Search
1000 results for “penny_walker_sd”
-
Penny Walker
2d“Seeing the Moon”, speculative flash fiction long-listed for Walk - listen - create “Walking in the Dark” competition. See the full long-list here wlc.zone/7yg @walklistencreate #AmWritingFiction #SpeculativeFiction #Longlist
-
Penny Walker
2d“Seeing the Moon”, speculative flash fiction long-listed for Walk - listen - create “Walking in the Dark” competition. See the full long-list here wlc.zone/7yg @walklistencreate #AmWritingFiction #SpeculativeFiction #Longlist
-
Penny Walker
2d“Seeing the Moon”, speculative flash fiction long-listed for Walk - listen - create “Walking in the Dark” competition. See the full long-list here wlc.zone/7yg @walklistencreate #AmWritingFiction #SpeculativeFiction #Longlist
-
Moon Walker - Monopoly Money
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUaCz28bm18
When I was a kid, we didn't murder CEOs
They just gave us each a penny and we did what we were told#MoonWalker #MonopolyMoney #Rock #Music #AntiCapitalism #NoFuture #Promises #Lure #Politicians #Billionaires #Money #Funny #Bullet #Domination #Death #Chest
-
𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒔
Maggie Lena Walker nació en 1864, poco después del final de la Guerra Civil estadounidense, en una sociedad que había abolido la esclavitud en el papel, pero que seguía sosteniendo la discriminación en la práctica.
Era hija de una mujer que había sido esclavizada y creció en Richmond, Virginia, en un entorno marcado por las leyes de segregación racial conocidas como Jim Crow.Desde joven entendió algo esencial: sin independencia económica no hay libertad real.
Se involucró activamente en la organización fraternal afroamericana Independent Order of St. Luke, que promovía la ayuda mutua, el ahorro y el emprendimiento dentro de la comunidad negra.En 1902 dio un paso histórico al fundar el St. Luke Penny Savings Bank, convirtiéndose en la primera mujer afroamericana en establecer y presidir un banco en Estados Unidos.
No fue un gesto simbólico.
El banco ofrecía préstamos, hipotecas y servicios financieros a personas negras a las que las entidades blancas les cerraban la puerta.
En un sistema diseñado para excluir, Walker creó una institución para construir patrimonio, viviendas y negocios dentro de su propia comunidad.El banco no solo sobrevivió: prosperó y ayudó a cientos de familias a acceder a estabilidad económica en un contexto profundamente hostil.
En 1903 amplió su visión empresarial con la apertura de unos grandes almacenes gestionados por afroamericanos.
Allí, los clientes negros podían comprar con dignidad: entraban por la puerta principal, se probaban la ropa antes de pagar y podían comer en los mostradores, algo que les estaba prohibido en muchos comercios blancos.
La tienda contrataba exclusivamente a mujeres negras y exhibía ropa en maniquíes de piel oscura, un detalle que hoy puede parecer sencillo pero que entonces era una afirmación poderosa de identidad y respeto.Ese mismo año, utilizó el periódico de la organización, el St. Luke Herald, para promover un boicot contra los tranvías segregados de Richmond, que obligaban a los pasajeros negros a sentarse en zonas separadas o ceder su asiento.
La presión económica fue tan efectiva que la compañía sufrió graves pérdidas en apenas dos meses.
Walker entendía que el dinero también es una herramienta política.Su vida no estuvo exenta de tragedias personales y dificultades económicas, pero continuó trabajando por la educación, el emprendimiento y los derechos civiles hasta su muerte en 1934.
A pesar de enfrentar racismo estructural y barreras de género, logró algo que en su época parecía imposible: ocupar un espacio de liderazgo financiero siendo mujer y afroamericana en el sur segregado de Estados Unidos.Maggie Lena Walker no solo rompió barreras simbólicas.
Construyó instituciones reales, creó empleo, defendió el consumo digno y utilizó la economía como instrumento de resistencia.
Su legado es una lección clara: la igualdad no se pide, se construye con estrategia, organización y coraje.▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣
#magdalenawalker #maggielenawalker #historiaafroamericana #mujerespioneras #derechosciviles #historiareal #emprendimientofemenino #justiciasocial #richmondvirginia #memoriahistorica
-
Battle for the Ballot: Best Dramatic Presentation 2026
The two Best Dramatic Presentation categories are among my favourites in the Hugos, because I consume a lot of SFF media and have a lot of thoughts and feelings about them. Since my post last year about why I had wanted Loki S2 to win a Hugo in 2024 (which I was working on for a while but ended up not posting it in time for it to sway anyone), I’ve been toying with the idea of producing more writing around some of my favourite things from each year, in case it helps anybody—least of all me, in getting it all out of my system.
I know I’m posting this with one day to go before nominations (these take so long for me! I must develop a better system for next year 🤔), but I’m really writing this to sound out my own thoughts about the DP categories this year, because it is absolutely bananas with how stacked they both are. There have been some truly great speculative television shows and films, stuff that I’m sure we’ll still be talking about for years to come, and making decisions to boil my favourite media down to just 5 per category—especially given the fiddliness of Long Form and Short Form where TV is concerned, which I’ll get to in a sec—is going to be excruciatingly difficult for me.
So come along on a journey with me as I parse my thoughts, and who knows! Maybe I’ll argue my way to your heart about some of this, or tell you about something you hadn’t heard of before—some of which I’ve already written about before, but I’m getting ahead of myself!
Let me know what your ballot looks like, and if you’re nominating any of the below shows, films, and other dramatic works, or if you’re including other things entirely. I’m curious!
TV series and the Long Form/Short Form debate
A big question for many fen every year is “do I nominate one episode from a TV series that stands on its own or that adequately represents the show in Short Form, or do I nominate the whole season in Long Form because it’s one complete narrative, and isolating one chapter of it would be unfair?”
Understandably, it’s a tough one; when a show inevitably gets votes in both categories, it can lead to headaches for the Hugo Administrating Team as they have to sift through the numbers and ultimately decide which category it should be nominated in1, which I don’t envy at all. But at the same time, as a voter, I have to go with what my heart says and name my favourite episodes in Short Form, regardless of whether I’ve also named the show/season as a whole in Long Form, because if enough others have put that same episode down, then that’s what’ll make it through to the shortlist, and I would want my vote to count towards those totals.
All that to say: if you expected a clear stance from me on this, HA! I’m afraid I don’t have one 😇—and to be perfectly honest, this is exactly the sort of thing where people’s mileage will vary the most.
My personal method of deciding whether to nominate entire TV seasons rather than one specific episode is purely based on ~vibes~, on whether or not I thought the season works better in its totality than through its individual parts, versus cases where one outstanding episode eclipses all the others for me. Not all shows are written the same, of course, and those that favour a longer narrative arc (as a lot of prestige TV does nowadays) tend to find their way on my long form ballot more often than not, as opposed to the more episodic writing that isn’t as popular now but used to be ubiquitous in the pre-streaming era.
Ultimately, you may agree or disagree with me on my reasoning for some of my choices below, whether on the LF/SF question or my actual opinions of the various media, and that’s fair enough. I welcome discussion in the comments, but please keep it civil!
Jump to:
- Long Form: Entire TV Seasons
- Long Form: Films
- Long Form: Non-Film/TV
- Short Form: TV Episodes
- Short Form: Non-TV
Long Form: Entire TV Seasons
You might see episodes from some of these further down in the episode/short form discussion.
Andor, Season 2+
This is kind of my front-runner among the TV seasons for the Long Form category. Overall, I enjoyed it slightly more than season 1 for a few reasons: first of all, the pacing was much more even, with a little bit more action and intrigue peppered throughout the season as opposed to having several quieter mini-arcs that slowed things down in places; and crucially, there was a lot less dithering from Cassian Andor, our reluctant protagonist, who finally comes into his own as a rebel after being passively tossed about this way and that in the first season. The agency he has in this one makes him much more interesting as a character, and brings him on the same level as other players in the budding rebellion front, like Mon Mothma and Luthen Rael. In fact, with all the different character arcs completed, Andor finally becomes what Rogue One always wanted to be: a testament to the great sacrifices necessary for revolution to take root.
I liked a lot of what went down in this season as tensions continued ramping up between the Empire and the Rebellion; the Ghorman subplot was outstanding, especially with Dedra and Cyril’s journeys as instruments of Imperial oppression and violence, as was Mon Mothma’s arc from quiet resistance financier to full-on political rebel on the run, with her heartbreaking arc where she realises the personal cost of rebellion. None of the individual episodes in season 2 came even close to the intensity or narrative brilliance of One Way Out, which was hands down my favourite episode of season 1, but that’s okay—I think this season works so much better in its totality, that I’ll be happy to nominate it wholesale.
I still need to re-watch Rogue One actually, to see if my (very mid) opinion on it changes at all, but ultimately I’m just really happy this show was made, and that it looked and felt amazing throughout. It’s probably my favourite Star Wars story, period, and I am so chuffed that so much of it was filmed in the UK (in locations I know and visit all the time, including my old workplace!2), and is full of incredibly talented and classically trained British theatre actors who fill the space with their physicality and make their performances memorable even in the smallest of roles3.
Severance, Season 2+
Another really strong contender for this category. If you ask me which TV show might win the LF Hugo between this, Andor, or Pluribus, my money would probably be on Severance, even if I personally prefer Andor thematically and Pluribus cinematically. There’s no doubt Severance is an absolute masterpiece of television—nay, of cinema—and the fact that the most anti-capitalist story of our time is coming directly from the big tech megacorp Apple is an irony that is as delicious as it is hilarious.
Aside from its bonkers world-building (which still has so many unanswered questions!), this season of Severance also dove pretty deep into its characters, whom we only got to know a bit in season 1. I don’t want to get too spoilery here, but there’s a handful of moments in this season that go SO HARD—particularly that one slow episode that everyone else hated for some reason, where we follow Patricia Arquette’s character as she goes to her dingy home town and fills us in on the cult lore around Lumon Industries, and of course the team building episode in which our intrepid heroes actually go outside, but it’s all weird in that trademark Lumon way where nothing really fully makes sense, and it leaves the viewer feeling uncomfortable, like something’s not quite aligned right.
But yeah, the world-building, man. It’s something else. I was glued to my screen and my mind was running a mile a minute trying to join the dots and figure out the answers to the show’s mysteries, much like our heroes consolidate memories refine macrodata—remember, the work is mysterious and important—and the excitement of getting it just before the show confirmed it was super fun. Yet, finally understanding what macrodata refinement is was actually a really tragic moment, and everything that happens after that made my heart break for the innies who are stuck living a half-life they can’t escape, on pain of death.
Ultimately, what I loved the most about the second season of Severance is its staunch anti-capitalist messaging that speaks to the average office worker today regardless of where they may be in the world, because corporate manipulation knows no borders:
- A job is a job, not a family.
- The company you work for does not deserve blind, cult-like loyalty.
- Your life is more than just work, and compartmentalising your work self and your out-of-work self might be a band-aid solution, but it doesn’t really work in the end.
- You are you, with all your complex layers of self, even if your corporate overlords (…or just your line manager 🤐) want you to think otherwise, or to act otherwise so you can fit into their office culture.
- Basically, it’s all dumb, and you deserve to live, not just to survive so you can punch your clock card and get meaningless little bonuses like finger traps or waffle parties.
This relatability is what keeps me hooked, and what I think elevates the show from pretty sci-fi to a classic of our times. It’s definitely got my vote.
Pluribus, Season 1+
God, talk about another cinematic masterpiece. When Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul‘s Vince Gilligan said he was working on a new show (which he was writing specifically for Rhea Seahorn to star in), I was crossing my fingers and my toes that it would be sci-fi, and Pluribus has completely blown my expectations out of the water. Not only does it mark Gilligan’s return to science fiction for the first time since The X-Files, but he brings his now-trademark cinematic visual language to it, full of tight choreography and nuanced subtext through visual and music cues, which is what made BB & BCS so special.
The result is an unnerving combination of horror, absurdist humour, and subtle world-building, centered around a complex character named Carol Sturka, who is one of only a few humans not to join the weird hive mind connection that takes over all other human beings on the planet, and doesn’t want to even entertain the idea. I’ve seen many reviews call her unlikable and unrelatable, and while the first part may be true (I was really tired of her contrarian nature in the first half of the season), I think there’s something more going on here than just a selfish white American woman who expects the world to move just for her.
The thing is, Vince Gilligan does not talk down to his audience; he expects us to keep up and to pick up what he’s putting down, whether that’s subtle digs at the publishing industry (it is truly hilarious to me that the protagonist of this show is an actual romantasy author!), not-so-subtle digs about community building and the harm humanity has done to the planet and to each other (particularly around resource distribution, iykyk), and questions about human nature that we are left to ponder: would you trade world peace for the complete flattening of human culture? Are we capable of retaining what makes us human while not actively harming the world around us, or each other? What is humanity, really, or human nature even?
Big stuff coming from an Apple TV show, once again; should I even be surprised at this point?
I think the long game of this show is going to be Carol’s character development from grumpy selfish miser to someone who genuinely cares about other people—a reverse Walter White, if you will. Gilligan is all about the narrative arc, and he has been known to deliver some of the best narrative arcs in TV ever, even if they take a while to stick the landing. I have faith that he is cooking something we haven’t even yet begun to poke at, if Better Call Saul is any indication, and between the already great writing and the show’s superlative production value, I think Pluribus is going to be a low-key modern classic. Vince has my vote, now and always.
My Hero Academia: The Final Season+
I wrote about this extensively in my Hugo ballot recommendations post a couple of months ago, so I’ll pull a quote from that as to why I loved it so much:
Y’all, what can I say: this has been my favourite anime of the last decade, and the fact it is ending has had me in my feelings for months. I’ve been deeply invested emotionally for many years, watching the simulcasts on the same day as the anime airs in Japan since around season 2, and this last season has been all payoff for almost ten years’ worth of story. Every Saturday from October 4th till December 13th, I tuned in and bawled my eyes out for 20 minutes straight, which for an anime aimed at teenage boys is an absolute feat. Defying every expectation, it stuck the landing for every little story beat, every subplot, and every theme set up over its ten year tenure perfectly, making it one of my absolute favourite stories in the superhero genre.
This is definitely one of those where context is essential, so I don’t think it can be viewed in a vacuum and appreciated to the same extent as having watched all previous seven seasons. You can try, but it wouldn’t be worth it just for the awards. Just watch the show so the ending can hit you like a ton of bricks in the best way possible, even if you miss the deadline. It’s fun, it’s moving, it’s made with so much love for American comics through a uniquely Japanese perspective. I can’t recommend it enough, and it’ll definitely be on my Long Form ballot even if I’m one of ten people who put it there 🤷🏻♀️
Honourable mentions/near misses+
- Silo, Season 2: It’s definitely not as tight as season 1, and it was missing some stuff from the books that may well turn up in season 3. For what it’s worth, there’s a lot I enjoyed about this season, but unfortunately it’s simply weaker when Rebecca Ferguson’s Juliette isn’t on screen, and there’s a lot of that unfortunately. I’m certainly looking forward to what season 3 will be adapting, and to see what format that will take, as I think they’re either condensing or axing the second half of book 2 to go straight to the dual narrative of book 3, which I have mixed feelings about.
- Murderbot: I never got into the books because of tonal whiplash (MB’s violence and misanthropy coated in dry humour just didn’t work for me), and while I thought the TV show was a little better in that regard, ultimately I thought the show was just okay. I didn’t actively dislike it, mind, but I watched most of it on a plane ride, didn’t finish it, and haven’t felt like picking it back up since. The story just doesn’t grab me, I think, and I never felt particularly attached to or compelled by any of the characters… and I’m okay with that 🤷🏻♀️. Not everything is for everyone! I expect it’ll be mass-nominated by all the book fans anyway based on the online discourse I’ve seen, so it won’t miss my vote.
- Invasion, Season 3: I didn’t even know this was out, lmao! I was deeply invested while watching seasons 1 and 2 (even though I disliked quite a few of the characters), but as soon as I was done with it I promptly forgot about it—and Apple TV didn’t even let me know that it was back on. Whomst can I shake until they fix the marketing situation over there?! Christ on a cracker!
- Stranger Things, Season 5: To my own surprise, I didn’t like this season nearly as much as season 4, let alone season 1, and so I will not be considering it for the Long Form category (including the last episode, which would qualify under Long Form on its own due to being 128 MINUTES LONG 🙄). It’s turned out to be one of those things where, while I enjoyed it a fair bit in the moment, the longer I think about it the more my feelings about it seem to change, and the ending has left me a bit… conflicted, shall we say. But it did have some great episodes in the middle especially, so I will consider a couple of them in the Short Form category.
Long Form: Films
Sinners+
This was probably my favourite SFF film of last year. Not only is it atmospheric, fun, and lush with cross-border folkloric world-building (Hoodoo magic and Irish vampires?! yes please!), but the story touches so many themes that a regular popcorn movie won’t even veer towards, and it does so brilliantly.
All the many layers of the Black and POC experience in the South during the Prohibition era (and beyond) are crystallised in the character arc of each ensemble cast member, with some absolutely outstanding performances by Hailee Steinfeld (whose character Mary is biracial, and torn between safety and belonging), Michael B. Jordan (who plays identical twins Smoke and Stack so well he walked away with an Oscar for it), and Wunmi Mosaku in particular as Smoke’s wife Annie (she’s such an underrated performer, but I’m so glad to see her actually flex her acting skills after her appearance in Loki). We’re talking themes like the push and pull of religion and its role in both keeping communities together and also oppressing them, the safety of BIPOC in a white supremacist society, and even the immigrant experience… the truth is your average blockbuster would never—but this is Ryan Coogler, and he won’t sugar-coat things for a mainstream audience, instead telling a story only he could tell, filled with truth, complexity, and nuance, something I really wish more filmmakers would embrace nowadays.
The film’s protagonist, Sammie (Miles Caton) has a preternatural gift with music, and the plot revolves around a juke joint Smoke and Stack put together, and the connection that music can create across time and even culture—with a wonderful supernatural twist.
One of my favourite moments is when the villain Remmick (an immortal Irish vampire played by Jack O’Connell) turns up at their juke joint and cries with joy at the emotions Sammie’s music has brought him after years of numbness. He talks about his own experience of colonialism at the hands of the British Empire and the subsequent erasure of Irish culture through the centuries, which is a very real thing—but he’s also a predator who has been making his way through the land trying to trap people and turn them into vampires, chased away by indigenous people who could tell he was a monster before attacking a couple who are Klan members. It’s clear that he doesn’t want Sammie’s music in order to connect people, but to use it as a tool on his quest to propagate a vampire race, and that seemingly sweet moment of connection is exposed as the performative allyship that it is.
There are some phenomenal action sequences too, with the last third of the film keeping me on the edge of my IMAX seat4. Genuinely, this film was such a breath of fresh air: delightfully complex but also fun, in ways that cinema just doesn’t dare to be right now. I was sad they didn’t win all the awards they were up for, but perhaps we can give it a Hugo instead.
Frankenstein+
©️ Netflix 2025I have a full review of this here, but basically: the SFF-ness of this is lush, as expected from a Guillermo Del Toro movie, and for the most part it works well as an adaptation of the book. As I mention in my other post, it doesn’t quite reach the heights of the NT’s theatre adaptation, which I still consider the ultimate version of this story, but it does similar things with the characters as Penny Dreadful, which is my runner-up favourite, save for the very end, and it’s that ending that makes the whole thing fall short for me, unfortunately.
To quote myself:
Why do we sing sad songs, when we know their ending is unhappy? When our instinctual yearning for a happy ending is met with the inevitability of human flaws getting in the way, that emotional release we experience is what my ancestors called catharsis. As the audience we accept that because of who these characters are, they would always make these choices and lead the story to the same outcome, time and again, even though we’d like them to change, to choose better, so they can be happy in the end.
What makes Frankenstein compelling in any iteration is its core conflict: Victor’s refusal to acknowledge the Creature as human, despite the fact that the Creature is deeply human, as much as his creator would like to think otherwise. We are invited to empathise with the Creature’s plight, to see how he thinks and feels, how he desires things we all do: safety, friendship, love. Victor is incapable of recognising this, and so the two clash eternally. Such is the tragedy, and no matter what minor changes are made to it, the good adaptations always recognise the impasse between the two at the end. It’s what makes the story tick.
My ultimate issue with the way Del Toro chose to end his adaptation of Frankenstein is that it ultimately robs us of our deserved catharsis by artificially resolving the incontrovertible stalemate between the two leads, giving us a happy(ish) ending in which Victor, at death’s door, forgives the Creature for the violence and destruction he’s wrought, apologises for what he did to him, and urges him to live on, free of guilt, yet completely alone. The Creature then walks off into the Arctic sunrise, liberated from his vendetta yet devastated at losing his creator.
It’s a lovely thought in principle, a Del Toro-ism about accepting one’s nature and walking away from one’s painful past, and if it were an original story without baggage I’d be all for it—after all, The Shape of Water had similar, pro-monster themes of letting go of trying to fit into a world that won’t accept you anyway, and I ate that up voraciously. But here, in taking a tragedy that is so classic and ingrained, loading it with a bunch of new traumas and subplots, and then resolving it all with a little monologue, the ending robs the story of its true conclusion, fundamentally missing the point of the source text, and doing a disservice both to Victor and the Creature.
I still think it’s a strong contender in the category, and definitely one of my favourite SFF movies I saw last year, despite my issues with it. However, given all my favourite TV shows above, I think I might eschew giving this one of my ballot spots, but I won’t be disappointed to see it on the final ballot, should it make it through.
Thunderbolts*+
I loved this movie A LOT, you guys, and it made me very sad that it flopped at the box office. I don’t blame people for being fatigued with Marvel’s mediocre superhero slop, but they should have given this movie a chance at the very least, because it might not have been the movie we wanted, but it was definitely the movie we needed right now.
(c) Disney/Marvel Studios, 2025I was very surprised with how deep it went into the trauma our various superheroes and anti-heroes have sustained through their previous adventures, and the level of empathy with which it treated them all:
- Yelena Belova, the last surviving Black Widow5, starts off depressed and morose, aimless, dissatisfied with running around and blowing things up for people with nothing to show for it except a path of destruction.
- Her and Natasha Romanoff’s father figure, Alexei Shostakov, is facing the music that his “Red Star” superhero persona is nothing but a figment of a bygone era, and is living a meagre life as a limo driver while reminiscing about his glory days.
- John Walker, the temporary Captain America replacement later dubbed “U.S. Agent”, is dealing with guilt after slaughtering innocent bystanders using Cap’s vibranium shield during the events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, all while struggling through early parenthood.
- The Winter Soldier—Bucky Barnes—is running for office, in an attempt to turn his newfound and shaky inner peace into something productive. Yet, something keeps niggling at him about the power vacuum left in the wake of the Avengers disappearing, and he can’t help but get involved in ways political candidates really shouldn’t. See: taking a huge machine gun and riding a motorbike out to the desert to find out who is behind these shenanigans. Tut tut, Mr Congressman.
- Oh, there’s also Ava Star/Ghost from Ant-Man and the Wasp, probably my least favourite Marvel movie to date, whom I completely forgot about before watching this movie and while writing this review. Oops! Her thing is that she is constantly phasing in and out of a solid existence, and she has to keep shouting about how traumatised she is with no need for subtext because they know we’ve all forgotten about her and need to be reminded of her struggles. Normally I’d be mad at that, but they are not wrong this time 😅
And then, there’s Bob.
(c) Disney/Marvel, 2025Bob is a new guy, recruited to be experimented on in hopes of becoming a superhero. He seems normal, average even, and he reluctantly joins our motley crew as they escape from a trap set by their employer—but under the surface he carries a deep wound, a gash that opens up to swallow him whole and turns him into The Void, his mysterious alter ego who awakens when Bob’s absolutely OTT superpowers kick in. The rest, as they say, is plot.
There’s a lot of (predictably dark) humour in this, and I was surprised with how much I liked these characters once they were given enough room to be protagonists, rather than minor antagonists in someone else’s story. While they haphazardly join forces into a makeshift team, their trauma is taken seriously, coalescing into the film’s climactic battle that pits the reluctant heroes against The Void, who weaponises each of their subconscious against them. The Void is Depression, by any other name—it’s the dark voice inside that tells each of our anti-heroes that they are worthless, unlovable, guilty, and alone. In order to beat him they have to reach out with empathy to themselves first and then to each other, and literally hold each other in a tight embrace as a reminder that they are not alone. What wins the day is friendship, empathy, and love, not unlike the last season of My Hero Academia, which I also loved last year, or Superman, which I’m about to get into below.
I cried BUCKETS while watching Thunderbolts* in the UK’s largest IMAX screen alongside my Bucky Barnes-obsessed friend, who has since made this film her entire personality (affectionate), and honestly, I’ve also been thinking about it ever since. Again, it’s a delightful little irony that the megalithic Disney/MCU would come out with a narrative so introspective and empathetic, especially at a time that loneliness and isolation is rampant among the film’s core audience of young men. I really hope that watching this film inspired people to reach out and be less alone in their struggles, and that the financial hit Disney took with it won’t keep us from seeing more of these characters in the future.
Also! A fun fact I noticed while listening to the soundtrack was that the film’s main theme is a reversed version of the main Avengers theme; just listen to the first few seconds of both themes and you’ll hear it:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-Jzgp1jNiQ
Superman+
A good Superman movie?? In this economy?? Hallelujah!
I love a lot about what this film does with the core Superman premise. It gets Clark right, down to his farm boy roots and dorky kindness. It gets Superman right: his power isn’t unbeatable, and it isn’t even the most powerful thing about him (spoiler: it’s the dorky kindness). It gets Lex Luthor right—especially for our times—by having him be a smart but petty tech billionaire with an overinflated ego, someone who funds an invasion and even starts a pocket dimension on a whim, without once thinking of the consequences. It even gets Jimmy Olsen right simply by bringing him out of the margins where he’s been relegated for the last several Superman adaptations—and it’s actually really funny that he’s the one guy with the most game in this film, and that that’s how he gets to help out.
The structure of the film is an absolute delight, too. From the very start, we are thrown into the midst of a losing fight for Superman, which is a bold choice, as is having Clark’s relationship with Lois Lane already set up (and she even knows about him being Superman!). We don’t spend any time whatsoever on origin stories, budding relationship exploration, or long-winded exposition—we simply hit the ground running, and find out the particulars as we go along. It is assumed we know who Superman is, because… we all know who Superman is. And the themes around identity, responsibility, community, and how we should treat each other are laid bare without pretence, very directly speaking to the audience about contemporary problems we’re all facing day to day. It’s a genuine breath of fresh air not to be treated like an idiot, frankly.
There are a couple of things I don’t like about it though. For one, the film feels very busy, with so many characters and subplots and easter eggs thrown in, that if you blink you’ll definitely miss something. Relatedly, not all of those characters or subplots are treated equally, because there simply isn’t enough screen time to go around for everything. So the Justice Friends get the short shrift, as do Papa and Mama Kent, as does Krypton6, so that we can focus on the personal and political stakes that Clark/Superman has to overcome.
This is another superhero story with empathy at its heart, where the answer to even the most cosmic problems is… just be kind. Kindness is punk rock. As one of my favourite YouTube video essayists put it, this Superman is the American hero we desperately need right now. Someone who will stand up for what’s right even when the rest of the world tells him not to, someone with an unshakeable moral compass that only points to goodness. Watch that whole video actually, Dove does such a fantastic job analysing the cultural geography that plays into this film, and how it all ties together to bring us this ray of f*cking sunshine:
All this to say, I love that James Gunn can make a superhero movie that aims to appeal broadly but doesn’t feel like it panders to the lowest available denominator, and that he had the guts to (a) make the story feel relevant to our current times, what with all the invasions/”wars” going on right now that are purely happening for profit and that no one is doing anything to stop 🙄, and (b) leave us with a message of hope, that we can imagine a kinder world and that we can be the instruments of making that vision a reality. That kindness can be punk rock.
Dare I say, this was the movie that made me go, “huh, maybe the genre isn’t dead yet”, which… please, let it not be dead, I really like superheroes!
Honourable mentions/near misses+
- Mickey 17: I enjoyed this a lot, particularly for its world-building and Robert Pattinson’s performance. Unfortunately I think the Bong Joon-Ho-ness of it all kind of undercuts the story in favour of very on-the-nose political commentary, which was fun in the moment but in retrospect kinda leaves me a bit… “meh!”, probably because the current climate is so much worse than when this movie was made, and making fun of things/people just isn’t enough right now. So I don’t think this will be getting one of my spots, but it’s still totally worth seeing, if you haven’t!
- Fantastic Four – First Steps: I also enjoyed this a lot, especially in light of B-Mask’s excellent Fantastic Four video from a few years back which explained the classic comics and got me up to speed on the characters. It’s an honest-to-God decent, good Marvel movie, which as I keep saying is a rare sight these days, but that being said… I liked the stuff I talked about up top way more than this one, not to mention the TV seasons, so I just think it gets edged out by the competition.
- Hamnet: Technically an SFF movie! The trailer had me weeping, but the movie left me cold somehow, perhaps because it’s a little too obvious in its attempts to make people cry (Mark Kermode said it best! The bit with the song at the very end irked me too because I recognised it, and the moment was actually completely ruined for me.) It does have some wonderful and atmospheric visuals where it comes to the speculative aspect of it, and the soundtrack by Max Richter is predictably phenomenal (if only they’d used his original song for the climactic ending of the film!!), but it just didn’t move me in the ways I thought it would, so it’s a miss.
The “I haven’t seen these yet” caveat+
- K-Pop Demon Hunters: Yes, I know, somehow, I still haven’t seen this movie. I’m assuming it’ll get nominated to high heaven, so I’ll watch it ahead of voting, I promise.
- Weapons: I’ve heard fantastic things about this, and my husband is a big WKUK fan, so I might be watching this soon and revising my thoughts.
- Wicked: For Good: I liked the first film well enough, and I hear that a LOT happens in the second half of the musical, so I’m tentatively putting this on a hold list until I watch it. I don’t know if it would edge out any of my favourites, realistically speaking, but I suppose there is always room for surprises!
Long Form: Non-Film/TV
B-Mask’s “The REAL Thunderbolts Story: Marvel’s Greatest Scam“*
This is a 2.5 hour love letter to comics, and the first in a five-part series that tells the story of the real Thunderbolts from the comic books (a team that bears very little resemblance to the one portrayed in the recent MCU film discussed above). It features complex animations drawing from the original comic book art, as well as a full cast of voice actors bringing the characters to life with their performances.
* I’m personally torn on whether this would qualify for BDP-LF or BRW (seeing as it is technically a fanwork, and not an original work), but either way it is nothing short of a masterpiece—I wrote more about it in my 2025 underrated Hugo picks post, if you’re interested.
Short Form: TV Episodes
A caveat: my reasoning around nominating a particular episode is kind of like nominating my favourite chapter of a novel. Especially with how a lot of the prestige TV shows are made nowadays, individual episodes function as chapters in a longer story, so they have to be considered in the context of the wider narrative they’re a part of. If they are from a second, third, or even last season of a long-running show, even more so.
Also—and this might be a slightly spicy take—I personally don’t like that a lot of Hugo voters seem to only watch the individual episodes on the eventual shortlist without any context, and then complain that they didn’t get what was going on. That’s because context matters, and while I understand that it would take a lot of time to watch an entire season (or even several!) to be able to appreciate a single episode… if you want your vote to be informed, that’s the job, innit?
This has happened several times to me, where there’s an episode on the shortlist from a show I don’t watch (and have no intention of watching—sorry Lower Decks), so I just skip it and don’t put it in my ballot at the end, or rank it below my own favourites. I do the same with sequels to books I haven’t read, out of respect for the work itself as well as its author, but that’s just me I guess! 🤷🏻♀️
Anyway, here are some thoughts about my favourite episodes of speculative TV from this year, under spoiler tags for obvious reasons.
Two episodes from Stranger Things, Season 5+
‘Chapter Four: Sorcerer’
I loved, loved, loved this episode. The moment Will uses his new power… it gave me goosebumps, it was so good—and the fight sequence in front of the gate to the Upside Down is incredible. Rather than the writing, though, I want to praise the actors’ performances and the work of the crew who worked on the practical effects, stunts, and complicated cinematography in this episode. Especially given more recent revelations about how the Duffers went into production with season 5 without having ironed out the ending, and the stress that added to the poor production crew, I think any flowers should really be going to them for making such an outstanding piece of TV despite the challenges.
‘Chapter Six: Escape from Camazotz’
Yes, the scene in this photo feels a little ludicrously long considering they’re both on the run and about to be caught by the Big Bad, but I loved the heart of this relationship and the character development for both Holly and Max in this episode. I had also seen the Stranger Things play in London a couple of years back, and this episode eliminated the issues I had with the world-building in that, which at first had seemed to contradict the revelations in season 4 about Vecna/Henry Creel’s agency as a villain and his role in shaping the Upside Down… I was glad to see that in fact all the loose threads from the various seasons did connect, and that the strands from the play were relevant too.
Various episodes from Severance, Season 2+
S2E4: ‘Woe’s Hollow’
I mentioned this episode in my discussion of the series earlier, but let me get into it here: this is one of the best episodes of TV ever made, period, and I will fight you on this. I don’t know if it would stand alone in any capacity, considering the weird tone is already a lot to deal with and there’s a lot of plot and character interaction that picks up from where the last season left off, not to mention a big-time betrayal that ends up echoing through the rest of season 2.
I spent a good chunk of the beginning wondering if this was a simulator or a dream sequence because it didn’t fully make sense for our protagonists to be outside the Lumon offices, and the uncanny doppelgangers guiding them through the forest seemed almost dreamlike, but the reality was much more sinister in the end, which tracks. If there’s a single episode from this show I’d nominate, it’d be this one.
S2E8: ‘Sweet Vitriol’
People hate this episode because it’s slow and follows an unlikeable antagonist whom we are invited to empathise with, and that’s precisely the reason I like it. First of all, we get way more insight into the Lumon cult corporation from Harmony Cobel, who ostensibly grew up in the cult and has invested her whole life into the company’s welfare. This is also where we begin to see cracks form in her resolve as an antagonist, as she has realised that the company sees her as an expendable cog despite her lifelong investment and dedication, and so she decides to fight them, to prove that this little cog is actually so important, it might well bring the whole house down.
It’s interesting also for thematic reasons, outside of the show’s world. On an individual level, the image of someone who grew up in poverty while idolising a particular company, then making their entire life revolve around it so as to gain favour and socioeconomic mobility, gaining that and then losing it when the company no longer sees them as valuable, is unfortunately too relatable. So is seeing a small town that once had its own industry and community be taken over by a mega corporation and become completely dependent on it, eventually falling into destitution once the corporation pulls their activities out of the town. The actual commentary here is silent, but extremely powerful.
I don’t think Cobel’s about-turn is enough to fully make her an anti-hero, but I really enjoyed this episode for all the insight it gave us both into her and the world of Severance outside of Lumon HQ.
S2E10: ‘Cold Harbor’
There is a strong argument to be made that the season two finale is absolutely worth a nomination as well, making this a really tough choice. Two seasons’ worth of mystery solving and internal corporate espionage culminate in this one-hour episode where our protagonists clash with one another and with the antagonists, and it’s just adrenaline all the way down.
Some spoilery thoughts here.While the big questions have been answered (where is Mark’s wife? what is Cold Harbor? what are they doing with all those sheep?), so many more remain. Is there a way to save the innies at all, if Lumon ends up falling? Can Mark S. and Helly R. ever hope to have a life outside these walls? And what happens to Gemma now that she’s out, even though she has 24 distinct, hand-crafted personalities inside her?
There’s actually a great take I hadn’t come across before I sat down to write this, and that is that the finale actually inverts the Orpheus & Eurydice narrative of Mark and Gemma, by having Mark’s innie actually choose to stay behind in Lumon so he can be with Helly. It’s less of a lack of faith and more of a conscious decision, which perhaps makes it even more tragic as Gemma watches her husband (sort of) run toward danger and another woman, leaving her alone at the exit, screaming for him to come back.
Having written about the other episodes already, I do think ep4 is a stronger contender purely from a craft/vibes standpoint, whereas the finale is more typical in many ways, as it focuses on exposition and plot and is faster paced. YMMV here, for sure, but I’m inclined to pick ep4 over this one, now that I think about it.
Two episodes from Pluribus, Season 1+
Episode 1: “We is Us”
It’s not often that a TV pilot stands on its own two feet well. It’s even less common for the film-making to be so good that one must gasp in awe at the choreography, cinematography, and editing, multiple times throughout the course of the episode. One of my biggest peeves is when a TV pilot is so mired in exposition that there is no room for characters or atmosphere until the next episode because they simply have to give you the setup quickly—it ends up feeling flat and boring and frankly, it puts me off more than it entices me to keep watching until it gets better.7
Well, this episode does none of that.
Gilligan’s forte is silent scenes that actually speak volumes. There is so much storytelling in this episode that has no words; we watch an intergalactic viral hive mind sequence take over the Earth in perfectly synchronised movement, and the storytelling is in the silence, the perfect unison, and the eerie smiles as the hive mind consciousness flattens the individuals inside. A lesser writer would put exposition in dialogue, possibly giving too much information for where we are in the story, but Gilligan knows that less is more. We get just enough to hook us in, and the rest is pure atmosphere and of course, character.
Carol is introduced as a grumpy romantasy author, a lesbian in a loving relationship who constantly finds reasons to be miserable, much to her partner’s chagrin. When the hive mind sequence is spread via planes in the air, Carol loses her partner, and simultaneously the world. The panic that ensues is completely understandable, and it gets worse at every turn as she is met with more and more hive mind people, but no one else like her. What a place for a pilot to leave us in! Aren’t you hooked just by reading this?? GO WATCH THIS SHOW!
Episode 7: “The Gap”
The title refers to a real place that Manousos (pictured) has to cross, but also I suppose to the gap between Carol and others at this point in the show. This is another masterfully crafted episode with a dual narrative point of view, where Carol continues her life in Albuquerque while Manousos is making his slow way up through South and Central America towards Carol, crossing cities, climbing mountains, and trudging through thick, treacherous jungles, all while refusing the hive mind’s help at every opportunity.
Some spoilery thoughts here.At first, it’s admirable; he won’t even take gas without paying for it somehow, even though everything he comes across is at his disposal. Soon enough, however, his steadfastness turns into stubbornness that does more harm to him than good. When he gets seriously injured in the jungle (something that was completely preventable, had he accepted the hive mind’s help and transited through safer means),
Meanwhile, Carol stoically endures complete and total isolation for a long time as a result of the hive mind evacuating the whole metro area of Albuquerque, which happened when Carol hurt one of them (and by extension, all of them) quite badly while trying to find answers. She is given resources and sustenance remotely, and for a while enjoys her peaceful environment, going around town and doing whatever she feels like… until she finally cracks under the pressure of extreme loneliness, and asks the hive mind to come back.
It’s an incredibly powerful moment actually, seeing someone as stubborn sturdy as Carol finally admit that she can’t live her whole life completely cut off from other people, even though she hates the hive mind on principle, and can’t wrap her mind around accepting this status quo. In fairness, she makes it to about a month and a half, which is pretty long, but her isolation was also so complete that there were zero people around her for that whole time—an unfathomable experience that’s so well depicted on screen. I personally love the rooftop golf scene as an example of how utterly devoid of people the landscape is, a mundane sort of post-apocalyptic image.
This is probably my favourite episode in season 1, and even think it could be presented without context and still mostly work alright for new viewers… Though I’d still hope that people would watch the whole season anyway. If I had to pick one episode to represent the series as a whole, I’d say it’s this one.
Short Form: Non-TV
‘Songs No One Will Hear’ by Arjen Lucassen (music album)
I wrote a fair amount about this pre-apocalyptic concept album in my underrated Hugo recommendations post; here’s a snippet:
The result is an album that grapples with the essence of the human condition (something Lucassen is very adept at), asking what makes life worth living from the perspectives of a bunch of different characters as they try to come to terms with the impending end of the world—including those who think it’s all a hoax, those who embrace it, and those who rage against the dying of the light. It straddles a weird and fun line between diegetic/in-world music that’s on the radio and telling the story as a sung-through musical, which is a little different than what you might expect, particularly for a progressive rock album. But that’s the Arjen Lucassen guarantee: big questions, big emotions, and a sound that isn’t afraid to change dramatically when necessary, even mid-song. Full of theatricality, Songs No One Will Hear is in some ways very similar to Lucassen’s Ayreon albums, but retains its own identity both musically and thematically.
We’ve been known to nominate SFF music albums when they arise, and on occasion those musicians have even responded to being recognised by fandom—seeing Clipping live in Helsinki was fun!—so this wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, though perhaps it is a bit of a left field suggestion for most Hugo voters as a progressive rock concept album.
While he’s extremely popular in his own niche, most of Lucassen’s fans aren’t in SF fandom and vice versa, something that I would love to help shift by talking about his work more to Hugo voters and talking to Ayreon/Lucassen fans more about joining our community and coming to Worldcon, especially as the next few years are looking quite international. Lucassen’s very obvious Golden Age influences are bound to have pointed many of his fans to the genre, so the bridge is already half-built.
I’m sure that I’ll be one of very few people longlisting this album, but 🤷🏻♀️! I really think If you see just a single, solitary vote for it in the full data, know that it was me!
Footnotes
- Per the WSFS Constitution, clauses 3.8.2 and 3.8.3. ↩︎
- In addition to the more fannish post I linked above, I found another really cool essay about the Barbican as Coruscant from an architect who works in film and TV. ↩︎
- A special shoutout to Joshua James, who played the doctor who tortured Bix Caleen with the sounds of distant massacres; I’ve been a huge fan of his ever since I saw him in Treasure Island at the National Theatre back in 2015 or so, and make a point to see him in every play he’s in when I can. He had a stint as Dr Brenner in Stranger Things: The First Shadow recently which I unfortunately missed, but I bet he was perfect! ↩︎
- I’d like to thank Octothorpe’s Alison Scott for her recommendation to see the film in an IMAX theatre, as the experience was truly spectacular. ↩︎
- There is another Black Widow character played by Olga Kurilenko who turns up for literally five minutes, but she is so not present in the rest of the film that I’m not even going to go into it. If it weren’t for Yelena and Alexei, I’d say that movie had zero lasting impact on the MCU, given how late into Natasha’s journey we got it (literally after she was canonically killed off), lol (sarcastic). ↩︎
- I still don’t know how to feel about the plot twist around Krypton and Clark’s biological parents, brief as it was. I think it is intended to maximise the contrast between where Clark hails from and where he grew up and how that affected his identity, and the discomfort it creates is probably very intentional from Gunn. ↩︎
- I call this “pilot syndrome”, and it’s one of my least favourite phenomena in media. ↩︎
-
Battle for the Ballot: Best Dramatic Presentation 2026
The two Best Dramatic Presentation categories are among my favourites in the Hugos, because I consume a lot of SFF media and have a lot of thoughts and feelings about them. Since my post last year about why I had wanted Loki S2 to win a Hugo in 2024 (which I was working on for a while but ended up not posting it in time for it to sway anyone), I’ve been toying with the idea of producing more writing around some of my favourite things from each year, in case it helps anybody—least of all me, in getting it all out of my system.
I know I’m posting this with one day to go before nominations (these take so long for me! I must develop a better system for next year 🤔), but I’m really writing this to sound out my own thoughts about the DP categories this year, because it is absolutely bananas with how stacked they both are. There have been some truly great speculative television shows and films, stuff that I’m sure we’ll still be talking about for years to come, and making decisions to boil my favourite media down to just 5 per category—especially given the fiddliness of Long Form and Short Form where TV is concerned, which I’ll get to in a sec—is going to be excruciatingly difficult for me.
So come along on a journey with me as I parse my thoughts, and who knows! Maybe I’ll argue my way to your heart about some of this, or tell you about something you hadn’t heard of before—some of which I’ve already written about before, but I’m getting ahead of myself!
Let me know what your ballot looks like, and if you’re nominating any of the below shows, films, and other dramatic works, or if you’re including other things entirely. I’m curious!
TV series and the Long Form/Short Form debate
A big question for many fen every year is “do I nominate one episode from a TV series that stands on its own or that adequately represents the show in Short Form, or do I nominate the whole season in Long Form because it’s one complete narrative, and isolating one chapter of it would be unfair?”
Understandably, it’s a tough one; when a show inevitably gets votes in both categories, it can lead to headaches for the Hugo Administrating Team as they have to sift through the numbers and ultimately decide which category it should be nominated in1, which I don’t envy at all. But at the same time, as a voter, I have to go with what my heart says and name my favourite episodes in Short Form, regardless of whether I’ve also named the show/season as a whole in Long Form, because if enough others have put that same episode down, then that’s what’ll make it through to the shortlist, and I would want my vote to count towards those totals.
All that to say: if you expected a clear stance from me on this, HA! I’m afraid I don’t have one 😇—and to be perfectly honest, this is exactly the sort of thing where people’s mileage will vary the most.
My personal method of deciding whether to nominate entire TV seasons rather than one specific episode is purely based on ~vibes~, on whether or not I thought the season works better in its totality than through its individual parts, versus cases where one outstanding episode eclipses all the others for me. Not all shows are written the same, of course, and those that favour a longer narrative arc (as a lot of prestige TV does nowadays) tend to find their way on my long form ballot more often than not, as opposed to the more episodic writing that isn’t as popular now but used to be ubiquitous in the pre-streaming era.
Ultimately, you may agree or disagree with me on my reasoning for some of my choices below, whether on the LF/SF question or my actual opinions of the various media, and that’s fair enough. I welcome discussion in the comments, but please keep it civil!
Jump to:
- Long Form: Entire TV Seasons
- Long Form: Films
- Long Form: Non-Film/TV
- Short Form: TV Episodes
- Short Form: Non-TV
Long Form: Entire TV Seasons
You might see episodes from some of these further down in the episode/short form discussion.
