John Master
Orange County
The obvious jumping off points for comparison will be The Untamed and Word of Honor. Like those two earlier series, Blossom presents a fantasy world grounded in an alternate version of a recognizable version of the distant Chinese past. Like those earlier series, the emphasis on martial arts qualifies its genre as wuxia. Like those earlier series, the plot involves a dizzying number of rivalries, factions, dynastic jealousies, and family politics. Like those earlier series, all that razzmatazz can become overwhelming and confusing—and is mostly incidental anyway because these machinations merely provide a structural form through which the main characters pass. Like those earlier series, Blossom revolves around the relationship between two men, qualifying it as representing the danmei genre. Unlike those earlier series, Blossom shrugs away the need to cloak that relationship beneath a veneer of respectable bromance. Instead, it makes no secret of the fact that Jin Xiao Bao and Zong Zheng Huai En are smitten with one another.
All three source novels presented their central same-sex romance in an unambiguous manner; yet, only the adaptation of Blossom manages to transfer that frankness to television. Many will deem that success alone as a justification for extolling what Blossom has achieved. Rightly so; I shall not gainsay that point of view. Blossom can elude the strictest constraints of censorship because the production was financed by backers from outside the People’s Republic. Strictures banning the depiction of same-sex themes presented an obstacle this production team could surmount. As a result, the on-screen product had no need to rely on winking at the audience in the hopes they will understand the significance when two male characters stare into each other’s eyes. Wait a moment, and those stares may well evolve into a passionate kiss—or more.
The plot mostly makes no sense. Where Untamed and Word each had 30+ episodes to layer in the world-building, Blossom’s budget permitted only a dozen. Some pivotal plot points simply occur off-screen. For example, when wounded or injured characters finish one episode traveling toward help, the next episode often resumes the story with that injured party waking up in bed. How, exactly, their rescue was effectuated remains obscure. In another example, Huai En has jumped toward a river of lava to retrieve a magical flower as it blossoms. Imagine the potential in this set-up for adventure or mortal peril! Imagine also the CGI cost to generate a river of lava. We never actually see what happens in this exciting situation because the series deems it unnecessary to depict the actual retrieval of the crucial flora. Huai En is presumed dead; yet, in the next episode, he is simply there with the others having been successful in his mission. These sorts of plot holes definitely demarcate Blossom as an inferior product to the highly respected Word and Untamed. On the bright side, some of the early episodes convey an almost campy spirit of action and adventure, as if the filmmakers are leaning into their own limitations. At times, Blossom can be a hoot because of its narrative shortcomings. It is ridiculous, but—wink wink—it knows it is ridiculous.
For me, two specific criticisms detract from my overall impression of the series. First, the second half-dozen episodes failed to match the breezy vibe of the fist half-dozen. Much of the early entertainment value derives from following the bungling fool Xiao Bo as he bumbles his way through life. He provides romance, adventure, and comic relief all in one berobed package. The series loses its way when it sidelines Xiao Bo from the worldly action due to a poisoning. That fate relegates him to bed for an exorbitant number of scenes and deprives the series of its most entertaining character, who is shunted away from most action sequences thereafter. Petty jealousies between other berobed characters competing to nurse the patient, whining and sighing endlessly in his bedchamber, become repetitive and tiresome.
My second complaint is far more serious. Blossom has a disturbing tendency to depict its “romantic” scenes as non-consensual. If a viewer wanted to reject the entire series on the basis of these non-com scenes, I would certainly not defend the series. One might overlook these moments on the grounds that a series portraying a milieu whose social structure is rooted in hierarchy, patriarchy, servitude, and misogyny need not remain faithful to 21st century values regarding the merits of consent in sexual relationships. And yet…the folks making this series do live in a 21st century milieu, and so does the audience they hope to attract. They could have done better. They should have done better. Why would enemies shoot an aphrodisiac laced dart at an opponent? Wouldn’t poison work better? Why not just kill him with swords or arrows? The answer is that the aphrodisiac gives the writers an excuse to stage a scene where one overly amorous lead character can (violently) seduce the other lead character, with the justification that he was under the influence of this potion at the time. OK…maybe. But if the original circumstances of the poisoning make no sense, then neither does any result flowing out of that event. (Again, why not just kill him? How does making your enemy horny help you?) Furthermore, it would be possible that the second character—recognizing that his acquaintance is not his usual self—might volunteer to “help him out” rather than portray their encounter as a violent assault. That choice is on the writers, not on the patriarchal milieu. The other major example of sexual assault in this story follows a fit of jealous rage when one lead is trying to assert his control and mastery (owernship) over the other. This sequence is even less defensible. Again, other options would have been better choices for the 2020s.
