Andrew Bloom

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9

[8.5/10] Well, if you want to get my attention with a new Star Wars show, kicking things off with a badass wire-fu fight with none other than Trinity herself, Carrie-Anne Moss, as a Jedi Master, will absolutely do it!

What a breath of fresh air this is! From that action-packed opening sequence, The Acolyte grabs your attention with verve and character. There are lived in touches, a sense of mystery and excitement, and most of all an immediate whiff of who every major character is and what they mean to the story. It’s easier to set up interesting things than it is to pay them off, but if this first hour is any indication, it’s going to be easy to be along for the ride.

I cannot say enough good things about the opening sequence. Maybe I’m a sucker, but so much modern action, including in Star Wars media of recent vintage, is chopped up all to hell in the editing bay. That kind of choice neuters the impact of the fights for me. So taking a cue from Moss’ turn in The Matrix and not only embracing those wire fu influences, but letting us see the fight in longer shots and a more measured pace and cinematography really lights my fire.

Plus man, for all of the Japanese cinema influences in Star Wars, I’m not sure we’ve ever gotten a legitimate kung fu fight on screen in the franchise. (“The Duel” from Star Wars: Visions has a bit of that, and I guess we get brief glimpses of Qi’ra from Solo doing a bit of martial arts as well.) The frantic motion of Mae and the more measured movements of Indara’s response help sell the difference between one who’s still learning and full of emotion versus a centered master. The fight itself is glorious, with well-staged action and strong visual storytelling and choreography. And the clincher -- that Indara falls not from mistake or being bested in combat, but from saving an innocent, makes her a noble and tragic figure, while justifying how this skilled but comparative amateur could take her down.

And that's just the opening scene! Dayenu -- it would have been enough.

From there, the episode splits into two story threads that eventually intersect: Osha, a former padawan being questioned and detained for the murder, and Sol, her former master, deciding to track her down. Both stories work, and the place they weave together is especially meaningful.

I appreciate the twist here. The show does a good job of suckering you into thinking that Osha committed this crime on her day off from being a “mechnik”. She has the ability, given her former training. She has the reason for resentment, having seemingly been expelled from the order thanks to Master Indara. And she has a tortured past, of great loss of her family that, as we saw with Anakin, can lead a young force-sensitive person to some inner demons. So it’s entirely plausible, even expected, that she’s the one going toe-to-toe with Indara in the opening.

I’m not always a fan of big twists, but I appreciate the reveal that it was, in fact, her twin sister who went against Indara for a few reasons. One, it’s meaningful for Osha. To learn that the sister she thought was long dead is still out there and assassinating her former allies leads to complex emotions. For another, it portends an intriguing opportunity for “for want of a nail” storytelling, showing where the different paths of daughters from the same family led them.

Most of all, it puts is in the position of Master Sol and the other Jedi, being intuitively sympathetic to this young woman who seems friendly, funny, and earnest, while wondering if the difficult things she’s been through have caught up to her in some way. Playing with the audience’s sympathies and expectations like that, to connect them to the characters’ perspectives, is the right way to use a twist, instead of just using a reveal for shock value.

Osha’s misadventures along the way are fun and sympathetic. I love the sense of her scraping by as a low-rent nomadic mechnik after leaving the order, keeping her spirits up but just getting by. I like that, through Yord at least, the Jedi seem like smug cops rather than noble monks, who are railroading Osha. I like her excitement on the prison transport, where she’s bitten by her altruism, but empathizes and saves others, which should be our proof that she’s not the one who took out Indara. All these scenes reveal character in a compelling way, and Amandla Stenberg does a stellar job inhabiting the role.

There is also such exquisite texture! The opening scene has a real old world village cantina vibe, and should make Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon fans cheer. Her talking tool droid, Pip, is frickin’ adorable and endearing, and I can easily imagine every nerdy kid watching this show wanting one of their own. The ship designs are memorable and distinctive inside and out. (I especially like the droid-run prison transport.) And the different species represented are memorable and original. (The cyborg dude is especially striking.) Plus hey, the Trade Federation aliens are well done and familiar to anyone who watched the Prequels growing up.

Speaking of which, this version of the Jedi feels particularly indebted to the Prequels. There’s great discussion of the danger of attachments, of training someone who’s too old and has been through too much, of the Order’s political enemies. Setting this show a century before Revenge of the Sith frees you from a lot of the continuity shackles other Star Wars stories have to contend with, so it’s interesting that The Acolyte seems to be picking up themes and concepts from the Prequel era.

That not only includes Yord, who already seems to be the show’s stick in the mud, but from Master Vernestra, who seems more interested in wrapping up this matter quickly than in seeking justice. Heck, Master Sol even feels a bit akin to Qui Gon Jinn, someone who’s patient and wizened, but who allows himself a more emotional connection and less rigid view than the Order.

I like Sol a lot. Making the deuteragonist a master who still cares for his padawan, and is trying to balance that care and trust against his obligations to his order, makes for a compelling mix. He’s a good match for Jecki, his quietly caustic current padawan. And he’s a good counterpoint to Osha, someone who represents a difficult part of her past, but who still plainly has her best interests at heart.

The moment where he seeks her out is well done too. There’s a real The Fugitive vibe to the confrontation, with an appropriately Jedi twist. And most importantly, Sol believes his former pupil. When she’s desperate and running for her life and confronted with destabilizing surprises about her past and her family, he still trusts and accepts her. That is powerful, and portends worthwhile things to come.

The Acolyte leaves us with teases of potential sith-adjacent interlopers and weaponless threats and internal politics within the High Republic. Those are tantalizing enough as teases. But what I appreciate most about this opening hour is the good nuts and bolts work we get: in the cinematic craft, in the well-defined and sympathetic character dynamics, and in the way the script plays with our expectations. If The Acolyte can keep this up, it has a promising future ahead.

(Spoilers for Star Wars: The Clone Wars: There’s many ways in which Osha’s story seems like a reinterpretation of Ahsoka’s. Everything from the fugitive hunt to the master who still loves and trusts her, to the Jedi Order dealing with political pressures give you the sense of what Anakin’s padawan went through. Obviously Ahsoka never had an evil twin, but it’s interesting to see the franchise revisit that story shape in a different time and place. I’m not complaining! I love that storyline, and I’m excited at the notion of exploring Osha’s relationship with the Jedi and the Force through this lens.)

[7.7/10] I love me some gray areas in my Star Wars. Don’t get me wrong, the light side vs. dark side stuff. But as I’ve grown older, I appreciate stories, including Star Wars stories, that acknowledge our communities and our choices are rarely that simple.

So I like the fact that the Nightsisters (or at least some kind of presumably related witches’ coven) are presented as a counterpoint to the Jedi, not the villains of the piece. This flashback serves a number of purposes. It gives us some of that vaunted backstory, to help us understand where Osha and Mae and Sol and others are coming from. It fills in the gaps of the events that loom so large in the histories of our twin protagonists, letting the audience see them (or most of them) after being tantalized by only being told about them so far.

But most of all, it establishes a different, but no less valid alternative to the force-users we know. We’ve seen the Jedi. We’ve seen the Sith. We’ve seen the Nightsisters who, while sometimes sympathetic (hello Fallen Order fans!), also seem to be harnessing some kind of black magic. We’ve seen the Bendu, who’s more neutral than gray. And we’ve even seen the more passive and meditative Bardottans. (Aka, the species Jar Jar’s girlfriend is from -- no I’m not joking.)

But we’ve never seen anything quite like this coven led by Osha and Mae’s mother, Mother Aniseya. I love that they have a different take on the Force. The coven thinks the Jedi view the Force as a power to be wielded, whereas they view it more as a thread, a tapestry between peoples and events, that can be tugged and pulled to cause changes amid that weaving. Their perspective on the Force is a collectivist one, where their connection to it is given strength by the multitude, in contrast to the Jedi’s view on attachments. And they don’t view the Force as directing fate, but rather as providing for choices -- one of the core ideas of the franchise.

That is all neat! One of the best parts of The Last Jedi is the notion that the Force does not belong to the Jedi. It is, instead, something that flows through all peoples. Exploring that there may be different religions out there, different means of reaching and interpreting it, adds depth ot he world and adds complication to the binary. It’s nearly never a bad thing to add that kind of complexity and ecumenical spirit to your universe.

More or less. One of the other things I appreciate is that the Coven and the jedi view one another with suspicion, even though they’re mutually respectful at first. The coven sees the Jedi as arrogant, too focused on power, too individualistic. The Jedi view the Coven as dark, as corrupting, as dangerous. I’m always a fan of shows that don’t present one perspective, but rather explore how the different vantage points affect the different views groups may have of one another. (Shades of Deep Space Nine from the other major star-bound franchise!)

This is all to say that the Coven is different than what we’re used to, but no less valid. The Jedi as we see them here are different than what we’re used to, but not invalid. And their twin approaches, alike in dignity, come through in the fulcrum between the Coven and the Order: Mea and Osha.

Let’s talk about the elephant in the room with those two. The young actress (actresses?) who play the earlier version of the twins aren’t very good. That's no sin. Giving a convincing performance as an adult with years of experience remains startlingly difficult. But the reality is that, though these young actors are giving it their all, there is a put on, stagey quality to the performance that can take you out of the moment. I dearly hope the fandom is kind to them nonetheless. It’s tough being a young performer, especially in a high profile role. But despite a nice moment from Osha when she realizes the gravity of what she’s lost, a lot of the acting from the kiddos is apt to take the viewer out of the moment.

Thankfully, the writing helps make up for it. Not for nothing, given Lucasfilm’s current ownership, much of this feels like the first act of a film from the Disney Renaissance. Osha could be your classic Disney princess. She loves her family and wants to do good and be righteous, but she has this yearning for something different, beyond the garden gate. The episode lays it on a little thick in places, but it’s a venerable story beat for a reason. There’s something compelling about someone trying to make the best of a family situation that doesn’t quite fit them but yearning adventure out past the horizon. (I mean, hey, it worked for Luke Sykwalker.) Osha is roughly one “I want” song from joining the little mermaid and company.

What I like about it, though, is that you feel for all sides of this situation. You feel for Osha. She wants to have an existence separate from her twin. She doesn’t feel like she fits in with the Coven. She doesn’t want to disappoint her moms or her sister. But she doesn’t want to lie. She doesn’t want to deny herself. She doesn’t want to give up this thing inside her telling her she wants more, or at least different.

You feel for Mae. She admittedly, has signs of being the “evil” twin. (Though I guess they both seem to use their force powers to freeze that translucent butterfly? I’ll admit, it was confusing who was who there at points.) She feels at home in the Coven. She loves the immediate family and the wider one. She has power and ease, and the confidence that comes from feeling that you’re where you ought to be. In the end, she does a terrible thing, but she’s an eight-year-old lashing out at an unfortunate situation. In the larger than life confines of fiction, it’s an easy thing for me to forgive.

You feel for Mother Aniseya. She is trying to protect her people. She wants to raise her daughters in her own proud tradition. But she also wants them to find their own path to it. But, from the vantage point of being a little older and a little wiser, she knows that what you want can change. What makes sense in the exuberance of youth can fall out of favor when it makes contact with the knots and tangles of that great ethereal thread. Wanting to protect your child, to instill your values in theme, while respecting their autonomy as young people is an impossible balance. Aniseya handles it with understanding and grace.

Heck, you even understand Mother Koril, who is the more strict and belligerent parental figure here. The cultural conditions are mostly implied, but it’s easy to intuit how the Coven has been marginalized, diminished, possibly by Force. The girls represent their future, and it seems to have required a great deal of her and her partner to make that happen. Why wouldn’t she do anything to protect her girls, and mistrust the Jedi who would deign to take their future away from her and her family?

And you also feel for Sol. The Acolyte already conveyed a very fatherly vibe between him and Osha,but this episode cements it. I have my qualms about what happens to the young woman, but Sol seems searnest when he tells her that she could be a great Jedi, when he imparts that courage means pursuing honestly what you want, when he embraces her in the throes of tragedy and wants to take her on as a surrogate child. The estranged relationship between them in the present is counterbalanced by this fraught but touching connection between them in the past.

Of course, that past is no less slippery. For one thing, there’s still much that's alluded to that we don’t quite see. Presumably there was some conflict between the Jedi and the Coven that Osha wasn’t privy to, which we’ll see down the line. Presumably, it’s part of what spurred Mae to take the actions she did. Presumably it’s why there’s great regret among the Jedi who survived the encounter. And that's before you get into the fact that apparently Mother Aniseya channeled some forbidden magic, or at least did something controversial, to bring the twins’ lives into being. There’s plenty of lore and intrigue yet.

But for now, at least, we have two cultures at odds with one another, in ways that question and complicate our sympathies. This is Star Wars. We know who the Jedi are. We’re apt to side with them, to see them as Osha does, as peacekeepers and heroes of the galaxy. (Even if we’ve seen their ossification and dissolution over the course of the Prequels.) When Osha wants to be a Jedi, and her witch family tells her to lie, to deny herself what she wants in the same of something she’s uncertain about, it’s easy to see Indara and company as rescuers.

And yet, it’s also hard not to see this different means of reaching the Force, that is apparently all but outlawed, and not have serious qualms about the equivalent of religious persecution. The notion that the Coven is allowed to exist, but forbidden from passing on their knowledge to children is startling. It’s clear that there remains animosity between the Coven and the Jedi, born of mutual mistrust, with ostensible peacemakers and instigators. And it’s hard to think of Republic law allowing the Jedi to test and, with some permission, take children away to be taught in their fashion, without thinking of real life colonial schools, and so-called “residential schools” in the United States, that have a checkered history at best.

So while the show makes things a little too blunt with Mae and Osha standing across from one another on a broken bridge, you get the reasons behind the actions and anguish between these two young girls, between their various parents, between Jedi and the Coven. This is not black and white, good and evil, light and dark. This is something more muddled and uncertain than that. And it portends deeper and more interesting things as the mythos of Star Wars evolves before our eyes.

(Speculative spoilers: My bet is that Mae’s master is one of her moms, probably Mother Koril. THough I guess it being the comparatively peaceful and forgiving Aniseya would be a bigger twist. The law of conservation of characters suggests it’s one of them, unless it’s secretly Master Vernestra or something. But one of the moms would be the bigger emotional gut punch, so I presume and hope it’s one of them.)

[7.0/10] Eight years. Five seasons. Four captains. One ship. One infamous mutineer turned galactic hero. And I still don’t quite know what Star Trek: Discovery means.

That's alright! The show has had multiple showrunners and multiple creative voices at play. The series reset its premise at least once, with the jump to the far future, and arguably multiple times. Characters have come and gone. Ships have been retrofitted and become sentient. Species new and old have phased in and receded.

It’s okay if, after all that, even the overthinking viewer can't boil the robust (if not quite infinite) diversity of Discovery into a single idea or meaning. At the beginning of the show’s final season, Michael Burnham herself wondered what it all means, and I’ll admit, I’m not more equipped to answer that after the end of the show’s five year mission than she was when it started.

What it means, in immediate terms, is that the Progenitor mystery is finished. Michael and Moll’s twin journeys into the portal (alongside some disposable Breen mooks) leads them to a liminal space, fit for slow-motion special effects, gravity-defying fisticuffs, and cheap puzzle-solving.

Much of that feels a little gratuitous. You can practically feel the episode showing off instead of advancing the story. Why Burnham and Moll need to have a Matrix-esque anti-gravity brawl before the mandated alliance and sudden but inevitable betrayal is beyond me. But I like the setting and the slower pace the show adopts at times within it. Despite the questionable “movie every week” promise of the series, this is the rare instance where Discovery genuinely feels cinematic, and the pace and cinematography have a lot to do with that.

One of the big problems with Discovery’s aesthetic overall is that the sterile sheen on everything often gives the show’s backdrops a semi-unreal quality that detracts from the convincingness of the presentation. Thankfully, that totally works in a quasi-magical portal realm created by billion-year-old aliens!

The endless stretch of a fantastical environment, the way it’s punctuated by extravagant quasi-baroque architecture, the hidden path to central setting, the puzzle that leads you to some mystical parental figure spouting purple prose -- they all give “Life, Itself” an unexpected Kingdom Hearts vibe of all things. But for something meant to be elevated above even the everyday wonders the average Starfleet captain experiences, that approach works.

Granted, some of the path toward the Progenitor tech feels rote. All of the cryptic clues and vital totems come down to...arranging a bunch of glass triangles? You can derive some thematic meaning from that (“The in-between times matter as much!”) but it’s an oddly mechanical answer to the latest riddle. Moll giving Michael the ol’ el kabong and getting punished by the alien alarm is a bit too predictable. And the all-knowing ethereal being from beyond, come to dispense the great wisdom, is a big cliche.

But I like where they land. The rap on Michael Burnham in the fandom is that Discovery is too hidebound in its need to make her the greatest and special-est captain to ever captain anything. (Nevermind that the franchise has done the same with Kirk, Archer, and if I’m honest with myself, sometimes even Picard.) Here, though, when the Progenitor representative tells Burnham that she is the only one worthy to wield such incredible technology, Michael demurs.

She acknowledges her own flaws. She points out her own limitations. True to Federation principles, she disclaims the idea that any one person should have this power. And given the freedom to create life, or annihilate it, or use this amazing tool however she might wish, Burnham chooses to destroy it.

There is poetry in that. It’s a strange obverse of Groucho Marx’s famous quip, 'I wouldn't want to belong to a club that would have me as a member.” The trails of clues left by the consortium of scientists was meant to test the mettle and the heart of the person chasing them, ensuring that they had the right disposition and perspective before they were granted access to this awesome power.

I can appreciate the poetic irony that the only soul worthy of wielding that technology is the one who would see its potential for death and destruction and choose to destroy it instead. It’s a conclusion to this story that, if a bit anticlimactic, feels lyrical, philosophical, and most importantly, Trek-y enough for a finale.

Unfortunately, it squeezes out just about everything else. Dr. Culber’s peculiar spiritual connection? Well, he magically knows the frequency for the portal box, and is just content with the unknown now. The end. Stamets’ desire to leave a great scientific legacy? All it takes is a twenty-second speech from Burnham and a quick (albeit admittedly sweet) bit of solace from Adira, and he’s good. As for Adira themself? They get another attaboy and a few hugs, but I guess they mostly completed their arc in the last episode.

What about Rayner? Well, he offers a bold solution to the stand-off with the Breen and remains steady in the face of danger, but doesn’t get to confront his onetime tormentor really, and again, pretty much wrapped up his character journey earlier. Tilly? She comes up with a cool science-y thing, which is on-brand I guess. But her soul-searching over the Academy leads to...a mentorship program? Really? That bog standard thing is her big epiphany? Sure. Why not? Even Moll goes from murderous and duplicitous to being amenable to Michael and cool with Book without much compunction, another major character arc that feels terribly compressed.

