Burgeoning relationships between reincarnated cadavers is something that only works in American Gods. That this bond has developed between an undead wife and coin carrying leprechaun is something else entirely. Incorporating flaming biker bars, intentionally naked all Fathers and incarcerated goddesses, it is yet another deviation no one else dare pull off. Amongst the bizarrely pixelated Technical Boy team ups, monologues on American slave commerce and airport terminal purgatory, everything feels like business as usual.
Although season three is essentially a recruitment drive for warring factions, stylistically this series has gotten its mojo back. Yetide Badaki is every inch the African adversary of old, gilding her performance with formidable presence and unbridled physicality. Whether locked up and under observation or otherwise, she retains her identity in a season which has not been well received. Either bloody from arterial spray or spontaneously balletic, Bilquis personifies elegance through her celebration of ancient ancestry.
Elsewhere Odin is resplendent in biker bar chic conversing with a dialled down Marilyn Manson. Strange pairings are par for the course, in a series which toys with perversion in the same way some people push peas around a plate. Ian McShane is so formidable in this show that even waving his junk at passing traffic deserves a mention. Addled and off kilter following a brush with mortality, he wanders into traffic donning nothing more than his sheepskin. Not the intellectual benchmark some might have expected but definitely entertaining.
For something closer to reality we must rely on Laura Moon. Serial adulteress, part time crypt dweller and casual killer of all things Sweeney. On screen the disregard, flagrant indifference and tangible vitriol makes for a flammable combination. Even as a corpse Pablo Schreiber’s Mad Sweeney has presence. Scenery chewing and self-assured to the point of arrogance, he represented a highlight in seasons one and two. Something which this latest turn of events is likely to exploit, whilst also throwing in some awkward chemistry.
Although American Gods is still certifiably off the chain insane, at least we have some momentum propelling things along. For some this may not measure up to previous efforts, but neither is it the diabolical disappointment many have been quick to condemn. It still possesses more originality than most and wears those credentials like a declaration of war. Ballsy, bold and packed with small screen bravado, American Gods is still worth the price of admission.
