It’s one thing for an artist to simply be convinced of the importance of their work. Arrogance isn’t recommendable, but there’s at least the opportunity for said artist to put their money where their mouth is.
The problem with something like Netflix’s Locke and Key is that it’s convinced of an importance that it doesn’t have.
Just as the villainess Dodge (Laysla De Oliveria) tells one of her victims, “there’s nothing special about you at all.”
The show tries to tackle many different subjects and many different tones with many different characters. It takes a gander at trauma, family, toxic masculinity, the impact of violent media, and alcoholism via comedy, horror, and fantasy through characters of all different backgrounds and ages.
The issue here is not one of cohesiveness. It is one of substance, one of a failure to accomplish any of these things. While there’s certainly a clear passion behind this show and the implementation of all its ideas, the show’s creators and writers don’t seem to go beyond “this is a good idea, therefore the show will be good!” There’s no proper exploration of these ideas, no joy of true creativity, no soul. Everything is just a check off of a list.
Typically these kinds of issues are associated with expository thematic dialogue. That’s occasionally an issue with Locke and Key, but the soullessness of the show is found beyond these typical issues. Like last year’s Ready or Not, the storytellers are so desperate to convince you of the show’s cleverness, of its personality, and that it has an “emotional core” that in this desperation, the final product is utterly lifeless.
One example of this is found in a flashback. Locke matriarch Nina (Darby Stanchfield) is celebrating her one year of sobriety with presently deceased Locke patriarch Rendell (Bill Heck). The scene is bizarrely, uncomfortably casual, as though she wasn’t celebrating this with her husband but someone she met on the street. He gives her a mug that says “Ray Of F*cking Sunshine” on it. They celebrate by toasting with ginger ale.
Everything about this scene rings false. “Ray Of F*cking Sunshine” feels as though it was strategically chosen to show how much personality these characters have. Same with the ginger ale; you see, they’re not celebrating with something flashy, they’re celebrating with something casual! Because they’re casual folks just like you and me!
The most glaring examples of this problem are found in the show’s villainess Dodge. Take the scene in the second episode; Dodge is a sort of demon who is confined to a well house. She tricks young Bode Locke (Jackson Robert Scott) into freeing her and giving her the “anywhere key”, which allows her to transport anywhere she’s seen.
When she’s first freed from her confinement, she’s teleporting around, stuffing her face with handfuls of pancakes, stealing clothes from a prestigious fashion show in a different country, and so on.
The idea behind the scene is an effective use of visual storytelling to convey both Dodge’s personality and how the key works. The idea behind this scene is fine. But I could practically hear the creative forces behind the show saying “oh my gosh, the kids will look at her and say ‘goals’! This scene will be one yas queen moment after another!”
This “how do you do, fellow kids” attitude is probably the most prevalent example of the show’s desperation to be loved. There’s at least one use of a modern song per episode.
And each use is bad. Very bad.
The most embarrassing example is found in the second to last episode. A villainous character (won’t get into who exactly, don’t want to get too spoilery) puts on an evil crown as dark, shadow spirits surround them. As the spirits converge, the villainous characters says
“hello darkness…..
….my old friend.”
As if I didn’t want to drown myself in kerosene enough after that awful line, Bille Eilish’s “you should see me in a crown” plays over this scene.
The use of this song is dramatically incompetent and tonally irrelevant. It escalated the show’s use of songs from “alright, I guess they want to be hip” to the the purest form of embarrassing that I’ve come across in a Netflix original.
And you know the worst part about all of this?
It isn’t that the creative people behind this show don’t care.
It’s that they clearly do.
devilsadvocritic 