TV: Y the Last Man, no longer going to series @FX UPDATE: CANCELLED ALREADY!
- Thread starter playahaitian
- Start date
I hear you but I think a few other networks could mess with that list if you gonna go all the from the shield to now.
I feel like netflix could challenge that.
‘Y: The Last Man’ Gets Disney Plus Release Date in the U.K. – Global Bulletin
Disney will drop the show's first three episodes on its Star platform next month, with subsequent episodes launching weekly.
variety.com
I never heard of this until it popped up in my YouTube recommendations.
Looked into it and the series will be female dominated, being there is only one guy in it.
Also, there will be a transgender character in the series.
The series was actually ready to start filming back in 2014, but NBC quickly threw out the comedy series “Last Man On Earth” that ran until 2018.
FX did not want this show out in fear the shows will cancel each other out or confuse viewers.
NBC cancelled their show, it was looking like Netflix was gonna pick it up, but backed out.
So FX gave the green light in 2019 to begin production…and then the pandemic started which delayed production in 2020.
It’s now going straight to Hulu.
'Y: The Last Man' is a long-awaited adaptation that can't escape apocalypse fatigue
'Y: The Last Man' takes its source material in intriguing new directions, but too often, it's a dutiful adaptation, turning the comic's eccentricity into a familiar genre wallow.
Y: The Last Man review: A long-awaited adaptation can't escape apocalypse fatigue
Diane Lane takes charge in an ambitious, unwieldy modernization.
By Darren Franich
September 08, 2021 at 12:00 PM EDT
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Y: The Last Man (TV series)
TYPE
- TV Show
- FX
Y: The Last Man was one of the best comics ever. Now it's a boring TV show. The first sentence makes the second one sound suspicious, like I'm a complaining fanboy. Let me explain. At best, the new FX on Hulu drama (debuting Sept. 13) takes the Brian K. Vaughan/Pia Guerra source material in intriguing new directions. Too often, though, it's a dutiful adaptation, turning the comic's eccentricity into a familiar genre wallow.
The premiere starts with Yorick Brown (Ben Schnetzer) and his trusty capuchin Ampersand walking through a corpse-filled Manhattan. A sudden-onset mega virus has swept the world. "All of the men are dead," someone said on page 1 of Y: The Last Man issue No. 1 back in 2002. Our 2021 definitions aren't so binary, but this cisgender man and his monkey do appear to be the last two creatures on Earth with Y chromosomes.
A pandemic, a species-wide reckoning with gender norms: where to begin, really? Unfortunately, showrunner Eliza Clark mostly sets the series premiere before the beginning. An episode-long flashback introduces Yorick's mother, Jennifer, (Diane Lane), a Democrat dream politico with Pelosi-ish seniority but an Ocasio-Cortez-ish fanbase. She travels in the same elite social circles as Kimberly (Amber Tamblyn), the conservative president's daughter, who has Ivanka Trump's fame plus Serena Joy's literary career. The swirl of personal-political drama is not encouraging, and it feels like we could be watching any old glossy D.C. melodrama. Whoever thought the comic book needed to be more like House of Cards? Ugh, House of Cards, I just vomited in my mouth.
Once the virus finally hits, Y splits in three directions. Yorick meets Agent 355 (Ashley Romans), a government agent who becomes his bodyguard for a mission across the broken country. Eventually, they meet Dr. Allison Mann (Diana Bang), a spiky genius with brash disinterest in scientific ethics. These three need to spark off each other somehow, but if you've ever seen any Walking Dead ever, you already know the gist of their early adventures. They go somewhere — a market, the woods, Harvard — and wait for action to happen. They don't get along until attacking enemies force them to get along. Romans makes 355 a solid badass. The CGI monkey is a problem. Schnetzer's Yorick is nonstop annoying.
Ben Schnetzer in 'Y: The Last Man'
| CREDIT: RAFY WINTERFELD/FX
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Actually, the show seems a bit embarrassed about Yorick. In fairness, the character was a very 2000s type of snarky nerd romantic. That describes five or six villains in Promising Young Woman, and I think general post-2002 cultural evolution explains why the show invents a new-ish parallel story about Yorick's sister Hero (Olivia Thirlby). Already pushed to the brink before the world collapses, Hero sets off toward D.C. with her trans friend Sam (Elliot Fletcher). The comic vaguely addressed transgender identity here and there, but Sam is a main character, and the always-great Thirlby sparks a complex chemistry with Fletcher. Sadly, their subplot dead-ends into the absolute worst Dead trope: the Secretly Violent Welcoming Cult. (The six episodes I've seen seem like a very long origin story to explain Hero's journey before we met her in the comic book. Message to all storytellers everywhere: If you think you need to add an origin story, you don't.)
Meanwhile, Jennifer becomes President of the United States. She's directly in charge of the 5,000 people living in the Pentagon, now a walled safe haven amid the chaos. Her all-female administration tries to maintain supply lines, power grids, and everything else. This new-for-TV setting can be a little ridiculous. Tamblyn spends half a season staring angrily down corridors, a family-values Republican trapped in a social-democratic safe space. I know I keep referring to the comic, but it's worth pointing out that Vaughan established Jennifer as a post-virus cabinet scretary. Surely, no adaptation strategy is more cliché than make somebody the president!
But the Pentagon stuff is, weirdly, all I care about. A single scene reveals office cubicles converted for daycare, where political widows mourn their husbands and sons while taking care of all the daughters left behind. Sequences like that suggest the complex ways civilization recovers from loss. There's a brewing battle between Lane and a hardcore right-wing politician which almost catches a fascinating tone of horror tension mixed with outright satire. And the sheer number of female characters in this end world adventure is refreshing — or would be if, like, Mad Max: Fury Road weren't six years old (and much better).
Is this stale adaptation just a little too late? Showrunner Eliza Clark took over after the initial showrunners departed. She gamely tries to expand the story's ensemble — I haven't even mentioned the always-great Marin Ireland as a mother suffering and suffering and suffering — but there's a basic lack of flair in the storytelling. Pia Guerra's Y artwork perfectly matched Vaughan's witty-weird dramatics. The artist drew characters who looked like indie actors in their first big blockbuster, their edges glowed up but not yet sanded off. It was constantly funny — look at these attractive people holding off yet another species-ending calamity with a monkey on somebody's shoulder! — whereas the TV Last Man keeps settling for a bargain-bin tone of mournful heaviness. Even if you never read the comic book, you've seen this all before. Maybe the next TV virus can kill all the apocalypses. C
‘TV’s Top 5’: Inside the Long Path to ‘Y: The Last Man’
During this week's podcast, hosts Lesley Goldberg and Daniel Fienberg are joined by comic creator Brian K. Vaughan and showrunner Eliza Clark to discuss the FX on Hulu series.
www.hollywoodreporter.com
Someone needs to merge this with the discussion thread I made along time ago.
