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.

[7.8/10] 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.

[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.

[7.2/10] 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.

[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.

[7.8/10] 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.

[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.

[7.9/10] 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.

[7.8/10] 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.

[7.8/10] 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.

[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.

[7.2/10] 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.

[3.8/10 on a post-classic Simpsons scale] I don’t think I realized how rough Al Jean’s stewardship of The Simpsons could be until Matt Selman took over as showrunner. I haven't loved every episode of season 35, but even some of the weaker entries are head and shoulders above this one, written and showrun by Jean. The tone just feels so dead and random and unpleasant. It’s easy to become inured to that when you’re receiving it every week, but when you only get Al’s style periodically like this, it’s downright bracing.

Let’s highlight the two good things in this episode. One, its heart is in the right place. The idea that Marge feels unappreciated, and deserves to be recognized for how much she does for the family is a nice emotional throughline. The notion that after how much of herself she gives in service of Our Favorite Family, it is right, not just permitted, for her to do something nice for herself, is a solid idea.

Two, the ending is sweet. Homer finally seeing how much Marge does, understanding how much she deserves recognition and a chance to treat herself for that, and wishing he’d done it himself is sweet. The effort by the show to pay tribute to Marge, and by extension, the many parents like her, is warm-hearted and commendable.

It just does next to nothing to earn that warmth.

We’ve played this game before, so I won’t belabor the point, but suffice it to say, you can't spend 95% of the episode with Homer being an oblivious jerk, and Marge being an exaggerated cartoon character, and then try to patch it all up with some treacle at the literal last minute. There’s no sense of build or a growing epiphany or sense of mutual understanding. Instead, Homer is an ass for the vast majority of the episode, has a too-late realization, and everything’s supposed to be fine.

Maybe it would be if this episode weren’t painfully unfunny. I’ll give it this much -- there’s nothing offensively bad here. Sometimes the jokes in latter day Al Jean episodes are awful in a way that makes you cringe. The whole shtick with Smithers dyeing his har post Barbie comes close, but thankfully that's the worst of it.

Unfortunately, what we do get is a bunch of bland gags that are all but devoid of humor. The whole exchange with Comic Book Guy’s pants-collecting cousin is stupid and laughless. The return of The Yes Guy is fine, but all the crud involving jewelry purchases has no bite or even chuckles to it. The random interlude with Burns seems to be going for a more conversational style of comedy that falls entirely flat in the execution.

And god help me, the songs! Why the songs?! Simpsons ringer singer Kipp Lemon does a great job replicating the sound and feel of Elton John’s music, but the lyrics have no comic punch to them. The riff on “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” about Homer being a bad husband is even more tepid, and maybe worse than the one from the Xmas episode. What’s the deal with bad, useless songs this season? It’s a strange recurring thing that you can't pin on Al Jean.

I’ll give the episode credit for the wordplay of “Photo Oppenheimer”, but otherwise this one is a comedy desert, which drags just about everything else down.

Unfortunately, the plot is not particularly good either. Again, there’s something to be said for the idea of Marge feeling overlooked and overwhelmed. The Simpsons did a good job exploring that idea in “Homer Alone” and even in the writer-maligned “Some Enchanted Evening”. But here, all we get is an abortive, extended dream sequence fake out, loony complaints and problems from the family (dog-heimers? really?), and a bizarre way for Marge to get some solace.

I get what they’re going for here -- with Marge wanting to do something special just for her and feeling guilty about it. Again, you could do something with that! There’s real meat in the idea that Marge has internalized her own subservience to the point that she feels ashamed of treating herself once in a while. But excruciating interludes where she improbably sells a pair of antique pants, and then buys a fancy ring, and then goes on a goofy sequence where she tries to hide it around the house robs the situation of any real humanity. If you want us to feel for these characters, you have to make them and the situation feel at least a little bit real. This doesn’t. It feels like an over-the-top excuse for some meh-at-best humor, and then the show wants to turn around and try to make meaning out of it.

Worse yet, the show wants to have its cake and eat it too with Homer. At first, he’s not ignoring Marge's needs; he’s just subject to a cell service blocker at Moe’s. (Why? This is such a stupid narrative framing.) But then, he’s rude to Marge about his torn pants, and doesn’t let her know about his tickets to a baseball game, and even starts out the final scene mad at her for not doing her usual “duties” around the house. He really sucks here, and that can work if you’re telling a story about Homer realizing he’s wrong and should appreciate his wife, but you can't just tack that on in the final ninety seconds of the episode!

I’ve said this before, but none of the emotional material in the episode is earned. It’s just a bunch of bad jokes and cartoon character nonsense that they hope to save with a last second turn towards earnestness. That approach absolutely does not work.

Overall, this one is a reminder that while the Matt Selman era certainly has its ups and downs like any show; it’s still a welcome change from getting this style and tack from the series on a weekly basis.

[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.

[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.

[7.1/10] 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.

[8.310] Holy hell! This episode took a sharp left turn and completely knocked my socks off.

In truth, I wasn’t on board with this one until the “Godzilla Sentinel” showed up, more or less. A lot of “Remember It” was some pretty tepid romantic melodrama that balled up into, if you can believe it, a love septagon.

