Oberon is being his own tricky and murderous self again, there’s a cursed elf doing to bipolar what the Hindenburg did to party balloons and then there are the swarms of demented aliens in search of a prophet. As always in hope and stone stapled Prague romance hangs in the air like a heavily perfumed and terribly confused vulture but that's why the Gods invented cellar bars, ABBA-avoidant jukeboxes and Fernet... and kittens... and gryphons... and traitorous valets and... all right, more Fernet.