Mods:
Y: The Last Man TV Discussion Thread
After years in development hell, Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra's creator-owned classic Y The Last Man seems poised to take advantage of the current wave of popular comics-to-TV adaptations, according to The Hollywood Reporter. The series, one of the best-selling and most-acclaimed Vertigo...
www.bgol.us
So this person used to be a male in real life?‘TV’s Top 5’: Inside the Long Path to ‘Y: The Last Man’
During this week's podcast, hosts Lesley Goldberg and Daniel Fienberg are joined by comic creator Brian K. Vaughan and showrunner Eliza Clark to discuss the FX on Hulu series.
The Handsome Tragedies of Y: The Last Man
By Angelica Jade Bastién@angelicabastien
Photo: Rafy Winterfeld/FX
Everyone in the new series Y: The Last Man — no matter race, gender identity, or closely held loyalties — is experiencing the worst day of their lives in perpetuity. They’re surrounded by the iconography we’ve come to associate with dystopia: splintered glass and crashed cars, dirty fingernails and hollow eyes, rotting animal carcasses punctuating a snow-dappled field, the shock of blood against pedestrian environments. Posters, strewn with pleas for “Our Sons” or the stark visage of a president believed to be hiding truths about the wreckage humanity is now navigating, line the streets. A helicopter teeters on the edge of a building, overlooking a desolate metropolis undone as much by external chaos as the internal horrors of humankind. Here, the series is at its least intriguing.
My Week In New York
A week-in-review newsletter from the people who make New York Magazine.
We’ve seen this imagery countless times before, sometimes artfully (Children of Men) and other times bluntly (The Walking Dead). That it glides by rather than pierces is telling given the world this show has been born into. Almost 700,000 people are dead from COVID-19 in this country alone. Fierce ideological divides and ongoing chaos have seeped into every aspect of our lives. All these ideas are tangled within the series itself, and Y: The Last Man simmers in charting what happens among people in the wake of great collective and personal trauma. In the “event,” everyone with a Y chromosome, mammalian animals included, died brutally and bloodily. The fallout sees survivors jockeying for power and control even as it becomes evident that such things are unavailable for absolute possession. But it also sees people finding communion amid horror or clinging fiercely to ideologies that can no longer serve them.
Y: The Last Man, which airs Mondays on FX on Hulu, was ushered into existence by showrunner Eliza Clark after such a lengthy production history, I’m surprised it got made at all, let alone this well. At its pinnacle, it functions boldly on multiple levels — as a gripping thriller cast against a world plunged into dystopia, a curious thought experiment blooming with ideas about gender, a portrait of a family’s healing backdropped by darkness, and an adaptation that is already besting the graphic novel source material by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra by pushing its gender and political commentary into fascinating, if a touch didactic, directions.
The series poses increasingly tricksy questions as it charts the consequences of this cataclysm and the lives of the only beings with a Y chromosome spared: the somewhat sad-sack, late 20-something escape artist Yorick Brown (Ben Schnetzer) and his beloved monkey, Ampersand. Sure, there are the knotted scientific and political questions around how all this death and sorrow truly started. But I’m more interested in what lies elsewhere. How can we heal in the face of continuous trauma? Is the nature of humankind to destroy and subdue, or are there gleams of tenderness and love to be found? How do women perpetuate the very systems of oppression that have led our world to rot? How can we rebuild toward something better than what came before? All rich questions. After watching the seven episodes made available to critics, it’s clear the artists behind the series are interested in prodding this story in directions even bolder than I expected, balancing swift entertainment with heady political and bodily consideration. But will they have the gumption and intelligence necessary to answer these questions with the fullness they deserve?
Clark and her collaborators are smart enough to know that Yorick shouldn’t be the sole emotional focal point of the series. He’s a touch lovable and more than a little naïve, a trust-fund kid supported by his parents — including his congresswoman mother, Jennifer (Diane Lane), who, because of the line of succession, becomes president of an increasingly torn United States of America —and unable to grasp the gravity of his fate beyond whatever present predicament he’s navigating. He’s preoccupied by a search for his girlfriend, Beth (Juliana Canfield), despite the fact that she turned down his proposal right before everything went to hell. After a brief reconnection with his stunned mother, who is camping out with the administration in the Pentagon, Yorick is sent to find a geneticist to untangle the truth of his survival, accompanied by Agent 355 (Ashley Romans), a grimly determined undercover operative who saves his life countless times. Agent 355 is the kind of character who brings up more questions than answers, especially since the shadowy assignment she received right before the crisis — to protect the now-dead president (Paul Gross) — may be more integral to the mysteries of the event than anyone realizes.
Yorick moves about the decay around him like a child, never heeding the obvious danger — as Agent 355 tells him in episode four, “You need to grow the fuck up.” How Yorick functions isn’t always rooted in curiosity so much as privilege; he’s used to being given the benefit of the doubt, of moving through rooms unseen until he wants to be acknowledged. His life has been defined by ease. Honestly, Yorick is the least compelling aspect of the series, even though Schnetzer plays him with an easygoing charm. What inspires is the broad range of characters interlocking into his story, all of whom are scrounging together an existence among the debris of a past that can never be returned to.
Among them is Yorick’s sister, Hero (a cutting Olivia Thirlby). In the world before, she was an EMT in a complicated relationship with her married boss, a man she accidentally kills in the heat of an argument. Using the gender apocalypse to hide her crime, she finds herself on the road with her all-too-kind friend, Sam (Elliot Fletcher), who struggles mightily as a trans man in places that require him to constantly explain who he is. Sam exemplifies the tension between the old world and this new one, the people we are and the person others want us to be for their own ease. His efforts to find testosterone or navigate an enclave of armed, transphobic women who provide shelter and supplies he and Hero could never obtain otherwise are touching reminders of not only the various losses these survivors must face, but the seeming impossibility of finding solace.
