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Well, the second episode of NBC’s Hellblazer adaptation was at least marginally better than the first. More X-Filesy than Hellblazerish, with a slight touch of American Gothic, I was surprised to see the rating bumped down from TV-14 to TV-PG. (The John Constantine I’m familiar with is hardly a ‘PG’ sort of character.)
Chas’s accent continues to rub me the wrong way — it’s just hard to imagine ol’ Chas as anything other than a bloody Londoner — and Constantine’s is a horror in its own right. Though Constantine is originally supposed to be from Liverpool, the actor who plays him (Matt Ryan) is Welsh, so I more or less expected him to adapt a sort of hybrid Northern accent. Instead it’s like some bizarre fucking “Taste of the UK” tour — he sounds as if he’s gargling marbles as he test drives close to half a dozen different accents. He even does Irish. I swear, I am not making this up.
I wasn’t a fan of comic-book Zed beyond her initial story arc, but this one was just painful to watch. I take back what I said about the first female victim lead being axed as an act of mercy — this one was like watching Kristin Stewart make funny faces in front of her bathroom mirror. Now, I understand the American Prime Time mentality of substituting talent for a pretty face, but in all frankness, this woman is about as sexy as Maria from Sesame Street. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if half her lines were dubbed over by Maria from Sesame Street.
Hell, I think giving John Constantine some legitimate screen time is an awesome idea. Unlike other Vertigo titles (e.g. Sandman or Lucifer), Hellblazer is just the sort of title that could thrive as a television series — I just don’t think the clowns over at NBC have the cojones to get it right.
Just watched NBC’s Constantine pilot and I have to say, the decision to axe the female lead (who couldn’t play the role to save her soul) after the first episode was an act of outright mercy. The possessed humans were unoriginal and unconvincing, both in appearance and in mannerism. (WTF were they supposed to be, deadites?) Constantine wasn’t enough of a bastard, and Chas’s American accent just fucked with my head.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: “mature” comics do NOT translate well into regular network television, and this couldn’t be more true of titles featuring a chain-smoking, lecherous exorcism junkie who unintentionally brings death and destruction down upon anyone unlucky enough to be acquainted with him.
Oh, and they totally fucked up Newcastle.
On the bright side, my assumption that it would be exceedingly better than the 2005 Keanu Reeves flick proved correct. Then again, watching a caged monkey eat its own excrement would prove exceedingly better than the Constantine movie. Watching vultures tear out my own liver would be preferable as well.
I was at the mall with my kid earlier, and while we were walking back to the car a gaggle of the most geeky-looking teenage boys pulled up alongside us and asked, “Excuse me, did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”
I kept a straight face, raised my skirt high enough for them to see my scars (from knee to hip) and replied, “Yeah, it did. In fact, I hit the ground so hard that I shattered my femur and needed total leg reconstruction from the knee up.”
The looks on their faces were priceless.
Aaand a month after my leg was expected to have healed, it’s still only partially healed. (I should have had these X-rays a month ago, but I had to reschedule because of stuff with my kid.) The bottom part has fused with the cadaver bone, but the top part hasn’t fused at all. My doctor was stunned. We’re guessing it’s probably due to the Ehlers-Danlos, even though that tends to affect soft tissues more than bone. He said it’s possible I may never heal, and we’ll have to do a bone graft between my hip bone and the cadaver bone. Right now the plan is to give it another two months (while doing these bizarre electromagnetic therapies) and then schedule a bone graft if the x-rays don’t look any better.
On top of that, my knee keeps slipping out of the joint, perhaps half a dozen times per day. It all started after my kid accidentally kicked be under the table while my legs were crossed, although my doctor (same doc — orthopaedic oncologist) doesn’t think it’s really related. He says it’s likely due to the EDS as well, heightened by the fact that the joint is so damned atrophied. I reminded him that I have Type 1 EDS as opposed to Type 3 (in which joint subluxations are common), but he says he’s “not overly concerned” because the x-rays look good and it’s happening below the area he’d operated on. Well, I’m concerned. It hurts like a motherfuck every time it happens.
I’m here; I’m alive. Been back at my parents’ house for the past ten days or so, and I haven’t really bothered charging my cell. Whatever time I’m not spending with Ev is largely occupied by BBC America: Orphan Black, Doctor Who, and of course Star Trek TNG. (The upside of being here is that there is cable.)
Doing home PT and looking forward to trying crutches next week. Had the staples taken out on Wednesday (all 55 of them), and the surgeon says everything looks great.
As for my memory of the second hospitalization, I’d say it’s spotty, but mostly intact. I remember becoming aware of the fact that I missed out on an entire 24-hour period (I think it was a Thursday) and at one point waking up not knowing who I was or why I was in the hospital (which was scary) Dilaudid is some nasty shit. At least I wasn’t acting like a total madwoman the second time around. (In other words, I was nice to people.)
About ten more weeks until I can put weight on my new leg! June cannot arrive soon enough.