Krapopolis Episode 1 In-Depth: Humor, Myth, and More!

I learned a new expression today. It says “Moving three times is as bad as a fire.” I guess it has something to do with how stuff breaks every time someone moves, and by the time the third move happens, enough stuff has broken that it’s equivalent to a house fire? There’s also a component about whoever is doing the moving being tired, tired, tired.

Well even though it’s my third posting on the subject, I have not yet tired (and hopefully neither have you) of my Greek Mythology Era. After reviewing Madeline Miller‘s Galatea, and pondering the reimagination of old favs in Jenn Northington, and S. Zainab Williams’ Fit for the Gods, I’m still just as keen as ever to discover the importance of these stories in both our past and present lives.

I am going to tweak the formula slightly, and include a little bit of analysis of writing craft in this review however, for no other reason than because I saw an opportunity to do so. Hopefully it will not turn out “as bad as a fire.”

Anyway, this week’s review (and analysis) is of Episode 1 of Dan Harmon’s newest show, Krapopolis, titled “All Hail the Goddess of Likeability”.

Now, I love watching TV show pilots. What I love about them most is the challenge they are faced with, and how they choose to accomplish that challenge, or as is sometimes the case, completely fail to meet it.

To quote myself from an earlier era, pilots must “{embody} all of the aspects of the show which we will come to love in future episodes, but {do so} in a way which doesn’t give the whole game away too early.” (Archer season one recap post).

The show I’m recapping in that post, Archer, does an excellent job of this in its first episode: The Mole Hunt. That intro to the series keeps getting funnier and funnier the more I watch it (especially when you find footage of the main character getting swapped out for a velociraptor!)

Another show which I felt perfectly accomplished its pilot was Mad Men. We see, or are hinted at, every aspect of Don’s life and character which will cause problems for him throughout the rest of the season, and also the rest of the series. The same can be said for Betty, Pete, Peggy and many of the supporting characters as well. It’s all there.

Unfortunately, I’ve only managed to watch one episode of Krapopolis so far, and I’m not sure we can truly evaluate its success as a pilot until it finishes sometime in November, however, I thought we could discuss a few of the episode’s aspects which make it enjoyable even if it had to stand alone.

First, its setting, which appears to be a kind of quasi Ancient Greece (and why we’re talking about it at all), with prominent figures from mythology and history (Hermes, Pallas Athena displayed onscreen while gods like Demeter, Zeus, Apollo, and Artemis are just mentioned in passing) mingling with with characters who appear to have been invented whole-cloth, like Tyrannis, the Goddess Deliria and Shlub: a part scorpion, part lion, part eagle, part horse creature.

I’m pretty much a sucker for any kind of story in which us paltry mortals must square up and take our chances against cruel and uncaring gods. Deliria is a perfect rif on this well worn trope, as even though her outward appearance affects cool indifference towards humanity, she desperately needs humanity’s acceptance, hence why she wants a temple, and to become the ‘Goddess of Likeability’ in the first place.

I would even venture to say that there is one particular human, her son Tyrannis, who she is particularly bent on winning the approval of. I suspect we’ll see her attempting to win his love throughout the series, and a begrudging admittance that she cares for him throughout.

I’ll admit, Tyrannis is a bit of a blank snake slate for me. He must lead what is ostensibly the first ‘civilization’, and does not seem particularly competent though his heart seems to be in the right place, and his ideas are (played for humor) quite modern.

It occurs to me that his name Tyrannis is somewhat comical in that his character and behavior as a ruler does not seem to match how we would assume a ‘tyrant’ should behave. It also has me wondering if it is not a subtle callback to another figure from myth, Oedipus Tyrannus or perhaps better known as Oedipus Rex.

Many are probably familiar with this tragedy, in which Oedipus accidently kills his father, and goes on to marry his mother. The way things are set up in Krapopolis so far, I don’t see them following this story much at all, as it’s pretty clear who Tyrannis’ parents are from the start but it will be interesting to see if or how they reference this play, as pretty much the whole shtick of this show seems to be contrasting the lofty ideal of humanity represented by ancient Greece, with the a supposed ‘reality’ of how humanity actually is, which is much less ideal (aka ‘Krap’).

Which comes to perhaps the main question a viewer must decide for themselves when watching any comedy: Is it funny?

I would argue yes, though it seems like critics are a bit neutral on the whole thing.