Look, it’s admirable that Discovery wants to give all the members of its crew something to do in the finale. But unfortunately it means that almost nobody besides Burnham gets a chance to really put a capstone on their journeys across the course of the series. That may be fine for well-liked but sporadic recurring characters like Admiral Vance, President Rilak, and Commander Nhan,and President T’Rina. (We even get to learn that Kovich is freakin’ Agent Daniels from Star Trek: Enterprise, among others.) But ironically, in an episode about how Burnham has the humility to step aside on the brink of extra-dimensional anointing, her story crowds out everyone else’s.

Thankfully, the exception to the rule is Saru. One of the iconic moments in the lead-up to Discovery’s premiere was his trailer-worthy line that his people were “biologically determined for one purpose and one purpose alone: to sense the coming of death. I sense it coming now.” When the series started, there was a timidity, even a rigidity to Saru. Despite absconding to the stars, he had that fear-based social conditioning within him.

And yet, over the course of the series, he’s arguably changed more than anyone else. He lost his ganglia and lived to tell the tale. He shared the truth of his homeland and rekindled his people’s culture. He’s been through an array of harrowing, potentially lethal events and come out on the other side. He’s even found courage in matters of the heart.

So it is rousing, then, when he stands off with a cruel Breen warlord and doesn’t blink once. Where there was fear, there is now force. Where there was reticence, there is now courage. Where there was timidity, there is now daring. Doug Jones kills it, as usual, and if there’s one thing this finale deserves credit for, it’s showing how far Saru has come: from the anxious officer preaching caution to the confident ambassador making bold bluffs to save his friends on the strength of his mettle alone. He’ll go down as the show’s best character in my book, and I’m glad “Life, Itself” gave him his moment in the spotlight.

The episode at least has a solid structure to keep things manageable. We have Burnham and Moll going through the Door to Darkness on the one hand. We have Rayner and most of the usual Discovery crew working to hold off Moll’s goons from the Progenitor device on the other. We have Saru and Nhan holding off another Breen faction with trademark Federation diplomacy. And we have Book and Dr. Culber sneaking through battle lines in a shuttle to keep the “portal in a can” from drifting into a pair of twin black holes. The balance among and derring-do within each thread is satisfactory at worst.

That last part is a big part of the episode’s mission, not because of the practical mechanics of destruction avoidance that have become old aht for Discovery, but because it’s a sign of Book’s love for Michael. And sure. I buy it. But I don’t feel it.

I don’t mind Book and Burnham together. It’s not a detriment to the show in any sense. But from the second Book popped up in season 3 as an obvious love interest, everything about them has felt pat and inevitable. So while I think they’re perfectly fine and perfectly plausible together, it never felt like the epic, essential love story that the show seemed to want it to be, especially in this finale.

I won’t deny the aesthetic power of the two of them reuniting at Saru’s wedding (which looks incredible, by the way), all gussied up. I’m not made of stone. You put two attractive people gazing deeply into one another’s eyes on a luminous beach with the music swelling, and you can get something in the moment. But they mostly spout the usual romantic cliches, made all the more stilted with oddly artless dialogue, before the romantic rekindling that was never really in doubt takes place.

Which means our epilogue, showing their shared future in the world’s coziest cabin, is pleasant but not quite moving. It’s nice that Burnham gets a little peace, that she and Book have a son on the cusp of his first Starfleet command, that she gets one last dance with Discovery. But that's about where it tops out. “Nice.” Not the touching goodbye to a long run the episode seems all but desperate to convey. We even get an impressionistic sequence on the bridge that feels more like the cast bidding farewell to one another in costume than the characters saying their goodbyes.

You can appreciate the attempts here. From another explosion-filled conclusion to a Tree of Life-esque sequence of creation to an artsy, golden-hued effort to gin up the emotion from putting a capstone on five seasons’ worth of adventures. There are some big swings here, which I admire, and you cannot fault the show for a lack of effort in this finale.

But in the final tally, it still leaves me a bit cold, and I’m still not quite sure what it all means. In the Progenitor’s big sermon, she suggests a positively existentialist reading on that question on a cosmic scale. We supply our own meaning, whether it be through exploration or scientific advancement or familial bonds. Discovery makes a few vague suggestions as to the possible takeaways, but affirms that the franchise’s values of infinite diversity in infinite combinations applies just as well to one of the essential questions of life. There are a multitude of meanings and possibilities out there, in the wide scope of people out in the world (or the galaxy), and in what drives us within our hearts and souls. I can appreciate that answer.

But the closest thing the show offers to an explicit answer comes from Bunrham herself, naturally, and the episode’s title. The meaning of life is “Life, Itself”, with the idea that our experiences can't be reduced beyond that, necessarily. The purpose is simply to be, to form bonds, to have those experiences, and share them with others. It’s a bit of a tautology, and more than a little trite, but there’s something to the idea that the meaning of life is to live.

That meaning extends to Discovery itself. I can't tell you what the show means, or how it coalesces into a greater whole, because quite frankly, I’m not sure that it does.. Instead, it simply is. These adventures happened: some good, some bad, some rousing, some dull, some memorable, some easily forgotten.

It’s a fool’s errand to predict a show’s legacy. From aspiring franchise flagship, to fandom punching bag, to something that was simply there, Discovery’s risen and fallen in esteem over the course of its run. It could earn a critical reevaluation down the line or sink down into the dregs like some of its predecessors. But through it all Star Trek: Discovery was there. It delivered five seasons’ worth of adventures, expanded the canon, and took the franchise further into the future than it had ever been before. Its whole may not amount to more than the sum of its parts, but those parts, those individual adventures and stories, will remain. I’m not sure that Discovery has a deeper meaning than that, or if it needs one.

[7.7/10] Let’s start with the superficial and work our way to the substantive.

There is something inherently cool about a Jedi Master who has taken such a vow, showed such discipline, reached some level of enlightenment to where they can basically levitate in place,n protected by a seemingly impenetrable force bubble, that can withstand even the most fervent attacks. We’re only two episodes in but what I like about the Acolyte is that it’s already expanding what we think and know of the Jedi. Using the HIgh Republic era as a playground for new and unique uses of the Force, that pose different challenges for even a trained assassin like Mae, helps make the Jedi feel amazing again, rather than rote and known.

The same goes for Sol’s fight with Mae on Olega. Maybe I will get tired of the wire fu approach at some point, but for now, it remains a thrill. Watching Mae fight with all her might, while Master Sol displays an economy of movement akin to master Indara from the last episode, remains incredibly cool. The nigh-literal dust-up between them, with furious attacks and calm blocks, again displays the differences in disposition between studied master and hungry student.

What I appreciate, though, is that neither of these exist just for the sake of coolness or sheer thrills. (Which, if I’m being pointed, is a criticism that can be leveled at J.J. Abrams’ Star Wars films, even the parts I like.)

Master Torbin’s force bubble isn’t just a unique obstacle for Mae. It means she has to find a way to get to her target beyond the sheer force that is already her calling card. The fact that she doesn't kill Torbin, but rather provides him poison to kill himself and end his guilt over what happened on Brendok is a piercing, fascinating choice. The moment where she offers him an exit, and after so much stillness and silence, he descends to accept this offering, feels monumental. And his uttering one more apology before drinking the poison sells the magnitude of what must have happened in mae’s past tremendously.

Credit to the writers. I can get really tired of mystery boxes in genre fix. (Thanks again, J.J.!) But in moments like this one, where characters’ choices are informed by a past we’re not fully privy to yet, the magnitude of those choices makes us care about and anticipate the reveal of Mae and the Jedi’s history without needing to know it right now. As someone who came of age during the Prequel movies, it’s easy to see the Jedi as a flawed institution. But meeting four Jedi who were a party to whatever happened ito Mae and Osha, and who are all clearly haunted by it, to where someone like Torbin would go to these extremes, gives you a sense of how significant that event must be, and why Mae must be so desperate for revenge.

That ties into her fight with master Sol. He’s less interested in defeating her than disarming her, both mentally and physically. From a sheer plot standpoint, the fact that even Mae doesn't know the identity of her master is an interesting little twist. But more to the point, Sol trying to get through to Mae, to help her move past what happened, gives their fight more meaning than even the most thrilling of fisticuffs could.

I also appreciate how Master Sol is in the middle of two extremes here. On the one hand, he seems frustrated by the Jedi strictures and bureaucracy. He bristles at Master Vernestra telling him the Jedi must convene a committee before he can follow-up on Mae’s fugitive run. He rejects Yord’s warning that sending Osha in to deceive the apothecary would violate various precepts. He seems annoyed at best at how Jedi practice doesn't always align with real lif needs.

But at the same time, he tells Osha to let go of her grief, of her attachments in the past, in a way that seems as though he’s telling her not to be human. On the one hand, you can sympathize. He sees how these complicated feelings about what happened have harmed both Osha and Mae, and wants to offer a method to attain peace with them. On the other hand, he still seems haunted by them, as do his colleagues. So it’s rousing when Osha basically tells him, You're not my master anymore; you don’t get to tell me what to do .”

I’m surprisingly receptive to notions that, as cool as the Jedi are, they are a terribly flawed body. (see also: their morally questionable use of invasive mind control tricks, including on Mae.) The idea that they made a grand error on Brendok, covered it up or minimized it, and are facing the choes of it in Mae and Osha is a resonant throughline.

I also appreciate how we have some structure here. Mae has a Kill BIll-esque list of the Jedi she wants revenge on. She has a particular challenge -- to defeat one without using a weapon -- that puts her at an additional disadvantage but gives her a cause and an objective. And the way these aren't random targets, but rather people she feels have wronged her adds extra juice to the proceedings.

So do the side characters. I kind of enjoy how much of a dick Yord is, but I also appreciate that he’s not actively evil or anything, to where he stands up for Osh when she’s accused of murdering Torbin. I’m increasingly entertained by Jecki, her willingness to call Yord’s plan stupid, and her cleverness in coming up with a much better and more effective one. And as a Good Place fan, it’s nice to see Manny Jacinto as Qimir, a feckless apothecary aligned with Mae who feels appropriately rough around the edges.

This is also a good episode for Mae. It’s not easy for her to be around Sol again, or to have him judge the life she’s made for herself since leaving the order. The tender and fraught rekindling of their partnership is one of the best things about the show so far. It adds a certain charge and sadness to every scene where they’re together.

Likewise, it’s nice to see Osha and Mae confront one another, after each believed the other was dead. (And, not for nothing, it neutralizes my theory that maybe Mae is the dark side taking over Osha’s subconscious or something.) The fact that after everything each has been through, the connection shared and lost, Osha ultimately provides for Mae’s escape rather than bringing her in, portends more interesting things to come.

Overall, once again, The Acolyte blends compelling intrigue, exciting action, and meaningful character work to produce another pleasing episode of television.

[7.2/10] Star Trek: Discovery does a better job of telling the audience that a relationship is important than spurring us to feel that importance. Your mileage may vary, of course, but across the series, characters have these soulful conversations about how much they mean to one another, and it’s rare, if not unprecedented, for the show to have earned that emotion through lived-in dynamics and experiences that believably bring two characters closer together.

But Burnham (Sonequa Martin-Green) and Saru (Doug Jones) are one of the big exceptions. They’re the two characters on the show who’ve arguably changed the most over the course of the series. Michael went from disgraced mutineer to respected captain. Saru went from a timid, by-the-book stiff to a more open and adventurous officer. And,as is Star Trek tradition, along the way, through hardship and heroism, they went from being mutual skeptics of one another to trusted friends.

Where so many of the friendships in Discovery fall flat, Michael and Saru are among the few who play with the ease and care of genuine confidantes. So an episode like “Under the Twin Moons” comes with the power of (supposedly) being Saru’s last hurrah as a Starfleet officer and, more importantly, his final mission alongside Michael Burnham.

In truth, the mission itself is no great shakes. The latest break in the Progenitor case sees the duo beaming down to the planet of the week, a lost world protected by one of those ancient technological security systems that Captain Kirk and company seemed to run into every third episode. The art direction work is laudable, with some neat designs of the weathered statues and other remnants of the fallen civilization, and a cluttered jungle locale that comes off more real and tactile than most of Discovery’s more sterile environments.

But this largely comes off as video game plotting, even before the show reveals that the Progenitor mission is essentially one massive fetch quest. The sense of skulking around old ruins, avoiding weathered booby traps, and using special abilities to avoid obstacles and find clues will be familiar to anyone who’s played Jedi: Fallen Order from the other half of the marquee sci-fi franchise dichotomy, or even precursors like the Zelda series of games. The challenges the away team faces feel more like perfunctory obstacles than meaningful threats to be overcome.

Still, these obstacles accomplish two things, however conspicuously. For one, they show Saru’s value to Starfleet in his alleged last mission. He shoots down ancient security bots with his quills. He attracts and evades their fire with his superspeed. He detects the hidden code with his ability to detect bioluminescence. And he’s able to use his strength to move a large obelisk back and forth to find the last piece of the puzzle. On a physical basis, it’s not bad having a Kelpian on your side.

More to the point, he also looks out for Michael. There’s a nice low-simmering conflict between them, where Michael wants to save Saru so he can enjoy the bliss of his civilian life with T’Rina, and Saru wants to fulfill his duty as any other officer would and protect his friend. In an episode themed around frayed connections between people, it’s nice to see that tension play out in an organic, selfless way between these two longtime comrades. Their ability to work together to solve problems, figure out puzzles, and most importantly, put their necks out for one another (in some cases literally), does more to honor Saru’s place in the series than all the Kelpien superpowers in the galaxy.

For another, they give Tilly (Mary Wiseman), Adira (Blu del Barrio), and eventually Captain Rayner the chance to do something science-y to help Michael and Saru down on the planet. Granted, their “Why don’t we use an ancient electrio-magnetic pulse?” solution strains credulity a bit, and Rayner’s advice boiling down to “You need to think like an ancient civilization” isn’t that insightful. But it gives a couple of the show’s players something to do, and reveals, however ham handedly, not only Rayner’s facility in the field, but his willingness to help out even when he doesn’t have to.

That's a good thing, since he’s joining the cast as the new first officer (something portended by Callum Keith Rennie’s addition to the opening credits. The dialogue to get him there is clunky, with thudding comments from Admiral Vance (Oded Fehr) and Burnham about Rayner being a good man despite some poor choices born of tougher times. But after only a couple of episodes, Rayner is a welcome addition -- a fly in the ointment for a now-cozy crew, bolstered by Rennie’s vividly irascible performance.

While the signposting is a little much, the idea that Burnham does not just want a first officer who’s capable, but one who’ll have the guts to challenge her and her perspective is a good one. That approach puts her in the good company of Captain Picard, among others, and shows a humility and an openness in Michael that's commendable. Her willingness to give someone else a second chance, given what the one she received allowed her to accomplish, speaks well of the still-new Captain, and adds some poetry with Discovery’s first season in its unexpected final one.

On a meta level, this is also an interesting thematic tack for the series. Rayner is coded as conservative, battle-hardened, even sclerotic in a way that clashes with traditional Starfleet principles. The idea that he has a place on the bridge, that his viewpoint is worthwhile, and most notably, that he can be brought into the light of Starfleet’s new dawn, fits with the aspirational tone of Star Trek. It’s worth watching how the character arc, and the ideas and subtext in tow, play out from here.

The same can't be said for Book’s (David Ajala) interactions with Moll (Eve Harlow) and L'ak (Elias Toufexis). The show wants to make some trite yet strained point about bonds between individuals in the already-tortured estrangement between him and Michael. The tired pop psychology from Dr. Culber (Wilson Cruz) doesn’t help on that front. But worse yet is the acknowledged unlikely coincidence that Moll is the daughter of Book’s mentor and surrogate father, a contrived familial connection that attempts to gin up through genealogy what the show can't from character-building alone.

Except when it can. The mission may be stock, and the surrounding plot threads may be underbaked, but the goodbye between Michael and Saru is legitimately touching. From Michael nursing Saru through his harrowing transformation, to Saru counseling Michael through good times and bad in her ascent up the ranks, the pair have blossomed into genuine confidantes over the course of the last four seasons. It did not always come easily, but that's what makes their connection now, and the parting poised to strain it, such a poignant, bittersweet moment between two friends.

Who knows if it will stick. Dr. Culbert came back from the dead. Tilly’s back in the fold despite leaving for Starfleet Academy. Saru himself returned to the ship despite ostensibly leaving to become a “great elder” on Kaminar. Discovery doesn’t have a great track record of sticking to major character exits.

For now, at least, Saru gets a swan song not only worthy of what the character, and Doug Jones’ impeccable performance, has meant to the series over the past seven years, but also of what, unassumingly, became one of the series’ strongest relationships. Michael will keep flying. Saru will hopefully enjoy some wedded bliss. But as “Under the Twin Moons” reminds us, they’ve both left a mark on the other that will stay with both of them, wherever they finally end up.

[7.8/10] The crux of Star Wars is choices. Choices are at the heart of all good storytelling, but Star Wars in particular is founded on them. Luke chooses between the Darkside and the Light. Han chooses to return to the fight when he could take his money and run. Vader chooses to kill the Emperor rather than let his son follow in his mistakes. These are all monumental decisions, centered on character, that are a bigger part of what made the franchise so indelible beyond the space battles and special effects.

And my favorite part of Bad Batch’s series finale are the choices it chooses to center on. Crosshair wants to go in alone to spare his comrades, but Hunter and Wrecker choose to follow him anyway, because by god, they are still a team. Rampart chooses to nab the cloning research, no matter what harm it causes, because he wants it as a bargaining chip. Nala Se chooses to sacrifice her own life to destroy, because she won’t let her science be used for more evil.

Emerie Karr chooses to rescue those innocent children then continue being a handmaiden of the Empire. Omega chooses to forgo the easiest path of escape because she wants to help liberate her brothers. The imprisoned clone troopers could easily just leave themselves, but choose to fight alongside Echo and Omega to rescue the original Bad Batch.

And in the endgame, Hunter chooses to trust that, after years together, Omega knows what to do in a tough situation. Omega herself chooses to take her chance, knowing that she’s been prepared for this moment. Despite his shaky hand, Crosshair chooses to take the shot, and makes it when it counts. And Dr. Hemlock chooses to bank on the notion that loyalty is a weakness, rather than a strength, unwittingly sealing his doom.

