How come they have the technology to travel from one dimension to another and travel in time and replicate whatever they want and transport themselves, but they can't figure out how to soundproof a room?
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@neil10365 My theory is that the Cardassians didn't necessarily build Terok Nor for comfort or luxury, so that such features might be available in other locales (and/or at the bottom of Chief O'Brien's prioirty list).
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP9[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.)
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@warden1 Thank you for the kind words about my critiques and my taste! In truth, I haven't delved in the Star Wars fandom discourse too deeply, because that way madness lies. But of course, everyone's entitled to their opinion.
I have seen some critiques about the writing and acting. I think those criticisms of the child actors is valid, and it makes blunt or stilted dialogue (which has been a staple of the franchise since A New Hope) stand out more when it's being spoken by poor overmatched kids who can't elevate it the way a more seasoned actor could. (See also: poor Jake Lloyd.)
For the people who bristle at the idea of the Jedi being depicted as something less than "The Good Guys", and maybe even a flawed and problematic institution, I'd encourage them to watch the Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars, The Last Jedi, and a slew of other works, both in canon and in the EU, that have all laid the groundwork for that idea long before The Acolyte arrived
As for the people who are upset that the episode chooses to center the POC children of lesbian moms in its story, those supposed "fans" can, as David Lynch once put it, fix their hearts or die.
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP9[7.1/10] This was my least favorite entry in Tales of the Empire. How did Barriss Offee die? Well, she was randomly stabbed in a big metaphor-laden cave...I guess.
To be more charitable, she dies trying to stall an Inquisitor long enough for an innocent family trying to escape the Empire’s collection of force-sensitive children to get away. That part’s all good. The idea that she broke away from the Inquisitors and managed to become a healer and source of solace and protection on a distant world is cool. But this is an ending that left me unsatisfied with ehr story.
Again, I get it. The cave is a big metaphor! Bariss gives ominous warnings about fear having taken over for Lynn! Lytnn runs in more focused on random attacks and anger than on sense! Even though Bariss gets killed, she offers forgiveness and a warning that it’s not too late to change! I get it, it's just not done particularly artfully. The metaphor is heavy-handed, and Bariss doesn't feel like a real person; instead just a sermon delivery system.
The episode is not without its charms. The fight where Barriss simply dodges all of Lyn’s attacks is pretty cool, and I like the idea of Barriss having become a sort of monk in exile, helping those who come to her and sparing as many as she can. This is just an ignoble end that doesn't amount to much. Maybe we get some sort of redemption for Lyn down the line (I don’t know when this short is supposed to take place relative to Obi-Wan, but considering I’d forgotten who Lyn was when this little arc started, I can't say I’m super invested in that.
The hint that Barriss might still be in contact with Ahsoka (or maybe Cere Junda?) is a tantalizing one. I half expected us to get some kind of teaser at the end with Ahsoka receiving that family of fugitives. But instead, we get something that has spiritualism but not really substance. It’s a fine enough but disappointing end to what’s otherwise been a great set of vignettes.
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@kelsey-jayne It's fair -- not many people truly die in Star Wars, so we'll see if she got a last minute rescue or some sort.
[2.8/10] Woof. After having such a rough time with the first season of the show, I blanched a bit at the suggestion that the second season was a step down. “How much further could it go off the rails?” I wondered. How could it conceivably recede from the already paltry levels it had already hit. Well, there’s my answer -- ninety minutes of television that is 90% shlock.
But, as I always try to do when talking about something I don’t particularly care for, let’s start out talking about what’s good about this one. Full disclosure, the opening scene with the senile old room service guy doddering around while Cooper lays bleeding on the floor initially annoyed the hell out of me. The scene drags and drags and is almost excruciating in its duration. But I take that to be the point, and somewhere around the second time the guy returned just to give a thumbs up, it elicited a chuckle for the sheer rake gag-esque audacity of the scene, so that’s something.
