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Quick, when I say the words “SyFy Original Movie,” what images immediately rush to mind? Hokey CGI effects? Laughable character motivation? Bafflingly obtuse plots and stories? Now imagine this heralded brand, responsible for such masterpieces as “Ice Spiders” and “S.S. Doomtrooper,” attempting to interpret one of the most beloved pieces of western fiction ever.

This is the mindset one must enter before attempting to understand Alice, the SyFy mini-series. In a nutshell, the story is essentially a third installment of the Alice in Wonderland saga, if Lewis Carroll were alive and writing today, preferred teleplays to novels, had abandoned Victorian-era satire for dystopic art direction, and was intent on destroying the franchise so badly that no one would ever again be able to continue it. For those who remembered last year’s Tin Man, this is the exact same thing, simply swapping out The Wizard of Oz for Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass.

Our surreal experience begins in the modern world. Alice, our titular heroine, is a typical urbanite who spends her free time divided between scouring the internet for the possible location of her disappeared father, and courting Jack Chase, a well-to-do Englishman who is being pursued by a Man in Black. After a dinner date, Jack invites Alice to meet his family, promising “an adventure.” He tries to give her a jewel-encrusted ring in conjunction with the invitation. Alice shoots the mysterious gentleman down, insisting he is moving too fast. Jack leaves heartbroken and nervous, attempting to go unnoticed down the city streets.

Discovering that Jack had slipped the ring into her pocket unnoticed, Alice furiously chases after Mr. Chase for an answer, only to discover him being beaten and thrown into an unmarked van. Alice is then approached by a mysterious stranger in white (later revealed as an operative of The White Rabbits, a totalitarian police force), who forcibly takes the ring from her. Alice chases the aristocratic gent down an alleyway until she trips through an inexplicably placed mirror.

Rather than finding herself on the other side of a rabbit hole, Alice instead finds herself in a flooded industrial hallway, adorned with hanging wires and flickering fluorescent lights. Thus begins the “edgy” attitude SyFy attempts to impart on the story. There doesn’t have to be any explanation as to why things look the way they do, as long as it looks like an isolated screengrab from Blade Runner, SyFy feels it has done its job. Screengrabs aside, the luxury of a budget is clearly absent. There seem to be only six sets throughout the entire feature, each redressed and reused infinitely.

After a couple of unimportant dramatic turns, Alice finds herself on the doorstep of The Mad Hatter, who has taken solace in the back room of the modern, edgy(again) interpretation of a tea party. Here, tea is distributed in a stock market, bought and sold to the highest bidders. The tea in question is treated as a combination currency and narcotic, coming in a variety of colors, each accompanied with an emotion, each promising beneficial physical effects. Except for the glass bottles, it is exactly like Vitamin Water.

The Mad Hatter is portrayed by Andrew-Lee Potts, who does a fantastic job with the material given. He remains engaging and entertaining, and actually likeable despite his plot-device presence, constantly explaining everything around him. He doesn’t ape for the camera like Johnny Depp appears to do in the trailers for Tim Burton’s upcoming Alice in Wonderland, and he doesn’t act off-the-wall insane like the Disney interpretation. Even compared to the original novel, he acts very little like the Mad Hatter. Potts creates his own original personality of an eccentric, headstrong entrepreneur. This character is likable and believable, despite several plot points that later contradict every piece of information given by him. Regardless, he is only my second-favorite interpretation of the character, with Tom Petty in the “Don’t Come Around Here No More” music video permanently taking the top spot.

Feeling sympathetic to Alice, Hatter, as he is called by everyone, aids Alice on her quest for answers and her boyfriend. Apparently, humans from the real world are routinely abducted and brought into Wonderland, where they are called “Oysters,” dubbed as such due to the “Pearls nestled inside.” Oysters are harvested and drained of emotions and feelings, which then get fermented into the all-coveted tea. The fermentation process is watched over by The Walrus and The Carpenter, an odd decision as they were not even canonically present in any of the Alice stories, appearing in a poem as pieces of folklore.

When brought into Wonderland, Oysters are branded by a special magical light that produces a henna tattoo, a decision I’m sure made sense at the time of writing. Afterward, the Oysters are transported to the Queen of Hearts casino, where they are brainwashed to participate mindlessly in a series of casino games, in which they always win. The ensuing joyful emotions are then drained from their bodies. The Queen of Hearts, played ably by Kathy Bates, presides over the whole operation, loving the power, the money, and the control. He who controls the spice controls the universe; she who controls the tea controls the… Wonderland.

Like all good dystopian by-the-number works, where there is an autocracy, there is a resistance movement. Desperate for assistance, Hatter brings Alice to Dodo, played by the always remarkable Tim Curry. Claiming Hatter’s philanthropy is nothing more than carpetbagging, Dodo refuses to help, insisting Hatter’s affable demeanor is little help to the cause. Deciding bribery is the proper junction, Hatter presents the ring Jack gave Alice at the beginning only to discover it is the legendary MacGuffin known as “The Stone of Wonderland.”