Those are the choices that make “The Cavalry Has Arrived” a satisfying end to The Bad Batch. Clone Force 99 continues to function as a team despite their hardships and losses along the way. The children and clones are freed, with Emerie doing the right thing. Hemlock and Rampart are defeated, victims of their own hubris and greed. After seasons’ worth of worry, Hunter sees how much his surrogate daughter has grown and come into her own. Crosshair finds the mettle to rise to the occasion despite his traumas on Tantiss. And Omega herself aces her final exam, becoming a full-fledged member of the Bad Batch, able to face down anything, and remember the compassion and courage that held her steady through so many challenges.

Which is all to say I like where the show lands and how it lands there. It gets the core things right, crafting a sound ending and confrontation that reveals both who these characters are and how far they’ve come. That is not easy to do, and on that alone, The Bad Batch deserves its laurels.

Here’s where I struggle a bit: everything from about the midpoint of the finale to that final confrontation with Dr. Hemlock is kind of a mess.

What’s funny is that the first half of the episode is surprisingly well structured, clear, and propulsive despite having to juggle a lot. You have Omega and her mini-Bad Batch scheming to escape; Emerie and Echo following their trail; Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair working their way into the base; and Dr. Hemlock trying to fend off this attack he viewed as inevitable. The four-perspective structure gives you a sense of scope at the base, and allows the episode to keep the energy and tension up by moving from one plot to another.

There’s even a sense of escalation and chess match to the proceedings. Omega divides Hemlock’s attention by releasing the Zillo Beast. (Another nice bit of payoff!) Hemlock responds by unleashing his Shadow Operatives. There’s a sense of punch and counter punch to the various moves the parties make here. And the fact that the rest of the Bad Batch recognize Omega’s handiwork because she’s successfully following their playbook, is a nice way of showing how much the young clone internalized in her time with the crew.

Hell, I’d go so far as to say I downright love Omega’s rescue mission for the child prisoners. It’s one thing for her to be a full-fledged member of Clone Force 99. It’s quite another for her to successfully lead her own mission and organize a bunch of amateurs in a way that still lets them win the day. The biggest throughline across The Bad Batch has been Omega coming into her power, and this episode does a good job of dramatizing what she’s capable of even apart from her usual allies and resources.

But once the kiddies are on a transport with Dr. Karr, and our heroes are fighting the Shadow Operatives, everything turns to mush. “The Cavalry Has Arrived” runs into the same problem that a lot of clone-based stories run into -- by definition, a lot of these people look alike. So when you shoot everything in low light and put everyone in similar armor, who’s fighting whom and why it matters gets muddled pretty quickly.

The show tries its best. The Shadow Operatives have cool designs, even if they get samey quickly. I wish we got confirmation that the one operative is a specific clone of Crosshair, but whatever. They all have different fancy weapons and pose vaguely distinct threats, cutting the image of purge troopers from the Fallen Order games.

But the truth is that even high class goons are just goons. At the end of the day, the bad guy is Hemlock, and he’s never been a physically imposing figure. So slogging through fifteen minutes of undifferentiated firefights and fisticuffs with the bad guys doesn’t evoke much beyond a yawn from me, especially when it’s hard to follow the action.

There’s some catharsis in the notion that the sort of regs who looked down at Clone Force 99 in the beginning of the series are now willing to fight to save their lives. And our heroes’ steadfastness despite Hemlock’s “conditioning”, and Omega’s faith in her brothers, are both admirable. But little in the sturm und drang of the finish is especially compelling until that big confrontation with Hemlock on the bridge.

Ironically, I’ve always preferred it more when Bad Batch goes small than when it goes big. I can't deny the technically impressiveness of what the creative team pulls off her. You definitely get the sense of utter chaos and streaking combat throughout the facility. But I don’t know, I never really felt like the Bad Batch was in danger, and it was hard to muster up a lot of care when they were squaring off against the supposedly unstoppable Shadow Operatives.

Still, if you can strip that way, you have a lot of strong choices, from the creative team and from the characters. That reckoning on the bridge is the culmination of three character arcs, and one villain’s demise, all rolled into a single big scene, which is impressive. The way the good guys don’t just snuff out “Project Necromancer”, but reach a sort of fulfillment and self-actualization out of taking down the last remnant that saw them as science experiments, not people, is stirring.

The ending isn’t bad either. Though basic, there’s something to the idea that after fighting for so long, the Bad Batch and their fellow clones have earned that so precious of freedoms -- the freedom to choose. The central problem Clone Force 99 started with is what the lives of these good soldiers amount to when they don’t have any more orders to follow. The sense of being used up and spit out by the Empire pervades the series. So there is something just as stirring about Hunter reassuring Omega that they can stop running; they have the freedom to go and do and be whatever they want. And the closing tableau, of warriors at rest, is a lovely closing image.

Well, almost closing image. The gestures we get toward the future are nice enough. Tarkin reapportioning the funding to Hemlock’s project to the Death Star makes sense. Omega growing up and joining the Rebellion, in effect, choosing to fight, adds up. And while we don’t know the fate of his brethren, if anyone’s earned a rest, it’s Hunter. We haven't seen much in the way of clones getting happy retirements in the Star Wars universe, so I’m happy to see ol’ Space Dad get his.

I don’t know quite what to say about THe Bad Batch as a whole other than that it was the most consistently high quality show in the Star wars animated canon. The floor on this one was high, and you can tell that this creative team, who have largely sprung forth from The Clone Wars and Rebels, knows this sandbox like the back of their hands. The art, the thematics, the character growth, the politics, the canon connections, the little moments of joy and pain, were all well done on a week-to-week basis.

And yet, despite that technical excellence, I’d be lying if I said that the series had wormed its way into my heart like some of the other animated series have. The best I can guess is that there’s a sort of sameyness to the show, and a flatter tone, which can make it harder to distinguish sometimes. Still, watching Omega grow while maintaining her righteousness and care for her fellow clones, watching Hunter become a good parent and caretaker despite never having one of his own, and especially watching Crosshair goes from Imperial true believer, to traumatized used up defector, to reformed hero, were all worth the price of admission. Despite any ups and downs, like Hunter, The Bad Batch has earned a little rest.

[7.9/10] A funny thing happens as you get older. Children stop being peers. They stop being those bratty things you have to put up with as a teenager. They’re no longer the little ones you see, but aren’t really responsible for as a young adult.

And somewhere along the line, they start becoming these small people that you need to protect, to look out for, to support, to nurture. You recognize, in a way that's hard when you’re younger, how vulnerable they are, how much they depend on the folks who’ve been through the wringer and know the perils of the world to make sure they’re okay.

Kids are not naive innocents. They have the same vibrance and diversity of thought and feeling and attitude their grown-up counterparts do. But they need help, your help, and that realization is humbling and more than a little scary.

Which is all to say that “Identity Crisis” hits harder when you realize you’re no longer a ten-year-old imagining what it’d be like to be Luke Skywalker hacking and slashing through stormtroopers, and instead, you’re a crusty old grown-up struck by what it’d be like to be the Luke Skywalker who’s been entrusted to look after his nephew and see that he goes down the right path.

I assumed that what lie behind the trooper-protected doors of “The Vault” was something expected: a bunch of jars of pickled Snokes, a few budding attempts at cloning Palpatine, maybe a few more deformed Clone Troopers or something. The last thing I expected was a small collection of imprisoned children, and it draws out the evil of the Empire in a way that few things could.

This is one of the more harrowing episodes of The Bad Batch. I can easily stand blaster fire and dogfights among commandos. I can readily handle life-or-death fights between good guys and bad guys, even if feisty Omega is in the fray. What’s harder to withstand is a toddler, who weeps without his plushy, being torn from his mother. What’s more difficult to stomach is seeing young force-sensitives imprisoned, who only want to return home, and are treated like indifferent property rather than people.

It’s devastating to watch, and The Bad Batch is counting on that. This is (I think?) the first episode of the show that doesn’t feature a single moment of Omega or Clone Force 99. This is all about Emerie Karr stepping into a bigger role and realizing the horrors it would require of her. It is seeing the depths of what she’s participating in, trying to suck it up and do her job, only for her to be moved by the plight of the young souls she’s supposed to treat like chattel.

There is great power in that. “Identity Crisis” has some cool moments for longtime fans. Tarkin’s appearances are always a pip. The back channel negotiations and rivalries of Imperial politics always intrigues. We learn that Omega isn’t necessarily a force-sensitive herself, but rather her genetic material can act as a “binder” for DNA from other force-sensitives, which is a welcome swerve. And The return of Cad Bane and Todo is always a plus. (I should have known Bane was in the offing once I heard Seth Green voice one of the random villagers.)

But for the most part, this is a more stark story, about someone recognizing the abject cruelty they’re a part of, and not being able to turn their heart away from it once they do. The callousness with which Dr. Hemlock encourages Dr. Karr not to become attached to tiny people asking for help and solace, the casual dispassion with how Cad Bane kidnaps a child and practically taunts Emerie for asking too many questions, all reveal a rot in the soul that must have taken hold for someone to be so unconcerned with the welfare of blameless children caught up in the machinery of the Empire.

Not for nothing, there’s a political charge to this story. It is hard to see children ripped from their parents, families ratted out by opportunistic neighbors, and most pointedly, kids in cages, without thinking about the current moment. The Bad Batch is not the first show to suggest a regime is evil by treating young ones this way, but it comes with extra bite in the wake of American policies that are not so different.

The message here is affecting -- that it’s hard for anyone with a heart not to be moved by such terrible things being visited upon little people who don’t deserve it. Dr. Karr wanting to step up, to replace Nala Se, only to see what the Kaminoan saw and realize why she did what she did, makes her change of heart palpable and meaningful.

Because she sees little Jax try desperately to escape and be harshly stopped and punished; she sees little Eva ask plaintively when she gets to go home; she sees a small infant torn from its mother whose tender age is treated like a boon to compliance, not a crime against an innocent, and cannot help but care.

I still love the stories of heroes choosing good with lightsabers and magic powers. I still love badasses leaping through the galaxy and fighting for the good. But the more real acts of evil, and more mundane acts of kindness move me more these days. And all the more, I understand how what could turn your heart, are these tiny beings who need your help, and witnessing an institution that would ignore their suffering, or worse yet, make it the point.

[7.5/10] Hey! Now there’s more of a surprise! If there’s one thing that seems clear about Barriss, good or bad, it’s that she has a strong sense of self-righteousness about her. In a way not unlike Count Dooku in the Tales of the Jedi miniseries from the same crew, you can see all these little things building up that make her lose her faith in the institution she’s a part of...again.

So when she sees Imperial citizens living in squalor, when she sees the Fourth Sister brutalize a square of impoverished people, when she hears excuses about needing to show strength to earn respect, when she sees a potential ally who’s ready to surrender mowed down, she can take no more. “Realization” certainly stacks the deck, but I didn’t see Barriss’ face turn coming, at least not in this episode. Given her history, maybe I should have.

I’m intrigued about where Barriss’ story goes from here. Do she and “The Jedi” she saves become confidantes and kindred spirits? Are they too simply hunted and eliminated by the people Barriss used to fight alongside? Does the Grand Inquisitor engage in even more rigorous “testing” for new recruits to ensure nothing like this ever happens again? Only time (or the finale) will tell.

But in the meantime, I can appreciate this one for showing the depth of the self-justified villainy of the Inquisitors that's enough to turn Barriss’ stomach and change her mind. The fear of children, the harshness of living conditions, the mortal blow on a defenseless person, all excused in the name of their mission, show how blinded and harsh this group can be. While a little heavy-handed in underlining the evil, it's enough to explain why Barriss would turn away from this and betray her erstwhile masters.

(Though hey, spoilers for the Obi-Wan miniseries: Some of the oomph is taken away by the fact that we see the Fourth Sister in that show, so we know she survives. Does a large fall kill any force-sensitive person in this universe?)

Overall, this is fairly standard stuff, but it’s done well, and gives us (or at least me) an unexpected direction for Barriss’ story.

[7.8/10] That's more like it! I enjoyed both halves of this one. Rampart’s shtick elevated the Bad Batch’s mission to find their way to Tantiss. And Omega starting a miniature rebellion only makes me like the character more.

Here’s the funny thing. I complained about the last episode because it felt solid but formulaic. We’ve seen the “search and rescue” type mission in Bad Batch specifically, and Star Wars in general, lots of times. The same is true for situations where our heroes have to infiltrate some Imperial stronghold. (Something that goes all the way back to the frickin’ Droids cartoon, and even A New Hope.)

But here’s the thing -- I find the good guys having to pretend to be Imperials to pilfer some important crumb of information far more interesting than their just sneaking into some location and busting some asset out. There’s an inherent tension, and almost mischievous subversiveness, to our noble good guys having to pretend to be baddies for an afternoon, in order to achieve their goal.

Will they be found out? Can they successfully navigate the practical challenges of Imperial security systems and the personal challenges of fooling station personnel? And once they inevitably trip some alarm or alert some Imperial functionary, can they complete their task in time to sneak away unscathed?

Again, this is Star Wars, so you know that it’s going to work out. But it’s still fun to see the main characters spray paint their armor black to fit in with the bad guy patrol, or tell some mid-level Imperial manager that their mission is classified, or stun some low-level goon and probe for information on the same kind of station Luke and Han once interfaced with. The heist-type setup is far more entertaining and exciting than the standard “beat up a bunch of guys and action hero your way out of dodge” approach from “Juggernaut”.

Of course, “Into the Breach” has an ace in the hole -- Admiral Rampart. For those of you who’ve read the (mostly tepid) Aftermath trilogy, Rampart’s interactions with the Bad Batch have the same tone and tenor of what I imagine Sinjir’s interactions with the Rebellion would be like on the screen. (Hint hint, Mando-verse creative team!) The way he’s clearly resentful of his clone captors, while also carrying himself with a certain supercilious dignity given his former rank, and also clearly only looking out for his own skin makes Rampart an appropriately irksome but amusing fly-in-the-ointment for our heroes. Frankly, Rampart is more compelling as a stubborn and untrustworthy ally than he ever was as an antagonist.

His doubt and flustered quality, while Hunter, Crosshair, Wrecker, and Echo all remain steely in the face of impossible odds, proves a nice departure from the steady demeanor of our heroes. The way he fumbles through this plan like the rest of them, pulls rank on Imperial functionaries, and has to be subdued once again to go along with the adaring plan makes him a great ingredient in the stew.

Not for nothing, the big set piece of the episode -- featuring our heroes hitching a ride to Tantiss on a science shuttle with the secret coordinates at the last minute -- comes with just the right stakes and ticking clock to make it exciting, even as you just know the good guys are going to make it. Whatever “Juggernaut” lacked in terms of a perfunctory, standard Bad Batch episode, “Into the Breach” makes up for with much more flavor.

The Omega half of the episode is good as well. There’s been a lot of chatter in the fandom about Omega always getting captured, but what I appreciate about it is that she’s different in the scenario each time. Not to get sentimental, but our little girl is growing up. The way she’s not by any means helpless despite being sequestered by Hemlock, but rather resourceful and craft in finding a way out, shows you how far Omega has come since she was first all but stuck in a clone facility.

More to the point, in her time with the Bad Batch, she’s learned how to be a part of a team. Yes, it’s clever to see her using the games that Hemlock’s subordinates insist their child captives play to lay out a plan to escape. But more to the point, she’s become an expert, an authority, a helper, for the younger children trapped in this pristine white prison. She recognizes the value of a team, and is there for the poor younglings who’ve been cowed by their imperial captors, giving them hope to escape. The show plays Omega’s efforts to leave the facility for the appropriate amount of tension. More than that, though, it’s heartening to see her once again thinking of others, building a trust with her fellow imprisoned children, and reassuring them that they’re going to get out of here.

Overall, this is a big step up from the last episode, with a thrilling escapade from Clone Force 99, and another great illustration of how far Omega’s come, and how capable a young adult she is, in her half of the episode.

[7.1/10] So here’s the problem -- I don’t really care about Pabu. That's not necessarily The Bad Batch’s fault. I think the show has dutifully established what this town means to Omega, Hunter, and Wrecker, and what it represents for them as a safe haven. But the other side of the coin is that, given the passage of time between seasons, I’m not sure I could name a single one of the characters who resides there, or recall what exactly their significance is to our heroes. (I vaguely remember Omega being friends with Lyana and Wrecker having a moment of camaraderie with Mayor Shep, but that's about it.) That means it’s more of a generic setting than an important place to me as a viewer. So for me at least, the idea of “Pabu is home” works in theory, but not really in practice, lacking the impact that, say, watching the Empire destroy the Marauder has.

Which is all to say that I get what The Bad Batch is going for here. The Shadow Agent has arrived! He’s brought Stormtroopers to their safe and sacred place! They’re hurting innocent people! Omega has no choice but to go with them to stop the suffering!

But it doesn’t really land for me emotionally. Some of it’s just that the pacing of this one is all over the place There’s a long slow build, and even once the Empire arrives, it’s a bunch of muddy and indifferent action, without much to latch onto as a viewer. I can, in principle, appreciate Wrecker getting incapacitated in the explosion, Hunter getting sidelined trying to grab a transport, and the locals seeing their livelihood destroyed. But without a more personal connection, much of this feels like standard piece-moving and table-setting for the final stretch of the series. I understand why the show needs to do these things, and the violation it’s supposed to feel like, but the stakes don’t really land and neither do the emotions.

There’s a few points worth noting. For one, the fact that the Shadow Agent is able to snipe a stormtrooper from seemingly miles way strongly suggests he’s a clone of Crosshair, which portends interesting things. While I can see the seams a little too plainly, the best thing this episode does to establish Pabu as important is making it the home for Tech’s glasses and Omega/Wrecker’s plush, sacred objects in The Bad Batch’s corner of the universe.

Most of all, I appreciate that on Omega’s journey to maturity, she is now willing to give herself up, put herself in harm’s way, both to save the villagers of Pabu, but also in a bid to rescue the clones who are still trapped on Tantiss. There is a selflessness, a courage, a righteousness to Omega that bears out. The interplay between ehr perspective and Crosshair’s this season ahs been a particular highlight. The way he tells her this isn’t a viable plan, and she responds “It’s all we have” shows not only how Omega’s grown, not only the bravery she displays on a daily basis, but the sense of self-sacrifice she’s picked up from Tech.

The most tension “The Point of No Return” can offer comes in the plan to track Omega’s jaunt to Tantiss. Her giving up her comms to the Shadow Agent as a feint, only for Crosshair’s secondary tracker to miss comes freighted with expectation and disappointment. And Omega’s sigh when she’s on the Shadow Agent’s transport, suggests there’s another layer to the plan, but also perhaps just a sense of exhaustion, of resolve, of that franchise trademark hope within the young clone heading back to the site of her captivity.

I can't say I loved this one. It strikes me as a more functional episode than a purely riveting one. But it does leave me impressed with the show’s main character, and excited to see what happens next, so it must be doing something right.