What I can see Krapopolis suffering from, which may be keeping review scores low, is a kind of simplicity — or perhaps transparency — in its comic formula. I think it’s generally considered ‘bad writing’ if a viewer is too easily aware of where the laughs are coming from, but for aspiring writers like myself it was reassuring (and fun) to be able to pick out some of the comedic technique at work.

For example, the show’s name, Krapopolis, is almost a schematic which details some of the most basic mechanisms in comedy. Screen writer John Truby defines comedy as “a description of events in which characters are ‘reduced’ a number of times but not too many”. He continues, “we see someone diminished, we feel superior, we laugh.”

In the show’s title, we’re given a kind of altered portmanteau which is quite literally a reference to poop and metropolis which comes from the Greek word for city.

We’re literally seeing the concept of humanity reduced, playing with the understanding that cities are the start of civilization, something that separates humanity from beasts. The name alone takes that high ideal of metropolis and reduces it by mashing it together with a word for excrement.

Truby also tells us that these comedic reductions generally happen in one of three ways. The example we’ve just examined would qualify as Animal Comedy. I believe so would this episode’s antagonists, bearing another portmanteau, the Killassians. The reduction here is a bit more linguistic with the construction of the name seeming to borrow a kind of eminence from words like Athenian, or Phocians while the rest of the construction — kill and ass — is just ridiculous and crude.

A second type of comedy Truby describes is the Child Comedy. In this type, things which are not child-like are reduced to a state of being so. This can be done by by showing the character as literally a child (acting / dressing like a child or baby), or by having them respond with more emotion than the situation requires, often panicking, throwing a tantrum, crying, etc.

For an example of this type of comedy we can examine the episode’s B-plot, in which two secondary characters, Stupendous and Hippocampus, attempt a trojan horse style attack on the Killassians.

Just like in the original myth, they build a giant wooden horse and give it to the Killassians as a gift. Where things start going wrong however, is that they overestimate their enemy. They believe the Killassians will assume that their is men inside (as in the original myth), and immediately light the horse on fire. They’ve rigged the horse with explosives so that when it gets lit it will explode therefore killing the Killassians.

But the Killassians revere the gift, and do not want to light it on fire. Hippocampus persuades them to do so essentially claiming that doing so is an expression of good faith and friendship. The Killassians declare peace, and to Hippocampus and Stupendous’ surprise and chagrin, invite them into the camp to feast, therefore putting themselves in danger of the explosion.

Through the feast the two enemies come to know each other and Hippocampus and Stupendous no longer want the Killassians to die. They reveal their own betrayal which of course turns the Killassians back against them. At this point, mostly everyone is crying, and even as they go through the motions of pursuit and escape, both sides are apologizing and wishing the other well. It is supposed to be a tense and highly fraught scene, but it’s been reduced to childishness through the characters overly emotional response — literally crying like babies (not to mention its the wrong kind of emotion for the scene).

Another example of the Child Comedy might be one of the funnier moments in the episode, in which the goddesses Athena and Deliria fight above a battlefield. Below them, a literal war is going on and they are acting like children, not gods, taunting each other and turning warriors into snakes while saying “Snake, snake, snake” like young children in the school yard.

An easily identifiable example of Truby’s third type of comedy — the Machine Comedy in which characters are again reduced by an incorrect emotional response: too little emotion instead of too much — did not stand out to me, but I’ll keep an eye out for it in upcoming episodes.

Finally, the last bit which caused me laugh involved the king Tyrannis being returned to human form (Athena got him) after the battle is won. We’re expecting an epic speech filled with perhaps a moral lesson or platitude, but what we get is:

“I have strange legs, hot sun, danger, only mice. Find mice. Delicious mice. Warm sun forever.”

I’m not quite sure which of the types of comedy this falls into but it seemed the perfect example of the type of zany-ness this show is going for (perhaps it’s a good pilot after all!).

Give This One a Watch?

For sure! Critics seem to be a bit luke-warm on it so far, but I think there is quite a bit of (literally) textbook humor here, and am interested in continuing to watch. Many shows take some time to find their stride (sometimes more than a full season).

The quasi- ancient Greek setting is another draw for me. Already we’ve seen a smart (and funny) riff on a major event from the Iliad. We’re perhaps gearing up for some equally interesting play with the Oedipus myth. It seems like there is quite a bit to explore here and I’m anxious to see how the show plays with ancient Greek mythology for laughs but also for meaning.

