The emotional core of The Sandman; or, how a TV episode made me cry
I don’t cry over fiction often.
I know, what an asshole, right? But, it’s true…rarely across my 22 years on this earth has a fictional story genuinely moved me to tears. When it has, it’s usually a show, book, or film that’s rooted in reality and personally hits close to home for me, such as Ryan Coogler’s heartwrenching Fruitvale Station. I’m not a robot, of course; I do often feel sad and empathize with characters crafted from the imaginations of my favorite minds, just not traditionally through the method that most others do.
And yet…here I am, writing about an episode of Netflix’s fantasy series The Sandman that has yet to leave my mind in the months since first watching it, an episode so emotionally resonant that it moved even me to shed tears. In a show focused on supernatural beings beyond the comprehension of mere mortals, I was as feasibly struck by a sense of overwhelming reality as any traumatic real-life rendition. I’d like to write about how this episode made me as emotionally invested as it did, what I personally got out of it by the end, and why I think you should watch (and read!) The Sandman.
Netflix’s 2022 series The Sandman is an adaptation of popular author Neil Gaiman’s 75-issue magnum opus comic series of the same name. The comic originally ran in DC Comics in 1989. Gaiman, then a novice comics writer, was pitched by DC editorial a comic following Wesley Dodds, then known as the most relevant Sandman in comics, to revitalize an old superhero series. Gaiman would take this pitch and transform it into The Sandman that is widely known today, a cult classic following a deathly pale, skinny male figure named Morpheus, Lord of Dreams, one of the Endless, a family of anthropomorphic beings. The series began heavily entrenched in horror themes and elements before branching out later in the run, and as well would slowly but surely phase out its cameos of popular DC characters like Martian Manhunter and Etrigan the Demon as Gaiman continued to gain confidence in his writing acumen. The Sandman would move to the DC imprint’s Vertigo label in 1993, where it would remain until its conclusion in 1996.
Many fans of The Sandman point to issue 8, “The Sound of Her Wings”, as the first time in which Gaiman’s voice truly became distinct within the series. The content of this issue makes up the first half of episode 6, and like the comic the episode’s story is separate from everything that had happened in the story prior. The first seven issues (and five episodes, respectively) of The Sandman are focused on Morpheus’s journey to obtain three artifacts stolen from him after he was captured by mortals attempting to ensnare his sister, Death. The path taken is dangerous, and not without consequence, but by the end of the 5th episode, Morpheus is once again in possession of his misplaced artifacts. And, after all the trouble he went through to regain what he had lost a time ago, Morpheus feels…nothing. No sense of happiness or wholeness, just a deep feeling of emptiness following his quest. This is the state that we find our protagonist in at the start of episode 6, absentmindedly feeding pigeons in a park.
Before diving into the story and its intended themes, I believe it’s important to highlight the two characters that we primarily follow over the first half of this episode, as well as the talented actors that bring the roles to life.
Morpheus, or Dream, is a brooding figure, often dressed in black and carrying a cold demeanor with him. As an avid fan of the comic series, I say this lovingly when I state that Dream is quite a bit of an asshole; for example, he can be very self-absorbed at times, and often comes across as distant — even cruel — to the ones he loves. However, he does have a good heart despite his many flaws and does try to do what he feels is best for everyone he cares for in the end. Dream is played by Tom Sturridge, who excels at portraying the oft detached, yet exceptionally intense being. As stated earlier, Morpheus in the comics is portrayed with bone-white skin, which in my view wasn’t a realistic look that could be pulled off in a live-action environment. I’m glad that they didn’t attempt to bring this otherworldly appearance to reality, as I believe Sturridge delivers a great performance as the Lord of Dreams in spite of his appearance not being as supernatural as his comics counterpart.
Death, on the other hand, is so dissimilar to Morpheus that you question if the two are truly related, and so unlike common interpretations of the personification of death that you wonder if she really is the bridge between this world and the next. While we often associated death with a hooded skeletal figure with a scythe in its cold hands, ready to put you out of your misery, Gaiman’s Death is a kind, empathetic woman. While Dream is rarely seen without his trademark scowl, Death usually has a genuine smile on her face, no matter the circumstance. The two are the closest siblings of their family, and you can see this connection in both the first issue and first episode in which she appears, respectively.
Death in Netflix’s adaptation is played to perfection by Kirby Howell-Baptiste. Howell-Baptiste is, notably, a black female actress, playing a character that isn’t typically portrayed as a black woman; as such, so-called fans of the series predictably took issue with her being cast in the role. “They really put a ni-I mean, black woman in this role? Hollywood has gone woke yet again!” was a common sentiment among the minority of people critical of the show’s casting choices. Personally, I found this discourse funny, firstly because Howell-Baptiste crushed the role, but secondly because the character she plays is…literally the embodiment of death. These characters aren’t fucking real, guys; the race of the actors and actresses playing them should not bother you this much. That said, Howell-Baptiste brings exactly the kind of performance needed to play The Sandman’s interpretation of Death, exuding a warm, compassionate empathetic aura.