[6.1/10] The knock on Star Trek: Discovery is that everything is too big. Everything is a world-ending calamity. Every emotion is cranked up to eleven. Every mission is the most serious and important challenge Starfleet has ever faced.

“Red Directive” does nothing to shed that rap. We open with Michael Burnham (Sonequa Martin-Green) yahoo-ing while surfing on the back of an enemy ship in warp drive, before cutting to a cliched “four hours earlier” bit of drama-mortgaging. A pair of smugglers named Moll (Eve Harlow) and L'ak (Elias Toufexis), with the MacGuffin du jour, get into a standard issue bout of fisticuffs with some nameless/faceless goons. Burnham, Book (David Ajala), and new frenemy Captain Rayner (Battlestar Galactica veteran Callum Keith Rennie) dodge boulders and other debris in an immersion-breaking artificial sandscape pursuit of the pair of pirates. And the ensuing rockslide which threatens to crush a nearby village is only halted by Discovery and another Federation vessel diving nose-first into the sand to block the onslaught, with neither the ships nor their crews seemingly any worse for wear.

Look, this is a season premiere. Some fireworks are expected. And in a stretch for the franchise where new kid on the block Strange New Worlds seems to have stolen much of Discovery’s thunder as the franchise flagship, you can practically feel the creative team pulling out all the stops to keep viewers excited and invested, even if it means leaning into accusations of always going big.

That includes invoking The Next Generation. The item Burnham and company are chasing is no mere trinket or weapon. It is, instead, the technology used by the Progenitors from 1993’s “The Chase” to create all humanoid life as we know it. This top secret mission, issued by Dr. Kovich (David Cronenberg), mirrors the one embarked upon by none other than Captain Picard centuries earlier, with clues to follow laid by an important Romulan scientist/background player from the decades-old episode.

In that, “Red Directive” falls into two familiar traps. The first is one shared by Strange New World, specifically the need to tie nearly everything into some familiar piece of franchise lore rather than starting fresh. Only, Discovery’s issue is that much more damning given its “millennium into the future” timeframe, with the whole point being a chance to refresh and reset rather than staying constrained by canon from fifty years earlier.

This episode is not above such pandering connections. In fact, the seedy antiques dealer Moll and L’ak do business with is a Data-esque synth named Fred who shares the famous android’s aesthetic and penchant for speed-reading. In a painful scene, Stamets (Anthony Rapp) and Dr. Culber (Wilson Cruz) even remark that Fred’s serial number reflects the initials of Altan Soong, a long lost Soong baby and Star Trek: Picard’s most unnecessary character (which is saying something).

Earned canon connections are the thrill of existing within the same storytelling universe, particularly one that has lasted more than half a century. But these ties come off more like cheap fanservice and strained ties to more beloved properties than organic connections to Discovery’s ongoing project.

That might be a forgivable excess though if “Red Directive” didn’t fall into the second trap, of near constant escalation in Discovery’s stakes. Kovich remains cagey about Burnham’s mission for most of the hour, beyond a “recover this item at all costs” sense of dramatics to it all. Even Admiral Vance (Oded Fehr) isn’t under the tent on it. And when Kovich finally spills the beans, after more blunt underlining of what a big deal this quest is, he calls it a search for “the greatest treasure in the known galaxy.”

The best you can say is that the season 5 premiere aims to keep the volume lower for its interpersonal relationships. A cringeworthy scene where Tilly (Mary Wiseman) awkwardly attempts to flirt with a wet rag colleague she has an obvious crush on is about the worst of it. But the adorably chaste romance between Saru (Doug Jones) and T’Rina (Tara Rosling) continues apace and fares much better. The Kelpien chooses to resign his commission to take a job as a Federation ambassador that would keep him closer to his lady love, and in response, T’Rina offers a Hank Hill-esque marriage proposal. The writing isn’t subtle, but the sweetness and underplaying from the performers wins out.

Hell, even the reunion between Michael and Book is relatively restrained, if not necessarily overwhelming. In truth, since Book hasn’t been away from the show for any period of time, the sense of distance between them doesn’t fully land. But the sense of simultaneous familiarity and alienation between them does. While a situation involving couriers that just so happens to require Book’s expertise comes off a tad contrived, and the quips about past jobs and plans are a touch forced, I appreciate Discovery taking some more time to unpack their relationship after the schisms of season 4.

Who knows if their exchange about how there are some things you cannot move past will stick. The show has generally seemed intent to jam the couple together from the first time they met. But either way, the restraint in this early hour is admirable.

The same can't be said for newcomer Captain Rayner. If you’ve watched Star Trek for any length of time, Rayner is a familiar archetype. Rayner preaches risk-taking while Burnham wants to take caution. Rayner will do anything for the mission while Burnham will do anything to protect innocent lives. Rayner puts the objective first while Burnham puts her principles first.

There’s something to be said for the clash of ideals between a Starfleet captain who lived through the era of The Burn, versus one weaned on the headier days of the Federation. And Book’s joking pronouncements of what they have in common suggests a “We’re not so different, you and I” reconciliation somewhere down the road. But for now, the philosophical and personality conflicts between them come off as stock and shallow.

Nevertheless, the mission is set -- follow the clues to the Progenitor tech before it falls into the wrong hands. The players are in place, from Burnham and the Discovery crew, to Rayner and his team, to the pair of chummy smugglers racing to find the same prize. And rest assured, humble viewers, terrified at the prospect of serene outings full of boardroom debates and ethical meditations, there’s plenty of explosions and firefights and feats of derring-do to keep you occupied.

But as it embarks on its final season, Discovery stumbles over some of the same hurdles it struggled with from the beginning. Season 4 was a big step in the right direction, with a strong central idea and themes that vindicated the heart of the franchise. That earns this show plenty of leeway to prove it can do the same in its last at-bat. But with “Red Directive”’s hollow action, world-ending stakes, and strained canon ties, the ultimate leg of its five-year mission gets off to a rocky start.

[7.6/10] I appreciate that this one focused both on Crosshair’s recovery from his trauma, particularly when returning to the place where his heart fully moved, and on his tense reconnection with Hunter. Neither is easy.

For the latter, the show does some of its best work. There’s something very understated about Crosshair’s pain at returning to the location where he realized the Empire saw clones as disposable property. The way he’s tense even stepping onto the site comes through clearly to the audience. The way he looks around, the sense memory flooding back, is palpable. And my favorite moment in the episode is where he stacks the stormtrooper helmets on the storage container, a quiet tribute to his fallen comrades for no one but himself. Crosshair is taciturn, unemotional, but you can tell this place had an effect on him, one that he’s still reckoning with, and the show doesn’t flinch from that.

“The Return” doesn’t shy away from the lingering friction between him and Hunter either. In some places, the episode lays it on a bit thick, but there’s a core of truth that bears out. Hunter’s right in his reluctance to trust Crosshair after the way he turned on them and even helped hunt them down. And given that Crosshair went to work for the Empire, it’s not crazy for Hunter to wonder why Crosshair’s not telling them the whole story and harbor his suspicions.

Crosshair is equally justified in feeling like his onetime brother is giving him an unnecessarily hard time. He rightfully points out that, whatever the rest of the Bad Batch may think of him, Crosshair sent them the message about Omega. You can tell both that whatever his protestations, Crosshair still harbors plenty of affection for the young girl (who amusingly points out that she’s technically older than Crosshair), and that he blames his brothers for not acting to save her before she was captured.

Most importantly though, having seen Crosshair;s journey, we know that he’s not keeping details close to the vest because he’s trying to deceive his comrades. He’s holding things back because they hurt to talk about, because he’s as bred soldier who’s not equipped to express basic emotions, let alone complex ones like, “I thought I was being a good soldier, but I committed acts of evil and realized I was being used as a weapon to be used up and then discarded.” Both he and Hunter are sympathetic here in why they’re not on the same page.

Of course, what gets them on the same page is fighting a giant ice worm.

The defense and attack of the Dune-esque oversized wiggler is creditably done. The script sets up the threat subtly, lets it escalate, and gives our heroes goals both immediate and longer term that drive the action. The fights are generally well staged, with the worm looming over our heroes and causing a ruckus even when he’s not in frame. And Crosshair and HUnter having to work together, rebuilding their trust in the process, gives the action a point.

I’ll admit, after decades of watching Star Wars, and years of watching the animated series, I’m just inured to most of the action now unless it’s especially well done. The worm fight is the kind of interstitial battle where you know everyone’s going to make it out unscathed, and it’s just something action-packed to drive Hunter and Crosshair closer. So while I can appreciate the work, it’s easier for me to zone out during these moments.

Still, I like that through the work the pair come to trust each other a little more, and Omega, who’s still learning and growing, recognizes that it’ll take time, but that two people she loves are starting the rocky path to loving one another as brothers again. I’m more in it for the deep psychological examination of trauma and rebuilding of shattered relationships than I am fighting gigantic bugs at this point, but thankfully The Bad Batch has both.

(As an aside, I’d assumed that Crosshair’s shaky hand was a physical ailment or clone degradation he wasn’t allowing himself to treat out of some kind of penance. But now I’m beginning to suspect it’s psychosomatic, and a reflection of his internalized guilt over his past actions. I’m interested to find out!)

[7.7/10] I like how this episode dramatizes what’s changed about Omega in the time since she linked up with The Bad Batch, and what hasn’t.

What has is plain -- she’s a much more savvy player than when she started as an isolated ward on Kamino. She’s astute enough to recognize that she and Crosshair need disguises if they’re going to be skulking around the shady, Imp-infested confines of Lau. She’s experienced enough to know how to tempt a local functionary with a bribe in order to get her to bend the rules. And she’s skilled enough to be able to win the money she and Crosshair need to effectuate that bribe by popping into the local cantina and hustling patrons at cards.

Omega is no longer the naive, if capable young naif she was when she joined our heroes. Rather than being led around by the nose by Crosshair, she’s the one making plans and greasing the wheels when necessary. Seeing her seem so capable and assured in a tough environment is heartwarming in a strange way.

But it helps that she’s still the kind-hearted person we met when we started. Her tactics may have changed, but her principles haven't. The way she refuses to abandon Batcher, how she’s inclined to set the other impounded animals free, how she’s reluctant to use Crosshair’s brute force tactics because she doesn’t want to get anybody else hurt reveals the way in which, however more savvy Omega might be now, she hasn’t been corrupted. It’s a nice distillation of the pure qualities she started with and the greater talents and skills she’s internalized from her time with these commandos.

I’m also a fan of the planet Lao in this one. Lord knows Star Wars loves its corrupt backwaters, and the vibe of this one is familiar to anyone who’s seen the “underworld” and faraway places of the franchise in action before. But the addition of Captain Mann, the local Imperial administrator, elevates this one.

Normally Star Wars bad guys are snarling villains, but there’s something chillingly down-to-earth about Captain Mann (aided by a great vocal performance from Harry Lloyd). He scans as someone content to be a big fish in a small pond, taking advantage of his limited domain of authority to feather his own nest at every opportunity, and lean on the locals and visitors alike. I like him as a representation of the sort of everyday evil of the Empire. Not everyone is a megalomaniac striving for ultimate power. Some people are content with their lot to be able to abuse their position and get rich and comfortable on the back of mundane, local corruption and oppression.

His interactions with Omega are great, with the right layer of sliminess and cravenness to their interactions. They do a good job of advancing the larger story, since there’s the inherent tension of Omega and Crosshair trying to earn enough money to get off of Lau without attracting unwanted attention, something Captain Mann’s presence complicates. And him cornering our heroes provides a good excuse for Omega to make good on her “free the animals” impulses, and for Crosshair to give into his “shoot first and ask questions later” approach for a strong action sequence. It’s a little convenient, but Captain Mann getting his karmic comeuppance from one of the animals he imprisoned makes for some tasty just desserts.

The reunion at the end is also touching. In real time, it hasn’t been that long since our heroes have been separated from one another. But given that it’s been a whole year for viewers, and that the show committed to nearly four full episodes with separate adventures for everyone, everyone reuniting feels earned and meaningful. Wrecker and Omega hugging and rekindling their sibling bond is sweet; and Hunter embracing her as well, with his fatherly air, is no less piercing. You get the plain sense of how hard both sides have been fighting to get back to one another, which leads to great catharsis when they do.

The reunion with Crosshair is, naturally, a bit more complicated. But I relish that complication. The appearance of their betrayer, albeit one who helped save Omega, really adds to the mixed emotions of the moment. It’s well-staged and framed too, with the two ships landing on a remote planet, each a mirrored beacon of light across a dark expanse. It helps you symbolize and internalize the distance that Omega and her brothers have traversed to get here, and the emotional distance that still remains between Crosshair and his brothers.

Overall, this was a strong episode of the show that develops a quality new locale for the Star Wars pantheon, uses it to showcase how Omega has grown while hanging onto her best qualities, and earns a touching reunion among the main characters.

[7.8/10] I’m going to offer “Whistlespeak” some high praise -- it feels like a meat and potatoes episode of 1990s Star Trek, updated for the modern day. The visit to a pre-warp planet where our heroes have to blend-in, the moral dilemma of whether to observe the Prime Directive or save the lives of innocents and friends, the contemplation of what belief means in the shadow of tremendous scientific advancement, were all the bread and butter of The Next Generation, and Voyager and sometimes even Deep Space Nine. Seeing Discovery replicate those rhythms, and in some instances even improve on them, is a sight for sore eyes after an up and down season.

For me, this is a better spin on the type of story TNG aimed to tell in “Who Watches the Watchers”, where Starfleet officers were captured by a community of Bronze Age proto-Vulcans, and Picard had to save his crewmembers without letting the locals believe he was a god. “Whistlespeak” isn’t exactly the same. But the principles, of pretending to be a local, rescuing an ally from their potentially deadly practices, and reconciling your advancement with their beliefs are at the heart of both episodes.

The premise sees Burnham and company following the trail of an ancient Denobulan(!!!) scientist to a comparatively primitive planet called Hemenlo, to find the next clue. To secure it, they must blend in with the locals and work their way to a weather tower disguised as a mountain than Hemenloites revere as a holy place. That means taking part in a ritualistic race, meant to mirror one of the community’s hallowed myths, where the winner gets to tread the holy ground and complete the ritual to ask the gods for rain.

It’s a good setup! One of the best parts of Star Trek has long been the “new life and new civilizations” part of the mantra. While the outlines are familiar, meeting a new forehead-accented community with a unique form of communication, vibration-based curatives, and their own distinctive set of cultural practices is invigorating. The premise of Burnham and Tilly needing to hunt down the clue without being discovered or disrupting the locals’ rites adds a sense of tension to the proceedings. And as in classic Trek, we get a parent and child, named Ovaz and Rava, to help bring the planet to life in a personal sense, each of whom gets meaningful interactions with our heroes.

For Tilly, that means running the famed Helemna thirst race and bonding with young Rava. In truth, the show has underbaked the story of Tilly’s struggles to find the right connection with her students at Starfleet Academy. But I like that her interactions with Rava, both before and after the big reveal, show that she’s capable of forging that kind of mentorship connection. It’s a simple gesture, but her choosing to refill Rava’s bowl, re-qualifying her to finish the race, is gracious and powerful. Seeing her compassion, and the two women lifting one another up to reach the finish line, does a nice job of selling why Tilly makes sense as a Starfleet instructor at a time of uncertainty for her.

Honestly, the interpersonal interactions, which are typically a weakness for Discovery in my book, were one of the highlights here. If nothing else, this episode brings back the friendship between Burnham and Tilly in a way that's shown and not told that I love. The two have an easy, playful rapport that befits the show’s longest-running friendship. Their joking with each other, banter, and breaking all the rules to save one another fits the two people who’ve been in each other’s corner for the longest. Hell, even their racing together comes with echoes of the famous “Disco” shirts and jogs along Discovery’s corridor.

It’s not limited to that, though. One of the best parts of this episode for me is Adira getting their chance to step onto the bridge, and pushing past their nervousness with the help of Commander Rayner. I like it on two fronts. On the one hand, Adira has sneakily become one of my favorite characters on Discovery. They are basically what Wesley Crusher was meant to be -- a talented but untested young ensign -- except that Adira is more endearing through their anxiousness and stumbles, which are more relatable than the young wunderkind on the Enterprise-D.

At the same time, this is a good episode for Rayner, clearly changed after the events of “Face the Strange”, the way his usual calm but firm demeanor is used not to demean his subordinates or give them the short shrift, but rather to show a steely confidence in Adira, makes him feel like a good Team Dad rather than a recovering Team Jerk. It’s a good look for all involved.

Not for nothing, this may also be the most I’ve liked the interactions between Dr. Culber and Stamets. In truth, I’ve never fully bought their relationship. It’s long seemed to miss that spark that turns on-screen relationships from script-mandated pairings into something the audience can invest in. But I don’t know what to say -- they felt like a genuine married couple here, familiar in their way with one another, a little playful but caring, and tender in an area where they’re nervous to tread. There’s a relaxed sweetness between them that we don’t always see, and it helps sell Dr. Culber’s ongoing storyline of personal discovery.

I’ll admit, I have my qualms about that storyline. Star Trek is no stranger to spiritual awakenings (hello Deep Space Nine fans!), and my assumption is that it will tie into the ongoing storyline in a plot-relevant, not just personal way over time. But I’ll admit to appreciating the humanist spirit of the franchise, and I’m always a little leery when creative teams veer away from it in ways that don’t feel fully baked. (Hello Voyager fans!) Still, both Stamets and Book telling Dr. Culber not to fret over his newfound sense of attunement to something greater, but rather just enjoy it and let it wash over him, is a solid start.

That humanist spirit is more alive in Burnham’s adventures down on Helemna. It becomes necessary to break the Prime Directive and talk some future sense into Ovaz when it turns out the prize for winning the race isn’t just a visit to the sacred mountain, but rather the “privilege” of becoming a sacrifice to the gods in the hopes that they’ll bring rain. When it’s Tilly who’s suddenly on the chopping block (or, more accurately, the suffocation block), Michael is willing to throw the rules in the can like so many great Starfleet captains before.

I appreciate the twist! The episode runs a bit long for my tastes. But I like the fact that this triumphant moment of Tilly’s kindness and camaraderie with a young but aspirational soul quickly turns into a horror movie when you realize what their “reward” for winning is. The secret weather station containing a vacuum chamber that becomes a sort of altar creates a ticking clock as Tilly and Rava lose oxygen. And it creates urgency not only for Michael to disobey the Prime Directive in the name of her friend, but to convince Ovaz of the truth so that he’ll open the door and free her and his child.