So Magneto had a thing with Rogue and wants her to be his queen. Rogue is tempted given their past and the fact that they can make contact but still cares for Gambit. Gambit loves Rogue with the full force of his heart, but is flirting a bit with Madelyne Pryor. Madelyne Pryor is having psychic dalliance with Cyclops on the astral plane. Cyclops and Jean are still trying to work out what their relationship means after this big clone saga. And Jean is so mixed up that she plants one on Wolverine.

That's a lot! And it doesn’t even count Morph’s sublimated crush on Logan, which thankfully isn’t thrown into the multi-person knot that tangles up the first half of this episode. I don’t mind romance, or the friction that comes with it. Romance and love triangles were a significant part of the original X-Men series as well. But the execution here wasn’t particularly good.

Some of that is the love octagon that the show spins up in a short amount of time. The Magneto/Rogue/Gambit thing really should have been the priority given what takes place in the rest of the episode, and deserved as much real estate as X-Men ‘97 could afford. Everything about the Pryor/Cyclops/Jean/Wolverine side of the house feels rushed, and the business with the reporter doesn't help.

But some of that might be able to be overcome if the dialogue and performances were better. Much of the lovers’ quarrels here lack the ring of truth in the way the characters speak with one another. “Real people don’t talk that way” is a fool’s gold criticism, because of course television dialogue is stylized to meet the moment. But the way the various X-Men speak to one another is tin-eared and mannered in a way that detracts from the authenticity and rawness the show seems to want to convey in these interactions, which is a big drawback for them.

That said, whether it’s dialogue or performance or both, there’s also a stiltedness in how the lines are delivered. Going to these places with genuine emotion is hard, but across the board, the performers can't quite gin up the emotion necessary to feel true when so many of the X-Men are breaking one another’s hearts.

That said, I’m still a sucker for the Rogue-Gambit relationship, so parts of this one hit me like gangbusters. I’m sure you can guess which.

The Rogue/Magneto business still wigs me out a bit. The May-December romance is still a bit gross, and Magneto’s electromagnetism blocking Rogue’s powers is still a bit cheap. In truth, I assumed this whole thing was some kind of fake out, so seeing them pull the trigger on it was a little unexpected.

All that said, I can appreciate the idea of it, at least. Magneto would not be above abusing a mentor relationship to make it a romantic one. (Granted, I’m not sure that's the intended read.) I can also appreciate the idea of Rogue gravitating toward someone she can actually make contact with, no matter what problems there may be, given how hard having to avoid closeness with loved ones has been for her. And even if I’m icky on the relationship, their mid-air dance is the most sensual and passionate X-Men has ever been, which counts for something! The animation in this episode is a mixed bag, with the pre-action sequences being particularly questionable, so that's a particular achievement.

And while the tortured romance thing makes me roll my eyes a bit, there’s something true and tragic about Rogue and Gambit’s relationship. You can understand why Gambit would be hurt, why he’d protest that their love is more than just skin deep. You can understand why Rogue doesn’t want to be tortured by never being able to touch someone she loves, and the political practicality of becoming Magento’s queen. And you can understand Rogue giving it the old college try, with the passionate dance with Magnus in front of everyone, only to realize that no matter what she tells herself, that partnership isn’t the one she really wants. The volume is high and the emotional tone is overblown, but there’s truth at the core of this corner of the love octagon, and it works.

Until the villains destroy everything.

The contrast between the bliss and sanctuary Genosha offers for most of the episode, and the utter devastation that follows once the Godzilla Sentinel invades, is completely jarring, in the best way.

The attack has meaning because Genosha does seem like a mutant paradise. There are tributes to Xavier and Magneto. There is good ol’ Nightcrawler, a goodwill ambassador to guide our friends around. And there is a ruling council, filled with a nice sample familiar faces from X-Men’s past, including a human, suggesting that in the wake of Professor X’s death, the mutants really did come together.

Not for nothing, the show’s creative team also does a wonderful job of making the mutant nation feel distinctive. The visual designs of the buildings and shops and decor; the way they use their abilities to dance and play and move in a space meant for them; the way they float and flit seem uninhibited in a place just for them all sells Genosha as the sanctuary they’ve been waiting for.

So it means something when the sentinel, the original enemy of the X-Men in this series, returns to rend it asunder. The last gasps of Cable to his mother (a reveal I hope we have more time for later in the show) comes with an appropriate sense of desperation. Too many of us who grew up with the original show have lived through seemingly normal days and fun events destroyed by sudden tragedy. The sentinel attack has that tone, and it’s gut-wrenching in action.

It’s also, in a strange way, cool as hell. Again, I don’t know what to do with this show’s animation. Sometimes, it includes stiff movements and awkward character expressions that make it feel like a high class flash cartoon. Other times, in sequences like the X-Men defending their fellow mutants against the super-sentinel, the fluidity, epic scope, and attention to detail make it feel downright Akira-esque. Maybe the animators are just saving all their juice for the big sequences, but whatever the deal is, when they bring their A-game, they blow you away.

