Netflix's The Sandman is a dream delayed, not deferred.
The adaptation of Neil Gaiman's acclaimed comics kept me wide awake, but only after a certain point.
The Short Take:
The first few episodes of The Sandman make for a slow start, especially for those not already familiar with the comics. Once the series picked up steam, I was completely mesmerized until the end. Can’t wait for Season 2.
Image Credit: IndieWire
The Long Take:
[This will be spoiler-free for about the first half. If you haven’t seen or finished the series yet, I’ll let you know when your time is up. All ten episodes are available on Netflix right now. Get binging!]
So often the best stories indulge our secret desires one moment and confront our deepest fears the next. They help us contemplate our mortality, process death as both an abstract concept and a practical reality. They provoke an acknowledgment of what it means to be a messy, flawed human with wants, needs, and a vast range of often petty emotions. The Sandman, inspired by Neil Gaiman’s critically acclaimed and much beloved comics of the same name, does all of this through a rich, darkly wondrous fantasy world. I’d definitely recommend the series to Gaiman fans, and would encourage anyone interested in surreal, cerebral fantasy to check it out.
Those who know the source material inside and out, however, should keep in mind that I’m not especially attuned to this series as an adaptation. As I mentioned in my nerd hype rankings piece, I’ve only read some of Gaiman’s comics (namely, the first trade paperback called Preludes and Nocturnes), and it was some time ago. So I was familiar with the general premise of The Sandman, but didn’t go in with a diehard fan’s expectations. Some of the episodes seemed brand new to me, and it’s unclear if that’s due to adaptive changes or faded memories. Others struck me down with stark recognition, almost uncannily accurate in their adaptation, recalling not only specific issues of the comic but specific panels.
What stayed with me from the comics most — more than any single plot arc or moment — was the robust mythology Gaiman constructs, drawing from the old and familiar but adding new twists. The Endless, for example, are not gods but immortal embodiments, personifications of concepts from human existence: Death, Desire, Despair, and, Dreams, to name a few. The Sandman, who goes by the name of Dream or Morpheus, is the king of The Dreaming, a world that consists of living dreams and nightmares that he then sends into the human subconscious when we sleep. I’m tempted to use the word biblical; the series does feature versions of biblical figures like Cain, Abel, and Lucifer, after all. But I think that undersells what Gaiman and the series has done because it feels distinct and original, as any well-wrought fantastical fictional world should.
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The Endless, angels, demons, nightmares, dreams, and humans all coexist in the Sandman universe, which consists of multiple realms. A promotional video I watched in anticipation of the series’ release features showrunner Allan Heinberg describing the series as almost an anthology because each episode visits a different world and has almost a self-contained quality. For me, this worked really well because it established a complete, expansive universe. (Regular readers know that I love me some quality world-building.) One of the biggest challenges in adapting The Sandman, I’d imagine, is cinematically visualizing the myriad realms, and I think the series did well in this regard. Occasionally an other-worldly vista very clearly looks like CGI, but I thought they were all picturesque.
The only other element more picturesque might be Tom Sturridge, who, by the end, I found utterly captivating as Dream. His facial expressions, intonation, and general presence made me believe he was not human, that he had lived for thousands of years and had the perspective of such an ancient being. And I was perfectly happy just watching him stare into space, not saying a word.
Image Credit: IndieWire
Note that I said “by the end” there. It took me a few episodes to really imprint upon the Sandman as a character and warm up to the series as a whole because Dream doesn’t actually do anything for a while. I know I said I was happy watching Tom Sturridge stare into space, but that was really only once I got to know Dream and cared more about him.
I know this requires a little bit of faith in my word, but I want to reassure you that sticking it out the first couple episodes, even if you’re just lukewarm on them, will be well worth it. The series picks up speed, after which point I cared a lot about all the characters, even very minor ones. Episode 5 is a fascinating, expertly written bottleneck episode (it takes place entirely in a diner). Episode 6 is sublime. It might actually be one of the single best episodes of television I’ve ever seen. And the final stretch (Episodes 7-10) has a thrilling plot worthy of any epic Doctor Who arc.
As Heinberg admits in the interview I mentioned earlier, the series does not at any point pretend to be a linear, stay with one group of characters and follow one story from start to finish kind of narrative. There’s an ebb and flow to the season that may be disorienting for some. Once you embrace the zigs and the zags, though, and immerse yourself in the world, you can, hopefully, revel in the experience like I did.
You have to stick out the first 2-3 episodes before the zigs and zags begin to pay dividends, though. Mal and Jo from the Ringer-Verse, along with guest Marc Bernardin, incisively discuss the challenges of adapting Gaiman’s comic into a series. The observation that resonated with me most, though, was that Dream is a main character who doesn’t act like a typical main character in terms of how much he says and does. A lot of times it’s more about him interacting with supporting characters surrounding him.
