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(No Spoilers)
I didn’t like the new HBO series The Penguin, but I finished it.
The pilot struck me as dreary and reductive, a pale imitation of the 2000s “difficult man” TV era, copy-pasted onto a comic book villain without any of those series’ intellect, charm, or thorniness. Colin Farrell and the cast labored through the motions as if they were filling out a children’s coloring book of tropes rather than subverting or reinventing them.
Which was disappointing, because a revisit to Matt Reeves’ 2022 The Batman revealed the film had more personality than I remembered. That ridiculous emo romanticism—brought to life by Robert Pattinson, Greig Fraser’s shadowy cinematography, and Reeves’ commitment to stylistic over-the-topness—gave it flair and texture.
I assumed others might share my disappointment with The Penguin, politely put it away, and move on. Instead, the opposite happened: the show became an outright sensation.
Its popularity snowballed weekly. Whether it was excitement over Cristin Milioti’s cat-eye makeup or genuine interest in dissecting Colin Farrell’s Oz Cobb, the fervor was undeniable. HBO leaned in, releasing marketing materials comparing the show to The Sopranos in side-by-side screengrabs. What I saw as a cheap comparison, fans ate up.
At some point, I had to stop and consider: maybe I got it all wrong. Maybe this flightless bird had wings...
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