The blinding blast of cataclysmic green light raining down on fighter and bystander alike, the heroism of Kurt Wagner diving in front of the beam to protect our champions, the force of Magneto using his powers to smack this mechanical demon in the face, Rogue and Gambit racing into battle, the Cajun combatant bursting in to rescue to Morlocks, Rogue bursting through one of the automatons’ shoulders, Magneto saving Leech within an improvised shell and telling the poor child not to be afraid. They are all marvelous, momentous, jaw-dropping moments in a kinetic finale that trades the gentle peace of Genosha’s new dawn for terrifying panic and a wave of utter destruction. If you could watch without gripping the edge of your chair, you’re a stronger man than I.

And of course, there is the shock, glory, and tragedy of Gambit’s sacrifice. Whatever their hang-ups, Gambit still loves Rogue, and his willingness to put his life in harm’s way to preserve hers shows the depths of that affection, requited or not. The moment where he leaps up to take out the demon, and it impales him like nothing, Remy’s limp body drooping from a mechanized tentacle, takes your breath away with the sudden surprise of it. And there may be no more triumphant, if sad moment in the series than Gambit using the spearing of his own guts to harness his powers and destroy the bastion of mechanized death that unleashed hell upon his loved ones and countrymen.

Therein lies the greatest irony of “Remember It”. Gambit and Rogue debate whether their love is enough, but in the end, Remy will make the ultimate sacrifice if it will save the woman he cares so deeply for. And what drove them apart despite their feelings was that they couldn’t make contact, only for the moment when they can finally be close to one another only coming because Gambit is no longer alive to be hurt by his lover’s touch. The romances of “Remember It” stumble and fumble their way through much of this episode, but by god, they finish strong.

[7.7/10] After two episodes that are more about establishing mood and the setup of the new season, it’s nice to get an outing like this one that is all about igniting the kindling the show’s been gathering this season.

So we have Omega making an escape! We have Crosshair teaming up with her! We have Dr. Hemlock discovering that Omega’s blood is the key to a successful M-count transfer! We have the frickin’ Emperor showing up to examine his clone pods or pickled Snokes or whatever and growl “this is of the utmost importance”! This is a big deal episode, and you feel it.

What I appreciate most here is the setup and payoff. It would be easy for Omega and Crosshair escaping from an airtight Imperial secured location to feel cheap. (Hello viewers of the Obi-Wan Kenobi mini-series!) Instead, the show establishes Nala Se’s interest in seeing Omega freed, giving her datapad access that makes escape and rescue more plausible.

The shuttle that crashed in the season premiere provides Omega and Crosshair good cause to try to escape out to the area beyond the compound. The show already established how the kennels feed out beyond the walls of the lab, which sets up a good escape route for our heroes. The fact that the shuttle’s comms are down from the crash means there’s still challenges for the good guys to overcome if they want to get out of dodge.

The presence of dangerous creatures beyond the walls was set up by Hemlock in the first episode, and its nice that rather than attacking them, Omega gets help from Batcher and the other hounds, a sign of care shown to others, rather than mere use and discarding, is something that pays off practically, not just ethically.

The way they’re able to distract the stormtroopers and then steal their shuttle is a touch convenient, but the fact that the Bad Batch has protocols for this sort of situation, and that Tech apparently taught them to Omega, adds just the right hint of plausibility and emotion to the scenario. I’m particularly fond of the fact that, even having accomplished all of these unlikely objectives, it still looks like Omega and Crosshair are going to be shot down, until Emerie Karr realizes the truth about Omega, and Hemlock calls off the attack, given how badly he needs what Omega can provide.

All-in-all, the show plays fair with getting Omega and Crosshair out of the compound, which is not something I expected. THere’s meaningful steps along the way, real challenges that are overcome by things the characters know or in ways that require their guile and trust. And most importantly, there’s earned tension every step along the way, as they’re dodging the Emperor’s guards, wild animals, and suspicious droids. This is an appropriately tense escape, and that tone helps make the whole thing feel less like a fait accompli and more like a worthy challenge that took a lot of cleverness and courage from the good guys to pull off.

There’s other interesting details at the margins here. It’s always nice to hear Ian McDiarmid playing the Emperor, even if the whole cloning routine kind of makes me roll my eyes at this point. I appreciate the progression of Emerie Karr, who is resigned to the idea that this is their fate, whether they like it or not, but sees through Omega’s actions that there’s potentially another way. I like Hemlock as a sycophant for the Emperor, while also clearly jockeying for promotions and extra resources. I like Nala Se giving herself plausible deniability in Omega’s escape, given how she’s with Hemlock the whole time.

And most of all, I like the dynamic between Crosshair, who’s aghast at Omega just winging this escape plan on the one hand, with Omega herself, refusing to leave Crosshair behind. The dynamic between them has been one of the most interesting elements of The Bad Batch from the beginning, and it’s nice to see it continuing to bloom. I’m also intrigued by Crosshair’s shaky hand, which doesn't portend good things. Methinks we’ll eventually get a heroic sacrifice from an ailing Crosshair to protect Omega, completing his turn back to the good, and showing that some things are worth dying for, when you’re not being tossed out like used property.

Overall, this is a superb climax to the Tantiss arc we’ve seen so far, and gives the show a clear board to play with going forward, with enough balls still in the air for the show to catch later in the season.

[4.6/10] Wish almost feels like a parody of a Disney movie. It has the vague aura of Shrek’s satirical take on the House of Mouse oeuvre, except somehow played straight. It plays like one of those direct-to-video Disney knockoffs that sneaks just close enough to the line to confuse a well-intentioned gift-giving grandparent while avoiding getting sued. It seems like someone threw every film released by the Walt Disney Animation Studios into an A.I. blender, and this is what it spit out.