The Stone of Wonderland apparently is the source for the looking glass’ power, the magical entryway which allows access back and forth between Wonderland and the real world. With it, Dodo’s resistance can seize control. Without it, the Queen of Hearts’ Oyster influx will dwindle. Desperate for its acquisition, The Queen enlists the help of hired gun, The Mad March. Unfortunately, March is dead and is resurrected by The Carpenter using, of all things, a cookie jar for his head. Speaking like a combination of a Dalek and Ray Liotta, the cybernetic Frankenstein March reluctantly agrees to hunt down Alice and retrieve the ring.

Unable to trust the coveting Dodo, Hatter decides the best course of action is to get Alice back home. However, the porcelain-headed lagomorphic robot mercenary finds them first. Hiding from March in a nearby forest on the opposite side of a conveniently placed lake, Hatter and Alice soon encounter the terrifying Jabberwock. Described poetically as a fearsome creature of might by Carroll, whose might is further polished by an associated lithograph, the Jabberwock is a classic monster of literary lore. On the SyFy Network, however, he is a poorly rendered piece of computer animation. He looks terrible. With one awkward whiffle through the tulgey wood, all respect instantly disappears. The leviathan looks like the brain-dead offspring of a catfish and Trogdor the Burninator. The googly-eyed goof’s intelligence matches his outward appearance, literally impaling his own head on a pointy stick. Terry Gilliam’s Jabberwock was more intimidating than this thing.

After their confusing victory, Hatter and Alice are discovered by The White Knight, the last of his kind. Talking like an American stereotype of English knights at a Renaissance Fair, The White Knight is portrayed by Matt Frewer, perhaps best known for his portrayal as Max Headroom. During his lengthy, drawn-out dialogue I mentally inserted several electronic st-st-stutters to pass the time.

The White Knight escorts the displaced duo to his homestead, an abandoned village whose dilapidated majesty puts Machu Picchu to shame. Known in the books for his inventive nature, one of few elements properly adapted, The White Knight shows off wind-powered turbines, a series of Rube Goldberg contraptions, and an early-warning perimeter alarm system, which warns our heroes of the approaching March.

Feeling that the plot was too linear and easy to understand, the writers then bestow another plotline upon us. Despite all ensuing danger, Alice wanders off into a field, where her pet cat somehow appears and leads her to a cave where she begins to see visions of her past. Apparently, Alice’s father didn’t abandon her as a child, he was abducted and brought to Wonderland. But before she can get reveal any detail that would be beneficial to the viewing audience, she is abducted by March and his minions.

At the casino, The Queen of Hearts and her court drill Alice for the location of the ring. The unbudging Alice plays dumb, having hid the ring safely at some point during the last three scenes. As part of a plea bargain, the court promises to reunite her with the long-missing Jack, only to reveal Jack Chase is actually Jack Heart, the son of the Queen of Hearts. Still covertly true to his girlfriend, Jack spares Alice from execution, albeit by sending her instead to the Truth Room, the Gitmo of Wonderland. He also slips her a wristwatch, which Alice recognizes as her father’s. Apparently, her father is still alive and well, albeit more Oyster-fied than she remembers.

In the Truth Room, Alice is questioned by the two remaining unused characters from the Alice universe, Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Subjecting her to a visually disorienting interrogation concerning the location of the ring, which looks less menacing and more like a Popsicle commercial from the 90′s, brothers Dee and Dum discover Alice’s weakness, a fear of heights, which they use to ruthlessly torment the poor lass. The scene ends with a stinger chord and scenes of the next installment.

When Lewis Carroll created Wonderland, he created a world wrought with fantasy laced with confusion in an attempt to disorient and challenge conception. When things didn’t make sense, it’s because he wanted the reader to feel sympathy with the heroine, equally confused about her circumstances and surroundings. When SyFy does it, it’s because of bad writing and plotholes. Few elements are explained, and those that are are explained glibly and abandoned, like breadcrumbs thrown on the ground – for pigeons, not so the watcher can find his way.

If the Stone of Wonderland is needed for the looking glass’ operation, how did Alice and the other Oysters enter in the first place? How can a currency based on a consumable liquid be possible? How can people be abducted a dozen at a time from a major metropolitan area, and no one raises an eyebrow? Why is the magical passageway between parallel universes kept in a random back alley, not even covered by a drop cloth? If Jack attempted to hide the Stone of Wonderland in the real world, why did he simultaneously give it to Alice and invite her back to Wonderland? How come Andrew-Lee Potts looks more like a rabbit than any of the rabbit-themed characters? What do the producers have against the Jabberwock? Most importantly, if Wonderland is in fact a real place, how come the fictional works of Lewis Carroll simultaneously exist, even going so far as to have the characters refer to themselves as being from literature?

It’s unfair to pass judgment at this point; we are only halfway through the story. Also, one or more of these plotholes may be explained, leaving me markedly impatient and insolent. However, I willingly stake my television critic’s reputation against SyFy’s storytelling ability. From this point, Jefferson Airplane’s telling of the Alice saga was more faithful.

Previously seen on Atomic Popcorn