Andor, Season 2+
This is kind of my front-runner among the TV seasons for the Long Form category. Overall, I enjoyed it slightly more than season 1 for a few reasons: first of all, the pacing was much more even, with a little bit more action and intrigue peppered throughout the season as opposed to having several quieter mini-arcs that slowed things down in places; and crucially, there was a lot less dithering from Cassian Andor, our reluctant protagonist, who finally comes into his own as a rebel after being passively tossed about this way and that in the first season. The agency he has in this one makes him much more interesting as a character, and brings him on the same level as other players in the budding rebellion front, like Mon Mothma and Luthen Rael. In fact, with all the different character arcs completed, Andor finally becomes what Rogue One always wanted to be: a testament to the great sacrifices necessary for revolution to take root.
I liked a lot of what went down in this season as tensions continued ramping up between the Empire and the Rebellion; the Ghorman subplot was outstanding, especially with Dedra and Cyril’s journeys as instruments of Imperial oppression and violence, as was Mon Mothma’s arc from quiet resistance financier to full-on political rebel on the run, with her heartbreaking arc where she realises the personal cost of rebellion. None of the individual episodes in season 2 came even close to the intensity or narrative brilliance of One Way Out, which was hands down my favourite episode of season 1, but that’s okay—I think this season works so much better in its totality, that I’ll be happy to nominate it wholesale.
I still need to re-watch Rogue One actually, to see if my (very mid) opinion on it changes at all, but ultimately I’m just really happy this show was made, and that it looked and felt amazing throughout. It’s probably my favourite Star Wars story, period, and I am so chuffed that so much of it was filmed in the UK (in locations I know and visit all the time, including my old workplace!2), and is full of incredibly talented and classically trained British theatre actors who fill the space with their physicality and make their performances memorable even in the smallest of roles3.
Severance, Season 2+
Another really strong contender for this category. If you ask me which TV show might win the LF Hugo between this, Andor, or Pluribus, my money would probably be on Severance, even if I personally prefer Andor thematically and Pluribus cinematically. There’s no doubt Severance is an absolute masterpiece of television—nay, of cinema—and the fact that the most anti-capitalist story of our time is coming directly from the big tech megacorp Apple is an irony that is as delicious as it is hilarious.
Aside from its bonkers world-building (which still has so many unanswered questions!), this season of Severance also dove pretty deep into its characters, whom we only got to know a bit in season 1. I don’t want to get too spoilery here, but there’s a handful of moments in this season that go SO HARD—particularly that one slow episode that everyone else hated for some reason, where we follow Patricia Arquette’s character as she goes to her dingy home town and fills us in on the cult lore around Lumon Industries, and of course the team building episode in which our intrepid heroes actually go outside, but it’s all weird in that trademark Lumon way where nothing really fully makes sense, and it leaves the viewer feeling uncomfortable, like something’s not quite aligned right.
But yeah, the world-building, man. It’s something else. I was glued to my screen and my mind was running a mile a minute trying to join the dots and figure out the answers to the show’s mysteries, much like our heroes consolidate memories refine macrodata—remember, the work is mysterious and important—and the excitement of getting it just before the show confirmed it was super fun. Yet, finally understanding what macrodata refinement is was actually a really tragic moment, and everything that happens after that made my heart break for the innies who are stuck living a half-life they can’t escape, on pain of death.
Ultimately, what I loved the most about the second season of Severance is its staunch anti-capitalist messaging that speaks to the average office worker today regardless of where they may be in the world, because corporate manipulation knows no borders:
- A job is a job, not a family.
- The company you work for does not deserve blind, cult-like loyalty.
- Your life is more than just work, and compartmentalising your work self and your out-of-work self might be a band-aid solution, but it doesn’t really work in the end.
- You are you, with all your complex layers of self, even if your corporate overlords (…or just your line manager 🤐) want you to think otherwise, or to act otherwise so you can fit into their office culture.
- Basically, it’s all dumb, and you deserve to live, not just to survive so you can punch your clock card and get meaningless little bonuses like finger traps or waffle parties.
This relatability is what keeps me hooked, and what I think elevates the show from pretty sci-fi to a classic of our times. It’s definitely got my vote.
Pluribus, Season 1+
God, talk about another cinematic masterpiece. When Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul‘s Vince Gilligan said he was working on a new show (which he was writing specifically for Rhea Seahorn to star in), I was crossing my fingers and my toes that it would be sci-fi, and Pluribus has completely blown my expectations out of the water. Not only does it mark Gilligan’s return to science fiction for the first time since The X-Files, but he brings his now-trademark cinematic visual language to it, full of tight choreography and nuanced subtext through visual and music cues, which is what made BB & BCS so special.
The result is an unnerving combination of horror, absurdist humour, and subtle world-building, centered around a complex character named Carol Sturka, who is one of only a few humans not to join the weird hive mind connection that takes over all other human beings on the planet, and doesn’t want to even entertain the idea. I’ve seen many reviews call her unlikable and unrelatable, and while the first part may be true (I was really tired of her contrarian nature in the first half of the season), I think there’s something more going on here than just a selfish white American woman who expects the world to move just for her.
The thing is, Vince Gilligan does not talk down to his audience; he expects us to keep up and to pick up what he’s putting down, whether that’s subtle digs at the publishing industry (it is truly hilarious to me that the protagonist of this show is an actual romantasy author!), not-so-subtle digs about community building and the harm humanity has done to the planet and to each other (particularly around resource distribution, iykyk), and questions about human nature that we are left to ponder: would you trade world peace for the complete flattening of human culture? Are we capable of retaining what makes us human while not actively harming the world around us, or each other? What is humanity, really, or human nature even?
Big stuff coming from an Apple TV show, once again; should I even be surprised at this point?
I think the long game of this show is going to be Carol’s character development from grumpy selfish miser to someone who genuinely cares about other people—a reverse Walter White, if you will. Gilligan is all about the narrative arc, and he has been known to deliver some of the best narrative arcs in TV ever, even if they take a while to stick the landing. I have faith that he is cooking something we haven’t even yet begun to poke at, if Better Call Saul is any indication, and between the already great writing and the show’s superlative production value, I think Pluribus is going to be a low-key modern classic. Vince has my vote, now and always.
My Hero Academia: The Final Season+
I wrote about this extensively in my Hugo ballot recommendations post a couple of months ago, so I’ll pull a quote from that as to why I loved it so much:
Y’all, what can I say: this has been my favourite anime of the last decade, and the fact it is ending has had me in my feelings for months. I’ve been deeply invested emotionally for many years, watching the simulcasts on the same day as the anime airs in Japan since around season 2, and this last season has been all payoff for almost ten years’ worth of story. Every Saturday from October 4th till December 13th, I tuned in and bawled my eyes out for 20 minutes straight, which for an anime aimed at teenage boys is an absolute feat. Defying every expectation, it stuck the landing for every little story beat, every subplot, and every theme set up over its ten year tenure perfectly, making it one of my absolute favourite stories in the superhero genre.
This is definitely one of those where context is essential, so I don’t think it can be viewed in a vacuum and appreciated to the same extent as having watched all previous seven seasons. You can try, but it wouldn’t be worth it just for the awards. Just watch the show so the ending can hit you like a ton of bricks in the best way possible, even if you miss the deadline. It’s fun, it’s moving, it’s made with so much love for American comics through a uniquely Japanese perspective. I can’t recommend it enough, and it’ll definitely be on my Long Form ballot even if I’m one of ten people who put it there 🤷🏻♀️
Honourable mentions/near misses+
- Silo, Season 2: It’s definitely not as tight as season 1, and it was missing some stuff from the books that may well turn up in season 3. For what it’s worth, there’s a lot I enjoyed about this season, but unfortunately it’s simply weaker when Rebecca Ferguson’s Juliette isn’t on screen, and there’s a lot of that unfortunately. I’m certainly looking forward to what season 3 will be adapting, and to see what format that will take, as I think they’re either condensing or axing the second half of book 2 to go straight to the dual narrative of book 3, which I have mixed feelings about.
- Murderbot: I never got into the books because of tonal whiplash (MB’s violence and misanthropy coated in dry humour just didn’t work for me), and while I thought the TV show was a little better in that regard, ultimately I thought the show was just okay. I didn’t actively dislike it, mind, but I watched most of it on a plane ride, didn’t finish it, and haven’t felt like picking it back up since. The story just doesn’t grab me, I think, and I never felt particularly attached to or compelled by any of the characters… and I’m okay with that 🤷🏻♀️. Not everything is for everyone! I expect it’ll be mass-nominated by all the book fans anyway based on the online discourse I’ve seen, so it won’t miss my vote.
- Invasion, Season 3: I didn’t even know this was out, lmao! I was deeply invested while watching seasons 1 and 2 (even though I disliked quite a few of the characters), but as soon as I was done with it I promptly forgot about it—and Apple TV didn’t even let me know that it was back on. Whomst can I shake until they fix the marketing situation over there?! Christ on a cracker!
- Stranger Things, Season 5: To my own surprise, I didn’t like this season nearly as much as season 4, let alone season 1, and so I will not be considering it for the Long Form category (including the last episode, which would qualify under Long Form on its own due to being 128 MINUTES LONG 🙄). It’s turned out to be one of those things where, while I enjoyed it a fair bit in the moment, the longer I think about it the more my feelings about it seem to change, and the ending has left me a bit… conflicted, shall we say. But it did have some great episodes in the middle especially, so I will consider a couple of them in the Short Form category.
Long Form: Films
Sinners+
This was probably my favourite SFF film of last year. Not only is it atmospheric, fun, and lush with cross-border folkloric world-building (Hoodoo magic and Irish vampires?! yes please!), but the story touches so many themes that a regular popcorn movie won’t even veer towards, and it does so brilliantly.
All the many layers of the Black and POC experience in the South during the Prohibition era (and beyond) are crystallised in the character arc of each ensemble cast member, with some absolutely outstanding performances by Hailee Steinfeld (whose character Mary is biracial, and torn between safety and belonging), Michael B. Jordan (who plays identical twins Smoke and Stack so well he walked away with an Oscar for it), and Wunmi Mosaku in particular as Smoke’s wife Annie (she’s such an underrated performer, but I’m so glad to see her actually flex her acting skills after her appearance in Loki). We’re talking themes like the push and pull of religion and its role in both keeping communities together and also oppressing them, the safety of BIPOC in a white supremacist society, and even the immigrant experience… the truth is your average blockbuster would never—but this is Ryan Coogler, and he won’t sugar-coat things for a mainstream audience, instead telling a story only he could tell, filled with truth, complexity, and nuance, something I really wish more filmmakers would embrace nowadays.
The film’s protagonist, Sammie (Miles Caton) has a preternatural gift with music, and the plot revolves around a juke joint Smoke and Stack put together, and the connection that music can create across time and even culture—with a wonderful supernatural twist.
One of my favourite moments is when the villain Remmick (an immortal Irish vampire played by Jack O’Connell) turns up at their juke joint and cries with joy at the emotions Sammie’s music has brought him after years of numbness. He talks about his own experience of colonialism at the hands of the British Empire and the subsequent erasure of Irish culture through the centuries, which is a very real thing—but he’s also a predator who has been making his way through the land trying to trap people and turn them into vampires, chased away by indigenous people who could tell he was a monster before attacking a couple who are Klan members. It’s clear that he doesn’t want Sammie’s music in order to connect people, but to use it as a tool on his quest to propagate a vampire race, and that seemingly sweet moment of connection is exposed as the performative allyship that it is.
There are some phenomenal action sequences too, with the last third of the film keeping me on the edge of my IMAX seat4. Genuinely, this film was such a breath of fresh air: delightfully complex but also fun, in ways that cinema just doesn’t dare to be right now. I was sad they didn’t win all the awards they were up for, but perhaps we can give it a Hugo instead.
Frankenstein+
©️ Netflix 2025I have a full review of this here, but basically: the SFF-ness of this is lush, as expected from a Guillermo Del Toro movie, and for the most part it works well as an adaptation of the book. As I mention in my other post, it doesn’t quite reach the heights of the NT’s theatre adaptation, which I still consider the ultimate version of this story, but it does similar things with the characters as Penny Dreadful, which is my runner-up favourite, save for the very end, and it’s that ending that makes the whole thing fall short for me, unfortunately.
To quote myself:
Why do we sing sad songs, when we know their ending is unhappy? When our instinctual yearning for a happy ending is met with the inevitability of human flaws getting in the way, that emotional release we experience is what my ancestors called catharsis. As the audience we accept that because of who these characters are, they would always make these choices and lead the story to the same outcome, time and again, even though we’d like them to change, to choose better, so they can be happy in the end.
What makes Frankenstein compelling in any iteration is its core conflict: Victor’s refusal to acknowledge the Creature as human, despite the fact that the Creature is deeply human, as much as his creator would like to think otherwise. We are invited to empathise with the Creature’s plight, to see how he thinks and feels, how he desires things we all do: safety, friendship, love. Victor is incapable of recognising this, and so the two clash eternally. Such is the tragedy, and no matter what minor changes are made to it, the good adaptations always recognise the impasse between the two at the end. It’s what makes the story tick.
My ultimate issue with the way Del Toro chose to end his adaptation of Frankenstein is that it ultimately robs us of our deserved catharsis by artificially resolving the incontrovertible stalemate between the two leads, giving us a happy(ish) ending in which Victor, at death’s door, forgives the Creature for the violence and destruction he’s wrought, apologises for what he did to him, and urges him to live on, free of guilt, yet completely alone. The Creature then walks off into the Arctic sunrise, liberated from his vendetta yet devastated at losing his creator.
It’s a lovely thought in principle, a Del Toro-ism about accepting one’s nature and walking away from one’s painful past, and if it were an original story without baggage I’d be all for it—after all, The Shape of Water had similar, pro-monster themes of letting go of trying to fit into a world that won’t accept you anyway, and I ate that up voraciously. But here, in taking a tragedy that is so classic and ingrained, loading it with a bunch of new traumas and subplots, and then resolving it all with a little monologue, the ending robs the story of its true conclusion, fundamentally missing the point of the source text, and doing a disservice both to Victor and the Creature.
I still think it’s a strong contender in the category, and definitely one of my favourite SFF movies I saw last year, despite my issues with it. However, given all my favourite TV shows above, I think I might eschew giving this one of my ballot spots, but I won’t be disappointed to see it on the final ballot, should it make it through.
Thunderbolts*+
I loved this movie A LOT, you guys, and it made me very sad that it flopped at the box office. I don’t blame people for being fatigued with Marvel’s mediocre superhero slop, but they should have given this movie a chance at the very least, because it might not have been the movie we wanted, but it was definitely the movie we needed right now.
(c) Disney/Marvel Studios, 2025I was very surprised with how deep it went into the trauma our various superheroes and anti-heroes have sustained through their previous adventures, and the level of empathy with which it treated them all:
- Yelena Belova, the last surviving Black Widow5, starts off depressed and morose, aimless, dissatisfied with running around and blowing things up for people with nothing to show for it except a path of destruction.
- Her and Natasha Romanoff’s father figure, Alexei Shostakov, is facing the music that his “Red Star” superhero persona is nothing but a figment of a bygone era, and is living a meagre life as a limo driver while reminiscing about his glory days.
- John Walker, the temporary Captain America replacement later dubbed “U.S. Agent”, is dealing with guilt after slaughtering innocent bystanders using Cap’s vibranium shield during the events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, all while struggling through early parenthood.
- The Winter Soldier—Bucky Barnes—is running for office, in an attempt to turn his newfound and shaky inner peace into something productive. Yet, something keeps niggling at him about the power vacuum left in the wake of the Avengers disappearing, and he can’t help but get involved in ways political candidates really shouldn’t. See: taking a huge machine gun and riding a motorbike out to the desert to find out who is behind these shenanigans. Tut tut, Mr Congressman.
- Oh, there’s also Ava Star/Ghost from Ant-Man and the Wasp, probably my least favourite Marvel movie to date, whom I completely forgot about before watching this movie and while writing this review. Oops! Her thing is that she is constantly phasing in and out of a solid existence, and she has to keep shouting about how traumatised she is with no need for subtext because they know we’ve all forgotten about her and need to be reminded of her struggles. Normally I’d be mad at that, but they are not wrong this time 😅
And then, there’s Bob.
(c) Disney/Marvel, 2025Bob is a new guy, recruited to be experimented on in hopes of becoming a superhero. He seems normal, average even, and he reluctantly joins our motley crew as they escape from a trap set by their employer—but under the surface he carries a deep wound, a gash that opens up to swallow him whole and turns him into The Void, his mysterious alter ego who awakens when Bob’s absolutely OTT superpowers kick in. The rest, as they say, is plot.
There’s a lot of (predictably dark) humour in this, and I was surprised with how much I liked these characters once they were given enough room to be protagonists, rather than minor antagonists in someone else’s story. While they haphazardly join forces into a makeshift team, their trauma is taken seriously, coalescing into the film’s climactic battle that pits the reluctant heroes against The Void, who weaponises each of their subconscious against them. The Void is Depression, by any other name—it’s the dark voice inside that tells each of our anti-heroes that they are worthless, unlovable, guilty, and alone. In order to beat him they have to reach out with empathy to themselves first and then to each other, and literally hold each other in a tight embrace as a reminder that they are not alone. What wins the day is friendship, empathy, and love, not unlike the last season of My Hero Academia, which I also loved last year, or Superman, which I’m about to get into below.
I cried BUCKETS while watching Thunderbolts* in the UK’s largest IMAX screen alongside my Bucky Barnes-obsessed friend, who has since made this film her entire personality (affectionate), and honestly, I’ve also been thinking about it ever since. Again, it’s a delightful little irony that the megalithic Disney/MCU would come out with a narrative so introspective and empathetic, especially at a time that loneliness and isolation is rampant among the film’s core audience of young men. I really hope that watching this film inspired people to reach out and be less alone in their struggles, and that the financial hit Disney took with it won’t keep us from seeing more of these characters in the future.
Also! A fun fact I noticed while listening to the soundtrack was that the film’s main theme is a reversed version of the main Avengers theme; just listen to the first few seconds of both themes and you’ll hear it:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-Jzgp1jNiQ
Superman+
A good Superman movie?? In this economy?? Hallelujah!
I love a lot about what this film does with the core Superman premise. It gets Clark right, down to his farm boy roots and dorky kindness. It gets Superman right: his power isn’t unbeatable, and it isn’t even the most powerful thing about him (spoiler: it’s the dorky kindness). It gets Lex Luthor right—especially for our times—by having him be a smart but petty tech billionaire with an overinflated ego, someone who funds an invasion and even starts a pocket dimension on a whim, without once thinking of the consequences. It even gets Jimmy Olsen right simply by bringing him out of the margins where he’s been relegated for the last several Superman adaptations—and it’s actually really funny that he’s the one guy with the most game in this film, and that that’s how he gets to help out.
The structure of the film is an absolute delight, too. From the very start, we are thrown into the midst of a losing fight for Superman, which is a bold choice, as is having Clark’s relationship with Lois Lane already set up (and she even knows about him being Superman!). We don’t spend any time whatsoever on origin stories, budding relationship exploration, or long-winded exposition—we simply hit the ground running, and find out the particulars as we go along. It is assumed we know who Superman is, because… we all know who Superman is. And the themes around identity, responsibility, community, and how we should treat each other are laid bare without pretence, very directly speaking to the audience about contemporary problems we’re all facing day to day. It’s a genuine breath of fresh air not to be treated like an idiot, frankly.
There are a couple of things I don’t like about it though. For one, the film feels very busy, with so many characters and subplots and easter eggs thrown in, that if you blink you’ll definitely miss something. Relatedly, not all of those characters or subplots are treated equally, because there simply isn’t enough screen time to go around for everything. So the Justice Friends get the short shrift, as do Papa and Mama Kent, as does Krypton6, so that we can focus on the personal and political stakes that Clark/Superman has to overcome.
This is another superhero story with empathy at its heart, where the answer to even the most cosmic problems is… just be kind. Kindness is punk rock. As one of my favourite YouTube video essayists put it, this Superman is the American hero we desperately need right now. Someone who will stand up for what’s right even when the rest of the world tells him not to, someone with an unshakeable moral compass that only points to goodness. Watch that whole video actually, Dove does such a fantastic job analysing the cultural geography that plays into this film, and how it all ties together to bring us this ray of f*cking sunshine:
All this to say, I love that James Gunn can make a superhero movie that aims to appeal broadly but doesn’t feel like it panders to the lowest available denominator, and that he had the guts to (a) make the story feel relevant to our current times, what with all the invasions/”wars” going on right now that are purely happening for profit and that no one is doing anything to stop 🙄, and (b) leave us with a message of hope, that we can imagine a kinder world and that we can be the instruments of making that vision a reality. That kindness can be punk rock.
Dare I say, this was the movie that made me go, “huh, maybe the genre isn’t dead yet”, which… please, let it not be dead, I really like superheroes!
Honourable mentions/near misses+
- Mickey 17: I enjoyed this a lot, particularly for its world-building and Robert Pattinson’s performance. Unfortunately I think the Bong Joon-Ho-ness of it all kind of undercuts the story in favour of very on-the-nose political commentary, which was fun in the moment but in retrospect kinda leaves me a bit… “meh!”, probably because the current climate is so much worse than when this movie was made, and making fun of things/people just isn’t enough right now. So I don’t think this will be getting one of my spots, but it’s still totally worth seeing, if you haven’t!
- Fantastic Four – First Steps: I also enjoyed this a lot, especially in light of B-Mask’s excellent Fantastic Four video from a few years back which explained the classic comics and got me up to speed on the characters. It’s an honest-to-God decent, good Marvel movie, which as I keep saying is a rare sight these days, but that being said… I liked the stuff I talked about up top way more than this one, not to mention the TV seasons, so I just think it gets edged out by the competition.
- Hamnet: Technically an SFF movie! The trailer had me weeping, but the movie left me cold somehow, perhaps because it’s a little too obvious in its attempts to make people cry (Mark Kermode said it best! The bit with the song at the very end irked me too because I recognised it, and the moment was actually completely ruined for me.) It does have some wonderful and atmospheric visuals where it comes to the speculative aspect of it, and the soundtrack by Max Richter is predictably phenomenal (if only they’d used his original song for the climactic ending of the film!!), but it just didn’t move me in the ways I thought it would, so it’s a miss.
The “I haven’t seen these yet” caveat+
- K-Pop Demon Hunters: Yes, I know, somehow, I still haven’t seen this movie. I’m assuming it’ll get nominated to high heaven, so I’ll watch it ahead of voting, I promise.
- Weapons: I’ve heard fantastic things about this, and my husband is a big WKUK fan, so I might be watching this soon and revising my thoughts.
- Wicked: For Good: I liked the first film well enough, and I hear that a LOT happens in the second half of the musical, so I’m tentatively putting this on a hold list until I watch it. I don’t know if it would edge out any of my favourites, realistically speaking, but I suppose there is always room for surprises!
Long Form: Non-Film/TV
B-Mask’s “The REAL Thunderbolts Story: Marvel’s Greatest Scam“*
This is a 2.5 hour love letter to comics, and the first in a five-part series that tells the story of the real Thunderbolts from the comic books (a team that bears very little resemblance to the one portrayed in the recent MCU film discussed above). It features complex animations drawing from the original comic book art, as well as a full cast of voice actors bringing the characters to life with their performances.
* I’m personally torn on whether this would qualify for BDP-LF or BRW (seeing as it is technically a fanwork, and not an original work), but either way it is nothing short of a masterpiece—I wrote more about it in my 2025 underrated Hugo picks post, if you’re interested.
Short Form: TV Episodes
A caveat: my reasoning around nominating a particular episode is kind of like nominating my favourite chapter of a novel. Especially with how a lot of the prestige TV shows are made nowadays, individual episodes function as chapters in a longer story, so they have to be considered in the context of the wider narrative they’re a part of. If they are from a second, third, or even last season of a long-running show, even more so.
Also—and this might be a slightly spicy take—I personally don’t like that a lot of Hugo voters seem to only watch the individual episodes on the eventual shortlist without any context, and then complain that they didn’t get what was going on. That’s because context matters, and while I understand that it would take a lot of time to watch an entire season (or even several!) to be able to appreciate a single episode… if you want your vote to be informed, that’s the job, innit?
This has happened several times to me, where there’s an episode on the shortlist from a show I don’t watch (and have no intention of watching—sorry Lower Decks), so I just skip it and don’t put it in my ballot at the end, or rank it below my own favourites. I do the same with sequels to books I haven’t read, out of respect for the work itself as well as its author, but that’s just me I guess! 🤷🏻♀️
Anyway, here are some thoughts about my favourite episodes of speculative TV from this year, under spoiler tags for obvious reasons.
Two episodes from Stranger Things, Season 5+
‘Chapter Four: Sorcerer’
I loved, loved, loved this episode. The moment Will uses his new power… it gave me goosebumps, it was so good—and the fight sequence in front of the gate to the Upside Down is incredible. Rather than the writing, though, I want to praise the actors’ performances and the work of the crew who worked on the practical effects, stunts, and complicated cinematography in this episode. Especially given more recent revelations about how the Duffers went into production with season 5 without having ironed out the ending, and the stress that added to the poor production crew, I think any flowers should really be going to them for making such an outstanding piece of TV despite the challenges.
‘Chapter Six: Escape from Camazotz’
Yes, the scene in this photo feels a little ludicrously long considering they’re both on the run and about to be caught by the Big Bad, but I loved the heart of this relationship and the character development for both Holly and Max in this episode. I had also seen the Stranger Things play in London a couple of years back, and this episode eliminated the issues I had with the world-building in that, which at first had seemed to contradict the revelations in season 4 about Vecna/Henry Creel’s agency as a villain and his role in shaping the Upside Down… I was glad to see that in fact all the loose threads from the various seasons did connect, and that the strands from the play were relevant too.
Various episodes from Severance, Season 2+
S2E4: ‘Woe’s Hollow’
I mentioned this episode in my discussion of the series earlier, but let me get into it here: this is one of the best episodes of TV ever made, period, and I will fight you on this. I don’t know if it would stand alone in any capacity, considering the weird tone is already a lot to deal with and there’s a lot of plot and character interaction that picks up from where the last season left off, not to mention a big-time betrayal that ends up echoing through the rest of season 2.
I spent a good chunk of the beginning wondering if this was a simulator or a dream sequence because it didn’t fully make sense for our protagonists to be outside the Lumon offices, and the uncanny doppelgangers guiding them through the forest seemed almost dreamlike, but the reality was much more sinister in the end, which tracks. If there’s a single episode from this show I’d nominate, it’d be this one.
S2E8: ‘Sweet Vitriol’
People hate this episode because it’s slow and follows an unlikeable antagonist whom we are invited to empathise with, and that’s precisely the reason I like it. First of all, we get way more insight into the Lumon cult corporation from Harmony Cobel, who ostensibly grew up in the cult and has invested her whole life into the company’s welfare. This is also where we begin to see cracks form in her resolve as an antagonist, as she has realised that the company sees her as an expendable cog despite her lifelong investment and dedication, and so she decides to fight them, to prove that this little cog is actually so important, it might well bring the whole house down.
It’s interesting also for thematic reasons, outside of the show’s world. On an individual level, the image of someone who grew up in poverty while idolising a particular company, then making their entire life revolve around it so as to gain favour and socioeconomic mobility, gaining that and then losing it when the company no longer sees them as valuable, is unfortunately too relatable. So is seeing a small town that once had its own industry and community be taken over by a mega corporation and become completely dependent on it, eventually falling into destitution once the corporation pulls their activities out of the town. The actual commentary here is silent, but extremely powerful.
I don’t think Cobel’s about-turn is enough to fully make her an anti-hero, but I really enjoyed this episode for all the insight it gave us both into her and the world of Severance outside of Lumon HQ.
S2E10: ‘Cold Harbor’
There is a strong argument to be made that the season two finale is absolutely worth a nomination as well, making this a really tough choice. Two seasons’ worth of mystery solving and internal corporate espionage culminate in this one-hour episode where our protagonists clash with one another and with the antagonists, and it’s just adrenaline all the way down.
Some spoilery thoughts here.While the big questions have been answered (where is Mark’s wife? what is Cold Harbor? what are they doing with all those sheep?), so many more remain. Is there a way to save the innies at all, if Lumon ends up falling? Can Mark S. and Helly R. ever hope to have a life outside these walls? And what happens to Gemma now that she’s out, even though she has 24 distinct, hand-crafted personalities inside her?
There’s actually a great take I hadn’t come across before I sat down to write this, and that is that the finale actually inverts the Orpheus & Eurydice narrative of Mark and Gemma, by having Mark’s innie actually choose to stay behind in Lumon so he can be with Helly. It’s less of a lack of faith and more of a conscious decision, which perhaps makes it even more tragic as Gemma watches her husband (sort of) run toward danger and another woman, leaving her alone at the exit, screaming for him to come back.
Having written about the other episodes already, I do think ep4 is a stronger contender purely from a craft/vibes standpoint, whereas the finale is more typical in many ways, as it focuses on exposition and plot and is faster paced. YMMV here, for sure, but I’m inclined to pick ep4 over this one, now that I think about it.
Two episodes from Pluribus, Season 1+
Episode 1: “We is Us”
It’s not often that a TV pilot stands on its own two feet well. It’s even less common for the film-making to be so good that one must gasp in awe at the choreography, cinematography, and editing, multiple times throughout the course of the episode. One of my biggest peeves is when a TV pilot is so mired in exposition that there is no room for characters or atmosphere until the next episode because they simply have to give you the setup quickly—it ends up feeling flat and boring and frankly, it puts me off more than it entices me to keep watching until it gets better.7
Well, this episode does none of that.
Gilligan’s forte is silent scenes that actually speak volumes. There is so much storytelling in this episode that has no words; we watch an intergalactic viral hive mind sequence take over the Earth in perfectly synchronised movement, and the storytelling is in the silence, the perfect unison, and the eerie smiles as the hive mind consciousness flattens the individuals inside. A lesser writer would put exposition in dialogue, possibly giving too much information for where we are in the story, but Gilligan knows that less is more. We get just enough to hook us in, and the rest is pure atmosphere and of course, character.
Carol is introduced as a grumpy romantasy author, a lesbian in a loving relationship who constantly finds reasons to be miserable, much to her partner’s chagrin. When the hive mind sequence is spread via planes in the air, Carol loses her partner, and simultaneously the world. The panic that ensues is completely understandable, and it gets worse at every turn as she is met with more and more hive mind people, but no one else like her. What a place for a pilot to leave us in! Aren’t you hooked just by reading this?? GO WATCH THIS SHOW!
Episode 7: “The Gap”
The title refers to a real place that Manousos (pictured) has to cross, but also I suppose to the gap between Carol and others at this point in the show. This is another masterfully crafted episode with a dual narrative point of view, where Carol continues her life in Albuquerque while Manousos is making his slow way up through South and Central America towards Carol, crossing cities, climbing mountains, and trudging through thick, treacherous jungles, all while refusing the hive mind’s help at every opportunity.
Some spoilery thoughts here.At first, it’s admirable; he won’t even take gas without paying for it somehow, even though everything he comes across is at his disposal. Soon enough, however, his steadfastness turns into stubbornness that does more harm to him than good. When he gets seriously injured in the jungle (something that was completely preventable, had he accepted the hive mind’s help and transited through safer means),
Meanwhile, Carol stoically endures complete and total isolation for a long time as a result of the hive mind evacuating the whole metro area of Albuquerque, which happened when Carol hurt one of them (and by extension, all of them) quite badly while trying to find answers. She is given resources and sustenance remotely, and for a while enjoys her peaceful environment, going around town and doing whatever she feels like… until she finally cracks under the pressure of extreme loneliness, and asks the hive mind to come back.
It’s an incredibly powerful moment actually, seeing someone as stubborn sturdy as Carol finally admit that she can’t live her whole life completely cut off from other people, even though she hates the hive mind on principle, and can’t wrap her mind around accepting this status quo. In fairness, she makes it to about a month and a half, which is pretty long, but her isolation was also so complete that there were zero people around her for that whole time—an unfathomable experience that’s so well depicted on screen. I personally love the rooftop golf scene as an example of how utterly devoid of people the landscape is, a mundane sort of post-apocalyptic image.
This is probably my favourite episode in season 1, and even think it could be presented without context and still mostly work alright for new viewers… Though I’d still hope that people would watch the whole season anyway. If I had to pick one episode to represent the series as a whole, I’d say it’s this one.
Short Form: Non-TV
‘Songs No One Will Hear’ by Arjen Lucassen (music album)
I wrote a fair amount about this pre-apocalyptic concept album in my underrated Hugo recommendations post; here’s a snippet:
The result is an album that grapples with the essence of the human condition (something Lucassen is very adept at), asking what makes life worth living from the perspectives of a bunch of different characters as they try to come to terms with the impending end of the world—including those who think it’s all a hoax, those who embrace it, and those who rage against the dying of the light. It straddles a weird and fun line between diegetic/in-world music that’s on the radio and telling the story as a sung-through musical, which is a little different than what you might expect, particularly for a progressive rock album. But that’s the Arjen Lucassen guarantee: big questions, big emotions, and a sound that isn’t afraid to change dramatically when necessary, even mid-song. Full of theatricality, Songs No One Will Hear is in some ways very similar to Lucassen’s Ayreon albums, but retains its own identity both musically and thematically.
We’ve been known to nominate SFF music albums when they arise, and on occasion those musicians have even responded to being recognised by fandom—seeing Clipping live in Helsinki was fun!—so this wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, though perhaps it is a bit of a left field suggestion for most Hugo voters as a progressive rock concept album.
While he’s extremely popular in his own niche, most of Lucassen’s fans aren’t in SF fandom and vice versa, something that I would love to help shift by talking about his work more to Hugo voters and talking to Ayreon/Lucassen fans more about joining our community and coming to Worldcon, especially as the next few years are looking quite international. Lucassen’s very obvious Golden Age influences are bound to have pointed many of his fans to the genre, so the bridge is already half-built.
I’m sure that I’ll be one of very few people longlisting this album, but 🤷🏻♀️! I really think If you see just a single, solitary vote for it in the full data, know that it was me!
Footnotes
- Per the WSFS Constitution, clauses 3.8.2 and 3.8.3. ↩︎
- In addition to the more fannish post I linked above, I found another really cool essay about the Barbican as Coruscant from an architect who works in film and TV. ↩︎
- A special shoutout to Joshua James, who played the doctor who tortured Bix Caleen with the sounds of distant massacres; I’ve been a huge fan of his ever since I saw him in Treasure Island at the National Theatre back in 2015 or so, and make a point to see him in every play he’s in when I can. He had a stint as Dr Brenner in Stranger Things: The First Shadow recently which I unfortunately missed, but I bet he was perfect! ↩︎
- I’d like to thank Octothorpe’s Alison Scott for her recommendation to see the film in an IMAX theatre, as the experience was truly spectacular. ↩︎
- There is another Black Widow character played by Olga Kurilenko who turns up for literally five minutes, but she is so not present in the rest of the film that I’m not even going to go into it. If it weren’t for Yelena and Alexei, I’d say that movie had zero lasting impact on the MCU, given how late into Natasha’s journey we got it (literally after she was canonically killed off), lol (sarcastic). ↩︎
- I still don’t know how to feel about the plot twist around Krypton and Clark’s biological parents, brief as it was. I think it is intended to maximise the contrast between where Clark hails from and where he grew up and how that affected his identity, and the discomfort it creates is probably very intentional from Gunn. ↩︎
- I call this “pilot syndrome”, and it’s one of my least favourite phenomena in media. ↩︎
-
Battle for the Ballot: Best Dramatic Presentation 2026
The two Best Dramatic Presentation categories are among my favourites in the Hugos, because I consume a lot of SFF media and have a lot of thoughts and feelings about them. Since my post last year about why I had wanted Loki S2 to win a Hugo in 2024 (which I was working on for a while but ended up not posting it in time for it to sway anyone), I’ve been toying with the idea of producing more writing around some of my favourite things from each year, in case it helps anybody—least of all me, in getting it all out of my system.
I know I’m posting this with one day to go before nominations (these take so long for me! I must develop a better system for next year 🤔), but I’m really writing this to sound out my own thoughts about the DP categories this year, because it is absolutely bananas with how stacked they both are. There have been some truly great speculative television shows and films, stuff that I’m sure we’ll still be talking about for years to come, and making decisions to boil my favourite media down to just 5 per category—especially given the fiddliness of Long Form and Short Form where TV is concerned, which I’ll get to in a sec—is going to be excruciatingly difficult for me.
So come along on a journey with me as I parse my thoughts, and who knows! Maybe I’ll argue my way to your heart about some of this, or tell you about something you hadn’t heard of before—some of which I’ve already written about before, but I’m getting ahead of myself!
Let me know what your ballot looks like, and if you’re nominating any of the below shows, films, and other dramatic works, or if you’re including other things entirely. I’m curious!
TV series and the Long Form/Short Form debate
A big question for many fen every year is “do I nominate one episode from a TV series that stands on its own or that adequately represents the show in Short Form, or do I nominate the whole season in Long Form because it’s one complete narrative, and isolating one chapter of it would be unfair?”
Understandably, it’s a tough one; when a show inevitably gets votes in both categories, it can lead to headaches for the Hugo Administrating Team as they have to sift through the numbers and ultimately decide which category it should be nominated in1, which I don’t envy at all. But at the same time, as a voter, I have to go with what my heart says and name my favourite episodes in Short Form, regardless of whether I’ve also named the show/season as a whole in Long Form, because if enough others have put that same episode down, then that’s what’ll make it through to the shortlist, and I would want my vote to count towards those totals.
All that to say: if you expected a clear stance from me on this, HA! I’m afraid I don’t have one 😇—and to be perfectly honest, this is exactly the sort of thing where people’s mileage will vary the most.
My personal method of deciding whether to nominate entire TV seasons rather than one specific episode is purely based on ~vibes~, on whether or not I thought the season works better in its totality than through its individual parts, versus cases where one outstanding episode eclipses all the others for me. Not all shows are written the same, of course, and those that favour a longer narrative arc (as a lot of prestige TV does nowadays) tend to find their way on my long form ballot more often than not, as opposed to the more episodic writing that isn’t as popular now but used to be ubiquitous in the pre-streaming era.
Ultimately, you may agree or disagree with me on my reasoning for some of my choices below, whether on the LF/SF question or my actual opinions of the various media, and that’s fair enough. I welcome discussion in the comments, but please keep it civil!
Jump to:
- Long Form: Entire TV Seasons
- Long Form: Films
- Long Form: Non-Film/TV
- Short Form: TV Episodes
- Short Form: Non-TV
Long Form: Entire TV Seasons
You might see episodes from some of these further down in the episode/short form discussion.
Andor, Season 2+
This is kind of my front-runner among the TV seasons for the Long Form category. Overall, I enjoyed it slightly more than season 1 for a few reasons: first of all, the pacing was much more even, with a little bit more action and intrigue peppered throughout the season as opposed to having several quieter mini-arcs that slowed things down in places; and crucially, there was a lot less dithering from Cassian Andor, our reluctant protagonist, who finally comes into his own as a rebel after being passively tossed about this way and that in the first season. The agency he has in this one makes him much more interesting as a character, and brings him on the same level as other players in the budding rebellion front, like Mon Mothma and Luthen Rael. In fact, with all the different character arcs completed, Andor finally becomes what Rogue One always wanted to be: a testament to the great sacrifices necessary for revolution to take root.
I liked a lot of what went down in this season as tensions continued ramping up between the Empire and the Rebellion; the Ghorman subplot was outstanding, especially with Dedra and Cyril’s journeys as instruments of Imperial oppression and violence, as was Mon Mothma’s arc from quiet resistance financier to full-on political rebel on the run, with her heartbreaking arc where she realises the personal cost of rebellion. None of the individual episodes in season 2 came even close to the intensity or narrative brilliance of One Way Out, which was hands down my favourite episode of season 1, but that’s okay—I think this season works so much better in its totality, that I’ll be happy to nominate it wholesale.
I still need to re-watch Rogue One actually, to see if my (very mid) opinion on it changes at all, but ultimately I’m just really happy this show was made, and that it looked and felt amazing throughout. It’s probably my favourite Star Wars story, period, and I am so chuffed that so much of it was filmed in the UK (in locations I know and visit all the time, including my old workplace!2), and is full of incredibly talented and classically trained British theatre actors who fill the space with their physicality and make their performances memorable even in the smallest of roles3.
Severance, Season 2+
Another really strong contender for this category. If you ask me which TV show might win the LF Hugo between this, Andor, or Pluribus, my money would probably be on Severance, even if I personally prefer Andor thematically and Pluribus cinematically. There’s no doubt Severance is an absolute masterpiece of television—nay, of cinema—and the fact that the most anti-capitalist story of our time is coming directly from the big tech megacorp Apple is an irony that is as delicious as it is hilarious.
Aside from its bonkers world-building (which still has so many unanswered questions!), this season of Severance also dove pretty deep into its characters, whom we only got to know a bit in season 1. I don’t want to get too spoilery here, but there’s a handful of moments in this season that go SO HARD—particularly that one slow episode that everyone else hated for some reason, where we follow Patricia Arquette’s character as she goes to her dingy home town and fills us in on the cult lore around Lumon Industries, and of course the team building episode in which our intrepid heroes actually go outside, but it’s all weird in that trademark Lumon way where nothing really fully makes sense, and it leaves the viewer feeling uncomfortable, like something’s not quite aligned right.
But yeah, the world-building, man. It’s something else. I was glued to my screen and my mind was running a mile a minute trying to join the dots and figure out the answers to the show’s mysteries, much like our heroes consolidate memories refine macrodata—remember, the work is mysterious and important—and the excitement of getting it just before the show confirmed it was super fun. Yet, finally understanding what macrodata refinement is was actually a really tragic moment, and everything that happens after that made my heart break for the innies who are stuck living a half-life they can’t escape, on pain of death.
Ultimately, what I loved the most about the second season of Severance is its staunch anti-capitalist messaging that speaks to the average office worker today regardless of where they may be in the world, because corporate manipulation knows no borders:
- A job is a job, not a family.
- The company you work for does not deserve blind, cult-like loyalty.
- Your life is more than just work, and compartmentalising your work self and your out-of-work self might be a band-aid solution, but it doesn’t really work in the end.
- You are you, with all your complex layers of self, even if your corporate overlords (…or just your line manager 🤐) want you to think otherwise, or to act otherwise so you can fit into their office culture.
- Basically, it’s all dumb, and you deserve to live, not just to survive so you can punch your clock card and get meaningless little bonuses like finger traps or waffle parties.
This relatability is what keeps me hooked, and what I think elevates the show from pretty sci-fi to a classic of our times. It’s definitely got my vote.
Pluribus, Season 1+
God, talk about another cinematic masterpiece. When Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul‘s Vince Gilligan said he was working on a new show (which he was writing specifically for Rhea Seahorn to star in), I was crossing my fingers and my toes that it would be sci-fi, and Pluribus has completely blown my expectations out of the water. Not only does it mark Gilligan’s return to science fiction for the first time since The X-Files, but he brings his now-trademark cinematic visual language to it, full of tight choreography and nuanced subtext through visual and music cues, which is what made BB & BCS so special.
The result is an unnerving combination of horror, absurdist humour, and subtle world-building, centered around a complex character named Carol Sturka, who is one of only a few humans not to join the weird hive mind connection that takes over all other human beings on the planet, and doesn’t want to even entertain the idea. I’ve seen many reviews call her unlikable and unrelatable, and while the first part may be true (I was really tired of her contrarian nature in the first half of the season), I think there’s something more going on here than just a selfish white American woman who expects the world to move just for her.
The thing is, Vince Gilligan does not talk down to his audience; he expects us to keep up and to pick up what he’s putting down, whether that’s subtle digs at the publishing industry (it is truly hilarious to me that the protagonist of this show is an actual romantasy author!), not-so-subtle digs about community building and the harm humanity has done to the planet and to each other (particularly around resource distribution, iykyk), and questions about human nature that we are left to ponder: would you trade world peace for the complete flattening of human culture? Are we capable of retaining what makes us human while not actively harming the world around us, or each other? What is humanity, really, or human nature even?
Big stuff coming from an Apple TV show, once again; should I even be surprised at this point?
I think the long game of this show is going to be Carol’s character development from grumpy selfish miser to someone who genuinely cares about other people—a reverse Walter White, if you will. Gilligan is all about the narrative arc, and he has been known to deliver some of the best narrative arcs in TV ever, even if they take a while to stick the landing. I have faith that he is cooking something we haven’t even yet begun to poke at, if Better Call Saul is any indication, and between the already great writing and the show’s superlative production value, I think Pluribus is going to be a low-key modern classic. Vince has my vote, now and always.
My Hero Academia: The Final Season+
I wrote about this extensively in my Hugo ballot recommendations post a couple of months ago, so I’ll pull a quote from that as to why I loved it so much:
Y’all, what can I say: this has been my favourite anime of the last decade, and the fact it is ending has had me in my feelings for months. I’ve been deeply invested emotionally for many years, watching the simulcasts on the same day as the anime airs in Japan since around season 2, and this last season has been all payoff for almost ten years’ worth of story. Every Saturday from October 4th till December 13th, I tuned in and bawled my eyes out for 20 minutes straight, which for an anime aimed at teenage boys is an absolute feat. Defying every expectation, it stuck the landing for every little story beat, every subplot, and every theme set up over its ten year tenure perfectly, making it one of my absolute favourite stories in the superhero genre.
This is definitely one of those where context is essential, so I don’t think it can be viewed in a vacuum and appreciated to the same extent as having watched all previous seven seasons. You can try, but it wouldn’t be worth it just for the awards. Just watch the show so the ending can hit you like a ton of bricks in the best way possible, even if you miss the deadline. It’s fun, it’s moving, it’s made with so much love for American comics through a uniquely Japanese perspective. I can’t recommend it enough, and it’ll definitely be on my Long Form ballot even if I’m one of ten people who put it there 🤷🏻♀️
Honourable mentions/near misses+
- Silo, Season 2: It’s definitely not as tight as season 1, and it was missing some stuff from the books that may well turn up in season 3. For what it’s worth, there’s a lot I enjoyed about this season, but unfortunately it’s simply weaker when Rebecca Ferguson’s Juliette isn’t on screen, and there’s a lot of that unfortunately. I’m certainly looking forward to what season 3 will be adapting, and to see what format that will take, as I think they’re either condensing or axing the second half of book 2 to go straight to the dual narrative of book 3, which I have mixed feelings about.
