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Neil Gaiman sucks. He’s tainted.

In late 2024 and early 2025, several women publicly accused Neil Gaiman of sexual misconduct ranging from coercion to non-consensual acts. He then denied all wrongdoing, stating, “I have never engaged in non-consensual sexual activity with anyone. Ever.”

In response, Dark Horse Comics canceled his Anansi Boys adaptation, a Coraline musical was discarded, and several screen and publishing projects including Good Omens, The Graveyard Book, and Dead Boy Detectives were halted or altered.

The Sandman season two was deep into production as this was becoming public knowledge.

Gaiman sucks, and The Sandman is pretty good.

The Sandman Season 2 brings back Tom Sturridge as Dream, known for Sweetbitter and Far from the Madding Crowd, alongside Kirby Howell-Baptiste (The Good Place, Barry) as Death. Gwendoline Christie (Game of Thrones, Severance) returns as Lucifer, with Patton Oswalt (Eternals, The Goldbergs) voicing Matthew the Raven and Mark Hamill (Star Wars, The Mandalorian) as Merv Pumpkinhead.

New additions include Adrian Lester (Hustle, Mary Queen of Scots) as Destiny, Barry Sloane (Revenge, House of the Dragon) as Destruction, and Esmé Creed-Miles (Hanna) as Delirium. Jamie Childs (His Dark Materials, Doctor Who) returns to direct.

Mired in being Mired in Controversy

The second season, under the cloud of Gaiman’s controversy, is also muddied up with a grim, slow march towards martyrdom for Morpheus, and it’s hard not to see Gaiman (as executive producer) projecting into the character. The parallel application of the “I made one mistake and now I must pay, woe.” Is often too hard to ignore.  It is a shame, because Director Jamie Childs does a great job of creating a wondrous, deep universe for the characters to play in, and every episode is soaked in atmosphere. The show looks great.

The cast does remarkably for what must have been countless hours in front of green screens. Sturridge cements himself as the goth-king of television, tight-lipped an on the verge of tears. Esme Creed-Miles puts on a decent manic pixie performance as Delirium (a trope that feels much more 2002 than 2025) but remains likable nonetheless. Donna Preston’s turn as Despair gets a lot less screen time but delivers a very strong, nuanced and deep turn as she shows why she is one of the Endless. As a whole, the casting is on point. Everyone has a distinct look. Characters have unique voices, at least, when they have something to say.

The writing is less focused than the first season. More maudlin. Overly prone to showing Dream’s depression over his ties to the stories around him. The first season was able to have episodes that stood out, making me think of X-Files or Buffy in a way that the second season doesn’t even try to do. The show seems happy to fade out. I was happy to simply get to the last page.

At Least it’s Over

Ultimately, season 2 made me sad. A drawn out funeral march. A wake where the mourners kept wanting to give one more eulogy. A desperate plea to remind your former lover that “it wasn’t all bad, was it?”