We also get the who, if not necessarily the why, of the central mystery of the show. Cooper lays out the details of what he’s pieced together, and the episode reveals, or at least seems to reveal, that Bob, the guy from Cooper’s dream and Mrs. Palmer’s vision, beat up Ronette and seemingly killed Laura. Some of the scene veers into cheese, as nearly everything here does, but the quick, spliced together clips of that grisly final scene are legitimately chilling, and add a level of fright and severity that the show has had trouble establishing outside of myna bird mimics thus far.
There’s also some nice material involving Ed and Nadine. I’ll admit, I’ve come around on this portion of Twin Peaks, which I initially found bothersome. Ed offers a sad and exaggerated but believable tale. He and Norma were longtime sweethearts; he thought Norma ran off with Hank (where presumably there’s more to the story), and Nadine was there for him in a time of need. Ed was impulsive and distraught and married her, but she was so happy and so gracious and so devoted to him (never even blaming him for accidentally shooting out her eye) that he didn’t have the heart to leave her. It’s a little melodramatic, but it’s a good performance from Ed, and the look of wistfulness in Norma’s mind when she sees the husband and wife together adds another layer of pathos to the whole thing.
That said, the theme for this episode seems to be two-fold: 1. Baffling transformation and 2. Doing a collection of really stupid stuff.
The latter assessment may sound harsh, but I don’t know how else to explain some of what seems to be trying to pass for comedy or texture throughout this episode. While the senile room service guy has a certain anti-humor charm to it, the similar attempts at weird or wooly humor are painfully bad. The numerous, extended shots of Deputy Andy’s odd little walk and wobble were dumb as all get out. Leland breaking into a little jig and Ben and Jerry following him was a baffling effort at charm. And the “hospital food is terrible” recurring gags are the hackiest kind of easy crap. I think the show means to be funny here, but it never quite makes it above moronic.
And that’s not the only place where “Giant” be with you makes no sense (in a bad, rather than merely surreal, way). When Ben chases Audrey around the bed, why in the world doesn’t he recognize his daughter’s voice, or the other features besides her face? The whole bit is creepy (which is, in fairness, what I think Lynch & Frost were going for) but it feels like a cheap way to avoid the reckoning the show set up in the prior episode.
That’s not the only nonsensical parent-child scene in the episode. Major Briggs tells his son Bobby about a dream he had where they embraced as family in a wonderful house some time in the future. It’s meant to play as some kind of reconciliation or corner-turning moment for the pair, but it plays as ridiculous as all get out. Much of that can be pinned on the horrible acting from Bobby Briggs, who seems be trying to communicate being sincerely touched, but mugs and renders the reaction implausible.
Then there’s the strange transformations in the episode. Leland Palmer’s hair turns white after he returns from strangling Jacques Renault. So...there’s that. But he’s also happy now, singing songs and passing out during them. I’ll admit, there’s something funny about Ray Wise playing so chipper (and it’s a nice change from his awful cry-dancing routine), but it’s so exaggerated and over the top that it’s hard to take anything from it beyond mild bemusement.
The same cannot be said for Donna’s transformation here, as she seems to be attempting to step into Laura’s persona. Between taking Laura’s glasses, her meals on wheels route, and toying with Bobby, we get an entire change in her personality without the slightest hint as to why or how. Maybe the glasses are cursed or the ghost of Laura is possessing her or some crap like that? It’s weak sauce from Lara Flynn Boyle, and a direction for the character that feels entirely unmotivated.
Oh yeah, and then there’s a soothsaying giant. While this struck me as odd, it’s of a piece with the “people who seem like they’re from an old circus’s freak show give Cooper vaguely-worded prophecy” shtick from the first season. It didn’t do much for me (and certainly didn’t feel as formally audacious as Cooper’s first dream), but it didn’t really bother me either.
In total though, “May the Giant Be With You” may be a new low for Twin Peaks, which had already been scraping the bottom of the barrel for a while by this point. Plodding pacing, more awful dialogue and acting (with Pete joining Bobby as a particularly bad offender on that score), dumb attempts at comedy, and nonsensical character choices. This was a slog, but hey, at least we have Alfred back to voice my thoughts on the ridiculous of this all in-universe. Yeesh.