[Taking a hard turn into SPOILER territory because I can’t explain what I mean by this without getting into more detail. Go check out the series and come back when you’ve finished.]
More specifically, Morpheus spends 100 years locked away in a fish bowl cage, literally unable to do anything or see anyone except his captors. Roderick Burgess, a grieving occultist hoping to resurrect the son he lost in the war, unintentionally captures Dream instead of Death. Despite the error, he still holds Dream hostage, demanding immortality and power in exchange for the Sandman’s freedom. In protest, Dream remains silent, in the same prison, for 100 years as we see the Burgess family live through the decades. That’s a tough spot for a protagonist to be in. Marc Bernardin echoed a thought I already had when I was watching the early episodes of the series — if you don’t already know the King of The Dreaming from the comics and know where the series is headed, it’s difficult to care about him because we don’t get to know him until later. I probably experienced this to a lesser degree because I had at least read some of the comics. I can’t imagine what someone going into the series cold might think about the titular character. How many will stop watching after the first episode, distracted by the Netflix algorithm suggesting some other series?
Mallory Rubin valiantly defended this choice and said that it was a perfect way to preserve the knot-like quality of the comics, especially for a binge-model Netflix show with all the episodes dropping at once. Someone, in theory, could more easily push ahead to the more kinetic episodes when they just automatically start playing consecutively. While Rubin was passionate and eloquent in her argument, I don’t totally agree. Greedily, I think there might have been another way to make the show more engaging from the first episode without sacrificing the interlocking narrative loops.
If I were to revise the structure of the series, I would have started with Morpheus escaping Roderick’s basement first as opposed to spending a lot of time with him trapped there. Then, through flashbacks and exposition, the show could reveal what happened to him during those horrific 100 years. I think I’m hooked a lot sooner if we dive right into The Dreaming in decay, with the series trusting the audience to piece together what has happened as we see Morpheus come to terms with how much has changed in his absence. Then maybe later on, once the audience has become more attached to Dream, the series can have a flashback episode explaining Ethel’s backstory and how John got the ruby or how Morpheus ended up in captivity in the first place. Wait, have I been watching too many Marvel Disney+ shows? *shakes head*
Image Credit: Radio Times
Maybe all those supporting characters I mentioned earlier will keep someone watching, because so many of them are almost instantly compelling. Lucienne was probably my personal favorite; though, as a lover of literature, I may be biased towards a wise, powerful librarian. Vivienne Acheampong played her as smart and serious because she has to be the grown-up in the room in most of her scenes, but there was also a warmth and vulnerability to her character that made me as loyal to her as she is to Morpheus. I also just want to know more about her powers and what she’s doing in a library that contains all the books ever written as well as all the books not yet written. The Corinthian was uncomfortably charming, to the point at which I had to remind myself that he is in fact a cold-blooded serial killer with creepy tiny mouths where his eyes should be. Boyd Holbrook was so magnetic in his portrayal of the rogue nightmare that I could feel my screen imploding towards him every time he appeared.
Even The Corinthian’s three fan murderers organizing the cereal convention (which was hilariously clever, parodying both true crime and convention culture in the best ways) felt like fully formed people. I was horrified by them, on the one hand, but kind of emphasized with, or at the very least understood them, on the other. They weren’t just stock characters; they seemed real. I could say the same of Rose Walker’s merry band of housemates; I actually enjoyed seeing all of their dreams and wanted to know more about them. I could go on, but then this paragraph would very quickly become endless. But, just so you know, I would happily watch a spin-off series starring Jenna Coleman as Johanna Constantine. Or Kirby Howell-Baptiste as Death. Okay, now I’m really done.
Image Credit: Polygon
I opened this review by saying that The Sandman excels at probing the human condition, the impulses that drive us and the anxieties that control us. The sprawling, web-like structure of the season helps achieve this because we have so many entry points through which to explore humanity. The intense, gripping diner episode, “24/7,” is basically a thought exercise brought to life by David Thewlis’ John Dee, who has altered Morpheus’ ruby in order to remake the world “without lies.” His social experiment removes the impulse any of the diner patrons have to lie to themselves or others, unleashing chaos and destruction as the episode ends with most of the characters having sex with, mutilating, or murdering another person. It was a tough watch at times, but I thought the writing symphonically set and spiked the escalating plot.