What follows has shades not unlike the best part of “Who Watches the Watchers” -- a Picard-esque conversation between the wizened space-farer and the local mystic about what’s really going on. (Heck, Burnahm even shows Ovaz a view of the planet from above, a Jean-Luc classic.) I appreciate the idea of Michael rooting her pitch in both the practical and the personal. She explains to an already devastated Ovaz that his people can have their rain regardless of the ritual, and on the personal front, that Rava doesn't need to die for it. The explanation of the weather station and technology on the one hand,a dn the personal appeal on the other,shows the best of Michael.

And despite the on-the-nose “Here’s the lesson we learned from our treasure hunt today” ending that would make even Kirk blush, I like the theme about the evolution of belief more than the tacked-on theme of being cautious with technology. Burnham doesn't use her knowledge or technological advancement to invalidate Ovaz’s gods or tell him his rituals are no good. But she also recognizes that there is a hunger for the community’s beliefs to evolve and grow alongside the needs of the people and their evolving view of the world. The notion that ritual and tradition can sit comfortably alongside advancement is a heartening one, and it’s delivered with a blend of high-minded philosophy and personal compassion, and understanding nuance that would befit The Next Generation.

This is the kind of thing I want more of from Discovery even as we only have four episodes left. Even though it’s connected to the larger chase, this episode could stand on its own. It dusts off old franchise tropes but finds new spins on them, updating the lessons for current problems. And most of all, it puts our heroes hand-in-hand with another, with believable relationships and interactions among both the regular cast and the guest stars. As the episode’s own moral suggests, it’s never too late to keep the good from what’s old and blend it with the best of what’s new, and in an episode like “Whistlespeak”, it’s nice to see the show taking its own advice.

[7.5/10] Let’s start with the good. Ventress is back! Since the 2-D Clone Wars show, she ahs been one of the coolest parts of the animated corner of the Star Wars universe, and so it’s nice to see her get a chance to step into this modern era of it.

She also makes a ton of sense as an erstwhile mentor for Omega and someone with a strange concordance with the Bad Batch. She knows better than anyone what it’s like to be manipulated by forces within the Empire, to be kept as someone’s side project, to have abilities you’re not quite sure what to do with. She also knows how being Force Sensitive marks you, makes you an object of interest, a tool to be used, by greater forces. The way she wants to both help Omega, and also protect her and keep ehr away from all of this, speaks to the difficult circumstances Ventress has been through and come out the other side. (And there’s some nice parallels to the main ideas of Ahsoka in that.)

And in her interactions with Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker, she carries on the theme from the 3D Clone Wars show -- that the war they all devoted themselves to was a tragedy, one where they were all used and spit out. The sense of knowing what that's like, of coming out uncertain of your loyalties and broadened in your perspective or right and wrong, good and evil, makes her of a piece with what Clone Force 99 experienced during and after the war, Crosshair especially.

Like Shand, she is a bit of a wildcard, someone who doesn’t fit neatly in the alignment chart. But she’s also someone who’s seen this all before, and is ready to impart her wisdom to the Bad Batch, and especially to their young ward. I like that idea a lot, especially when it comes to the costs of being force sensitive, not just the ability to lift rocks and calm angry beasts.

Admittedly, the calming angry beasts part is cool. The episode is a mixed bag visually. It is cool to see Ventress duck and doge through our heroes like the badass that she is, and swing around a lightsaber once more. (And, not for nothing, it’s cool to see her with hair not unlike Merrin’s in Fallen Order as a fellow sister.) But the herky jerky style gives the fight movements a certain janky, stop-motion vibe that detracts from the encounter.

That said, her and Omega’s rumble with the kraken is a winner. The design of the kraken is striking, with a multicolored carapace, alien beak, and swarming tentacles. And the fact that Ventress bests it not through brute strength or deft dodging, but rather through forging a Force-friendly connection with the creature, illustrates both her mastery of the Force, but also her lesson to Omega at the same time.

So as a vaunted return for Ventress and an event of “testing” Omega’s ability, “The Harbinger” succeeds. True to the title, she also works as someone whose warnings of what’s coming setup grave things to come in a way that intrigues and terrifies, with poor Omega in the sights of the jackals.

But there’s a few problems. The smallest of them is that this seems to contradict the Dark Disciple novels, in another case of the television wing of Star Wars overwriting its literary wing. Can you come up with some retcon or explanation for the discrepancy? Sure. Ventress even has a cheeky line about it. But yet again, after pretending that everything’s canon, the powers that be once again prove that there is an unspoken hierarchy. So enjoy those written tales for their own independent worth, but don’t expect them to be the tail wagging the dog of Lucasfilm’s film and T.V. offerings.

The medium problem is that most Star Wars fan could assuredly guess what “M-count” meant by this point, so having Ventress come down to confirm it doesn’t mean very much. Yes, there’s no reason for the Bad Batch to know that, but bringing in characters to solve mysteries the audience already knows the answer to, without any sense of foreboding or tragic irony, makes the plot mechanics feel perfunctory.

Last but not least, not everyone needs to be Force Sensitive! It happened in the Sequel Trilogy (sort of). It happened in Ashoka. Hell, it pretty much happened with Leia. Why can't some major characters just stay (relative) normies and revel in their achievements that way. That ship has already pretty well sailed with Omega at this point, but I don’t know, I wish we could get more characters in Star Wars who are special and cool without them secretly being revealed to be force-sensitive. It runs into the “All of Peter Parker’s friends end up with spider powers” problems that makes the universe feel smaller and cheaper.

Still, I like where this lands, with the idea that in the age of the Empire, force-sensitivity is less a blessing than a curse. The training scenes with Ventress and Omega are a little too generic, which is part of my problem. But I appreciate the reveal that they’re also part of a ruse, something to tell Omega that she isn’t a Jedi, and try to convince her, and the much more skeptical Bad Batch, to spare her what an answer in the other direction would mean. “Someone who is force-sensitive, but doesn’t realize, and goes untrained to avoid becoming a target” is a much more interesting story than the umpteenth “Rough-around-the-edges young learner is schooled in the ways of the Force” story.

All that aside, Omega still represents a certain light in this world. She’s willing to give Ventress a second chance, much as she was for Crosshair. She sees the good in Ventress despite her past, while Ventress tries to spare Omega from the bad that could lie in her future. It’s an interesting game of contrast and compare, and makes “The Harbinger” a good outing for The Bad Batch, even as I still lament some of its problems.

[6.3/10] There’s a story worth telling in Killers of the Flower Moon. The tale of an indigenous population being murdered for their oil money, of state and local authorities ignoring blatant murders because it serves their prejudices and interests, and the feds finally stepping in after so much blood has already been shed, is ripe for the cinematic treatment. What such an event in the not-so-distant past says about our society, and the people involved, could make for an incredible film.

This is not that film. It has the wrong protagonist, the wrong pacing, and only intermittently hits the most fascinating and poignant parts of the story.

The film centers on Ernest Burkhart, a suggestible numbskull. Ernest deliberately and unwittingly does the bidding of his uncle, W.K. Hale, a local operator who’s ingratiated himself into the Osage Nation in Oklahoma at the same time he’s conniving ways to knock them off so he and his family can inherit their oil rights. As part of these machinations, Hale nudges Ernest to court and eventually marry Molly Kyle, an Osage woman with full rights and a family full of people who’ve been the target of Hale’s murderous plots.

Burkhart is our entree into this world and the fulcrum at the center of the movie, and the big problem is that he’s not especially deep or interesting. At best, he evokes the same sense of co-star Robert de Niro’s character in The Irishman, a hapless but good-natured goon who finds himself falling into bad company and regretting where his “just do what your told and keep your head down” mentality leads him.

But there’s very little depth to Ernest. He’s a dope at the beginning, and he’s a dope at the end. He seems to harbor genuine love for Mollie and his children with her, but otherwise he’s just a schmuck who seems too stupid and influenced to fully comprehend his choices or their consequences, which makes him pretty tepid and unengaging as a central character. That might be overcome by the acting, but star Leonardo DiCaprio gives the same affected, labored performance you’ve seen him give in a dozen other movies. While not bad, necessarily, it doesn’t have the lived-in character to make you invest in a thin, flat character who takes up too much of the spotlight.

It’s especially frustrating when Lily Gladstone’s Mollie is right there. The tale of a woman who loves her husband, but knows he’s connected to people who only want her family’s money, while trying to convince stodgy government officials to intercede on behalf of a group they either don’t care about or are actively working against, could be incredible. In places, we see glimpses from her perspective, or delve deeper into how the Osage Nation of 1920s Oklahoma reacted to all of this, and it’s the best part of the movie. Filtering it through Ernest’s perspective instead feels like a sad, missed opportunity.

It doesn’t hurt that in a film with multiple Oscar-winning actors, Gladstone gives the best performance in the film. There’s an understated subtlety to Mollie’s responses and reactions that evinces a sense of layers otherwise missing from most of the film’s players. A minor change in her expression, a simple shift in her gaze, can communicate more than the film’s bigger stars can in dramatic monologues. Gladstone steals the show, and the only shame in it is that director/co-writer Martin Scorsese doesn’t lean more into her character as the focus of the piece.

That assumes there is a focus to the piece. While ostensibly adapting the story of the Osage murders, Scorsese and company leave no bit of texture excluded, no cinematic cul de sac unexamined, no narrative rabbit hole unexplored. Some of the inclusions are good! The chance to see glimpses of Osage rituals and traditions amid the broader events is engrossing, and you can understand the filmmakers’ desire to share them with a bigger audience.

But many of them feel like wheel-spinning in a film that barely gets going until it’s two-thirds of the way through. Unlike Scorsese’s best films, this is not a movie with a sense of build or progression. Killers of the Flower Moon establishes early that Ernest, Hale, and Hale’s operatives are steadily taking out those with oil rights, and then it just keeps happening for two hours.

There’s very little difference, very little progression, very little interest as Burkhart acts the fool and Hale and enacts his plan in the same, undifferentiated fashion for the bulk of the movie. There’s no tension or intrigue to it, because there’s little sense of growth or change, let alone mystery, as to what’s happening. The notion of Ernest feeling divided loyalties to the woman he loves and the complicated father figure doing some bad things could be worthwhile! (Hello Departed fans!) The notion of him feeling trapped by the authorities but unsure how to unravel the net with either family could also be an idea worth exploring. (Hello Goodfellas fans!) Sadly, Killers of the Flower Moon never really capitalizes on any of this, instead offering reheated versions of the same thing for much of the movie with little in the way of differentiation or momentum.

To the point, god help the pacing here. Even in the film’s most interesting stretch (which is basically when the feds are working through their investigation and tightening the net), Scorsese and company let scenes drag and drag. You could fairly argue that Scorsese needs to trim the fat at a big picture level, jettisoning scenes and sequences that might be alright on their own but don’t add much to Killer of the Flower Moon’s larger project. But even in important, meaningful, gotta-have-’em scenes, the conversations lurch and lumber on, while the emotion and energy in any given moment drains away. Tighter discipline in the editing bay could have salvaged some of these scenes, but as is, they, and the movie as a whole, feel bloated and ungainly.

This all makes me sound more down on the movie than I really am. Most of the film is solid at worst, with a few keen bright spots. (The clever radio show epilogue is the most inventive and affecting highlight on that front.) At this stage in his career, Scorsese is a master of his craft able to attract some of the best talents in the business. As a result, there’s some memorable, textured performances in even smaller roles, impressive imagery in sequences like the ones where Hale burns up his property for the insurance proceeds, and even a few piercing human moments between Mollie and Ernest as they weather this storm together and then apart.

In that vein, Scorsese also deserves credit for telling the story, with his heart clearly in the right place even if his focus isn’t. Apart from the quality of the art, using your clout and platform to shine a light on an under-recognized injustice that is a metonym for broader problems in the treatment of indigenous communities is commendable. The events depicted here are both galling and horrifying, and the subject matter is worth the time, even if the execution leaves much to be desired.

But you do a disservice to that worthy cause by centering its fictionalization on an uninteresting dolt, and burying it in three-and-a-half hours’ worth of turgid cinematic bloat. Killers of the Flower Moon isn’t outright bad by any stretch. There’s too many talented people across the production for that to happen. But what’s maddening about the film is that amid its missteps and flaws, you can glimpse the outline of a better movie, one which shifts its perspective, kills its darlings, and honors the tragedy, but also the humanity, of the people unjustly cut down, rather than laying its focus on shaming their betrayers.

[6.4/10] There is character in Star Trek: Discovery; it just gets squeezed out by action, exposition, more action, the obligatory table-setting, and then for a change of pace, a little more action.

I don’t mind a little high octane excitement in my Star Trek. Even the measured dignity of The Next Generation got into fisticuffs and firefights on multiple occasions. It’s a part of the franchise that goes all the way back to Kirk’s double ax handles on unsuspecting baddies.

But in Discovery’s penultimate episode, it feels like the point, rather than a side dish. As we head into the series finale, I care far more about whether everyone’s connections to one another stand than whether our heroes will inevitably overcome the challenge du jour, let alone the season’s overall arc. But there’s just not as much time for it when the show has to move all the pieces around the board so that they’re ready for next week’s installment, and try to keep the audience’s attention amid explosions and rampant random danger, as its number one priority.

I want to see Stamets and Dr. Culbert feel uneasy about Adira going on their first potentially deadly mission, and for Adira to rise to the occasion. But we can't! We have to spend time escaping from a black hole! I want to see Tilly convince Rayner it’s okay to sit in the captain’s chair, but there’s no time to develop that idea because the away team has to get stuck in a fiery exhaust port. God help me, I even want to see Burnham and Book express their regrets to one another, but we can only have a minute of it because they need to get into a fistfight with some random Breen soldiers.

The one story thread in “Lagrange Point” that gets any room to breathe is Saru and T’Rina’s parting. While the charge between the two of them has diminished somewhat since the show finally pulled the trigger on their relationship, there remains something cute about the quaint little couple. And even as the dialogue sounds stilted, the notion that both understand a devotion to service, since it’s part of their mutual admiration society, to T’Rina would only encourage Saru to seek a diplomatic solution in a dangerous situation, is a heartening one.

Even there, though, the time spent with the couple bouncing off one another is limited because we have to spend so much time with Federation potentates laying out the details of the byzantine situation with Discovery, the Progenitor tech, and two Breen factions so that they don’t have to bother explaining it next week. It is nice to see President Rillak again, and I appreciate that amid so many explosions and deadly situations, we do see some true-to-form attempts at a diplomatic solution. But whether it's in the Federation HQ boardroom, or the bridge of Discovery, or even the Breen warship, there’s so much robotic talk that only exists to get the audience up to speed on what’s happening, and it quickly becomes exhausting.

I get that, especially before a finale, you want to make sure everyone at home and on screen is on the same page. But it contributes to the lack of felt humanity that has, frankly, suffused Discovery since the beginning.

What kills me is that we get pieces of it! Or at least attempts at it! I am quietly over the moon for Adira coming into their own with smarts and courage to help save the day. You can see how much the attaboys mean to them, and Blu del Barrio sells it well. Rayner and Tilly’s grumpy/sunshine dynamic really clicks here, and as extra as Tilly’s dialogue is sometimes, her stumbling line-delivery makes her feel like a real person and not just an exposition-delivery mechanism like so many characters here. As corny as it is, I even like the playfulness we get between Book and Burnham once they’ve rushed through their personal issues and are instantly back to flirting for whatever reason.

Little of this is perfect. The same sterile approach to the aesthetic and lines and sometimes the performances, that's become Discovery’s house style, still weighs the show down. But by god, they’re trying! You catch glimpses of looser, more authentically personal interactions that would help make these characters feel real. (It’s part of what elevates Strange New Worlds despite that show spinning off of Discovery.) Instead, it’s crowded out by all the explosions and narrative heavy-machinery that “Lagrange Point” seems more interested in.

At least we get a good old fashioned wacky infiltration mission. The humor here is a bit zany for my tastes, and considering that this is supposedly a perilous mission the good guys might not return from, there’s rarely any sense of real danger. Burnham and company bluff through most situations with ease, and even when they don’t, the overacting Moll doesn’t kill them or otherwise fully neutralize them the way you’d expect. This is, as T’Pring might say, mainly a dose of hijinks. I like hijinks! But it detracts from the seriousness of what you’re pitching to the audience.

So does going to the well of dust-ups and destruction ten times an episode. Everything comes too easy for our heroes anyway in “Lagrange Point”. But even if it hadn't, even if you don’t just know that everything’s going to work out because the plot requires it to, the grand finale of ramming Discovery into the Breen shuttle bay and beaming the crew and the MacGuffin lands with minimal force. We’ve already seen scads of action and explosions in the first half of the episode, and again, the imagery is sterile and unreal, which makes it harder to emotionally invest. Your big honking set pieces won’t have the same impact if you’ve done something similar in scope and peril every ten minutes or so for no particular reason.

“Lagrange Point” still has some charms. Even though it’s inevitable, Michael and Moll being stuck in some liminal space offers an intriguing endgame. Rayner finding the self-assurance to sit in the big chair again exudes a rousing level of confidence to the crew and the audience. His chance to face his Breen tormentor has just as much promise. Him, Saru, Adira, and more having their minor moments of triumph is all a good thing.

Unfortunately, these gems have to be carefully pried out of a dull firmament full of rote descriptions of events seemingly meant to untangle the convoluted narrative knot Discovery has tied for itself and unavailing action meant to nudge a half-asleep audience awake. It’s all largely watchable, but easy to zone out in explosive set pieces and boardroom scenes alike in between those precious moments of character. All I can hope for is that this is a necessary evil to clear the decks for the series’ swan song, and that once this detritus is out of the way, there will be better things to come.

[7.1/10] This was my least favorite entry in Tales of the Empire. How did Barriss Offee die? Well, she was randomly stabbed in a big metaphor-laden cave...I guess.

To be more charitable, she dies trying to stall an Inquisitor long enough for an innocent family trying to escape the Empire’s collection of force-sensitive children to get away. That part’s all good. The idea that she broke away from the Inquisitors and managed to become a healer and source of solace and protection on a distant world is cool. But this is an ending that left me unsatisfied with ehr story.

Again, I get it. The cave is a big metaphor! Bariss gives ominous warnings about fear having taken over for Lynn! Lytnn runs in more focused on random attacks and anger than on sense! Even though Bariss gets killed, she offers forgiveness and a warning that it’s not too late to change! I get it, it's just not done particularly artfully. The metaphor is heavy-handed, and Bariss doesn't feel like a real person; instead just a sermon delivery system.