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@blackwidcv Thank you for reading my stuff! FWIW, I was taught a long time ago to omit phrases like "I think" or "in my opinion" from my writing. I was told, "Of course it's what you think/your opinion; you're the one writing the essay! You don't need to clutter it up by reminding the reader of that!"
But for the record, I fully acknowledge that everything I write about film and television is, to paraphrase The Big Lewbowski, "just like, my opinion, man." I wouldn't claim that any of it is the gospel, and reasonable minds can differ, and if you look at my reviews of shows like Deadwood or movies like Solo, sometimes I've even gone back and reevaluated my take after revisiting something. But I do at least try to make the case for why I feel the way I do about a film or episode, which folks are always free to take or leave.
another good episode the other review here whining that some characters are "uninteresting" is not really a thing IMO
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@kelsey-jayne How else would you describe characters who don't interest you as a viewer?
It's hard to know how much leeway to give a sitcom when it comes to things that would be horrifying in real life but can seem merely goofy in the context of a television show. In real life, Robin would be justified in never speaking to either Ted or Barney ever again after they turn her hopes, her personality, her very life into a class. The show attempts to sweep that under the rug by having Ted frame it as a use for all the Robin knowledge he'd generated when they were dating, and that it's the hardest he'd ever seen barney work to keep a girl. It doubles down by having Barney apologize and attempt to explain himself. But it still feels a little strange for Robin to forgive the both of them so quickly for such a gross violation, even if the show bends over backwards to make the argument that it was well-meaning.
On the other hand, there are demands of a sitcom, chiefly that things be more-or-less reset to the status quo by the end of the episode. Even in a comedy as continuity-heavy and intertextual as How I Met Your Mother, there's a certain inertia of the familiar, where outside of the season finale or Big Event context, the basic dynamic of the group has to stay the same. With that in mind, I can, more or less, make my peace with it. It helps that beneath the inherent creepiness of the whole thing, Ted's class is pretty damn funny, from the brick joke with the Flatiron Building, to Barney being a less-than-model student, to the list of items that can distract Robin when she's mad. Marshall's barrel B-story is pretty slight by comparison, but as usual Jason Segel makes the most of it.
All-in-all, the laughs are there for the most part, even if some of the humor is broad. It's just a question of whether you can separate how horrific something like "Robin 101" would be in the real world from the silly tone it has in the heightened reality of HIMYM.
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@essenslug I can see what you're saying! I think that's the rightly charitable approach to take here, even though I do think the show goes overboard with it in later seasons (which what I assume you're referring to re "plotlines in further episodes."
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP9[8.5/10] Scores of great Star Trek feature our heroes taking a stand. Woven into the ethos of the series is the sense of a crossroads where those steeped in the ways of the Federation must choose whether to follow protocol and do what’s expected, or to make the tough call and do what they truly believe in, what’s right. Those choices often intersect with complicated notions of tolerance and what right we have to interfere, but just as often they result in the crew of the Enterprise rising to the occasion and choosing a bold solution.
And yet, my favorite episodes are sometimes the ones where the characters come tantalizingly close to that sort of choice, only to relent in the end. There’s a certain type of tragedy in it, a sense of being a little more true-to-life where sometimes even our ideals and our connections aren’t enough to push us to upset the apple cart. The Sopranos would make a cottage industry out of the idea -- showing its characters wandering out to the edge of a major change, only to repeatedly back down at the precipice.
I think it’s why an episode like “Half a Life” feels so affecting. We meet Timicin, a scientist from a nearby planet, Kaelon II, on the verge of astronomical collapse. Despite being isolationists, the Kaelon have sought the Federation’s help to avert the potentially disastrous effects of a nearby decaying star, and Timicin is their top scientist. Along the way, he strikes up an unexpected romance with none other than Lwaxana Troi. But both his work, and his new love, are threatened by a cultural ritual, where every Kaelon who reaches the age of sixty commits suicide to make way for the next generation.
The episode is an interrogation of that idea, taking seriously the notions of euthanasia, of care for the elderly, of the rights of seniors to choose how to live their lives. But it’s also about the balance between rituals and traditions on the one hand, and self-determination and change on the other. And, like all great Star Trek episodes, it’s also about the impact of these lofty ideas on the flesh and blood human beings forced to confront them.