What it doesn’t feel like is the worthy capstone to one-hundred years of magic-making from one of Hollywood’s most storied production houses. More so than most Disney flicks, Wish throws in ample tributes to its cinematic brethren to commemorate the occasion. A talking goat dreams of Zootopia. The villain squashes reveries of Peter Pan, Mary Poppins, and Cinderella. The protagonist's friend group is Disney-bounding the cast of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves for some reason. All of these shoutouts are pleasing enough, but at best they’re sprinkles thrown on top of a not-very-appetizing cake.

On a more substantive level, Wish follows a durable Disney format. There’s a princess type -- a young girl in a vaguely medieval kingdom with pluck and a dream -- even if she never becomes royalty. There’s a conniving villain who acts to hold her down and occasionally summon some evil magic. And there’s the usual cadre of buddies, cute animal sidekicks, and helpful woodland creatures. If you fell asleep and half-remembered every Disney princess movie you’d ever seen, you might get the basic outline of Wish.

Not for nothing, it’s also a musical, which is a good thing!...in principle. In practice, the songs veer between forgettable and outright bad. The titular tune “The Wish” has a few stirring stanzas, and the “let’s go get ‘em” ensemble number before the climax, “Knowing What I Know Now” has a solid rhythm and some nice interplay. But by and large, the tunes in Wish are well below Disney’s standards. The melodies aren’t catchy; the phrasing is rushed and jumbled, and many lines feature some downright miserable attempts at rhyming. (The allegory/excitatory/morning/story/poorly section is downright painful.) For a studio that's employed Lin Manuel Miranda, too many of the songs in Wish play like cheap imitations of his motor-mouthed lyrical style.

The animation is no better. Again, there’s a few nice pieces here and there. The imagery of Asha and her family rowing to the islet offers a striking starscape. The aforementioned “Knowing What I Know Now” number features a winning shadow puppet motif that stands out. Star, the anthropomorphic wishing star who helps Asha, is downright adorable throughout. And of all things, the villain’s hair is weirdly convincing. But these gems are few and far between.

The animation and overall look of the film seems strangely chintzy, as though this was originally meant for television and got gussied up at the last minute. The character designs are meh at best. Everyone looks like a generic plastic doll. Their faces and expressions don’t seem to match their bodies. And there’s an exaggerated, hyperactiveness to everyone’s movements that leads directly into the uncanny valley. If this is a tribute to a studio whose technological achievements and visual splendor was once its calling card, why does the movie look so blah?

The plotting is no better. At the heart of Wish lies an intriguing premise. A seemingly benevolent sorcerer king who gathers and “protects” the wishes of his populace, while only scarcely and self-servingly deciding to grant a fraction of them, has some thematic punch to it. The fact that the citizens of his supposedly idyllic realm lose their memories of their deepest dream when handing over their wish bubbles to the king, and that he later builds up his power by absorbing them is, true to the quasi-Disney mashup spirit of the piece, some real Kingdom Hearts-style weirdness. But you can at least sense the film trying to make some creditable statement in all of this.

Unfortunately, the story and the character motivations are some combination of jumbled and vague. At base, our hero, Asha, wants to better the lives of her fellow citizens, and the villain, Magnifico, wants to hold onto power. But Asha is as off-the-shell a spunky-but-heartfelt protagonist as they come, and despite a solid performance by Ariana DeBose, there’s nothing much to distinguish her. The reliably game Chris Pine manages to inject some life into Magnifico, and his “Why don’t I get thanked for doing the bare minimum for my people in a self-serving way?” mentality has some juice to it. But there’s just not enough depth to this character, or clarity in how he aims to accomplish anything, to compel you.

The rules for how the wish stuff works seem random. They can float around aimlessly without issue, but extracting them makes you mostly forget. They can be destroyed which gives you a feeling of grief. But it’s okay because some other magic can bring them back! But watch out for dark magic, which you can use to grow more powerful using other people’s wishes as fuel! Don’t worry though, because if you beat the dude infused with dark magic, all the wishes just come back out, good as new.

Look, it’s churlish to complain about the mechanics of a magical ecosystem in an all ages film. But the point is that without some defined boundaries, there’s very little in the way of stakes here. Magic is all well and good, but when it alternatively makes chickens dance and instills in a woman the pain of losing her spouse, without much to distinguish why one happens versus the other, the pixie dust feels like a narrative and comedic cheat code rather than a sturdy element of your story. Even there, the comedy pales in comparison to studio good luck charm Alan Tudyk using his Clayface voice to (I’d bet) improvise funny one-liners to spice up an otherwise dull and tin-eared spate of dialogue.

The sense of cause and effect is also lacking in the plot, but at base, we get a decent enough, “Not even you, evil wish-sucking King, can stop the power of us all wishing together!” And again, you can see what the creative team is going for. Somewhere in the narrative junk pile, the commendable idea of everyone holding onto their wish and working to make it come true, rather than giving it away and waiting on some questionable authority to simply make it happen, comes through. But when the characters used to illustrate that idea, and the story used to explicate it, are as janky and unmemorable as this one, the message loses a most of its oomph.