The episode is not without its charms. The fight where Barriss simply dodges all of Lyn’s attacks is pretty cool, and I like the idea of Barriss having become a sort of monk in exile, helping those who come to her and sparing as many as she can. This is just an ignoble end that doesn't amount to much. Maybe we get some sort of redemption for Lyn down the line (I don’t know when this short is supposed to take place relative to Obi-Wan, but considering I’d forgotten who Lyn was when this little arc started, I can't say I’m super invested in that.

The hint that Barriss might still be in contact with Ahsoka (or maybe Cere Junda?) is a tantalizing one. I half expected us to get some kind of teaser at the end with Ahsoka receiving that family of fugitives. But instead, we get something that has spiritualism but not really substance. It’s a fine enough but disappointing end to what’s otherwise been a great set of vignettes.

[7.8/10] Another strong outing. As we continue down the path of Morgan Elsbeth’s backstory, this is a sharp vignette to show us how she first connected with Thrawn.

From a pure practical standpoint, I appreciate the fact that, whether she realizes it or not, she has to work her way up through his goons. An exchange of words with Captain Pallaeon (featuring Xander Berkley reprising his live action role in The Mandalorian) to establish her credentials, and a war of weapons with Rukh (featuring franchise royalty Warwick Davis reprising his role as Rukh from Rebels) to establish her prowess as a fighter unwittingly earns her an audience with Thrawn herself.

I like their dynamic. Candidly, I didn’t always love Thrawn in Rebels. But I appreciate his characterization here, as someone who thinks bigger than just the Empire, who sees the flaws and vulnerability in it even as he’s working to sustain it. He recognizes how many individuals within the Empire’s leadership structure are there out of pure greed or pure fear. But he recognizes not only a capacity to think bigger in Morgan, but an objective, a drive, beyond the venal or quotidian wants of the rest of the Empire’s ossified commanders.

That drive is revenge. That too is prosaic in its way. But it’s also something that led Morgan to rebuild herself, to find a backwater planet like Corvus (the planet where Mando meets Ahsoka in The Mandalorian), and turn it into a built-up base of operations that the Imperials themselves want to harvest. You can see how that drive has lit a fire under her, making her capable and distinctive in an apparatus without much ingenuity.

I also like that this is a moment of self doubt, for Morgan and for her followers. The sense of anger on Corvus, where the workers who untied around her in search of wealth and prosperity turn resentful and threaten revolution when she fails to sway the Empire to take her up on her ship-designs, shows how much Morgan has riding on this. She banked her reputation and maybe her safety on this ploy. Likewise, her disgust that try as she might, these aren’t her people, only continues to fuel her resentment.

Thrawn is someone who can channel that, who can provide resources, who can see not only talent but distinctiveness. It’s plain from the tone of their team-up here that this is a deal with the devil. There’s something ominous about Thrawn’s fighters lurching into view, and the scared murmurs of the citizenry. But to get what she wants, Morgan will work with whomever she needs to, and do whatever it takes. That's what Thrawn's counting on. And it makes for another strong chapter in the story of how Elsbeth became the witch we would come to know later in the timeline.

[7.8/10] When I saw in the trailer that Tales of the Empire was going to focus on Morgan Elsbeth, I sighed a little. The character, who debuted on-screen in The Mandalorian and came to prominence in the Ahsoka show. She was something of a big nothing in those shows, coming with that sort of flat blandness that, sadly, pervaded a lot of Dave Filoni’s follow up to Star Wars: Rebels. So to be frank, I was less than enthused at the idea that this rare treat, a Clone Wars-esque follow-up in the format of Tales of the Jedi, was going to focus on a character I didn’t really care about.

Well, kudos to Filoni and company, because this installment made me care about her. Some of that is just the visuals. It’s hard not to see a veritable child, running scared across the arid landscape of Dathomir, her and her mother fleeing from an incarnation of General Grievous who is the most frightening he’s been since Tartakovsky’s Clone Wars, and not feel for them.

The terror of the Separatist attack on the Ngihtsisters’ home base, the trauma of watching your mother cut down by their chief butcher, the panic of running and hiding while killers are on your trail, all give us a strong sense, both in terms of imagery and emotion, of the crucible that Morgan was forged in.

But I also like her brief refuge with the Mountain Clan. I’ll be frank -- I don’t remember much about the mountain clan. I think Savage Opress trained there before he was juiced up by the Nightsisters? But I don't remember exactly, or whether we know the matron and her children from before.

Either way, it works on its own, and that's what matters. After the glimpses we saw in The Clone Wars, and the visit to Dathomir in Jedi: Fallen Order, it’s nice to not only see the planet on screen once more, but to get another peek into its culture. The idea that there are people of this place who are not like the Nightsisters, not like Maul or Savage, who are nonetheless drawn into the depths of this war, add both dimension and tragedy to the fate of the planet and the communities who reside there.

I also appreciate the introduction of Nali, a young member of the Mountain Clan who is presented as a fulcrum between the path of war and vengeance stoked from within Morgan, to the path of peace and patience, preached by the matron. So much of Star Wars comes down to meaningful choices, about whether to give into anger and hatred and seek violent retribution, or whether to center oneself on calmness and redemption and no more than defense. Framing that as not just a choice for the Lukes of the world, but for the ordinary people caught up in extraordinary events like Nali, helps drive the momentousness and universality of these decisions home.

And you see both sides. You understand why Morgan is the way she is and wants to be prepared for the droids to come attacking once more. After what she’s been through, what she’s seen, being prepared for battle is natural. Wanting revenge is natural. The way she tries to prepare her fellow young women with weapons and fighting is understandable, given what she’s lost.

ANd in truth, the matron seems pretty naive. When she tells her daughter not to give into that strain of belligerence, and to trust that they’ll be okay, it sounds like a leader putting their head in the sand. So when the droids do show up, and she destroys them all with a mystical ball of light, it’s a hell of a turn. Her moral, that just because someone doesn’t seek out the fight doesn’t mean they’re unable, is a strong one, in the moral and spiritual tradition of the franchise.

It also sets Morgan on a path of tragedy. This being Star Wars, it’s framed in prophecy and vision into the future. But more in keeping with that ethical and spiritual bent, it says that Morgan has chosen the path to darkness, or more accurately, that it’s been thrust upon her by these devastating circumstances, and the road she walks will be a bleak one from now on. Poor Nali walked that path and was killed for it. We know from other shows that Morgan survives for some time yet, but we also know, from the fates of those who’ve walked a similar path, that it rarely ends well for them. Either way, I didn’t care about her path before, but I do now.

[7.6/10] Let’s start with the most obvious thing -- Bastion’s backstory is wildly confusing. So Mr. Sinister infected Nathan Summers with a techno-organic virus, and then Scott and Madelyne sent him into the future, and somehow that created human-sentinel hybrids (or the human-sentinel hybrids evolved separately?) and the successor to Master Mold sent a similar virus back in time to (I guess?) the 1970s to infect Sebastian’s dad, who then conceived Bastion, who has visions of the future that he’s now trying to create?

Who fucking knows? The show does its best to explain, but the whole thing is about as clear as mud. I have a high tolerance for comic book-y outlandish when it comes to superhero storytelling, but this is some Kingdom Hearts-level time travel insanity. What the damn hell.

But you know what? It doesn’t necessarily matter, because you get the gist of what Bastion is going for here. Regardless of how it happened, he can envision a future (or came from the future? Or has Nimrod’s memories of the future? Again, who fucking knows) where mutants vastly outnumber and eventually overwhelm the human population. So his idea is to enhance the human population, make them android hybrids the way he was, so that they can turn the tables and usher in the “utopia” that Cable has witnessed.

I like the concept and how it turns the tables on our heroes. The X-Men are used to being technically superior but socially ostracized. The idea of the opposite happening, beings who are more powerful, claiming that they are the next evolution, changes the dynamic. We’re used to the X-men fighting mutant supremacists or angry humans afraid of being left in the dust. Fighting a new “species” who claims to want to leave mutants in the evolutionary dust flips the script in a compelling way.

The problem is that the techn-zombies, and how far and wide they’ve been seeded without memories, is another loony touch to me. You’re telling me all of these people went in for Bastion’s treatment? And they’ve lived their lives blissfully unaware for so long. And that no one asked questions fr discovered them until now. Again, I don’t ask for much in the way of plausibility from an outsized show like X-Men ‘97, but the whole thing plays like a random Pod People/Cylon/Zombie twist for the sake of setting up a giant set piece than anything that makes sense on even a generous narrative plausibility scale.

But it’s a darn good set piece! I’m already a little tired of the Jubilee/Sunspot pairing, but him showing off his powers to save her mid-flight is a nice beat. And I especially appreciate how damning it is that, when confronted by her son’s abilities in front of shareholders, she’d rather sell him out to respectable-seeming monsters than own that her child is different. Again, in many ways, Roberto’s mom is worse than the openly bigoted parents we’ve seen in X-Men, because she accepts her son personally, but cares more about appearances and finances than his well-being.

I don’t know if I’d call Cyclops the epitome of great parenting, but he’s at least better than Roberto’s mom! The show doesn’t give the Summers family subplot that much room to breathe, but their mini-arc is good nonetheless. The idea of Jean having Madelyn’s memories and not knowing quite what to do with them is especially intriguing. Nightcrawler has really climbed the ranks of my favorite characters in this, and the way he describes one’s personal history as recollection plus emotion is both poetic and thought-provoking.

Her, Cyclops, and Cable jumping out of a fighter jet in a sports car, racing away from a flying horde of zombie androids, and bursting through a cave via Scott’s eye-beams is not exactly a typical family outing. And yet it’s surprisingly wholesome when they work together and become the world’s most extraordinary blended family in the process. Plus, I’m not made of stone. Them leaping into a cool pose while the car explodes behind them is eminently fistpump-worthy.

And hey, as much as it’s just mindless action, watching Wolverine and Nightcrawler team up, blades in hand (or in hands, or tail) to beat up the bad guys is hella cool. Even when the plotting and character beats get jumbled, X-Men ‘97 can reliably deliver the fireworks.

But there’s something under the hood here. The show makes Bastion an earnest villain of sorts, one who does terrible things to mutants both physically and by reputation. But he’s also someone who thinks he’s a dinosaur stopping an asteroid. It mirrors the way real life individuals justify bigotry and extermination with the idea that they’re just trying to fend of their own “replacement.” His excuses and self-justifications make him seem extra-pernicious, but to his own point, different than the mustache-twirling baddies like Mister Sinister.

I also appreciate Dr. Cooper’s change-of-heart, realizing the horror of what she’s been a part of after Genosha and wanting to make amends. Her releasing Mangeot as penance is a strong choice for a character who’s been a bit generic to date. Her speech talking about how moments of triumph and acceptance for the oppressed fall to ruin so often that they’re sad but not surprising, and go ignored by those unaffected, is gutting, and her “Magneto was right” climax is terrifying. Magento going to one of the poles and unleashing an electromagnetic wave that wipes out all power (and the technorganic goons) is a deft way to halt the problem du jour while also setting up a reckoning to come as “the war” begins.

And oh yeah, Xavier’s back. As I’ve said before, I'm pretty sanguine about that happening. Comic book resurrections happen all the time, and Xavier was tastefully written out at the end of the original series. I’m loath to see the show go back on it. But hey, I’d be lying if hearing him say, “To me, my X-men” again wasn’t rousing.

Overall, the plotting and practical elements of this one get more than a little off the rails, but the action-heavy parts are superb, and the reflections on intellectual fig leaves for bigotry and how easy it is for those unaffected to ignore the worst of it leave this one with a lot to like nonetheless.

[7.5/10] The big question for any legacy sequel/revival is simple -- does it feel enough like the original? And the answer for X-Men ‘97” is...sort of!

The animation is weird, man. Sometimes, it’s tremendous. The sequence where our heroes plummet from the sky amid a Sentinel attack, replete with last minute rescues and an eye-blast landing from Cyclops, is kinetic and thrilling as all hell. The throwdown with Master Mold and his coterie of malevolent automatons gets the blood pumping with all sorts of cool X-Men powers on display. And there are plenty of “This makes no sense, but it’s made of awesome, so it gets a pass” moments like Beast controlling one of the bots from the inside. In terms of raw octane, the animators get it done.

But hoo boy, the character animation is all over the place. Sometimes the X-Men have an expressiveness that outstrips the original show, and sometimes they feel like bizarre stiff corpses who are being electrified at random intervals. Jubilee and Sunspot’s dance is particularly jarring with the strangeness of their movements. Quiet scenes often veer into the uncanny with a strange combination of the under-animated and over-animated parts of the show that can either wow you or repel you from moment to moment.

The truth is that the powers that be were always going to have to update the animation, if only to go to a widescreen format. And despite sporting some iconic designs (which have been suitably updated), the original X-Men animated series wasn’t necessarily the peak of animation either. But this is certainly different, and not always in a good way.

The same goes for the voices and the pacing. Many of the original voice actors have passed on. The ones who remain have obviously aged in the (gulp) three decades since X-Men originally ran. Their replacements vary in quality. Ray Chase does a remarkable job replicating the original Cyclops. Jennifer Hale is an outstanding voice actress, but doesn’t necessarily sound much like her predecessor. Cal Dodd, Lenore Zann, and George Buza are all a bit off as Wolverine, Rogue, and Beast respectively, which makes sense given changes in voices and performance styles in the last thirty years. But Alison Sealy-Smith’s Storm hasn’t missed a beat.

Meanwhile JP Karliak’s Morph and A.J. LoCascio’s Gambit are able replacements for the originals, despite other new voices not quite hitting the mark. And despite playing a character who's new to the series, the actor who plays Sunspot is flat and unconvincing to the point that you wonder how the performance made it in a professional production. But the voice acting in the original show wasn’t always sterling, so hopefully things improve from here.

Likewise, “To Me, My X-Men” occasionally feels like a bunch of scenes slapped together rather than a cohesive story that builds and ties everything together. Again, that was sometimes an issue with the original show, so I can't fault its 97 equivalent too much for that. But the pacing is different, both in individual scenes and the episode as a whole. It’s hard to pin down, but there’s a certain anime vibe to the presentation, a different style and approach, that stands out relative to the 90s predecessor.

And yet, despite my gripes about the craft and the presentation, I appreciate the threads that “To Me, My X-Men” picks up. One of the long-running threads of the prior series was Scott Summers wrestling with what it means to be the X-Men, and even how it would feel to do the job in Xavier’s absence. Picking that back up, having him torn between walking in Professor X’s shoes versus leaving the X-Mansion to raise his child(!) with Jean, is a strong emotional throughline for the episode that connects with past events well.

Well, more or less. Look, it’s been more than a quarter century for most viewers. The creative team understandably wants to catch viewers up. So there’s a certain sense of “Hey, here’s everybody’s deal!” to the episode. Wolverine’s still sweet on Jean and snippy with Scott. Rogue’s still plagued by her inability to make contact with others, but has a certain amiable concordance with Gambit despite that. Beast still dispenses literary quotations with ease, and Jubilee still laments not getting to the fly the jet. If you haven't done a rewatch, or lived on the memes, there’s plenty here to introduce the characters and their dynamic.

I especially appreciate the re-addition of Morph, who was one of my favorite characters from the original series, and who adds to the team dynamic in the current one. His shapeshifting powers are a nice way to invoke everyone from Archangel to Blob to Professor X himself without having to actually include those characters. And his shit-stirring personality remains intact. Likewise, Bishop doesn’t do much beyond join the fray, but it’s nice to have such a frequent collaborator be a part of the regular team as well.

Granted, there’s a lot of exposition here. You kind of expect that, given the gap in time between seasons, so to speak. And it’s nice for the show to pick things up with Gyrich and Trask and the Friends of Humanity and the Sentinels, even if it involves a lot of “As you know”-type dialogue to get lapsed viewers back up to speed. You can pretty readily see the seams of this being a relaunch, with all the table-setting and throat clearing that entails.

All of that said, I appreciate the ways “To Me, My X-men” parallels the first episode of the 1992 series with some suitable twists and new wrinkles. We return to a conflict between the X-Men and the sentinels. They face down the same villains. They solve the same sort of mystery. They face the same sort of prejudices they did before.

Only this time, Cyclops is in charge and having to figure out how to balance principle and practicality. This time, they’re already a family that must be held together, rather than recalcitrant individuals who need to come together. And most movingly, now it’s Jubilee who’s helping to take in a lost soul struggling with their powers, speaking to what the X-Men did for her and her self-esteem when they took her in amid the prior series’ premiere. That's a nice way to mark how far Jubilee has come (in a better fashion than the original show’s Xmas special), and to start things anew in the same spirit, with her as an ambassador for what Xavier’s School for the Gifted can do for someone.

X-Men ‘97 seems to carry on that spirit. I can't pretend it gets everything right. Some of the changes are jarring, or downright strange. But this feels enough like the X-Men I knew and loved growing up. It pushes the right nostalgia buttons, while taking a few risks to move things forward and recognize the changes that have taken place, in television and society, in the last thirty years. Given the strife and prejudice of the day, the X-Men are more salient than ever, and being more than a mere tribute, X-Men ‘97 seems to recognize that. The angles aren’t always clean and the seams sometimes show, but in its opening hour at least, “To Me, My X-Men” is a quality retrofit, ready for new purpose.

[8.6/10] A movie to recoil from, and to bask in.

Poor Things is a movie to recoil from because it is a story of abuse. The mere creation of Bella Baxter -- the movie’s wondrous, improbable protagonist -- is an act of abuse. Her erstwhile father, Godwin (cheekily referred to as “God” by his creation) implants the mind of a fetus into the mind of the poor child’s own suicidal mother, in a monstrous act. Even as he cannot help but develop paternal affection for young Bella, he keeps her locked away, attempts to marries her off to his assistant despite her immature mind, and treats as much like an experiment as an offspring.

Bella’s treatment at the hands of her own creator and surrogate father is abhorrent, and not for nothing, he’s probably the person who loves and respects her the most, which really sets the tone for the film.

Because things don’t stop there. A cad named Duncan Wedderburn (played with maximalist lunacy by a scenery-chewing Mark Ruffalo) spirits her away, rapes her, and keeps her like a pet in a jag and jaunt across the continent not unlike that of Humbert Humbert. Her attempts to break free are met with more control, anger, and even violence. Even friends, intent on showing her the world, do so with an intent to break her spirit. The madame at the brothel where she seizes her own “means of production” gives her a lifeline, but exerts her own brand of manipulation and assault.

And the piece de resistance of the film’s unconscionable abusers is Bella’s quasi ex-husband, quasi-father, who takes joy in cruelly, threatens her with firearms, plans to surgically remove her ability to enjoy sex, and accounts for, in his own twisted way, why Bella’s mother would rather leave this cruel world than bring her abuser’s child into it.