Unusually for The Next Generation, that comes down almost entirely to the episode’s guest stars, who both give fantastic performances. The first is the inimitable David Ogden Stiers, whom you probably know as Cogsworth from Beauty and the Beast or Major Winchester from MASH. He is completely outstanding as Timicin here, a soft-spoken man of science, devoted to his world and his people, forced to confront the fault lines between his loyalty to them and his personal willingness to embrace new ideas and new experiences.
Stiers carries himself with a quiet woundedness, as someone who knows and accepts that his time is coming to an end, and yet inwardly laments that his life’s work hangs in the balance. His inner conflict between someone who doesn’t want to form new connections given his numbered days, and who cannot resist this enchanting new presence in his life, is sweet and sad. And the force and conviction within him, that emerges when he’s pulled at from opposite sides, show the sleeping giant within, made all the more impactful by the contrast with his normal reserved demeanor. In this hour, Stiers marks himself as one of TNG’s absolute finest guest performers.
But the second is Majel Barrett as Lwaxana Troi. I’ve written before about how, despite her negative reputation in the fandom, I grew up enjoying Lwaxana episodes. She brings a different tone and perspective to the series than the sturdy Starfleet officers, and that usually pays off, even if her man-crazy goofiness rarely does. Still, somehow it works here! Barrett and Stiers have outstanding chemistry together. There’s something about her as the boisterous charmer, and him as the quiet but charmed one, that really clicks. Make no mistake, the Lwaxana/Timicin connection smacks of the same insta-love nonsense that other shows devolve into, but the duo have such an instant rapport and lived-in dynamic that it’s easy to buy their nigh-instantaneous attachment to one another.
That’s a good thing, because the episode is founded on it. We need to buy that Lwaxana would be so attached to Timicin that she would be distraught to the point of anger and tears that he’s going to die. And we need to buy that Timicin would be attached enough to Lwaxana to potentially take a stand against his own people and their time-honored cultural practices at her behest. That is a tall order for any TV show to pull off in forty-four minutes, but by god, between impromptu engineering picnics, solace offered in Ten Forward, and bedside arguments on tradition vs. freedom, you buy it.
To be frank, it’s refreshing to see the romantic lives of older people depicted at all, let alone with such sensitivity and charm. “Half a Life” centers the experience of those later in life, facing down the prospect of aging, slowing down, relying on their children, and mortality. But it also focuses on their vibrancy, their ability to still live rich meaningful lives, have new experiences, and forge new connections. It’s not a perspective we see much of in mainstream television today, and it’s nice to see it vindicated here.
Much of the heavy-lifting on that front comes from Barrett as Troi. As entertaining as I find Lwaxana in her “Auntie Mame” mode, as fans of The Original Series she’s also capable of being a talented dramatic actress when the script calls for it. Her argument with Timicin over the rights and responsibilities of seniors, her intimate confession to her daughter about her emotions around aging, the simple looks she exchanges with her new but important paramour, sell the gravity and humanity of the big ideas at play. After multiple episodes where Lwaxana is an outsized comic relief character, it’s a welcome development to see TNG showing her as a more three-dimensional person like this.
It’s also bold of “Half a Life” to spend a full act with her and Timicin debating the merits of self-imposed euthanasia and the pros and cons of following tradition and how new experiences and new people can change your perspective. (Lwaxana’s parable about Betazoid wigs is an all-timer.) It would be easy for the show to say, “Mandatory death for anyone who reaches sixty is absurd,” and have the characters draw a moral line in the sand over an archaic practice. (And to be fair, many good Star Trek episodes have followed that approach.) But this episode doesn’t make the practice feel like a straw man. Instead, it justifies Timicin’s acceptance of it for cultural, practical, and personal reasons, even if it’s hard for the audience to swallow. And it also justifies why he’s willing to break from that tradition after his time on the Enterprise.
For one thing, he’s figured out the answer, or at least a possible answer, to his life’s work, but he needs more time to complete. He’s still vigorous and sharp and believes that his imperiled planet would be in worse straits if somebody else has to pick up where he left off. And most of all, he’s met someone who’s renewed his zest for life, given him a reason to mourn the potentially happy years ahead that would be lost rather than just consider the “Resolution” fulfilling his duty to his children. It’s enough to make him ask Captain Picard for asylum.
