as a music writer, I 
pride myself on listening to a 
myriad — by the truest sense 
of the word — of genres. Jazz, 
R&B, neo-soul, pop-y pop, folk, 
etc. (Admittedly, Johnny Cash 
is about as far as I’ll go into 
country. Maybe Shania Twain if 
I’m feeling frisky.) But dabbling 
in hip hop is not exactly 
the most relaxing listening 
adventure for me. I love it; I 
appreciate it. I could rap “The 
Real Slim Shady” to you right 
now, in its entirety, and have a 
damn good time doing it. But 
it’s just not the butter to my 
bread. Given the choice, I’d pick 
Marvin Gaye over Kan-yeezy 
almost every time.

Lately, though, I’ve been 

walking around campus sans 
any 
typical 
tunes 
beating 

through my head. “679” by 
Fetty Wap and Remy Boyz has 
taken over. Stepping out of my 
dorm (“… and I got this sewed 
up”), riding down the elevator 
(“Remy Boyz, they know us”), 
eating a bagel (“all fast money, 
no slow bucks”), walking to 
class (“no one can control us”) 
and sitting down in lecture (“ay, 
yeeEEEAaah baby”). It won’t 
leave me, no matter how hard 
I try.

Mr. 
Wap, 
born 
Willie 

Maxwell in 1991, is a fascinating 
creature. He catapulted into 
the spotlight this summer with 
the melodically minimalistic 
smash “Trap Queen,” a strange 
song upon closer examination. 
There are about five notes sung 
throughout the whole thing 
(same three in the verses, same 
two in the chorus, excluding 
the rap), and pixie-like, staccato 
synths 
run 
rampant. 
It’s 

appealing from the get-go but 
ultimately lacks variety —not 

exactly what you’d call “chart 
bait” in a day and age where 
constant shock-factor is needed 
to hold a listener’s attention. To 
boot, it introduced the world 
to that signature Wap vibrato 
we now love/hate: “… getting 
fly with my baby, yeEEEAaah.” 
Never has a goat in heat 
yodeling about his boo thang 
sounded so hot.

Since then, my beloved “679” 

and “My Way,” which features a 
perfect verse from Drake, have 
secured Wap’s place in pop 
music’s vocabulary. Plus his 
debut album is set to come out 
on Sept. 25. Most importantly, 
though, people listen to Fetty 
Wap. Whether it’s ironic or 
not, “I’m like hey, what’s up, 
hello” has worked its way into 
Instagram captions worldwide.

Speaking of irony: this could 

be debated, but quite a few 
listeners dig Wap because they 
think he’s hilarious. Almost 
everyone 
with 
whom 
I’ve 

discussed mentions his one 
eye and bursts out laughing 
(glaucoma stole the other from 
us, may it rest), and my friend 
often tries to mimic his weirdly 
strained 
singing. 
Also, 
his 

music isn’t really respected in 
the way, say, Kendrick Lamar’s 
is. As of late, hip hop has 
become a platform for artists 
like Lamar to convey heavier 
subject 
matter, 
i.e. 
their 

dissatisfaction 
with 
police 

brutality, 
the 
implications 

of and stereotypes involved 
with being a famous African 

American man, etc. Fetty Wap 
raps about squadding up and 
chillin’ with his girl. Even 
newcomer 
and 
surprising 

tickler-of-my-fancy 
Vince 

Staples talks about his girl on 
“Lemme Know,” but since he’s 
less mainstream — and perhaps 
a bit more lyrically deft — the 
music seems less trivial.

OK. That’s all peachy. But I 

still can’t sweat out my Fetty 
Wap fever. Even though he’s 
“trivial” and Cyclop-tic and 
repetitive and odd, I still enjoy 
listening to Fetty Wap.

The key word there is “enjoy.” 

Just because an artist isn’t as 
intellectual, as critically adored 
as one of his contemporaries 
doesn’t mean he isn’t successful 
at his job. Wap resonates with 
the masses arguably better 
than any other pop and hip-hop 
artist out there right now — and 
he does so in a deeply enjoyable 
way. And though the word is 
grossly overused, his music is 
fun, above all else. He makes 
me dance like an inebriated 
aunt at a wedding, sing along 
obnoxiously and laugh at the 
absurdity of it all. I can’t say 
that for many other current 
musicians. In my fevered past 
week, I’ve loved nothing more 
than putting the fun back into 
my life and my playlists amid 
swirls of homework and new 
classes.

This is college, after all. 

Sometimes I don’t want to 
think. I just want to party like 
it’s 1738.

300 ENTERTAINMENT

Everybody wants to be Fetty Wap.

TV REVIEW

