DC Comics’ The Sandman, written by Neil Gaiman, was a groundbreaking and surreal series. However, the Netflix adaptation remains content to paint by the numbers. Superhero movies often take inspiration from their source material, but the better ones usually avoid directly translating stories to the screen word-for-word or panel-for-panel. As a TV show, The Sandman struggles to exceed or even match the original’s stunning visual landscape, and its characters often feel like unimaginative cosplayers reciting Gaiman’s dialogue.
The Sandman’s first season offered some compelling reasons for viewers to sympathize with its lead, Morpheus of the Dreaming (Tom Sturridge).He was kidnapped and heldprisoner for a century; and once he escaped, he set out to reclaim what he had lost, both physically and spiritually. Sadly, the first half of The Sandman’s second and final season doesn’t deliver many satisfying reasons for us to care about what we’re watching.
These six new episodes are based on Season Of Mists and Brief Lives—and unfortunately, those very different tales are loosely connected through a specific plot point that just wanders off midway through its run, as if left unattended. Ultimately, this batch of installments serves as a character study for Morpheus, also known as Dream, who mostly sleepwalks through the proceedings.
As drawn by artists Kelley Jones and Jill Thompson, the original Dream boasts a thrilling, unconventional weirdness that is absent on the screen. Instead, Sturridge performs the part as if he’s a supernatural Mr. Darcy—or worse, Prince Charles from The Crown. There’s far too much of the preening aristocrat and not nearly enough of the unknowable eternal being, with Sturridge delivering somber lines that feel stiff and joyless. A relentlessly dour Dream roams around rooms that resemble vampire-themed nightclubs and speaks in ponderous, whispered tones. It all comes off at times like a Key & Peele parody. Yes, he’s the lord of dreams, but his very presence shouldn’t put viewers to sleep.
Critics have argued that the Netflix series is too faithful to Gaiman’s work, but that’s only true on the most superficial level. Overall, the TV series misses the mark on what made The Sandman so engaging and unique. Season Of Mists and Brief Lives were published in the early 1990s, and the Netflix adaptation exists in a seeming vacuum as if the past 30 years of TV fantasy and horror never happened. It’s a curious choice. The Sandman is a clear spiritual ancestor to later genre entries such as Buffy The Vampire Slayer,Angel, and Supernatural, and Gaiman’s work shares (and perhaps even inspired) their quirky, tongue-in-cheek approach.
Dream holding a “dinner party” where he meets and greets the treacherous contenders for ultimate power could have played out like a timely spin on reality shows like The Traitors. Later, Dream and his (very odd) sister Delirium (Esmé Creed-Miles) embark on what is effectively a wacky road trip to find their estranged brother Destruction (Barry Sloane). The sight of the two on a commercial airline fight in the comic is a laugh-out-loud moment. But the Netflix series drains these situations of any trace of humor or sly wit. Simply put, the show is serious at a time when works of fantasy are confident enough to not take themselves so seriously.
The first-season finale set up a potential epic war between Hell and the Dreaming that is never fully realized, so Gwendoline Christie’s return as Lucifer is disappointingly anticlimactic. The series obviously struggles with Lucifer, the fallen angel who was the basis for the titular series on Fox (and later Netflix). Tom Ellis’ crime-solving devil was a significant departure from the text, and apparently Netflix’s TheSandman chose to distinguish between the two versions by eliminating most of Lucifer’s puckish charm and Machiavellian edge. Christie’s Lucifer is as mopey and sullen as Dream, so their scenes together lack the source material’s tension. Gaiman’s Lucifer, on the other hand, was openly based on David Bowie. It’s a shame, as it feels like a waste of Christie’s talent and a commanding presence.
Kirby Howell-Baptiste’s Death is a necessary departure from the comic’s now-dated “pale goth girl,” yet the incongruity of a hip, perky, teenage embodiment of Death helped make her a fan-favorite character. Howell-Baptiste plays her as almost timeless, not really of this particular moment. She’s more mature and somber than her on-the-page counterpart, so just what you might imagine from the personification of Death. And that brings up a big conundrum with the series: There are rarely any surprises. The comic was famously adventurous, frequently pushing the boundaries of its format, while the Netflix series is predictably straightforward, without the madcap nature of an actual dream.
But on the plus side, the show does make a change to a character from Brief Lives that is particularly relevant for today, with the story directly challenging the cruel prejudice some people can’t escape even in death. This tweak also affords a rare moment of genuine compassion from Dream (something the show could have used more of). And in other good news, Mason Alexander Park remains something of a revelation as Desire, imbuing Dream’s younger sibling with layers of complexity. They are simultaneously seductive and sinister—and luckily (given that this is such a predictable adaptation), Desire should play a larger role in the final half of season two, which adapts The Kindly Ones and Overture.
In the end, the experience of watching Netflix’s The Sandman is like listening to a cover band perform one of your favorite songs: It’s a passable version of something you’ve long enjoyed, with familiar beats that are comforting—even if nothing new or original has been added. And for newbies, there is still enough left of the original’s imaginative world to entertain.
The Sandman season two, volume one premieres July 3 on Netflix