But then “Half a Life” starts stacking considerations on the other side. He’d be shunned and excommunicated by the people and home he loves so much if he chooses to buck tradition. They’ll reject his research even if it would save their lives. His stand would sow greater distrust for outsiders in the Kaelon. Most of all, it would make his daughter (played by the future Ensign Ro!) ashamed of him, potentially staining his family legacy and estranging him from his child in a way that causes him great pain.
The dilemma does so many of those great Star Trek things. It raises potent philosophical questions about how to ethically balance intergenerational needs. It zeroes in on political issues on how to manage a society. It grapples with diplomatic issues on how one culture should deal with the practices of another. It delves into the personal, making space for both Lwaxana’s and Timicin’s emotions throughout all of this. And there’s nuance to the exploration of each.
In the end, however, Timicin decides that he cannot maintain his one-man revolution, spurred by Lwaxana’s passion though he may be. He decides to go through with his culturally-mandated suicide, for the good of his people, to not disrupt a society that he believes needs stability as it faces down this challenge. Lwaxana is understandably devastated, but accepts his decision, even going down to the planet to witness it as a loved one, hand-in-hand with her doomed partner, a beautiful display of cultural acceptance and tragic but genuine affection.
At the risk of projecting too much from outside the text, it’s worth remembering that Barrett was months away from losing her real life husband, Gene Roddenberry, when this episode aired. There’s a truth to Lwaxana’s reactions and responses here, of having to see loved ones pass, of a fear of “dying before you die”, of being forced to reconcile someone you love having to go, that are piercing. I don’t know if the “First Lady of Star Trek” was channeling real life events when imbuing Mrs. Troi with such force and pathos here, but there’s a resonance to them nonetheless.
The beauty of “Half a Life” is that her love persists, even when it’s painfully limited in time and space, even when the object of her affection does something she deeply disagrees with. Timicin tells her that he cannot disrupt his people’s society just to be happy, that he loves her deeply, and that’s so close to make him want to overturn the tables in the temple, but not quite enough, by that much. We understand him. We understand why. And it just makes the whole thing feel more devastating yet moving.
It is not easy to age. It is not easy to choose centuries of cultural programming and expectations over newfound personal epiphanies. It is not easy to turn down the unexpected but invigorating chance for love in favor of the ultimate sacrifice. But the greatest of stories come from the hardest of choices, even and especially when the decision made denies the characters, and the audience, what they want. There is no grand speech or vital gesture that can save the day in “Half a Life” -- only the acceptance that there are some things so big that no one can change them, and that despite them, we go on loving to the end.
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@warden1 It's a good question and one I don't have a good answer for. There's a part of me that agrees with Lwaxana and thinks ending your life when you still have plenty of joy to experience, when you could continue work that would do an incredible amount of good, is insane. But there's a part of me that understands not wanting to prioritize your personal happiness at the expense of your people and your family. The risk of closing off Kaelon society even more, of casting doubt over his research, over estranging himself from his daughter -- I get that as a counterweight.
If you put a phaser to my head, I'd probably err on the side of bucking a nigh-pointless, and arguably harmful, societal convention, because that's very much in keeping with my perspective. There's so many thinks people do because "We've always done them that way", things that may have made sense at one time, but no longer do. I come from a long line of misfits and eccentrics, so it's hard for me to imagine giving into that way of thinking, especially when a life is on the line.
But the important thing is -- I get why Timicin thinks it's the right choice, and I believe that it's what the character would do, despite a deep well of feeling for Lwaxana. Right or wrong, it makes sense for someone steeped in this culture, who cares for his people and his family, even in the rush of love puts him on the cusp of breaking away. That's remains a hell of a thing for TNG to have pulled off.