It is no coincidence that these controlling trespassers are almost exclusively men. Even the kinder ones, like Godwin’s more availing and understanding assistant, Max McCandles, takes advantage of Bella when she’s in an immature state and unable to consent, desiring the physical and ignoring the mental.

And it’s no coincidence that those who empower Bella, who teach her philosophy and politics and self-possession, are women. From Martha, the aging European cruiser who shows Bella theory; to fellow french prostitute Toinette who helps Bella see the confluence of politics and economics that give her a context and identify the scars that clue her into the past; to even Swiney, the madame who takes her cut but gives Bella perspective, those who lift Bella up share her gender.

In that, Poor Things is a peculiar sibling of fellow 2023 release Barbie, and a raunchier cousin of 2013’s Under the Skin in its equally off-kilter examination of what it is to be a woman, the projections and invasions of their male counterparts, and the abuse that must be endured simply for existing in this state. For all its outsized grandeur, Poor Things is startlingly frank in its depiction of many of these things, and it’s easy to flinch in its barest moments.

It’s also easy to flinch because Poor Things is a thoroughly gross movie. Gross because, being a modern day Frankenstein tale of surgeons and their subjects, it is riddled with scars, blood, and scattered organs. Gross because time and again the viewer must watch a person with the body of an adult but the mind of a child be taken advantage of sexually. Gross because it doesn’t shy away from the awkwardness and multitudinal expressions of sex in a way that is both affirming and repulsive in its peculiar way. This is not a movie for the squeamish, either physically or emotionally.

And yet, despite all of that, there is more than enough to bask in here.For one thing, Poor Things is a beautiful film. The cinematography evolves as Bella does, starting with ornate stage play sets in black and white, blossoming into gorgeous impressionistic settings in technicolor splendor, and eventually reaching a still exaggerated but ultimately more realistic presentation as Bella’s more mature view of the world comes into focus. The way the aesthetic mirrors the main character’s growth and understanding is both visually stunning and a masterful blend of vision and theme.

And the imagery works on its own terms. Director Yorgos Lanthimos and cinematographer Robbie Ryan craft an iconography that is worth the price of admission on its own. The style of Poor Things blends the larger-than-life expressionism of Fritz Land, with the misfits in a toybox world sensibilities of Tim Burton, with the liminal oddity of Jean-Pierre Jeunet, and the twee dioramas populated with broken souls of Wes Anderson. The production design and makeup and costuming, for Bella in particular, invite you into this particular, peculiarly-crafted world with its characters who are no less distinctive in look than in personality. In terms of pure style, pure vibes, pure feel, Poor Things is an experience all its own.

It is also blackly funny. Part of what cuts the grimness of the film’s subject matter is that laughs abound, in the dark absurdity of Bella’s various predicaments, of her matter-of-fact ways over around and through them, and in the almost slapstick-y moments of physical comedy that blend the sublime and the ridiculous. Even in its bleakest stretches, Poor Things carries an arch tone that helps the medicine go down.

It doesn’t hurt that this is one of the most quotable films of the season. In the script penned by Tony McNamara, Bella has a Vonnegut-esque way of identifying the absurdity of human existence by simply stating it plainly. There is a “from the mouths of babes” quality to her comments, driving incisive critique though blithely stating the obvious in a way that upsets polite society. Her matter-of-fact comments are often uproarious, from her agahstness at a new friend’s coital interregnum, to the aforementioned affirmation of a sex worker’s yonic take on Marxism, to Bella’s simple declaration that she need not keep chewing something that revolts her.

But that is the cinch of the film, because as much as Poor Things centers on the abusive and revolting, as much as it offers treats in the form of splendorous images and witty lines, it is ultimately a story of self-actualization. Star Emma Stone sells Bella’s journey from a developmentally challenged child who is misdirected and taken advantage of by all those who wish to extract her gifts for their pleasures, to a questioning young soul finding themselves and discovering their wants, to a worldly and experienced operator who is blunt in her assessments but no less direct or effective at reaching her desires, finally subject and not object.

That is the true focus of the film: what it is to grow-up, what it is to come into your own, what it is to become a person, with all the dangers and messiness and reckonings that entails, but in the right hands and the right company, what joys and solace it may bring as well. (Again, making it a funhouse mirror version of fellow Best Picture nominee Barbie.) Swiney tells Bella that we must experience the good and the bad, to have a full sense of the world, to know, to grow, and become. And in the end, Bella does.

Through all of her adventures, she comes out a battered but fully-formed, self-possessed individual, marked by experiences but also fortified by them. She abandons one abuser in good faith and then rejects and repels him when he blames her for all his self-made problems. She neutralizes her original abuser of sorts and turns him into an erstwhile pet for good measure. She brings her friends close, and finds a partner who is more understanding and forgiving.

Most of all, she breaks the cycle. What makes a man capable of the unfathomable acts Godwin commits sympathetic is that, as he recounts his own childhood of cruel experiments done dispassionately, you see the way he is merely perpetuating his own abuse, albeit with genuine affection breaking through for Bella. When Bella comes into her power, she does not forgive Godwin exactly, but she makes peace with him on his slow road to death. He committed the original sin of violation, lied to her, kept her, but is also the one who recognized her as a being of free will, and perhaps even one who provoked love through his futile attempts at detachment.

Ultimately, she follows in his footsteps, becoming a surgeon herself and stepping into his shoes. She spends much of the film bristling against the shackles of a system, finding the words to question it, and then building her own little oasis apart from it. There is great horror in the core of Poor Things, in its frank depiction of cruelty and craven use of another body and soul. But it is also a story of an ungodly creation who, through experiencing life’s offerings both harsh and wondrous, eventually supplants the man who sewed her together, and becomes her own creator.

[7.5/10] “The Department of Dirty Tricks” sets up a lot of threads for the new season. Some of them are good. Some of them are fine. Some of them are questionable. Let’s take them one at a time.

I like the angle on Homelander -- that he is aging, worrying about what kind of world he’s leaving behind, having a bit of an existential crisis now that he’s gotten what he wanted and still isn’t fulfilled, and worse yet, has no one around him he respects.

I don’t know. Somewhere along the way, Homelander became my favorite character in The Boys: not because he’s good or eevn sympathetic, but because he’s broken and deceptively complex in his emotions in ways even he doesn't fully comprehend.

I’ve often said that Homelander is roughly the result of “What if Eleven from Stranger Things ended up in a bad family rather than a good one?” The answer is clearly that you would get a monster, but one who is a human as he is stupid and terrifying. That's not the kind of character you see much of on television, and Antony Starr’s performance continues to bring this megalomaniacal manchild to life in brilliant ways.

Of course, The Boys also uses him to offer some social and political commentary. It’s not difficult, because the world is increasingly as extreme and ridiculous as the events in this show (albeit sans the superpowers). Still, Homelander’s trial reflects both Donald Trump and Kyle Rittenhouse in interesting ways, particularly in the media spin around Homelander eye-blasting a guy last season. And not for nothing, it pushes Homelander even further into a supe-remecist direction.

I was painfully naive when Homelander talked about feeling nothing despite having achieved his dreams by ruthlessly climbing to the top of the corporate ladder and being cheered by the people for doing what he’s always wanted to do. Maybe this was going to be a reluctant Homelander, one who, upon finding himself surrounded by sycophants and easy adoration might take the advice of Lisa Simpsons and realize that getting what you want all the time will ultimately leave you unfulfilled and joyless. Instead, he’s leaning toward going full genocidal and fascist, deciding that more [wince] “cleansing” needs to take place in order for him to be happy. Well, we know where he comes from, I suppose.

It does give power to the invitation from a character played by Jeffrey Dean Morgan(!!!), who invites Butcher to join his shadowy organization that aims to take down Homelander as the big prize, rather than following the CIA’s lead and chasing down new VP Neuman. Joe Kessler tells Butcher they need to act before Homelander and his ilk start rounding humans up into camps and, while that's the kind of talk that might cast you as a villain in the world of X-Men ‘97, given what we hear from Homelander in this episode, it’s not a cockamamie thought.

The next most interesting part of this one is Sage, the smartest person in the world, and Homelander’s new advisor. For one thing, Susan Heyword gives a hell of a performance. There’s a relaxed confidence in her presence that makes her seem like a formidable foil for Homelander. The way she instantly diagnoses Homelander’s conditions, hang-ups, insecurities, and anxieties makes her a sharp-witted Sherlock Holmes type, with the stones to stand-up to evil Superman at a time when he’ll not only tolerate that, but wants it.

But the idea, explored in The Venture Bros. of all things, of a Mr. Fantastic-turned-asshole type is intriguing, especially as she couches destruction and extermination in the realm of statistics and inevitabilities, makes her independent of Homelander. The idea of her stoking divisions, creating martyrs, creating unrest and then positioning her benefactor (or maybe, secretly, her) as a savior is cynical but salient in the modern era. Given the real life conspiracy nuts who abound, I’m a little more sanguine about “It’s all a deliberate scheme from those in power!” storylines these days. Despite my squeamishness, the idea of Sage fomenting unrest and roiling resentments to accelerate destruction works on its own terms, and is downright chilling in places.

We get hints of more interesting stuff on the villain side. Ashley’s still a unique presence as Homelander’s corporate lackey. We get hints at A-Train being uncomfortable both with his job under Homelander’s thumb and at the prospect of having to share the spotlight with another Black person. And by god, The Deep commiserating with a Tilda Swinton-voiced octopus is hilarious and incredible.

Oddly enough, the parts of the premiere that left me colder are on the good guy side of the equation.

The most compelling part of that milieu is Butcher. The idea that -- whether it’s a brain disease or just his conscience, he’s hearing the voice of Becca as the angel on his shoulder -- is an intriguing one. I like the idea that, god help him, he genuinely wants to protect Ryan and make good with the lad. There’s potent material here in the tug-of-war between Homelander and Butcher as father figures, each seeing something important in Ryan, each fucked up in their own way, and the poor kid doing his best to get by without inheriting all their damage.

It’s as sentimental as we’ve seen Butcher, and you feel like he means it. Whether it’s a promise to Becca or his own internalized feelings for the kid, last season he had the chance to kill HOmelander, and he gave it up to protect Ryan. That says something, and his willingness to look after the kid are one of the most admirable qualities we’ve ever seen in the guy.

But he’s not willing to throw Hughie under the bus to do it. “The Department of Dirty Tricks” plays with your emotions a bit. It would be in the spirit of The Boys’ cynical bent to have Hughie being the one part of the good guy crew who wants to keep Butcher around, only to be screwed over when Billy sells him out to Nueman. Instead, Butcher stays firm, albeit potentially at the cost of his mental stability. Head-Becca is right that these schemes tend to blow up in his face. Butcher trying a different, even slightly more straight and narrow path, could be interesting.

The rest of the storylines don’t do much for me. There’s something real and well-observed about Hughie ducking his father’s phone call and then feeling miserably guilty when his dad has a stroke. But I don’t know. His dad has barely been a character since season 1, and it’s been so long, that the whole thing feels more abstract that as emotionally poignant as the show seems to be going for. The prospect of his mom finally turning up grabs your attention, but that's more of a tease here than anything substantive.

Otherwise, the rest of it is fine. I’m relieved that Kimiko essentially states for the audience that her and Frenchie will never happen, but hotshotting Frnechie immediately to another relationship feels too sudden. Likewise, I’m interested in the idea of M.M. having to reconcile with his daughter after struggles with losing her would-be stepdad, but everything there happens pretty quickly and is laden with yawn-worthy “that nebbish must have a large penis” humor. At least it ties into the main story. And Starlight wanting to establish her identity apart from being Starlight is an interesting throughline, but we only get the bare bones here.

All-in-all, this is a solid, albeit not overwhelming start to the new season. As with even the best seasons of The Boys, this is kind of a hodge-podge, with a lot of interesting ideas floating around, but a lot of them popping out of nowhere and feeling awkwardly quilted together. There’s ways to make that work, some of which the series has found in the past. But at this stage, with so many plates spinning after three years’ worth of stories, I’m more apt to simply enjoy the parts I like and wait out the ones I’m unsure of, with less confidence that it will all coalesce into a greater whole.

[7.5/10] So here’s the weird thing about “Flash Strike” -- it’s a good episode! The tripartite storytelling of the nucleus of Clone Force 99 working their way to Tantiss base with Rampart, Echo sneaking in and linking up with Emerie, and Omega forming a team of her own not only keeps the action lively, but shows the talents of all the members of our crew. The action is composed nicely and well-staged, and the pacing and developments are all good.

Somethough, though, it just doesn’t feel momentous enough for the penultimate episode of the series. Sure, the grown clones are making their way to the center of the action, and Omega has a plan to get out, and most notably, Echo and Emerie are now working together to help the “subjects”. But “Flash Strike” largely feels like a well done piece-moving episode rather than something with the kind of drama or intrigue or character to truly set up a series finale.

I don’t know how to judge it, because as a standalone episode, it does everything it sets out to do quite well. But as a piece of a larger story coming to its conclusion, it’s a little disappointing.

Still, I liked the individual pieces. The main Clone Force 99 crew is largely action, but it’s all good action. The crew getting shot at by Imperial fighters and dropping down into the forest via cables makes for a nice set piece, especially with Rampart’s reluctance. (My only regret with this series is that Rampart makes for a hell of an ingredient in the Bad Batch stew, and I wish we’d gotten more of him forced to be a member of the team before now.) The run-in with the big cat-like creature is a little standard, and the creature’s design isn’t very convincing, but the group trying not to be spotted as they make their way in, only to escape a creature that takes out the stormtroopers who were pursuing them, is some good stuff.

Most of all, I appreciate that Hemlock isn’t a dope here. He makes the right moves, shooting down our heroes’ shuttle and sending out patrols to look for them and wanting thorough checks for the troopers coming in on the science vessel. He’s a formidable opponent, which will make the moment when he’s inevitably defeated more satisfying.

Echo working his way into the base was good material as well. His putting on stormtrooper gear and borrowing a droid hand to get info on Omega gives him a good mission apart from the rest of the group. And I particularly appreciate the most character-focused part of this one, namely Emerie finally completing her face turn. They’ve been building to this for a while, and Emerie having heard about the Bad Batch from Omega, and Echo having heard about her, giving them a basis to connect as allies and fellow clones, is a nice note for her, even as I suspect we have more to come.

Omega’s part of this is good too. Her whipping these poor scared kids into a team that can use a little guile to help themselves and each other. While Omega skulking through the shafts has been done before (hello Jedi: Fallen Order fans), there’s good tension in the rest of the kids trying to cover for her during an emergency, stalling Dr. Scalder in the hopes that Omega will make it back in time. And once more, it’s nice to see Omega having become this savvy mini-commando, recognizing the sound of laser blasts and knowing how to use her skills to her advantage.

If this were a random episode of Bad Batch, I’d have no complaints. Everything it sets out to do, it does well. I just wish this felt more like a prelude to something thrilling rather than just another day at the office for the show.

[7.1/10] Three seasons in, and I think I’ve just seen one too many Bad Batch search and rescue missions. This isn’t bad, and the show’s creative team knows how to put together some nice sequences. But we’ve just seen this sort of thing so many times that it starts to lose its impact.

Case in point -- I appreciate the blend between the immediate goal and the larger goal. Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker need to rescue Omega. To do that, they need to find Tantiss. To get a bead on Tantiss, they have to spring Admiral Rampart from an Imperial prison. There’s a plain cause and effect you can trace here, even if Crosshair’s excuses for not bringing up the lead earlier seem pretty thin and plot-convenient.

And the business at the Imperial prison is solid. (Am I crazy or do they use a very similar location in The Mandalorian?) I especially enjoyed our heroes commandeering a giant Imperial tank and barging their way across a bridge littered with Imperial defenses. The visual flair alone is enough to get the blood pumping.

But I don’t know. All of this seems like a fetch quest before the real business begins later in the season. Sassy Admiral Rampart and his quid pro quo adds a little bit of flavor to the proceedings. But more of this episode comes off like a box the show needs to check along the way to the Bad Batch storming Tantiss to find Omega, rather than something essential to the story or worthy on its own merits.

The glimpses we see of Omega back on Tantiss have a little more juice, but even they don’t tell us much that we don’t already know. I can appreciate the hesitation in Dr. Karr’s eyes with what she’s complicit in, and the mild shock of Omega going into The Vault. But even here, this is more of a tease for future events than anything important in the here and now.

Overall, this is not a bad episode by any stretch, but not one I think will stick in my memory for very long either.

[9.5/10] My goodness. The first episode of *X-Men ‘97” charts a noble if rocky path. The second episode then blew it out of the water. I don’t know what to say.

Magneto was long one of the original X-Men show’s most interesting characters. While the writing was inconsistent, the idea that he was torn between his perspective on humanity and his respect and admiration for Professor Xavier fueled an inner conflict between the political and the personal that made him the X-Men’s signature villain.

“Mutant Liberation Begins” honors that view of the character with a depiction that is startlingly complex, as Magneto tries to set aside his own perspective and vindicate the legacy of the departed friend who entrusted him with his school and his mission.

My god, it pays dividends. There is a great arc here. Scott and the rest of the X-Men are understandably wary of someone they’ve fought against so many times. (Though you’d think that him stepping in to help save Xavier’s life in the prior show’s series finale would count for something.) The struggle to accept an erstwhile villain and extremist as a leader; Scott’s fear that this means Professor X did not think him ready or worthy to lead the team; the sense of doubt over whether our heroes can even trust this guy all add dimension to the shocking twist from the end of the last episode.

Magneto’s goal to earn that trust is what puts this one over the top though. He still comes with a certain arrogance, a certain self-certainty, a certain judgment toward an accommodationist philosophy he doesn’t fully believe in. But this is also someone who defends the Morlocks(!) and finds them a new home, who submits himself to the judgment of the U.N. to prove his willingness to meet humanity on even terms, and who, tempted to unleash his fury when his act of faith is rewarded with lethal threats, chooses to relent, in the name of the friend whose presence still lurks in the back of his mind.

(One minor gripe -- it’s weird to hear the X-Men refer to Magneto as “Erik”, even if that's his more common name from the comics, since he was always known as Magnus in the 1990s cartoon.)

That is powerful as all hell. The biggest way that X-Men ‘97 pays tribute to its predecessor is in its full-throated embrace of the themes and ideas behind the science-fiction story of mutants and humans in conflict. Magneto’s trial is rife with such a mature take on the nuances and challenges of prejudice and peaceful coexistence.

I am going to have to watch the exchanges there five more times at least to digest it all, but at a minimum, I appreciate how the show connects the antisemitism of the Holocaust to prejudices that continue to be faced today to other forms of bigotry across the spectrum to xenophobic fears of replacement to the thin differences between oppression and self defense to the grace and respect that must be shown for anything to ever get better. I can't sum it up in a few humble paragraphs with my own feeble words, but suffice it to say, most grown-up, politically-minded shows don’t get this deep and this piercing in their realizations of how to grapple with bigotry and mutual mistrust among in-groups and out-groups, and it’s startling to see it in my grown-up cartoon.