The vague hint at the end of the film is that Rosas, the utopian island setting for this story, is the source from which all Disney movies come, inspired by the wishes and dreams of a utopian, multicultural population -- right down to the protagonist’s allegorically 100-year-old grandfather coming up with “When You Wish Upon a Star”.

All I can say is that this is somehow the least plausible part of the movie. Not because of the mechanics of the suggestion, which are no worse than other metaphors for the creative process. But because it’s impossible to believe that a century’s worth of wondrous, ground-breaking, heart-rending films emerged from such a pallid, generic, emotionally inert, and all around uninteresting source.

[7.4/10] I’ve been itching to learn what happened to Barriss Offee pretty much since we saw her imprisoned toward the end of The Clone Wars show. Would she be killed in Order 66? Would she join the Inquisitors? Would she ever face Anakin again?

Well, turns out it’s no, yes, and yes.

I’m being a little glib there, but this is all to say that there’s not really a ton of surprises in “Devoted”, the first episode of Tales of the Empire that delves into Bariss’ story. Sure, there’s details at the margins, and it’s cool to see how the Inquisitors come to be in their earliest days, but things go about how you’d expect. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’d rather shows tell natural, if predictable stories, rather than conjure up some crazy twists. But despite the undeniable quality here, the answers to those big questions are a bit of a letdown.

Or maybe there’s a big surprise that went over my head. I’ll admit, it’s easy for me to get the Inquisitors mixed up. Maybe Barriss putting on the mask at the end confirms that she’s someone we’ve seen elsewhere in canon that locks something into place. Candidly, I’d completely forgotten the Fourth Sister from the Obi-Wan Kenobi miniseries until I looked her up after watching the episode, so who knows! I think I recognize one of the two silent Inquisitors as the one who fought Ahsoka in Tales of the Jedi, but I couldn’t swear to it.

(Honestly, the coolest part for me was probably hearing Nicolas Cantu, who played the main character in The Freemaker Adventures, returning to the Star Wars fold as the ill-fated Dante.)

The most interesting part of this one is not the canon connections, no matter how neat it may be to see an embryonic Fortress Inquisitorious or hear Jason Isaacs as the Grand Inquisitor again. It’s seeing how the Inquisitors are made, how they have the compassion wrung out of them, how they have to show a viciousness, and to the point of the title, devotion to the cause, to be able to join their ranks.

The tests that Bariss has to pass to join are interesting. She has to show her ability to follow orders, by sitting in a cell for a long period of time, something she’s become good at after her life sentence in prison. She has to show the Grand Inquisitor that she can use the Force to attack, not just for defense, that she can channel her anger and not fight fair. And when it’s her and Dante in a deadly duel, she tries to show mercy, to show craftiness, but when push comes to shove, she’ll kill rather than die.

The idea that this is how they indoctrinate people, how they weed out their better qualities, is compelling, even if it’s missing the extremes we’ve seen in the likes of Jedi: Fallen Order. (Maybe those methods came later?) You don’t get much of a sense of transition in Barriss. But taking this as her first step toward the darkness, knowing we have two more episodes of (presumably) descent comes, makes this an interesting introduction to the next phase of Barriss’ life. And with Ahsoka’s master staring her in the face by the end of the episode, who knows how long that phase will last.

Overall, this plays out about as expected, but what we get is solid.

[7.5/10] This is the least interesting of the Elsbeth shorts to date, but still good! Which says something!

I’ll admit, I’d forgotten some of the finer points of our visit to Corvus in The Mandalorian, so I had to look up who Governor Wing was and try to figure where in the timeline we are. (Especially since Wing mentions some “mercenaries” coming through. I thought that might meant this took place after Mando and Ahsoka’s visits, but now I assume he means Baylan Skroll and Shin Hati from Ahsoka.)

Still, I like “Path of Hate” as a sign of where Morgan’s childhood trauma and her association with Thrawn have led her. The first two episodes of the show are the cause, and this is the effect. We see a hardened warlord, ruling her fiefdom, generating fuel and resources to retrieve her master and “save the galaxy from ruin.” There is a cruelty, a by any means necessary spirit that has overtaken Morgan Elsbeth, and seeing her inflict that mentality on her people is tough at times.

From a diplomatic standpoint, it’s interesting to see the (presumably budding) New Republic try to make inroads in distant worlds like Corvus. The notion of Nadura, someone who lived and worked in the factories of Elsbeth’s enclave, come to free her people through diplomacy, and running into the perils of bigger stick diplomacy, again helps show the rough terrain the post-Imperial government is encountering.

There is some of the old Star Wars “don’t give up hope” here, with Naruda dying for her efforts, but inspiring Wing to play his part and making things right. More than any of the others, this episode is a prequel to a specific episode from another show, setting up Bo-Katan’s interest in Corvus and presumably setting up how she knows Ahsoka is there. There’s a gap-filling quality that isn’t always my cup of tea.

But this is mostly interesting as another brick in the wall of Morgan’s character development. Whether it’s the destruction of her people or Thrawn’s tutelage or both, Morgan has hardened out in these distant lands. She’s not afraid to deal death, to work her people to the bone, in the same of staging her cause. Even as the show lurches toward the present, we know where that leads, but not yet where it ends. Yoda’s famous aphorism suggests it's nowhere good, though.