- Murderbot: I never got into the books because of tonal whiplash (MB’s violence and misanthropy coated in dry humour just didn’t work for me), and while I thought the TV show was a little better in that regard, ultimately I thought the show was just okay. I didn’t actively dislike it, mind, but I watched most of it on a plane ride, didn’t finish it, and haven’t felt like picking it back up since. The story just doesn’t grab me, I think, and I never felt particularly attached to or compelled by any of the characters… and I’m okay with that 🤷🏻♀️. Not everything is for everyone! I expect it’ll be mass-nominated by all the book fans anyway based on the online discourse I’ve seen, so it won’t miss my vote.
- Invasion, Season 3: I didn’t even know this was out, lmao! I was deeply invested while watching seasons 1 and 2 (even though I disliked quite a few of the characters), but as soon as I was done with it I promptly forgot about it—and Apple TV didn’t even let me know that it was back on. Whomst can I shake until they fix the marketing situation over there?! Christ on a cracker!
- Stranger Things, Season 5: To my own surprise, I didn’t like this season nearly as much as season 4, let alone season 1, and so I will not be considering it for the Long Form category (including the last episode, which would qualify under Long Form on its own due to being 128 MINUTES LONG 🙄). It’s turned out to be one of those things where, while I enjoyed it a fair bit in the moment, the longer I think about it the more my feelings about it seem to change, and the ending has left me a bit… conflicted, shall we say. But it did have some great episodes in the middle especially, so I will consider a couple of them in the Short Form category.
Long Form: Films
Sinners+
This was probably my favourite SFF film of last year. Not only is it atmospheric, fun, and lush with cross-border folkloric world-building (Hoodoo magic and Irish vampires?! yes please!), but the story touches so many themes that a regular popcorn movie won’t even veer towards, and it does so brilliantly.
All the many layers of the Black and POC experience in the South during the Prohibition era (and beyond) are crystallised in the character arc of each ensemble cast member, with some absolutely outstanding performances by Hailee Steinfeld (whose character Mary is biracial, and torn between safety and belonging), Michael B. Jordan (who plays identical twins Smoke and Stack so well he walked away with an Oscar for it), and Wunmi Mosaku in particular as Smoke’s wife Annie (she’s such an underrated performer, but I’m so glad to see her actually flex her acting skills after her appearance in Loki). We’re talking themes like the push and pull of religion and its role in both keeping communities together and also oppressing them, the safety of BIPOC in a white supremacist society, and even the immigrant experience… the truth is your average blockbuster would never—but this is Ryan Coogler, and he won’t sugar-coat things for a mainstream audience, instead telling a story only he could tell, filled with truth, complexity, and nuance, something I really wish more filmmakers would embrace nowadays.
The film’s protagonist, Sammie (Miles Caton) has a preternatural gift with music, and the plot revolves around a juke joint Smoke and Stack put together, and the connection that music can create across time and even culture—with a wonderful supernatural twist.
One of my favourite moments is when the villain Remmick (an immortal Irish vampire played by Jack O’Connell) turns up at their juke joint and cries with joy at the emotions Sammie’s music has brought him after years of numbness. He talks about his own experience of colonialism at the hands of the British Empire and the subsequent erasure of Irish culture through the centuries, which is a very real thing—but he’s also a predator who has been making his way through the land trying to trap people and turn them into vampires, chased away by indigenous people who could tell he was a monster before attacking a couple who are Klan members. It’s clear that he doesn’t want Sammie’s music in order to connect people, but to use it as a tool on his quest to propagate a vampire race, and that seemingly sweet moment of connection is exposed as the performative allyship that it is.
There are some phenomenal action sequences too, with the last third of the film keeping me on the edge of my IMAX seat4. Genuinely, this film was such a breath of fresh air: delightfully complex but also fun, in ways that cinema just doesn’t dare to be right now. I was sad they didn’t win all the awards they were up for, but perhaps we can give it a Hugo instead.
Frankenstein+
©️ Netflix 2025I have a full review of this here, but basically: the SFF-ness of this is lush, as expected from a Guillermo Del Toro movie, and for the most part it works well as an adaptation of the book. As I mention in my other post, it doesn’t quite reach the heights of the NT’s theatre adaptation, which I still consider the ultimate version of this story, but it does similar things with the characters as Penny Dreadful, which is my runner-up favourite, save for the very end, and it’s that ending that makes the whole thing fall short for me, unfortunately.
To quote myself:
Why do we sing sad songs, when we know their ending is unhappy? When our instinctual yearning for a happy ending is met with the inevitability of human flaws getting in the way, that emotional release we experience is what my ancestors called catharsis. As the audience we accept that because of who these characters are, they would always make these choices and lead the story to the same outcome, time and again, even though we’d like them to change, to choose better, so they can be happy in the end.
What makes Frankenstein compelling in any iteration is its core conflict: Victor’s refusal to acknowledge the Creature as human, despite the fact that the Creature is deeply human, as much as his creator would like to think otherwise. We are invited to empathise with the Creature’s plight, to see how he thinks and feels, how he desires things we all do: safety, friendship, love. Victor is incapable of recognising this, and so the two clash eternally. Such is the tragedy, and no matter what minor changes are made to it, the good adaptations always recognise the impasse between the two at the end. It’s what makes the story tick.
My ultimate issue with the way Del Toro chose to end his adaptation of Frankenstein is that it ultimately robs us of our deserved catharsis by artificially resolving the incontrovertible stalemate between the two leads, giving us a happy(ish) ending in which Victor, at death’s door, forgives the Creature for the violence and destruction he’s wrought, apologises for what he did to him, and urges him to live on, free of guilt, yet completely alone. The Creature then walks off into the Arctic sunrise, liberated from his vendetta yet devastated at losing his creator.
It’s a lovely thought in principle, a Del Toro-ism about accepting one’s nature and walking away from one’s painful past, and if it were an original story without baggage I’d be all for it—after all, The Shape of Water had similar, pro-monster themes of letting go of trying to fit into a world that won’t accept you anyway, and I ate that up voraciously. But here, in taking a tragedy that is so classic and ingrained, loading it with a bunch of new traumas and subplots, and then resolving it all with a little monologue, the ending robs the story of its true conclusion, fundamentally missing the point of the source text, and doing a disservice both to Victor and the Creature.
I still think it’s a strong contender in the category, and definitely one of my favourite SFF movies I saw last year, despite my issues with it. However, given all my favourite TV shows above, I think I might eschew giving this one of my ballot spots, but I won’t be disappointed to see it on the final ballot, should it make it through.
Thunderbolts*+
I loved this movie A LOT, you guys, and it made me very sad that it flopped at the box office. I don’t blame people for being fatigued with Marvel’s mediocre superhero slop, but they should have given this movie a chance at the very least, because it might not have been the movie we wanted, but it was definitely the movie we needed right now.
(c) Disney/Marvel Studios, 2025I was very surprised with how deep it went into the trauma our various superheroes and anti-heroes have sustained through their previous adventures, and the level of empathy with which it treated them all:
- Yelena Belova, the last surviving Black Widow5, starts off depressed and morose, aimless, dissatisfied with running around and blowing things up for people with nothing to show for it except a path of destruction.
- Her and Natasha Romanoff’s father figure, Alexei Shostakov, is facing the music that his “Red Star” superhero persona is nothing but a figment of a bygone era, and is living a meagre life as a limo driver while reminiscing about his glory days.
- John Walker, the temporary Captain America replacement later dubbed “U.S. Agent”, is dealing with guilt after slaughtering innocent bystanders using Cap’s vibranium shield during the events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, all while struggling through early parenthood.
- The Winter Soldier—Bucky Barnes—is running for office, in an attempt to turn his newfound and shaky inner peace into something productive. Yet, something keeps niggling at him about the power vacuum left in the wake of the Avengers disappearing, and he can’t help but get involved in ways political candidates really shouldn’t. See: taking a huge machine gun and riding a motorbike out to the desert to find out who is behind these shenanigans. Tut tut, Mr Congressman.
- Oh, there’s also Ava Star/Ghost from Ant-Man and the Wasp, probably my least favourite Marvel movie to date, whom I completely forgot about before watching this movie and while writing this review. Oops! Her thing is that she is constantly phasing in and out of a solid existence, and she has to keep shouting about how traumatised she is with no need for subtext because they know we’ve all forgotten about her and need to be reminded of her struggles. Normally I’d be mad at that, but they are not wrong this time 😅
And then, there’s Bob.
(c) Disney/Marvel, 2025Bob is a new guy, recruited to be experimented on in hopes of becoming a superhero. He seems normal, average even, and he reluctantly joins our motley crew as they escape from a trap set by their employer—but under the surface he carries a deep wound, a gash that opens up to swallow him whole and turns him into The Void, his mysterious alter ego who awakens when Bob’s absolutely OTT superpowers kick in. The rest, as they say, is plot.
There’s a lot of (predictably dark) humour in this, and I was surprised with how much I liked these characters once they were given enough room to be protagonists, rather than minor antagonists in someone else’s story. While they haphazardly join forces into a makeshift team, their trauma is taken seriously, coalescing into the film’s climactic battle that pits the reluctant heroes against The Void, who weaponises each of their subconscious against them. The Void is Depression, by any other name—it’s the dark voice inside that tells each of our anti-heroes that they are worthless, unlovable, guilty, and alone. In order to beat him they have to reach out with empathy to themselves first and then to each other, and literally hold each other in a tight embrace as a reminder that they are not alone. What wins the day is friendship, empathy, and love, not unlike the last season of My Hero Academia, which I also loved last year, or Superman, which I’m about to get into below.
I cried BUCKETS while watching Thunderbolts* in the UK’s largest IMAX screen alongside my Bucky Barnes-obsessed friend, who has since made this film her entire personality (affectionate), and honestly, I’ve also been thinking about it ever since. Again, it’s a delightful little irony that the megalithic Disney/MCU would come out with a narrative so introspective and empathetic, especially at a time that loneliness and isolation is rampant among the film’s core audience of young men. I really hope that watching this film inspired people to reach out and be less alone in their struggles, and that the financial hit Disney took with it won’t keep us from seeing more of these characters in the future.
Also! A fun fact I noticed while listening to the soundtrack was that the film’s main theme is a reversed version of the main Avengers theme; just listen to the first few seconds of both themes and you’ll hear it:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-Jzgp1jNiQ
Superman+
A good Superman movie?? In this economy?? Hallelujah!
I love a lot about what this film does with the core Superman premise. It gets Clark right, down to his farm boy roots and dorky kindness. It gets Superman right: his power isn’t unbeatable, and it isn’t even the most powerful thing about him (spoiler: it’s the dorky kindness). It gets Lex Luthor right—especially for our times—by having him be a smart but petty tech billionaire with an overinflated ego, someone who funds an invasion and even starts a pocket dimension on a whim, without once thinking of the consequences. It even gets Jimmy Olsen right simply by bringing him out of the margins where he’s been relegated for the last several Superman adaptations—and it’s actually really funny that he’s the one guy with the most game in this film, and that that’s how he gets to help out.
The structure of the film is an absolute delight, too. From the very start, we are thrown into the midst of a losing fight for Superman, which is a bold choice, as is having Clark’s relationship with Lois Lane already set up (and she even knows about him being Superman!). We don’t spend any time whatsoever on origin stories, budding relationship exploration, or long-winded exposition—we simply hit the ground running, and find out the particulars as we go along. It is assumed we know who Superman is, because… we all know who Superman is. And the themes around identity, responsibility, community, and how we should treat each other are laid bare without pretence, very directly speaking to the audience about contemporary problems we’re all facing day to day. It’s a genuine breath of fresh air not to be treated like an idiot, frankly.
There are a couple of things I don’t like about it though. For one, the film feels very busy, with so many characters and subplots and easter eggs thrown in, that if you blink you’ll definitely miss something. Relatedly, not all of those characters or subplots are treated equally, because there simply isn’t enough screen time to go around for everything. So the Justice Friends get the short shrift, as do Papa and Mama Kent, as does Krypton6, so that we can focus on the personal and political stakes that Clark/Superman has to overcome.
This is another superhero story with empathy at its heart, where the answer to even the most cosmic problems is… just be kind. Kindness is punk rock. As one of my favourite YouTube video essayists put it, this Superman is the American hero we desperately need right now. Someone who will stand up for what’s right even when the rest of the world tells him not to, someone with an unshakeable moral compass that only points to goodness. Watch that whole video actually, Dove does such a fantastic job analysing the cultural geography that plays into this film, and how it all ties together to bring us this ray of f*cking sunshine:
All this to say, I love that James Gunn can make a superhero movie that aims to appeal broadly but doesn’t feel like it panders to the lowest available denominator, and that he had the guts to (a) make the story feel relevant to our current times, what with all the invasions/”wars” going on right now that are purely happening for profit and that no one is doing anything to stop 🙄, and (b) leave us with a message of hope, that we can imagine a kinder world and that we can be the instruments of making that vision a reality. That kindness can be punk rock.
Dare I say, this was the movie that made me go, “huh, maybe the genre isn’t dead yet”, which… please, let it not be dead, I really like superheroes!
Honourable mentions/near misses+
- Mickey 17: I enjoyed this a lot, particularly for its world-building and Robert Pattinson’s performance. Unfortunately I think the Bong Joon-Ho-ness of it all kind of undercuts the story in favour of very on-the-nose political commentary, which was fun in the moment but in retrospect kinda leaves me a bit… “meh!”, probably because the current climate is so much worse than when this movie was made, and making fun of things/people just isn’t enough right now. So I don’t think this will be getting one of my spots, but it’s still totally worth seeing, if you haven’t!
- Fantastic Four – First Steps: I also enjoyed this a lot, especially in light of B-Mask’s excellent Fantastic Four video from a few years back which explained the classic comics and got me up to speed on the characters. It’s an honest-to-God decent, good Marvel movie, which as I keep saying is a rare sight these days, but that being said… I liked the stuff I talked about up top way more than this one, not to mention the TV seasons, so I just think it gets edged out by the competition.
- Hamnet: Technically an SFF movie! The trailer had me weeping, but the movie left me cold somehow, perhaps because it’s a little too obvious in its attempts to make people cry (Mark Kermode said it best! The bit with the song at the very end irked me too because I recognised it, and the moment was actually completely ruined for me.) It does have some wonderful and atmospheric visuals where it comes to the speculative aspect of it, and the soundtrack by Max Richter is predictably phenomenal (if only they’d used his original song for the climactic ending of the film!!), but it just didn’t move me in the ways I thought it would, so it’s a miss.
The “I haven’t seen these yet” caveat+
- K-Pop Demon Hunters: Yes, I know, somehow, I still haven’t seen this movie. I’m assuming it’ll get nominated to high heaven, so I’ll watch it ahead of voting, I promise.
- Weapons: I’ve heard fantastic things about this, and my husband is a big WKUK fan, so I might be watching this soon and revising my thoughts.
- Wicked: For Good: I liked the first film well enough, and I hear that a LOT happens in the second half of the musical, so I’m tentatively putting this on a hold list until I watch it. I don’t know if it would edge out any of my favourites, realistically speaking, but I suppose there is always room for surprises!
Long Form: Non-Film/TV
B-Mask’s “The REAL Thunderbolts Story: Marvel’s Greatest Scam“*
This is a 2.5 hour love letter to comics, and the first in a five-part series that tells the story of the real Thunderbolts from the comic books (a team that bears very little resemblance to the one portrayed in the recent MCU film discussed above). It features complex animations drawing from the original comic book art, as well as a full cast of voice actors bringing the characters to life with their performances.
* I’m personally torn on whether this would qualify for BDP-LF or BRW (seeing as it is technically a fanwork, and not an original work), but either way it is nothing short of a masterpiece—I wrote more about it in my 2025 underrated Hugo picks post, if you’re interested.
Short Form: TV Episodes
A caveat: my reasoning around nominating a particular episode is kind of like nominating my favourite chapter of a novel. Especially with how a lot of the prestige TV shows are made nowadays, individual episodes function as chapters in a longer story, so they have to be considered in the context of the wider narrative they’re a part of. If they are from a second, third, or even last season of a long-running show, even more so.
Also—and this might be a slightly spicy take—I personally don’t like that a lot of Hugo voters seem to only watch the individual episodes on the eventual shortlist without any context, and then complain that they didn’t get what was going on. That’s because context matters, and while I understand that it would take a lot of time to watch an entire season (or even several!) to be able to appreciate a single episode… if you want your vote to be informed, that’s the job, innit?
This has happened several times to me, where there’s an episode on the shortlist from a show I don’t watch (and have no intention of watching—sorry Lower Decks), so I just skip it and don’t put it in my ballot at the end, or rank it below my own favourites. I do the same with sequels to books I haven’t read, out of respect for the work itself as well as its author, but that’s just me I guess! 🤷🏻♀️
Anyway, here are some thoughts about my favourite episodes of speculative TV from this year, under spoiler tags for obvious reasons.
Two episodes from Stranger Things, Season 5+
‘Chapter Four: Sorcerer’
I loved, loved, loved this episode. The moment Will uses his new power… it gave me goosebumps, it was so good—and the fight sequence in front of the gate to the Upside Down is incredible. Rather than the writing, though, I want to praise the actors’ performances and the work of the crew who worked on the practical effects, stunts, and complicated cinematography in this episode. Especially given more recent revelations about how the Duffers went into production with season 5 without having ironed out the ending, and the stress that added to the poor production crew, I think any flowers should really be going to them for making such an outstanding piece of TV despite the challenges.
‘Chapter Six: Escape from Camazotz’
Yes, the scene in this photo feels a little ludicrously long considering they’re both on the run and about to be caught by the Big Bad, but I loved the heart of this relationship and the character development for both Holly and Max in this episode. I had also seen the Stranger Things play in London a couple of years back, and this episode eliminated the issues I had with the world-building in that, which at first had seemed to contradict the revelations in season 4 about Vecna/Henry Creel’s agency as a villain and his role in shaping the Upside Down… I was glad to see that in fact all the loose threads from the various seasons did connect, and that the strands from the play were relevant too.
Various episodes from Severance, Season 2+
S2E4: ‘Woe’s Hollow’
I mentioned this episode in my discussion of the series earlier, but let me get into it here: this is one of the best episodes of TV ever made, period, and I will fight you on this. I don’t know if it would stand alone in any capacity, considering the weird tone is already a lot to deal with and there’s a lot of plot and character interaction that picks up from where the last season left off, not to mention a big-time betrayal that ends up echoing through the rest of season 2.
I spent a good chunk of the beginning wondering if this was a simulator or a dream sequence because it didn’t fully make sense for our protagonists to be outside the Lumon offices, and the uncanny doppelgangers guiding them through the forest seemed almost dreamlike, but the reality was much more sinister in the end, which tracks. If there’s a single episode from this show I’d nominate, it’d be this one.
S2E8: ‘Sweet Vitriol’
People hate this episode because it’s slow and follows an unlikeable antagonist whom we are invited to empathise with, and that’s precisely the reason I like it. First of all, we get way more insight into the Lumon cult corporation from Harmony Cobel, who ostensibly grew up in the cult and has invested her whole life into the company’s welfare. This is also where we begin to see cracks form in her resolve as an antagonist, as she has realised that the company sees her as an expendable cog despite her lifelong investment and dedication, and so she decides to fight them, to prove that this little cog is actually so important, it might well bring the whole house down.
It’s interesting also for thematic reasons, outside of the show’s world. On an individual level, the image of someone who grew up in poverty while idolising a particular company, then making their entire life revolve around it so as to gain favour and socioeconomic mobility, gaining that and then losing it when the company no longer sees them as valuable, is unfortunately too relatable. So is seeing a small town that once had its own industry and community be taken over by a mega corporation and become completely dependent on it, eventually falling into destitution once the corporation pulls their activities out of the town. The actual commentary here is silent, but extremely powerful.
I don’t think Cobel’s about-turn is enough to fully make her an anti-hero, but I really enjoyed this episode for all the insight it gave us both into her and the world of Severance outside of Lumon HQ.
S2E10: ‘Cold Harbor’
There is a strong argument to be made that the season two finale is absolutely worth a nomination as well, making this a really tough choice. Two seasons’ worth of mystery solving and internal corporate espionage culminate in this one-hour episode where our protagonists clash with one another and with the antagonists, and it’s just adrenaline all the way down.
Some spoilery thoughts here.While the big questions have been answered (where is Mark’s wife? what is Cold Harbor? what are they doing with all those sheep?), so many more remain. Is there a way to save the innies at all, if Lumon ends up falling? Can Mark S. and Helly R. ever hope to have a life outside these walls? And what happens to Gemma now that she’s out, even though she has 24 distinct, hand-crafted personalities inside her?
There’s actually a great take I hadn’t come across before I sat down to write this, and that is that the finale actually inverts the Orpheus & Eurydice narrative of Mark and Gemma, by having Mark’s innie actually choose to stay behind in Lumon so he can be with Helly. It’s less of a lack of faith and more of a conscious decision, which perhaps makes it even more tragic as Gemma watches her husband (sort of) run toward danger and another woman, leaving her alone at the exit, screaming for him to come back.
Having written about the other episodes already, I do think ep4 is a stronger contender purely from a craft/vibes standpoint, whereas the finale is more typical in many ways, as it focuses on exposition and plot and is faster paced. YMMV here, for sure, but I’m inclined to pick ep4 over this one, now that I think about it.
Two episodes from Pluribus, Season 1+
Episode 1: “We is Us”
It’s not often that a TV pilot stands on its own two feet well. It’s even less common for the film-making to be so good that one must gasp in awe at the choreography, cinematography, and editing, multiple times throughout the course of the episode. One of my biggest peeves is when a TV pilot is so mired in exposition that there is no room for characters or atmosphere until the next episode because they simply have to give you the setup quickly—it ends up feeling flat and boring and frankly, it puts me off more than it entices me to keep watching until it gets better.7
Well, this episode does none of that.
Gilligan’s forte is silent scenes that actually speak volumes. There is so much storytelling in this episode that has no words; we watch an intergalactic viral hive mind sequence take over the Earth in perfectly synchronised movement, and the storytelling is in the silence, the perfect unison, and the eerie smiles as the hive mind consciousness flattens the individuals inside. A lesser writer would put exposition in dialogue, possibly giving too much information for where we are in the story, but Gilligan knows that less is more. We get just enough to hook us in, and the rest is pure atmosphere and of course, character.
Carol is introduced as a grumpy romantasy author, a lesbian in a loving relationship who constantly finds reasons to be miserable, much to her partner’s chagrin. When the hive mind sequence is spread via planes in the air, Carol loses her partner, and simultaneously the world. The panic that ensues is completely understandable, and it gets worse at every turn as she is met with more and more hive mind people, but no one else like her. What a place for a pilot to leave us in! Aren’t you hooked just by reading this?? GO WATCH THIS SHOW!
Episode 7: “The Gap”
The title refers to a real place that Manousos (pictured) has to cross, but also I suppose to the gap between Carol and others at this point in the show. This is another masterfully crafted episode with a dual narrative point of view, where Carol continues her life in Albuquerque while Manousos is making his slow way up through South and Central America towards Carol, crossing cities, climbing mountains, and trudging through thick, treacherous jungles, all while refusing the hive mind’s help at every opportunity.
Some spoilery thoughts here.At first, it’s admirable; he won’t even take gas without paying for it somehow, even though everything he comes across is at his disposal. Soon enough, however, his steadfastness turns into stubbornness that does more harm to him than good. When he gets seriously injured in the jungle (something that was completely preventable, had he accepted the hive mind’s help and transited through safer means),
Meanwhile, Carol stoically endures complete and total isolation for a long time as a result of the hive mind evacuating the whole metro area of Albuquerque, which happened when Carol hurt one of them (and by extension, all of them) quite badly while trying to find answers. She is given resources and sustenance remotely, and for a while enjoys her peaceful environment, going around town and doing whatever she feels like… until she finally cracks under the pressure of extreme loneliness, and asks the hive mind to come back.
It’s an incredibly powerful moment actually, seeing someone as stubborn sturdy as Carol finally admit that she can’t live her whole life completely cut off from other people, even though she hates the hive mind on principle, and can’t wrap her mind around accepting this status quo. In fairness, she makes it to about a month and a half, which is pretty long, but her isolation was also so complete that there were zero people around her for that whole time—an unfathomable experience that’s so well depicted on screen. I personally love the rooftop golf scene as an example of how utterly devoid of people the landscape is, a mundane sort of post-apocalyptic image.
This is probably my favourite episode in season 1, and even think it could be presented without context and still mostly work alright for new viewers… Though I’d still hope that people would watch the whole season anyway. If I had to pick one episode to represent the series as a whole, I’d say it’s this one.
Short Form: Non-TV
‘Songs No One Will Hear’ by Arjen Lucassen (music album)
I wrote a fair amount about this pre-apocalyptic concept album in my underrated Hugo recommendations post; here’s a snippet:
The result is an album that grapples with the essence of the human condition (something Lucassen is very adept at), asking what makes life worth living from the perspectives of a bunch of different characters as they try to come to terms with the impending end of the world—including those who think it’s all a hoax, those who embrace it, and those who rage against the dying of the light. It straddles a weird and fun line between diegetic/in-world music that’s on the radio and telling the story as a sung-through musical, which is a little different than what you might expect, particularly for a progressive rock album. But that’s the Arjen Lucassen guarantee: big questions, big emotions, and a sound that isn’t afraid to change dramatically when necessary, even mid-song. Full of theatricality, Songs No One Will Hear is in some ways very similar to Lucassen’s Ayreon albums, but retains its own identity both musically and thematically.
We’ve been known to nominate SFF music albums when they arise, and on occasion those musicians have even responded to being recognised by fandom—seeing Clipping live in Helsinki was fun!—so this wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, though perhaps it is a bit of a left field suggestion for most Hugo voters as a progressive rock concept album.
While he’s extremely popular in his own niche, most of Lucassen’s fans aren’t in SF fandom and vice versa, something that I would love to help shift by talking about his work more to Hugo voters and talking to Ayreon/Lucassen fans more about joining our community and coming to Worldcon, especially as the next few years are looking quite international. Lucassen’s very obvious Golden Age influences are bound to have pointed many of his fans to the genre, so the bridge is already half-built.
I’m sure that I’ll be one of very few people longlisting this album, but 🤷🏻♀️! I really think If you see just a single, solitary vote for it in the full data, know that it was me!
Footnotes
- Per the WSFS Constitution, clauses 3.8.2 and 3.8.3. ↩︎
- In addition to the more fannish post I linked above, I found another really cool essay about the Barbican as Coruscant from an architect who works in film and TV. ↩︎
- A special shoutout to Joshua James, who played the doctor who tortured Bix Caleen with the sounds of distant massacres; I’ve been a huge fan of his ever since I saw him in Treasure Island at the National Theatre back in 2015 or so, and make a point to see him in every play he’s in when I can. He had a stint as Dr Brenner in Stranger Things: The First Shadow recently which I unfortunately missed, but I bet he was perfect! ↩︎
- I’d like to thank Octothorpe’s Alison Scott for her recommendation to see the film in an IMAX theatre, as the experience was truly spectacular. ↩︎
- There is another Black Widow character played by Olga Kurilenko who turns up for literally five minutes, but she is so not present in the rest of the film that I’m not even going to go into it. If it weren’t for Yelena and Alexei, I’d say that movie had zero lasting impact on the MCU, given how late into Natasha’s journey we got it (literally after she was canonically killed off), lol (sarcastic). ↩︎
- I still don’t know how to feel about the plot twist around Krypton and Clark’s biological parents, brief as it was. I think it is intended to maximise the contrast between where Clark hails from and where he grew up and how that affected his identity, and the discomfort it creates is probably very intentional from Gunn. ↩︎
- I call this “pilot syndrome”, and it’s one of my least favourite phenomena in media. ↩︎
-
Battle for the Ballot: Best Dramatic Presentation 2026
The two Best Dramatic Presentation categories are among my favourites in the Hugos, because I consume a lot of SFF media and have a lot of thoughts and feelings about them. Since my post last year about why I had wanted Loki S2 to win a Hugo in 2024 (which I was working on for a while but ended up not posting it in time for it to sway anyone), I’ve been toying with the idea of producing more writing around some of my favourite things from each year, in case it helps anybody—least of all me, in getting it all out of my system.
I know I’m posting this with one day to go before nominations (these take so long for me! I must develop a better system for next year 🤔), but I’m really writing this to sound out my own thoughts about the DP categories this year, because it is absolutely bananas with how stacked they both are. There have been some truly great speculative television shows and films, stuff that I’m sure we’ll still be talking about for years to come, and making decisions to boil my favourite media down to just 5 per category—especially given the fiddliness of Long Form and Short Form where TV is concerned, which I’ll get to in a sec—is going to be excruciatingly difficult for me.
So come along on a journey with me as I parse my thoughts, and who knows! Maybe I’ll argue my way to your heart about some of this, or tell you about something you hadn’t heard of before—some of which I’ve already written about before, but I’m getting ahead of myself!
Let me know what your ballot looks like, and if you’re nominating any of the below shows, films, and other dramatic works, or if you’re including other things entirely. I’m curious!
TV series and the Long Form/Short Form debate
A big question for many fen every year is “do I nominate one episode from a TV series that stands on its own or that adequately represents the show in Short Form, or do I nominate the whole season in Long Form because it’s one complete narrative, and isolating one chapter of it would be unfair?”
Understandably, it’s a tough one; when a show inevitably gets votes in both categories, it can lead to headaches for the Hugo Administrating Team as they have to sift through the numbers and ultimately decide which category it should be nominated in1, which I don’t envy at all. But at the same time, as a voter, I have to go with what my heart says and name my favourite episodes in Short Form, regardless of whether I’ve also named the show/season as a whole in Long Form, because if enough others have put that same episode down, then that’s what’ll make it through to the shortlist, and I would want my vote to count towards those totals.
All that to say: if you expected a clear stance from me on this, HA! I’m afraid I don’t have one 😇—and to be perfectly honest, this is exactly the sort of thing where people’s mileage will vary the most.
My personal method of deciding whether to nominate entire TV seasons rather than one specific episode is purely based on ~vibes~, on whether or not I thought the season works better in its totality than through its individual parts, versus cases where one outstanding episode eclipses all the others for me. Not all shows are written the same, of course, and those that favour a longer narrative arc (as a lot of prestige TV does nowadays) tend to find their way on my long form ballot more often than not, as opposed to the more episodic writing that isn’t as popular now but used to be ubiquitous in the pre-streaming era.
Ultimately, you may agree or disagree with me on my reasoning for some of my choices below, whether on the LF/SF question or my actual opinions of the various media, and that’s fair enough. I welcome discussion in the comments, but please keep it civil!
Jump to:
- Long Form: Entire TV Seasons
- Long Form: Films
- Long Form: Non-Film/TV
- Short Form: TV Episodes
- Short Form: Non-TV
Long Form: Entire TV Seasons
You might see episodes from some of these further down in the episode/short form discussion.
Andor, Season 2+
This is kind of my front-runner among the TV seasons for the Long Form category. Overall, I enjoyed it slightly more than season 1 for a few reasons: first of all, the pacing was much more even, with a little bit more action and intrigue peppered throughout the season as opposed to having several quieter mini-arcs that slowed things down in places; and crucially, there was a lot less dithering from Cassian Andor, our reluctant protagonist, who finally comes into his own as a rebel after being passively tossed about this way and that in the first season. The agency he has in this one makes him much more interesting as a character, and brings him on the same level as other players in the budding rebellion front, like Mon Mothma and Luthen Rael. In fact, with all the different character arcs completed, Andor finally becomes what Rogue One always wanted to be: a testament to the great sacrifices necessary for revolution to take root.
I liked a lot of what went down in this season as tensions continued ramping up between the Empire and the Rebellion; the Ghorman subplot was outstanding, especially with Dedra and Cyril’s journeys as instruments of Imperial oppression and violence, as was Mon Mothma’s arc from quiet resistance financier to full-on political rebel on the run, with her heartbreaking arc where she realises the personal cost of rebellion. None of the individual episodes in season 2 came even close to the intensity or narrative brilliance of One Way Out, which was hands down my favourite episode of season 1, but that’s okay—I think this season works so much better in its totality, that I’ll be happy to nominate it wholesale.
I still need to re-watch Rogue One actually, to see if my (very mid) opinion on it changes at all, but ultimately I’m just really happy this show was made, and that it looked and felt amazing throughout. It’s probably my favourite Star Wars story, period, and I am so chuffed that so much of it was filmed in the UK (in locations I know and visit all the time, including my old workplace!2), and is full of incredibly talented and classically trained British theatre actors who fill the space with their physicality and make their performances memorable even in the smallest of roles3.
Severance, Season 2+
Another really strong contender for this category. If you ask me which TV show might win the LF Hugo between this, Andor, or Pluribus, my money would probably be on Severance, even if I personally prefer Andor thematically and Pluribus cinematically. There’s no doubt Severance is an absolute masterpiece of television—nay, of cinema—and the fact that the most anti-capitalist story of our time is coming directly from the big tech megacorp Apple is an irony that is as delicious as it is hilarious.
Aside from its bonkers world-building (which still has so many unanswered questions!), this season of Severance also dove pretty deep into its characters, whom we only got to know a bit in season 1. I don’t want to get too spoilery here, but there’s a handful of moments in this season that go SO HARD—particularly that one slow episode that everyone else hated for some reason, where we follow Patricia Arquette’s character as she goes to her dingy home town and fills us in on the cult lore around Lumon Industries, and of course the team building episode in which our intrepid heroes actually go outside, but it’s all weird in that trademark Lumon way where nothing really fully makes sense, and it leaves the viewer feeling uncomfortable, like something’s not quite aligned right.
But yeah, the world-building, man. It’s something else. I was glued to my screen and my mind was running a mile a minute trying to join the dots and figure out the answers to the show’s mysteries, much like our heroes consolidate memories refine macrodata—remember, the work is mysterious and important—and the excitement of getting it just before the show confirmed it was super fun. Yet, finally understanding what macrodata refinement is was actually a really tragic moment, and everything that happens after that made my heart break for the innies who are stuck living a half-life they can’t escape, on pain of death.
Ultimately, what I loved the most about the second season of Severance is its staunch anti-capitalist messaging that speaks to the average office worker today regardless of where they may be in the world, because corporate manipulation knows no borders:
- A job is a job, not a family.
- The company you work for does not deserve blind, cult-like loyalty.
- Your life is more than just work, and compartmentalising your work self and your out-of-work self might be a band-aid solution, but it doesn’t really work in the end.
- You are you, with all your complex layers of self, even if your corporate overlords (…or just your line manager 🤐) want you to think otherwise, or to act otherwise so you can fit into their office culture.
- Basically, it’s all dumb, and you deserve to live, not just to survive so you can punch your clock card and get meaningless little bonuses like finger traps or waffle parties.
This relatability is what keeps me hooked, and what I think elevates the show from pretty sci-fi to a classic of our times. It’s definitely got my vote.
Pluribus, Season 1+
God, talk about another cinematic masterpiece. When Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul‘s Vince Gilligan said he was working on a new show (which he was writing specifically for Rhea Seahorn to star in), I was crossing my fingers and my toes that it would be sci-fi, and Pluribus has completely blown my expectations out of the water. Not only does it mark Gilligan’s return to science fiction for the first time since The X-Files, but he brings his now-trademark cinematic visual language to it, full of tight choreography and nuanced subtext through visual and music cues, which is what made BB & BCS so special.
The result is an unnerving combination of horror, absurdist humour, and subtle world-building, centered around a complex character named Carol Sturka, who is one of only a few humans not to join the weird hive mind connection that takes over all other human beings on the planet, and doesn’t want to even entertain the idea. I’ve seen many reviews call her unlikable and unrelatable, and while the first part may be true (I was really tired of her contrarian nature in the first half of the season), I think there’s something more going on here than just a selfish white American woman who expects the world to move just for her.
The thing is, Vince Gilligan does not talk down to his audience; he expects us to keep up and to pick up what he’s putting down, whether that’s subtle digs at the publishing industry (it is truly hilarious to me that the protagonist of this show is an actual romantasy author!), not-so-subtle digs about community building and the harm humanity has done to the planet and to each other (particularly around resource distribution, iykyk), and questions about human nature that we are left to ponder: would you trade world peace for the complete flattening of human culture? Are we capable of retaining what makes us human while not actively harming the world around us, or each other? What is humanity, really, or human nature even?
Big stuff coming from an Apple TV show, once again; should I even be surprised at this point?
I think the long game of this show is going to be Carol’s character development from grumpy selfish miser to someone who genuinely cares about other people—a reverse Walter White, if you will. Gilligan is all about the narrative arc, and he has been known to deliver some of the best narrative arcs in TV ever, even if they take a while to stick the landing. I have faith that he is cooking something we haven’t even yet begun to poke at, if Better Call Saul is any indication, and between the already great writing and the show’s superlative production value, I think Pluribus is going to be a low-key modern classic. Vince has my vote, now and always.
My Hero Academia: The Final Season+
I wrote about this extensively in my Hugo ballot recommendations post a couple of months ago, so I’ll pull a quote from that as to why I loved it so much:
Y’all, what can I say: this has been my favourite anime of the last decade, and the fact it is ending has had me in my feelings for months. I’ve been deeply invested emotionally for many years, watching the simulcasts on the same day as the anime airs in Japan since around season 2, and this last season has been all payoff for almost ten years’ worth of story. Every Saturday from October 4th till December 13th, I tuned in and bawled my eyes out for 20 minutes straight, which for an anime aimed at teenage boys is an absolute feat. Defying every expectation, it stuck the landing for every little story beat, every subplot, and every theme set up over its ten year tenure perfectly, making it one of my absolute favourite stories in the superhero genre.
This is definitely one of those where context is essential, so I don’t think it can be viewed in a vacuum and appreciated to the same extent as having watched all previous seven seasons. You can try, but it wouldn’t be worth it just for the awards. Just watch the show so the ending can hit you like a ton of bricks in the best way possible, even if you miss the deadline. It’s fun, it’s moving, it’s made with so much love for American comics through a uniquely Japanese perspective. I can’t recommend it enough, and it’ll definitely be on my Long Form ballot even if I’m one of ten people who put it there 🤷🏻♀️
Honourable mentions/near misses+
- Silo, Season 2: It’s definitely not as tight as season 1, and it was missing some stuff from the books that may well turn up in season 3. For what it’s worth, there’s a lot I enjoyed about this season, but unfortunately it’s simply weaker when Rebecca Ferguson’s Juliette isn’t on screen, and there’s a lot of that unfortunately. I’m certainly looking forward to what season 3 will be adapting, and to see what format that will take, as I think they’re either condensing or axing the second half of book 2 to go straight to the dual narrative of book 3, which I have mixed feelings about.
- Murderbot: I never got into the books because of tonal whiplash (MB’s violence and misanthropy coated in dry humour just didn’t work for me), and while I thought the TV show was a little better in that regard, ultimately I thought the show was just okay. I didn’t actively dislike it, mind, but I watched most of it on a plane ride, didn’t finish it, and haven’t felt like picking it back up since. The story just doesn’t grab me, I think, and I never felt particularly attached to or compelled by any of the characters… and I’m okay with that 🤷🏻♀️. Not everything is for everyone! I expect it’ll be mass-nominated by all the book fans anyway based on the online discourse I’ve seen, so it won’t miss my vote.
- Invasion, Season 3: I didn’t even know this was out, lmao! I was deeply invested while watching seasons 1 and 2 (even though I disliked quite a few of the characters), but as soon as I was done with it I promptly forgot about it—and Apple TV didn’t even let me know that it was back on. Whomst can I shake until they fix the marketing situation over there?! Christ on a cracker!
- Stranger Things, Season 5: To my own surprise, I didn’t like this season nearly as much as season 4, let alone season 1, and so I will not be considering it for the Long Form category (including the last episode, which would qualify under Long Form on its own due to being 128 MINUTES LONG 🙄). It’s turned out to be one of those things where, while I enjoyed it a fair bit in the moment, the longer I think about it the more my feelings about it seem to change, and the ending has left me a bit… conflicted, shall we say. But it did have some great episodes in the middle especially, so I will consider a couple of them in the Short Form category.
Long Form: Films
Sinners+
This was probably my favourite SFF film of last year. Not only is it atmospheric, fun, and lush with cross-border folkloric world-building (Hoodoo magic and Irish vampires?! yes please!), but the story touches so many themes that a regular popcorn movie won’t even veer towards, and it does so brilliantly.
All the many layers of the Black and POC experience in the South during the Prohibition era (and beyond) are crystallised in the character arc of each ensemble cast member, with some absolutely outstanding performances by Hailee Steinfeld (whose character Mary is biracial, and torn between safety and belonging), Michael B. Jordan (who plays identical twins Smoke and Stack so well he walked away with an Oscar for it), and Wunmi Mosaku in particular as Smoke’s wife Annie (she’s such an underrated performer, but I’m so glad to see her actually flex her acting skills after her appearance in Loki). We’re talking themes like the push and pull of religion and its role in both keeping communities together and also oppressing them, the safety of BIPOC in a white supremacist society, and even the immigrant experience… the truth is your average blockbuster would never—but this is Ryan Coogler, and he won’t sugar-coat things for a mainstream audience, instead telling a story only he could tell, filled with truth, complexity, and nuance, something I really wish more filmmakers would embrace nowadays.
The film’s protagonist, Sammie (Miles Caton) has a preternatural gift with music, and the plot revolves around a juke joint Smoke and Stack put together, and the connection that music can create across time and even culture—with a wonderful supernatural twist.
One of my favourite moments is when the villain Remmick (an immortal Irish vampire played by Jack O’Connell) turns up at their juke joint and cries with joy at the emotions Sammie’s music has brought him after years of numbness. He talks about his own experience of colonialism at the hands of the British Empire and the subsequent erasure of Irish culture through the centuries, which is a very real thing—but he’s also a predator who has been making his way through the land trying to trap people and turn them into vampires, chased away by indigenous people who could tell he was a monster before attacking a couple who are Klan members. It’s clear that he doesn’t want Sammie’s music in order to connect people, but to use it as a tool on his quest to propagate a vampire race, and that seemingly sweet moment of connection is exposed as the performative allyship that it is.
There are some phenomenal action sequences too, with the last third of the film keeping me on the edge of my IMAX seat4. Genuinely, this film was such a breath of fresh air: delightfully complex but also fun, in ways that cinema just doesn’t dare to be right now. I was sad they didn’t win all the awards they were up for, but perhaps we can give it a Hugo instead.
Frankenstein+
©️ Netflix 2025I have a full review of this here, but basically: the SFF-ness of this is lush, as expected from a Guillermo Del Toro movie, and for the most part it works well as an adaptation of the book. As I mention in my other post, it doesn’t quite reach the heights of the NT’s theatre adaptation, which I still consider the ultimate version of this story, but it does similar things with the characters as Penny Dreadful, which is my runner-up favourite, save for the very end, and it’s that ending that makes the whole thing fall short for me, unfortunately.
To quote myself:
Why do we sing sad songs, when we know their ending is unhappy? When our instinctual yearning for a happy ending is met with the inevitability of human flaws getting in the way, that emotional release we experience is what my ancestors called catharsis. As the audience we accept that because of who these characters are, they would always make these choices and lead the story to the same outcome, time and again, even though we’d like them to change, to choose better, so they can be happy in the end.
What makes Frankenstein compelling in any iteration is its core conflict: Victor’s refusal to acknowledge the Creature as human, despite the fact that the Creature is deeply human, as much as his creator would like to think otherwise. We are invited to empathise with the Creature’s plight, to see how he thinks and feels, how he desires things we all do: safety, friendship, love. Victor is incapable of recognising this, and so the two clash eternally. Such is the tragedy, and no matter what minor changes are made to it, the good adaptations always recognise the impasse between the two at the end. It’s what makes the story tick.
My ultimate issue with the way Del Toro chose to end his adaptation of Frankenstein is that it ultimately robs us of our deserved catharsis by artificially resolving the incontrovertible stalemate between the two leads, giving us a happy(ish) ending in which Victor, at death’s door, forgives the Creature for the violence and destruction he’s wrought, apologises for what he did to him, and urges him to live on, free of guilt, yet completely alone. The Creature then walks off into the Arctic sunrise, liberated from his vendetta yet devastated at losing his creator.
It’s a lovely thought in principle, a Del Toro-ism about accepting one’s nature and walking away from one’s painful past, and if it were an original story without baggage I’d be all for it—after all, The Shape of Water had similar, pro-monster themes of letting go of trying to fit into a world that won’t accept you anyway, and I ate that up voraciously. But here, in taking a tragedy that is so classic and ingrained, loading it with a bunch of new traumas and subplots, and then resolving it all with a little monologue, the ending robs the story of its true conclusion, fundamentally missing the point of the source text, and doing a disservice both to Victor and the Creature.
I still think it’s a strong contender in the category, and definitely one of my favourite SFF movies I saw last year, despite my issues with it. However, given all my favourite TV shows above, I think I might eschew giving this one of my ballot spots, but I won’t be disappointed to see it on the final ballot, should it make it through.
Thunderbolts*+
I loved this movie A LOT, you guys, and it made me very sad that it flopped at the box office. I don’t blame people for being fatigued with Marvel’s mediocre superhero slop, but they should have given this movie a chance at the very least, because it might not have been the movie we wanted, but it was definitely the movie we needed right now.
(c) Disney/Marvel Studios, 2025I was very surprised with how deep it went into the trauma our various superheroes and anti-heroes have sustained through their previous adventures, and the level of empathy with which it treated them all:
- Yelena Belova, the last surviving Black Widow5, starts off depressed and morose, aimless, dissatisfied with running around and blowing things up for people with nothing to show for it except a path of destruction.
- Her and Natasha Romanoff’s father figure, Alexei Shostakov, is facing the music that his “Red Star” superhero persona is nothing but a figment of a bygone era, and is living a meagre life as a limo driver while reminiscing about his glory days.
- John Walker, the temporary Captain America replacement later dubbed “U.S. Agent”, is dealing with guilt after slaughtering innocent bystanders using Cap’s vibranium shield during the events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, all while struggling through early parenthood.
- The Winter Soldier—Bucky Barnes—is running for office, in an attempt to turn his newfound and shaky inner peace into something productive. Yet, something keeps niggling at him about the power vacuum left in the wake of the Avengers disappearing, and he can’t help but get involved in ways political candidates really shouldn’t. See: taking a huge machine gun and riding a motorbike out to the desert to find out who is behind these shenanigans. Tut tut, Mr Congressman.
