JoltBlog

Like the Spurnroses, much of the city—presided over by Jared Harris’ Chancellor Absalom Breakspear, who has an intelligent, ambitious wife (Indira Varma) and a spoiled layabout son (Arty Froushan—is deeply suspicious of the refugees fleeing from their war-torn country; the fae and fauns, on the other hand, just want to stay alive. Enter Rycroft “Philo” Philostrate (Bloom), a detective with the constabulary who fights against the injustice faced by the residents of Carnival Row, while trying to hunt down the serial killer hunting them down. (That killer, no joke, is named Jack. He rips.) But his search leads him to a greater threat, a menacing beast targeting people and fae with no apparent connection to each other. There’s also Tourmaline Larou (Karla Crome), a fae sex worker who is also a poet, portraitist, and friend and ex-lover of Vignette’s; Sophie Longerbane (Caroline Ford), the canny daughter of Breakspear’s political opposition; and Runyan Millworthy (the great Simon McBurney), a street performer whose enchanting puppet show is actually a pack of trained kobolds. Oh, and Philo is Vignette’s ex, and he faked his death before leaving her. This is a partial list.

Beacham’s world is richly textured—he told me at this year’s Television Critics Association that he drew a detailed map of the Row when he was first working on this story in college; he knows every block—and directors like Thor Freudenthal and Jon Amiel capture that texture, even luxuriate in it. It can be overwhelming, especially when the story is thin; if you’re at all like me, you’ll spend a lot of time watching the scenery when you should be watching the scene. But when the storytelling approaches the level of the world-building and subsequent production design, it can be engaging, even enthralling. One late-season scene sees a gung-ho Delevingne process some very big emotions in what’s essentially a museum, if a very questionable one; the combination of her grief, the intense camera work, and the design makes for a potent cocktail. 

Yet I can’t wholeheartedly recommend “Carnival Row,” as much as I enjoyed it (and as eagerly as I confirmed that yes, it had already been renewed.) Beacham, Marc Guggenheim (also an executive producer) and company can’t help but lay everything on a little thick, from those delicious names to the political and social themes, which can be reductive and even thoughtless. I took detailed notes and could not tell you when certain events occur; with the exception of the third episode, which captures Philo and Vignette’s meet-cute, courtship, and death-faking end in flashback, they all tend to blend together. The rich visual world doesn’t particularly help there, either; fae spaces look like fae spaces, save the brothel; human spaces look like human spaces, save the constabulary; all the streets look exactly the same. Great, but the same. 

This will madden some. At another time, it might have maddened me. But each and every member of the cast acts their little hearts out, and each and every corner of this world could not possibly be more “Carnival Row.” Like many a silly novel, it is a shambles, but an enjoyable one, and as long as you’re up for some full-throated groans (Tourmaline Larou?!) you’ll be rewarded with a long, messy, and satisfying distraction.

Complete season watched for review.

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