Justin Cook reviews The Boys Presents: Diabolical…
In a pop-culture landscape that has been gripped with “superhero fever” for well over a decade now, it can often feel like every possible permutation of the genre has already been well-explored, both narratively and artistically. Therefore, it’s hardly a novel idea within an established superhero franchise to shift the focus off of the marquee characters and pose the question: “What does the rest of the universe look like?” Even asking can oftentimes come across as smarmy and indulgent, and raise an even bigger question — why should audiences care? The Boys Presents: Diabolical is Prime Video’s attempt to expand the universe of, arguably, the streaming service’s most successful show, and while it lacks much of the pathos and charm of The Boys, it earns points for the pure creative chaos in the experiment of it all.
Sure, the show takes place in The Boys universe and contains plenty of shoulder-rubbing with characters and concepts from the show and comics, but its most apt point of comparison is Netflix’s Love, Death & Robots. Across the eight episodes of the animated anthology series, it has a pretty similar hit ratio, too. It’s the kind of viewing experience where each episode is a little gift to unwrap: some gifts disappoint, some exceed expectations, but ultimately, you derive the most pleasure from the act of opening each. The show bounces between sweet, saccharine resolutions and squirm-inducing, horrific ones, with every moment in between capable of taking a hard left turn. Diabolical constantly prodding the viewer; will your heart feel warm after watching this episode or will you be left with some of the most horrifically gory imagery ever put to animated television? From the word “go,” Prime Video’s The Boys has been careful to keep its viewers from ever feeling too comfortable, and Diabolical functions in much the same way. Although unlike The Boys, where you’re invested in the characters and long-form narrative throughlines, Diabolical is faster on its feet, and less inclined to let the omnipresent dread get in the way of the fun.
Diabolical’s total runtime is equivalent to about an episode and a half of The Boys, and its brevity works toward its favor most of the time. It plays nicely into Prime Video’s whole positioning of the show as a quick appetizer before the main course (The Boys season 3), but it also creates an element of disposability in the stories. Some episodes more willfully lean into this disposability, like Justin Roiland and Ben Bayouth’s “An Animated Short Where Pissed-Off Supes Kill Their Parents,” which indulges in quick, cheap violent delights; while episodes like “John and Sun-Hee” (perhaps the best looking of the bunch) try to cram an entire feature-length narrative, emotional stakes and all, into 11 minutes.
When the show bites off more than it can chew, given the constraints of the format, you become more aware of the formula that works for bite-sized Boys content. In general, packing some level of emotional heft into 11 minutes of story is a risky endeavor, so shocking brutality is the next best alternative to fall back on. Diabolical leans on this brutality a lot, and oftentimes feels resigned to the idea that if you can’t give the audience a story to remember, you can do your best to provide a few images of people’s bodies being sliced in half by a laser baby or a retired supervillain being pummeled to a bloody excess.
Diabolical assembles a murder’s row of writing talent; in addition to the aforementioned names, Seth Rogen & Evan Goldberg (executive producers of The Boys), Awkwafina (Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings), Ilana Glazer & Eliot Glazer (Broad City), Aisha Tyler (Archer), and even Boys co-creator Garth Ennis all pen their own episodes. It’s an exciting thing to consume each episode keenly aware of who wrote it, and watch as each talent plays around with their own voice, running fast and far with the wide leash the show is giving them.
In general, animation suits The Boys universe well, allowing the franchise to give into its heightened sensibilities, which the more grounded reality of the show could never get away with.
Episodes also try on different animation styles, with arguably the strongest episode, “Laser Baby’s Day Out,” using the innocence of a classic Disney cartoon to play its graphic hijinks against. Then, you have something like Ennis’s “I’m Your Pusher,” which borrows more from his graphic novel roots, or Roiland’s piece, which utilizes his quintessential lo-fi aesthetic (popularized by Rick & Morty). With each installment, it feels as if the artists have been given the keys to the castle, and the outcome of their efforts is based entirely on their creative and artistic inhibitions. This, in many ways, is new terrain for the superhero genre, which often is categorized by the restraints it gives filmmakers: whether it’s making their vision consistent with the house style or fitting it within the increasingly comprehensive canon of a burgeoning universe (ahem, Marvel Studios).
In eight episodes, Diabolical has a way higher splatter-per-minute ratio than The Boys’ first two seasons put together. Just about every installment tries so hard to shock you with its violence, which self-contained isn’t much of a problem, but within a season of television designed to be watched in quick succession, repetition quickly becomes your enemy. While The Boys knows how to sparse it out, almost every episode of Diabolical uses violence as the punchline; so much so that the Diabolical experiment begins to run dry toward the end, purely because the no-holds-barred brutality loses its initial shock value.
Prime Video’s The Boys, in many ways, succeeded by being the abrasive, bawdy take on a familiar genre — the standout amid a crowded field of “subversive” superhero entertainment. Diabolical feels decidedly less vital, and certainly less demanding of your attention, but it justifies its existence by being a canvas board for its talent. The show doesn’t always hit, and when it does hit it doesn’t even pack a particularly hard punch, but it’s a fun ride and gives in to an unhinged, artist-driven creativity that makes it feel novel.
Justin Cook