- Oh, there’s also Ava Star/Ghost from Ant-Man and the Wasp, probably my least favourite Marvel movie to date, whom I completely forgot about before watching this movie and while writing this review. Oops! Her thing is that she is constantly phasing in and out of a solid existence, and she has to keep shouting about how traumatised she is with no need for subtext because they know we’ve all forgotten about her and need to be reminded of her struggles. Normally I’d be mad at that, but they are not wrong this time 😅
And then, there’s Bob.
(c) Disney/Marvel, 2025Bob is a new guy, recruited to be experimented on in hopes of becoming a superhero. He seems normal, average even, and he reluctantly joins our motley crew as they escape from a trap set by their employer—but under the surface he carries a deep wound, a gash that opens up to swallow him whole and turns him into The Void, his mysterious alter ego who awakens when Bob’s absolutely OTT superpowers kick in. The rest, as they say, is plot.
There’s a lot of (predictably dark) humour in this, and I was surprised with how much I liked these characters once they were given enough room to be protagonists, rather than minor antagonists in someone else’s story. While they haphazardly join forces into a makeshift team, their trauma is taken seriously, coalescing into the film’s climactic battle that pits the reluctant heroes against The Void, who weaponises each of their subconscious against them. The Void is Depression, by any other name—it’s the dark voice inside that tells each of our anti-heroes that they are worthless, unlovable, guilty, and alone. In order to beat him they have to reach out with empathy to themselves first and then to each other, and literally hold each other in a tight embrace as a reminder that they are not alone. What wins the day is friendship, empathy, and love, not unlike the last season of My Hero Academia, which I also loved last year, or Superman, which I’m about to get into below.
I cried BUCKETS while watching Thunderbolts* in the UK’s largest IMAX screen alongside my Bucky Barnes-obsessed friend, who has since made this film her entire personality (affectionate), and honestly, I’ve also been thinking about it ever since. Again, it’s a delightful little irony that the megalithic Disney/MCU would come out with a narrative so introspective and empathetic, especially at a time that loneliness and isolation is rampant among the film’s core audience of young men. I really hope that watching this film inspired people to reach out and be less alone in their struggles, and that the financial hit Disney took with it won’t keep us from seeing more of these characters in the future.
Also! A fun fact I noticed while listening to the soundtrack was that the film’s main theme is a reversed version of the main Avengers theme; just listen to the first few seconds of both themes and you’ll hear it:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-Jzgp1jNiQ
Superman+
A good Superman movie?? In this economy?? Hallelujah!
I love a lot about what this film does with the core Superman premise. It gets Clark right, down to his farm boy roots and dorky kindness. It gets Superman right: his power isn’t unbeatable, and it isn’t even the most powerful thing about him (spoiler: it’s the dorky kindness). It gets Lex Luthor right—especially for our times—by having him be a smart but petty tech billionaire with an overinflated ego, someone who funds an invasion and even starts a pocket dimension on a whim, without once thinking of the consequences. It even gets Jimmy Olsen right simply by bringing him out of the margins where he’s been relegated for the last several Superman adaptations—and it’s actually really funny that he’s the one guy with the most game in this film, and that that’s how he gets to help out.
The structure of the film is an absolute delight, too. From the very start, we are thrown into the midst of a losing fight for Superman, which is a bold choice, as is having Clark’s relationship with Lois Lane already set up (and she even knows about him being Superman!). We don’t spend any time whatsoever on origin stories, budding relationship exploration, or long-winded exposition—we simply hit the ground running, and find out the particulars as we go along. It is assumed we know who Superman is, because… we all know who Superman is. And the themes around identity, responsibility, community, and how we should treat each other are laid bare without pretence, very directly speaking to the audience about contemporary problems we’re all facing day to day. It’s a genuine breath of fresh air not to be treated like an idiot, frankly.
There are a couple of things I don’t like about it though. For one, the film feels very busy, with so many characters and subplots and easter eggs thrown in, that if you blink you’ll definitely miss something. Relatedly, not all of those characters or subplots are treated equally, because there simply isn’t enough screen time to go around for everything. So the Justice Friends get the short shrift, as do Papa and Mama Kent, as does Krypton6, so that we can focus on the personal and political stakes that Clark/Superman has to overcome.
This is another superhero story with empathy at its heart, where the answer to even the most cosmic problems is… just be kind. Kindness is punk rock. As one of my favourite YouTube video essayists put it, this Superman is the American hero we desperately need right now. Someone who will stand up for what’s right even when the rest of the world tells him not to, someone with an unshakeable moral compass that only points to goodness. Watch that whole video actually, Dove does such a fantastic job analysing the cultural geography that plays into this film, and how it all ties together to bring us this ray of f*cking sunshine:
All this to say, I love that James Gunn can make a superhero movie that aims to appeal broadly but doesn’t feel like it panders to the lowest available denominator, and that he had the guts to (a) make the story feel relevant to our current times, what with all the invasions/”wars” going on right now that are purely happening for profit and that no one is doing anything to stop 🙄, and (b) leave us with a message of hope, that we can imagine a kinder world and that we can be the instruments of making that vision a reality. That kindness can be punk rock.
Dare I say, this was the movie that made me go, “huh, maybe the genre isn’t dead yet”, which… please, let it not be dead, I really like superheroes!
Honourable mentions/near misses+
- Mickey 17: I enjoyed this a lot, particularly for its world-building and Robert Pattinson’s performance. Unfortunately I think the Bong Joon-Ho-ness of it all kind of undercuts the story in favour of very on-the-nose political commentary, which was fun in the moment but in retrospect kinda leaves me a bit… “meh!”, probably because the current climate is so much worse than when this movie was made, and making fun of things/people just isn’t enough right now. So I don’t think this will be getting one of my spots, but it’s still totally worth seeing, if you haven’t!
- Fantastic Four – First Steps: I also enjoyed this a lot, especially in light of B-Mask’s excellent Fantastic Four video from a few years back which explained the classic comics and got me up to speed on the characters. It’s an honest-to-God decent, good Marvel movie, which as I keep saying is a rare sight these days, but that being said… I liked the stuff I talked about up top way more than this one, not to mention the TV seasons, so I just think it gets edged out by the competition.
- Hamnet: Technically an SFF movie! The trailer had me weeping, but the movie left me cold somehow, perhaps because it’s a little too obvious in its attempts to make people cry (Mark Kermode said it best! The bit with the song at the very end irked me too because I recognised it, and the moment was actually completely ruined for me.) It does have some wonderful and atmospheric visuals where it comes to the speculative aspect of it, and the soundtrack by Max Richter is predictably phenomenal (if only they’d used his original song for the climactic ending of the film!!), but it just didn’t move me in the ways I thought it would, so it’s a miss.
The “I haven’t seen these yet” caveat+
- K-Pop Demon Hunters: Yes, I know, somehow, I still haven’t seen this movie. I’m assuming it’ll get nominated to high heaven, so I’ll watch it ahead of voting, I promise.
- Weapons: I’ve heard fantastic things about this, and my husband is a big WKUK fan, so I might be watching this soon and revising my thoughts.
- Wicked: For Good: I liked the first film well enough, and I hear that a LOT happens in the second half of the musical, so I’m tentatively putting this on a hold list until I watch it. I don’t know if it would edge out any of my favourites, realistically speaking, but I suppose there is always room for surprises!
Long Form: Non-Film/TV
B-Mask’s “The REAL Thunderbolts Story: Marvel’s Greatest Scam“*
This is a 2.5 hour love letter to comics, and the first in a five-part series that tells the story of the real Thunderbolts from the comic books (a team that bears very little resemblance to the one portrayed in the recent MCU film discussed above). It features complex animations drawing from the original comic book art, as well as a full cast of voice actors bringing the characters to life with their performances.
* I’m personally torn on whether this would qualify for BDP-LF or BRW (seeing as it is technically a fanwork, and not an original work), but either way it is nothing short of a masterpiece—I wrote more about it in my 2025 underrated Hugo picks post, if you’re interested.
Short Form: TV Episodes
A caveat: my reasoning around nominating a particular episode is kind of like nominating my favourite chapter of a novel. Especially with how a lot of the prestige TV shows are made nowadays, individual episodes function as chapters in a longer story, so they have to be considered in the context of the wider narrative they’re a part of. If they are from a second, third, or even last season of a long-running show, even more so.
Also—and this might be a slightly spicy take—I personally don’t like that a lot of Hugo voters seem to only watch the individual episodes on the eventual shortlist without any context, and then complain that they didn’t get what was going on. That’s because context matters, and while I understand that it would take a lot of time to watch an entire season (or even several!) to be able to appreciate a single episode… if you want your vote to be informed, that’s the job, innit?
This has happened several times to me, where there’s an episode on the shortlist from a show I don’t watch (and have no intention of watching—sorry Lower Decks), so I just skip it and don’t put it in my ballot at the end, or rank it below my own favourites. I do the same with sequels to books I haven’t read, out of respect for the work itself as well as its author, but that’s just me I guess! 🤷🏻♀️
Anyway, here are some thoughts about my favourite episodes of speculative TV from this year, under spoiler tags for obvious reasons.
Two episodes from Stranger Things, Season 5+
‘Chapter Four: Sorcerer’
I loved, loved, loved this episode. The moment Will uses his new power… it gave me goosebumps, it was so good—and the fight sequence in front of the gate to the Upside Down is incredible. Rather than the writing, though, I want to praise the actors’ performances and the work of the crew who worked on the practical effects, stunts, and complicated cinematography in this episode. Especially given more recent revelations about how the Duffers went into production with season 5 without having ironed out the ending, and the stress that added to the poor production crew, I think any flowers should really be going to them for making such an outstanding piece of TV despite the challenges.
‘Chapter Six: Escape from Camazotz’
Yes, the scene in this photo feels a little ludicrously long considering they’re both on the run and about to be caught by the Big Bad, but I loved the heart of this relationship and the character development for both Holly and Max in this episode. I had also seen the Stranger Things play in London a couple of years back, and this episode eliminated the issues I had with the world-building in that, which at first had seemed to contradict the revelations in season 4 about Vecna/Henry Creel’s agency as a villain and his role in shaping the Upside Down… I was glad to see that in fact all the loose threads from the various seasons did connect, and that the strands from the play were relevant too.
Various episodes from Severance, Season 2+
S2E4: ‘Woe’s Hollow’
I mentioned this episode in my discussion of the series earlier, but let me get into it here: this is one of the best episodes of TV ever made, period, and I will fight you on this. I don’t know if it would stand alone in any capacity, considering the weird tone is already a lot to deal with and there’s a lot of plot and character interaction that picks up from where the last season left off, not to mention a big-time betrayal that ends up echoing through the rest of season 2.
I spent a good chunk of the beginning wondering if this was a simulator or a dream sequence because it didn’t fully make sense for our protagonists to be outside the Lumon offices, and the uncanny doppelgangers guiding them through the forest seemed almost dreamlike, but the reality was much more sinister in the end, which tracks. If there’s a single episode from this show I’d nominate, it’d be this one.
S2E8: ‘Sweet Vitriol’
People hate this episode because it’s slow and follows an unlikeable antagonist whom we are invited to empathise with, and that’s precisely the reason I like it. First of all, we get way more insight into the Lumon cult corporation from Harmony Cobel, who ostensibly grew up in the cult and has invested her whole life into the company’s welfare. This is also where we begin to see cracks form in her resolve as an antagonist, as she has realised that the company sees her as an expendable cog despite her lifelong investment and dedication, and so she decides to fight them, to prove that this little cog is actually so important, it might well bring the whole house down.
It’s interesting also for thematic reasons, outside of the show’s world. On an individual level, the image of someone who grew up in poverty while idolising a particular company, then making their entire life revolve around it so as to gain favour and socioeconomic mobility, gaining that and then losing it when the company no longer sees them as valuable, is unfortunately too relatable. So is seeing a small town that once had its own industry and community be taken over by a mega corporation and become completely dependent on it, eventually falling into destitution once the corporation pulls their activities out of the town. The actual commentary here is silent, but extremely powerful.
I don’t think Cobel’s about-turn is enough to fully make her an anti-hero, but I really enjoyed this episode for all the insight it gave us both into her and the world of Severance outside of Lumon HQ.
S2E10: ‘Cold Harbor’
There is a strong argument to be made that the season two finale is absolutely worth a nomination as well, making this a really tough choice. Two seasons’ worth of mystery solving and internal corporate espionage culminate in this one-hour episode where our protagonists clash with one another and with the antagonists, and it’s just adrenaline all the way down.
Some spoilery thoughts here.While the big questions have been answered (where is Mark’s wife? what is Cold Harbor? what are they doing with all those sheep?), so many more remain. Is there a way to save the innies at all, if Lumon ends up falling? Can Mark S. and Helly R. ever hope to have a life outside these walls? And what happens to Gemma now that she’s out, even though she has 24 distinct, hand-crafted personalities inside her?
There’s actually a great take I hadn’t come across before I sat down to write this, and that is that the finale actually inverts the Orpheus & Eurydice narrative of Mark and Gemma, by having Mark’s innie actually choose to stay behind in Lumon so he can be with Helly. It’s less of a lack of faith and more of a conscious decision, which perhaps makes it even more tragic as Gemma watches her husband (sort of) run toward danger and another woman, leaving her alone at the exit, screaming for him to come back.
Having written about the other episodes already, I do think ep4 is a stronger contender purely from a craft/vibes standpoint, whereas the finale is more typical in many ways, as it focuses on exposition and plot and is faster paced. YMMV here, for sure, but I’m inclined to pick ep4 over this one, now that I think about it.
Two episodes from Pluribus, Season 1+
Episode 1: “We is Us”
It’s not often that a TV pilot stands on its own two feet well. It’s even less common for the film-making to be so good that one must gasp in awe at the choreography, cinematography, and editing, multiple times throughout the course of the episode. One of my biggest peeves is when a TV pilot is so mired in exposition that there is no room for characters or atmosphere until the next episode because they simply have to give you the setup quickly—it ends up feeling flat and boring and frankly, it puts me off more than it entices me to keep watching until it gets better.7
Well, this episode does none of that.
Gilligan’s forte is silent scenes that actually speak volumes. There is so much storytelling in this episode that has no words; we watch an intergalactic viral hive mind sequence take over the Earth in perfectly synchronised movement, and the storytelling is in the silence, the perfect unison, and the eerie smiles as the hive mind consciousness flattens the individuals inside. A lesser writer would put exposition in dialogue, possibly giving too much information for where we are in the story, but Gilligan knows that less is more. We get just enough to hook us in, and the rest is pure atmosphere and of course, character.
Carol is introduced as a grumpy romantasy author, a lesbian in a loving relationship who constantly finds reasons to be miserable, much to her partner’s chagrin. When the hive mind sequence is spread via planes in the air, Carol loses her partner, and simultaneously the world. The panic that ensues is completely understandable, and it gets worse at every turn as she is met with more and more hive mind people, but no one else like her. What a place for a pilot to leave us in! Aren’t you hooked just by reading this?? GO WATCH THIS SHOW!
Episode 7: “The Gap”
The title refers to a real place that Manousos (pictured) has to cross, but also I suppose to the gap between Carol and others at this point in the show. This is another masterfully crafted episode with a dual narrative point of view, where Carol continues her life in Albuquerque while Manousos is making his slow way up through South and Central America towards Carol, crossing cities, climbing mountains, and trudging through thick, treacherous jungles, all while refusing the hive mind’s help at every opportunity.
Some spoilery thoughts here.At first, it’s admirable; he won’t even take gas without paying for it somehow, even though everything he comes across is at his disposal. Soon enough, however, his steadfastness turns into stubbornness that does more harm to him than good. When he gets seriously injured in the jungle (something that was completely preventable, had he accepted the hive mind’s help and transited through safer means),
Meanwhile, Carol stoically endures complete and total isolation for a long time as a result of the hive mind evacuating the whole metro area of Albuquerque, which happened when Carol hurt one of them (and by extension, all of them) quite badly while trying to find answers. She is given resources and sustenance remotely, and for a while enjoys her peaceful environment, going around town and doing whatever she feels like… until she finally cracks under the pressure of extreme loneliness, and asks the hive mind to come back.
It’s an incredibly powerful moment actually, seeing someone as stubborn sturdy as Carol finally admit that she can’t live her whole life completely cut off from other people, even though she hates the hive mind on principle, and can’t wrap her mind around accepting this status quo. In fairness, she makes it to about a month and a half, which is pretty long, but her isolation was also so complete that there were zero people around her for that whole time—an unfathomable experience that’s so well depicted on screen. I personally love the rooftop golf scene as an example of how utterly devoid of people the landscape is, a mundane sort of post-apocalyptic image.
This is probably my favourite episode in season 1, and even think it could be presented without context and still mostly work alright for new viewers… Though I’d still hope that people would watch the whole season anyway. If I had to pick one episode to represent the series as a whole, I’d say it’s this one.
Short Form: Non-TV
‘Songs No One Will Hear’ by Arjen Lucassen (music album)
I wrote a fair amount about this pre-apocalyptic concept album in my underrated Hugo recommendations post; here’s a snippet:
The result is an album that grapples with the essence of the human condition (something Lucassen is very adept at), asking what makes life worth living from the perspectives of a bunch of different characters as they try to come to terms with the impending end of the world—including those who think it’s all a hoax, those who embrace it, and those who rage against the dying of the light. It straddles a weird and fun line between diegetic/in-world music that’s on the radio and telling the story as a sung-through musical, which is a little different than what you might expect, particularly for a progressive rock album. But that’s the Arjen Lucassen guarantee: big questions, big emotions, and a sound that isn’t afraid to change dramatically when necessary, even mid-song. Full of theatricality, Songs No One Will Hear is in some ways very similar to Lucassen’s Ayreon albums, but retains its own identity both musically and thematically.
We’ve been known to nominate SFF music albums when they arise, and on occasion those musicians have even responded to being recognised by fandom—seeing Clipping live in Helsinki was fun!—so this wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, though perhaps it is a bit of a left field suggestion for most Hugo voters as a progressive rock concept album.
While he’s extremely popular in his own niche, most of Lucassen’s fans aren’t in SF fandom and vice versa, something that I would love to help shift by talking about his work more to Hugo voters and talking to Ayreon/Lucassen fans more about joining our community and coming to Worldcon, especially as the next few years are looking quite international. Lucassen’s very obvious Golden Age influences are bound to have pointed many of his fans to the genre, so the bridge is already half-built.
I’m sure that I’ll be one of very few people longlisting this album, but 🤷🏻♀️! I really think If you see just a single, solitary vote for it in the full data, know that it was me!
Footnotes
- Per the WSFS Constitution, clauses 3.8.2 and 3.8.3. ↩︎
- In addition to the more fannish post I linked above, I found another really cool essay about the Barbican as Coruscant from an architect who works in film and TV. ↩︎
- A special shoutout to Joshua James, who played the doctor who tortured Bix Caleen with the sounds of distant massacres; I’ve been a huge fan of his ever since I saw him in Treasure Island at the National Theatre back in 2015 or so, and make a point to see him in every play he’s in when I can. He had a stint as Dr Brenner in Stranger Things: The First Shadow recently which I unfortunately missed, but I bet he was perfect! ↩︎
- I’d like to thank Octothorpe’s Alison Scott for her recommendation to see the film in an IMAX theatre, as the experience was truly spectacular. ↩︎
- There is another Black Widow character played by Olga Kurilenko who turns up for literally five minutes, but she is so not present in the rest of the film that I’m not even going to go into it. If it weren’t for Yelena and Alexei, I’d say that movie had zero lasting impact on the MCU, given how late into Natasha’s journey we got it (literally after she was canonically killed off), lol (sarcastic). ↩︎
- I still don’t know how to feel about the plot twist around Krypton and Clark’s biological parents, brief as it was. I think it is intended to maximise the contrast between where Clark hails from and where he grew up and how that affected his identity, and the discomfort it creates is probably very intentional from Gunn. ↩︎
- I call this “pilot syndrome”, and it’s one of my least favourite phenomena in media. ↩︎
-
Battle for the Ballot: Best Dramatic Presentation 2026
The two Best Dramatic Presentation categories are among my favourites in the Hugos, because I consume a lot of SFF media and have a lot of thoughts and feelings about them. Since my post last year about why I had wanted Loki S2 to win a Hugo in 2024 (which I was working on for a while but ended up not posting it in time for it to sway anyone), I’ve been toying with the idea of producing more writing around some of my favourite things from each year, in case it helps anybody—least of all me, in getting it all out of my system.
I know I’m posting this with one day to go before nominations (these take so long for me! I must develop a better system for next year 🤔), but I’m really writing this to sound out my own thoughts about the DP categories this year, because it is absolutely bananas with how stacked they both are. There have been some truly great speculative television shows and films, stuff that I’m sure we’ll still be talking about for years to come, and making decisions to boil my favourite media down to just 5 per category—especially given the fiddliness of Long Form and Short Form where TV is concerned, which I’ll get to in a sec—is going to be excruciatingly difficult for me.
So come along on a journey with me as I parse my thoughts, and who knows! Maybe I’ll argue my way to your heart about some of this, or tell you about something you hadn’t heard of before—some of which I’ve already written about before, but I’m getting ahead of myself!
Let me know what your ballot looks like, and if you’re nominating any of the below shows, films, and other dramatic works, or if you’re including other things entirely. I’m curious!
TV series and the Long Form/Short Form debate
A big question for many fen every year is “do I nominate one episode from a TV series that stands on its own or that adequately represents the show in Short Form, or do I nominate the whole season in Long Form because it’s one complete narrative, and isolating one chapter of it would be unfair?”
Understandably, it’s a tough one; when a show inevitably gets votes in both categories, it can lead to headaches for the Hugo Administrating Team as they have to sift through the numbers and ultimately decide which category it should be nominated in1, which I don’t envy at all. But at the same time, as a voter, I have to go with what my heart says and name my favourite episodes in Short Form, regardless of whether I’ve also named the show/season as a whole in Long Form, because if enough others have put that same episode down, then that’s what’ll make it through to the shortlist, and I would want my vote to count towards those totals.
All that to say: if you expected a clear stance from me on this, HA! I’m afraid I don’t have one 😇—and to be perfectly honest, this is exactly the sort of thing where people’s mileage will vary the most.
My personal method of deciding whether to nominate entire TV seasons rather than one specific episode is purely based on ~vibes~, on whether or not I thought the season works better in its totality than through its individual parts, versus cases where one outstanding episode eclipses all the others for me. Not all shows are written the same, of course, and those that favour a longer narrative arc (as a lot of prestige TV does nowadays) tend to find their way on my long form ballot more often than not, as opposed to the more episodic writing that isn’t as popular now but used to be ubiquitous in the pre-streaming era.
Ultimately, you may agree or disagree with me on my reasoning for some of my choices below, whether on the LF/SF question or my actual opinions of the various media, and that’s fair enough. I welcome discussion in the comments, but please keep it civil!
Jump to:
- Long Form: Entire TV Seasons
- Long Form: Films
- Long Form: Non-Film/TV
- Short Form: TV Episodes
- Short Form: Non-TV
Long Form: Entire TV Seasons
You might see episodes from some of these further down in the episode/short form discussion.
Andor, Season 2+
This is kind of my front-runner among the TV seasons for the Long Form category. Overall, I enjoyed it slightly more than season 1 for a few reasons: first of all, the pacing was much more even, with a little bit more action and intrigue peppered throughout the season as opposed to having several quieter mini-arcs that slowed things down in places; and crucially, there was a lot less dithering from Cassian Andor, our reluctant protagonist, who finally comes into his own as a rebel after being passively tossed about this way and that in the first season. The agency he has in this one makes him much more interesting as a character, and brings him on the same level as other players in the budding rebellion front, like Mon Mothma and Luthen Rael. In fact, with all the different character arcs completed, Andor finally becomes what Rogue One always wanted to be: a testament to the great sacrifices necessary for revolution to take root.
I liked a lot of what went down in this season as tensions continued ramping up between the Empire and the Rebellion; the Ghorman subplot was outstanding, especially with Dedra and Cyril’s journeys as instruments of Imperial oppression and violence, as was Mon Mothma’s arc from quiet resistance financier to full-on political rebel on the run, with her heartbreaking arc where she realises the personal cost of rebellion. None of the individual episodes in season 2 came even close to the intensity or narrative brilliance of One Way Out, which was hands down my favourite episode of season 1, but that’s okay—I think this season works so much better in its totality, that I’ll be happy to nominate it wholesale.
I still need to re-watch Rogue One actually, to see if my (very mid) opinion on it changes at all, but ultimately I’m just really happy this show was made, and that it looked and felt amazing throughout. It’s probably my favourite Star Wars story, period, and I am so chuffed that so much of it was filmed in the UK (in locations I know and visit all the time, including my old workplace!2), and is full of incredibly talented and classically trained British theatre actors who fill the space with their physicality and make their performances memorable even in the smallest of roles3.
Severance, Season 2+
Another really strong contender for this category. If you ask me which TV show might win the LF Hugo between this, Andor, or Pluribus, my money would probably be on Severance, even if I personally prefer Andor thematically and Pluribus cinematically. There’s no doubt Severance is an absolute masterpiece of television—nay, of cinema—and the fact that the most anti-capitalist story of our time is coming directly from the big tech megacorp Apple is an irony that is as delicious as it is hilarious.
Aside from its bonkers world-building (which still has so many unanswered questions!), this season of Severance also dove pretty deep into its characters, whom we only got to know a bit in season 1. I don’t want to get too spoilery here, but there’s a handful of moments in this season that go SO HARD—particularly that one slow episode that everyone else hated for some reason, where we follow Patricia Arquette’s character as she goes to her dingy home town and fills us in on the cult lore around Lumon Industries, and of course the team building episode in which our intrepid heroes actually go outside, but it’s all weird in that trademark Lumon way where nothing really fully makes sense, and it leaves the viewer feeling uncomfortable, like something’s not quite aligned right.
But yeah, the world-building, man. It’s something else. I was glued to my screen and my mind was running a mile a minute trying to join the dots and figure out the answers to the show’s mysteries, much like our heroes consolidate memories refine macrodata—remember, the work is mysterious and important—and the excitement of getting it just before the show confirmed it was super fun. Yet, finally understanding what macrodata refinement is was actually a really tragic moment, and everything that happens after that made my heart break for the innies who are stuck living a half-life they can’t escape, on pain of death.
Ultimately, what I loved the most about the second season of Severance is its staunch anti-capitalist messaging that speaks to the average office worker today regardless of where they may be in the world, because corporate manipulation knows no borders:
- A job is a job, not a family.
- The company you work for does not deserve blind, cult-like loyalty.
- Your life is more than just work, and compartmentalising your work self and your out-of-work self might be a band-aid solution, but it doesn’t really work in the end.
- You are you, with all your complex layers of self, even if your corporate overlords (…or just your line manager 🤐) want you to think otherwise, or to act otherwise so you can fit into their office culture.
- Basically, it’s all dumb, and you deserve to live, not just to survive so you can punch your clock card and get meaningless little bonuses like finger traps or waffle parties.
This relatability is what keeps me hooked, and what I think elevates the show from pretty sci-fi to a classic of our times. It’s definitely got my vote.
Pluribus, Season 1+
God, talk about another cinematic masterpiece. When Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul‘s Vince Gilligan said he was working on a new show (which he was writing specifically for Rhea Seahorn to star in), I was crossing my fingers and my toes that it would be sci-fi, and Pluribus has completely blown my expectations out of the water. Not only does it mark Gilligan’s return to science fiction for the first time since The X-Files, but he brings his now-trademark cinematic visual language to it, full of tight choreography and nuanced subtext through visual and music cues, which is what made BB & BCS so special.
The result is an unnerving combination of horror, absurdist humour, and subtle world-building, centered around a complex character named Carol Sturka, who is one of only a few humans not to join the weird hive mind connection that takes over all other human beings on the planet, and doesn’t want to even entertain the idea. I’ve seen many reviews call her unlikable and unrelatable, and while the first part may be true (I was really tired of her contrarian nature in the first half of the season), I think there’s something more going on here than just a selfish white American woman who expects the world to move just for her.
The thing is, Vince Gilligan does not talk down to his audience; he expects us to keep up and to pick up what he’s putting down, whether that’s subtle digs at the publishing industry (it is truly hilarious to me that the protagonist of this show is an actual romantasy author!), not-so-subtle digs about community building and the harm humanity has done to the planet and to each other (particularly around resource distribution, iykyk), and questions about human nature that we are left to ponder: would you trade world peace for the complete flattening of human culture? Are we capable of retaining what makes us human while not actively harming the world around us, or each other? What is humanity, really, or human nature even?
Big stuff coming from an Apple TV show, once again; should I even be surprised at this point?
I think the long game of this show is going to be Carol’s character development from grumpy selfish miser to someone who genuinely cares about other people—a reverse Walter White, if you will. Gilligan is all about the narrative arc, and he has been known to deliver some of the best narrative arcs in TV ever, even if they take a while to stick the landing. I have faith that he is cooking something we haven’t even yet begun to poke at, if Better Call Saul is any indication, and between the already great writing and the show’s superlative production value, I think Pluribus is going to be a low-key modern classic. Vince has my vote, now and always.
My Hero Academia: The Final Season+
I wrote about this extensively in my Hugo ballot recommendations post a couple of months ago, so I’ll pull a quote from that as to why I loved it so much:
Y’all, what can I say: this has been my favourite anime of the last decade, and the fact it is ending has had me in my feelings for months. I’ve been deeply invested emotionally for many years, watching the simulcasts on the same day as the anime airs in Japan since around season 2, and this last season has been all payoff for almost ten years’ worth of story. Every Saturday from October 4th till December 13th, I tuned in and bawled my eyes out for 20 minutes straight, which for an anime aimed at teenage boys is an absolute feat. Defying every expectation, it stuck the landing for every little story beat, every subplot, and every theme set up over its ten year tenure perfectly, making it one of my absolute favourite stories in the superhero genre.
This is definitely one of those where context is essential, so I don’t think it can be viewed in a vacuum and appreciated to the same extent as having watched all previous seven seasons. You can try, but it wouldn’t be worth it just for the awards. Just watch the show so the ending can hit you like a ton of bricks in the best way possible, even if you miss the deadline. It’s fun, it’s moving, it’s made with so much love for American comics through a uniquely Japanese perspective. I can’t recommend it enough, and it’ll definitely be on my Long Form ballot even if I’m one of ten people who put it there 🤷🏻♀️
Honourable mentions/near misses+
- Silo, Season 2: It’s definitely not as tight as season 1, and it was missing some stuff from the books that may well turn up in season 3. For what it’s worth, there’s a lot I enjoyed about this season, but unfortunately it’s simply weaker when Rebecca Ferguson’s Juliette isn’t on screen, and there’s a lot of that unfortunately. I’m certainly looking forward to what season 3 will be adapting, and to see what format that will take, as I think they’re either condensing or axing the second half of book 2 to go straight to the dual narrative of book 3, which I have mixed feelings about.
- Murderbot: I never got into the books because of tonal whiplash (MB’s violence and misanthropy coated in dry humour just didn’t work for me), and while I thought the TV show was a little better in that regard, ultimately I thought the show was just okay. I didn’t actively dislike it, mind, but I watched most of it on a plane ride, didn’t finish it, and haven’t felt like picking it back up since. The story just doesn’t grab me, I think, and I never felt particularly attached to or compelled by any of the characters… and I’m okay with that 🤷🏻♀️. Not everything is for everyone! I expect it’ll be mass-nominated by all the book fans anyway based on the online discourse I’ve seen, so it won’t miss my vote.
- Invasion, Season 3: I didn’t even know this was out, lmao! I was deeply invested while watching seasons 1 and 2 (even though I disliked quite a few of the characters), but as soon as I was done with it I promptly forgot about it—and Apple TV didn’t even let me know that it was back on. Whomst can I shake until they fix the marketing situation over there?! Christ on a cracker!
- Stranger Things, Season 5: To my own surprise, I didn’t like this season nearly as much as season 4, let alone season 1, and so I will not be considering it for the Long Form category (including the last episode, which would qualify under Long Form on its own due to being 128 MINUTES LONG 🙄). It’s turned out to be one of those things where, while I enjoyed it a fair bit in the moment, the longer I think about it the more my feelings about it seem to change, and the ending has left me a bit… conflicted, shall we say. But it did have some great episodes in the middle especially, so I will consider a couple of them in the Short Form category.
Long Form: Films
Sinners+
This was probably my favourite SFF film of last year. Not only is it atmospheric, fun, and lush with cross-border folkloric world-building (Hoodoo magic and Irish vampires?! yes please!), but the story touches so many themes that a regular popcorn movie won’t even veer towards, and it does so brilliantly.
All the many layers of the Black and POC experience in the South during the Prohibition era (and beyond) are crystallised in the character arc of each ensemble cast member, with some absolutely outstanding performances by Hailee Steinfeld (whose character Mary is biracial, and torn between safety and belonging), Michael B. Jordan (who plays identical twins Smoke and Stack so well he walked away with an Oscar for it), and Wunmi Mosaku in particular as Smoke’s wife Annie (she’s such an underrated performer, but I’m so glad to see her actually flex her acting skills after her appearance in Loki). We’re talking themes like the push and pull of religion and its role in both keeping communities together and also oppressing them, the safety of BIPOC in a white supremacist society, and even the immigrant experience… the truth is your average blockbuster would never—but this is Ryan Coogler, and he won’t sugar-coat things for a mainstream audience, instead telling a story only he could tell, filled with truth, complexity, and nuance, something I really wish more filmmakers would embrace nowadays.
The film’s protagonist, Sammie (Miles Caton) has a preternatural gift with music, and the plot revolves around a juke joint Smoke and Stack put together, and the connection that music can create across time and even culture—with a wonderful supernatural twist.
One of my favourite moments is when the villain Remmick (an immortal Irish vampire played by Jack O’Connell) turns up at their juke joint and cries with joy at the emotions Sammie’s music has brought him after years of numbness. He talks about his own experience of colonialism at the hands of the British Empire and the subsequent erasure of Irish culture through the centuries, which is a very real thing—but he’s also a predator who has been making his way through the land trying to trap people and turn them into vampires, chased away by indigenous people who could tell he was a monster before attacking a couple who are Klan members. It’s clear that he doesn’t want Sammie’s music in order to connect people, but to use it as a tool on his quest to propagate a vampire race, and that seemingly sweet moment of connection is exposed as the performative allyship that it is.
There are some phenomenal action sequences too, with the last third of the film keeping me on the edge of my IMAX seat4. Genuinely, this film was such a breath of fresh air: delightfully complex but also fun, in ways that cinema just doesn’t dare to be right now. I was sad they didn’t win all the awards they were up for, but perhaps we can give it a Hugo instead.
Frankenstein+
©️ Netflix 2025I have a full review of this here, but basically: the SFF-ness of this is lush, as expected from a Guillermo Del Toro movie, and for the most part it works well as an adaptation of the book. As I mention in my other post, it doesn’t quite reach the heights of the NT’s theatre adaptation, which I still consider the ultimate version of this story, but it does similar things with the characters as Penny Dreadful, which is my runner-up favourite, save for the very end, and it’s that ending that makes the whole thing fall short for me, unfortunately.
To quote myself:
Why do we sing sad songs, when we know their ending is unhappy? When our instinctual yearning for a happy ending is met with the inevitability of human flaws getting in the way, that emotional release we experience is what my ancestors called catharsis. As the audience we accept that because of who these characters are, they would always make these choices and lead the story to the same outcome, time and again, even though we’d like them to change, to choose better, so they can be happy in the end.
What makes Frankenstein compelling in any iteration is its core conflict: Victor’s refusal to acknowledge the Creature as human, despite the fact that the Creature is deeply human, as much as his creator would like to think otherwise. We are invited to empathise with the Creature’s plight, to see how he thinks and feels, how he desires things we all do: safety, friendship, love. Victor is incapable of recognising this, and so the two clash eternally. Such is the tragedy, and no matter what minor changes are made to it, the good adaptations always recognise the impasse between the two at the end. It’s what makes the story tick.
My ultimate issue with the way Del Toro chose to end his adaptation of Frankenstein is that it ultimately robs us of our deserved catharsis by artificially resolving the incontrovertible stalemate between the two leads, giving us a happy(ish) ending in which Victor, at death’s door, forgives the Creature for the violence and destruction he’s wrought, apologises for what he did to him, and urges him to live on, free of guilt, yet completely alone. The Creature then walks off into the Arctic sunrise, liberated from his vendetta yet devastated at losing his creator.
It’s a lovely thought in principle, a Del Toro-ism about accepting one’s nature and walking away from one’s painful past, and if it were an original story without baggage I’d be all for it—after all, The Shape of Water had similar, pro-monster themes of letting go of trying to fit into a world that won’t accept you anyway, and I ate that up voraciously. But here, in taking a tragedy that is so classic and ingrained, loading it with a bunch of new traumas and subplots, and then resolving it all with a little monologue, the ending robs the story of its true conclusion, fundamentally missing the point of the source text, and doing a disservice both to Victor and the Creature.
I still think it’s a strong contender in the category, and definitely one of my favourite SFF movies I saw last year, despite my issues with it. However, given all my favourite TV shows above, I think I might eschew giving this one of my ballot spots, but I won’t be disappointed to see it on the final ballot, should it make it through.
Thunderbolts*+
I loved this movie A LOT, you guys, and it made me very sad that it flopped at the box office. I don’t blame people for being fatigued with Marvel’s mediocre superhero slop, but they should have given this movie a chance at the very least, because it might not have been the movie we wanted, but it was definitely the movie we needed right now.
(c) Disney/Marvel Studios, 2025I was very surprised with how deep it went into the trauma our various superheroes and anti-heroes have sustained through their previous adventures, and the level of empathy with which it treated them all:
- Yelena Belova, the last surviving Black Widow5, starts off depressed and morose, aimless, dissatisfied with running around and blowing things up for people with nothing to show for it except a path of destruction.
- Her and Natasha Romanoff’s father figure, Alexei Shostakov, is facing the music that his “Red Star” superhero persona is nothing but a figment of a bygone era, and is living a meagre life as a limo driver while reminiscing about his glory days.
- John Walker, the temporary Captain America replacement later dubbed “U.S. Agent”, is dealing with guilt after slaughtering innocent bystanders using Cap’s vibranium shield during the events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, all while struggling through early parenthood.
- The Winter Soldier—Bucky Barnes—is running for office, in an attempt to turn his newfound and shaky inner peace into something productive. Yet, something keeps niggling at him about the power vacuum left in the wake of the Avengers disappearing, and he can’t help but get involved in ways political candidates really shouldn’t. See: taking a huge machine gun and riding a motorbike out to the desert to find out who is behind these shenanigans. Tut tut, Mr Congressman.
- Oh, there’s also Ava Star/Ghost from Ant-Man and the Wasp, probably my least favourite Marvel movie to date, whom I completely forgot about before watching this movie and while writing this review. Oops! Her thing is that she is constantly phasing in and out of a solid existence, and she has to keep shouting about how traumatised she is with no need for subtext because they know we’ve all forgotten about her and need to be reminded of her struggles. Normally I’d be mad at that, but they are not wrong this time 😅
And then, there’s Bob.
(c) Disney/Marvel, 2025Bob is a new guy, recruited to be experimented on in hopes of becoming a superhero. He seems normal, average even, and he reluctantly joins our motley crew as they escape from a trap set by their employer—but under the surface he carries a deep wound, a gash that opens up to swallow him whole and turns him into The Void, his mysterious alter ego who awakens when Bob’s absolutely OTT superpowers kick in. The rest, as they say, is plot.
There’s a lot of (predictably dark) humour in this, and I was surprised with how much I liked these characters once they were given enough room to be protagonists, rather than minor antagonists in someone else’s story. While they haphazardly join forces into a makeshift team, their trauma is taken seriously, coalescing into the film’s climactic battle that pits the reluctant heroes against The Void, who weaponises each of their subconscious against them. The Void is Depression, by any other name—it’s the dark voice inside that tells each of our anti-heroes that they are worthless, unlovable, guilty, and alone. In order to beat him they have to reach out with empathy to themselves first and then to each other, and literally hold each other in a tight embrace as a reminder that they are not alone. What wins the day is friendship, empathy, and love, not unlike the last season of My Hero Academia, which I also loved last year, or Superman, which I’m about to get into below.
I cried BUCKETS while watching Thunderbolts* in the UK’s largest IMAX screen alongside my Bucky Barnes-obsessed friend, who has since made this film her entire personality (affectionate), and honestly, I’ve also been thinking about it ever since. Again, it’s a delightful little irony that the megalithic Disney/MCU would come out with a narrative so introspective and empathetic, especially at a time that loneliness and isolation is rampant among the film’s core audience of young men. I really hope that watching this film inspired people to reach out and be less alone in their struggles, and that the financial hit Disney took with it won’t keep us from seeing more of these characters in the future.
Also! A fun fact I noticed while listening to the soundtrack was that the film’s main theme is a reversed version of the main Avengers theme; just listen to the first few seconds of both themes and you’ll hear it:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-Jzgp1jNiQ
Superman+
A good Superman movie?? In this economy?? Hallelujah!
I love a lot about what this film does with the core Superman premise. It gets Clark right, down to his farm boy roots and dorky kindness. It gets Superman right: his power isn’t unbeatable, and it isn’t even the most powerful thing about him (spoiler: it’s the dorky kindness). It gets Lex Luthor right—especially for our times—by having him be a smart but petty tech billionaire with an overinflated ego, someone who funds an invasion and even starts a pocket dimension on a whim, without once thinking of the consequences. It even gets Jimmy Olsen right simply by bringing him out of the margins where he’s been relegated for the last several Superman adaptations—and it’s actually really funny that he’s the one guy with the most game in this film, and that that’s how he gets to help out.
The structure of the film is an absolute delight, too. From the very start, we are thrown into the midst of a losing fight for Superman, which is a bold choice, as is having Clark’s relationship with Lois Lane already set up (and she even knows about him being Superman!). We don’t spend any time whatsoever on origin stories, budding relationship exploration, or long-winded exposition—we simply hit the ground running, and find out the particulars as we go along. It is assumed we know who Superman is, because… we all know who Superman is. And the themes around identity, responsibility, community, and how we should treat each other are laid bare without pretence, very directly speaking to the audience about contemporary problems we’re all facing day to day. It’s a genuine breath of fresh air not to be treated like an idiot, frankly.
There are a couple of things I don’t like about it though. For one, the film feels very busy, with so many characters and subplots and easter eggs thrown in, that if you blink you’ll definitely miss something. Relatedly, not all of those characters or subplots are treated equally, because there simply isn’t enough screen time to go around for everything. So the Justice Friends get the short shrift, as do Papa and Mama Kent, as does Krypton6, so that we can focus on the personal and political stakes that Clark/Superman has to overcome.
This is another superhero story with empathy at its heart, where the answer to even the most cosmic problems is… just be kind. Kindness is punk rock. As one of my favourite YouTube video essayists put it, this Superman is the American hero we desperately need right now. Someone who will stand up for what’s right even when the rest of the world tells him not to, someone with an unshakeable moral compass that only points to goodness. Watch that whole video actually, Dove does such a fantastic job analysing the cultural geography that plays into this film, and how it all ties together to bring us this ray of f*cking sunshine:
All this to say, I love that James Gunn can make a superhero movie that aims to appeal broadly but doesn’t feel like it panders to the lowest available denominator, and that he had the guts to (a) make the story feel relevant to our current times, what with all the invasions/”wars” going on right now that are purely happening for profit and that no one is doing anything to stop 🙄, and (b) leave us with a message of hope, that we can imagine a kinder world and that we can be the instruments of making that vision a reality. That kindness can be punk rock.
Dare I say, this was the movie that made me go, “huh, maybe the genre isn’t dead yet”, which… please, let it not be dead, I really like superheroes!
Honourable mentions/near misses+
- Mickey 17: I enjoyed this a lot, particularly for its world-building and Robert Pattinson’s performance. Unfortunately I think the Bong Joon-Ho-ness of it all kind of undercuts the story in favour of very on-the-nose political commentary, which was fun in the moment but in retrospect kinda leaves me a bit… “meh!”, probably because the current climate is so much worse than when this movie was made, and making fun of things/people just isn’t enough right now. So I don’t think this will be getting one of my spots, but it’s still totally worth seeing, if you haven’t!
- Fantastic Four – First Steps: I also enjoyed this a lot, especially in light of B-Mask’s excellent Fantastic Four video from a few years back which explained the classic comics and got me up to speed on the characters. It’s an honest-to-God decent, good Marvel movie, which as I keep saying is a rare sight these days, but that being said… I liked the stuff I talked about up top way more than this one, not to mention the TV seasons, so I just think it gets edged out by the competition.
- Hamnet: Technically an SFF movie! The trailer had me weeping, but the movie left me cold somehow, perhaps because it’s a little too obvious in its attempts to make people cry (Mark Kermode said it best! The bit with the song at the very end irked me too because I recognised it, and the moment was actually completely ruined for me.) It does have some wonderful and atmospheric visuals where it comes to the speculative aspect of it, and the soundtrack by Max Richter is predictably phenomenal (if only they’d used his original song for the climactic ending of the film!!), but it just didn’t move me in the ways I thought it would, so it’s a miss.
The “I haven’t seen these yet” caveat+
- K-Pop Demon Hunters: Yes, I know, somehow, I still haven’t seen this movie. I’m assuming it’ll get nominated to high heaven, so I’ll watch it ahead of voting, I promise.
- Weapons: I’ve heard fantastic things about this, and my husband is a big WKUK fan, so I might be watching this soon and revising my thoughts.
- Wicked: For Good: I liked the first film well enough, and I hear that a LOT happens in the second half of the musical, so I’m tentatively putting this on a hold list until I watch it. I don’t know if it would edge out any of my favourites, realistically speaking, but I suppose there is always room for surprises!
Long Form: Non-Film/TV
B-Mask’s “The REAL Thunderbolts Story: Marvel’s Greatest Scam“*
This is a 2.5 hour love letter to comics, and the first in a five-part series that tells the story of the real Thunderbolts from the comic books (a team that bears very little resemblance to the one portrayed in the recent MCU film discussed above). It features complex animations drawing from the original comic book art, as well as a full cast of voice actors bringing the characters to life with their performances.