John argues that the human reflex to lie, to create false narratives for the sake of preserving peace, maintaining relationships, or simply allowing oneself to continue on the march of life, causes pain and suffering. Dream, in rebuttal, says that many lies are dreams and aspirations that give people the hope they need to persevere. I love the dialectic the series creates. Are dreams more lies than aspirations? Do they reflect our deepest desires or lull us into unhealthy delusion, like when Lisa reunites with her late husband, Hector in The Dreaming and they begin a new life together as she sleeps? Or do they pull us through the darkness in times of need, just as Rose Walker finds her long lost brother, Jed? What function do dreams serve? When do they help us and when do they hurt us?
Meanwhile, Dream conducts a social experiment of his own through Hob Gadling. The lord of The Dreaming and his dear sister, Death, grant a random drunkard in a pub immortality just to see how a human would deal with it, but only on the condition that he meet with Morpheus every 100 years to report back on his experience. We then see Dream and Hob form a friendship for the ages (literally). Hob Gadling’s immortality allows Morpheus and the audience to consider the impact human mortality and the lifespan of the average human has on the way people live their lives.
Removing death does not in fact make Hob value his life any less; no matter how miserable a century is for him, he always wants to keep living. He finds a way to hope for the future. But he also isn’t human anymore because he has lived far longer than any mortal. And, as a result, he has a loneliness, a void that can only be filled by a kindred spirit, a fellow immortal like Dream. No easy answers. No simple claims made. Just thrusting a thoughtful fist deep into the philosophical bucket and wallowing in the mess.
The episode in which this story takes place, Episode 6, “The Sound of Her Wings” was my favorite of the entire season. And again, it packs not one but two discrete stories into one episode in a way that is very non-traditional, and yet there were so many thematic connections between the two halves that I welcomed the break from the television status quo. Hob never dying juxtaposed with so many people dying throughout Dream’s walk with Death is pure poetry. Or perhaps a duo of poems that you have to read together. Hob has all the time in the world and yet never wants to give it up. And we see as Death makes her rounds that all of her appointments never feel like they have enough time. So it’s not that death sometimes comes too soon, it seems; it’s that no matter how long we get, some can always find reason to want to keep living. Immortality may be lonely, but death with Death, as she says, is about being there with someone in the end. Of holding someone’s hand and comforting them without judgment. She finds peace in her function by viewing her appointments as instances of companionship.
Image Credit: Entertainment Weekly
Earlier I mentioned that some specific panels from the comics popped when I watched an episode. The image of Death picking up the baby who dies in their crib is the best example of that. When I read that in the comics, it gutted me. Having just had my daughter, and having read all about SIDS and all the many ways infants can die, I was so horrified at the idea of a baby dying suddenly. But the way that Death very frankly yet kindly says, “I know, I’m sorry, but that’s all that you get,” is still incredibly poignant. And the visual of the shadow of her wings flapping on the wall at the end of each appointment exercised a restraint that made the episode beautiful. And it’s beautiful without denying the trauma and fear that surrounds death.
So, while I adore the gargoyles, the mustached owl bear creature, Rose Walker the Dream Vortex, Johanna Constantine the Demon Hunter, the bag of sand, the ruby, the helm, a dream called Fiddler’s Green who transforms from doddering old Stephen Fry to a luscious, magical field, and all the other fantastical elements of the series, they alone are not what makes The Sandman worth watching.
There’s a version of this show that is all shell and no thematic meat. The version we got, thankfully, blends the intellectual rigor with the mythology and fantasy. The duel between Morpheus and Lucifer — which, honestly, I wanted to mention but couldn’t find a place to integrate before now — perfectly illustrates this. Was it cool to watch the king of dreams fight the fallen angel who runs hell? Yes! Did Gwendoline Christie and Tom Sturridge look super cool in their special Matrix-y dueling outfits? Yes! But it was meaningful because it was an intellectual exercise.
The fun cat and mouse matching of wits quality to this scene reminded me a lot of Disney’s The Sword and the Stone, which features a wizard’s duel between Merlin and the Mad Madam Mim. Merlin ultimately wins by becoming a germ that enters Mim’s body and makes her ill so she can’t fight any longer. And no, I did not steal this comparison from Joanna Robinson on The Ringer-Verse. When I heard her make that reference I squealed with joy because I had made the same connection when I was watching. This is why she and Mallory are my favorite podcasters — we have so many of the same references and preferences!
Image Credit: Screen Rant
The fight was not won with fire and brimstone, but with wit and intellect. And it was so satisfying to watch. What can challenge a whole universe? Darkness? The anti-life? It gets to these big existential questions.
In the end, Morpheus wins because dreams, his very dominion, contain hope. As dark and goth as this series looks, it keeps circling back to the idea of hope and dreaming. It’s hard not to get on board with a story like that.