[8.210] Holy cow! A lot freakin’ happens here.

Let’s start with this. I love the memorials for Gambit. The show feels especially solemn and impacted by the loss of one of its main characters, which is as it should be. Nightcrawler’s eulogy is lovely, an appropriate blend of card metaphors to befit the guest of honor, but also with words that speak insight into the noble man who was dealing them. And you can feel the impact that the loss of Gambit has on everyone in the X-Men and beyond. Especially Rogue.

I kind of love Rogue’s roaring rampage of revenge here. On the pure fanservice front, it gives us the (I think?) first glimpses of the wider Marvel Universe we’ve had in X-Men ‘97 outside of the mutants’ corner of it. Rogue threatening none other than General Ross in an anti-Hulk base, and crossing paths with Captain America (replete with Josh Keaton reprising the role from What If), has a cool factor to it, and makes the show feel part of a bigger world.

On the personal front, it’s a sign of how much Gambit meant to Rogue. There is something that's always compelling for me about the person who’s lost some semblance of control, and their usual grip on what’s right and wrong, in the throes of grief. It’s a very human act to be unmoored after a great loss. Seeing Rogue throw out the usual rulebook, threatening government representatives, clashing with erstwhile allies, rejecting doing anything by the book, is a reflection of how messed up she is by what happened to Remy.

I appreciate Nightcrawler being there for her as a sibling, helping her process that loss in healthier ways. The acknowledgment that her pain is real, but that she has a whole family behind her, is a heartening one. The show smartly doesn’t diminish the intensity of Rogue’s feelings, or shortchange the time she has to express them in messy ways, but circles back to her support system, even as she’s clearly not better given the events at the end of the episode.

But that also speaks to an interesting curing theme in an episode chock full of complex ideas -- a sense of anger and even disgust at the sympathetic moderate. Cyclops reacts with anger to President Kelly pulling resources because siding with mutants isn’t good optics in the political scene right now. Beast responds with out-of-character scorn for the reporter who sits idly by as a neutral party when tragedy is happening, whatever sympathies she may offer. And Rogue refers to Cap himself as a “top cop” when he’s on her side, but doesn’t want to act to address the problem, lest the imagery of his presence knocking heads in Mexico City be an issue.

What I like about this is that the foils in these discussions are not one-note, caricatured bad guys. They’re people making points that make sense from their perspective, some of which are fair. But they also fall as cheap words upon the ears of a maligned community that's facing a monumental collective tragedy. The people who aren’t there to hurt them, but won’t step in to help them, despite the injustice of Genosha, are still painted in a bad light for their unwillingness to take the side of the people in genuine need, because of others’ prejudices. That lack of integrity is damning.

It’s why my favorite scene in this whole thing might be Roberto coming out to his mother. In contrast to the scene from the X-Men film series, there’s no rejection or fear from his mom. Instead, she offers acceptance, a confession that she’s always known, and the parental sense of wanting a child to tell their own secrets in their own time. It’s the kind of warm response you don’t expect, something that calms Roberto’s fears and makes him realize that his mother will love him no less.

But then she drops the bombshell -- that even if she personally accepts him, their company’s shareholders won’t, and so he’ll be expected to keep his full identity under wraps. It’s a different, but no less pernicious form of marginalization than the kind that Rogue faced from her father. Accepting someone behind closed doors only, giving into the prejudices on the outside for pragmatic or financial reasons, is a different type of oppression than that of the outright bigots, but it’s no less insidious. As with so many things, the way X-Men ‘97 picks up that baton from the original show, and takes it to more complex places, is masterful.

I’m also impressed by how much the crimes of Genosha are allowed to resonate. I’ll admit, one of my gripes with the old show is that some gigantic, incredible thing would happen, and then it’d be just on to the next thing. That is, to some extent, the nature of comic book storytelling. But it makes the destruction of paradise in Genosha a bigger deal when we get to linger on it, and really sit with the mutants mourning not just their dead, but this paradise lost. The simple triumph of rescuing Emma Frost from the rubble, matched with the stark reminders of who’s still missing, give this a punch. And Beast quoting no less a saint than Mr. Rogers tugs at the heartstrings.

It’s enough to build some bridges between Cyclops and Jean. Tragedy has a way of bringing people together. That's the small silver lining. And seeing them acknowledge the complexities of their relationship, but still want to provide solace to one another at a difficult time for everyone, is heartening development after the high drama of their last interaction.

Amid all of this serious meditation on both the plight of oppressed peoples writ large and the personal struggles of our X-Men, the show does a good job of setting up the next grand villain. I’ll admit that I found Trask doing a quasi-Oppneheimer routine and then becoming a killer robot kind of cheesy, and I don’t know much about Bastion. But the episode does a good job of introducing him as a sly, craft, malevolent presence within the world of the show, one with the presence of an antagonist from Dexter, and a mastermind sensibility. Him having captured Magneto is an intriguing twist, and while he fulfills some standard villain tropes, they did a good of leaving me intrigued to see what exactly he has planned for our heroes.

Overall, another outstanding episode of the show, which raises some legitimately thorny issues in an emotionally potent way, and ably sets up the next challenge in an organic one (if you’ll pardon the expression).

