My inner thoughts on these last two episodes were thus:
Ah. Maya & Robert finally kiss!
Mark has turned into Eminem in 8 Mile.
The rest is all very confusing..
Oh Pleeez:has everybody else (bar a half a handful) watching this been subjected to some kind of unseen saccharine shower & still suffering from saccharine soap in their eyes?
For me I would say well that two hours of my life i can’t get back. Make that 10 hours.
Whilst interested to note that my most used word about The Killing III, well apart from frenetic and ludicrous, is ridiculous and it has become a meme on this Blog. As did my ‘Carry on’ reference.
There is a good reason for this meme of ridiculous:the Killing III was ridiculous. it was more than that:it was just plain ridiculous. In that it stretched credulity to incredulity and beyond. Much like and old and ancient rubber band, idly twanged with not even a satisfactory snap.
I have previously described here the cruelly punctured dramatic tension so very early on as to be like that slowly deflating punctured tyre. To further run with that simile I now declare that the twin strands of the Killing III:the kidnapping and the old murder were akin to the twin tyres on poor Louise’s bike. One puncture leading to the fateful and immovable progress of the whole thing. |Bike or series (take your pick)
Nobody quite cared enough about the old murder whilst investigating the kidnapping. Ok apart from Lund & Co and the away day Jutland jaunt. Likewise once the kidnapping was resolved nobody cared much about the old murder at all. Similarly when investigating the old murder nobody mentioned, barely,. the kidnapping, it was but a blip on the screen.
The two strands of story could not maintain their own individual dramatic tension. Since each separate and supposedly interlinked story which should have stoked the dramatic tension & general apprehension for the viewer;did no such thing at all. In fact each strand of the story had the unfortunate effect of cancelling the other out. The two could not, apparently, be maintained fully on screen together.
Like that bike, one puncture lead to immobility and doom. Really the bike acted like it had two punctures:since one was enough.
The dramatic arc, tension, call it what you will, was irrevocably flattened
horribly early on in the series. Never fully recovering except then suffering a surfeit of saccharine embarrassments as Sarah Lund’s back-story in official glowing neon lights was signposted as being fully fleshed in!
Yes, as our heroine Sarah Lund, the only reason I and I presume others watched the series for was shown as an overblown bug eyed and blank-faced vacant staring shell. Shell-shocked perhaps is what were meant to think? Who knows.
Shell-shocked from exactly what other than the run of the mill murdering madmen that one would have thought a Homicide Detective was kind of used to expecting by now?
(Plus wasn’t Sarah long out of all that anyway? well until the groan, one more job request..)
Sadly Sarah never seemed to get the hang of unwinding with a sparkling cut glass tumbler of whiskey as most male Detectives do these days.
(Clint woulda done it with a bottle, swished down the wooden counter of the bar, naturally)
No, instead she is banished to the girly and very latest hobby of gardening. (see Homeland)
Sadly for Sarah she never developed a sardonic sense of humour. Blackest of black, to get her through her day. Found in most lines of work to do with death and general dismemberment. Paramedics even.
Maybe the Scandinavians don’t do dark humour, a necessary saving grace. Everything is just so damn dull and serious it seems. One wishes Sarah just got occasionally drunk. Which is when one imagines somewhat stereotypically perhaps, that Scandinavians let their hair down.
Anyway, i digress. If anybody thinks i’m being unnecessarily mean about The Killing III and wants to explain the plot twists to me fair enough. The thing is i speak as somebody who usually buys into any kind of drama:so much so that i can’t watch the gore. Yet this time i didn’t believe it. In fact i believed nothing.
Because for me, none of it worked. It was boring and bland and I just didn’t care. I couldn’t get bothered about the plot, since it was all so truly ludicrous. The only characters i slightly engaged with were Robert & Maya and purely since I’m a romantic.
Kristian and Karen too, were human for a while. Until the barely believable ending when Kristian swallows the fact that Special Branch “chased” his son onto some railway lines and um oops “it was an accident”.Oh, gee, that OK then as he scoots off stereotypically smiling into the popping flash bulbs…
I couldn’t get creeped out by the i’m a baddie staring at you meaningfully in the mirror scene with Rheinhardt. He wasn’t creepy or evil he was bland. Bland bland, bland, like the rest of it..Yawn, perhaps it was meant to be the banality of evil and all that?
Tant pis. The Killing III ended not with a bang but a boring bland whimper. If you are going to be Clint Eastwood then either be him-or don’t be him. There is no half measures, Sarah..
Clint would never have sat around all weeping, teary eyed & mournful for God’s sake. He would have stayed to face the music, made up some muttered husky voiced story, scowled a little.
(stood still whilst the Police Chief yelled loudly a lot)
Too bad it isn’t the 70’s, she might just have got away with it..:)