The dangers of this new world are hammered home most eloquently in Hero and Sam’s encounters with this dangerous collective, led by former detective Roxanne (a chilly and evocative Missi Pyle). Brutal, commanding, and undaunted, these women see themselves as Amazons, performing baptisms and naming rituals among the ruins of the big-box store they now inhabit. Their practices seek to grasp power from a world that previously denied it to them; they view Sam as an aberration and are willing to beat anyone who talks to him alone within an inch of their lives. Consider an exchange between Sam and one of their members in episode four: With a gun pointed at him, Sam is denigrated for “choosing to be a man.” The series is most ripe in its gender commentary through this story line, uncovering the ways people with little power (in this case, cis women) are willing to harm those below them on the social totem pole in order to feel more secure in their station. Here, at the intersection of gender and power, we find a knotted, festering emotional and psychic wounding.
Conversations about gender increase in their didacticism when Yorick and Agent 355 find the geneticist Dr. Allison Mann (Diana Bang); as she says, “Not everyone with a Y chromosome is a man.” But such statements are useful for understanding the shape of Y’s world-building and the ways the writers are pushing the graphic novel beyond a frustrating thought experiment into something truly engaging with potential radicalism. By opaquely noting that biology and gender aren’t as neat as we’d like to pretend they are, the series cracks open a gimlet-eyed perspective on the questions and possibilities driving current conversations around gender. The show is also willing to touch on some bitter subject matter, revealing the various ways women perpetuate the patriarchy in order to hold onto illusory scraps of understanding and power.
The locus of villainy in the series is rooted in these kinds of women, forces Jennifer must navigate as she’s thrust into the role of president with the task of essentially saving the world. She proves to be cunning, kind, blunt, and increasingly adept at noticing where her own weak points remain, especially once Regina Oliver (a slimy Jennifer Wigmore), a more senior member of the government whom Jennifer once publicly (and rightly) deemed a xenophobe, is found alive in Tel Aviv. Diane Lane’s performance has a sharp magnificence; she’s at once a bruised woman trying to make sense of what’s left of her family, protect her son, and rebuild the country into something better than it was before. The impossible odds she’s up against multiply as Kimberly Campbell Cunninghan (Amber Tamblyn), the daughter of the previous president, starts to exploit Jennifer’s weaknesses and grow her own following — not only to “take back” the White House, but bring back men period. You’ve seen women like Kimberly before: glossy, obsessed with presentation, foot soldiers for the patriarchy who so fiercely believe in the power of men they’ll break the world in two for them. Everyone is grieving, but Kimberly can only see her own pain, and teaming up with Regina in order to dismantle Jennifer’s presidency is just one of her twisted goals. These are white women who know how their tears are valued and won’t hesitate to use everything at their disposal to get what they desire — no matter the catastrophic effects.
Y: The Last Man comes at a time when white showrunners are keen on exploring and critiquing whiteness, from HBO’s The White Lotus to longer-running works like The Good Fight. This is complicated territory that nearly every white showrunner has failed to fully grapple with. These works often think merely mentioning privilege and whiteness, or positioning it as an individual failing, is enough to thoroughly critique a system that has caused untold horror throughout the world. Regina and especially Kimberly prove to be damning emblems of the nature of white femininity, but the show trips up by making them arch in a way that is gratingly entertaining but not always as revealing as it should be. Yes, women like this exist, but when characters scream things like Kimberly does in episode seven — “We have to use him to bring back men … We will be a nation of mothers again!” — I worry the writers don’t have the finesse to wholly understand, interrogate, and critique the mores of whiteness without simplistic answers or bluntness. It’s not enough to lay all the blame at the feet of Republican monstresses when the truth is in fact far more damning.
Part of the problem is that the show is not served well by Amber Tamblyn’s performance. When called toward great emotion like the penultimate scene in episode seven, which see Kimberly trembling from totemic loss, her mouth agape as she releases a guttural scream through the halls of the Pentagon, Tamblyn is too aware of what the character represents to infuse her with nuance or incite mixed emotions in the viewer. But the larger problem comes down to the writing: Kimberly edges toward parody in many scenes, a Meghan McCain-esque simulacrum of the white woman so keen to support the patriarchy, she is wholly incapable of seeing how it destroys everything around her. Kimberly doesn’t feel lived in; she feels like a point hammered home, an easy layup to gain points for criticizing the obvious rather than revealing with canny precision that Kimberly and Regina’s whiteness isn’t created in a vacuum or a singular experience, but representative of a system of oppression and power. This point bleeds into another curious issue at the core of the series: No one seems to be questioning whether bringing back the United States of America is a good, worthy thing, or if starting completely anew is the better path forward.
Alongside President Jennifer Brown, the most intriguing character by far is that of Agent 355. She’s a walking question mark that, seven episodes in, we’ve only touched the surface of. She’s slippery in the best way, especially as it becomes apparent that her loyalties are growing increasingly complicated beyond fealty for Jennifer. She’s steely without being blandly strong. She’s a mystery without feeling emptied of interiority, the way far too many Black women characters can feel in the hands of a white showrunner. The best visual moments are often written across actor Ashley Romans’s face and physicality: a glare, a swift punch, an eye roll toward one of Yorick’s misplaced jokes, a marked tension in her clenched jaw.
This is as much a testament to Romans’s skills as it is a mark against the show’s inertly beautiful visual efforts by cinematographers Kira Kelly, Claudine Sauvé, and Catherine Lutes. Sure, the series is handsome the way most television is right now: Characters careen down narrow, amber-lit hallways, trees pop with color against the graying world they’re rooted in. There are some intriguing editing choices here and there; a few images tickle the imagination but don’t quite stick to it. Despite the argument that television has become broadly cinematic, most TV still moves and feels like television visually — more intent on getting across information in the simplest way possible than putting care into every shot, every piece of production design, each garment of costuming in a way that feels revelatory or brims with intrigue. The show also moves at a clip, bouncing between various story lines and places in order to find rich veins of thought and narrative experimentation. But I sometimes wished it would slow down a beat, circling around the wounds these characters carry instead of trying to make sense of why this happened.