[6.8/10] “Mirrors” does the exact sort of thing I ask for from Star Trek: Discovery. We have a focused story with an immediate goal. It centers on a handful of characters with meaningful tension and key connections to one another. It spends time with our antagonists, both in the present and in flashbacks, so that they feel more like people than cardboard villains. And it requires the right blend of working together and camaraderie to solve the problem du jour, in the proud Star Trek tradition.

And I didn’t really like it.

Which, I think, is another way of saying that even in its final season, I just don’t connect with Discovery’s style. For most of my reviews, I center on the writing -- big picture story choices in terms of plot or character or theme that can make or break an episode for me. And on all of those measures, “Mirrors” is resolutely sound.

The halfway mark of the season is a good point to have our two big couples, Michael and Book on the one hand, and Moll and L’ok on the other, confront one another. A clue that must be retrieved from a pocket of space that seems to wreck anything that comes in contact with it poses a suitable challenge. The fact that what they find there is the I.S.S. Enterprise is a neat twist. And I especially like Rayner and the rest of the squad doing the usual Starfleet problem solving routine to rescue their comrades.

On the character front, I’m also encouraged by the show’s attempt to add depth to L’ok and Moll. Thus far, they’ve had personality but not character. Giving us flashbacks to their experiences in the Breen Imperium follows the same laudable tack Discovery did with Ruon Tarka. Seeing that bond form in the past makes us more likely to care about how the baddies are motivated by it in the present. Writing in what their relationship cost them, and what they’re trying to achieve, is good block and tackle to turn your villains into people and not just obstacles to be leapt over.

And thematically...well, I don’t know...it’s fine. “Mirrors” gives us some closure to the events of Mirror Georgiou’s alt-timeline jaunt in season 3’s “Terra Firma”. It turns out the Action Saru that Georgiou spared went on to rescue many of his comrades and got them to the prime universe, which is nice enough, even if we’re told rather than shown. The vague lesson, about not giving up hope, is trite but fine, even if it comes in a writerly scene that practically paints the point on the screen in a way that gives me pause.

And that's the problem, really. The ideas here aren’t bad, but the execution is still just hard for me to warm too. When I think about what I would change in “Mirrors”, it’s hard to come up with something that isn’t already hard-baked into the series. As I’ve mentioned before, I think the show overuses its music, trying to inject emotion into scenes that can't earn that sentimental response on their own, and ironically exposing that fact. But that's been a longtime thing for the show.

The dialogue doesn’t do anybody any favors here, but it’s largely fine. Often, it’s too blunt or too didactic, with characters making statements that seem more intended for the audience than one another, with the viewer just happening to be an unseen observer. But again, that's nothing new and seems to be part of Discovery’s style.

The other problems I have are unavoidable. Discovery continues to look sterile, antiseptic, and unreal. It’s hard to feel Moll and L’ok’s coming together when the lone site of their rendezvous seems to be some odorless, CGI-sweetened soundstage. While it’s cool to finally see the face of a Breen, their frozen computer-generated visages look downright comical by 2024 standards. I guess, at least, the visit to the I.S.S. Enterprise is an excuse to use Strange New Worlds’ practical sets, but still, everything about how the show is shot and visualized comes off cold and removed, which is something far too late to fix now.

And once again, the performances are solid, but don’t elevate the material. Eve Harlow makes the biggest mark as Moll, with some strong emotional moments when the going gets tough, but even she’s reduced to playing a generic femme fatale much of the time. The rest of the cast in the episode does yeoman’s work, without any real faults in the acting, but they aren’t able to elevate the material either.

The result is an episode that is resoundingly solid but unspectacular. The episode is well-constructed, but ultimately still unengaging, to where it’s hard to criticize the thing too deeply, but it’s hard to praise much of it either.

At the end of the day, the idea behind giving us deeper insight into Moll and L’ok, and contrasting and comparing their connection and potential second chance with what we’ve seen of Michael and Book is a sound one. But the execution is so generic, clumsy, and flavorless that it leaves no impact. The show is doing and saying the right things, but the effort comes off plastic and desultory, to where you can barely connect wit the characters or materials.

“Mirrors” does feature some genuine high points and low points. Commander Rayner’s nervousness about stepping back into the captain’s chair, only to gingerly but resolutely finding his way into Discovery’s more open culture, and working with his crew to save his captain, is a nice little storyline. Tilly looking out for Dr. Culber’s emotional well-being the way he looks out for the crew’s is sweet, even if the listing toward “spirituality” sounds dicey for Star Trek. And hell, I even got a kick out of Book asking Burnham if they should “hit it” given the Enterprise environs, and her responding, “Let’s just fly.”

For the most part, though, “Mirrors” is an episode with a sound footing and a few good gimmicks, that nevertheless fails in its overall project to make us care about these new characters, their connection to the ones we already know, and the broader fetch quest the crew of Discovery is on. You can fix story problems; you can rehab characters; you can come up with good themes for your work. But things like tone, visual grammar, the style with which you present everything, is much harder to fix on an episode to episode basis After four and a half seasons, those things are pretty well set, and maybe, even when you shore up everything else, that's still enough to keep crusty old grumps like me from connecting with your show.

[7.0/10] I’m real mixed on this one. Both stories have their merits, and their cool impressionistic sequences. But both also have a certain randomness, and some heavy signposting that leaves me cold.