* I’m personally torn on whether this would qualify for BDP-LF or BRW (seeing as it is technically a fanwork, and not an original work), but either way it is nothing short of a masterpiece—I wrote more about it in my 2025 underrated Hugo picks post, if you’re interested.
Short Form: TV Episodes
A caveat: my reasoning around nominating a particular episode is kind of like nominating my favourite chapter of a novel. Especially with how a lot of the prestige TV shows are made nowadays, individual episodes function as chapters in a longer story, so they have to be considered in the context of the wider narrative they’re a part of. If they are from a second, third, or even last season of a long-running show, even more so.
Also—and this might be a slightly spicy take—I personally don’t like that a lot of Hugo voters seem to only watch the individual episodes on the eventual shortlist without any context, and then complain that they didn’t get what was going on. That’s because context matters, and while I understand that it would take a lot of time to watch an entire season (or even several!) to be able to appreciate a single episode… if you want your vote to be informed, that’s the job, innit?
This has happened several times to me, where there’s an episode on the shortlist from a show I don’t watch (and have no intention of watching—sorry Lower Decks), so I just skip it and don’t put it in my ballot at the end, or rank it below my own favourites. I do the same with sequels to books I haven’t read, out of respect for the work itself as well as its author, but that’s just me I guess! 🤷🏻♀️
Anyway, here are some thoughts about my favourite episodes of speculative TV from this year, under spoiler tags for obvious reasons.
Two episodes from Stranger Things, Season 5+
‘Chapter Four: Sorcerer’
I loved, loved, loved this episode. The moment Will uses his new power… it gave me goosebumps, it was so good—and the fight sequence in front of the gate to the Upside Down is incredible. Rather than the writing, though, I want to praise the actors’ performances and the work of the crew who worked on the practical effects, stunts, and complicated cinematography in this episode. Especially given more recent revelations about how the Duffers went into production with season 5 without having ironed out the ending, and the stress that added to the poor production crew, I think any flowers should really be going to them for making such an outstanding piece of TV despite the challenges.
‘Chapter Six: Escape from Camazotz’
Yes, the scene in this photo feels a little ludicrously long considering they’re both on the run and about to be caught by the Big Bad, but I loved the heart of this relationship and the character development for both Holly and Max in this episode. I had also seen the Stranger Things play in London a couple of years back, and this episode eliminated the issues I had with the world-building in that, which at first had seemed to contradict the revelations in season 4 about Vecna/Henry Creel’s agency as a villain and his role in shaping the Upside Down… I was glad to see that in fact all the loose threads from the various seasons did connect, and that the strands from the play were relevant too.
Various episodes from Severance, Season 2+
S2E4: ‘Woe’s Hollow’
I mentioned this episode in my discussion of the series earlier, but let me get into it here: this is one of the best episodes of TV ever made, period, and I will fight you on this. I don’t know if it would stand alone in any capacity, considering the weird tone is already a lot to deal with and there’s a lot of plot and character interaction that picks up from where the last season left off, not to mention a big-time betrayal that ends up echoing through the rest of season 2.
I spent a good chunk of the beginning wondering if this was a simulator or a dream sequence because it didn’t fully make sense for our protagonists to be outside the Lumon offices, and the uncanny doppelgangers guiding them through the forest seemed almost dreamlike, but the reality was much more sinister in the end, which tracks. If there’s a single episode from this show I’d nominate, it’d be this one.
S2E8: ‘Sweet Vitriol’
People hate this episode because it’s slow and follows an unlikeable antagonist whom we are invited to empathise with, and that’s precisely the reason I like it. First of all, we get way more insight into the Lumon cult corporation from Harmony Cobel, who ostensibly grew up in the cult and has invested her whole life into the company’s welfare. This is also where we begin to see cracks form in her resolve as an antagonist, as she has realised that the company sees her as an expendable cog despite her lifelong investment and dedication, and so she decides to fight them, to prove that this little cog is actually so important, it might well bring the whole house down.
It’s interesting also for thematic reasons, outside of the show’s world. On an individual level, the image of someone who grew up in poverty while idolising a particular company, then making their entire life revolve around it so as to gain favour and socioeconomic mobility, gaining that and then losing it when the company no longer sees them as valuable, is unfortunately too relatable. So is seeing a small town that once had its own industry and community be taken over by a mega corporation and become completely dependent on it, eventually falling into destitution once the corporation pulls their activities out of the town. The actual commentary here is silent, but extremely powerful.
I don’t think Cobel’s about-turn is enough to fully make her an anti-hero, but I really enjoyed this episode for all the insight it gave us both into her and the world of Severance outside of Lumon HQ.
S2E10: ‘Cold Harbor’
There is a strong argument to be made that the season two finale is absolutely worth a nomination as well, making this a really tough choice. Two seasons’ worth of mystery solving and internal corporate espionage culminate in this one-hour episode where our protagonists clash with one another and with the antagonists, and it’s just adrenaline all the way down.
Some spoilery thoughts here.While the big questions have been answered (where is Mark’s wife? what is Cold Harbor? what are they doing with all those sheep?), so many more remain. Is there a way to save the innies at all, if Lumon ends up falling? Can Mark S. and Helly R. ever hope to have a life outside these walls? And what happens to Gemma now that she’s out, even though she has 24 distinct, hand-crafted personalities inside her?
There’s actually a great take I hadn’t come across before I sat down to write this, and that is that the finale actually inverts the Orpheus & Eurydice narrative of Mark and Gemma, by having Mark’s innie actually choose to stay behind in Lumon so he can be with Helly. It’s less of a lack of faith and more of a conscious decision, which perhaps makes it even more tragic as Gemma watches her husband (sort of) run toward danger and another woman, leaving her alone at the exit, screaming for him to come back.
Having written about the other episodes already, I do think ep4 is a stronger contender purely from a craft/vibes standpoint, whereas the finale is more typical in many ways, as it focuses on exposition and plot and is faster paced. YMMV here, for sure, but I’m inclined to pick ep4 over this one, now that I think about it.
Two episodes from Pluribus, Season 1+
Episode 1: “We is Us”
It’s not often that a TV pilot stands on its own two feet well. It’s even less common for the film-making to be so good that one must gasp in awe at the choreography, cinematography, and editing, multiple times throughout the course of the episode. One of my biggest peeves is when a TV pilot is so mired in exposition that there is no room for characters or atmosphere until the next episode because they simply have to give you the setup quickly—it ends up feeling flat and boring and frankly, it puts me off more than it entices me to keep watching until it gets better.7
Well, this episode does none of that.
Gilligan’s forte is silent scenes that actually speak volumes. There is so much storytelling in this episode that has no words; we watch an intergalactic viral hive mind sequence take over the Earth in perfectly synchronised movement, and the storytelling is in the silence, the perfect unison, and the eerie smiles as the hive mind consciousness flattens the individuals inside. A lesser writer would put exposition in dialogue, possibly giving too much information for where we are in the story, but Gilligan knows that less is more. We get just enough to hook us in, and the rest is pure atmosphere and of course, character.
Carol is introduced as a grumpy romantasy author, a lesbian in a loving relationship who constantly finds reasons to be miserable, much to her partner’s chagrin. When the hive mind sequence is spread via planes in the air, Carol loses her partner, and simultaneously the world. The panic that ensues is completely understandable, and it gets worse at every turn as she is met with more and more hive mind people, but no one else like her. What a place for a pilot to leave us in! Aren’t you hooked just by reading this?? GO WATCH THIS SHOW!
Episode 7: “The Gap”
The title refers to a real place that Manousos (pictured) has to cross, but also I suppose to the gap between Carol and others at this point in the show. This is another masterfully crafted episode with a dual narrative point of view, where Carol continues her life in Albuquerque while Manousos is making his slow way up through South and Central America towards Carol, crossing cities, climbing mountains, and trudging through thick, treacherous jungles, all while refusing the hive mind’s help at every opportunity.
Some spoilery thoughts here.At first, it’s admirable; he won’t even take gas without paying for it somehow, even though everything he comes across is at his disposal. Soon enough, however, his steadfastness turns into stubbornness that does more harm to him than good. When he gets seriously injured in the jungle (something that was completely preventable, had he accepted the hive mind’s help and transited through safer means),
Meanwhile, Carol stoically endures complete and total isolation for a long time as a result of the hive mind evacuating the whole metro area of Albuquerque, which happened when Carol hurt one of them (and by extension, all of them) quite badly while trying to find answers. She is given resources and sustenance remotely, and for a while enjoys her peaceful environment, going around town and doing whatever she feels like… until she finally cracks under the pressure of extreme loneliness, and asks the hive mind to come back.
It’s an incredibly powerful moment actually, seeing someone as stubborn sturdy as Carol finally admit that she can’t live her whole life completely cut off from other people, even though she hates the hive mind on principle, and can’t wrap her mind around accepting this status quo. In fairness, she makes it to about a month and a half, which is pretty long, but her isolation was also so complete that there were zero people around her for that whole time—an unfathomable experience that’s so well depicted on screen. I personally love the rooftop golf scene as an example of how utterly devoid of people the landscape is, a mundane sort of post-apocalyptic image.
This is probably my favourite episode in season 1, and even think it could be presented without context and still mostly work alright for new viewers… Though I’d still hope that people would watch the whole season anyway. If I had to pick one episode to represent the series as a whole, I’d say it’s this one.
Short Form: Non-TV
‘Songs No One Will Hear’ by Arjen Lucassen (music album)
I wrote a fair amount about this pre-apocalyptic concept album in my underrated Hugo recommendations post; here’s a snippet:
The result is an album that grapples with the essence of the human condition (something Lucassen is very adept at), asking what makes life worth living from the perspectives of a bunch of different characters as they try to come to terms with the impending end of the world—including those who think it’s all a hoax, those who embrace it, and those who rage against the dying of the light. It straddles a weird and fun line between diegetic/in-world music that’s on the radio and telling the story as a sung-through musical, which is a little different than what you might expect, particularly for a progressive rock album. But that’s the Arjen Lucassen guarantee: big questions, big emotions, and a sound that isn’t afraid to change dramatically when necessary, even mid-song. Full of theatricality, Songs No One Will Hear is in some ways very similar to Lucassen’s Ayreon albums, but retains its own identity both musically and thematically.
We’ve been known to nominate SFF music albums when they arise, and on occasion those musicians have even responded to being recognised by fandom—seeing Clipping live in Helsinki was fun!—so this wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, though perhaps it is a bit of a left field suggestion for most Hugo voters as a progressive rock concept album.
While he’s extremely popular in his own niche, most of Lucassen’s fans aren’t in SF fandom and vice versa, something that I would love to help shift by talking about his work more to Hugo voters and talking to Ayreon/Lucassen fans more about joining our community and coming to Worldcon, especially as the next few years are looking quite international. Lucassen’s very obvious Golden Age influences are bound to have pointed many of his fans to the genre, so the bridge is already half-built.
I’m sure that I’ll be one of very few people longlisting this album, but 🤷🏻♀️! I really think If you see just a single, solitary vote for it in the full data, know that it was me!
Footnotes
- Per the WSFS Constitution, clauses 3.8.2 and 3.8.3. ↩︎
- In addition to the more fannish post I linked above, I found another really cool essay about the Barbican as Coruscant from an architect who works in film and TV. ↩︎
- A special shoutout to Joshua James, who played the doctor who tortured Bix Caleen with the sounds of distant massacres; I’ve been a huge fan of his ever since I saw him in Treasure Island at the National Theatre back in 2015 or so, and make a point to see him in every play he’s in when I can. He had a stint as Dr Brenner in Stranger Things: The First Shadow recently which I unfortunately missed, but I bet he was perfect! ↩︎
- I’d like to thank Octothorpe’s Alison Scott for her recommendation to see the film in an IMAX theatre, as the experience was truly spectacular. ↩︎
- There is another Black Widow character played by Olga Kurilenko who turns up for literally five minutes, but she is so not present in the rest of the film that I’m not even going to go into it. If it weren’t for Yelena and Alexei, I’d say that movie had zero lasting impact on the MCU, given how late into Natasha’s journey we got it (literally after she was canonically killed off), lol (sarcastic). ↩︎
- I still don’t know how to feel about the plot twist around Krypton and Clark’s biological parents, brief as it was. I think it is intended to maximise the contrast between where Clark hails from and where he grew up and how that affected his identity, and the discomfort it creates is probably very intentional from Gunn. ↩︎
- I call this “pilot syndrome”, and it’s one of my least favourite phenomena in media. ↩︎
-
started a #wikipeda article about Mandan-Hidatsa civil rights activist and community leader Tillie Fay Walker (1928-2018): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tillie_Fay_Walker @wikiwomeninred #Indigenous #Hidatsa #NorthDakota #PoorPeoplesCampaign #AFSC #civilrights #Mandan
-
#TimeTravelAuthors 06/07 Saturday excerpt #Focus
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 10The ghost and the boy walked through the waking streets of London, threading their way through the bustle of people getting ready for the day. Periodically, they heard shouts of Merry Christmas and other holiday salutations.
Ghost led the way through poor back-alley streets, past mean penny-a-day inns and crowded tenements. But she never hesitated. As long as she focused, he knew where the Cratchits lived. Arriving at a run-down house, the Ghost stopped.
“What’s your name, boy?” Ghost asked. It seemed silly to keep calling him “boy.”
“David, sir, if it pleases you, sir. David Copperfield.”
Ghost nodded, not being well-read. He didn’t recognize the name. She knew enough ghost lore to know the story “A Christmas Carol,” but there were no ghosts in “David Copperfield.”
“This is what you do, David. Knock on the door and say you have a message from Mr. Scrooge. Say he has had a change of heart, and a generous present will soon arrive. Lastly, say that Mr. Scrooge could not pay you to deliver the message, but he was sure the Cratchits would share a meal with you. You can add that line, ‘I’m so hungry,’ if you like. You do it very well. It would melt a heart of stone.”
“And you, sir. Surely you won’t run off now. I shall sorely miss you if you do.” David grabbed at Ghost’s hands, but it was like trying to catch the morning mist.
“I must; I have someone to find,” Ghost said and closed her eyes, imagining a new place and time. A woman’s name popped into her head. “I will visit her.”
Q: Who did Ghost think of, i.e., where shall we go next?
#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #CharlesDickens #pastiche #AChristmasCarol #DavidCopperfield #Poll
-
Jim Carrey pourrait incarner George Jetson dans un film live-action attendu
L’icône du cinéma Jim Carrey serait en négociations pour interpréter George Jetson dans un long-métrage en prises de vues réelles adapté de la célèbre série animée des années 1960. Colin Trevorrow pourrait diriger et coécrire le scénario aux côtés de Joe Epstein, marquant un retour attendu d’un univers culte de Hanna-Barbera.
Un projet ambitieux pour un classique de l’animation
Jim Carrey en négociations pour un rôle iconique
Publicités
Selon les informations publiées par The Wrap, l’acteur Jim Carrey serait en discussions pour incarner George Jetson dans un film live-action inspiré de la série animée légendaire de Hanna-Barbera. Connu pour ses rôles comiques et sa capacité à incarner des personnages excentriques et attachants, Carrey pourrait insuffler une nouvelle vie à ce personnage emblématique de l’ère spatiale.Colin Trevorrow à la barre
Le réalisateur Colin Trevorrow, reconnu pour son travail sur des franchises à grand spectacle, serait également en négociations pour diriger le projet et co-écrire le scénario avec Joe Epstein. Si aucun détail supplémentaire n’a encore été révélé, cette association promet un mélange d’humour et d’innovations visuelles, fidèle à l’esprit futuriste et coloré de la série originale.Retour sur l’univers des Jetsons
Une série pionnière de Hanna-Barbera
Publicités
Les Jetsons ont été créés dans les années 1960 comme la version futuriste des Flintstones, projetant les téléspectateurs dans un univers de science-fiction humoristique. La série animée, produite par Hanna-Barbera, a d’abord été diffusée entre 1962 et 1963, puis relancée pour deux saisons supplémentaires entre 1985 et 1987, capturant une nouvelle génération de spectateurs avec ses inventions délirantes et son style unique.Des voix emblématiques de l’animation
George O’Hanlon, Penny Singleton, Janet Waldo, Daws Butler, Mel Blanc, Don Messick et Jean Vander Pyl ont prêté leurs voix aux personnages originaux, tandis que Frank Welker a rejoint la distribution dans les années 1980. Ces talents ont contribué à faire des Jetsons une référence culturelle, célébrée pour son humour et sa vision anticipatrice de la vie dans le futur.Les enjeux d’une adaptation live-action
Adapter un classique avec soin
Publicités
Adapter une série animée culte comme Les Jetsons en film live-action représente un défi artistique et technique majeur. Les créateurs devront conserver l’esprit léger et humoristique de la série tout en modernisant les décors et les effets spéciaux pour répondre aux attentes d’un public contemporain. La présence de Jim Carrey laisse présager une interprétation à la fois comique et attachante de George Jetson.L’importance du casting et de la réalisation
Le choix de Colin Trevorrow comme réalisateur suggère que le film pourrait combiner action, effets visuels spectaculaires et humour. Sa collaboration avec Joe Epstein sur le scénario permettra d’assurer une continuité avec l’univers original tout en proposant de nouvelles intrigues adaptées aux standards du cinéma d’aujourd’hui.Les perspectives pour le cinéma et les fans
Une attente forte des spectateurs
Publicités
Les fans de la série, jeunes et moins jeunes, suivent ce projet avec un vif intérêt. Le film live-action représente non seulement un hommage à une œuvre culte, mais aussi une opportunité de présenter l’univers des Jetsons à une nouvelle génération, qui n’a pas connu la série originale à la télévision.Un futur prometteur pour la franchise
Au-delà de la simple adaptation, ce long-métrage pourrait relancer l’intérêt pour l’univers des Jetsons, inspirant d’éventuelles suites ou produits dérivés. Avec Jim Carrey et un réalisateur expérimenté à bord, le projet dispose de tous les ingrédients pour devenir un succès critique et commercial.Si les négociations se concrétisent, Jim Carrey prêtera sa voix et son talent comique à George Jetson, donnant vie à un personnage emblématique des années 1960. Le film live-action dirigé par Colin Trevorrow devrait mêler humour, innovation visuelle et hommage à la série originale. Les fans de la franchise peuvent déjà anticiper une nouvelle aventure dans le futur coloré et déjanté des Jetsons.
#adaptation #Cinéma #ColinTrevorrow #comédie #filmLiveAction #GeorgeJetson #HannaBarbera #JimCarrey #JoeEpstein #sérieAnimée #scienceFiction #TheJetsons
-
Q-ship: The thread about Neil Shaw Mackinnon and the loss of the “Cullist”
Today’s auction house artefact is a set of medals awarded in World War One to Neil Shaw Mackinnon, a marine engineer officer from Leith. An experienced merchant mariner, Mackinnon’s wartime military service was brief but eventful and hallmarked by bravery and a run of luck that would end in tragedy; less than three weeks after he was presented with the Distinguished Service Cross by King George V (left hand medal, below) he would disappear with his ship into the cold, dark waters of the Irish Sea.
Medals of Neil Shaw Mackinnon. Left to right, George V Distinguished Service Cross; British War Medal; Victory Medal with Oak Leaves for Mention in Dispatches; WW1 Memorial Plaque.Neil Shaw Mackinnon was born on April 23rd 1877 at 64 Pitt Street in North Leith, the eldest son of Jessie Shaw and Donald Mackinnon, Gaelic-speaking natives of the Ross of Mull. The family raised their four children in the Gaelic language in Leith, but Neil did spend some of his childhood back on Mull at Bunessan before following his father’s footsteps and becoming a ship’s engineer. Tragedy struck the family in July 1903 when Donald was killed; he fell from an unsafe gang plank into the depths of a London dry dock one dark and wet night when returning to his ship and never recovered from his injuries. Neil now supported his mother and two younger sisters who, after the death of Donald, had moved nearby to 203 Ferry Road in North Leith before settling at 1 Royston Terrace in Goldenacre. Neil was the honorary secretary of the Clan Mackinnon Society in Edinburgh and like many merchant seamen he was a member of the Royal Naval Reserve. It was this latter commitment that saw him called up for active service during WW1, commissioning as a temporary Engineer Lieutenant on 13th May 1917. He would find himself on probably the most dangerous sort of ship that an RNR man could expect to be on at this time; the Q-ship.
HMS Cullist had started life as the merchant steamer SS Westphalia, launched at the Caledon Shipyard in Dundee on 24th December 1912 for the Leith, Hull & Hamburg Steam Packet Company. She was the sort of small steamer that was ten-a-penny on the North Sea at the time; a 1,030 ton, 230ft long ship plying back and forward between the Scottish east coast and the German ports on the Baltic coast. Her two boilers and 1,350 horsepower steam engine were sufficient to move her along at 10 knots, a slow but economic pace. A newspaper report in the Clyde Shipping Gazette from March 1913 describes the typical and varied cargo she could expect to carry being unloaded in Grangemouth; potash, machinery parts, earthenware, paper, glass, cement, firewood, flour, chemicals, metal ores, toys, pianos, electrical insulators, bread, scrap metal and more.
Newspaper report of the launch of the Westphalia, Dundee Courier, 25th December 1912In March 1917, Westphalia was requisitioned by the Admiralty sent to Pembroke Naval Dockyard to be converted into a Q-ship. This was a naval code name for a merchant ship that was fitted with concealed weapons, with the intention of luring German U-boats into attacking it on the surface before suddenly revealing its true purpose by opening fire on the aggressor at short range and (hopefully) sinking it. Q-ships were named after the Irish port of Queenstown where they had first been converted in 1915.
Illustration making light of a dangerous situation. Attacked Q-ships would often set false fires on deck and launch parties of men in their lifeboats to try and encourage U-boat commanders to believe they were done for and to close the distance until within point-blank range of the Q-ship’s own guns.The Q-ships had a brief period of success in 1915 before U-boat commanders became familiar with the ruse and switched their tactics. After this they became very risky propositions for their crews, far more likely to be sunk than to do the sinking. But such was the desperate situation at sea caused by the German U-boat campaign that the Navy still persevered with them and men still volunteered to sign up for them.
Diagram showing how a Q-ship might have hidden weapons and change its appearanceIt was into this extremely risky service that Neil Mackinnon went, answering to the ship’s master Lieutenant Commander Salisbury Hamilton Simpson. Apart from the application of “Dazzle Ship” camouflage paint, HMS Cullist (as the Westphalia was now known) still looked just like any other tramp steamer. But she hid a number of secrets that only the very closest of inspections could have revealed; cleverly concealed on her decks was the armament of a 4-inch gun, two 12-pounder guns and two pairs of 14-inch torpedo tubes.
“Dazzle Ship” camouflage painting model for HMS Cullist, IWM (MOD 2441)And so it was that Mackinnon, Simpson and the Cullist went to war. The ship was disguised under a number of fictitious merchant names – SS Hayling, SS Jurassic and SS Prim were all used – plying the merchant convoy routes and looking for trouble. She did not have long to wait; on July 13th she was steaming between Ireland and France when a German U-boat appeared on the horizon around 1PM. It was more economical for submarines to stay on the surface and to sink lone merchant ships using guns, but they were aware of the threat of Q-ships and so kept their distance. The U-boat opened fire at long range, but the shots were wildly short and so it began to press closer. Cullist spotted another merchant ship in the distance at 1:30PM and signalled her to keep away. Simpson was trying to draw the U-boat slowly into his trap. He kept himself between the aggressor and the sun, to dazzle the men trying to aim her guns, and regularly changed his course. This was a standard anti-submarine technique called Zig-Zagging that frustrated the use of torpedoes. By 1:45PM the enemy had closed to 5,000 yards and had begun to find the range, her shells were landing all around Cullist and showering her with spray and splinters. It would be very tempting for Simpson to have returned fire, but once he did so the game was given away and the submarine would be able to simply dive away and attack another ship another day. By 2:07PM the Cullist had counted sixty-eight shells land around her and finally Simpson gave the order to fire back; in an instant the screens were dropped and the guns were in action. It had paid off, the third round fired from the Q-ship was a direct hit and took out the U-boat’s deck gun. Further hits landed around the bow and conning tower and within a few minutes the submarine slipped below the water, on fire.
The Q-ship “Suffolk Coast” by war artist Charles Pears, Image: © IWM (Art.IWM ART 1053)The Cullist closed in on where the U-boat had been seen to disappear below the waves and dropped a number of depth charges. Her lookouts spotted oil and debris on the surface and the grim sight of a corpse floating on the surface in the dungarees of a naval engineer. The destroyer HMS Christopher arrived in support at 3:30PM to keep up the hunt but the submarine was never seen again. The men of Cullist were credited with her sinking; it’s not actually clear whether they actually did or even what U-boat it might have been, but German naval records show U-69 was operating in this area at this time when she disappeared to unknown causes. Lieutenant Commander Simpson was awarded the Distinguished Service Order (DSO) medal for this, with two of his officers awarded the Distinguished Service Cross (DSC) and Engineer Mackinnon recognised by a Mention in Dispatches.
The concealed gun of a Q-ship, readied for action. Note the false screens that have been dropped down, which would usually obscure it from observation by any U-boatA little over a month later, the Cullist was back in action again. On August 20th, she was touting for business in the English Channel when a U-boat opened fire on her at long range. For two and a half hours this was kept up, but she could not be encouraged to move in any closer. After over eighty rounds had been fired to little effect, the submarine finally scored a hit. This pierced the boiler room below the waterline, started flooding and injured some of the men on duty. Engineer Mackinnon’s directed his men to plugged and shored up the hole with timbers to prevent any further intake of water and got her back up to speed again. It was by now 7:25pm, the light would soon fade and the danger was that the submarine would slip away under the water and come back at night with torpedoes. Simpson therefore reluctantly ordered his gunners to fire back at a disadvantageous range to drive her away. Once again their aim was true and the enemy departed the scene before she took any significant damage.
HMS Dunraven, in Action against a Submarine, 8th August 1917. By war artist Charles Pears © The Royal Society of Marine Artists (Art.IWM ART 5130)Trouble seemed to follow the Cullist around and it was only another month before she was in action again. On 28th September she surprised a U-boat on the surface at the relatively close range of 5,000 yards and took the initiative, opening fire immediately without trying any ruses. Her gunners’ aim was true once more and of the thirteen rounds she fired, eight were hits. The submarine slipped below the surface in an uncontrolled manner at 12:43PM and contact was lost. It was soon picked up again and for four and a half hours a surface chase took place, Mackinnon somehow coaxing a speed of 13 knots out of his 10 knot charge. A surface U-boat could make at least 16 knots however and once again their prey eluded them. Lieutenant Commander Simpson however would recommend in his report of the last two actions that Makinnon should be considered for a medal, for his damage control in August and the speeds maintained in September. The First Lord of the Admiralty approved the award of the Distinguished Service Cross on 15th November 1917, a medal “awarded in recognition of an act or acts of exemplary gallantry during active operations against the enemy at sea“. Mackinnon would receive this decoration from the King on January 23rd 1918.
Photograph of Neil Shaw Mackinnon from the Oban Times & Argyllshire Advertiser on the occasion of his DSC being awarded, 9th February 1918.The Cullist‘s career continued to be active. On 17th November 1917 she was fired upon by a U-boat from a distance of 8,000 yards. This time the enemy’s shooting was much better and the Q-ship was soon taking hits. Luckily the conditions were foggy and the Cullist was able to engage in a game of cat-and-mouse in the fog banks to hamper the submarine’s shooting and try and draw her in. At 4,500 yards distance, having been on the receiving end of ninety-two German rounds, she returned fire and of the fourteen shots she got off, six her hits. Once again the damaged submarine was able to dive and slip away to safety and once again the report of Mackinnon’s captain praised his engineer’s conduct during the action: ‘These officers [Mackinnon and his deputy] are stationed in the Engine Room and Boiler Room during action and have always kept their department in a high state of efficiency and ready for any emergency, stimulating all ratings under their orders with their good example.”
The ship had enjoyed a run of good luck in this time; it was rare for a Q-ship to have quite so many contacts with enemy submarines and come away from them with the upper hand. The run was soon to end however, on February 11th 1918 she was steaming 25 miles east of Drogheda in the when two torpedoes from the U-97 hit her without warning. The ship slipped below the cold, wintry surface of the Irish Sea less than two minutes later, taking forty three of the seventy on board down with her. Neil Shaw Mackinnon never made it out of his engine room. The survivors were left struggling in the water when the U-boat surfaced, asking for the captain. When we was told that the he had gone down, he kept two of the men as prisoners and abandoned the rest to their fates with parting “words and gestures of abuse“. As it transpired Simpson, although injured, was alive in the water and he and others in the water managed to survive by clambering aboard – or hanging onto – a life raft and singing songs together until a passing trawler picked them up; allegedly midway through the popular wartime ditty of A Long Way to Tipperary. The five officers, twenty seven ratings, two Royal Marines and nine Merchant Marine Reserve seamen who lost their lives that day were:
Rank and Name (age)Rank and Name (age)Donkeyman John Bartell MMR, DSM*Ordinary Seaman William Lycett RN (18)Ordinary Seaman Leonard Bates RN (20)Leading Telegraphist Christopher Maris RN (23)Officer’s Steward Ernest Brown RN, DSMAble Seaman Alfred Martin RNOrdinary Seaman Horatius Carr RN (30)Engineer Lt.Neil MacKinnon RNR, DSC*Trimmer John Cockburn MMROrdinary Seaman Dennis McCarthy RN (19)Fireman Percy Cook MMR (20)Trimmer Robert McFaddon MMR (20)Fireman Patrick Corvan MMRFireman John McIvor MMROrdinary Telegraphist Stanley Dean RNVR (20)Corporal William McRobbie RM (23)Lieutenant George Doubleday RNR, DSC (22)Cooks Mate Tom Patter RN (21)Ordinary Seaman Sidney Garwood RN (19)Leading Cooks Mate Henry Richherbert RN (26)Leading Seaman Albert Gay RN, DSM* (28) Leading Seaman Ernest Robilliard RN, DSM (28)Fireman Michael Gillan MMR (22)Petty Officer Alfred Sheather RNN (25)Engineer Sub. Lt. Lewis Gulley RNR (28)Armourer’s Crew Samuel Shoebottom RNOfficer’s Steward Frederick Hall RN (32)Able Seaman William Smith RN (25)Paymaster Robert Hindley RNR (33)Private Henry Stebbings RMOrdinary Seaman Richard Hoban RN (20)Steward 3rd Class Thomas Turner age 18 RNAble Seaman Raymond Jelfs RN (22)Ldg. Seaman Norman Walterhubert RN, * (25)Trimmer Joseph Johnson MMR (18)Signalman Frederick Whitchurch RN (24)Able Seaman Walter Kersley RN (23)Ordinary Seaman George White RN (20)Shipwright John Lamb RN (26)Surgeon Probationer David Whitton RNVR (21)Able Seaman Jeremiah Leary RN *Painter Ernest Woodall RN (24)Fireman Joseph Lewis MMR* = mentioned in dispatchesNone of the bodies of those men were ever recovered and as such they are officially commemorated only in their medals and on the Royal Naval Memorial in Plymouth.
Part of the Royal Naval Memorial in Plymouth. CC 2.0 wolfgang.mller54Note to readers: unfortunately in April 2026, a third-party plug-in more than exceeded its authority and broke many of the image links on this site. No images were lost but I will have to restore them page-by-page, which may take some time. In the meantime please bear with me while I go about rectifying this issue.
If you have found this site useful, informative or amusing then you can help contribute towards its running costs by supporting me on ko-fi. This includes my commitment to keeping it 100% advert and AI free for all time coming, and in helping to find further unusual stories to bring you by acquiring books and paying for research.
Or please do just share this post on social media or amongst friends and like-minded people, sites like this thrive on being shared.Explore Threadinburgh by map:
Travelers' Map is loading...
If you see this after your page is loaded completely, leafletJS files are missing.These threads © 2017-2026, Andy Arthur.
NO AI TRAINING: Any use of the contents of this website to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.
#Lochend #Logan #Restalrig #StMargaret -
The thread about the humble Scotch Pie; what makes it Scotch, what it is not, its history and a surprising aficionado
This thread was originally written and published in May 2023.
The humble Scotch Pie. Affordable. Digestible. Lukewarm. Greasy. Crunchy. Legendary.
A Scotch Pie, photo by Xabier Cid, PD on WikimediaSo what is a Scotch Pie? You might know what one looks and tastes like, but what defines it and how did it come to be? Why does it need to be called Scotch to differentiate it from other species of pie?
If one flicks to their Statutory Instruments of UK Law, to The Meat Pie and Sausage Roll Regulations (1967), they will find a legal definition in Part I (Preliminary), under section 2 (Interpretation).
‘Scottish pie’ means a meat pie composed of a shallow cylindrical pastry case not exceeding 5 inches in diameter containing minced beef or minced mutton, (or a mixture), cereal, water, salt and seasonings, and not containing any jelly.
Scotch Pie definition per the Meat Pie and Sausage Roll Regulations (1967).These regulations elaborate that the expression “Scottish Pie” refers to a “Scotch Pie”. The regulations account for a different pie tradition in Scotland vs. England or Wales. Scotch Pies are allowed different meat (lower) and fat (higher) ratio than non-Scottish pies. For a pre-cooked Scotch Pie, it has to be no less than 20% meat overall, and there is a specific Scotch Pie formula used to calculate it.
Formula for a Scotch pie. FM = weight of fat in meat, FP = weight of fat in pastry, CP = weight of carbohydrate (flour) in pastry. FM expressed as a percentage of overall pie weight, must be over 20% for a cooked Scotch pie, or 17% for uncooked.Regulations don’t define the pastry, but it’s nearly always a thin, hot-water crust pastry made with lard. Seasonings are not specified, but is always heavy on white pepper and each baker or butcher will have their own specific mix, with nutmeg usually in there too.
Some pictures of so-called “Scotch Pies” that you will find in online recipes feature a very chunky minced meat filling, the sort supermarkets sell. These aren’t Scotch Pies – where the mince should be very finely chopped and mixed with a bit of rusk or flour so that it forms a sort of tasty, homogeneous meat blob when cooked – these other pies have the filling of what is called a “Mince Round”, a much wider, shallow pie, served in slices.
A small mince round, not a Scotch pie. The sides should also be parallel, not widening towards the top.The regulations so say a Scotch pie must be cylindrical and how wide it is, but a few centuries of tradition says it is a very shallow pie and that the pastry should be *very* thin, and self supporting. This tall BBC / Paul Hollywood effort has been made with a thick pastry suitable for a pork pie, and raised tall in the same manner on a dolly, which as a result has to be cooked with a supporting wall of greaseproof paper tied with string and is absolutely not a Scotch Pie. Frankly both Paul and the BBC should know better and should pull the recipe as a national slander.
Paul Hollywood’s Not-a-Scotch-Pie PieThe Scotch Pie pastry lid should be sunk lower than the edges, crimping of fluting is not traditional in many places, but some bakers will do it. That’s the thing about pies, much like morning rolls, they vary and are one of the few places were a Scottish baking tradition is still expressed with infinite regional variety. A hole in the lid is not obligatory, but again is done some places or it isn’t done in others. Some say it’s to pour gravy or sauce in. Dundee lore is that a 2 hole “Peh” also has onions in the mix (but legally – with onions in there – it ain’t a Scotch Peh!).
Scotch Pies with holes, sold by Tailford Meats, BroxburnThe Dundonian penchant for onions in their pies (or their Bridies, a totally different, hand-held, meat-filled baked good), gives rise to the shibboleth “Twa pehs, a plen ane an an ingin ane an a“, where the last 6 words are rolled into a single, rapid, tongue-twisting sound that goes “aningininanaw”.
Scotch Pies have usually avoided politics. However in 1991, Baroness Trumpington, then Agriculture Minister, pledged to “defend [this] British delicacy from Brussels bureaucrats“, in an argument with the EC over regulations around definition of uncooked mince content.
While always a popular staple of those attending football matches or with hangovers, it took a determined, post-BSE crisis effort in the late 90s to begin to rehabilitate the pie. The Langholm Pie Club formed in 1996, to “search for the perfect Scotch pie”. In 1999, Alan Stuart, a traditional butcher and baker in Buckhaven, formed the Scotch Pie Club, to raise the profile of the pie. The club was “modelled on the Sausage Appreciation Society” (Matron!). Stuart and the Club have been credited with successfully rehabilitating the Scotch Pie as not just a lowest common denominator product, but something that exemplifies the craft of traditional and regional Scottish butchery and bakery. The club’s slogan is Say Aye Tae a Pie and you can buy it on a pin badge from ebay. Their main event is the annual Scotch Pie World Championship, which was first run in 1999 when it was won by John Davies of Bo’ness, whose family bakery had been making and selling Scotch Pies for 20 years. Stuarts of Buckhaven themselves won it in 2007.
Norrie and Keith Stuart proudly hold the World Scotch Pie Championship Trophy backed up by Derek McMahon, Alan and Jan Stuart. Picture from Scottish Craft Butchers.In 2000, Maurice Irvine from Ayrshire penned “Tae a Pie” in the best spirit of the other Ayrshire bard, to toast its immortal memory:
Whether yer naked or filled wi beans
A Toast tae the Pie, by Maurice Irvine, from Ayrshire
The price is aye within a bodie’s means
Your crust is firm but not too hard
It’s just the right balance of flour, salt and lard
The meat in the middle is spicy and braw
There’s naithing tae beat it, naithin at ah!
You’re as Scottish as Bruce but you’ll never die
Lads and Lassies, I gie ye
The PieYou’ll note that I’ve been using the term “Scotch Pie” consistently – as that’s how it’s defined, but of course in Scotland it’s usually just “a” Pie (or a Peh if you’re Dundonian). Calling it “Scotch” stems from the post-war legal definitions and food labelling requirements and the introduction of many other sorts of pies into the Scottish marketplace. But if you go into a traditional baker or butcher and order yourself “a Pie”, you’ll get served a Scotch Pie.
Scotch Pie cross-section from Dalbeattie Fine Foods. By Delta-NC, PD on WikimediaThe fact Scotch Pies are not referred to as such in any older sources makes it relatively hard to research – if you just search for “pie” it’s not specific enough. But with some perseverance it’s possible to trace our modern Scotch Pie as evolving from the traditional “Penny Mutton Pie” of the late 18th and early 19th century. These were small, individual pies sold warm by bakers or butchers, particularly on market days or holidays, at an affordable price. Note that at this time, such pies in Scotland were always mutton, the predominant day-to-day meat eaten by most people. Beef was always more of a luxury and didn’t begin creeping into the Scotch Pie mix until the middle of the 20th century, and didn’t really displace mutton until the 1950s and 60s as the former became cheaper and the latter’s staple position on the Scottish dinner plate waned.
The grand doyenne of Scottish culinary writing – F. Marian Mcneill – wrote of ” our most distinctive Scottish pie, the small mutton pie” in 1937 in a piece for the Scotsman. She describes a pie from the memoirs of James Stuart MP, who had schooled at Madras College in St. Andrews and gone to university there too, in the 1850s and 60s. It was of “mutton minced to the smallest consistency, and was made up in a standing crust, strong enough to contain the gravy… there were no lumps of fat or grease in them. They always arrived piping hot“. These pies, Stuart fondly recalled, were made and sold by “Mrs Gillespie, the pie-wife of St. Andrews” and still made his mouth water decades later just thinking about them.
“Hoxton Division”, James Stuart MP as caricatured by “Stuff” in Vanity Fair, October 1899McNeill gives us a definitive recipe I can find – writing for the Scotsman in 1937 – stating that small mutton pies were “as popular in 18th century Edinburgh as [they are] today” and that she did not know whether Glasgow’s claim to be “it’s true home” was correct. I don’t think any one place could ever claim to be the birthplace of the Scotch Pie – they were clearly a common and widespread product across the centre and east of the country in the late 18th century.
Recipe for a Scots Mutton Pie, Scotsman, Dec 1937 – F. Marian Mcneill, author of the Scots KitchenA story in the Brechin Advertiser in 1890 implies the existence of a Penny Mutton Pie shop run by baker Willie Smith, in the 1820s, to which local boys flocked as hawkers, being paid in pies; 1 pie given per dozen sold. The John O’ Groats Journal in 1840 mentions Penny Mutton Pies. On New Year’s Day 1850, the Barony Workhouse in Glasgow announced in the papers that inmates “old and young, sane and insane” would be “made happy with a hot mutton pie each“. In 1853 the occasion of the coming of age of William Kerr, 9th Marquess of Lothian, was celebrated in Newbattle by a parade of miners and mining bands, with children “regaled with mutton pies, the boys engaged in the collieries being provided with pies of larger size“. In 1865, I find what is the earliest overt advert for a Penny Mutton Pie that I have come across, with A. Reid at the “Top of the Murraygate and Seagate” in Dundee offering them at 1d or 2d each under the slogan “If you want a good Mutton Pie, try A. Reid’s“. In October 1892, Mr A. Gordon of Gordon St., Huntly, announced the start of the “Hot mutton pie supply for the season”, clearly suggesting that in some places they may have been a seasonal product.
Pie Season! Huntly Express – 01 October 1892Such mutton pies – be they called Small, Scots or Penny – would be recognisable to us today but probably offered much more variety of style and content than we are now used to. The first actual glimpse we get of one is in a Dundee Courier cartoon of 1889 for a column entitled “Impressions of Dundee“, which tells a humorous story of a homesick Dundonian coming across a man eating a Dundee mutton pie in the British Library in London.
The earliest picture of a Scotch Pie? Dundee Courier – 14 June 1889Pie Advertising is common in Scottish newspapers in the first half of the 20th century, but usually just a few lines of text in the classified pages. However in 1924, Hay’s of Murraygate, Dundee (legendary for its association with the genesis of the Macaroni Pie) took out a particularly fancy advert for “The Big Pie” at 1/6d as a “Sure Favourite for the Weekend“. From the image it appears to be a giant Scotch pie (which of course, modern definition wouldn’t allow to be called a Scotch Pie!)
The Big Pie, 1/6 advert. Dundee Evening Telegraph – 22 February 1924It was around this time that a Mr Stoddart, a baker in the Ayrshire town of Cumnock, came up with the sweet-filled version of the Scotch pie – the appropriately named “Cumnock Tart” – which is a regular Scotch Pie case but with a stewed apple or rhubarb filling, and a glaze of the same fruit. Cumnock Tarts sold in actual Cumnock appear to have evolved into a more oval-shape, with a crimped edge, but the “fruit Scotch pie” form is the more common.
Rhubarb Cumnock Tart, Clark’s Bakery of DundeeBack to mutton pies though. Victor MacClure, writing in “Scotland’s Inner Man“, a 1935 food and cookery history, recorded that in Glasgow they were known as “Tupenny Struggles” and that hot gravy was poured in the hole in the pie lid when sold and served. Catherine Brown, writing in “Scottish Regional Recipes” in 1983, records an establishment of yore run by a character called Grannie Black in Glasgow’s Candleriggs that was renowned for its “Tupenny Mutton Pies“. A bar of that name existed from the 1820s until it was demolished relatively recently.
Aside from the sweetened version, the basic Scotch Pie case is infinitely flexible as a filling containment and delivery system. Clarks of Dundee for instance offer: Scotch, Scotch with Beans, Scotch with Onion, Steak & Gravy, Bean & Tattie (a Scotch Pie, but with the top lid replaced by a layer of mashed potato and baked beans, to give a whole meal in a pie), Bolognese, Chicken Curry, Korma, Tikka, Balti and Chicken and Ham. The lasagne pies of Argo’s in Kirkwall are legendary, and I’ve been advised that a Bovril pie is too. And of course, take off the lid and fill the pie with macaroni cheese, and you get the Macaroni pie, which as far as I can trace was first sold by Hays of Dundee in 1920 (click the link for the thread about that particular pie, and pasta in general in traditional Scottish cuisine).
Scotch Pies have travelled the world, put down roots and evolved into national pies of their own (or, at least some of it) and have a reasonable claim to explain why similar small, hand-held meat pies have a cult status in Australian and New Zealand cuisine. You see in the late 1850s, an “energetic young Scotchman with only a few pounds in the way of capital“, by the name of James Seves Hosie, opened a pie shop on Bourke Street in Melbourne, where he sold “thrupenny mutton pies”. James, a bootmaker to trade, was born in Fife in 1831 but grew up in Leith. He arrived in Melbourne in 1853 from the ship Koh-I-Noor.
A New Zealand “Macgregor’s Mutton Pie”, by Bernie’s Bakery HQ of TimaruHosie’s father started a bakery in Melbourne on Bourke Street, and after working as a bootmaker in the Australian gold fields, the young James settled down in an establishment of his own nearby and made a fortune from his pies. And what was the name of Hosie’s establishment? Why it was The Scotch Pie Shop! And it’s recorded in metal in the penny tokens he issued due to a shortage of small coinage in circulation. In later life,his financial success on the back of Scotch Pies allowed him to build “a pretty bijou theatre… a luxurious Turkish bathing establishment… a couple of gigantic hotels and attained the dignity of Mayor“. He died in 1889, leaving £10,000 to a Melbourne Hospital.
J. Hosie “Scotch Pie Shop” penny token of 1862. Businesses issued such tokens when there was a lack of circulating small coinage in a community, and carried the name of a prominent and respected businessman who could exchange the tokens for real money. See the thread on Scottish Conder Tokens for a similar practice in the 18th and early 19th century © Museums Victoria / CC-BY 4.0While this is not the earliest use of the term “Scotch Pie” it is the first definitive use of it I can find to describe a small, penny, mutton pie of Scottish heritage: even if it was thousands of miles from Scotland.
There is a second type of pie referred to as “Scotch”. There was no common definition of what sort of pie this was, but its characteristic was it was some sort of “make do” pie to spin out what you had and it’s important to note that it was not specifically a Scottish thing. Rather, in this case “Scotch” was a reference to the perceived meanness and/or thriftiness of Scots.
