Apple TV+’s City on Fire Is an Absolute Mess
Photo Courtesy of Apple TV+
On the low shelf below my living room television, I own a copy of Gareth Risk Hallberg’s 2015 novel City on Fire, a book so thick it inevitably draws my eye when I’m on the sofa, and I spend a moment or two thinking about actually reading it. I haven’t yet, and I only bought it in my middle-age mostly-nonfiction epoch because I remembered that the author had somehow secured a $2 million book deal and that for a second-time novelist whose first book created few waves, this was a big deal. Once it came out, though, it seemed like I never heard another thing about it, and it has sat there unread on my shelf ever since (which might be more of a commentary on me and perhaps how disconnected I am from the zeitgeist than about Hallberg or the book or anything else).
When it became clear than an Apple TV+ adaptation was in the works, I at least roused myself enough to read a bit more about the book’s reception—Stephen King loved it, so did Michiko Kakutani, others did not—and Hallberg himself, who lives in New York City and hasn’t yet written a third novel. Armed with that paltry knowledge, I watched the first episode, mostly disliked it, and arrived at an analogy which (for all I know) might be desperately strained and might not be the least bit fair. So, ahem:
Just as the book came out with incredible fanfare and then disappeared with shocking rapidity from the broader cultural conversation, so the show promises high-octane human drama and, within minutes, collapses in on itself and leaves us with a product that tries extremely hard not to be boring in the most boring way possible.
Full disclosure: I couldn’t stomach a second episode; say what you will about my lack of critical professionalism on that front. If this turns out to be a classic, you can screencap portions of this review and harass me on Twitter for decades; I’ll own it. It might be unfair, because I’ve watched more episodes of worse TV. The problem is that City on Fire very much enters my Garden State zone of loathing, where there’s clearly an artistic and cultural awareness at play, the creators have a sense of which levers to pull at which times, but there’s no actual artistry at the bottom of the barrel, leaving you with a very paint-by-numbers aftertaste and the sense that if if you told ChatGPT to create an insufferable teen drama set in New York City with a hint of the ole prestige, this is what it might churn out.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