Let’s start with Storm and Forge. I’ll say this much -- I appreciate that X-Men ‘97 remembered Storm’s claustrophobia! Even the original show seemed to just move past that pretty quickly, so having The Adversary taunt her with an enclosed coffin, or to have her face her fear by going into a cramped mineshaft to save Forge carries extra weight with what she’s braving to save her lover.

I’m also a fan of those impressionistic sequences between her and The Adversary. I don’t know; I’m just a sucker for that sort of thing. So much of the emotional experiences in our life defy being able to be captured in mundane scenes. Realizing Storm’s inner turmoil from a demon who makes Storm feel like the walls are closing in on her, literally, who drags her through a grand guignol theater of the mind to represent what she’s going through, compels me in a way simple wailing and gnashing of teeth doesn’t. I appreciate the show’s visual creativity and psychological maximalism with those set pieces.

I even like the point the show’s trying to make, about Storm secretly warning to hide who she is and feeling guilty for that. The notion of embracing yourself, of “coming out”, is a powerful metaphor that fits within the X-Men’s accepting ethos. There’s a fair amount of purple prose used to explain it, but it comes with a keen insight about self-shaming and self-acceptance.

My problems are both in how that idea is realized. For one, the fact that The Adversary is just some random demon who happened to be wandering through the desert or something is bizarre. More and more, it’s apparent that X-Men ‘97 wants to be a kind of anime, and this storyline in particular has more of that “weird magical thing happens for no particular reason” bit that often irks me in the (admittedly limited) anime I’ve seen.

They try to put a fig leaf on it, with Forge explaining that it feeds on misery and self-loathing, and so Storm and Forge made for “good chum.” But the whole thing feels so random and arbitrary. And science-focused Forge being able to use the occasional bit of Dr. Strange-esque magic comes out of nowhere as well.

But the biggest pathology,the one this storyline shares with Xavier’s, is that it all but announces the themes to the audience. I know there’s mixed feelings about subtlety among fans, but at too many points, it felt like The Adversary and Storm were just speaking an essay at viewers rather than debating one another in larger than life terms.

This isn’t “Lifedeath”’s fault, but I’m also just a bit tired of the “character has a personal breakthrough which allows them to have a superpowered breakthrough” routine. It’s still cool when Storm regains her powers, but between the hamfistedness of the messaging, and the sense of randomness in her overcoming an ostensibly medical problem by just believing in herself harder, the head-scratch qualities of it made it harder to enjoy the glory of the moment.

I feel the same way about the Professor X storyline. Again, I like the message “Lifedeath” is trying to send here. The warning about resorting to “good old days” nostalgia-baiting and baseless fear of and demeaning outsiders is a good thing in principle. Promoting the importance of education is outstanding. But eventually, the episode devolves into Charles literally lecturing on the topics. The dialogue is blunt as hell and overly florid, and the point could hardly be made in a more didactic fashion, which takes a lot of the oomph out of it.

That said, I do still appreciate the imagery. Another jaunt to the astral plane helps enhance with imagery what the show lacks in the written word. The classroom motif and chalk outlines give Xavier’s speech a distinctive character. And my goodness, the psychic impingement Professor X receives about what happened on Genosha -- with a Watchmen-esque sea of skeletons amid a horrible blast -- is almost as bracing as the original event.

I also appreciate that the show boils down Charles’ situation to a choice. He’s torn between his life with Lilandra on the one hand and his life with his children on the other. Being forced to not only stick around in space, but purge his memory of his old life brings home what he’d be giving up in a visceral way. I can appreciate that choice.

But I don’t know, I was never particularly compelled by the outer space interludes of the original X-Men series, and the connection between Xavier and Lilandra always felt like something that happened more by fiat than something the show had earned, so returning to those elements doesn’t do much for me from the jump. (Though hey, after the importance of the Kree to the MCU, it’s nice to see more than a passing glimpse of them in the X-Men ‘97 universe.)

The politics of the Shi'ar are, once again, very four-color and blunt in the point they’re trying to make. It’s something I could forgive when the original show was aimed at children. But this is clearly meant for those who grew up with the original show, so I think it’s fair to expect a bit more sophistication. (That said, our current political moment in the real world is, perhaps, no less caricatured and blunt, so maybe the joke’s on me.)

Also, on a purely superficial level, I’m not crazy about the new voice for Professor X. Ross Marquand is a talented voice actor, but his Xavier vocal tones are too different from Cedric Smith’s for my taste, and at times, he sounds kind of like Matt Berry, which I found distracting.

From a big picture plot perspective, I don’t really want Professor X to come back. He had such a moving farewell at the end of the original show. It felt like a television program that wasn’t technically allowed to kill main characters off doing everything but. I get the desire to return him to the fold, but undoing such a big choice like that takes away from the import and finality of the original show’s swan song. What’s more, I’m far more invested in the idea of the X-Men figuring out how to move forward without their old leaders than in rehashing the usual “Professor X guides his pupils” routine we’ve seen dozens of times before. Let shows evolve! Especially when it’s been thirty years!

Overall, though, I appreciate what the show’s trying to do in “Lifedeath”, and there’s plenty to like here, but the directness of the writing, and the randomness of the events stops this from being a firm “yes” for me.