[4.4/10] Thank goodness for Kyle MacLachlan as Agent Cooper. That’s about all I can say for the second episode of Twin Peaks. There is such a joie de vivre, a wide-eyed, confident heap of quirk to the character and the performance, that his presence instantly elevates every scene he’s in. From the Batman-like introduction in this episode, to his meticulous evaluation of coffee, pie, and various other breakfast foods, to his ability to sniff out that the Sherriff is seeing Ms. Packard, there’s the sense that Cooper is certainly eccentric, but also scrupulous and good at what he does because of it. It doesn’t hurt that MacLachlan can make Lynch and Frost’s dialogue sound believable in a way that no one else in the cast can.
The only other character in the episode who offers anything of note is Audrey. There’s parts of that I find unpleasant, because her role seems to be to titillate as much as she’s meant to be a legitimate character. But the other side of the coin is that there is an intrigue and an unassuming pathos that cuts through the way she’s uncomfortably cast as a teenager oozing sexuality.
That comes through in her apple cart-upsetting ways. Like everything in Twin Peaks, it’s absurdly over the top, but the scene in which she pulls her pencils out of the cup she just bored into, just to see what happens when the coffee spills everywhere, represents the way in which she is something of a wildcard, willing to stir the pot for the sake of stirring the pot.
But as much as it seems like adolescent nihilism, or causing trouble for trouble’s sake, there’s also the sense that it’s a cry for attention. It’s trite to have the wealthy parents with kids who make problems because they feel neglected, but it’s at least an interesting tack to take in the scene where her dad confronts her for scaring off the Swedish investors with the news of Laura’s death. It’s all a little silly, but unlike most of the characters in Twin Peaks (Dale Cooper excepted) she at least has a presence about her that makes her stand out in a show full of thinly-drawn, stereotypical characters. (It may help that she typically doesn’t have to spit out too much of the series’s abysmal dialogue.)
And no one in the show is more of a flat, stereotypical character than Leo, the abusive husband of Shelley. But before we get into that, let’s tease out the ridiculous, lumpy, love-dodecahedron that the show has going with its teen cast members at the moment. It starts with Leo, who’s married to Shelley, who’s seeing Bobby on the side, who was also dating Laura, who was having a dalliance with James (and possibly two other guys), who is not romantically involved with Donna, who is officially dating Mike. If that weren’t enough, there is Naomi (the eye patch-wearing nut obsessed with drapes), who’s married to Ed, who’s secretly seeing Norma, who’s married to a man in jail. And just to make sure there’s enough tangled romantic webs to really make things convoluted, the Sherriff is seeing Mrs. Packard, who is flirting with Pete, who is married to Catherine, who is schtuping Audrey’s dad. Phwew. Suffice it to say, this is a show where you need a diagram to keep up with all the romantic connections, and it’s utterly, utterly ridiculous.
Anyway, we get Leo’s homecoming with Shelley, where he is viciously jealous (over unfamiliar branded cigarettes in his ashtray) and willing to beat her with soap in a sock over a missing, blood-stained shirt. I’m willing to cut some slack to a show made in 1990, but I can’t help but wince at something as serious as spousal abuse being depicted in such a cartoonish, Halmark Channel-esque fashion.
Rest-assured, there’s plenty more crap where that came from, as we dig deep into a budding relationship between expressionless James and Donna. There’s the grain of something solid there, with the idea that grief provokes strong emotional states in people that sometimes forges unexpected connections, but there’s next to no chemistry between the pair.It doesn’t help that James has all the ability to emote of a particularly dull Rock, or that Donna is saddled with the cringiest of bad dialogue. Her little monologue about this all seeming like a wonderful dream, but also a nightmare, is a noble attempt to capture the confused feelings that emerge around grief and comfort, but it’s written with all the nuance and eloquence of an episode of G.I. Joe.
That level of depth and subtlety carries on in the scene that Donna shares with Laura’s mom. As if the over-the-top acting the mom had already shown weren’t enough, we get some poorly-done special effects to superimpose Laura’s face on Donna’s to signify that the mom is delirious or out of it in her grief and grasping in vain for her daughter. The frantic screaming when she sees a random dude peeking from behind the couch is too much too, and it’s hard not to laugh when the show at least seems to be going for sincere, grief-stricken emotion.