The episode opens with Morpheus feeding pigeons on a park bench, dressed in all black. Death appears, also dressed in black, and asks him what he’s doing. As they engage in conversation, we see immediately how the two contrast, with Death completely at ease, reciting lines from Mary Poppins as her brother looks sullen. Morpheus vents to his sister about his frustration over not feeling fulfilled at the completion of his quest, to which she tells him he could have called. He mumbles about not wanting to worry her and she lambasts him over “not having the balls” to find a new game after his last one ended. This is the first time we’ve seen someone openly talk back to Morpheus so directly, so it comes as a bit of a shock, though we know that she’s saying this out of a place of love and concern. She offers to take him with her on a routine day at her “job”, and he agrees.
As we follow the two beings, another key difference between the two becomes apparent; Dream is remarkably uncomfortable around humans, and Death is not. He notes as much, remarking that his sister is “good with them” as she buys an apple from a fruit stand. The supernatural siblings stop as they hear a piece of violin music being played from an apartment. They visit the apartment and find who’s responsible for the music, an elderly man sitting in a chair. Death converses with the man until he slowly comes to the realization of who she is, and why she’s visiting. He asks her of one last request, to say a prayer, and she obliges. She smiles and takes his hand into hers, ready to guide him into the afterlife. Morpheus looks away awkwardly, and we hear the sound of wings flapping in the background.
This peaceful death is soon contrasted with one that is more heartbreaking. We follow Dream and Death as they visit a lake; a man walks into view, and Death calls out to him by his name. Confused, he turns around, then sees himself, drowning in the lake. Upset, he pleads with her to talk to his wife one last time, but she only looks at him with genuine pity and offers apology. Like the old man, she takes his hand and guides him into the afterlife as Morpheus stares on; we never see his body, but we can hear the commotion and the sobbing from his pregnant wife. Morpheus processes all of this silently, lingering on the image of the wive’s face in anguish.
It’s at this point that Morpheus asks his sister how she does what she does, and she explains simply that the job wasn’t always easy for her and the knowledge that she was with all the souls of the humans that died as a welcoming face in their transition gave her a new appreciation for it. The two make another trip, and arguably the most heart-wrenching of all; Death takes a baby from its crib into her hands, and tells it simply that that’s “all you get”, and we hear the whooshing of her wings again.
After a montage of trips to find the recently deceased, the two siblings say goodbye to each other, with Death reminding her brother that their family’s purpose is to serve humans, and that “she needs them as much as they need her”. Dream thanks her and, with new motivation, informs her that he’s late for an appointment.
This is, essentially, the first half of the episode, with the second half of the episode adapting another chapter of the comic series. I find the second half of this episode to be less relevant to what I want to write with this piece, but is compelling enough that I may write about it in the near future. Regardless, the first half of “The Sound of Her Wings” serves multiple purposes, both to further Morpheus’s character development following the end of the first arc of the series as well as formally introducing the concept of the Seven Endless that will become a major factor in the series’s future.
I view “The Sound of Her Wings” as a masterclass in adaptation. It expertly revamps a story written in 1989 and makes it modern while wholly maintaining the spirit of the story. I believe that the message this story is trying to say is that life does not last forever, and often can be taken from us at any given moment, so it is important to appreciate it for what it is in the moment. What Neil Gaiman wants the reader to know through this story, through these characters, is that death is not something to be afraid of, but rather a natural part of life.
As someone that has recently dealt with the loss of someone close to me, the concepts of life and death has been on my mind for a while now. Throughout these 22 years of living, I would often scare myself with thoughts of the inevitable, and have to force myself to shut my mind off just so I could go to sleep at night. Seeing that man who drowned begging for an opportunity to say just one more thing, to live just one last minute, truly broke my heart to the point I cried. I cried for those I had lost, I cried at the thought of losing more, and I cried at the thought of my loved ones some day losing me forever. What this episode really drove home for me is the inevitability of death; it doesn't matter how you react to it, whether it’s resentment or resignation, there is no escaping it…but that doesn’t always have to be a bad thing. And, since we are all fated to go one day, I hope that we all are met with a kind, empathetic woman to guide us between two worlds.
If you’re still here, thank you for reading this piece. You can watch The Sandman on Netflix and read the comics online with a DC Universe Infinite or Comixology subscription; additionally, the series is published in a number of different formats that can be purchased online as well.