That’s all I have for this week, please let me know your thoughts. Will you be giving this one a watch? What is your favorite Greek myth? Should I continue to analyze humor technique in my posts? Or does it ruin the jokes?

Please let me know in the comments!

Until next time . . .

More than “What if?” for Greek Mythology – A Review of ‘Fit for the Gods’

Welcome to week two of my Greek Mythology Era. Last week I reviewed Madeline Miller‘s Galatea. This week?

Fit for the Gods! edited by Jenn Northington, and S. Zainab Williams.

I’ll admit, that I pretty whole-heartedly misunderstood the assignment on this one. I read the cover slogan, “Greek Mythology Reimagined”, and then preceded to suffer a complete and utter lack of “reimagination”.

Meaning . . . I expected the stories to take place in ancient Greece (one or two may have but I couldn’t be sure). I expected all the familiar characters (Odysseus, Achilles, Zeus), in their familiar shapes (wise old man, invincible warrior, bearded dude who throws lightning bolts). Perhaps we’d get the stories from the point of view of a lesser known character (like in Miller’s Circe) or a retelling which bucked one of our classically held assumptions (like in Song of Achilles).

I was hoping for some twists I didn’t expect, like maybe Helen of Troy dons a bronze cuirass and trounces Achilles, or perhaps Medusa is actually a dinosaur instead of a Gorgon (writes this idea down for eventual ancient Greek Dinosaur novel).

Thinking back, I suppose what I expected was essentially Marvel’s What If series but for Greek mythology.

What I got instead taught me a few things about myself.

The first thing I learned was that I didn’t really know as much about Greek Mythology as I thought I did. I worked through this anthology with about a thousand wikipedia articles open (ok probably only ten max lol), trying to quickly read up on whatever myth it appeared each story would reimagine before plunging into the tale.

The introduction mentions Thomas Bulfinch’s Mythology (1867) and Ingri and Edgar Parin d’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths (1962) as the “classics”, seeming to imply that these were the academic and cultural touchstones which we would all be familiar with. The “canonic” Greek myths if you will.

And I’m over here with my edition of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology (1942) scratching my head and wondering who all these people are.

Without having read either of the others it’s hard to say which version of the stories is most inline with the current zeitgeist. Which depictions are most the most ubiquitous and therefore ripest for subversion, homage or deconstruction.

All of the books I’ve mentioned are pretty old. Maybe there’s another version of the myths the kids read these days. Maybe it’s Percy Jackson. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe that’s just fine.

Another thing which I learned, or perhaps just reaffirmed, about myself is just how much I want to be awed and amazed — transported — by the setting of the stories I read. Ancient Greece still holds wonder for me. The far future does too. Modern times? Not as much.

The stories I liked best in this anthology were the ones that were either set in the future (Atlanta Hunts the Boar by Valerie Valdes is essentially pod-racing assassins; Station (Bastion in the Spring) by Alyssa Cole was another winner for me), or in a kind of “mythic” time period (see The Words from the Mountain by Wen Wen Yang and No Gods, No Kings by Maya Deane).

The Eagles at the Edge of the World by Taylor Rae stood out to me as well. Part of me felt that it didn’t really fit into the bounds of the anthology as it chronicles the journey of the last two members of the Kumeyaay nation as they drift through a kind of Waterworld-esque future. With only passing references to ‘Troy’, it is perhaps more accurately described as (an incredible and emotional) piece of climate fiction.

I suppose it has a bit of an Odyssey vibe to it, taking place primarily at sea, but this feels like a bit of a stretch.

Despite its incongruity, it is definitely the story I’ve thought about most after finishing Fit for the Gods. Though it has almost nothing to do with gods or goddesses, it is to my mind, the story that best lived up to the standard proclaimed in the title.

Give This One a Read?

Admittedly, some of these stories, not unlike the Ship of Theseus, have had so many pieces replaced and rebuilt that it can sometimes be a difficult to feel like any of the myth remains in more than name. This is twice as true if you don’t know the original myths to begin with.

So if you approach this anthology expecting Marvel’s What If for Greek Mythology? You will put this one down.

However, if you want some deep cuts into Greek Mythology or to actually broaden your horizons and learn just what these stories can be with a little imagination? You may surprise yourself with what you find.

A Compact Epic: Reviewing ‘Galatea’ by Madeline Miller

Welp there’s no doubt about it, October has arrived and with it spooky season.