A 1908 recipe by Olive Green in “How to Cook Fish” has a Scotch Pie being a mackerel pie with layers of sliced potato instead of pastry. In 1909 by Eleanor L. Jenkinson in “The Ocklye Cookery Book” it’s a pie of boiled calf’s head and eggs. In 1914 in the Huntly Express, it’s a fruit-less fruit pie made using a thin layer of jam. In the Sheffield Daily Telegraph in 1928 it’s a pie of grouse, mushroom and boiled eggs. In 1931’s Leicester Chronicle, it’s sheep’s heart, bacon and boiled eggs with mashed potato on top. In 1940’s “Cookery Corner” in the Daily Mirror, a Scotch Pie was a wartime economy recipe made of a tin of tomato soup, chopped onion and minced beef in pastry. In 1949, during the grim times of post-war austerity, the Sunday Mail in Glasgow gives a frugal and rather desperate recipe for “Scotch Pie” to serve 4 that is lentils, onions and carrots in a thin “gravy” made of dripping and the water in which the lentils were cooked, covered in a layer of mashed potato and swede and baked. Woolton pie, but worse! As late as 1954, a recipe in the “Kitchen Encyclopaedia” by the Anglo-American cookery writer Countess Morphy (her pen name, she wasn’t a countess or called Morphy!) gives an odd-sounding recipe of mutton suet, calf’s feet, apples, currants and various sweet flavourings!
Countess Morphy’s terrible sounding 1954 apple and currant pie with suet and calf’s feetBut by the 1950s, the tide was turning in terms of the naming of a Scotch Pie, as an increasingly less localised and more mechanised baking industry found itself needing more specific definitions and machinery. In 1949 Waddell of Wishaw, bakers engineers, were advertising an electric pie machine for forming “Scotch Pie shells”. In 1969, Clyde-Enco Ltd advertised the “Clyde-Enco Clean Depositor” for “depositing Scotch Pie meat” in the case. Both of these were Scottish companies, serving the Scottish pie-baking industry, referring to them as Scotch Pies. A somewhat surprising fan of the Scotch Pie, and an early use (outwith Australia) calling a Scotch Pie a Scotch Pie is revealed in a September 1963 gossip column by Rex North in the Daily Mirror. None other than Alfred Hitchcock, who had told Rex he had “finally got a recipe” for such pies that was “to his satisfaction”, thus solving a “personal mystery”. One can only imagine Hitchcock picked up his pie habit filming The 39 Steps in Scotland in the 1930s and again in the 1950s.
There is a third broad grouping of “Scotch Pies” beyond the Penny Mutton and the Austerity Pies covered above. This type of Scotch Pie is a much older form with its own history and is an interesting tangent to our story. And these Scotch Pies were huge pies, defined both by their size and that they could be filled with anything and everything! Mention of such pies is made by Samuel Johnson, writing of his encounters with Scottish fayre in the 18th c. on his travels. He describes a “Scotch Pie” as a seasonal, celebratory pie:
Which contains a heterogeneous mass of fish, flesh and fowl, and almost every other species of edible substance, and so ample are its dimensions that more than one whole goose is frequently encrusted within its walls
Samuel Johnson, on the subject of “Scotch” PiesThis “everything pie” results in “Scotch Pie” being a derisory metaphor used in 1835 to describe the cabinet of the new Prime Minister, Viscount Melbourne, as a “Scotch Pie Cabinet” on account of its varied contents and (from the point of view of the author), distasteful contents. However the “Scotch Pie” that Johnson saw is more than likely what was called a Bride’s Pie or Bride Pie and was a vestige of an an ancient European wedding tradition going back to medieval times, but which had largely died out by the later Elizabethan era. These Bride Pies – also called Subtleties or Extraordinary Pies – were huge, multi-tiered pies, the origin of the multi-tiered wedding cake. Intricate moulds were used to bake the structural (and inedible) pie cases
A Bride Pie mould (right), from “The Accomplish’t Cook” of 1660 by Robert May.The pies were “flamboyantly inedible” and were filled with anything and everything – alive and dead. Edible parts included cockscombs, sweetbreads, testicles, kidneys, prawns, oysters, cockles, bats, frogs and blackbirds. Yes, these pies are where you get the nursery rhyme of “four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie”. However such birds were often alive, placed inside a hollow pie shell, so that when they were cut open they would fly or jump out in a stunning (or disastrous) display.
“Four and twenty black-birds, baked in a pie”, from a 19th c. book of nursery rhymes illustrated by Walter Crane. Collection of New York Public Library, ID 1699266Samuel Pepys, writing in the mid-late 17th century, refers to a bride pie at the wedding of Sir William Batten, 3 pies, nested one within the other, but they were falling out of fashion with the upper classes by this time. They persisted in rural Scotland into the early 19th century, particularly the lowlands, forming their own tradition of wedding pies related to the “Penny Wedding” or “Penny Bridal” custom, which is recorded in Scotland back into the 16th century. In the Scottish romantic revival of the 18th and early 19th century, the Penny Wedding was a frequent subject. Sir David Wilkie’s 1818 painting gives you an idea of what they were like.
“The Penny Wedding”, David Wilkie, 1818. Royal Collection Trust / © His Majesty King Charles III 2022Guests paid a penny to attend, which covered any costs for the married couple and also provided a financial gift to help set the married couple up. A suitable barn or hall was the venue. Musicians and entertainment provided itself from amongst the community and it was the responsibility of the bridal family to provide the food: a Bride Pie. And what do we see in the background of Wilkie’s painting? Why, it’s a great, big bride pie!
Close up. “The Penny Wedding”, David Wilkie, 1818. Royal Collection Trust / © His Majesty King Charles III 2022And in David Allan’s “Scottish Penny Wedding” of 1795? Why if it isn’t a great big bride pie again…
“The Penny Wedding”. David Allan, 1795. CC-by-NC National Galleries ScotlandIt was the custom that the whole community, were able, would provide what content for the pie that they could, which is why it came to contain everything and anything, from farm meat to game to fish to eggs to dairy. The laird or tacksman would (if they were on good terms) provide joints for it too. All guests expected to – and were obliged to – be served some of this giant pie. By the 1860s, “penny weddings” and pies were being written of in the past tense, but are recorded both in Borders and Aberdeenshire publications. By the 1890s they are described as being “vanished“.
We should note that the phrase “penny wedding” must be post-Union, as it refers to an amount equivalent to the English/British penny, historically the tradition was to pay a Scots shilling – which was of equivalent value. So while although these Bride’s Pies were not Scotch Pies, almost certainly they are what Johnson was referring to as his Scotch Pie. And what does the word Bride’s Pie give us? It gives us Bridie, the other Scottish baked good that’s filled with minced meat. The semi-circular shape of the Bridie is reputed to resemble a horse shoe, and there are certainly references to it originally being something prepared and served for holidays and separations. But Bridies will have to wait for another day for their own thread.
Bridies by Bell’s of Edzell and MontroseThere was no fixed recipe for a Bride’s Pie on account of its very “pot luck” nature, but one is given by Margaret Dods (pen name of Chirstian Johnston) in the 1826 Scottish cook book “The Cook and Housewife’s Manual”. It’s the very same recipe as the Countess Morphy gives us in 1954 that we saw earlier in this post! Johnston, who was sponsored by Walter Scott, gives us something much more important than a recipe here though, she provides us a definitive proof that at this time a Bride’s Pie and a Scotch Pie are one and the same. With it’s unashamed mixture of sweet, savoury, alcohol and spice, the Bride’s Pie Scotch Pie is undeniably of a much older cooking tradition, one that was rapidly dying out as the Victorian era approached.
A Bride’s or Scotch Pie recipe. 1826. The cook and housewife’s manual, containing the most approved modern receipts for making soups, gravies, sauces, ragouts, and all made-dishes, by Margaret DodsHere ends the thread on Scotch Pies. I hope you’ve enjoyed it and learned something along the way: I absolutely did – it’s a subject about which I’ve been gathering factual titbits on for a long time and I promise you it’s the most in-depth read on Scotch Pies you’ll find on the internet. If you enjoyed this be sure to check out my other long-form threads on staple Scottish fayre such as Plain Breid, Morning Rolls and Creamola Foam.
Note to readers: unfortunately in April 2026, a third-party plug-in more than exceeded its authority and broke many of the image links on this site. No images were lost but I will have to restore them page-by-page, which may take some time. In the meantime please bear with me while I go about rectifying this issue.
If you have found this site useful, informative or amusing then you can help contribute towards its running costs by supporting me on ko-fi. This includes my commitment to keeping it 100% advert and AI free for all time coming, and in helping to find further unusual stories to bring you by acquiring books and paying for research.
Or please do just share this post on social media or amongst friends and like-minded people, sites like this thrive on being shared.Explore Threadinburgh by map:
Travelers' Map is loading...
If you see this after your page is loaded completely, leafletJS files are missing.These threads © 2017-2026, Andy Arthur.
NO AI TRAINING: Any use of the contents of this website to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.
#Lochend #Logan #Restalrig #StMargaret -
#Condiment #WarmUpSketch #PracticeSketch #MangaBoy #Manga #HowToDraw #HowToDrawManga #EchoPenn #Anime #AnimeBoy #PracticeDrawings #MangaDrawings #AnimeDrawings #AnimeArt #Art #Artist #Draw #Drawing #BlackMastodon #MastoArt #MastoArtist #Reference #ReferenceDrawing #BlackArt #BlackArtist #practiceart #Sketch #Sketchbook #SketchbookArt #design #DeniseWalker #Denise #Walker
-
#Condiment #WarmUpSketch #PracticeSketch #MangaBoy #Manga #HowToDraw #HowToDrawManga #EchoPenn #Anime #AnimeBoy #PracticeDrawings #MangaDrawings #AnimeDrawings #AnimeArt #Art #Artist #Draw #Drawing #BlackMastodon #MastoArt #MastoArtist #Reference #ReferenceDrawing #BlackArt #BlackArtist #practiceart #Sketch #Sketchbook #SketchbookArt #design #DeniseWalker #Denise #Walker
-
#Condiment #WarmUpSketch #PracticeSketch #MangaBoy #Manga #HowToDraw #HowToDrawManga #EchoPenn #Anime #AnimeBoy #PracticeDrawings #MangaDrawings #AnimeDrawings #AnimeArt #Art #Artist #Draw #Drawing #BlackMastodon #MastoArt #MastoArtist #Reference #ReferenceDrawing #BlackArt #BlackArtist #practiceart #Sketch #Sketchbook #SketchbookArt #design #DeniseWalker #Denise #Walker
-
#Condiment #WarmUpSketch #PracticeSketch #MangaBoy #Manga #HowToDraw #HowToDrawManga #EchoPenn #Anime #AnimeBoy #PracticeDrawings #MangaDrawings #AnimeDrawings #AnimeArt #Art #Artist #Draw #Drawing #BlackMastodon #MastoArt #MastoArtist #Reference #ReferenceDrawing #BlackArt #BlackArtist #practiceart #Sketch #Sketchbook #SketchbookArt #design #DeniseWalker #Denise #Walker
-
#Condiment #WarmUpSketch #PracticeSketch #MangaBoy #Manga #HowToDraw #HowToDrawManga #EchoPenn #Anime #AnimeBoy #PracticeDrawings #MangaDrawings #AnimeDrawings #AnimeArt #Art #Artist #Draw #Drawing #BlackMastodon #MastoArt #MastoArtist #Reference #ReferenceDrawing #BlackArt #BlackArtist #practiceart #Sketch #Sketchbook #SketchbookArt #design #DeniseWalker #Denise #Walker
-
#Spotted While Roaming in Aotearoa New Zealand:
In a library, a small human (4?) is trying to pick a book but she's not sure which one!
(Oh no!)
Does she want this one...
This one?
THESE ONES?
THOSE ones?!
With an exasperated roar, she beseeches the library gods: "WHY are there SO MANY?!"A tiny human (1.5?) very much wants to go on the swings in a park but is a little bit scared.
Never fear!
Nan has the solution.
Sitting on a swing and going back and forward with a huge grin, legs up in the air, saying: "This is FUN!"
Okay, now Tiny Human definitely wants a go!In a park, on a crisp morning, a big group of women (20s-50s?) have finished a run and are standing in front of a small coffee cart parked under a big shady tree. Stamping their feet, chatting and laughing as they wait for their coffees and the odd delicious pastry treat.
A woman (80s?) with purple hair, wearing a purple suit and purple Doc Martens, with a pretty white flower in her buttonhole pushes a cafe door open only for a tiny human (1?) to shriek an excited hello from Mum's arms.
Granny's here! And she's fabulous.A supermarket security guard (50s?) is at her post.
But what is this?
A man (20s?) in high vis doing silly walks in front of her, making her laugh?
Security Guard says to passing shoppers: "Never seen him before in my life!"
Hi Vis Silly Walker grins goofily: "She's my mum! First day at work!"(Continued Below)
-
Walter Mosley - Diabeł w błękitnej sukience
Oswojony z klimatem noir za sprawą książek Chandlera postanowiłem dać szansę innym autorom tego nurtu. Pierwszym strzałem była kupiona za grosze powieść “Diabeł w błękitnej sukience” Waltera Mosleya.
Link do wpisu 🔗
https://xiegozbior.pl/zajawki/2025/04/24/walter-mosley-diabel-w-blekitnej-sukience.html#fediksiazki #bookstodon #książki #WalterMosley #emg #noir #kryminały
@ksiazkiPełny wpis w wątku poniżej! ⬇️
-
The Face on the Building: America’s Palazzo Braschi Moment
In 1934, the Fascist Party Federation draped the facade of Rome’s Palazzo Braschi with an enormous sculpted face of Benito Mussolini, surrounded by the word “SI” repeated in cascading rows. The building sat between Piazza Navona and the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II, in the heart of a city that had been shaping political identity through architecture for two thousand years. That face functioned as an instruction. Citizens who walked beneath it understood, whether they could articulate it or not, that the state had claimed the visual field, and that to exist in public space was to exist under observation and under obligation, holding the urban semiotic.
Ninety-two years later, giant banners bearing the face of a sitting American president hang from the Department of Justice, the Department of Labor, and the Department of Agriculture in Washington, D.C. Each banner is photographed from slightly below, a classic technique in authoritarian portraiture that elongates the jaw and narrows the eyes, producing an expression of surveillance rather than service. Meanwhile, his name has been affixed to the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts and to the United States Institute of Peace. His signature will appear on American currency. A presidential portrait replaces nature photography on the America the Beautiful national parks pass. And his birthday has been twinned with Flag Day by the Department of the Interior, granting free admission to national parks on April 14 as a celebration of the man rather than the land.
These are facts, and they require no editorial seasoning to alarm anyone who has spent time with the visual history of the twentieth century.
Before sharpening the comparison, though, honesty demands an accounting of the American tradition it descends from. The United States has never been modest about presidential memorialization. Gutzon Borglum carved four presidential faces into a mountain in the Black Hills of South Dakota that the Lakota Sioux called Six Grandfathers, a monument to democratic leadership built on stolen land with the enthusiastic participation of a sculptor who attended Ku Klux Klan rallies. Lyndon Johnson named the Kennedy Center for Kennedy partly as a political maneuver to move arts funding legislation through Congress. Franklin Roosevelt’s WPA projects stamped federal iconography onto every post office and courthouse in the country, building a visual vocabulary of state presence that Americans still inhabit without noticing. The impulse to brand public space with presidential identity has a long and bipartisan genealogy.
What Trump is doing, then, sits on a spectrum rather than outside it. The question is whether it occupies an extreme position on a familiar American continuum or whether it has crossed into categorically different territory. Borglum’s mountain honored dead presidents. LBJ’s naming honored an assassinated predecessor. Roosevelt’s WPA murals depicted collective labor, not the president’s own face. In each case, the memorialization was filtered through institutional processes, legislative authorization, or the basic decorum of waiting until the honoree was no longer in office. What distinguishes the current campaign is the erasure of those filters. A sitting president chairing the board that renames a performing arts center after him, then claiming surprise at the vote he orchestrated, is operating by a different set of rules than the ones that governed even the most vainglorious of his predecessors.
Consider the Kennedy Center board that voted unanimously to add Trump’s name: it was composed entirely of his own appointees. At the Institute of Peace, the board was similarly reconstituted before the renaming. Federal agencies under executive authority commissioned the banners on government buildings, and when the USDA initially described one as temporary, the pattern expanded rather than retreated. Add the currency signature, the national parks pass, the birthday celebration, the proposed renaming of Penn Station, Dulles Airport, and the Washington Commanders stadium, the Trump-class battleships, the Trump Accounts, TrumpRx, the Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity connecting Armenia and Azerbaijan: each item, in isolation, might be dismissed as a peculiar excess. Assembled together, they constitute a program. And the speed of the assembly matters, because personality cults do not arrive fully formed. They accrete.
Ruth Ben-Ghiat, the NYU historian and author of Strongmen: Mussolini to the Present, has described the current pattern as the construction of a personality cult. Trump himself, when asked about the namings, has repeatedly denied agency. He claimed surprise at the Kennedy Center vote, said during the State of the Union that nobody believed him but he did not name the Trump Accounts, and repeated the denial for TrumpRx. Senator Adam Schiff published a formal report in September 2025 identifying the banners as violations of federal law and drawing explicit parallels to Mussolini’s facade and to the Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il portraits that adorn government buildings across North Korea. Dr. Emma Briant, a visiting associate professor at the University of Notre Dame who researches propaganda and information warfare, has identified the banners as consistent with the visual grammar of dictatorship. Max Stier, who leads the nonpartisan Partnership for Public Service, has stated that while political protest is an old tradition in Washington, the use of government resources to promote a single individual has no precedent in American life. Stier’s formulation cuts to the structural question: political leaders, in a democracy, are hired help.
Here, however, a distinction requires careful handling. Mussolini did not deny the face was his. He staged it. Stalin did not feign surprise at the naming of Stalingrad. The open dictatorial claim and the coy denial are different postures, and conflating them sacrifices diagnostic precision. Trump’s repeated insistence that others, acting independently, have chosen to honor him could be read as evidence that the democratic norm of appearing modest still exerts gravitational pull on him, that he still needs to perform the fiction of humility because the audience still expects it. A dictator who no longer needs to perform that fiction is operating from a different position of power. The denial, in other words, may mark a transitional phase rather than an accomplished fact: the leader who still pretends to be embarrassed by the adulation is further along the path than the leader who has never sought it, but he has not yet arrived at the place where the pretense becomes unnecessary. The direction of travel matters more than the current coordinates.
Against this visual program, something unexpected has been happening on the National Mall. An anonymous collective called the Secret Handshake has been installing guerrilla sculptures and banners within sight of the government portraits. In February, they erected a gold-painted statue depicting Trump and Jeffrey Epstein posed as Jack and Rose on the prow of the Titanic, titled “King of the World.” The National Park Service issued a four-day permit for the installation. Crowds gathered. People laughed. They took photographs. Some were offended. On March 31, the collective installed a gold-painted faux-marble toilet near the Lincoln Memorial, titled “A Throne Fit For a King,” mocking the renovation of the White House bathroom attached to the Lincoln Bedroom during a government shutdown.
A separate organization, the Save America Movement, has plastered Washington with posters targeting cabinet members. One shows a photograph of White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller with the caption “Fascism Ain’t Pretty.” Another shows Attorney General Pam Bondi with the words “Epstein Queen.”
Mary Corcoran, who runs the Save America Movement, has framed the asymmetry plainly: the administration funds its propaganda with taxpayer dollars, while the opposition funds its counter-imagery with donations.
Now: a reasonable person could look at this guerrilla campaign and argue that its existence disproves the alarm. Mussolini’s Rome never saw an anonymous collective erect a satirical statue of Il Duce outside the Palazzo Braschi and receive a government permit for the trouble. In Stalin’s Moscow, the Save America Movement equivalent would have been shot. Pyongyang renders the entire exercise unimaginable. The four-day permit is, in one reading, proof that American democracy is functioning exactly as designed: the state displays its iconography, citizens mock it, courts adjudicate the disputes, and the carnival continues. Beatty v. Trump is proceeding through federal court. Philip Glass withdrew from Kennedy Center programming and suffered no state reprisal. Every counter-example that can be celebrated as resistance is simultaneously evidence that the system under indictment has not yet collapsed.
This is a fair objection, and the article cannot survive without absorbing it. So let it be absorbed.
Whether the American system has already become a dictatorship has always been the wrong question. What matters is whether the distance between the current trajectory and that destination is shrinking, and how citizens would know the difference between a contested public sphere that reflects democratic health and a contested public sphere that reflects a transitional phase between open society and closed one. Every authoritarian state passed through a period in which satirical statues could still be erected, in which permits were still granted, in which courts still heard challenges to executive overreach. The Weimar Republic had the most ferocious satirical press in Europe. It had George Grosz and John Heartfield and Kurt Tucholsky and a judiciary that, for a time, still functioned. Permits were issued. Magazines were published. And then they were not.
The permit is not the answer to the diagnostic question. The permit is the diagnostic question. Is the four-day window for a satirical statue evidence that the system is working, or evidence that the system is still in the phase where opposition is tolerated because it has not yet become threatening enough to suppress? We will not know the answer in real time. We will know it only in retrospect, and by then the knowing will be useless.
And here is where theatrical instinct becomes relevant to political analysis. What is happening on the National Mall is a stage contest. One side has seized the proscenium. It controls the permanent architecture, the lighting, the scale, the vantage points. Guerrilla artists are working from the wings, placing temporary objects designed to be photographed and circulated rather than to endure. State portraiture and monumental sculpture anchor the government’s visual strategy. Carnival, political caricature, and the traditions of Daumier, Gillray, and the Italian commedia dell’arte anchor the opposition’s.
Whether ridicule can defeat monumentalism is the open question. Historical evidence offers mixed answers. Daumier was imprisoned for his caricatures of King Louis-Philippe. Weimar Germany’s satirical press produced some of the most brilliant political art of the twentieth century and failed to prevent the rise of the Third Reich. Vaclav Havel, however, argued that humor and absurdity were essential tools of resistance under totalitarianism, that refusing to take the regime’s self-image seriously was itself a political act eroding the regime’s authority. Czech dissidents, from Havel’s essays to the work of the Plastic People of the Universe, demonstrated that a state’s control of the visual field could be undermined by the persistence of an alternative aesthetic. But Havel also spent years in prison before his persistence paid off, and Czechoslovakia’s liberation owed as much to the structural collapse of the Soviet Union as to the courage of its artists.
What makes Washington different is that the contest is happening in real time, in the same physical space, and it is mediated by the technology that makes the personality cult possible in the first place. A two-story banner goes up. A satirical statue appears within the banner’s sightline. Visitors photograph the juxtaposition and post it to social media, where the image circulates to millions of people who will never visit the Mall. Statues vanish after four days; photographs persist on millions of screens without expiration dates. Official banners carry the weight of authority, while the crowd’s editorial framing, captured in a single snapshot posted from a phone, carries the weight of witness. In the economy of attention, the guerrilla image may travel farther and lodge more durably in memory than the state image, precisely because it is funnier, stranger, and more human.
None of this means the guerrilla artists are winning. Banners still hang. The name still sits on the Kennedy Center, despite active litigation (Beatty v. Trump, as of March 2026, remains ongoing) and despite a federal statute designating the Center as the sole national memorial to John F. Kennedy in the capital and prohibiting renaming without an act of Congress. Performers who withdrew from Kennedy Center programming after the renaming, including the composer Philip Glass, understood that the building itself had been conscripted into a narrative they could not endorse through participation.
Architecture has always carried political meaning, and the National Mall was designed to embody democratic ideals through spatial openness, axial symmetry, and the subordination of individual identity to collective memory. Monuments there honor presidents who are dead. Memorials mark wars that are concluded. Museums house the patrimony of a nation, curated by institutions that are, at least in theory, independent of the sitting executive. Hanging a living president’s face from government buildings along the Mall ruptures the design logic of the space, superimposing the living ruler onto a landscape conceived for the contemplation of shared sacrifice and historical distance.
When the White House responded to criticism by stating that the president is focused on saving the country rather than garnering recognition, the statement performed its own negation. A president focused on the country rather than recognition does not hang his face on the Department of Justice, does not chair the board that renames a national performing arts center after him, and does not then express surprise at the outcome.
We have been here before, and we have not been here before. The Palazzo Braschi face came down. Mussolini’s SI ballots were counted and discarded. Il Duce ended hanging by his ankles at a gas station in Milan. History does not replay mechanically, though certain patterns of self-display are diagnostic. When a leader begins claiming public architecture for private glorification, the leader is telling you what he believes about the relationship between the state and himself. That face on the building is a declaration. And in a functioning democracy, citizens who see it are obligated to name what it means, clearly and without apology, while the permit to erect the satirical statue in its shadow still exists, because the day the permit is denied will be the day the argument is settled, and by then, the argument will no longer matter.
#americanTradition #architecture #economy #governmentAdvertising #guerrillaArtists #gutzonBorglum #mussolini #nation #nationalMall #palazzoBraschi #PhilipGlass #politics #promotion #wpa -
The Face on the Building: America’s Palazzo Braschi Moment
In 1934, the Fascist Party Federation draped the facade of Rome’s Palazzo Braschi with an enormous sculpted face of Benito Mussolini, surrounded by the word “SI” repeated in cascading rows. The building sat between Piazza Navona and the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II, in the heart of a city that had been shaping political identity through architecture for two thousand years. That face functioned as an instruction. Citizens who walked beneath it understood, whether they could articulate it or not, that the state had claimed the visual field, and that to exist in public space was to exist under observation and under obligation, holding the urban semiotic.
Ninety-two years later, giant banners bearing the face of a sitting American president hang from the Department of Justice, the Department of Labor, and the Department of Agriculture in Washington, D.C. Each banner is photographed from slightly below, a classic technique in authoritarian portraiture that elongates the jaw and narrows the eyes, producing an expression of surveillance rather than service. Meanwhile, his name has been affixed to the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts and to the United States Institute of Peace. His signature will appear on American currency. A presidential portrait replaces nature photography on the America the Beautiful national parks pass. And his birthday has been twinned with Flag Day by the Department of the Interior, granting free admission to national parks on April 14 as a celebration of the man rather than the land.
These are facts, and they require no editorial seasoning to alarm anyone who has spent time with the visual history of the twentieth century.
Before sharpening the comparison, though, honesty demands an accounting of the American tradition it descends from. The United States has never been modest about presidential memorialization. Gutzon Borglum carved four presidential faces into a mountain in the Black Hills of South Dakota that the Lakota Sioux called Six Grandfathers, a monument to democratic leadership built on stolen land with the enthusiastic participation of a sculptor who attended Ku Klux Klan rallies. Lyndon Johnson named the Kennedy Center for Kennedy partly as a political maneuver to move arts funding legislation through Congress. Franklin Roosevelt’s WPA projects stamped federal iconography onto every post office and courthouse in the country, building a visual vocabulary of state presence that Americans still inhabit without noticing. The impulse to brand public space with presidential identity has a long and bipartisan genealogy.
What Trump is doing, then, sits on a spectrum rather than outside it. The question is whether it occupies an extreme position on a familiar American continuum or whether it has crossed into categorically different territory. Borglum’s mountain honored dead presidents. LBJ’s naming honored an assassinated predecessor. Roosevelt’s WPA murals depicted collective labor, not the president’s own face. In each case, the memorialization was filtered through institutional processes, legislative authorization, or the basic decorum of waiting until the honoree was no longer in office. What distinguishes the current campaign is the erasure of those filters. A sitting president chairing the board that renames a performing arts center after him, then claiming surprise at the vote he orchestrated, is operating by a different set of rules than the ones that governed even the most vainglorious of his predecessors.
Consider the Kennedy Center board that voted unanimously to add Trump’s name: it was composed entirely of his own appointees. At the Institute of Peace, the board was similarly reconstituted before the renaming. Federal agencies under executive authority commissioned the banners on government buildings, and when the USDA initially described one as temporary, the pattern expanded rather than retreated. Add the currency signature, the national parks pass, the birthday celebration, the proposed renaming of Penn Station, Dulles Airport, and the Washington Commanders stadium, the Trump-class battleships, the Trump Accounts, TrumpRx, the Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity connecting Armenia and Azerbaijan: each item, in isolation, might be dismissed as a peculiar excess. Assembled together, they constitute a program. And the speed of the assembly matters, because personality cults do not arrive fully formed. They accrete.
Ruth Ben-Ghiat, the NYU historian and author of Strongmen: Mussolini to the Present, has described the current pattern as the construction of a personality cult. Trump himself, when asked about the namings, has repeatedly denied agency. He claimed surprise at the Kennedy Center vote, said during the State of the Union that nobody believed him but he did not name the Trump Accounts, and repeated the denial for TrumpRx. Senator Adam Schiff published a formal report in September 2025 identifying the banners as violations of federal law and drawing explicit parallels to Mussolini’s facade and to the Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il portraits that adorn government buildings across North Korea. Dr. Emma Briant, a visiting associate professor at the University of Notre Dame who researches propaganda and information warfare, has identified the banners as consistent with the visual grammar of dictatorship. Max Stier, who leads the nonpartisan Partnership for Public Service, has stated that while political protest is an old tradition in Washington, the use of government resources to promote a single individual has no precedent in American life. Stier’s formulation cuts to the structural question: political leaders, in a democracy, are hired help.
Here, however, a distinction requires careful handling. Mussolini did not deny the face was his. He staged it. Stalin did not feign surprise at the naming of Stalingrad. The open dictatorial claim and the coy denial are different postures, and conflating them sacrifices diagnostic precision. Trump’s repeated insistence that others, acting independently, have chosen to honor him could be read as evidence that the democratic norm of appearing modest still exerts gravitational pull on him, that he still needs to perform the fiction of humility because the audience still expects it. A dictator who no longer needs to perform that fiction is operating from a different position of power. The denial, in other words, may mark a transitional phase rather than an accomplished fact: the leader who still pretends to be embarrassed by the adulation is further along the path than the leader who has never sought it, but he has not yet arrived at the place where the pretense becomes unnecessary. The direction of travel matters more than the current coordinates.
Against this visual program, something unexpected has been happening on the National Mall. An anonymous collective called the Secret Handshake has been installing guerrilla sculptures and banners within sight of the government portraits. In February, they erected a gold-painted statue depicting Trump and Jeffrey Epstein posed as Jack and Rose on the prow of the Titanic, titled “King of the World.” The National Park Service issued a four-day permit for the installation. Crowds gathered. People laughed. They took photographs. Some were offended. On March 31, the collective installed a gold-painted faux-marble toilet near the Lincoln Memorial, titled “A Throne Fit For a King,” mocking the renovation of the White House bathroom attached to the Lincoln Bedroom during a government shutdown.
A separate organization, the Save America Movement, has plastered Washington with posters targeting cabinet members. One shows a photograph of White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller with the caption “Fascism Ain’t Pretty.” Another shows Attorney General Pam Bondi with the words “Epstein Queen.”
Mary Corcoran, who runs the Save America Movement, has framed the asymmetry plainly: the administration funds its propaganda with taxpayer dollars, while the opposition funds its counter-imagery with donations.
Now: a reasonable person could look at this guerrilla campaign and argue that its existence disproves the alarm. Mussolini’s Rome never saw an anonymous collective erect a satirical statue of Il Duce outside the Palazzo Braschi and receive a government permit for the trouble. In Stalin’s Moscow, the Save America Movement equivalent would have been shot. Pyongyang renders the entire exercise unimaginable. The four-day permit is, in one reading, proof that American democracy is functioning exactly as designed: the state displays its iconography, citizens mock it, courts adjudicate the disputes, and the carnival continues. Beatty v. Trump is proceeding through federal court. Philip Glass withdrew from Kennedy Center programming and suffered no state reprisal. Every counter-example that can be celebrated as resistance is simultaneously evidence that the system under indictment has not yet collapsed.
This is a fair objection, and the article cannot survive without absorbing it. So let it be absorbed.
Whether the American system has already become a dictatorship has always been the wrong question. What matters is whether the distance between the current trajectory and that destination is shrinking, and how citizens would know the difference between a contested public sphere that reflects democratic health and a contested public sphere that reflects a transitional phase between open society and closed one. Every authoritarian state passed through a period in which satirical statues could still be erected, in which permits were still granted, in which courts still heard challenges to executive overreach. The Weimar Republic had the most ferocious satirical press in Europe. It had George Grosz and John Heartfield and Kurt Tucholsky and a judiciary that, for a time, still functioned. Permits were issued. Magazines were published. And then they were not.
The permit is not the answer to the diagnostic question. The permit is the diagnostic question. Is the four-day window for a satirical statue evidence that the system is working, or evidence that the system is still in the phase where opposition is tolerated because it has not yet become threatening enough to suppress? We will not know the answer in real time. We will know it only in retrospect, and by then the knowing will be useless.
And here is where theatrical instinct becomes relevant to political analysis. What is happening on the National Mall is a stage contest. One side has seized the proscenium. It controls the permanent architecture, the lighting, the scale, the vantage points. Guerrilla artists are working from the wings, placing temporary objects designed to be photographed and circulated rather than to endure. State portraiture and monumental sculpture anchor the government’s visual strategy. Carnival, political caricature, and the traditions of Daumier, Gillray, and the Italian commedia dell’arte anchor the opposition’s.
Whether ridicule can defeat monumentalism is the open question. Historical evidence offers mixed answers. Daumier was imprisoned for his caricatures of King Louis-Philippe. Weimar Germany’s satirical press produced some of the most brilliant political art of the twentieth century and failed to prevent the rise of the Third Reich. Vaclav Havel, however, argued that humor and absurdity were essential tools of resistance under totalitarianism, that refusing to take the regime’s self-image seriously was itself a political act eroding the regime’s authority. Czech dissidents, from Havel’s essays to the work of the Plastic People of the Universe, demonstrated that a state’s control of the visual field could be undermined by the persistence of an alternative aesthetic. But Havel also spent years in prison before his persistence paid off, and Czechoslovakia’s liberation owed as much to the structural collapse of the Soviet Union as to the courage of its artists.
What makes Washington different is that the contest is happening in real time, in the same physical space, and it is mediated by the technology that makes the personality cult possible in the first place. A two-story banner goes up. A satirical statue appears within the banner’s sightline. Visitors photograph the juxtaposition and post it to social media, where the image circulates to millions of people who will never visit the Mall. Statues vanish after four days; photographs persist on millions of screens without expiration dates. Official banners carry the weight of authority, while the crowd’s editorial framing, captured in a single snapshot posted from a phone, carries the weight of witness. In the economy of attention, the guerrilla image may travel farther and lodge more durably in memory than the state image, precisely because it is funnier, stranger, and more human.
None of this means the guerrilla artists are winning. Banners still hang. The name still sits on the Kennedy Center, despite active litigation (Beatty v. Trump, as of March 2026, remains ongoing) and despite a federal statute designating the Center as the sole national memorial to John F. Kennedy in the capital and prohibiting renaming without an act of Congress. Performers who withdrew from Kennedy Center programming after the renaming, including the composer Philip Glass, understood that the building itself had been conscripted into a narrative they could not endorse through participation.
Architecture has always carried political meaning, and the National Mall was designed to embody democratic ideals through spatial openness, axial symmetry, and the subordination of individual identity to collective memory. Monuments there honor presidents who are dead. Memorials mark wars that are concluded. Museums house the patrimony of a nation, curated by institutions that are, at least in theory, independent of the sitting executive. Hanging a living president’s face from government buildings along the Mall ruptures the design logic of the space, superimposing the living ruler onto a landscape conceived for the contemplation of shared sacrifice and historical distance.
When the White House responded to criticism by stating that the president is focused on saving the country rather than garnering recognition, the statement performed its own negation. A president focused on the country rather than recognition does not hang his face on the Department of Justice, does not chair the board that renames a national performing arts center after him, and does not then express surprise at the outcome.
We have been here before, and we have not been here before. The Palazzo Braschi face came down. Mussolini’s SI ballots were counted and discarded. Il Duce ended hanging by his ankles at a gas station in Milan. History does not replay mechanically, though certain patterns of self-display are diagnostic. When a leader begins claiming public architecture for private glorification, the leader is telling you what he believes about the relationship between the state and himself. That face on the building is a declaration. And in a functioning democracy, citizens who see it are obligated to name what it means, clearly and without apology, while the permit to erect the satirical statue in its shadow still exists, because the day the permit is denied will be the day the argument is settled, and by then, the argument will no longer matter.
#americanTradition #architecture #economy #governmentAdvertising #guerrillaArtists #gutzonBorglum #mussolini #nation #nationalMall #palazzoBraschi #PhilipGlass #politics #promotion #wpa -
The Face on the Building: America’s Palazzo Braschi Moment
In 1934, the Fascist Party Federation draped the facade of Rome’s Palazzo Braschi with an enormous sculpted face of Benito Mussolini, surrounded by the word “SI” repeated in cascading rows. The building sat between Piazza Navona and the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II, in the heart of a city that had been shaping political identity through architecture for two thousand years. That face functioned as an instruction. Citizens who walked beneath it understood, whether they could articulate it or not, that the state had claimed the visual field, and that to exist in public space was to exist under observation and under obligation, holding the urban semiotic.
Ninety-two years later, giant banners bearing the face of a sitting American president hang from the Department of Justice, the Department of Labor, and the Department of Agriculture in Washington, D.C. Each banner is photographed from slightly below, a classic technique in authoritarian portraiture that elongates the jaw and narrows the eyes, producing an expression of surveillance rather than service. Meanwhile, his name has been affixed to the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts and to the United States Institute of Peace. His signature will appear on American currency. A presidential portrait replaces nature photography on the America the Beautiful national parks pass. And his birthday has been twinned with Flag Day by the Department of the Interior, granting free admission to national parks on April 14 as a celebration of the man rather than the land.
These are facts, and they require no editorial seasoning to alarm anyone who has spent time with the visual history of the twentieth century.
Before sharpening the comparison, though, honesty demands an accounting of the American tradition it descends from. The United States has never been modest about presidential memorialization. Gutzon Borglum carved four presidential faces into a mountain in the Black Hills of South Dakota that the Lakota Sioux called Six Grandfathers, a monument to democratic leadership built on stolen land with the enthusiastic participation of a sculptor who attended Ku Klux Klan rallies. Lyndon Johnson named the Kennedy Center for Kennedy partly as a political maneuver to move arts funding legislation through Congress. Franklin Roosevelt’s WPA projects stamped federal iconography onto every post office and courthouse in the country, building a visual vocabulary of state presence that Americans still inhabit without noticing. The impulse to brand public space with presidential identity has a long and bipartisan genealogy.
What Trump is doing, then, sits on a spectrum rather than outside it. The question is whether it occupies an extreme position on a familiar American continuum or whether it has crossed into categorically different territory. Borglum’s mountain honored dead presidents. LBJ’s naming honored an assassinated predecessor. Roosevelt’s WPA murals depicted collective labor, not the president’s own face. In each case, the memorialization was filtered through institutional processes, legislative authorization, or the basic decorum of waiting until the honoree was no longer in office. What distinguishes the current campaign is the erasure of those filters. A sitting president chairing the board that renames a performing arts center after him, then claiming surprise at the vote he orchestrated, is operating by a different set of rules than the ones that governed even the most vainglorious of his predecessors.
Consider the Kennedy Center board that voted unanimously to add Trump’s name: it was composed entirely of his own appointees. At the Institute of Peace, the board was similarly reconstituted before the renaming. Federal agencies under executive authority commissioned the banners on government buildings, and when the USDA initially described one as temporary, the pattern expanded rather than retreated. Add the currency signature, the national parks pass, the birthday celebration, the proposed renaming of Penn Station, Dulles Airport, and the Washington Commanders stadium, the Trump-class battleships, the Trump Accounts, TrumpRx, the Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity connecting Armenia and Azerbaijan: each item, in isolation, might be dismissed as a peculiar excess. Assembled together, they constitute a program. And the speed of the assembly matters, because personality cults do not arrive fully formed. They accrete.
Ruth Ben-Ghiat, the NYU historian and author of Strongmen: Mussolini to the Present, has described the current pattern as the construction of a personality cult. Trump himself, when asked about the namings, has repeatedly denied agency. He claimed surprise at the Kennedy Center vote, said during the State of the Union that nobody believed him but he did not name the Trump Accounts, and repeated the denial for TrumpRx. Senator Adam Schiff published a formal report in September 2025 identifying the banners as violations of federal law and drawing explicit parallels to Mussolini’s facade and to the Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il portraits that adorn government buildings across North Korea. Dr. Emma Briant, a visiting associate professor at the University of Notre Dame who researches propaganda and information warfare, has identified the banners as consistent with the visual grammar of dictatorship. Max Stier, who leads the nonpartisan Partnership for Public Service, has stated that while political protest is an old tradition in Washington, the use of government resources to promote a single individual has no precedent in American life. Stier’s formulation cuts to the structural question: political leaders, in a democracy, are hired help.
Here, however, a distinction requires careful handling. Mussolini did not deny the face was his. He staged it. Stalin did not feign surprise at the naming of Stalingrad. The open dictatorial claim and the coy denial are different postures, and conflating them sacrifices diagnostic precision. Trump’s repeated insistence that others, acting independently, have chosen to honor him could be read as evidence that the democratic norm of appearing modest still exerts gravitational pull on him, that he still needs to perform the fiction of humility because the audience still expects it. A dictator who no longer needs to perform that fiction is operating from a different position of power. The denial, in other words, may mark a transitional phase rather than an accomplished fact: the leader who still pretends to be embarrassed by the adulation is further along the path than the leader who has never sought it, but he has not yet arrived at the place where the pretense becomes unnecessary. The direction of travel matters more than the current coordinates.
Against this visual program, something unexpected has been happening on the National Mall. An anonymous collective called the Secret Handshake has been installing guerrilla sculptures and banners within sight of the government portraits. In February, they erected a gold-painted statue depicting Trump and Jeffrey Epstein posed as Jack and Rose on the prow of the Titanic, titled “King of the World.” The National Park Service issued a four-day permit for the installation. Crowds gathered. People laughed. They took photographs. Some were offended. On March 31, the collective installed a gold-painted faux-marble toilet near the Lincoln Memorial, titled “A Throne Fit For a King,” mocking the renovation of the White House bathroom attached to the Lincoln Bedroom during a government shutdown.
A separate organization, the Save America Movement, has plastered Washington with posters targeting cabinet members. One shows a photograph of White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller with the caption “Fascism Ain’t Pretty.” Another shows Attorney General Pam Bondi with the words “Epstein Queen.”
Mary Corcoran, who runs the Save America Movement, has framed the asymmetry plainly: the administration funds its propaganda with taxpayer dollars, while the opposition funds its counter-imagery with donations.
Now: a reasonable person could look at this guerrilla campaign and argue that its existence disproves the alarm. Mussolini’s Rome never saw an anonymous collective erect a satirical statue of Il Duce outside the Palazzo Braschi and receive a government permit for the trouble. In Stalin’s Moscow, the Save America Movement equivalent would have been shot. Pyongyang renders the entire exercise unimaginable. The four-day permit is, in one reading, proof that American democracy is functioning exactly as designed: the state displays its iconography, citizens mock it, courts adjudicate the disputes, and the carnival continues. Beatty v. Trump is proceeding through federal court. Philip Glass withdrew from Kennedy Center programming and suffered no state reprisal. Every counter-example that can be celebrated as resistance is simultaneously evidence that the system under indictment has not yet collapsed.
This is a fair objection, and the article cannot survive without absorbing it. So let it be absorbed.
Whether the American system has already become a dictatorship has always been the wrong question. What matters is whether the distance between the current trajectory and that destination is shrinking, and how citizens would know the difference between a contested public sphere that reflects democratic health and a contested public sphere that reflects a transitional phase between open society and closed one. Every authoritarian state passed through a period in which satirical statues could still be erected, in which permits were still granted, in which courts still heard challenges to executive overreach. The Weimar Republic had the most ferocious satirical press in Europe. It had George Grosz and John Heartfield and Kurt Tucholsky and a judiciary that, for a time, still functioned. Permits were issued. Magazines were published. And then they were not.
The permit is not the answer to the diagnostic question. The permit is the diagnostic question. Is the four-day window for a satirical statue evidence that the system is working, or evidence that the system is still in the phase where opposition is tolerated because it has not yet become threatening enough to suppress? We will not know the answer in real time. We will know it only in retrospect, and by then the knowing will be useless.
And here is where theatrical instinct becomes relevant to political analysis. What is happening on the National Mall is a stage contest. One side has seized the proscenium. It controls the permanent architecture, the lighting, the scale, the vantage points. Guerrilla artists are working from the wings, placing temporary objects designed to be photographed and circulated rather than to endure. State portraiture and monumental sculpture anchor the government’s visual strategy. Carnival, political caricature, and the traditions of Daumier, Gillray, and the Italian commedia dell’arte anchor the opposition’s.
Whether ridicule can defeat monumentalism is the open question. Historical evidence offers mixed answers. Daumier was imprisoned for his caricatures of King Louis-Philippe. Weimar Germany’s satirical press produced some of the most brilliant political art of the twentieth century and failed to prevent the rise of the Third Reich. Vaclav Havel, however, argued that humor and absurdity were essential tools of resistance under totalitarianism, that refusing to take the regime’s self-image seriously was itself a political act eroding the regime’s authority. Czech dissidents, from Havel’s essays to the work of the Plastic People of the Universe, demonstrated that a state’s control of the visual field could be undermined by the persistence of an alternative aesthetic. But Havel also spent years in prison before his persistence paid off, and Czechoslovakia’s liberation owed as much to the structural collapse of the Soviet Union as to the courage of its artists.
What makes Washington different is that the contest is happening in real time, in the same physical space, and it is mediated by the technology that makes the personality cult possible in the first place. A two-story banner goes up. A satirical statue appears within the banner’s sightline. Visitors photograph the juxtaposition and post it to social media, where the image circulates to millions of people who will never visit the Mall. Statues vanish after four days; photographs persist on millions of screens without expiration dates. Official banners carry the weight of authority, while the crowd’s editorial framing, captured in a single snapshot posted from a phone, carries the weight of witness. In the economy of attention, the guerrilla image may travel farther and lodge more durably in memory than the state image, precisely because it is funnier, stranger, and more human.