Y: The Last Man has already started to gain praise for its all-women slate of directors and cinematographers, as well as its majority female writing staff. Such a thing shouldn’t be presented as novel, nor is it — Ava DuVernay’s series Queen Sugar has been doing something similar for six seasons. What will be more instructive to the overall mission of Y: The Last Man is whether its artisans can thread the needle of critiquing whiteness, transphobia, and narrow gender ideals in a way that is potent and revealing. The show has so far proven to be a complex, engaging, and even thrilling work of adaptation. But if the writers and artists bringing it to life can’t properly grapple with the questions they seek to illuminate or push its visual dimensions further, the series won’t touch the hem of greatness within its reach.
www.vulture.com
By Angelica Jade Bastién@angelicabastien
Photo: Rafy Winterfeld/FX
Everyone in the new series Y: The Last Man — no matter race, gender identity, or closely held loyalties — is experiencing the worst day of their lives in perpetuity. They’re surrounded by the iconography we’ve come to associate with dystopia: splintered glass and crashed cars, dirty fingernails and hollow eyes, rotting animal carcasses punctuating a snow-dappled field, the shock of blood against pedestrian environments. Posters, strewn with pleas for “Our Sons” or the stark visage of a president believed to be hiding truths about the wreckage humanity is now navigating, line the streets. A helicopter teeters on the edge of a building, overlooking a desolate metropolis undone as much by external chaos as the internal horrors of humankind. Here, the series is at its least intriguing.
My Week In New York
A week-in-review newsletter from the people who make New York Magazine.
We’ve seen this imagery countless times before, sometimes artfully (Children of Men) and other times bluntly (The Walking Dead). That it glides by rather than pierces is telling given the world this show has been born into. Almost 700,000 people are dead from COVID-19 in this country alone. Fierce ideological divides and ongoing chaos have seeped into every aspect of our lives. All these ideas are tangled within the series itself, and Y: The Last Man simmers in charting what happens among people in the wake of great collective and personal trauma. In the “event,” everyone with a Y chromosome, mammalian animals included, died brutally and bloodily. The fallout sees survivors jockeying for power and control even as it becomes evident that such things are unavailable for absolute possession. But it also sees people finding communion amid horror or clinging fiercely to ideologies that can no longer serve them.
Y: The Last Man, which airs Mondays on FX on Hulu, was ushered into existence by showrunner Eliza Clark after such a lengthy production history, I’m surprised it got made at all, let alone this well. At its pinnacle, it functions boldly on multiple levels — as a gripping thriller cast against a world plunged into dystopia, a curious thought experiment blooming with ideas about gender, a portrait of a family’s healing backdropped by darkness, and an adaptation that is already besting the graphic novel source material by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra by pushing its gender and political commentary into fascinating, if a touch didactic, directions.
The series poses increasingly tricksy questions as it charts the consequences of this cataclysm and the lives of the only beings with a Y chromosome spared: the somewhat sad-sack, late 20-something escape artist Yorick Brown (Ben Schnetzer) and his beloved monkey, Ampersand. Sure, there are the knotted scientific and political questions around how all this death and sorrow truly started. But I’m more interested in what lies elsewhere. How can we heal in the face of continuous trauma? Is the nature of humankind to destroy and subdue, or are there gleams of tenderness and love to be found? How do women perpetuate the very systems of oppression that have led our world to rot? How can we rebuild toward something better than what came before? All rich questions. After watching the seven episodes made available to critics, it’s clear the artists behind the series are interested in prodding this story in directions even bolder than I expected, balancing swift entertainment with heady political and bodily consideration. But will they have the gumption and intelligence necessary to answer these questions with the fullness they deserve?
Clark and her collaborators are smart enough to know that Yorick shouldn’t be the sole emotional focal point of the series. He’s a touch lovable and more than a little naïve, a trust-fund kid supported by his parents — including his congresswoman mother, Jennifer (Diane Lane), who, because of the line of succession, becomes president of an increasingly torn United States of America —and unable to grasp the gravity of his fate beyond whatever present predicament he’s navigating. He’s preoccupied by a search for his girlfriend, Beth (Juliana Canfield), despite the fact that she turned down his proposal right before everything went to hell. After a brief reconnection with his stunned mother, who is camping out with the administration in the Pentagon, Yorick is sent to find a geneticist to untangle the truth of his survival, accompanied by Agent 355 (Ashley Romans), a grimly determined undercover operative who saves his life countless times. Agent 355 is the kind of character who brings up more questions than answers, especially since the shadowy assignment she received right before the crisis — to protect the now-dead president (Paul Gross) — may be more integral to the mysteries of the event than anyone realizes.
Yorick moves about the decay around him like a child, never heeding the obvious danger — as Agent 355 tells him in episode four, “You need to grow the fuck up.” How Yorick functions isn’t always rooted in curiosity so much as privilege; he’s used to being given the benefit of the doubt, of moving through rooms unseen until he wants to be acknowledged. His life has been defined by ease. Honestly, Yorick is the least compelling aspect of the series, even though Schnetzer plays him with an easygoing charm. What inspires is the broad range of characters interlocking into his story, all of whom are scrounging together an existence among the debris of a past that can never be returned to.
Among them is Yorick’s sister, Hero (a cutting Olivia Thirlby). In the world before, she was an EMT in a complicated relationship with her married boss, a man she accidentally kills in the heat of an argument. Using the gender apocalypse to hide her crime, she finds herself on the road with her all-too-kind friend, Sam (Elliot Fletcher), who struggles mightily as a trans man in places that require him to constantly explain who he is. Sam exemplifies the tension between the old world and this new one, the people we are and the person others want us to be for their own ease. His efforts to find testosterone or navigate an enclave of armed, transphobic women who provide shelter and supplies he and Hero could never obtain otherwise are touching reminders of not only the various losses these survivors must face, but the seeming impossibility of finding solace.
The dangers of this new world are hammered home most eloquently in Hero and Sam’s encounters with this dangerous collective, led by former detective Roxanne (a chilly and evocative Missi Pyle). Brutal, commanding, and undaunted, these women see themselves as Amazons, performing baptisms and naming rituals among the ruins of the big-box store they now inhabit. Their practices seek to grasp power from a world that previously denied it to them; they view Sam as an aberration and are willing to beat anyone who talks to him alone within an inch of their lives. Consider an exchange between Sam and one of their members in episode four: With a gun pointed at him, Sam is denigrated for “choosing to be a man.” The series is most ripe in its gender commentary through this story line, uncovering the ways people with little power (in this case, cis women) are willing to harm those below them on the social totem pole in order to feel more secure in their station. Here, at the intersection of gender and power, we find a knotted, festering emotional and psychic wounding.
Conversations about gender increase in their didacticism when Yorick and Agent 355 find the geneticist Dr. Allison Mann (Diana Bang); as she says, “Not everyone with a Y chromosome is a man.” But such statements are useful for understanding the shape of Y’s world-building and the ways the writers are pushing the graphic novel beyond a frustrating thought experiment into something truly engaging with potential radicalism. By opaquely noting that biology and gender aren’t as neat as we’d like to pretend they are, the series cracks open a gimlet-eyed perspective on the questions and possibilities driving current conversations around gender. The show is also willing to touch on some bitter subject matter, revealing the various ways women perpetuate the patriarchy in order to hold onto illusory scraps of understanding and power.
