This post contains spoilers for The Sandman. If you’re not caught up just yet, check out our spoiler free review of the series.
Netflix’s The Sandman is a perfect example of the risks inherent in adaptive filmmaking. By trying to please everyone, you might inadvertently please no one. Neil Gaiman, Allan Heinberg and David S. Goyer seem to understand how many adaptations have failed to unite already-emphatic fans with prospective future ranks, so Gaiman does something unique by studio standards with his latest – he pleases himself. Their approach to The Sandman doesn’t ease up on any of the grandiosity that defines the graphic novel’s reputation, and presents a show that fully embodies the fantastical overload of Gaiman’s original works. It’s “right” by recreation standards, but what does that mean for Netflix subscribers who have no clue about The Sandman besides its in-app synopsis?
In no stretch do I count The Sandman as a failure. Its anarchistic approach to adaptive storytelling is both a sweeping achievement and a confounding experiment. What’s obvious is the passion behind Gaiman, Heinberg and Goyer’s visions that care not about fears of losing audiences who’ll demand something more recognizable as a television production — but that blockage does exist to an extent.
The Sandman series is its own worst enemy in how it teases the best yet to come and shuffles its character arcs like a deck of cards. Each arc seems like a flavor of the week, while the first season feels like whole subplots could have been their own separate seasons. What Gaiman finally achieves with the team behind The Sandman is noteworthy for its existence alone, and speaks to those steadfast creatives who won’t compromise. Yet, you cannot fault newcomers who find something as massive and labyrinthian as The Sandman too fan-focused for its own good. That’s both a testament and a warning, with equal enthusiasm.
I’m one of the “others” out there who came into Netflix’s The Sandman knowing nothing about Morpheus (Tom Sturridge), The Dreaming, and the host of quasi-deities who prance around episodes that sometimes don’t even feel connected. The Sandman is a testament to Gaiman’s stubborn refusal of multiple adaptations — most recently with Joseph Gordon-Levitt attached to star and direct — because he wanted to make sure that when an adaptation of the series finally happened, it was the right one. Netflix’s partnerships with creatives and their belief in handing control to creators makes the perfect fit for Gaiman’s collaboration with Goyer and Heinberg, but possibly at a detriment to new audiences. Three thousand pages of richly dense storytelling about sleep pandemics (“Sleepy Sickness”), time-jumping, realm-hopping, imaginary creatures, and mortal crises require an encyclopedic Sparknotes entry.
Adaptations are meant to serve two audiences: readers of source material and new viewers without a lick of intellectual property backgrounds. IGN’s Amelia Emberwing already heaped praise upon Gaiman’s recreation in her 9 out of 10 review, as well as acknowledgement that the series is unevenly fan-friendly. “An adaptation’s job is to honor the source material while introducing new fans to something they’ll hopefully love and I don’t know how welcoming the series is to those new viewers when it comes to how quickly Dream’s saga shifts from one story to the next.” The excellent news for “longtime fans” is also a red flag for the other demographic that Netflix has to win over. Those prospective viewers who haven’t read a single page of Gaiman’s 32-year-old graphic novel that is described as an abstract anthology through dreamland fantasies.
It’s hard to say that’s a “problem” for The Sandman in Season 1 because an entire fanbase — and its author — have been waiting decades to see a faithful adaptation of the comics. Netflix seems to have empowered a focus that caters specifically to those with expansive knowledge of Morpheus’ earthly imprisonment, his quest to recollect magic items after his release, then battle against Mr. Hungry Eyes, aka The Corinthian (Boyd Holbrook). The fury with which The Sandman barrels through plots is breakneck for anyone who doesn’t understand the fleeting nature of Gaiman’s narrative whimsy, given how characters come and go. We don’t even encounter the series’ “antagonist” Desire (Mason Alexander Park) in more than a handful of scenes, within the latter half of episodes. Yet, other less central characters take over multiple chapters that lock us inside moral paradox diners and away from everything else.