In short, Blossom is a mess, but mostly it’s a fun mess. The attraction between Xiao Bo and Huai En makes no sense, but logic in romantic affairs has never been a prerequisite in the BL genre. Most BL fans will find Xiao Bo’s and Huai En’s continual striving to live life together to be quite satisfying. Afficianadoes of wuxia will likely not rank Blossom among the best examples of that genre, but its innate cheesiness makes it kind of fun. Those who object to scenes depicting non-consensual sexual moments will wish to steer clear.
All three source novels presented their central same-sex romance in an unambiguous manner; yet, only the adaptation of Blossom manages to transfer that frankness to television. Many will deem that success alone as a justification for extolling what Blossom has achieved. Rightly so; I shall not gainsay that point of view. Blossom can elude the strictest constraints of censorship because the production was financed by backers from outside the People’s Republic. Strictures banning the depiction of same-sex themes presented an obstacle this production team could surmount. As a result, the on-screen product had no need to rely on winking at the audience in the hopes they will understand the significance when two male characters stare into each other’s eyes. Wait a moment, and those stares may well evolve into a passionate kiss—or more.
The plot mostly makes no sense. Where Untamed and Word each had 30+ episodes to layer in the world-building, Blossom’s budget permitted only a dozen. Some pivotal plot points simply occur off-screen. For example, when wounded or injured characters finish one episode traveling toward help, the next episode often resumes the story with that injured party waking up in bed. How, exactly, their rescue was effectuated remains obscure. In another example, Huai En has jumped toward a river of lava to retrieve a magical flower as it blossoms. Imagine the potential in this set-up for adventure or mortal peril! Imagine also the CGI cost to generate a river of lava. We never actually see what happens in this exciting situation because the series deems it unnecessary to depict the actual retrieval of the crucial flora. Huai En is presumed dead; yet, in the next episode, he is simply there with the others having been successful in his mission. These sorts of plot holes definitely demarcate Blossom as an inferior product to the highly respected Word and Untamed. On the bright side, some of the early episodes convey an almost campy spirit of action and adventure, as if the filmmakers are leaning into their own limitations. At times, Blossom can be a hoot because of its narrative shortcomings. It is ridiculous, but—wink wink—it knows it is ridiculous.
For me, two specific criticisms detract from my overall impression of the series. First, the second half-dozen episodes failed to match the breezy vibe of the fist half-dozen. Much of the early entertainment value derives from following the bungling fool Xiao Bo as he bumbles his way through life. He provides romance, adventure, and comic relief all in one berobed package. The series loses its way when it sidelines Xiao Bo from the worldly action due to a poisoning. That fate relegates him to bed for an exorbitant number of scenes and deprives the series of its most entertaining character, who is shunted away from most action sequences thereafter. Petty jealousies between other berobed characters competing to nurse the patient, whining and sighing endlessly in his bedchamber, become repetitive and tiresome.
My second complaint is far more serious. Blossom has a disturbing tendency to depict its “romantic” scenes as non-consensual. If a viewer wanted to reject the entire series on the basis of these non-com scenes, I would certainly not defend the series. One might overlook these moments on the grounds that a series portraying a milieu whose social structure is rooted in hierarchy, patriarchy, servitude, and misogyny need not remain faithful to 21st century values regarding the merits of consent in sexual relationships. And yet…the folks making this series do live in a 21st century milieu, and so does the audience they hope to attract. They could have done better. They should have done better. Why would enemies shoot an aphrodisiac laced dart at an opponent? Wouldn’t poison work better? Why not just kill him with swords or arrows? The answer is that the aphrodisiac gives the writers an excuse to stage a scene where one overly amorous lead character can (violently) seduce the other lead character, with the justification that he was under the influence of this potion at the time. OK…maybe. But if the original circumstances of the poisoning make no sense, then neither does any result flowing out of that event. (Again, why not just kill him? How does making your enemy horny help you?) Furthermore, it would be possible that the second character—recognizing that his acquaintance is not his usual self—might volunteer to “help him out” rather than portray their encounter as a violent assault. That choice is on the writers, not on the patriarchal milieu. The other major example of sexual assault in this story follows a fit of jealous rage when one lead is trying to assert his control and mastery (owernship) over the other. This sequence is even less defensible. Again, other options would have been better choices for the 2020s.
In short, Blossom is a mess, but mostly it’s a fun mess. The attraction between Xiao Bo and Huai En makes no sense, but logic in romantic affairs has never been a prerequisite in the BL genre. Most BL fans will find Xiao Bo’s and Huai En’s continual striving to live life together to be quite satisfying. Afficianadoes of wuxia will likely not rank Blossom among the best examples of that genre, but its innate cheesiness makes it kind of fun. Those who object to scenes depicting non-consensual sexual moments will wish to steer clear.
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