The locus of villainy in the series is rooted in these kinds of women, forces Jennifer must navigate as she’s thrust into the role of president with the task of essentially saving the world. She proves to be cunning, kind, blunt, and increasingly adept at noticing where her own weak points remain, especially once Regina Oliver (a slimy Jennifer Wigmore), a more senior member of the government whom Jennifer once publicly (and rightly) deemed a xenophobe, is found alive in Tel Aviv. Diane Lane’s performance has a sharp magnificence; she’s at once a bruised woman trying to make sense of what’s left of her family, protect her son, and rebuild the country into something better than it was before. The impossible odds she’s up against multiply as Kimberly Campbell Cunninghan (Amber Tamblyn), the daughter of the previous president, starts to exploit Jennifer’s weaknesses and grow her own following — not only to “take back” the White House, but bring back men period. You’ve seen women like Kimberly before: glossy, obsessed with presentation, foot soldiers for the patriarchy who so fiercely believe in the power of men they’ll break the world in two for them. Everyone is grieving, but Kimberly can only see her own pain, and teaming up with Regina in order to dismantle Jennifer’s presidency is just one of her twisted goals. These are white women who know how their tears are valued and won’t hesitate to use everything at their disposal to get what they desire — no matter the catastrophic effects.
Y: The Last Man comes at a time when white showrunners are keen on exploring and critiquing whiteness, from HBO’s The White Lotus to longer-running works like The Good Fight. This is complicated territory that nearly every white showrunner has failed to fully grapple with. These works often think merely mentioning privilege and whiteness, or positioning it as an individual failing, is enough to thoroughly critique a system that has caused untold horror throughout the world. Regina and especially Kimberly prove to be damning emblems of the nature of white femininity, but the show trips up by making them arch in a way that is gratingly entertaining but not always as revealing as it should be. Yes, women like this exist, but when characters scream things like Kimberly does in episode seven — “We have to use him to bring back men … We will be a nation of mothers again!” — I worry the writers don’t have the finesse to wholly understand, interrogate, and critique the mores of whiteness without simplistic answers or bluntness. It’s not enough to lay all the blame at the feet of Republican monstresses when the truth is in fact far more damning.
Part of the problem is that the show is not served well by Amber Tamblyn’s performance. When called toward great emotion like the penultimate scene in episode seven, which see Kimberly trembling from totemic loss, her mouth agape as she releases a guttural scream through the halls of the Pentagon, Tamblyn is too aware of what the character represents to infuse her with nuance or incite mixed emotions in the viewer. But the larger problem comes down to the writing: Kimberly edges toward parody in many scenes, a Meghan McCain-esque simulacrum of the white woman so keen to support the patriarchy, she is wholly incapable of seeing how it destroys everything around her. Kimberly doesn’t feel lived in; she feels like a point hammered home, an easy layup to gain points for criticizing the obvious rather than revealing with canny precision that Kimberly and Regina’s whiteness isn’t created in a vacuum or a singular experience, but representative of a system of oppression and power. This point bleeds into another curious issue at the core of the series: No one seems to be questioning whether bringing back the United States of America is a good, worthy thing, or if starting completely anew is the better path forward.
Alongside President Jennifer Brown, the most intriguing character by far is that of Agent 355. She’s a walking question mark that, seven episodes in, we’ve only touched the surface of. She’s slippery in the best way, especially as it becomes apparent that her loyalties are growing increasingly complicated beyond fealty for Jennifer. She’s steely without being blandly strong. She’s a mystery without feeling emptied of interiority, the way far too many Black women characters can feel in the hands of a white showrunner. The best visual moments are often written across actor Ashley Romans’s face and physicality: a glare, a swift punch, an eye roll toward one of Yorick’s misplaced jokes, a marked tension in her clenched jaw.
This is as much a testament to Romans’s skills as it is a mark against the show’s inertly beautiful visual efforts by cinematographers Kira Kelly, Claudine Sauvé, and Catherine Lutes. Sure, the series is handsome the way most television is right now: Characters careen down narrow, amber-lit hallways, trees pop with color against the graying world they’re rooted in. There are some intriguing editing choices here and there; a few images tickle the imagination but don’t quite stick to it. Despite the argument that television has become broadly cinematic, most TV still moves and feels like television visually — more intent on getting across information in the simplest way possible than putting care into every shot, every piece of production design, each garment of costuming in a way that feels revelatory or brims with intrigue. The show also moves at a clip, bouncing between various story lines and places in order to find rich veins of thought and narrative experimentation. But I sometimes wished it would slow down a beat, circling around the wounds these characters carry instead of trying to make sense of why this happened.
Y: The Last Man has already started to gain praise for its all-women slate of directors and cinematographers, as well as its majority female writing staff. Such a thing shouldn’t be presented as novel, nor is it — Ava DuVernay’s series Queen Sugar has been doing something similar for six seasons. What will be more instructive to the overall mission of Y: The Last Man is whether its artisans can thread the needle of critiquing whiteness, transphobia, and narrow gender ideals in a way that is potent and revealing. The show has so far proven to be a complex, engaging, and even thrilling work of adaptation. But if the writers and artists bringing it to life can’t properly grapple with the questions they seek to illuminate or push its visual dimensions further, the series won’t touch the hem of greatness within its reach.
The Handsome Tragedies of Y: The Last Man
The FX on Hulu show poses spiky questions about gender, family, and human nature in the midst of trauma. Does it have the skill to answer them?
www.vulture.com
FX Cancels Y: The Last Man
Showrunner Eliza Clark has hope that the show will find a new home.
www.vulture.com
Y: The Last Man showrunner is 'committed' to finding a new home for series after cancellation
The TV adaptation of the Brian K. Vaughan comics has been canceled before its season 1 finale.
By Nick RomanoOctober 18, 2021 at 09:22 AM EDT
Y: The Last Man is about to finish its first season on FX on Hulu and still the show keeps hitting major snags.
Showrunner Eliza Clark is now looking for a new home for the sci-fi drama after it was canceled weeks ahead of the season 1 finale.
"FX has been an amazing partner," Clark wrote in a message that was shared on her Twitter page this weekend. "We have loved working with them, and we're sad YTLM is not going forward at FX on Hulu. But we know that someone else is going to be very lucky to have this team and this story. I have never experienced the remarkable solidarity of this many talented people. We are committed to finding Y its next home. #YLivesOn."
