Screeching to a halt after last episode’s comparatively enthralling cliffhanger, the story continues exactly as you’d expect: trauma-addled, bullet-riddled Frank (Rupert Evans) realizes that, even though he clearly didn’t shoot the Japanese prince, he’s holding a gun (and is pretty much the only white person in the crowd), so he should probably hightail it back home before anyone sees him. Which wouldn’t be such an obstacle were the series not a goddamn bore. Limping along on fumes only, the series has developed a habit for setting up spectacle and then blowing the landing, struggling to alloy 1940s pulp sensibilities with high-art prestige filmmaking, more alluding to both than embracing either. Halfway through the first season of The Man in the High Castle and we’re already out of steam-long past that point, in fact.
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