This time around, Netflix’s The Sandmanadapts Neil Gaiman’s magnum opus The Kindly Ones. The original work boasts multiple intriguing plot points and character arcs, polishing off the comic series (which ran for seven years) as a cohesive narrative that benefits from repeated readings. The series is less successful and more disjointed, primarily due to its haphazard approach to the material.
Morpheus (Tom Sturridge) is dealing with the consequences from having ended his son Orpheus’s (Ruairi O’Connor) life. It’s a serious offense in the Endless to “spill family blood,” and Desire (Mason Alexander Park) had tried to trick Morpheus into doing just that. Of course, Orpheus wanted to die—he had lived too long already and was just a head, which is limiting socially. Yet, despite inflicting deliberately crueler fates on others who have crossed him, Morpheus’ undoing might come from his most selfless, compassionate act.
The narrative doesn’t actually address or question the arbitrary absurdity of these rules for long and instead leaps directly into Greek tragedy. The Eumenides, also known as the Furies, were the Greek deities of divine vengeance and retribution. The Greeks often referred to them as “the Kindly Ones,” out of both polite deference and abject fear. These were not ladies you wanted to annoy, and Dinita Gohil, Nina Wadia, and Souad Faress are suitably creepy as the less-than-kind Furies.
It’s appropriate for a tale modeled off Greek tragedy that Morpheus clumsily sets in motion his own downfall. He seeks out Loki (Freddie Fox), who’s hiding on Earth in a disguise that’s tasteless yet fitting and hopes to enlist his aid against the vengeance-seeking Furies. Loki owes Morpheus his current freedom, but the god of mischief is not someone who pays his debts. He’d sooner eliminate whoever holds the IOU. So Loki, with his partner Puck (Jack Gleeson), sets out to frame Morpheus for an unimaginable crime. He doesn’t manipulate or trick Morpheus into committing the act himself, a true Oedipus Rex-worthy twist. However, Loki’s machinations produce two tragic heroes in one story. Lyta Hall (Razane Jammal) is easily convinced—too easily, in fact—that Morpheus has horribly wronged her, and her immense grief is forged into a weapon of destruction. Her frustrating gullibility makes it hard to sympathize with her, and it’s just no fun to watch a thoroughly stupid antagonist.
Fortunately, Fox is delightful as the dastardly Loki—a very different spin on the character if you’re mostly familiar with Tom Hiddleston’s more benevolent version in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Fox even resembles a young David Bowie, who was the model for Gaiman’s Lucifer. It’s not hard to imagine Fox’s character as the more comics-accurate former ruler of Hell, even if he can’t own a nightclub on this particular Netflix show. Loki is often mythically linked to fire, which he demonstrates in some shocking moments when the series swerves into horror.
Meanwhile, Gleeson is especially compelling as a morally conflicted Puck. The series offers his character deeper layers than those found in the source material, and he delivers admirably. However, the season’s undisputed standouts are Jenna Coleman as Johanna Constantine (the show’s version of DC’s occult detective John Constantine) and Boyd Holbrook as the Corinthian, a reformed foe from the first season. Coleman brings excitement to the screen wherever she’s present, and her chemistry with Holbrook is electric. His character is a literal nightmare, but hers has dated worse.
Alas, Sturridge is as placid and intentionally one-note as ever, even when facing life-altering events—and Johanna Constantine is sadly correct when she pegs Morpheus as having no sense of humor. Classic tragedies involve the flawed hero desperately seeking to avoid his preordained fate. There is some of that here but also far too much standing in place. Morpheus often delivers ponderous monologues to characters who function more like emotional brick walls. These scenes go nowhere and are incredibly tedious. Catharsis is also a pivotal part of a good tragedy, and the series denies us this from Morpheus in any authentic way. He says at one point, “I am not a man and I do not change,” and while we’re told that this isn’t true, we don’t actually see it.
The show’s limited visual imagination has been noted on this site already, but this remains an issue. In the comics, Morpheus’ world was often as unpredictable and fantastic as Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. In the show, it all feels like a supernatural The Tudors but with far less sex. (Douglas Booth, as the magically handsome Cluracan, too often seems like he’s auditioning for that Showtime series.) Realms that should astound our senses are instead depicted with moody lighting and uncomfortable furniture. And with the exception of Merv Pumpkinhead (humorously voiced by Mark Hamill), most of the mythical creatures wouldn’t look out of place on a London city street during business hours.
Ultimately, The Sandman spends two seasons building to an epic conclusion that maddeningly lands (for now) with a thud. (The show drops a bonus episode on July 31.) This batch can come off as endless, with characters simply telling us what they feel, which will only make viewers angry or, at best, bored. For decades, it’s been said that Gaiman’s work was unfilmable, and this series only backs up that idea. The Sandman just fails to dream.
The Sandman season two, volume two premieres July 24 on Netflix