Brian K. Vaughan, who wrote the original Y: The Last Man comic book series, commented on the news, saying "this is not the first time in 20 years I've seen Yorick & co. escape the seemingly inescapable."
Y: The Last Man takes place in a world where a mysterious global pandemic kills off every mammal with a Y chromosome except for a man named Yorick and his monkey Ampersand.
Many have tried adapting the story in the past. At one point, it was supposed to be a movie. But after years of complications, it finally got an adaptation as a series this year on FX on Hulu.
"I love this show, and I'm very hopeful Y will find a new home, not just because it happens to employ more extraordinary women, people of color, and members of the LGBTQ+ community — both in front of and behind the camera — than any project I've ever been a part of, but because they've made something spectacular, the kind of thoughtful, contemporary, fearless evolution of the comic that [comic book penciller Pia Guerra] and I always wanted," Vaughan wrote in a post on Instagram. "These next three episodes are the very best of the season, so please keep watching, and if you want to see this journey continue as much as I do, we encourage you to let the world know: #YLivesOn."
Ben Schnetzer features as Yorick in Y: The Last Man, the series, which also stars Ashley Romans, Olivia Thirlby, Elliot Fletcher, Diane Lane, and Amber Tamblyn.
Clark makes a note of the "gender diverse team of brilliant artists, led by women at almost every corner of our production."
"Producers, writers, directors, cinematographers, production design, costume design, stunt coordination, and more," she wrote. "It is the most collaborative, creatively fulfilling, and beautiful thing I have ever been a part of. We don't want it to end."
The TV adaptation of the Brian K. Vaughan comics has been canceled before its season 1 finale.
By Nick RomanoOctober 18, 2021 at 09:22 AM EDT
Y: The Last Man is about to finish its first season on FX on Hulu and still the show keeps hitting major snags.
Showrunner Eliza Clark is now looking for a new home for the sci-fi drama after it was canceled weeks ahead of the season 1 finale.
"FX has been an amazing partner," Clark wrote in a message that was shared on her Twitter page this weekend. "We have loved working with them, and we're sad YTLM is not going forward at FX on Hulu. But we know that someone else is going to be very lucky to have this team and this story. I have never experienced the remarkable solidarity of this many talented people. We are committed to finding Y its next home. #YLivesOn."
Brian K. Vaughan, who wrote the original Y: The Last Man comic book series, commented on the news, saying "this is not the first time in 20 years I've seen Yorick & co. escape the seemingly inescapable."
Y: The Last Man takes place in a world where a mysterious global pandemic kills off every mammal with a Y chromosome except for a man named Yorick and his monkey Ampersand.
Many have tried adapting the story in the past. At one point, it was supposed to be a movie. But after years of complications, it finally got an adaptation as a series this year on FX on Hulu.
"I love this show, and I'm very hopeful Y will find a new home, not just because it happens to employ more extraordinary women, people of color, and members of the LGBTQ+ community — both in front of and behind the camera — than any project I've ever been a part of, but because they've made something spectacular, the kind of thoughtful, contemporary, fearless evolution of the comic that [comic book penciller Pia Guerra] and I always wanted," Vaughan wrote in a post on Instagram. "These next three episodes are the very best of the season, so please keep watching, and if you want to see this journey continue as much as I do, we encourage you to let the world know: #YLivesOn."
Ben Schnetzer features as Yorick in Y: The Last Man, the series, which also stars Ashley Romans, Olivia Thirlby, Elliot Fletcher, Diane Lane, and Amber Tamblyn.
Clark makes a note of the "gender diverse team of brilliant artists, led by women at almost every corner of our production."
"Producers, writers, directors, cinematographers, production design, costume design, stunt coordination, and more," she wrote. "It is the most collaborative, creatively fulfilling, and beautiful thing I have ever been a part of. We don't want it to end."
netflix should pick up the show to show up the LGBT community
damn I been waiting for this show for so long and I fucks with FX but this show was a miss
I forced myself to watch the 1st 3 episodes but it was basically a chore
not sure if its the subject matter (who wants to watch a show about a pandemic in 2021)
but I chalk it up the show not being fun/entertaining. I dont remeber the book being so humorless/joyless. Yorick was a loveable fool not a fool you love to hate. Plus I couldnt deal with right-wing nutbags.
this property had a lot of starts & stops, they bushed a pilot and did alot of recasting
they only thing they got right was Yorick's Mom, the agent and CGI of the monkey, everything else was a miss especially the tone
damn shame
I forced myself to watch the 1st 3 episodes but it was basically a chore
not sure if its the subject matter (who wants to watch a show about a pandemic in 2021)
but I chalk it up the show not being fun/entertaining. I dont remeber the book being so humorless/joyless. Yorick was a loveable fool not a fool you love to hate. Plus I couldnt deal with right-wing nutbags.
this property had a lot of starts & stops, they bushed a pilot and did alot of recasting
they only thing they got right was Yorick's Mom, the agent and CGI of the monkey, everything else was a miss especially the tone
damn shame
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Shit was garbage.
Those gigantic titties and that one episode where nice though. Although those Republican women were hella unsufferable and annoying
Reading this article I suspect they had made the decision to cancel it before it even aired.
Makes sense being their was hardly any buzz promoting its debut, even on Hulu.
Here's Why Y: The Last ManWas Canceled
Makes sense being their was hardly any buzz promoting its debut, even on Hulu.
Here's Why Y: The Last ManWas Canceled
Waited since 2019 to watch this
One of my all time favorite books
And I didn't even get to watch one episode before it was cancelled
One of my all time favorite books
And I didn't even get to watch one episode before it was cancelled
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I was hoping it would be better than it is.
I watched the last episode and pretty much gave up. That's why I hate series like this.
I watched the last episode and pretty much gave up. That's why I hate series like this.
I don't understand these channels and streaming service not wanting to promote theirs shows but expect them to do well...It makes no fucking sense at all..
Ive been waiting since 2016 when they first announced it. I haven't watch it either...