None of this means the guerrilla artists are winning. Banners still hang. The name still sits on the Kennedy Center, despite active litigation (Beatty v. Trump, as of March 2026, remains ongoing) and despite a federal statute designating the Center as the sole national memorial to John F. Kennedy in the capital and prohibiting renaming without an act of Congress. Performers who withdrew from Kennedy Center programming after the renaming, including the composer Philip Glass, understood that the building itself had been conscripted into a narrative they could not endorse through participation.
Architecture has always carried political meaning, and the National Mall was designed to embody democratic ideals through spatial openness, axial symmetry, and the subordination of individual identity to collective memory. Monuments there honor presidents who are dead. Memorials mark wars that are concluded. Museums house the patrimony of a nation, curated by institutions that are, at least in theory, independent of the sitting executive. Hanging a living president’s face from government buildings along the Mall ruptures the design logic of the space, superimposing the living ruler onto a landscape conceived for the contemplation of shared sacrifice and historical distance.
When the White House responded to criticism by stating that the president is focused on saving the country rather than garnering recognition, the statement performed its own negation. A president focused on the country rather than recognition does not hang his face on the Department of Justice, does not chair the board that renames a national performing arts center after him, and does not then express surprise at the outcome.
We have been here before, and we have not been here before. The Palazzo Braschi face came down. Mussolini’s SI ballots were counted and discarded. Il Duce ended hanging by his ankles at a gas station in Milan. History does not replay mechanically, though certain patterns of self-display are diagnostic. When a leader begins claiming public architecture for private glorification, the leader is telling you what he believes about the relationship between the state and himself. That face on the building is a declaration. And in a functioning democracy, citizens who see it are obligated to name what it means, clearly and without apology, while the permit to erect the satirical statue in its shadow still exists, because the day the permit is denied will be the day the argument is settled, and by then, the argument will no longer matter.
#americanTradition #architecture #economy #governmentAdvertising #guerrillaArtists #gutzonBorglum #mussolini #nation #nationalMall #palazzoBraschi #PhilipGlass #politics #promotion #wpa -
The Face on the Building: America’s Palazzo Braschi Moment
In 1934, the Fascist Party Federation draped the facade of Rome’s Palazzo Braschi with an enormous sculpted face of Benito Mussolini, surrounded by the word “SI” repeated in cascading rows. The building sat between Piazza Navona and the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II, in the heart of a city that had been shaping political identity through architecture for two thousand years. That face functioned as an instruction. Citizens who walked beneath it understood, whether they could articulate it or not, that the state had claimed the visual field, and that to exist in public space was to exist under observation and under obligation, holding the urban semiotic.
Ninety-two years later, giant banners bearing the face of a sitting American president hang from the Department of Justice, the Department of Labor, and the Department of Agriculture in Washington, D.C. Each banner is photographed from slightly below, a classic technique in authoritarian portraiture that elongates the jaw and narrows the eyes, producing an expression of surveillance rather than service. Meanwhile, his name has been affixed to the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts and to the United States Institute of Peace. His signature will appear on American currency. A presidential portrait replaces nature photography on the America the Beautiful national parks pass. And his birthday has been twinned with Flag Day by the Department of the Interior, granting free admission to national parks on April 14 as a celebration of the man rather than the land.
These are facts, and they require no editorial seasoning to alarm anyone who has spent time with the visual history of the twentieth century.
Before sharpening the comparison, though, honesty demands an accounting of the American tradition it descends from. The United States has never been modest about presidential memorialization. Gutzon Borglum carved four presidential faces into a mountain in the Black Hills of South Dakota that the Lakota Sioux called Six Grandfathers, a monument to democratic leadership built on stolen land with the enthusiastic participation of a sculptor who attended Ku Klux Klan rallies. Lyndon Johnson named the Kennedy Center for Kennedy partly as a political maneuver to move arts funding legislation through Congress. Franklin Roosevelt’s WPA projects stamped federal iconography onto every post office and courthouse in the country, building a visual vocabulary of state presence that Americans still inhabit without noticing. The impulse to brand public space with presidential identity has a long and bipartisan genealogy.
What Trump is doing, then, sits on a spectrum rather than outside it. The question is whether it occupies an extreme position on a familiar American continuum or whether it has crossed into categorically different territory. Borglum’s mountain honored dead presidents. LBJ’s naming honored an assassinated predecessor. Roosevelt’s WPA murals depicted collective labor, not the president’s own face. In each case, the memorialization was filtered through institutional processes, legislative authorization, or the basic decorum of waiting until the honoree was no longer in office. What distinguishes the current campaign is the erasure of those filters. A sitting president chairing the board that renames a performing arts center after him, then claiming surprise at the vote he orchestrated, is operating by a different set of rules than the ones that governed even the most vainglorious of his predecessors.
Consider the Kennedy Center board that voted unanimously to add Trump’s name: it was composed entirely of his own appointees. At the Institute of Peace, the board was similarly reconstituted before the renaming. Federal agencies under executive authority commissioned the banners on government buildings, and when the USDA initially described one as temporary, the pattern expanded rather than retreated. Add the currency signature, the national parks pass, the birthday celebration, the proposed renaming of Penn Station, Dulles Airport, and the Washington Commanders stadium, the Trump-class battleships, the Trump Accounts, TrumpRx, the Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity connecting Armenia and Azerbaijan: each item, in isolation, might be dismissed as a peculiar excess. Assembled together, they constitute a program. And the speed of the assembly matters, because personality cults do not arrive fully formed. They accrete.
Ruth Ben-Ghiat, the NYU historian and author of Strongmen: Mussolini to the Present, has described the current pattern as the construction of a personality cult. Trump himself, when asked about the namings, has repeatedly denied agency. He claimed surprise at the Kennedy Center vote, said during the State of the Union that nobody believed him but he did not name the Trump Accounts, and repeated the denial for TrumpRx. Senator Adam Schiff published a formal report in September 2025 identifying the banners as violations of federal law and drawing explicit parallels to Mussolini’s facade and to the Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il portraits that adorn government buildings across North Korea. Dr. Emma Briant, a visiting associate professor at the University of Notre Dame who researches propaganda and information warfare, has identified the banners as consistent with the visual grammar of dictatorship. Max Stier, who leads the nonpartisan Partnership for Public Service, has stated that while political protest is an old tradition in Washington, the use of government resources to promote a single individual has no precedent in American life. Stier’s formulation cuts to the structural question: political leaders, in a democracy, are hired help.
Here, however, a distinction requires careful handling. Mussolini did not deny the face was his. He staged it. Stalin did not feign surprise at the naming of Stalingrad. The open dictatorial claim and the coy denial are different postures, and conflating them sacrifices diagnostic precision. Trump’s repeated insistence that others, acting independently, have chosen to honor him could be read as evidence that the democratic norm of appearing modest still exerts gravitational pull on him, that he still needs to perform the fiction of humility because the audience still expects it. A dictator who no longer needs to perform that fiction is operating from a different position of power. The denial, in other words, may mark a transitional phase rather than an accomplished fact: the leader who still pretends to be embarrassed by the adulation is further along the path than the leader who has never sought it, but he has not yet arrived at the place where the pretense becomes unnecessary. The direction of travel matters more than the current coordinates.
Against this visual program, something unexpected has been happening on the National Mall. An anonymous collective called the Secret Handshake has been installing guerrilla sculptures and banners within sight of the government portraits. In February, they erected a gold-painted statue depicting Trump and Jeffrey Epstein posed as Jack and Rose on the prow of the Titanic, titled “King of the World.” The National Park Service issued a four-day permit for the installation. Crowds gathered. People laughed. They took photographs. Some were offended. On March 31, the collective installed a gold-painted faux-marble toilet near the Lincoln Memorial, titled “A Throne Fit For a King,” mocking the renovation of the White House bathroom attached to the Lincoln Bedroom during a government shutdown.
A separate organization, the Save America Movement, has plastered Washington with posters targeting cabinet members. One shows a photograph of White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller with the caption “Fascism Ain’t Pretty.” Another shows Attorney General Pam Bondi with the words “Epstein Queen.”
Mary Corcoran, who runs the Save America Movement, has framed the asymmetry plainly: the administration funds its propaganda with taxpayer dollars, while the opposition funds its counter-imagery with donations.
Now: a reasonable person could look at this guerrilla campaign and argue that its existence disproves the alarm. Mussolini’s Rome never saw an anonymous collective erect a satirical statue of Il Duce outside the Palazzo Braschi and receive a government permit for the trouble. In Stalin’s Moscow, the Save America Movement equivalent would have been shot. Pyongyang renders the entire exercise unimaginable. The four-day permit is, in one reading, proof that American democracy is functioning exactly as designed: the state displays its iconography, citizens mock it, courts adjudicate the disputes, and the carnival continues. Beatty v. Trump is proceeding through federal court. Philip Glass withdrew from Kennedy Center programming and suffered no state reprisal. Every counter-example that can be celebrated as resistance is simultaneously evidence that the system under indictment has not yet collapsed.
This is a fair objection, and the article cannot survive without absorbing it. So let it be absorbed.
Whether the American system has already become a dictatorship has always been the wrong question. What matters is whether the distance between the current trajectory and that destination is shrinking, and how citizens would know the difference between a contested public sphere that reflects democratic health and a contested public sphere that reflects a transitional phase between open society and closed one. Every authoritarian state passed through a period in which satirical statues could still be erected, in which permits were still granted, in which courts still heard challenges to executive overreach. The Weimar Republic had the most ferocious satirical press in Europe. It had George Grosz and John Heartfield and Kurt Tucholsky and a judiciary that, for a time, still functioned. Permits were issued. Magazines were published. And then they were not.
The permit is not the answer to the diagnostic question. The permit is the diagnostic question. Is the four-day window for a satirical statue evidence that the system is working, or evidence that the system is still in the phase where opposition is tolerated because it has not yet become threatening enough to suppress? We will not know the answer in real time. We will know it only in retrospect, and by then the knowing will be useless.
And here is where theatrical instinct becomes relevant to political analysis. What is happening on the National Mall is a stage contest. One side has seized the proscenium. It controls the permanent architecture, the lighting, the scale, the vantage points. Guerrilla artists are working from the wings, placing temporary objects designed to be photographed and circulated rather than to endure. State portraiture and monumental sculpture anchor the government’s visual strategy. Carnival, political caricature, and the traditions of Daumier, Gillray, and the Italian commedia dell’arte anchor the opposition’s.
Whether ridicule can defeat monumentalism is the open question. Historical evidence offers mixed answers. Daumier was imprisoned for his caricatures of King Louis-Philippe. Weimar Germany’s satirical press produced some of the most brilliant political art of the twentieth century and failed to prevent the rise of the Third Reich. Vaclav Havel, however, argued that humor and absurdity were essential tools of resistance under totalitarianism, that refusing to take the regime’s self-image seriously was itself a political act eroding the regime’s authority. Czech dissidents, from Havel’s essays to the work of the Plastic People of the Universe, demonstrated that a state’s control of the visual field could be undermined by the persistence of an alternative aesthetic. But Havel also spent years in prison before his persistence paid off, and Czechoslovakia’s liberation owed as much to the structural collapse of the Soviet Union as to the courage of its artists.
What makes Washington different is that the contest is happening in real time, in the same physical space, and it is mediated by the technology that makes the personality cult possible in the first place. A two-story banner goes up. A satirical statue appears within the banner’s sightline. Visitors photograph the juxtaposition and post it to social media, where the image circulates to millions of people who will never visit the Mall. Statues vanish after four days; photographs persist on millions of screens without expiration dates. Official banners carry the weight of authority, while the crowd’s editorial framing, captured in a single snapshot posted from a phone, carries the weight of witness. In the economy of attention, the guerrilla image may travel farther and lodge more durably in memory than the state image, precisely because it is funnier, stranger, and more human.
None of this means the guerrilla artists are winning. Banners still hang. The name still sits on the Kennedy Center, despite active litigation (Beatty v. Trump, as of March 2026, remains ongoing) and despite a federal statute designating the Center as the sole national memorial to John F. Kennedy in the capital and prohibiting renaming without an act of Congress. Performers who withdrew from Kennedy Center programming after the renaming, including the composer Philip Glass, understood that the building itself had been conscripted into a narrative they could not endorse through participation.
Architecture has always carried political meaning, and the National Mall was designed to embody democratic ideals through spatial openness, axial symmetry, and the subordination of individual identity to collective memory. Monuments there honor presidents who are dead. Memorials mark wars that are concluded. Museums house the patrimony of a nation, curated by institutions that are, at least in theory, independent of the sitting executive. Hanging a living president’s face from government buildings along the Mall ruptures the design logic of the space, superimposing the living ruler onto a landscape conceived for the contemplation of shared sacrifice and historical distance.
When the White House responded to criticism by stating that the president is focused on saving the country rather than garnering recognition, the statement performed its own negation. A president focused on the country rather than recognition does not hang his face on the Department of Justice, does not chair the board that renames a national performing arts center after him, and does not then express surprise at the outcome.
We have been here before, and we have not been here before. The Palazzo Braschi face came down. Mussolini’s SI ballots were counted and discarded. Il Duce ended hanging by his ankles at a gas station in Milan. History does not replay mechanically, though certain patterns of self-display are diagnostic. When a leader begins claiming public architecture for private glorification, the leader is telling you what he believes about the relationship between the state and himself. That face on the building is a declaration. And in a functioning democracy, citizens who see it are obligated to name what it means, clearly and without apology, while the permit to erect the satirical statue in its shadow still exists, because the day the permit is denied will be the day the argument is settled, and by then, the argument will no longer matter.
#americanTradition #architecture #economy #governmentAdvertising #guerrillaArtists #gutzonBorglum #mussolini #nation #nationalMall #palazzoBraschi #PhilipGlass #politics #promotion #wpa -
The Face on the Building: America’s Palazzo Braschi Moment
In 1934, the Fascist Party Federation draped the facade of Rome’s Palazzo Braschi with an enormous sculpted face of Benito Mussolini, surrounded by the word “SI” repeated in cascading rows. The building sat between Piazza Navona and the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II, in the heart of a city that had been shaping political identity through architecture for two thousand years. That face functioned as an instruction. Citizens who walked beneath it understood, whether they could articulate it or not, that the state had claimed the visual field, and that to exist in public space was to exist under observation and under obligation, holding the urban semiotic.
Ninety-two years later, giant banners bearing the face of a sitting American president hang from the Department of Justice, the Department of Labor, and the Department of Agriculture in Washington, D.C. Each banner is photographed from slightly below, a classic technique in authoritarian portraiture that elongates the jaw and narrows the eyes, producing an expression of surveillance rather than service. Meanwhile, his name has been affixed to the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts and to the United States Institute of Peace. His signature will appear on American currency. A presidential portrait replaces nature photography on the America the Beautiful national parks pass. And his birthday has been twinned with Flag Day by the Department of the Interior, granting free admission to national parks on April 14 as a celebration of the man rather than the land.
These are facts, and they require no editorial seasoning to alarm anyone who has spent time with the visual history of the twentieth century.
Before sharpening the comparison, though, honesty demands an accounting of the American tradition it descends from. The United States has never been modest about presidential memorialization. Gutzon Borglum carved four presidential faces into a mountain in the Black Hills of South Dakota that the Lakota Sioux called Six Grandfathers, a monument to democratic leadership built on stolen land with the enthusiastic participation of a sculptor who attended Ku Klux Klan rallies. Lyndon Johnson named the Kennedy Center for Kennedy partly as a political maneuver to move arts funding legislation through Congress. Franklin Roosevelt’s WPA projects stamped federal iconography onto every post office and courthouse in the country, building a visual vocabulary of state presence that Americans still inhabit without noticing. The impulse to brand public space with presidential identity has a long and bipartisan genealogy.
What Trump is doing, then, sits on a spectrum rather than outside it. The question is whether it occupies an extreme position on a familiar American continuum or whether it has crossed into categorically different territory. Borglum’s mountain honored dead presidents. LBJ’s naming honored an assassinated predecessor. Roosevelt’s WPA murals depicted collective labor, not the president’s own face. In each case, the memorialization was filtered through institutional processes, legislative authorization, or the basic decorum of waiting until the honoree was no longer in office. What distinguishes the current campaign is the erasure of those filters. A sitting president chairing the board that renames a performing arts center after him, then claiming surprise at the vote he orchestrated, is operating by a different set of rules than the ones that governed even the most vainglorious of his predecessors.
Consider the Kennedy Center board that voted unanimously to add Trump’s name: it was composed entirely of his own appointees. At the Institute of Peace, the board was similarly reconstituted before the renaming. Federal agencies under executive authority commissioned the banners on government buildings, and when the USDA initially described one as temporary, the pattern expanded rather than retreated. Add the currency signature, the national parks pass, the birthday celebration, the proposed renaming of Penn Station, Dulles Airport, and the Washington Commanders stadium, the Trump-class battleships, the Trump Accounts, TrumpRx, the Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity connecting Armenia and Azerbaijan: each item, in isolation, might be dismissed as a peculiar excess. Assembled together, they constitute a program. And the speed of the assembly matters, because personality cults do not arrive fully formed. They accrete.
Ruth Ben-Ghiat, the NYU historian and author of Strongmen: Mussolini to the Present, has described the current pattern as the construction of a personality cult. Trump himself, when asked about the namings, has repeatedly denied agency. He claimed surprise at the Kennedy Center vote, said during the State of the Union that nobody believed him but he did not name the Trump Accounts, and repeated the denial for TrumpRx. Senator Adam Schiff published a formal report in September 2025 identifying the banners as violations of federal law and drawing explicit parallels to Mussolini’s facade and to the Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il portraits that adorn government buildings across North Korea. Dr. Emma Briant, a visiting associate professor at the University of Notre Dame who researches propaganda and information warfare, has identified the banners as consistent with the visual grammar of dictatorship. Max Stier, who leads the nonpartisan Partnership for Public Service, has stated that while political protest is an old tradition in Washington, the use of government resources to promote a single individual has no precedent in American life. Stier’s formulation cuts to the structural question: political leaders, in a democracy, are hired help.
Here, however, a distinction requires careful handling. Mussolini did not deny the face was his. He staged it. Stalin did not feign surprise at the naming of Stalingrad. The open dictatorial claim and the coy denial are different postures, and conflating them sacrifices diagnostic precision. Trump’s repeated insistence that others, acting independently, have chosen to honor him could be read as evidence that the democratic norm of appearing modest still exerts gravitational pull on him, that he still needs to perform the fiction of humility because the audience still expects it. A dictator who no longer needs to perform that fiction is operating from a different position of power. The denial, in other words, may mark a transitional phase rather than an accomplished fact: the leader who still pretends to be embarrassed by the adulation is further along the path than the leader who has never sought it, but he has not yet arrived at the place where the pretense becomes unnecessary. The direction of travel matters more than the current coordinates.
Against this visual program, something unexpected has been happening on the National Mall. An anonymous collective called the Secret Handshake has been installing guerrilla sculptures and banners within sight of the government portraits. In February, they erected a gold-painted statue depicting Trump and Jeffrey Epstein posed as Jack and Rose on the prow of the Titanic, titled “King of the World.” The National Park Service issued a four-day permit for the installation. Crowds gathered. People laughed. They took photographs. Some were offended. On March 31, the collective installed a gold-painted faux-marble toilet near the Lincoln Memorial, titled “A Throne Fit For a King,” mocking the renovation of the White House bathroom attached to the Lincoln Bedroom during a government shutdown.
A separate organization, the Save America Movement, has plastered Washington with posters targeting cabinet members. One shows a photograph of White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller with the caption “Fascism Ain’t Pretty.” Another shows Attorney General Pam Bondi with the words “Epstein Queen.”
Mary Corcoran, who runs the Save America Movement, has framed the asymmetry plainly: the administration funds its propaganda with taxpayer dollars, while the opposition funds its counter-imagery with donations.
Now: a reasonable person could look at this guerrilla campaign and argue that its existence disproves the alarm. Mussolini’s Rome never saw an anonymous collective erect a satirical statue of Il Duce outside the Palazzo Braschi and receive a government permit for the trouble. In Stalin’s Moscow, the Save America Movement equivalent would have been shot. Pyongyang renders the entire exercise unimaginable. The four-day permit is, in one reading, proof that American democracy is functioning exactly as designed: the state displays its iconography, citizens mock it, courts adjudicate the disputes, and the carnival continues. Beatty v. Trump is proceeding through federal court. Philip Glass withdrew from Kennedy Center programming and suffered no state reprisal. Every counter-example that can be celebrated as resistance is simultaneously evidence that the system under indictment has not yet collapsed.
This is a fair objection, and the article cannot survive without absorbing it. So let it be absorbed.
Whether the American system has already become a dictatorship has always been the wrong question. What matters is whether the distance between the current trajectory and that destination is shrinking, and how citizens would know the difference between a contested public sphere that reflects democratic health and a contested public sphere that reflects a transitional phase between open society and closed one. Every authoritarian state passed through a period in which satirical statues could still be erected, in which permits were still granted, in which courts still heard challenges to executive overreach. The Weimar Republic had the most ferocious satirical press in Europe. It had George Grosz and John Heartfield and Kurt Tucholsky and a judiciary that, for a time, still functioned. Permits were issued. Magazines were published. And then they were not.
The permit is not the answer to the diagnostic question. The permit is the diagnostic question. Is the four-day window for a satirical statue evidence that the system is working, or evidence that the system is still in the phase where opposition is tolerated because it has not yet become threatening enough to suppress? We will not know the answer in real time. We will know it only in retrospect, and by then the knowing will be useless.
And here is where theatrical instinct becomes relevant to political analysis. What is happening on the National Mall is a stage contest. One side has seized the proscenium. It controls the permanent architecture, the lighting, the scale, the vantage points. Guerrilla artists are working from the wings, placing temporary objects designed to be photographed and circulated rather than to endure. State portraiture and monumental sculpture anchor the government’s visual strategy. Carnival, political caricature, and the traditions of Daumier, Gillray, and the Italian commedia dell’arte anchor the opposition’s.
Whether ridicule can defeat monumentalism is the open question. Historical evidence offers mixed answers. Daumier was imprisoned for his caricatures of King Louis-Philippe. Weimar Germany’s satirical press produced some of the most brilliant political art of the twentieth century and failed to prevent the rise of the Third Reich. Vaclav Havel, however, argued that humor and absurdity were essential tools of resistance under totalitarianism, that refusing to take the regime’s self-image seriously was itself a political act eroding the regime’s authority. Czech dissidents, from Havel’s essays to the work of the Plastic People of the Universe, demonstrated that a state’s control of the visual field could be undermined by the persistence of an alternative aesthetic. But Havel also spent years in prison before his persistence paid off, and Czechoslovakia’s liberation owed as much to the structural collapse of the Soviet Union as to the courage of its artists.
What makes Washington different is that the contest is happening in real time, in the same physical space, and it is mediated by the technology that makes the personality cult possible in the first place. A two-story banner goes up. A satirical statue appears within the banner’s sightline. Visitors photograph the juxtaposition and post it to social media, where the image circulates to millions of people who will never visit the Mall. Statues vanish after four days; photographs persist on millions of screens without expiration dates. Official banners carry the weight of authority, while the crowd’s editorial framing, captured in a single snapshot posted from a phone, carries the weight of witness. In the economy of attention, the guerrilla image may travel farther and lodge more durably in memory than the state image, precisely because it is funnier, stranger, and more human.
None of this means the guerrilla artists are winning. Banners still hang. The name still sits on the Kennedy Center, despite active litigation (Beatty v. Trump, as of March 2026, remains ongoing) and despite a federal statute designating the Center as the sole national memorial to John F. Kennedy in the capital and prohibiting renaming without an act of Congress. Performers who withdrew from Kennedy Center programming after the renaming, including the composer Philip Glass, understood that the building itself had been conscripted into a narrative they could not endorse through participation.
Architecture has always carried political meaning, and the National Mall was designed to embody democratic ideals through spatial openness, axial symmetry, and the subordination of individual identity to collective memory. Monuments there honor presidents who are dead. Memorials mark wars that are concluded. Museums house the patrimony of a nation, curated by institutions that are, at least in theory, independent of the sitting executive. Hanging a living president’s face from government buildings along the Mall ruptures the design logic of the space, superimposing the living ruler onto a landscape conceived for the contemplation of shared sacrifice and historical distance.
When the White House responded to criticism by stating that the president is focused on saving the country rather than garnering recognition, the statement performed its own negation. A president focused on the country rather than recognition does not hang his face on the Department of Justice, does not chair the board that renames a national performing arts center after him, and does not then express surprise at the outcome.
We have been here before, and we have not been here before. The Palazzo Braschi face came down. Mussolini’s SI ballots were counted and discarded. Il Duce ended hanging by his ankles at a gas station in Milan. History does not replay mechanically, though certain patterns of self-display are diagnostic. When a leader begins claiming public architecture for private glorification, the leader is telling you what he believes about the relationship between the state and himself. That face on the building is a declaration. And in a functioning democracy, citizens who see it are obligated to name what it means, clearly and without apology, while the permit to erect the satirical statue in its shadow still exists, because the day the permit is denied will be the day the argument is settled, and by then, the argument will no longer matter.
#americanTradition #architecture #economy #governmentAdvertising #guerrillaArtists #gutzonBorglum #mussolini #nation #nationalMall #palazzoBraschi #PhilipGlass #politics #promotion #wpa -
Turning Saffron into Slop – Treylya Safran yn Skomblans
Kernewek is under attack. The attacker? Machine-made rubbish. Fresh from companies dictionary-bashing to make terrible ‘translations’ for their black-and-gold-washing brandification of Kernow, the shoddiness has spiralled.
Error-riddled AI ‘Kernewek textbooks’ have appeared on Amazon, by ‘authors’ who are at best well-meaning but harmful and at worst out to exploit us. Worse, a prominent crackpot is ‘translating’ conspiracy theories into ‘Cornish’ en masse. It’s not just nonsensical; it ties our language to fascism faster than we, making content by hand, can work to untie it.
There are those who believe that the best defence is to put down our shield and join the opposing forces: to ‘buy in’ to AI in the hope of coming out the other side with a useful tool for the language and a stronger community. Such hopes must be abandoned. What follows is a look why this approach is wrong-headed, as evidenced by universities, activists and indigenous groups.
Kernewek yw yn-dann omsettyans. An omsettyer? Atal gwrys dre jynn. Nowydh devedhys a gompanis ow pylla gerlyvrow rag gul ‘treylyansow’ euthyk rag aga merkegyans yethwolghi a Gernow, an pilyekter re wrug pesya.
‘Dysklyvrow’ ‘Kernewek’ gwallblagys re apperyas war Amazon, gans ‘awtours’ neb yw teg aga thowl dhe’n gwella ha drogusus aga hwans dhe’n gwettha. Lakka, yma koyntwas a vri ow ‘treylya’ tybiethow kesplottyans dhe ‘Gernewek’ yn routh. Nyns yw gocki hepken; y kelm agan yeth orth faskorieth uskissa es dell yllyn, dre wul dalgh dre leuv, oberi dh’y digelmi.
Yma nebes a grys bos agan gwella difres gorra an skoos dhyworthyn ha junya an ostys er agan pynn: dhe ‘unverhe’ gans SK gans govenek dos yn-mes gans toul dhe les rag an yeth ha kemeneth kreffa. Res yw hepkor govenegow a’n par na. An pyth hag a sew a vir orth prag yth yw an devedhyans ma penn-gam, dell yw dustunys gans pennskolyow, gweythresoryon ha bagasow teythyek.
Note: Artificial Intelligence (AI) has come to be synonymous with Generative AI (GenAI) and with Large Language Models (LLMs), such as ChatGPT, in common parlance. Unless explicitly stated, I use the terms interchangeably.
Kernewek is under attack. The attacker? Machine-made rubbish. Fresh from companies dictionary-bashing to make terrible ‘translations’ for their black-and-gold-washing brandification of Kernow*, the shoddiness has spiralled.
Error-riddled AI ‘Kernewek textbooks’ have appeared on Amazon, by ‘authors’ who are at best well-meaning but harmful and at worst out to exploit us. Worse, a prominent crackpot is ‘translating’ conspiracy theories into ‘Cornish’ en masse. It’s not just nonsensical; it ties our language to fascism faster than we, making content by hand, can work to untie it.
There are those who believe that the best defence is to put down our shield and join the opposing forces: to ‘buy in’ to AI in the hope of coming out the other side with a useful tool for the language and a stronger community. Such hopes must be abandoned. What follows is a look why this approach is wrong-headed, as evidenced by universities, activists and indigenous groups.
LOW-RESOURCES AND LINGUISTIC TYPOLOGY
Simply adding a language to an AI model leads to a spike in poor-quality articles, drowning out quality writing by humans. AI has “industrialized the acts of destruction—which affect vulnerable languages most, since AI translations are typically far less reliable for them.”1 Wikipedia editors from varied languages evidence that machine translation tools have made it easier than ever before to create shoddy articles in minoritised languages, causing massive damage in minutes. AI leads to non-speakers producing much longer, truthier rubbish, Sámi computational linguistics expert Trond Trosterud notes: “the problem [is] that they are armed with Google Translate. Earlier they were armed only with dictionaries.”1
Kernewek, like all but 60 of the world’s roughly 7,000 languages, is designated “low-resource”, meaning it lacks sufficient data to train a machine.2 It is tempting, therefore, to assume that the solution is to provide more data. However, training an LLM requires petabytes of text, audio and video—manually categorised and in a machine-readable format—a vast trove that Kernewek simply does not have.3 Professor Will Lamb, Chair of Gaelic Ethnology and Linguistics at Edinburgh University, speaks of “millions of work hours devoted to just one aspect” of a working AI.4
Even if ChatGPT is trained on another language than English, the time and labour required may make it largely unviable. Current assessments of the performance of ChatGPT for different languages have shown that it performs worse in all tasks.5
Prof. Lina Dencik, Data Justice Lab
Furthermore, the amount of data and work is not the only barrier; at issue is the nature of the language itself. Microsoft has found that languages such as Breton—and thus Kernewek—cause a high rate of errors distinct from the size of their dataset, due to grammatical features, such as mutation, not present in well-sourced languages. As such, they remain poor without significant additional work.6 Essentially, simply adding more Kernewek may not help. Thus, engaging with AI is, for Kernewek, to tie ourselves to slop.
Noten: Skians Kreftus (SK) re dheuth ha bos kesstyr gans SK Dinythus (SKDin) ha gans Patronyow Yeth Bras (PYB), kepar ha ChatGPT, yn lavar kemmyn. Marnas bos menegys yn kler, my a us an termys yn keschanjyadow.
Kernewek yw yn-dann omsettyans. An omsettyer? Atal gwrys dre jynn. Nowydh devedhys a gompanis ow pylla gerlyvrow rag gul ‘treylyansow’ euthyk rag aga merkegyans yethwolghi a Gernow*, an pilyekter re wrug pesya.
‘Dysklyvrow’ ‘Kernewek’ gwallblagys re apperyas war Amazon, gans ‘awtours’ neb yw teg aga thowl dhe’n gwella ha drogusus aga hwans dhe’n gwettha. Lakka, yma koyntwas a vri ow ‘treylya’ tybiethow kesplottyans dhe ‘Gernewek’ yn routh. Nyns yw gocki hepken; y kelm agan yeth orth faskorieth uskissa es dell yllyn, dre wul dalgh dre leuv, oberi dh’y digelmi.
Yma nebes a grys bos agan gwella difres gorra an skoos dhyworthyn ha junya an ostys er agan pynn: dhe ‘unverhe’ gans SK gans govenek dos yn-mes gans toul dhe les rag an yeth ha kemeneth kreffa. Res yw hepkor govenegow a’n par na. An pyth hag a sew a vir orth prag yth yw an devedhyans ma penn-gam, dell yw dustunys gans pennskolyow, gweythresoryon ha bagasow teythyek.
ASNODHOW ISL HA TIPOLOGIETH YETHEL
Keworra yeth yn sempel orth patron SK a led orth spik yn erthyglow drog aga kwalita, ow peudhi skrif a gwalita gans tus. SK re wrug “diwysyansegi an aktys diswrians—hag a nas yethow goliadow an moyha, drefen bos treylyansow SK lieskweyth le lel yn tipek ragdha.”1 Golegydhyon Wikipedia a yethow divers a re dustuni re wrug medhelweyth-treylya y wul bos esya dell veu bythkweth kyns gwruthyl erthyglow pilyek yn yethow lyharivhes, ow kawsya damach kowrek yn mynysennow. SK a led orth digowsoryon owth askorra atal lieskweyth hirra ha gwirekka, konnyk yethonieth reknansek Sámi Trond Trosterud a not: “an kudyn [yw] aga bos ervys gans Google Translate. A-varra nyns ens ervys marnas gans gerlyvrow.”1
Kernewek, kepar hag oll marnas 60 a ogas lowr 7,000 yeth a’n bys, yw klassys avel “isel y asnodhow”, ow styrya nag eus dhodho kedhlow lowr dhe drenya jynn.2 Rakhenna, dynyek yw desevos bos an assoylyans profya moy a gedhlow. Byttegyns, res yw petavaytys a dekst, son ha gwydhyow—klassys dre leuv hag yn furvas redyadow gans jynn— dhe drenya PYB, tresorva efan nag eus dhe Gernewek yn sempel.3 Y kews Professor Will Lamb, Kaderyer Ethnologieth ha Yethonieth Wodhalek orth Pennskol Karedin, a “vilvilyow a ourys ober sakrys orth unn wedh hepken” a SK owth oberi.4
Hogen mars yw ChatGPT trenys war yeth a-der Sowsnek, an termyn hag ober yw res a styr y vos martesen anhewul dre vras. Arvreusyansow a-lemmyn a berformyans a ChatGPT rag yethow dyffrans re dhiskwedhas y perform gweth yn oberennow oll.5
Prof. Lina Dencik, Data Justice Lab
Pella, nyns yw an myns a gedhlow hag ober an unsel lett; a vern yw natur an yeth y honan. Microsoft re drovyas y kaws yethow kepar ha Bretonek—hag ytho Kernewek—kevradh ughel a wallow diblans a vraster aga sett kedhlow, drefen nasyow gramasek, kepar ha treylyansow, nag usi kevys yn yethow ughel aga asnodhow. Yndella, i a bes orth bos drog heb meur a ober keworransel.6 Yn essensek, possybyl yw ny wra keworra moy a Gernewek yn sempel gweres. Yndelma, oberi gans SK yw, rag Kernewek, omgelmi orth skomblans.
CORNISH UNDER CAPITALISM
But surely we can improve things over time? It will take a lot of help from AI companies, but it will be worth it. Sadly, Gabriel Nicholas, a research fellow at the Center for Democracy and Technology, has found that once a tech company has established basic capabilities for a language, they pat themselves on the back and move on.7
Big tech companies are just that: companies. They exist to make a profit. Unfortunately, a market dominated by big languages gives them no incentive to invest in improvements for small ones.
All of the speech technology, smart homes and voice interaction systems used today are the products of commercial research. To put it bluntly, they exist to either make money from your data, to sell you more goods and services, or to influence your thinking. None of this AI exists for the public good. […] Unless there is a strong enough economic argument, don’t expect big companies to rush into producing Welsh, Gaelic or Cornish speech systems.8
Prof. Ian McLoughlin, University of Kent
Should they decide that a Kernewek AI is a viable profit-making enterprise, our situation may even be worse than abandonment. As Dr. Fintan Mallory remarks, the dominant means of profit for privately-funded AI enterprises is to convert their tools into surveillance devices.9 As Kernewek is currently one of the UK’s only languages which is not currently easily surveillable, this poses a huge risk to Kernewek activism and the fight for self-determination in a state that seeks to criminalise dissent.
While we’re on the subject of Kernewek and its position under capitalism, let’s consider the human cost. I lost my 13-year career in language to AI as soon as English output became viable enough to excuse not paying a human. In the unlikely instance that we achieve an AI that can produce quality Kernewek, why would anyone bother paying speakers? The idea of AI sucking all the life out of my heritage language when we are struggling to survive as-is is appalling.
Simply put, profit is antithetical to people. While AI is the new favourite toy of profit, it will be antithetical to people. And a language is its people.
KENEDHEL HEB YETH, KENEDHEL HEB KOLON
Combinations of characters on a screen mean nothing without agency and intention.10
Ross Perlin, Endangered Language Alliance
While language is not unique to humans, it is one of the chief parts of being human. It cannot be reduced to mere data, but is a highly social process.11 We all know how synthetic customer support via robot sounds or how AI fails to pick up nuance. As Dr. Mallory comments, “Language [is] something more like the soul of a community. You can’t store this in a machine. You can’t solve a human problem like linguicide with a view of language that removes the human component.”12
AI cannot comprehend Kernewek or any other language. It is a stochastic parrot: predicting what word is likely to follow the previous one.13 It cannot understand us. It cannot intend anything. If it tells you it feels delighted to help you, it is lying. I want our community to grow, but one hundred ‘Cornish-speaking’ computers do not add to it. One human does—bringing ideas and hopes and fears and foibles—and I do not think the Kernewek ‘speaking’ computers will add even one human to our community.
Worse, if it does, there is evidence from Microsoft to suggest that the use of GenAI on language tasks, even once a week, impairs cognitive ability to learn, leading to decreased engagement with the topic, overreliance on the technology and hobbled skills in independent problem-solving.14 By using AI tools to ‘teach’ a learner Kernewek, we may in fact be impairing their ability to learn the language at all without this crutch. We will make regurgitators in place of speakers.
Perlin also emphasises the human element, saying that when we hold community central to our languages, as we do, the stochastic parrot can feel like a violation.15 At the moment, I can tell when someone is using AI ‘Kernewek’ to me. The idea that one day I will not know when an outsider—someone I would welcome if they took up a book or a class—is puppeting my ancestors’ jaws and speaking through them is ghoulish. It has the instant sting of colonialism, of appropriation when one could appreciate, of parroting when one could join our chorus.
Hawai’ian scholar Ha‘alilio Solomon agrees: “It is painful, because it reminds us of all the times that our culture and language has been appropriated. We have been fighting tooth and nail in an uphill climb for language revitalization.[…] People are going to think that this is an accurate representation of the Hawaiian language.”16
TRUST AND COMMUNITY FEELING
The anti-machine backlash has long been simmering but is now seemingly breaking to the surface.17
NBC NEWS
The explosion of insults for AI itself (clanker, tinskin, toaster), its output (slop, dross, brainrot) and its users (slopper, groksucker, botlicker, second-hand thinker)—as well as others more clearly based on real-world slurs than I am comfortable to include—tells a tale of the general attitude of distrust and disgust towards the technology and its use on anglophone and other majority language internet.18 While the attitude among tech bros and corporates remains bombastic, for the general public AI is “becoming interchangeable with things that sort of suck.”19
Further, it’s not just majority languages with this negative view of AI as taint. A quick sampling of social media comments and likes regarding AI and Scottish Gaelic by Professor Lamb showed a split of 54% negative, 33% positive and 13% neutral. (Lamb, 2024) The sentiment of the top-rated negative comment was that AI is harmful and the second-highest that AI should be kept away from heritage languages.
What are we telling our descendants? That our language and culture isn’t worth the personal effort? That’s how I might read it, if I were them.20
Kernewek survey respondent
Kernewek paints an even starker picture, especially among younger and more technologically-savvy learners and speakers. A survey on Cornish Discord and Whatsapp found that 65% felt AI would be bad (11.5%) or very bad (53%) for the language. When asked what the community response should be to AI, 46% said we should prevent it and 27% avoid it, with only over-60s thinking that we should work with it.20
31% of respondents said using AI in Kernewek would cause them to feel estranged from the language, while 54% said that they would feel strongly estranged and 23% a little estranged from any organisation, resource or teacher using AI.
The response from those who gave their knowledge of AI as either “expert” or “good” was particularly damning. Everyone in this group responded that AI would be harmful for the language, that the use of AI would estrange them from a source strongly and that we should prevent the use of AI for Kernewek.
IDENTITY, AUTHENTICITY AND DIVERSITY
Aristotelis Ioannis Paschalidis, writing for UNESCO, was not speaking specifically about minoritised languages when he asked this, but the question resonates even more strongly for us: “How much loss of identity is one willing to sacrifice for efficiency?”21
Identity is of paramount importance to Kernewek speakers. Ute Wimmer’s study Reversing Language Shift: the Case of Cornish identified the language’s “function as a symbol of national identity” as the second highest motive (66%**) among speakers and learners, beaten only by Cornish culture (80%).22 This would seem cause for celebration, but when AI is added to the mix, it becomes a risk. Vincent Koc of Hyperlink states that AI can “inadvertently contribute to the dilution of language and cultural identity.”23
He also identifies that automating language learning or generation “may diminish the richness and authenticity that comes from human speakers who carry cultural histories in their speech.” Indeed, four studies by the University of Southern California have shown that using LLMs to assist writing “is linked to notable declines in linguistic diversity and may interfere with the societal and psychological insights language provides.”24
This is in English, one of the richest and largest languages in the world. Imagine the possible impact on a smaller language like Kernewek—with less documentation, less data, a tiny speakerbase and basically no money—and on its many language varieties and orthographies. Particular to the Kernewek context, Late speakers are already struggling to be seen as valid under the dominance of Middle. Do we think AI knows the difference? Thoughtlessly, it will either mix everything together, confusing everyone, or it will use Middle to overwhelm Late.
Generative AI-driven content creation, by favoring standardized languages, risks the disappearance of regional dialects.25
Barcelona supercomputing Center ….
Not only are varieties at risk; AI threatens to drown Kernewek as a whole. Perlin agrees that the linguistic flattening that occurred over centuries in English could manifest overnight in a minoritised language with AI at the helm—as it would be, being able to effortlessly outstrip human Kernewek. He raises concerns of LLMs freezing a language in place and even defining what it means to know the language, especially with low numbers of native speakers.26
Garbage translations multiply online like fake news. Native speakers of the languages in question are bypassed as being “too hard to find,” compared with automated methods of vetting that are completely disconnected from real-life communication. While larger and more powerful language communities may be able to hold the bots to account and even make strategic use of them, it is all too easy to imagine [a minority language] being overwhelmed.26
Ross Perlin, Endangered Language Alliance
Uncontrolled and in the hands of tech giants, synthetic Kernewek will outnumber and outmanoeuvre human Kernewek.
DATA SOVEREIGNTY AND COLONIALISM
Indigenous data sovereignty is the right of [an indigenous nation] to govern the collection, ownership, and application of its own data.27
Native Nations Institute
There are, however, indigenous cultures that are working on a more equitable relationship with AI. Tech without the giant requires resources, but it allows communities to retain data sovereignty over the cultural asset that is their language. Te Mana Raraunga, the Māori Data Sovereignty Network, has created a list of principles for the creation, use and sharing of Māori data, prioritising the need to enhance control for current and future Māori.
They raise a key point that should be considered carefully by stewards of linguistic and cultural knowledge: “Data from us, and about us and our resources, are valuable assets. Once control of it is lost, it is difficult to regain.”28 Decisions must not be taken lightly or hastily; we can always say “yes” if we have previously said “no” to a particular dataset’s use, but can never say “no” if we have already said “yes”.
The AI field, like any other space, is occupied by people who are set in their ways and unintentionally have a very colonial perspective.29
Michael Running Wolf, First Languages AI Reality
This is vital in the context of the potential control of Kernewek data by powerful external corporations. Capitalist extractivism has long been a bane on societies in the imperial periphery and our Cornish society is no different, having faced centuries of its wealth and natural resources being stripped and sold by and large for the profit of those outside Cornwall.
The book Indigenous Data Sovereignty and Policy notes that current data relations can be seen as “a continuation of the processes and underlying belief systems of extraction, exploitation, accumulation and dispossession that have been visited on Indigenous populations through historical colonialism.”30 This extractive understanding of information is, they note, not disrupted but rather replicated by paying people for their data.
Ultimately, our language must not lie in outside hands governed by proprietary principles that do not allow us sufficient sovereignty over one of our most valuable natural resources: our language. We must have open data principles, not bow to corporate control. We must steer and steward the use of our data, rather than expose it to use against our interests and for the pockets of big tech.
Rather than approaching language preservation as a technical problem, I think indigenous communities need to be politically empowered, whether that be funding from governments or legal protections to use their languages.31
Dr. Fintan Mallory, Durham University
We must prioritise language-as-community and seek open, equitable and ethical use of our language, heritage and other cultural assets. We must avoid thinking of AI as the magic that it promises and invest in basic research, driven by our own community. Corporations will not save us and, indeed, may do us great harm.
NO CORNISH ON A DEAD PLANET
Global capitalism and governments […] are addicted to ‘free’ market ideology over the wellbeing of communities, people and the planet.32
Cymdeithas yr Iaith Maniffesto 2022
Honestly, most takedowns of AI would have hit this point already. It’s one of the main arguments against Generative AI, but in case you’re not familiar with it, we will briefly look over the main points.
Water used in cooling AI data centers must be drinkable water. AI guzzles this water. The University of California has reported that “global water demand from AI could reach 4.2-6.6 billion cubic meters by 2027. That exceeds 50 percent of the UK’s annual water use in 2023.”33 All this while the Global Commission on the Economics of Water has declared “a rapidly accelerating water crisis” to which Kernewek should not be contributing.34
We have become utterly dependent on private technologies manufactured and controlled by a handful of opaque companies [who] appear mostly indifferent to the social consequences of their activities and only invest minimally if obliged by government regulations to enhance their public image.35
Iker Erdocia, Dublin City University
AI requires vast quantities of hardware at the cost of mining rare earth minerals. These are difficult to extract and purify and come with heavy environmental and social costs. They are often extracted from mines in countries with poorer environmental and labour protections. Reset states that “communities living near these mines, often indigenous or minority groups, regularly face land degradation, water contamination and human rights abuses. Much of this can be directly linked to the AI hardware.”36 When the hardware inevitably cooks and is useless, it is then thrown out as e-waste into poor communities. The potential advancement of Kernewek must not come at the expense of our sister indigenous and minority communities.
Training an also AI requires huge amounts of energy, soon perhaps as much as a small country37 and has an enormous carbon footprint.38 What is clear is that—through water usage, extractive industry, energy consumption and carbon footprint—AI is bad news for the struggling environment of the planet we live on and there is no Cornish on a dead planet.
