REview: The Order, Season Two (2020) | I Don’t Often Think A Series Needs More Sex, But…

I enjoyed the first season of Netflix’s The Order-which I am wont to do whenever something deals with werewolves–but couldn’t help but notice that the bloom was off the rose.

By which I mean I started to notice certain things, like these werewolves are stupid.

Now that’s less a commentary on the CGI-ified werewolves themselves (which looked decent though they turned up so infrequently–and when they did, it’s typically so brief that I guesstimate that if you were to add up all the screen time they get for the entire season I doubt it would last five minutes–that you barely had time to miss them not being there) than the writing of the series, which have the witches and warlocks of The Order of the Blue Rose make the werewolves forget who they are by blowing a magic powder into their faces.

The first few times I didn’t mind though the multitude of times that followed?

It started to feel a bit lazy and a little frustrating.

And my last gripe is perhaps a bit odd.

I wish the series had more sex, especially since I think–unless you’re going all the way, so to speak–hints of sensuality feel a bit childish, which seems to contradict the violence and sexual innuendo so prevalent in the rest of the series..

The Order exists in a stylistic universe somewhere between Buffy The Vampire Slayer And Syfy’s The Magicians, though it’s closer to the latter in terms of content though I wish it would just commit.

Like something in the vein of True Blood (2008) because Buffy is an iconic series and The Order just can’t compete with that, so why be similar when you can not only strike your own ground, but be truer to what the series appears to be.

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