John Constantine is Exorcist, Demonologist and Petty Dabbler in the Dark Arts, a hero-against-his-own-will in the making who is on the path to becoming humanity’s only hope in the wake of the gathering forces of darkness.
The first episode, Non Est Asylum, did not leave much of an impression on me. However, having seen episode two and three, I must say I am thoroughly hooked. There is a sort of darkness in this show that makes the demon-fighting actually seem like a serious thing – not something you should mess with.
The ominous feeling, almost desolate, is interspersed with Constantine’s dry wit, awesome accent and the fact that he is not a pretty-boy. He’s been through shit. There are lines on his face and he has no time to dabble in fitness as well as in the dark arts. He’s a dude, through and through. It’s not like fighting evil is an invigorating and rejuvenating job.
Being a fan of Supernatural (season 3 through 6) I couldn’t help but compare the two, especially during episode three, The Devil’s Vinyl. Here we have a Robert Johnson @ the crossroads situation, very reminiscent of an episode of Supernatural (Crossroad Blues, I think). From time to time, Supernatural tries, and fails to be serious. The episodes in which we are forced to see the truly dark side of the demonic and contemplate the ambiguities and fine lines of good and bad are a monumental drag. With Constantine, it works. You get chills, the heebie-jeebies, you name it. And it’s still funny, in a desperate we-are-all-gonna-die way.
I sure as hell hope Constantine will not fall into the trap of becoming a parody of itself but will rather continue on its dark path.
I took up reading Angels of the Deep because I’m suffering from Supernatural withdrawal, and I thought this could be just up the kill-the-demon-exorcise-the-ghost alley. I read it with great fervour. At first because I wanted to see what happens, then because I wanted the torture to end as soon as possible.
It’s the worst sort of a terrible book. It piques your interest, raises your hopes. The writing is good, the atmosphere gloomy and foreboding. Characters are interesting and you’re just about to start caring for them. You think: “Dear Lord, I have a hidden gem in my hands. I was so lucky to stumble upon this!”
And then it shatters your hopes, ruins your dreams and turns into a little piece of crap. Long-winded descriptions which serve no purpose; sudden changes in characters’ personalities; forced angst and passion; idiotic, endless final battle… Kirby Crow manages to ruin everything that could have been good in this book.
Brrrrrrrrr, I shudder upon recalling the second half. The book decomposed, it lost all sense of direction, there was no pace and I was confused by the lack of any reasonable structure of what was going on. The part of the story about the Nephilim and Watchers seemed to be written with no feeling – just as a perfunctory gesture to the uninformed reader. The main conflict, the thing that the entire book hinges upon makes no freaking sense! You cannot explain your thesis by simply saying it is so. Very few authors get away with it. You have to prove it. You have to show me why this is a problem, why is it so intense that people and other creatures are getting killed over it.
Angels of the Deep deeply upset me. I could go on raving about how it hurt me. It could have been a lovely book. But it is not. Having in mind that after reading this review you will not read Angels of the Deep I do not feel compelled to tell you that there’s a lot of gayness in this book which, unfortunately, ended up being as random and pointless as the rest of the book.