GOOD
I tried to watch it
It was like Zoo meets 4th seasons of heroes meets I've seen this shit before meets don't watch it
I tried to watch it
It was like Zoo meets 4th seasons of heroes meets I've seen this shit before meets don't watch it
The Handsome Tragedies of Y: The Last Man
By Angelica Jade Bastién@angelicabastien
Photo: Rafy Winterfeld/FX
Everyone in the new series Y: The Last Man — no matter race, gender identity, or closely held loyalties — is experiencing the worst day of their lives in perpetuity. They’re surrounded by the iconography we’ve come to associate with dystopia: splintered glass and crashed cars, dirty fingernails and hollow eyes, rotting animal carcasses punctuating a snow-dappled field, the shock of blood against pedestrian environments. Posters, strewn with pleas for “Our Sons” or the stark visage of a president believed to be hiding truths about the wreckage humanity is now navigating, line the streets. A helicopter teeters on the edge of a building, overlooking a desolate metropolis undone as much by external chaos as the internal horrors of humankind. Here, the series is at its least intriguing.
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We’ve seen this imagery countless times before, sometimes artfully (Children of Men) and other times bluntly (The Walking Dead). That it glides by rather than pierces is telling given the world this show has been born into. Almost 700,000 people are dead from COVID-19 in this country alone. Fierce ideological divides and ongoing chaos have seeped into every aspect of our lives. All these ideas are tangled within the series itself, and Y: The Last Man simmers in charting what happens among people in the wake of great collective and personal trauma. In the “event,” everyone with a Y chromosome, mammalian animals included, died brutally and bloodily. The fallout sees survivors jockeying for power and control even as it becomes evident that such things are unavailable for absolute possession. But it also sees people finding communion amid horror or clinging fiercely to ideologies that can no longer serve them.
Y: The Last Man, which airs Mondays on FX on Hulu, was ushered into existence by showrunner Eliza Clark after such a lengthy production history, I’m surprised it got made at all, let alone this well. At its pinnacle, it functions boldly on multiple levels — as a gripping thriller cast against a world plunged into dystopia, a curious thought experiment blooming with ideas about gender, a portrait of a family’s healing backdropped by darkness, and an adaptation that is already besting the graphic novel source material by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra by pushing its gender and political commentary into fascinating, if a touch didactic, directions.
The series poses increasingly tricksy questions as it charts the consequences of this cataclysm and the lives of the only beings with a Y chromosome spared: the somewhat sad-sack, late 20-something escape artist Yorick Brown (Ben Schnetzer) and his beloved monkey, Ampersand. Sure, there are the knotted scientific and political questions around how all this death and sorrow truly started. But I’m more interested in what lies elsewhere. How can we heal in the face of continuous trauma? Is the nature of humankind to destroy and subdue, or are there gleams of tenderness and love to be found? How do women perpetuate the very systems of oppression that have led our world to rot? How can we rebuild toward something better than what came before? All rich questions. After watching the seven episodes made available to critics, it’s clear the artists behind the series are interested in prodding this story in directions even bolder than I expected, balancing swift entertainment with heady political and bodily consideration. But will they have the gumption and intelligence necessary to answer these questions with the fullness they deserve?
Clark and her collaborators are smart enough to know that Yorick shouldn’t be the sole emotional focal point of the series. He’s a touch lovable and more than a little naïve, a trust-fund kid supported by his parents — including his congresswoman mother, Jennifer (Diane Lane), who, because of the line of succession, becomes president of an increasingly torn United States of America —and unable to grasp the gravity of his fate beyond whatever present predicament he’s navigating. He’s preoccupied by a search for his girlfriend, Beth (Juliana Canfield), despite the fact that she turned down his proposal right before everything went to hell. After a brief reconnection with his stunned mother, who is camping out with the administration in the Pentagon, Yorick is sent to find a geneticist to untangle the truth of his survival, accompanied by Agent 355 (Ashley Romans), a grimly determined undercover operative who saves his life countless times. Agent 355 is the kind of character who brings up more questions than answers, especially since the shadowy assignment she received right before the crisis — to protect the now-dead president (Paul Gross) — may be more integral to the mysteries of the event than anyone realizes.
Yorick moves about the decay around him like a child, never heeding the obvious danger — as Agent 355 tells him in episode four, “You need to grow the fuck up.” How Yorick functions isn’t always rooted in curiosity so much as privilege; he’s used to being given the benefit of the doubt, of moving through rooms unseen until he wants to be acknowledged. His life has been defined by ease. Honestly, Yorick is the least compelling aspect of the series, even though Schnetzer plays him with an easygoing charm. What inspires is the broad range of characters interlocking into his story, all of whom are scrounging together an existence among the debris of a past that can never be returned to.
Among them is Yorick’s sister, Hero (a cutting Olivia Thirlby). In the world before, she was an EMT in a complicated relationship with her married boss, a man she accidentally kills in the heat of an argument. Using the gender apocalypse to hide her crime, she finds herself on the road with her all-too-kind friend, Sam (Elliot Fletcher), who struggles mightily as a trans man in places that require him to constantly explain who he is. Sam exemplifies the tension between the old world and this new one, the people we are and the person others want us to be for their own ease. His efforts to find testosterone or navigate an enclave of armed, transphobic women who provide shelter and supplies he and Hero could never obtain otherwise are touching reminders of not only the various losses these survivors must face, but the seeming impossibility of finding solace.
The dangers of this new world are hammered home most eloquently in Hero and Sam’s encounters with this dangerous collective, led by former detective Roxanne (a chilly and evocative Missi Pyle). Brutal, commanding, and undaunted, these women see themselves as Amazons, performing baptisms and naming rituals among the ruins of the big-box store they now inhabit. Their practices seek to grasp power from a world that previously denied it to them; they view Sam as an aberration and are willing to beat anyone who talks to him alone within an inch of their lives. Consider an exchange between Sam and one of their members in episode four: With a gun pointed at him, Sam is denigrated for “choosing to be a man.” The series is most ripe in its gender commentary through this story line, uncovering the ways people with little power (in this case, cis women) are willing to harm those below them on the social totem pole in order to feel more secure in their station. Here, at the intersection of gender and power, we find a knotted, festering emotional and psychic wounding.
Conversations about gender increase in their didacticism when Yorick and Agent 355 find the geneticist Dr. Allison Mann (Diana Bang); as she says, “Not everyone with a Y chromosome is a man.” But such statements are useful for understanding the shape of Y’s world-building and the ways the writers are pushing the graphic novel beyond a frustrating thought experiment into something truly engaging with potential radicalism. By opaquely noting that biology and gender aren’t as neat as we’d like to pretend they are, the series cracks open a gimlet-eyed perspective on the questions and possibilities driving current conversations around gender. The show is also willing to touch on some bitter subject matter, revealing the various ways women perpetuate the patriarchy in order to hold onto illusory scraps of understanding and power.