The expansive nature of The Sandman Season 1 means there’s so much to cover in such little time. Ambition is undoubtedly the show’s core principle and forte, but it does make transitions from episode to episode somewhat hard to grasp. As a first-timer, I watched The Sandman assuming David Thewlis’ John Dee as a series antagonist, only to see his character exit in Episode 5. Episodes 1 and 2 detail Morpheus’ imprisonment by the occultist Burgess clan, only for Episodes 3 and 4 to whip through the rebuilding of The Dreaming; then in Episode 5, all of that vanishes, and we’re watching John Dee manifest havoc with an all-powerful ruby. That’s halfway through the season, before Dream Vortex Rose Walker (Vanesu Samunyai) sets out to find her estranged little brother, the “cereal” convention, and so on and so forth.
Gaiman might be over the moon with how faithful Netflix allowed the series to become, but its renegade nature may create a barrier for those who aren’t picking up where they left off. You’ll be watching, and out of nowhere a talking scarecrow with a pumpkin head will join the conversation like an already-established character, and if you’re lucky, you’ll have a watching partner who’s read the comics. “Oh great! That’s Merv! He’s a talking pumpkin janitor.” Having a “translator” to watch The Sandman alongside made all the difference in my comprehension. Without that generous revealer of context next to me on the couch, I’d have been more in the dark. The show does an awful lot of showing versus telling because it’s so rightly enamored with the source material, which inadvertently gears everything towards existing audiences.
The Sandman Season 1, as a whole, feels like an introduction into Gaiman’s sleepytime universe. Rome, nor The Dreaming was built in a day, and we must run marathon catchup sessions even to understand an ounce of the eternal knowledge Morpheus holds. While that might be cumbersome for some viewers, such freedom from rigid episodic storytelling makes for wildly beautiful episodes like when Dream accompanies Death (Kirby Howell-Baptiste) for an existential conversation about her duties. There’s another standalone mini-tale where we’re shown Morpheus’ century-by-century tradition of meeting a human Death granted everlasting life unto out of pure curiosity. There are these meaty, fulfilling topics explored by The Sandman, whether humans demanding life yet denouncing death or the experiment of granting one man infinite years, which don’t deserve gloss-over treatments. There will be moments of The Sandman that feel like breakaways into entirely different productions, which are jarring — but also are revelations that demand the amount of time and importance the show allows.
There’s a lack of balance between service paid towards fans old and new, but that’s not ultimately a downfall. I must admit there’s a distracting nature about the way The Sandman cycles through characters that adhere to the anthology format of Gaiman’s original writing in a way that I’ve seen countless horror anthologies fumble. Structure allows audiences to set slight expectations and invest in ongoing drama; The Sandman continually shifts gears by jumbling plotted importance to the point where viewers can’t seek that same comfort. As an illustration of fantasy brought to life through creative methods that are tangled thick with ideas, The Sandman upholds its epic ethereal roots — but as an episodic, there’s a lack of fluidity which is wholly intentional, sometimes thrilling, but other times foggy.
That said, I enjoyed The Sandman and commend storytelling that promotes distinguishable vitality, not mechanical formulas. As one of those new watchers, certain payoffs of Death’s heartfelt conversations with passing souls or the chaos of John Dee’s bottle episode made the uncertain narrative structure feel less condemnable. All the more power to Gaiman’s team and those, like me, who can do nothing but hold on for dear life as The Sandman unfolds. Gaiman’s trust and perseverance pays off, as we watch in awe a creator’s dreams come true.
If you’re finsihed with the series and still have questions, check out our The Sandman Burning Questions and Ending Explained!
Matt is a contributing freelancer for IGN who covers anything film-related but loves to focus on the horror genre. Matt has almost a decade of experience as an entertainment journalist with bylines at Polygon, Fangoria, Bloody Disgusting, and many more publications. They are also a member of the Critics Choice Association. Find Matt on Twitter at @DoNatoBomb.