I prefer Season 2 of Amazon Prime's Fallout over the first. Why's that? It's because after some reflection on the initial season, I suspected that its Cold War-derived warning held insinuations that don't jive with my socio-political mindset. But is my suspicion justified? Gosh, I can't say for certain, so why dare put Fallout (adapted for the screen, I must add, by Graham Warner and Geneva Robertson-Dworet) in the same estranging league as such controversial examples as The Boys, Gen V and Preacher, despite its implicating flashbacks and intermittent winks?
No matter what's contained (i.e., hidden) in Season 1, Season 2 moved without any obvious, subversive incident or condescending rhetoric (or so it seemed). In a way, it's nearer the frivolous The Electric State, an alternate-reality submission that I do enjoy, even though several know-it-alls have told me that I shouldn't. Ah, what do know-it-alls know? Nothing, really.
Getting back to my point, I do believe Season 2 is better, more seamless, than the founding run. For one, Kyle MacLachlan's Hank MacLean, former overseer of Vault 33, enters fully exposed. We now know that Hank's one sick son of a gun, and in Season 2's case, rather snarky, even if his related antics don't necessitate any chuckles. (He seems to get them, though, all the same.)
For me, Season 2's top highlight, however, is Ella Purnell's Lucy MacLean, aka Sugarbomb, and Walton Goggins' Ghoul, aka Cooper Howard, former cowboy star, forever hounded by his past, as well as Justin Theroux's slicker-than-slick, mind-manipulating Robert House. Lucy and Ghoul came to comprise one of the best dynamic duos to go down the dystopic pike. (Their loyal Dogmeat stands as a steadfast companion for them, too, in the Trigger, Silver, Hero and Devil vein, and much the same can be said of Johnny Pemberton's along-for-the-ride Thaddeus, a ghoul with a heart of gold, who performs in humble contrast to Macaulay Culkin's steely-eyed Kaiser Lacerta Lagate, but even the ardent, "Roman" commander was cordial to dear Lucy, despite crucifying her.)
Yep, I really enjoyed following these unlikely "pals," even if some segues could have (should have) been expanded. For example, the Elvis, ghoul gang needn't have been so come-and-go. Its members should have become a significant, ongoing presence and worked as a sprawling salute to Gary Panter's Invasion of the Elvis Zombies, but oh well ... (As a form of compensation, the scene where Lucy shoots Ghoul's rope during his hanging is a terrific tribute to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, when Blondie lets Tuco dangle a spell and then ka-bang! I sure dug that allusion. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly is, after all, my favorite western.)
I also appreciate Aaron Moton's Maximus' search-for-a-better-tomorrow quest, as it invokes a Logan's Run/Planet of the Apes/Mad Max vibe, with specks of Excalibur bridging the gaps, thanks to the cumbersome Brotherhood of Steel. As with Lucy and Ghoul, Maximus' journey could have progressed all on its own. (His valiant showdown with the dreaded Deathclaws more than suggests his dauntless stamina). Such could have designated him as a post-apocalyptic Iron Man, if one will, with a strong self-discovery component attached. (Now that I think of it, self-discovery is the rocket fuel behind most of Fallout's tricky tracks and something that would [and should] characterize any decent video game: the successful, electronic niche from which this live-action saga emanates.)
On the saga's domestic side, I found Annabel O' Hagen's Stephanie Harper (a Hank gal underneath) and Dave Register's Chet to be a most identifiable couple. Their relationship is strained, if not forced, but through it comes credibility. Their tension reflects what many couples (fledgling or seasoned) experience. Hey, even high fantasy needs some realism. (Stephanie's back story is quite anchored, defining her in a way that's honest, even if suspicious in its guarded progression, exuding a perceptible aloofness that not only agitates Chet, but Leslie Uggums' cynical Betty Pearson.)
On all fronts, I gotta say that this quaint, parallel universe now plays as an unswerving and pleasing spread of the old and the new, but the enduring, antiquated context (with all those soothing, satirical songs) is the icing on the cake. The culmination feels real comfortable, even when it's not, which I guess is the franchise's aesthetic intent.
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