The locus of villainy in the series is rooted in these kinds of women, forces Jennifer must navigate as she’s thrust into the role of president with the task of essentially saving the world. She proves to be cunning, kind, blunt, and increasingly adept at noticing where her own weak points remain, especially once Regina Oliver (a slimy Jennifer Wigmore), a more senior member of the government whom Jennifer once publicly (and rightly) deemed a xenophobe, is found alive in Tel Aviv. Diane Lane’s performance has a sharp magnificence; she’s at once a bruised woman trying to make sense of what’s left of her family, protect her son, and rebuild the country into something better than it was before. The impossible odds she’s up against multiply as Kimberly Campbell Cunninghan (Amber Tamblyn), the daughter of the previous president, starts to exploit Jennifer’s weaknesses and grow her own following — not only to “take back” the White House, but bring back men period. You’ve seen women like Kimberly before: glossy, obsessed with presentation, foot soldiers for the patriarchy who so fiercely believe in the power of men they’ll break the world in two for them. Everyone is grieving, but Kimberly can only see her own pain, and teaming up with Regina in order to dismantle Jennifer’s presidency is just one of her twisted goals. These are white women who know how their tears are valued and won’t hesitate to use everything at their disposal to get what they desire — no matter the catastrophic effects.
Y: The Last Man comes at a time when white showrunners are keen on exploring and critiquing whiteness, from HBO’s The White Lotus to longer-running works like The Good Fight. This is complicated territory that nearly every white showrunner has failed to fully grapple with. These works often think merely mentioning privilege and whiteness, or positioning it as an individual failing, is enough to thoroughly critique a system that has caused untold horror throughout the world. Regina and especially Kimberly prove to be damning emblems of the nature of white femininity, but the show trips up by making them arch in a way that is gratingly entertaining but not always as revealing as it should be. Yes, women like this exist, but when characters scream things like Kimberly does in episode seven — “We have to use him to bring back men … We will be a nation of mothers again!” — I worry the writers don’t have the finesse to wholly understand, interrogate, and critique the mores of whiteness without simplistic answers or bluntness. It’s not enough to lay all the blame at the feet of Republican monstresses when the truth is in fact far more damning.
Part of the problem is that the show is not served well by Amber Tamblyn’s performance. When called toward great emotion like the penultimate scene in episode seven, which see Kimberly trembling from totemic loss, her mouth agape as she releases a guttural scream through the halls of the Pentagon, Tamblyn is too aware of what the character represents to infuse her with nuance or incite mixed emotions in the viewer. But the larger problem comes down to the writing: Kimberly edges toward parody in many scenes, a Meghan McCain-esque simulacrum of the white woman so keen to support the patriarchy, she is wholly incapable of seeing how it destroys everything around her. Kimberly doesn’t feel lived in; she feels like a point hammered home, an easy layup to gain points for criticizing the obvious rather than revealing with canny precision that Kimberly and Regina’s whiteness isn’t created in a vacuum or a singular experience, but representative of a system of oppression and power. This point bleeds into another curious issue at the core of the series: No one seems to be questioning whether bringing back the United States of America is a good, worthy thing, or if starting completely anew is the better path forward.
Alongside President Jennifer Brown, the most intriguing character by far is that of Agent 355. She’s a walking question mark that, seven episodes in, we’ve only touched the surface of. She’s slippery in the best way, especially as it becomes apparent that her loyalties are growing increasingly complicated beyond fealty for Jennifer. She’s steely without being blandly strong. She’s a mystery without feeling emptied of interiority, the way far too many Black women characters can feel in the hands of a white showrunner. The best visual moments are often written across actor Ashley Romans’s face and physicality: a glare, a swift punch, an eye roll toward one of Yorick’s misplaced jokes, a marked tension in her clenched jaw.
This is as much a testament to Romans’s skills as it is a mark against the show’s inertly beautiful visual efforts by cinematographers Kira Kelly, Claudine Sauvé, and Catherine Lutes. Sure, the series is handsome the way most television is right now: Characters careen down narrow, amber-lit hallways, trees pop with color against the graying world they’re rooted in. There are some intriguing editing choices here and there; a few images tickle the imagination but don’t quite stick to it. Despite the argument that television has become broadly cinematic, most TV still moves and feels like television visually — more intent on getting across information in the simplest way possible than putting care into every shot, every piece of production design, each garment of costuming in a way that feels revelatory or brims with intrigue. The show also moves at a clip, bouncing between various story lines and places in order to find rich veins of thought and narrative experimentation. But I sometimes wished it would slow down a beat, circling around the wounds these characters carry instead of trying to make sense of why this happened.
Y: The Last Man has already started to gain praise for its all-women slate of directors and cinematographers, as well as its majority female writing staff. Such a thing shouldn’t be presented as novel, nor is it — Ava DuVernay’s series Queen Sugar has been doing something similar for six seasons. What will be more instructive to the overall mission of Y: The Last Man is whether its artisans can thread the needle of critiquing whiteness, transphobia, and narrow gender ideals in a way that is potent and revealing. The show has so far proven to be a complex, engaging, and even thrilling work of adaptation. But if the writers and artists bringing it to life can’t properly grapple with the questions they seek to illuminate or push its visual dimensions further, the series won’t touch the hem of greatness within its reach.
The Handsome Tragedies of Y: The Last Man
The FX on Hulu show poses spiky questions about gender, family, and human nature in the midst of trauma. Does it have the skill to answer them?
Thats….too much mf reading bro! Seriously! Fuck that!
I don't understand these channels and streaming service not wanting to promote theirs shows but expect them to do well...It makes no fucking sense at all..
Ive been waiting since 2016 when they first announced it. I haven't watch it either...
When they dropped it on us out the blue with damn near no promotion whatsoever
A super significant property like this?
Especially in THIS climate?
I knew there was trouble
Cause done right?
This could define an entire NETWORK for years.
Nah they just can't all be winners
Atlanta coming back we'll forget this existed.
Cuz this was a highly anticipated release that just was dumped out there.
This was a huge disappointment to the thousands of fans of this property
Don't invest in shit you ain't do then lol
Cause them people who cashed them checks certainly wasn't worried about how you felt about this garbage
shit was DOA
and FX kept throwing good money after bad
its been in development with FX since 2015
they had numerous stop & starts
recasting/different show runners
shot a pliot only to trash it and start over
I am guessing FX knew they had a dud (hence lack of promotion) but they had to put it out there and cross their fingers
maybe some comic adaptions just aint meant to be
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Damn.
Who you think COULD have pulled this off?
Gawd damn truth
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