Hell, sometimes it’s scary. Look, the Friends of Humanity are outsized to be sure. X-Cutioner is a souped up masked man brandishing sentinel tech and a power-deploying gun. But the anti-U.N., anti-evolution, anti-outsider perspective he brings feels all too real. The moment in the episode where a bunch of lunatics storm a hall of government is extra jarring after the events of January 6th. His gripes about how “regular people” have it harder than mutants, only they have the “dignity” not to complain like the “whiners” is eerily similar to real life rhetoric from bigots. And the broader point, that by even giving an outsider like Magneto a fair trial, the U.N. judges are now seen as traitors and fair game for the vicious xenophobes charging at the gates, highlights the perniciousness of their perspective, and the surmountable but immense challenges in showing enough grace and forbearance to pave the way for peace and reconciliation.

It stems from the personal. You can feel the fury when Magneto crushes X-Cutioner’s weapon and binds him to the U.N. seal, lifting him and the U.N. functionaries into the atmosphere far above the earth, ready to wreak vengeance upon them all. Instead, he remembers what that voice inside his head would say, the presence of a man who believed in gestures of compassion and understanding in even the worst of times -- it’s why Magneto’s standing here rather than Xavier. So he relents. He speaks of a world where human and mutant alike respect the other’s right to exist, as a starting point. And he proves himself, not just as a trustworthy leader of the X-Men, but as a worthy inheritor of his best friend’s mantle, however more tenuously it sits upon his shoulders than it did Xavier’s.

Oh yeah, and Jean has her baby.

It’s a big moment! This episode is rife with big moments. I can't do them all justice. Hell, even the U.N. headquarters fight with the FOH is a standout in terms of strong animation and inventive clashes.

But the broader struggles among societies and leaders are given more humbling form when a mutant woman can't find a doctor to treat her while she’s in labor, not because of who she is, but what she is. Amid these broader clashes of civilizations is the reality that individuals are denied the basics of their humanity, and have to rely on one another to survive in a world that hates them simply for being born. It is wholesome and heartening to have Wolverine drive like a maniac to get his lost love to a hospital, and for Rogue to absorb a bigoted doctor’s knowledge to deliver the baby.

But it’s also a sad indictment of the state of acceptances of those who are different that it has to come to that. And it’s sadder still that real life people would deny the same kind of care to those who need it in the real world.

Oh yeah, and Storm loses her powers.

Oh man, am I fascinated to see where this goes. The moment where she dives in front of X-Cutioner’s blast to save Magento is an act of great sacrifice from Storm, and in a way, the event that consecrates Magneto. But it also robs her of the life she knew. The way the animators show her struggling to move, the way she can no longer sense the breeze or the moisture in the air, the way thunder and lightning are suddenly enemies rather than allies, sells the magnitude of what’s been taken from Storm, and how it radically changes her life.

The tie to all of this is the incredible conversation between Jean and Storm about Jean’s anxieties over her child. There is truth in Jean hoping her child is human, if only wanting to protect him and spare him the hardships they’ve all faced, while feeling terrible about that. And there is hope when Storm reassures her that those feelings are natural, and that Storm’s shared them, only to appreciate how being a mutant has brought her to this family and a “sister” like Jean. And there is bitter poetry in anxious Jean holding her child and seeing hope for the future, while a depowered Storm ends the episode robbed of her powers and believing this life no longer fits who she is.

In truth, Jean and Storm never got much time to bond in the original series, which makes some of the “sister” talk ring a bit false. But this episode does such a good job making their relationship feel lived in and natural that it’s easy to give them a pass. There is incredible pathos in Storm’s loss, incredible joy in Jean’s bringing a new life into the world, and incredible heart in how the two women comfort one another.

What can I say? Other than that the original X-Men was rarely, if ever, this good. Not every part of “Mutant Liberation Begins” works. I assume it’s a fake out, but the Magneto/Rogue stuff is weird. A friend described the show’s art style as Archer-esque, and now I can't unsee it. And some of the voices still seem off. (Morph’s less convincing a substitute when he’s actually talking versus just snickering and teasing.)

But so much of it does. The trial and transcendent triumph of Magneto stepping into his best friend’s shoes as a leader and a peacemaker, the breath-holding desperation of Jean ready to give birth, the unexpected tragedy of Storm losing her powers, the sad yet hopeful resonance with real life events, all elevate X-Men ‘97 into rarified air. Time will tell whether the show will be able to maintain this level of quality as it carries on a legacy of its own, but if this episode is the only high water mark we get, then dayenu, it would be enough.

[7.3/10] If there’s one thing I appreciate in the animated corner of Star Wars, it’s a good paranoid atmosphere. I don’t know why these shows are so good at it. Maybe it’s just the inherent tension of running secret resistance units, with various bad guys and good guys hatching shadowy plans. But something about situations where you’re not sure who you can trust, and tensions are high, fits this corner of the cinematic universe well.

So the idea that Rex’s compatriots finally have one of Dr. Hemlock’s “shadows”, a set of secret assassins, alive and well, makes for a good story engine. What information can they get out of him? What does it mean that Omega is one of his top targets? How does that play out amid the understandable mistrust between Crosshair and Howzer? And what of the second shadow, dispatched to take out the first, skulking about the good guys’ compound and causing problems galore?

The world-building alone makes this one interesting. We get to see inside of Rex’s operation in earnest for what I think is the first time. We learn more about Dr. Hemlock’s program, about clone troopers who are conditioned. (A precursor to how the stormtroopers are brainwashed by the time of the First Order?) That tidbit adds to the sense of the clowns having their personhood violated without compunction that's pervaded the animated wing of Star Wars since The Clone Wars show. And it also seems to be setting up a twist that somebody is on the Empire’s side and doesn’t know it. (My assumption is that it’s Howzer, just to throw us for a loop, but who knows!)

But I also appreciate the character element of it. I like the fact that Crosshair isn’t just back in the fold and everything’s hunky dory again. Howzer would rightfully have some beef with the guy who killed his men stepping back into their good graces. The conflict of Rex and Howzer wanting to interrogate him, the concern that he’s holding something back, the sense that stoic Crosshair doesn’t want to talk about his trauma all adds to the same simmering tensions that existed in the prior episode.

The action is good too. Having the second shadow lurking in the...er...shadows, bearing down on the good guys and setting the stage for a bigger attack means there’s a ticking clock on how long the other clones can bicker, whether they know it or not. And while this isn’t as measured or moody as some of the other episodes this season, there’s an unhurried pace to how everything gets setup here, and the artfulness of how the captured shadow seems like an unnerving madman, replete with a Kubrick-esque angle on his glare, contributes to the foreboding atmosphere of this whole deal.

On the whole, I can see why Disney released this and the next episode together, because this really only feels like half a story, but it ably sets up some interesting tensions and conflicts both personal and practical to bring to a head in the next installment.

[8.0/10] So we’ve just given up any pretense that The Bad Batch is a kids show, then? I’m not complaining. As a crusty old grown-up who saw The Phantom Menace in theaters, I am 100% here for the animated wing of Star Wars not letting the expectations of the animated medium limit the show from going big and going bold. But it’s striking how much “Confined” plays like an adult prestige drama more than an adventure for kids.

Granted, there’s still some elements there to make it accessible. The dialogue largely announces the themes -- of whether to trust others and stay loyal to friends, or remain suspicious of those outside your fold and act with selfish disregard for other lives. Omega nurturing and eventually freeing a wounded animal who’s being mistreated by the comically evil-named Dr. Hemlock is a sharp way to give younger viewers an intuitive way to connect with the situation and that moral. This season premiere isn’t devoid of onramps for watchers who didn’t graduate to this point from The Clone Wars.

(On a personal note, I very recently lost my beloved pet after an extended illness, so watching Omega try to get “Batcher” the lucra hound to eat despite his reluctance, to heal the animal’s wounds when it’s injured, and to set it free rather than let it be eliminated hit me extra hard, especially when Batcher whimpered and purred. I can't exactly give The Bad Batch credit for the emotional impact there, but suffice it to say, it drove home the story’s point with extra force for yours truly.)

But what struck me about “Confined” is how quiet, meditative, and artsy it is, in a way that appeals to older viewers but which I could easily see confounding or outright boring younger ones. There’s a lot of time spent here with the likes of Omega, Crosshair, and Nala Se gazing wistfully out barred windows or looking down in abject resignation or staring mournfully into the middle distance. We see scads of shots of dripping faucets, wringing hands, vials of blood collected and deposited. This is an episode more interested in conveying a mood and a feeling than it is in advancing the plot or delivering Star Wars’ expected action and excitement.

And I don’t know, I kind of love it. The animated wing of Star Wars has toyed with this sort of thing for a while, but this may be the most committed expression of it. There is so much that is unspoken and understated about what’s going on here. Nala Se’s fraught protection, Crosshair’s subtle caring despite disillusionment, Omega’s idealistic resilience amid horrible circumstances, all breathe life into the drab, dehumanizing setting of Hemlock’s lab. There are so many little touches here to make you feel the oppressiveness of that space, so many quiet moments to let the experience of them wash over the viewer, so many artistically-composed visuals to evoke that sensibility.

I can't say that I didn’t know The Bad Batch had this in it, because we’ve seen this sort of thing in pieces from Filoni and company’s corner of the franchise. But I’ve never seen it given free reign like this, and it’s really cool.

Of course, there is still plot-relevant stuff happening. We get strong hints that the goal of Hemlock’s program is to be able to create a clone with the same “M-count” (read: midichlorians) as the donor. We see Emerie Karr do her job and believe in the project, but slowly start to develop a certain attachment to Omega, and vice versa. We see Crosshair plead detachment and selfishness, but work to protect her in his own way. And we see Omega’s blood taken by one caretaker and discarded by another, seen as some kind of key to the process. Fans of the Sequel Trilogy can intuit where this is all leading, but as with The Clone Wars series, knowing the end only adds to the sense of tragedy and ominousness as to what’s going on here.

And I like the themes. What differentiates Omega and Hemlock is more than power. Hemlock uses people. When some troopers crashland outside the borders of the compound, he writes them off, leaves them for dead and useless to him. He is mercenary, craven, and only sees people for their use to him. He’s willing to use Nala Se’s attachment to Omega to manipulate her, and Omega’s attachment to Crosshair to do the same with threats and insinuations.

But despite everything, and the passage of time in captivity that's conveyed in drips and vials, Omega hasn’t lost her devotion or her optimism. She aims to rescue Crosshair. She aims to bring Emerie into the fold. She aims to save an innocent lucra hound, her figurative mirror image behind bars. Her willingness to protect others, to try to save them, even at great personal cost, is what makes her different, worthy, in a way Hemlock probably can't even understand.

This is all a little heavy for the younger set. I wouldn’t even blame a teenager for turning this off and decrying it as boring or stodgy. But for me at least, this is striking and, if not beautiful, then certainly poignant in what it conveys and how it conveys it. This may not be as exciting or fun as creature chases on the beach, like we got in last season’s premiere, but it’s that much more potent and piercing for its willingness to give us this mature change of pace.

[7.2/10] Libraries are cool. Mindscapes are cool. Inventively-dramatized journeys of self-discovery are cool. The main project of “Labyrinths”, the last episode of Discovery before we (presumably) dive into the Progenitor tech isn’t perfect, but it’s an engrossing, individual story that works on its own merits. The same can't be said for the narrative piece-moving and unavailing bad guy shit that surrounds it.

So let’s start with the good stuff. The Eternal Gallery and Archive may very well be the coolest setting Discovery has introduced. Like most Star Trek fans, I am a giant nerd. So the prospect of an enormous intergalactic library, replete with stacks and stacks of artifacts and knowledge from across the galaxy has a real wish-fulfillment factor to it. As with the Federation library known as Memory Alpha, and even the wild alien library in 1969’s “All Our Yesterdays”, there’s something neat about the idea of a repository of knowledge floating around in space somewhere.

But I also like the conception of this particular knowledge base. The sense of the Archive as a neutral territory, full of committed but quirky caretakers, gives it a real character beyond simply being some random book storage facility. Archivist Hyrell in particular is a pip, giving you this sense of being bubbly but deadly. The way she and her cohort seem earnest about the mission of this place, but also just a bit off, makes it a neat backdrop for Discovery’s adventures, and one of the show’s most memorable locales.

Not for nothing, I’m almost as much of a sucker for a “journey into the mind” episode as I am for a “let’s go visit an ancient library with crucial knowledge” episode. (Hello again, Avatar: The Last Airbender fans!) In truth, Star Trek has a spotty track record with those “inner journey” installments. For every “The Inner Light”, there’s an episode where Dr. Bashir encounters rote representations of his psyche, or worse yet, Captain Archer has bad dreams in sick bay.

Still, the chance to get a little more impressionistic, use the sci-fi conceit to dig into what makes our characters tick, is always welcome despite that. In this case, I like the notion that the Betazoid scientist, as much as any of them, would be focused on the emotional well-being of the seeker of the Progenitor tech, makes sense. While the little morals at the end of the other quests have seemed pretty facile, the notion that the scientists who hid the technology would want whoever possesses it to be centered and self-aware, not just skilled and resourceful, adds up.

In truth, the exploration of Burnham’s mind, represented by the library, when she’s ensnared by the scientist’s little device, feels a bit shaggy in places. There’s not really a sense of build: from Michael’s attempts to use the card catalogue, to her maze running experience, to her angry recriminations at her guide, to her eventual epiphany and confession. The sense of momentum isn’t quite there.

But in the show’s defense, I think that's kind of the point. Burnham sees this as just another problem to be solved, just another mission, when she needs to look inward. Having the audience share her frustration by watching her problem-solving methods amount to nothing is a risky move, but I think it pays off in the end. We get invested in the cockamamie solutions just as much as Burnham does, which makes it easy to feel like we’re being toyed with in the same way that she is.

What helps keep the interest and fun quotient up is an amusingly arch incarnation of Book, who livens the experience. I’ll confess, I’ve gotten kind of tired of Book. I’m not particularly invested in his relationship with Michael; I’m even less invested in his relationship with Moll, and his efforts to make amends for his actions last season are good in theory, but a little perfunctory in practice.

“Labyrinths” is a reminder that these problems with the character are the creative team’s fault, not David Ajala. He has a real presence as an actor, and you see it in the wry, almost sardonic tone he takes as the Betazoid program guide who shepherds Michael along through the various clues. It’s a fun, less labored edge than we normally get from Book, and if anything, he plays off Michael better in that guise than when they’re supposed to be familiar confidantes.

The icing on the cake comes in the scene where Book sees a Kwejian artifact the Archive has been holding onto, and is visibly moved to see it again. It’s a reminder that Book may not be the greatest character, but Discovery’s still lucky to have Ajala on the team.

In the same vein, I think my favorite element of the episode is how willing the creative team is to let Sonequa Martin-Green carry the main story of the episode on her own. In truth, Bunrham’s epiphany is no great shakes. Her admission that she has a fear of failure, of letting her friends and loved ones down, a guilt over having perhaps let Book down, is solid but trite. You can see how a daughter of Sarek would grow up with a “not good enough” complex, with insecurities about whether people will still appreciate her if she’s not able to succeed at what she sets out to do. It turns some subtext into text, and it’s not groundbreaking, but it shows understanding of the character below the surface level, and it makes sense that self-knowledge, down to fears and guilt, would be a core feature of how the scientists would deem somebody worthy of their prize.

But the coolest part of the whole damn thing is that they just let Martin-Green roll with it. Normally for these big speeches, there’s swelling music, and a dozen reaction shots, and all the tricks of the cinematic trade to puff them up. Here, the music is low or absent entirely. The majority of it is unbroken, unshowy shots of Burnham at the table. And the core of the scene comes through in the performance. Here is the show’s star, allowed to build to this critical self-insight for the character, unadorned with anything but her own strength as a performer. Martin-Green does a good job with the material, and more than anything it’s nice to see Discovery go back to the essentials for such a pivotal moment for Michael.

It’s a shame, then, that pretty much everything else in the episode is meh-to-bad. In the meh department, Rayner, Book, Dr. Culber and the rest of the crew trying to solve the problems in the real world comes off like narrative wheel-spinning. This is modern Star Trek, so it’s not enough for Burnham to be going on this odyssey of the mind. Instead, she has to be subject to a “If you die in the Matrix, you die in real life” conceit, and the Breen are bearing down on the Archive, and Discovery has to hide in the badlands (hello Maquis fans!).

Again, none of this is outright bad. A ticking clock is not a bad thing in Star Trek. And standard issue as the setup may be, at least the B-team gets a little time to shine this season, with Commander Rhys manning the con. But the breathless declarations of who needs to be saved, and FPS-style combat with the Breen, and last second getaways all play like the usual block and tackle from Discovery at this point in its run.

What is bad is the business with Moll and the Breen. Look, I get that not every enemy species has to be some misunderstood alien race who are Not So Different:tm: than humanity. But without Dominion allies, the Breen are a bunch of boring boogeymen who do nothing but growl and grunt and fire on underpowered foes. Seeing Ruhn and his ilk roar about avenging the scion and destroying their enemies gets old fast. Right now, they’re about one step above Saturday morning cartoon villains by way of depth and intrigue. (And I’m not talking about the underrated Star Trek: The Animated Series.)

The only thing less availing is Moll. Look, the show does its best to explain why a random human could become the leader of a Breen faction. Her nursing a claim that she’s the wife of the scion, and seeding the idea that Ruhn doesn’t care about his subordinates is something, I guess. But it plays as awfully convenient that the xenophobic Breen would follow Moll into battle. And the performer continues to be unconvincing in her ability to make Moll seem like a tough-as-nails manipulator who could pull this sort of thing off.

The villain of the season just needs an army to make the race to the final clue more dangerous, so she gets one, whether it makes sense or not. Throw in the fact that the show’s aesthetic and design choices make it seem like the Breen warriors have been copied and pasted onto a big screen saver, and you have the antagonistic half of the show underwhelming to an annoying degree.

What can you say? Even as it nears its end, Discovery has potential. When it leans into inviting settings, inventive character explorations, and more stripped down approaches to exploring the meaning of this mission and Burnham’s personal journey, you see the promise that's always been there. When it breaks down into being a weekly action movie full of snarling and/or unconvincing villains, you see what’s long held it back. Hopefully the final leg of the mission will embrace more of the coolness at the core of an episode like “Labyrinths”, and less on the eyeroll-worthy junk on the edges of the story.