The thrust of the episode seems to be a dichotomy of Laura as someone who was an upstanding young student on the one hand – dating the captain of the football team, volunteering at meals on wheels, and tutoring Audrey’s mentally-challenged older brother, and a doomed ingénue on the other, two-timing her boyfriend, doing cocaine, and getting lost in dark forests with mysterious people. But it’s a rote sense of duality, the usual Madonna/whore complex without any wrinkles in the early going beyond mystery thrown on top of mystery in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, it’ll all be going somewhere.
That’s the best I can hope for this rewatch of Twin Peaks, that eventually all this over-exaggerated camp and baroque plotting turns into something decent beyond its status as an intermittent showcase for Kyle MacLachlan. We’ll just have to wait and see.
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@killip-sean I hear what you're saying, and I think it's why the parts of the original run of Twin Peaks I appreciate most are those famous Red Room scenes. For that very reason, even though they (deliberately, I think) don't make a ton of sense, there is something visceral and even primal about them that provokes an emotional response. The power of them is undeniable to me.
The problem I have with most of original recipe Twin Peaks is that given the style of performance and presentation for most of the scenes in the real world, there's a certain cartoonishness that makes it hard for me to have a reaction beyond rolling my eyes. I think some of it is just the conventions of the late 1980s/early 1990s, and some of it is Lynch and Frost's attempt to lampoon soap operas looping back around toward indulging in their hokey excesses.
I love shows and films that run on dream logic and magical realism and "the vibes" for lack of a better term. Similarly "out there" stuff from rough contemporaries like Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Terry Gilliam hits my wavelength. But something about the poor acting (outside of Cooper and Audrey), tin-eared dialogue, and often goofy tone of Twin Peaks' original run makes most of the show lack emotional truth for me, which makes it hard to connect with the series, even when I'm willing to forgive its nonsensical plotting.
What's so interesting for me, then, is that I loved Fire Walk with Me when I finally saw it. It's no more clear or narratively sound, but I feel like Lynch modulates the tone to a significant degree, and the actors follow that lead. The result is, in my book at least, the crown jewel of the Twin Peaks of the 1990s, and a film I found piercing and even profound, because despite the outre elements, there's more recognizable humanity in it. I think he carried that tone over to the The Return, and I think it's why I probably appreciate that more than the original run as well, even as it goes down as many narrative rabbit holes as the 1990s show did.
Wow, color me impressed! After watching the whole original series, experiencing the huge downfall it took, and the rumors that this show was gonna follow along the MCU woke tradition, I was worried for this. Luckly, thus far, this had me completely surprised in the best way possible! They actually ditched the silliness and childhood vibe of the original show and seem to be actually following the vibe of the 90s comics! Even adapting aspects that the original show ditched! And the animation is amazing, down to the perfection of the new intro!
If this keeps up it is gonna be the best Marvel Studios project in years!loading replies
@mellowgeek X-Men was "woke" long before the MCU came along.
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP9[6.5/10] I love the concept of the Morlocks. The idea that there are mutants who don’t have the passing privileges that the mainline heroes do (give or take Beast), and so feel compelled to live in the shadows is a rich one. But “Captive Hearts” doesn’t do much with it.
The idea that Kalisto just wanted Cyclops to be her mate to produce an heir and help leads the Morlocks is stupid, generic villain stuff. The Morocks themselves are pretty dull in terms of their powers and most are devoid of personality. Leech trying to return the favor of Cyclops’ help by taking away his constant eye blasts for a little bit is a nice touch. But everyone else is generic muscle, generic goop monster, or a generic “power of suggestion” lady.
That last baddie, a woman who can use her psychic powers to make people think they’re her daughter, or covered in scorpions, or whatever might have a cool power if it was used for anything interesting. But she ends up being more of a plot device than a person.
The only big takeaway here is the love triangle between Wolverine,Jean, and Cyclops. Wolverine harboring forbidden affections for Jean, but still rescuing Cyclops because it’s the right thing to do, adds some depth to the character. The same goes for Cyclops, who remains a bit of a dull stiff, but who is made more sympathetic in the way he’s tormented by trying to live up to Professor X’s expectations for the X-Men.
