![]() ![]() ![]() Director Mike Flanagan’s 10-episode adaptation of the classic Shirley Jackson novel re-contextualizes the haunted house story as a haunted family story, using the horror genre as a vehicle to dissect themes of grief, trauma, and complicated family dynamics. Okay don’t check my math on that (Netflix releases a lot of content), but the arrival and subsequently obsession with The Haunting of Hill House did seem to come pretty quickly and intensely-and for good reason. Not since Stranger Things has a Netflix show seemingly come out of nowhere to become a bona fide phenomenon. Ultimately, it’s a delight and an obsession, and the scariest thing about it is just how good it is. She’s only half a witch (on her father’s side), and she’s spent her entire life living at home with witches and going to school with mortals. But that baptism - and whether or not she’s ready to tether herself to the Dark Lord - is just the start of Sabrina’s adventures, not the end, as she finds a way to honor both her mortal and supernatural heritage. Except, Sabrina isn’t so sure she wants to do that. The series picks up just before Sabrina’s sixteenth birthday, which will be marked not by a traditional celebration, but an old tradition: a Dark Baptism under a blood moon where Sabrina will sign over her soul to the Dark Lord. It’s just that this time, the story is wrapped up in a moody, dark, funny, and stylishly atmospheric package that could be not be a better herald of fall and the Halloween season. The updated story is a far cry from the days of Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and yet, it encompasses many of the same themes of the original Archie comics and other iterations. There is no trick to the treat that is Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Netflix’s adaptation of Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa’s comic of the same name, starring Kiernan Shipka as the titular teen. Ignore it at the risk of a piledriver, Emmy voters. Plus, episode 8-in which GLOW puts on an entire episode within an episode of the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling-is a perfect piece of bonkers art. Like a wrestling ring, every character here has layers, a thin layer of protection stretched over the hard wood below. As Debbie Eagan, Betty Gilpin morphs into something very close to a villain this season, but a villain that-thanks to a Hollywood system that was and still is designed to shit on people like her-has every understandable right to be the way she is. Really, that’s the genius of GLOW there is no form of entertainment more wide-ranging in its insanity than pro wrestling, which makes it the perfect mirror to reflect the wide-ranging insanity that is life. All respect must be paid to Kia Stevens, actual former pro wrestler, for a breakout season as Tammé Dawson, a mother struggling with the overtly racist character she plays in the ring and the effect it has on her pride outside of it. With such a strong cast, it’s almost hard to single in on just one. It’s just astounding how Liz Flahive and Carly Mensch take a show with such a large ensemble and breathe distinct life into every character, something they struggled with in Season 1 (and something the show riffs on ingeniously, with Marc Maron ’s Sam Sylvia telling Sunita Mani ’s Arthie Premkumar, “I really don’t pay attention to all of you.”). Count the three, it’s over, new champion. I didn’t want to sound hyperbolic but hell, pro wrestling is all about grand statements: GLOW’s sophomore outing is the best season of Netflix original programming there is, full stop. ![]()
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