If you, like me, saw this miracle of Russian television at a conscious age, you probably wondered: what is wrong with this series? It would seem that what to expect from a low-budget crafts for children, created to score the air of some regional TV channel in the late 90s, but "Drakosha and Company" not only suggests that they knocked from the bottom, but also is able to cause persistent bouts of mania of persecution in an experienced moviegoer. By the way, the reasons for this will not open for you immediately, because the first few series will aggressively catch the eye of the bizarre work of the operator, supported by decadent scenery in the best traditions of rented apartments on avito. Half of the screen time, the camera will be riding through trees, freeways and facades, giving the viewer a break from the tortured play of children who, I must say, still play better than the actors of “Carloson” and other similar comedies.
And of course, all the spans of cameras and actions of the characters (sometimes inferior in content to the spans of cameras) are juicily seasoned with a library of free sounds, for which the composer must spit in his ear.
But what really sets Dracosha apart from another TV biojunk with a similar budget is the alternative talent of the writers. The characters are either extremely inadequate (for example, the suburban Dr. Moreau or hypercaring paranoid grandmother), or empty so that when they appear on the screen, a black hole forms, sucking all logic and motivation inside.
But all these are not so big shoals in comparison with the messages of the series itself. None of the writers even tried to cram adequate morality somewhere between the flights of cameras on Christmas trees and the inhuman sniffing of a green doll. All season near Moscow xenomorph will absorb toothpaste, steal wheelbarrows, smoke behind garages, jump out of windows, break into the areas of neighbors and scare on the lake local bruises, and the only reaction (if any) to all these actions is the liquid tambouring of the head of the family, who, apparently, is busy finding his character, not raising children.
And so, dipping into the unchildish themes of infidel cops, false medicine, incest, alcoholism, GMOs, insanity and wretched jokes about the dollar, the viewer wonders: why the creators at least for a second did not pull their hands out of the jarl of sawing and kickbacks and did not make the most ordinary children's series about what is good and what is bad?
And from the fact that all this cinematic substance is tailored in specialized dens of Mosfilm only to sniff out advertising for a small viewer of the Drakosha cosmetic brand. The whole series is a product of placement of such epic scale that you can see the subtext in a haze of twenty-minute commercials only when the child will give you a tube of toothpaste in the supermarket, on which the green reptilian will flaunt.
4 out of 10
For marketing savvy and working with a doll.