MAKING AI AN EX-PARROT
Rather than making minority languages more accessible, AI is now creating an ever expanding minefield for students and speakers of those languages to navigate.39
mit technology review
We have heard of the vast improbability of getting AI to be able to mimic Kernewek in light of the costs in data, work, time and technology. We have considered the likely choice of cold negligence or surveillance product and the importance of data sovereignty. We have read about the effects on the livelihoods of Cornish speakers, as well as the the catastrophic costs to the environment and indigenous peoples.
We have learned that linguistic flattening by AI impoverishes its subjects and how AI may decide for us how our language must operate. We have seen the inescapability of language as human and the risks of creating ‘learners’ who cannot learn and ‘speakers’ who cannot speak. We have seen the dangers to reputation and trust for any organisation who would shovel what is seen as ‘slop’.
We have heard why giving in to the juggernaut of AI would be a mistake for Kernewek and how our community does not support our laying down of the shield. Instead, we must fight. We must make Kernewek a space as free of slop as possible, we must educate botlickers into ethical and effective language learning and use, we must avoid second-hand thinking.
We must make our language a no AI zone, a network of reliable humans and their human creations, built on authenticity, community, effort and trust: a Kernewek for the people, of the people and by the people.
KERNEWEK YN-DANN GEVALAV
Mes yn sur y hyllyn ni gwellhe taklow dres termyn? Y fydh res meur a weres a gompanis SK, mes y talvia dhyn. Yn trist, Gabriel Nicholas, kesvroder hwithrans orth an Center for Democracy and Technology, re drovyas pan wrug kompani tek fondya gallosow selyek rag unn yeth, i a omgeslowenha yn ughel hag ena movya yn-rag.7
Kompanis tek bras yw yndella poran: kompanis. Ymons i ena rag gwaynya budh. Y’n gwettha prys, ny wra marghas rewlys gans yethow bras ri kentryn dhe gevarghewi yn gwellhe rag an re byghan.
Oll a’n deknegieth kows, chiow konnyk ha systemow ynterweythres lev usys hedhyw yw an askorrasow a hwithrans kenwerthel. Dhe vos sogh, yth yns i po rag dendyl arghans a’th kedhlow, po gwertha gwara ha gonisyow, po delenwel dha dybyansow. Nyns yw tra vyth a’n SK ma rag an les kemmyn. […] Mar nag eus argyans erbysek krev lowr, na wra gwaytya kompanis bras dhe fyski dhe askorra systemow kows Kembrek, Godhalek po Kernewek.8
Prof. Ian McLoughlin, pennskol kint
Ha mars ervirons bos SK Kernewek aventur a yll gwaynya budh, possybyl yw bos agan studh gweth ages dell via gans forsakyans. Dell lever Dr. Fintan Mallor, an fordh vrassa a waynya budh rag kompanis SK arghesys yn privedh yw kedreylya aga thoulys yn devisyow aspians.9 Drefen bos Kernewek onan a’n yethow boghes y’n RU nag yw aspiadow yn es y’n eur ma, hemm yw peryl kowrek rag gweythresieth Kernewek ha’gan strif a-barth omdhetermyans yn stat a vynn galweythegi dissent.
Ha ni ow tochya Kernewek ha’y savla yn-dann gevalav, gwren ni mires orth an kost denel. My a gellis ow soodh 13 bloodh yn yethow dhe SK kettooth ha dell veu eskorrans Sowsnek hewul lowr dhe askusya sevel orth tyli den. Y’n kas diwirhaval may kevyn SK hag a yll askorra Kernewek da, prag y hwrussa nebonan omankombra ow pe kowser? An tybyans a SK ow tenna oll an bewnans a’m taves ertach ha ni ow kwynnel dhe dreusvewa dell on yw skruthus.
Yn sempel, budh yw gorthenebel orth tus. Hedre vo SK an degen nowydh flamm a vudh, y fydh gorthenebel orth tus. Ha yeth yw hy thus.
KENEDHEL HEB YETH, KENEDHEL HEB KOLON
Nyns eus styr dhe gesunyansow a lytherennow war skrin heb dewis ha heb mynnas.10
Ross Perlin, Endangered Language Alliance
Kyn nag yw yeth dibarow dhe dhensys, onan a’n rannow chif a vos denel yw. Ny yll bos lehes dhe gedhlow hepken, mes yth yw argerdh sosyel dres eghen.11 Ni oll a wor py mar synthesek y sen skoodhyans prener der SK po fatel yll SK fyllel orth konvedhes arliwyow. Dell gampol Dr. Mallory, “Yeth [yw] neppyth moy kepar hag enev a gemeneth. Ny yllir gwitha hemma yn jynn. Ny yllir assoylya kudyn denel kepar ha yethladhans gans gwel a yeth hag a remov an gerann denel.”12
Ny yll SK konvedhes Kernewek po taves vyth aral. Papynjay chonsus yw: y targan py ger yw gwirhaval wosa an huni kyns.13 Ny yll agan konvedhes. Ny yll mynnes tra vyth. Mar kwra derivas orthis y vos pes da dha weres, gow yw. My a vynn agan kemeneth dhe devi, mes ny wra kans jynn-amontya a yll ‘kewsel Kernewek’ keworra orti. Y hwra unn den—ow tri tybyansow ha govenegow hag ownow ha gwanderyow—ha ny dybav y hwra an jynnys-amontya kernwegorek keworra unn den hogen orth agan kemeneth.
Gwettha, mar kwra, yma dustuni a-dhyworth Microsoft hag a brof y hwra an devnydh a SKDin war oberennow yeth, unweyth an seythen hogen, aperya gallos godhvosel a dhyski, ow ledya orth omworrans lehes gans an desten, gorfydhyans y’n deknegieth ha sleyneth sprallys a assoylya kudynnow yn anserghek.14 Der usya toulys SK dhe ‘dhyski’ Kernewek, possybyl yw ni dhe shyndya gallos dyski an yeth vytholl heb an kroch ma. Ni a wra gul mimyoryon yn le Kernewegoryon.
Ynwedh Perlin a boslev an elven dhenel, ow leverel pan wren ni synsi kemeneth avel kres agan yethow, dell wren, an papynjay chonsus a yll bos klewys kepar ha defolyans.15 Y’n eur ma, my a aswon pan eus nebonan owth usya ‘Kernewek’ SK dhymm. An tybyans ny wrav vy unn jydh godhvos pan eus estren—nebonan a wrussen vy dynerghi mar pe lyver po klass ganses—ow popettya diwawen ow hengerens ha kewsel dresta yw bedhrosus. Yma dhe’n dra an wan dhistowgh a drevesigeth, a berghenegyans pan yllir gwerthveurhe, a bapynjaya pan yllir junya agan kesgan.
Unver yw skolheyk Hawai’i henwys Noah Ha‘alilio Solomon: “Ankensi yw, drefen ni dhe vos kofhes a’n prysyow oll re beu agan gonisogeth ha yeth perghenegys. Ni re beu owth omladh dre dhens hag ewines yn batel gales a-barth dasvewheans yeth.[…] Y hwra pobel krysi bos hemma representyans ewn a’n yeth a Hawai’i.”16
TREST HAG OMGLEWANS AN GEMENETH
Hir re beu an kil-lash gorthjynn ow kovryjyon mes lemmyn yma va ow terri an arenep dell hevel.17
NBC NEWS
Tardh an arvedhennow rag SK y honan (clanker, tinskin, toaster), y askorras (slop, dross, brainrot) ha’y usyoryon (slopper, groksucker, botlicker, second-hand thinker)—keffrys hag erel selys moy yn kler war geryow kas gwir dell ov attes gans aga heworra—a re hwedhel a stons ollgemmyn a wogrys ha divlases war-tu hag an deknegieth ha’y devnydh war an kesrosweyth Sowsnek ha yethow bras erel.18 Kynth yw an stons yn-mysk gwesyon dek ha korforeth hwath gwresek, rag an boblek gemmyn y hwra SK “dos ha bos keschanjyadow gans taklow tamm kawgh.”19
Pella, nyns yw marnas yethow moyhariv gans an gwel negedhek ma a SK avel podrek. Sampel uskis a gampollow media sosyel ha meusi ow tochya SK ha Godhalek Alban gans Professor Lamb a dhiskwedhas fals a 54% negedhek, 33% posedhek ha 13% heptu. (Lamb, 2024) Sentiment an kampol negedhek an moyha talvesys o bos SK dregynnus hag an nessa y talvia dhyn lettya SK rag kestav gans tavosow ertach.
Pyth eson ni ow leverel orth agan diyskynysi? Ny dal agan yeth ha gonisogeth an strivyans personel? Hemm yw martesen fatel wrussen vy y redya, a pen vy i.20
Gorthebydh sondyans Kernewek
Kernewek a baynt aven moy serth, yn arbennik gans dyskoryon ha kowsoryon yowynka ha moy skentel gans tek. Sondyans war Discord ha Whatsapp Kernewek a drovyas bos 65% a grysis y fia SK drog (11.5%) po pur dhrog (53%) rag an yeth. Pan veu govynnys pyth a dal bos gorthyp an gemeneth orth SK, 46% a leveris y kodh y hedhi ha 27% y woheles, gans an dus moy ha 60 bloodh hepken ow tybi y kodh oberi ganso.20
31% a worthebydhyon an sondyans a leveris y hwrussa an devnydh a SK yn Kernewek aga fellhe a’n yeth, hag ynwedh 54% a leveris y fiens i pellhes yn krev ha 23% pellhes tamm a by kowethas, asnodh po dyskador pynag ow tevnydhya SK.
An gorthyp a’n re a leveris bos aga godhvos a SK po “konnyk” po “da” o dampnus yn arbennik. Pubonan y’n bagas ma a worthebis y fia SK dregynnus rag Kernewek, y hwrussa an devnydh a SK gans pennfenten aga fellhe a’n bennfenten na yn krev hag y kodh dhyn hedhi an devnydh a SK rag Kernewek.
HONANIETH, LELDER HA DIVERSETH
Nyns esa Aristotelis Ioannis Paschalidis, ow skrifa a-barth UNESCO, ow kewsel yn komparek a-dro dhe yethow lyharivhes pan wrug ev y wovyn, mes an govyn a dhassen yn kreffa ragon: “Pygemmys koll a honanieth a vynnir sakrifia rag effeythuster?”21
Honanieth yw a’n moyha bri rag Kernewegoryon. Studhyans Ute Wimmer Reversing Language Shift: the Case of Cornish a henow “gweythres [an yeth] avel arwodh a honanieth kenedhlek” avel an nessa ughella skila (66%**) yn-mysk kowsoryon ha dyskoryon, fethys gans gonisogeth Kernow (80%) hepken.22 Yth havalsa hemma bos acheson solempnyans, mes pan vo SK keworrys, y teu ha bos peryl. Vincent Koc a Hyperlink a lever y hyll SK “kevri dre wall orth an gwannheans a yeth ha honanieth wonisogethel”.23
Ev a aswon ynwedh y hallsa awtomategi dyski po dinythi yeth “lehe an rychedh ha lelder hag a dheu a gowsoryon dhenel neb a dheg istoriow gonisogethel y’ga hows”. Yn hwir, peswar studhyans gwrys gans Pennskol Kaliforni Soth re dhiskwedhas bos devnydhya PYB dhe weres gans skrifa “kelmys orth dyfygyansow nosedhek yn diverseth yethel hag y hyll mellya gans an konvedhes brysoniethel ha kowethasel yw proviys gans yeth.”24
Ha hemm yw yn Sowsnek, onan a’n yethow an ryccha ha brassa y’n bys. Dismyk an effeyth war yeth byghanna kepar ha Kernewek—gans le a dhogvennans, le a gedhlow, sel kowsoryon munys hag ogas hag arghans mann—ha war y lies orgraf hag eghen yeth. Yn arbennik yn gettesten Kernewek, seulabrys yma kowsoryon Diwedhes ow strivya dhe vos gwelys avel vas gans gwartheyvans Kres. A dybyn y hwor SK an dyffrans? Heb preder, y hwra po kemyska puptra warbarth, ow sowdheni pubonan, po devnydhya Kres dhe fetha Diwedhes.
An gwruthyl a dhalgh herdhys gans SK Dinythus, dre favera yethow savonegys, a argyl an vansyans a rannyethow ranndiryel.25
Kresen woramontyorieth Barcelona
Nyns yw eghennow hepken yn peryl; SK a wodros beudhi Kernewek yn tien. Akordys yw Perlin y hallsa an platheans yethel a hwarva dres kansbledhynnyow yn Sowsnek hwarvos dres nos yn yeth lyharivhes gans SK orth an fronnow—dell via, ow pos gallosek a bassya Kernewek denel heb assay. Ev a venek prederow yn kever PYB ow rewi yeth yn hy le ha hogen ow settya pyth yw an styr a wodhvos an yeth, yn arbennik gans niverow munys a gowsoryon deythyek.26
Treylyansow leun a atal a liesha warlinen kepar ha nowodhow fug. Kowsoryon deythyek a’n yethow ma yw passyes avel bos “re gales dhe drovya”, komparys orth fordhow awtomategys a surheans kwalita hag yw disjunys yn tien a geskomunyans y’n bys gwir. Kynth yw possybyl rag kemenethow yeth brassa ha moy gallosek synsi an bottys ma dhe akont ha’ga devnydhya yn stratejek hogen, re es yw dismygi [yeth lyhariv] ow pos reverthys.26
Ross Perlin, Endangered Language Alliance
Heb kontrol hag yn diwla an gewri deknegieth, Kernewek synthesek a wra gornivera ha gorthrabellhe Kernewek denel.
SOVRANEDH KEDHLOW HA KOLONEGIETH
Sovranedh kedhlow teythyek yw an gwir gans [kenedhel teythyek] a woverna an kuntel, perghenogeth ha gweytha a’y hedhlow hy honan.27
Native Nations Institute
Byttegyns, yma gonisogethow teythyek hag usi owth oberi war geskowethyans moy ewnhynsek gans SK. Tek heb an kowr a res asnodhow, mes y as kemenethow gwitha sovranedh kedhlow war an gerthen wonisogethel hag yw aga yeth. Te Mana Raraunga, Rosweyth Sovranedh Kedhlow Māori, re wrug rol a bennrewlys rag an gwruthyl, devnydhya ha kevrenna a gedhlow Māori, ow ragwirhe an edhom a grefhe maystri rag Māori a-lemmyn hag a dheu.
I a venek poynt posek hag a dalvia bos konsidrys gans rach gans stywards a skians yethel ha gonisogethel: “Kedhlow ahanan, a-dro dhyn ha’gan asnodhow, yw kerthennow a bris. Pan vo maystri kellys, kales yw y dhaskemeres.”28 Ny dal gul erviransow yn skav po yn uskis; y hyllyn pupprys leverel “ea” mar kwrussyn leverel “na” kyns orth us sett kedhlow, mes ny yllyn nevra leverel “na” mar kwrussyn leverel “ea” seulabrys.
An desten SK, kepar ha pub le aral, yw leun a dus hag yw settys y’ga maneryow ha gans gwel pur drevesigel yn tidowl.29
Michael Running Wolf, First Languages AI Reality
Hemm yw pur bosek y’n gettesten a’n kontrol possybyl a gedhlow Kernewek gans korforethow gallosek a-ves. Estenegieth jatelydhek re beu molleth war gowethasow y’n amal emperourethek ha nyns yw kowethas Kernewek dyffrans, wosa enebi kansvledhynnyow a’y rychys hag asnodhow naturek ow pos destryppys ha gwerthys dre vras gans budh tus yn-mes a Gernow.
An lyver henwys Indigenous Data Sovereignty and Policy a verk lemmyn y hyllir gweles perthynyansow kedhlow avel “pesyans a’n argerdhow ha systemow-krysi isworwedhek a estennans, drogusyans, kuntellyans ha diberghenogeth re beu gwrys war boblansow Teythyek dres trevesigeth istorek.”30 An konvedhes estennek ma a gedhlow yw, dell verkons, hevelebys a-der goderrys gans tyli pobel rag aga hedhlow.
Wostiwedh, res yw ma na vo agan yeth gorrys yn diwla a-ves routys gans pennrewlys perghenogel na as dhyn sovranedh lowr a onan a’gan asnodhow naturel an moyha posek: agan yeth. Res yw dhyn kavos pennrewlys kedhlow ygor, a-der plegya orth kontrol korforethel. Res yw dhyn lewya ha gidya an devnydh a’gan kedhlow, a-der y usya erbynn agan lesow ha rag pocketys tek bras.
A-der drehedhes an arwithans a davosow avel kudyn teknegiethel, my a dyb bos res dhe gemenethow teythyek bos reythhes yn politek, po der arghasans a wovernansow po dre dhifresyansow laghel dhe dhevnydhya aga yethow.31
Dr. Fintan Mallory, Pennskol Durham
Res yw dhyn ragwirhe yeth-avel-kemeneth ha hwilas devnydh ygor, ewnhynsek hag ethegel a’gan kerthennow yeth, ertach ha gonisogethel. Res yw dhyn goheles tybi a SK avel an hus mayth ambos ha kevarghewi yn hwithrans selyek, lewys gans agan kemeneth. Ny wra korforethow agan selwel ha, hogen, i a yll agan shyndya.
NYNS EUS KERNEWEK WAR BLANET MAROW
Governansow ha kevalav ollvysel […] yw omres dhe ideologieth marghas ‘rydh’ moy es dell yns omres dhe sewena kemenethow, pobel ha’n planet.32
Cymdeithas yr Iaith Maniffesto 2022
An brassa rann a vreusyansow a SK a wrussa meneges hemma seulabrys. Onan a’n argyansow brassa yw erbynn SK Dinythus, mes rag own bos ankoth dhis, ni a wra mires orth an chif boyntys.
Res yw bos evadow an dowr goyeynhe pub kresen kedhlow SK. Y kollenk an dowr ma. Pennskol Kaliforni re dherivas “y hallsa demond dowr ollvysel SK hedhes 4.2-6.6 bilvil metrow kubek erbynn 2027. Henn yw moy es 50 kansran a us dowr bledhynnyek an RU yn 2023.”33 Y kettermyn, an Desedhek Ollvysel Erbysieth Dowr a dheklaryas “barras dowr ow tardha yn uskis” ma na dal Kernewek kevri dhodho.34
Ni re dheuth ha bos yn hwir omres dhe deknegiethow privedh gwrys ha kontrolys gans dornas a gompanis diskler [hag] a hevel bos mygyl dre vras orth an sewyansow sosyel a’ga gwriansow ha kevri yn ispoyntel marnas mars yns i konstrinys gans rewlys an wovernans dhe wellhe aga imach poblek.35
Iker Erdocia, Pennskol Sita Dulyn
Yma edhom dhe SK a vynsow kowrek a galesweyth orth kost palas monyow tanow. Kales yw estenna ha purhe an re ma hag yma kostow kerghynedhel ha sosyel poos. Estennys yns i yn fenowgh a hwelyow yn powyow gans difresyansow lakka rag lavur ha’n kerghynnedh. Reset a lever “yn fenowgh y hwra kemenethow yw trigys yn ogas dhe’n hwelyow, yn fenowgh bagasow lyhariv po teythyek, enebi gwethheans an tir, defolyans an dowr hag abusyans gwiryow denel. Meur a hemma a yll bos kelmys yn tidro orth an galesweyth SK.”36 Pan yw an galesweyth kegys yn sertan hag euver, ena tewlys yw avel e-wast yn kemenethow boghosek. Res yw nyns yw an avonsyans possybyl a Gernewek orth kost agan kemenethow hwor lyhariv ha teythyek.
Ynwedh res yw myns hujes a nerth rag trenya SK, yn skon martesen an keth myns ha pow byghan37 hag yma ol troos karbon kowrek.38 Kler yw—der usadow dowr, diwysyans estennek, konsumyans nerth hag ol troos karbon—bos SK yeyn nowodhow rag kerghynnedh ow strivya a’n planet mayth on ni trigys warnodho ha nyns eus Kernewek war blanet marow.
GUL DHE SK BOS EKS-PAPYNJAY
A-der gul dhe yethow lyhariv bos moy hedhadow, lemmyn yma SK ow kwruthyl tardhek pupprys owth omlesa rag studhyoryon ha kowsoryon a’n yethow ma dhe wolya.39
mit technology review
Ni re glewas a’n anwirhevelepter efan a wul dhe SK gallos mimya Kernewek yn golow an kostys yn kedhlow, ober, termyn ha teknegieth. Ni re gonsidras lycklod an dewisynter dispresyans yeyn po askorras-aspia ha’n posekter a sovranedh kedhlow. Ni re redyas a-dro dhe’n effeythyow war vewnansow Kernewegoryon, keffrys ha’n kostys katastrofek rag an kerghynnedh ha poblow teythyek.
Ni re dhyskas y hwra platheans yethel gans SK boghosekhe y destennow ha fatel yll SK martesen ervira a’gan parth fatel godh dh’agan yeth oberi. Ni re welas an anwoheladewder a yeth avel denel ha’n peryllyow a wul ‘dyskoryon’ na yll dyski ha ‘kowsoryon’ na yll kewsel. Ni re welas an peryllyow orth bri ha fydhyans rag kowethasow a wrussa palas an pyth hag yw gwelys avel ‘skomblans’.
Ni re glewas prag y fia omblegya orth an jagganat a SK error rag Kernewek ha dell na vynn agan kemeneth skoodhya gorra an skoos a-dhyworthyn. Yn y le, res yw dhyn batalyas. Res yw dhyn gul dhe Gernewek bos spas mar rydh a skomblans dell yll bos, res yw adhyski orth botlapyoryon yn dyski ha devnydh yeth yn ethegel hag yn effeythus, res yw goheles tybi wortaswerth.
Res yw dhyn gul dh’agan yeth bos parth heb SK, rosweyth a dus fydhyadow ha’ga gwriansow denel, drehevys war lelder, kemeneth, assay ha trest: Kernewek hag yw a-barth an bobel, a’n bobel ha gans an bobel.
Niwlen Ster
Notennow
* A prime example is the laughably-unaffordable restaurant RenMor, which The Headland Hotel thinks is a version of “Re’n Mor”, which they believe means “by the sea” as in “next to the sea” but actually means “by the sea!” like saying “by Zeus!”. This is both hilarious and enraging.
** A figure perhaps lower than it should be if you consider that many of the “emotional motives” which were not counted in this category, such as “I’m Cornish, what better reason do you need?”, do also refer to identity.
FENTENNOW
1. Judah, J. (2025) How AI and Wikipedia have sent vulnerable languages into a doom spiral, MIT Technology Review.
2. Ackermann, A. (2023) When AI doesn’t speak your language, Coda.
3. Crichton, D. (2024) AI and the Death of Human Languages, Lux.
4. Lamb, W. (2024). Could Artificial Intelligence save Scottish Gaelic?, The University of Edinburgh.
5. Dencik, L. (/2025) AI Inequalities: Minority Languages, TUC Cymru.
6. Joshi, P., Santy, S., Budhiraja, A., Bali, K., & Microsoft Research, India. (2020). The State and Fate of Linguistic Diversity and Inclusion in the NLP World. Proceedings of the 58th Annual Meeting of the Association for Computational Linguistics.
7. Ackermann, A. (op cit)
8. McLoughlin, I. (2018) How to teach AI to speak Welsh (and other minority languages), The Conversation.
9. Mallory, F. (2025) RISE UP Panel Discussion & Q&A: What AI Can and Cannot Do for Minoritised Languages, YouTube.
10. Perlin, R. (2024) AI Won’t Protect Endangered Languages, The Dial.
11. RISE UP (2025) #4 RISE UP Event Summary: What AI Can and Cannot Do For Minoritised Languages, RISE UP.
12. Mallory, F. (2024) European Day of Languages: Will lesser spoken languages soon only be kept alive by AI technology? Durham University.
13. Bender, E., Gebru, T., McMillan-Major, A., & Mitchell, M. (2021) On the Dangers of Stochastic Parrots: Can Language Models Be Too Big? Proceedings of the 2021 ACM Conference on Fairness, Accountability, and Transparency
14. Lee, H.-P., Sarkar, A., Tankelevitch, L., Drosos, I., Rintel, S., Banks, R., & Wilson, N. (2025) The Impact of Generative AI on Critical Thinking: Self-Reported Reductions in Cognitive Effort and Confidence Effects From a Survey of Knowledge Workers. Microsoft.
15. Perlin, R. (op cit)
16. Judah, J. (op cit)
17. Abbruzzese, J., & Wile, R. (2025) Is an AI backlash brewing? What ‘clanker’ says about growing frustrations with emerging tech, NBC News.
18. Webster, K. (2025) Why Using ChatGPT at Work Could Hurt Your Reputation, Inc. Magazine.
19. Herrman, J. (2024) Is That AI? Or Does It Just Suck?, Intelligencer.
20. Wilson, L. (2025) Skians Kreftus ha Kernewek/Artificial Intelligence and Cornish
21. Paschalidis, A. I. (2025) AI and the great linguistic flattening, UNESCO.
22. Wimmer, U. (2010). Reversing Language Shift: the Case of Cornish. Cornish Language Board, p. 113
23. Koc, V. (2025) Generative AI and Large Language Models in Language Preservation: Opportunities and Challenges, ResearchGate.
24. Sourati, Z., Karimi-Malekabadi, F., & Ozcan, M. (2025) The Shrinking Landscape of Linguistic Diversity in the Age of Large Language Models, ResearchGate.
25. Melero, M. (2024) The Future of Language (and Cultural) Diversity in the Age of AI, CLARIN.
26. Perlin, R. (op cit)
27. Russo Carroll, S., Rodriguez Lonebear, D., & Martinez, A. (2017). Data Governance for Native Nation Rebuilding, Native Nations Institute.
28. Te Mana Raraunga. (2018). Frequently Asked Questions, Te Mana Raraunga.
29. Ackermann, A. (op cit)
30. Walter, M., Kukutai, T., Carroll, S. R., & Rodriguez-Lonebear, D. (Eds.). (2020). Indigenous Data Sovereignty and Policy. Taylor & Francis, p. 24
31. Mallory, F. (op cit)
32. Cymdeithas yr Iaith (2022) Cymru Rydd, Cymru Werdd, Cymru Gymraeg., p. 27
33. O’Sullivan, L. (2025). How AI’s Failure on Linguistic Diversity is Deepening Global Inequality, RESET – Digital for Good.
34. Harvey, F. (2024). Global water crisis leaves half of world food production at risk in next 25 years, The Guardian.
35. Erdocia, I., Migge, B., & Schneider, B. (2024). Language is not a data set—Why overcoming ideologies of dataism is more important than ever in the age of AI. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 28(5), p. 23
36. O’Sullivan, L. (op cit)
37. Erdenesanaa, D. (2023) A.I. Could Soon Need as Much Electricity as an Entire Country, The New York Times
38. Heikkilä, M. (2022) We’re getting a better idea of AI’s true carbon footprint, MIT Technology Review.
39. Judah, J. (op cit)#4 #AI #ArtificialIntelligence #Breus #Cornish #Cornwall #data #generativeAI #history #jynn #kedhlow #Kernewek #Kernow #Kernowek #LLM #machine #PYB #SK #SKDinythus #SkiansKreftus #Sordya
-
Top 20 – I Miei Film del 2025
Come ogni anno, dopo la grande corsa ai recuperi di fine dicembre, siamo giunti ad una più o meno soddisfacente decisione su quali sono o penso che siano i 20 film che più mi sono piaciuti di questo 2025. Come ribadito nel titolo, si tratta dei miei film preferiti e non dei migliori film, perché è bene ricordare che la lista in questione non si erge a verità assoluta sulle opere più belle uscite quest’anno, ma elenca semplicemente i 20 titoli più amati dal sottoscritto. Quindi non gridate allo scandalo se non trovate il vostro film preferito, può essere che, pur riconoscendone l’ottima fattura, mi sia piaciuto meno rispetto a un film magari meno perfetto ma più emozionante (oppure un altro motivo per cui manca potrebbe essere che non l’ho proprio visto, come ad esempio Father Mother Sister Brother di Jarmusch, che ho perso causa influenza: in tal caso vi invito a scrivere nei commenti ogni suggerimento atto a colmare le mie tante lacune).
Ricordo come sempre che in classifica compaiono solo film distribuiti in Italia (al cinema o in esclusiva streaming) nel 2025, anche se sono stati presentati in qualche festival negli anni precedenti. La discriminante è sempre stata questa, dal 2008 a oggi, e non è cambiata. A presentare questa sedicesima edizione della Top 20 quest’anno troviamo Jack Nicholson, straordinario protagonista di Qualcuno Volò sul Nido del Cuculo (Milos Forman, 1975).
Fatte le doverose premesse del caso (a- Miei film preferiti, non migliori film in assoluto e b- solo film distribuiti in Italia nel 2025), prima di lasciarvi ai titoli della Top 20 ci tengo a sottolineare che ovviamente non è stato possibile vedere tutto ciò che è uscito durante l’anno solare ma soltanto una settantina di titoli e che quindi, come sempre, è una classifica molto parziale che si fa più per gioco che per reale utilità. Apriamo le danze dunque e, mi raccomando, fatemi sapere anche le vostre scelte!
20- Alpha (Julia Ducournau)
Da che mondo è mondo, in una classifica di preferenze la posizione numero 20 è molto più difficile della numero 1. Alla fine però, l’ultima fatica di Julia Ducournau non poteva restare fuori: un lungo massaggio cardiaco alle emozioni dello spettatore, continuamente messo alla prova dagli sbalzi ermetici di un film molto bello, innegabilmente in grado di scavare nel profondo grazie anche a tre interpretazioni pazzesche. Un film sulle difficoltà di essere adolescenti, su quanto sia difficile essere madre di una ragazza in crisi e sorella di un uomo disperato, sopraffatto dalla tossicodipendenza, ma soprattutto, come dicevo, è un lungo massaggio cardiaco: c’è un costante bisogno di aggrapparsi alla vita, di curare, di salvare, di salvarsi.19- Sinners (Ryan Coogler)
Onestamente non ero certo di voler vedere questo film. Ne avevo sentito parlare come una versione afroamericana di Dal Tramonto all’Alba, o qualcosa del genere e temevo si trattasse dell’ennesima boiata spacciata per horror. Invece il film di Ryan Coogler (già regista del meraviglioso Fruitvale Station, ma anche di quella cazzata allucinante di Black Panther) fa davvero centro. Al di là della bellissima estetica del film e dell’ottima ambientazione (per non parlare della colonna sonora), mi è piaciuto come la prima parte sia tutta dedicata alla preparazione del climax finale e come lo scontro notturno sia molto più psicologico rispetto al carrozzone splatter che uno potrebbe aspettarsi. Sorprendente, nonostante i mille finali.18- A House of Dynamite (Kathryn Bigelow)
Kathryn Bigelow realizza l’incontro ideale tra il Dr Stranamore e WarGames, senza però la spassosa ironia del primo né l’avventura adolescenziale del secondo. Il film si svolge in 19 fatali minuti, dilatati però in due ore per mezzo del cosiddetto effetto Rashomon. Lo scenario, non così distopico come si può pensare, è spaventoso, e la storia regge, nonostante qualche calo di tono nella parte centrale. Appena si entra nella storia infatti, è impossibile staccare gli occhi dallo schermo, dagli sguardi confusi e spaventati dei protagonisti, da quei numeri che scorrono sui monitor. Lo trovate su Netflix e, al di là di tutto, Kathryn Bigelow sa come si gira un film: è grande cinema.17- L’Ultimo Turno (Heldin, Petra Volpe)
Non sorprendetevi se, nella prossima cinquina di candidati per l’Oscar al Miglior Film Straniero, dovesse esserci anche questo bellissimo film svizzero, realizzato da Petra Volpe. Un’escalation di situazioni, allarmi, capricci, ansie, dove la mano di Leonie Benesch, ma soprattutto il cuore, può essere piuma e può essere ferro (cit). Un film ansiogeno, dove allo spettatore non viene concesso un momento di pausa, stesso destino riservato alla sua protagonista. Il messaggio che compare nel finale, prima del fade to black, chiarisce molto meglio il punto di tutto il film, ovvero la grave carenza di infermieri negli ospedali svizzeri. Bellissimo, ma che ansia.16- Sotto le Foglie (Quand Vient l’Automne, François Ozon)
François Ozon, uno dei registi più attivi degli ultimi decenni, riesce sempre a sfornare bei film, ma quasi mai film davvero bellissimi (almeno secondo me). Ecco, questa potrebbe essere la volta buona in cui il regista francese tira fuori la perla, un dramma che si svela piano piano, strato dopo strato, mettendo in tavola una bella teglia di dubbi, ipotesi, che lo spettatore può abbracciare o rifiutare. Una serie di eventi in cui la risposta non è mai una sola, dove si scoprono realtà scomode, passati ingombranti, verità inconfutabili. E quando entri in questo labirinto di sospetti, non ne esci più. Grande film.15- Nosferatu (Robert Eggers)
Parafrasando Nietzsche, si può dire che se tu guarderai a lungo nell’oscurità, anche l’oscurità vorrà guardare dentro di te. Ed è proprio in un buio accecante che Eggers immerge lo spettatore (e Lily-Rose Depp) sin dalla primissima inquadratura, come a volerlo rendere parte di quella stessa notte buia, la stessa oscurità nella quale il regista fa muovere le sue ombre. La grandezza di questa nuova versione è, al di là dell’indubbia potenza visiva, la capacità di reinventarsi in ogni scena, di essere coinvolgente anche di fronte a una storia che abbiamo visto in tutte le salse, che il regista statunitense però riesce a modernizzare con la metafora, neanche troppo sottile, di una donna indipendente in lotta contro una società di maschi dominanti. L’oscurità non è mai stata così “buia”: spegnete le luci.14- Grand Theft Hamlet (Sam Crane, Pinny Grylls)
Durante la pandemia, due attori di teatro, rimasti improvvisamente a spasso, decidono di mettere in scena l’Amleto all’interno dell’open world del videogioco GTA, facendo casting, prove e l’intero spettacolo dentro il gioco, cercando di evitare di essere uccisi da altri gamer (per i meno pratici, GTA è uno dei videogame più violenti di sempre, dove chi gioca può rubare, uccidere e compiere qualunque attività criminale per ottenere bonus di vario genere). L’idea di Sam Crane e Pinny Grylls non è soltanto originalissima, ma è anche divertente, oltre che incredibilmente coinvolgente: dopo i primi cinque minuti sarà impossibile smettere di guardare questo assurdo documentario, se così si può definire. Anche in un periodo di grande crisi, uno splendido esempio di umanità e di come il bisogno di esprimersi artisticamente riesca ad abbattere ostacoli apparentemente insormontabili. Che bello!13- Aragoste a Manhattan (La Cocina, Alonso Ruizpalacios)
Dopo il successo di The Bear, tutto ciò che si svolge dentro una cucina deve caricarsi sulle spalle vari esami del dna per definire il grado di parentela con la serie. Ciò che vediamo nel film di Ruizpalacios ha però delle vibrazioni tutte sue, che raccontano molto del mondo che viviamo oggi: individui di culture diverse si districano tra i muri dell’incomprensione, mentre il macigno del capitalismo tenta di sacrificare ogni individualità, ogni sogno, ogni speranza sull’altare del profitto e del consumo. A condire tutte queste vicende c’è tanto umorismo caustico e una regia piena di belle intuizioni, tra cui un piano sequenza da urlo: quanta fame (di vita!) in un film così piccolo.12- September 5 (Tim Fehlbaum)
Quasi interamente girato all’interno della cabina di regia della ABC durante il sequestro degli atleti israeliani durante le Olimpiadi del 1972, il film lascia da parte qualunque approfondimento politico per concentrarsi esclusivamente sul lavoro giornalistico, con le sue urgenze, i suoi errori, le improvvise rivelazioni, la corsa alla notizia. Breve, dal ritmo serrato, senza dubbio coinvolgente, con alcuni volti interessanti come Peter Saarsgard, Ben Chaplin, John Magaro (il marito di Past Lives) e Leonie Benesch (protagonista de La Sala Professori e de L’Ultimo Turno, che avete già incontrato in questa classifica). La conferma che, ancora una volta, quello del giornalista è il lavoro più bello da vedere in un film.11- Io Sono Ancora Qui (Ainda Estou Aqui, Walter Salles)
L’ultimo lavoro del grande Walter Salles entra di diritto nella rosa dei più importanti film brasiliani della storia. Splendido nel modo in cui divide perfettamente la leggerezza del primo atto con la brutale sofferenza del secondo, Salles racconta una storia che meritava di tornare sotto l’attenzione del grande pubblico, per farci ricordare ancora una volta, se mai ce ne fosse bisogno, una cosa che dovremmo tenere sempre bene a mente: i fascisti sono una merda. Gran film.10- Presence (Steven Soderbergh)
Steven Soderbergh piazza lo spettatore a osservare una “normale” famiglia statunitense dal punto di vista grandangolare di un fantasma che vive nella loro casa, raccontando la crisi di una generazione, le aspettative, la competitività, il bisogno di vivere di apparenza pur di restare a galla, inzuppando tutta questa vita ordinaria con alcune tracce di sovrannaturale (oggetti che levitano, una medium che avverte la presenza, ecc). Il regista ci apparecchia la tavola per la prima ora, senza mai stancare, fino a spiazzarci nell’ultimo quarto d’ora, in un paio di scene che regalano brividi. Chi lo va a vedere aspettandosi un horror resterà molto deluso, è un filmone che parla di tutt’altro. Stupendo.9- Springsteen – Liberami dal Nulla (Deliver Me From Nowhere, Scott Cooper)
Chi si aspetta di vedere su grande schermo il mito di Bruce Springsteen, troverà invece un’opera che gli toglie la maschera, soffoca la leggenda per alimentare però la sua umanità, il suo cuore, il suo bisogno di essere ancora una persona normale in un mondo di luci accecanti. In questo bellissimo film di Scott Cooper scoprirete finalmente il lato oscuro del mito, l’animo intimo di un artista che non è mai sceso a compromessi con il suo successo, che ha cercato di restare se stesso sempre, mentre il mondo intorno a lui continuava a girare vorticosamente. Anche perché, come ci suggerisce il film, il passato non esiste più e il futuro non si può rincorrere: possiamo vivere soltanto dentro noi stessi, ora.8- No Other Land (Basel Adra, Yuval Abraham, Rachel Szor, Hamdan Ballal)
Un collettivo di registi israeliani e palestinesi racconta la violenza e la distruzione da parte dei coloni israeliani di una piccola comunità rurale della Cisgiordania, Masafer Yatta. Il rapporto tra un giornalista di Isreaele e un giovane attivista palestinese è uno dei tantissimi spunti di un film che, inevitabilmente, atterrisce lo spettatore con le tante crudeltà che mostra e che, al tempo stesso, commuove per l’enorme forza e la necessità di sopravvivere che mette in scena minuto dopo minuto. È complicato racchiudere in poche righe tutta l’impotenza che si prova durante la visione, ma anche la voglia di abbracciare i bambini che vengono fatti sfollare dalla scuola, prima che venga distrutta da una ruspa. Premio Oscar per il miglior documentario, una storia che fa male, ma che riesce anche a illuminare con la sua umanità.7- A Complete Unknown (James Mangold)
Mangold riesce a costruire un film che contiene al suo interno mille storie diverse, che gravitano tutte intorno al grande protagonista Bob Dylan: dalla leggenda Woody Guthrie allo sfortunato Dave Van Ronk, dal sogno di Pete Seeger di cambiare il mondo attraverso la musica, all’attivista Joan Baez, regina del folk, che pochi anni dopo sarebbe diventata “l’usignolo di Woodstock”. Oppure Sylvie, personaggio fittizio chiaramente ispirato a Suze Rotolo, musa e compagna del cantautore, prima di quella metamorfosi artistica che avrebbe cambiato la sua vita e (soprattutto?) la storia della musica. Per chi la vuole cercare, c’è davvero tanta carne al fuoco: un film completo, totalmente credibile, coinvolgente, straordinario nelle interpretazioni, che racconta l’uomo dietro il genio, l’essere umano dietro il rivoluzionario, il futuro premio Nobel per la letteratura dietro i capelli spettinati di un “completo sconosciuto”. Ma soprattutto c’è tanta, tantissima, musica stupenda. I tempi cambiano, per noi comuni mortali, così come per i geni: basta viverli, una canzone per volta.6- Bird (Andrea Arnold)
Tra echi di urgenza sociale che richiamano il miglior Ken Loach e una deriva favolistica alla Alice Rohrwacher, Andrea Arnold procede in equilibrio tra realismo magico e fiaba malinconica: la protagonista Nykiya Adams (che brava!) si arrangia come può in un contesto ostile, mostrando la capacità degli adolescenti di trovare luce ovunque, anche nelle condizioni peggiori. Ed è proprio lì, tra la vita aspra che mostra e l’incanto che ti regala, che questo film ti tiene stretto, facendoti pensare che è una delle cose più belle che hai visto quest’anno. Inoltre, la colonna sonora è pazzesca e va da Too Real e A Hero’s Death dei Fontaines DC a Lucky Man dei Verve, da The Universal dei Blur a Yellow dei Coldplay. Come dicono proprio i Blur, “When the days they seem to fall through you, well, just let them go”.5- The Brutalist (Brady Corbet)
La cosa più difficile da fare con quest’opera immensa di Brady Corbet è scegliere di cominciare a vederla. Poi tutto va in discesa perché l’attenzione che gli dedichi, il film te la restituisce sottoforma di splendido cinema: è davvero tanta roba. Potete facilmente immaginare che, in oltre 3 ore di film, di cose ne succedono parecchie e ci sarebbe tantissimo da dire: è una di quelle storie che ti porti appresso fuori dalla sala, che ti si arrampica dentro durante la notte, a cui inevitabilmente ripensi al mattino. Adrien Brody è magnifico e quello di Guy Pearce è un piacevolissimo ritorno sulle scene di un film importante. Girato con un budget ridotto, è uno dei più ambiziosi ed enormi film indipendenti mai realizzati. Clamoroso.4- La Voce di Hind Rajab (Ṣawt al-Hind Rajab, Kaouther Ben Hania)
Sono andato al cinema senza sapere neanche di cosa parlasse. Sapevo solo che dovevo vederlo. Il film di Kaouther Ben Hania mescola realtà e finzione, ricostruendo il tentativo da parte della Mezzaluna Rossa (il corrispettivo mediorientale della nostra Croce Rossa) di ottenere i permessi necessari per salvare una bambina palestinese chiusa dentro un’automobile, appena assaltata dai soldati israeliani che hanno sterminato la famiglia della piccola Hind Rajab. Solo questo basterebbe a renderlo un film potentissimo, ma il punto di forza (nonché elemento straziante) è che la voce al telefono che sentiamo per tutto il film è la voce reale della bambina, ovvero la registrazione delle conversazioni telefoniche avvenute tra lei e i soccorritori (che invece sono interpretati da attori e attrici). Un’opera di rara potenza ed emozione, commovente, agghiacciante, spaventosa. Se il Cinema con la C maiuscola ha il dovere di raccontare il tempo che vive, questo film è destinato a essere ricordato in eterno.3- Emilia Perez (Jacques Audiard)
Vincitore del premio della Giuria a Cannes, è una sorta di musical incentrato su un boss del cartello messicano che decide di cambiare sesso (!). Da un’idea assurda, quasi grottesca a pensarci, nasce un’opera meravigliosa su genere, identità, violenza, redenzione, senza mai perdere un grammo di credibilità. Un film che ha dentro di sé mille film diversi: musical, gangster, dramma sociale, sentimento. Girato con un gusto estetico superiore (parliamo sempre di Jacques Audiard, uno dei più grandi registi europei della sua generazione), una fotografia meravigliosa e un trio di attrici fuori dall’ordinario: Zoe Saldana, in particolare, è incredibile e il film è stu-pen-do.2- Una Battaglia Dopo l’Altra (One Battle After Another, Paul Thomas Anderson)
Quasi un decennio dopo il fortunato Vizio di Forma, il regista di Los Angeles torna a pescare idee dalla narrativa di Thomas Pynchon, il cui romanzo Vineland ha fornito il materiale di base sul quale modellare poi la storia, molto diversa, di questo nuovo film. Ci sono momenti che sembrano uscire fuori dal cinema dei fratelli Coen, ma soprattutto c’è l’enorme talento di PTA nel raccontare storie, nel prendere per mano lo spettatore e coinvolgerlo in un caleidoscopio di ironia, azione, calore umano e battute fulminanti, fino a una bellissima scena di inseguimento nel deserto, tra dossi, salite e discese, in una sorta di “labirinto rettilineo” che tiene con il fiato sospeso. Il mondo forse si può davvero cambiare, una battaglia dopo l’altra. Nel frattempo, godiamoci film stupendi come questo: “ocean waves“, amici e amiche, “ocean waves“.1- Un Semplice Incidente (Yak Taṣādof-e Sāde, Jafar Panahi)
Anche stavolta il regista iraniano gira il film in totale segreto, senza permessi, e anche stavolta realizza qualcosa di stupendo, una riflessione profonda sul ruolo di vittima e carnefice, sull’umanità, sulle conseguenze che ha ogni azione. Il film si apre sull’interno di un’automobile di notte: al volante c’è il padre di una famiglia composta da moglie incinta e una bambina vispa e solare. Improvvisamente l’uomo investe un cane e questo piccolo incidente procurerà un piccolo danno all’auto, che dovrà fermarsi per una riparazione improvvisa. Da qui comincia una serie di eventi che porterà l’uomo ad essere rapito e a circondarsi di aguzzini pronti ad eliminarlo: ma perché? Chi è quest’uomo? Cosa è successo anni prima? Il suono di quella protesi alla gamba e, soprattutto, quel finale incredibile, me li porterò appresso ancora per molto tempo. Un capolavoro.[Se l’articolo ti è piaciuto, offrimi un caffè o magari una colazione,
una piccola mancia per aiutarmi a sostenere il sito!]#2025 #bestOf2025 #Cinema #classifica #daVedere #film #filmDel2025 #filmDellAnno #filmPiùBelli #fineAnno #lista #listaFilm #miglioriFilm #top10 #top20
-
OK, wenn man eBon bei #Penny aktiviert hat, kommt jetzt auch kein Bon mehr raus. Hatte die Kassiererin verwirrt, wieso die Kasse den Bon Druck verweigerte 😁