So naturally, as I stare down the list of things I’d like to write about, I find myself ignoring haunted houses, ghost stories or creature features, and instead eyeing marble statues, golden fleeces, and . . . ionic columns?

It might be some cruel trick of the Moirai (Fates), or perhaps a joke played upon me by that fleet footed prankster Hermes. It might be that I missed September’s Mythothon or perhaps more likely, that we seem to be in a veritable golden age of Greek mythology retellings.

Whatever my muse, I’m sensing that I might have a bit of an odyssey out in front of me. A Hellenistic period if you will. My own (flips hair) Greek Mythology Era.

I’m not sure where this (hero’s) journey will go or how long it will last, maybe just one episode, maybe nine seasons, but it seems to be starting with Madeline Miller and the myth of Galatea.

I found this short book (only 56 very small pages), in a bookshop by the ocean. It was purchased on impulse alongside a book of murder-themed puzzles to keep me occupied at the beach. I was close to finishing Alloy of Law and remember panicking that I might be stuck without something to read the next time we were out on the sand.

I saw many amazing looking novels within the shop, but could not bring myself commit with such a hulking TBR pile back home. There were deadlines for book club, writing and editing I should be completing. Oh and actually relaxing on vacation . . .

My normal epic fantasy chonkers just felt like too much.

I had read and enjoyed Miller’s Song of Achilles, and her Circe retelling. Achilles has always been one of my favorite characters from Greek myth and was very much “on my radar” when it came to my knowledge of those ancient tales. Circe, less so, but still recognizable.

I had never even heard of Galatea before.

So I figured what the heck. At the very least I would get to learn about another figure from one of my favorite mythologies. Also, I think I was somewhat struck by the novelty that such a short story would be printed and bound, all by itself, without an accompanying anthology.

So I proceeded to purchase it and then get busy finishing out the rest of the vacation (we never made it back to the beach) and then doing all the things that need doing when I got home.

Fast forward to now, I’ve also been in something of a short story era recently as well, soaking up anthologies (like Book of Witches) and pretty much anything I can find online. Galatea had obviously not been intended to be a part of that, but now that we’re here, it seems to fit so well.

So What Did You Think?

I enjoyed this piece quite a bit. This might be a bit of a cliched description, but I felt it really was just a perfect little “morsel” of fiction.

When reading something related to Greek mythology, I think there can be an expectation for epic scope and fate-of-the-world scenarios. No doubt the Iliad and Odyssey are responsible for this, and indeed this is probably what attracts most of us to these myths.

With a short story things must be handled a bit differently.

The author notes in the afterward that while writing Galatea: “From the beginning I knew that Galatea was not in the same strictly mythological world as Circe and The Song of Achilles. She demanded her own world . . .”

This “un-mythological” world may turn away some readers, but I felt it was perfect for the story Miller was trying to write. A story that is more about escaping patriarchy and misogyny than it is about a statue coming to life.

For those unfamiliar, as I was, with the myth of Galatea, it is most well known from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and involves the king, Pygmalion, becoming disgusted by the sight of prostitutes and deciding to carve an ivory statue that resembles the ‘perfect woman’. He falls in love with the statue, and eventually the goddess Aphrodite answers his prayers and brings the statue to life. The couple is united in marriage and they have a child.

Though I think most retellings of this myth have spun the tale as a love story, or a metaphor for artists who become obsessed with their work, when described in the simple terms above it is not hard to see the story as problematic.

And so, while the story might not have us venturing through a protracted quest across the ancient seas (indeed most of the story takes place in a bed), it is still ‘epic’ in the scope of its themes and the weight of its messaging.

Also, researching the myth, I’ve learned the word agalmatophilia. So there’s that . . .

Give This One a Read?

Absolutely. Miller’s brand seems to be taking ancient Greek myths which seem clear and tired, and getting the reader to see them through a new lens. Galatea is no different.

Where I think this piece really shines however, is in its short form and skillful handling of weighty themes. It does not have the time or space of a longer epic. It does not need it. Galatea (both the story and the MC) says what it means directly and with precision.

For a quick, fulfilling read, go ahead and give this one a shot.

That’s all I have for today. Has anyone read this short? Familiar with the myth? What’s your favorite Greek myth? Your favorite retelling? Any recs for my Greek Mythology Era?

Leave your answers in the comment section! Looking forward to talking about this one!