When the psychic lady uses her powers of suggestion to make Wolverine try to kill Cyclops, his preexisting bitterness at Scott makes him an easy mark. But when she tries to do the same to get Logan to turn on Jean, he can't do it, a sign of the depth of his feelings. It’s about the only important thing to come out of this one. (Other than it being the source of the famous “Wolverine looks at photograph” meme!)
The other thread of note is Storm grappling with her claustrophobia. I like the idea of her pushing through it for the good of the team, but there’s no real emotional and psychical breakthrough here. She’s tortured by her phobia and then she...just isn't’. There’s no sign of her finding a way to overcome it, which feels odd.
Overall, this is a low light of the season, but at least introduces some interesting comments, like the Morlocks themselves or the feelings between Jean/Wolverine/Cyclops that can be fleshed out more down the line.
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@anwar29 Thank you! It's certainly a lesser light in my book.
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP9[5.0/10] Far be it from me to cast aspersions on what is, by acclimation, one of the best episode of Star Trek ever produced. Far be it from me to turn my nose up at something penned by the great (if prickly) Harlan Ellison. Far be it from me to offer no quarter to the crown jewel of this show’s first season. But call me a Philistine, because “City on the Edge of Forever” did nothing for me.
It’s not a bad episode exactly. There’s no blatantly wrong turns (so to speak) or outrageous missteps. It’s just not especially compelling, and doesn’t achieve what it sets out to do.
First and foremost, the central conflict of “Forever” falls flat because the central relationship it hinges on falls flat. There is a compelling, ethically complex issue in the decision of whether to allow an innocent person to die in order to defeat the Nazis and, by extension, allow all of humanity’s accomplishments from the 1930s to the 23rd century to occur. There’s even a tragic irony in the individual who must perish being the one who envisions a day when mankind ends war and hunger and want. Keeler imagines a world she will never get to see.
But rather than anchoring “Forever” on the difficulty of that choice, the conflict between utilitarian morality versus proscriptions on allowing harm to come to innocent people, Star Trek anchors it in the romance between Kirk and Keeler, and there’s just nothing there. I can appreciate that the episode is trying to ground the abstract and headily moral question at play in the personal, but the romance isn’t as successful or developed enough for that to work.
Maybe the relationship between Kirk and Keeler would have more oomph if it didn’t take place in little more than a week. Maybe it would have been better if William Shatner and guest star Joan Collins could manage to have more chemistry in forty minutes than Collins and DeForest Kelley do in five. Maybe it’d be easier to invest in if Kirk didn’t fall in love with someone every third episode.
Or maybe it’s just changing mores about how love is depicted in the 1960s versus how it’s depicted in the 2010s. Kirk’s gazes at Keeler seem more like creepy leers than admiration. Keeler’s preternatural ability to sense that Kirk is a great man feels, at best, convenient, and at worst, pernicious in the “some men just have greatness in them” themes the show has trafficked in previously.
Whatever the reason, the cornerstone of this episode, the thing that’s supposed to make us feel the pain and pathos of its ending, is Kirk’s emotional arc through his attachment to Keeler, and when that fails, everything built on it fails too. In this sort of depiction, I don’t feel the connection; I don’t feel the romance; and I don’t feel the loss of anything when it’s ended, even in tragic terms. That essentially sinks everything else “Forever” is trying to accomplish.
That’s unfortunate, because there is, as I often find with Star Trek, a great deal I like about the episode in conception, if not in its execution. Again, the moral dilemma of whether to sacrifice one blameless life for a better future is an inherently compelling one (and one picked up by Futurama, a series that I always knew was indebted to Trek, but where I did not realize the extent of the influence). Kirk and Spock, as usual, make for an amusing odd couple. And as weird as the premise is, it fits the sci-fi flair of the series.
Also, for better and worse, “Forever” doesn’t really feel like other episodes of Star Trek. This isn’t the first time our heroes have gone back in time, or confronted difficult moral choices, or had to make due without their usual tools and technology. But there’s a different tone here, one that seems more grounded and even melancholy despite the genre trappings. It could just be the depression-era setting, but there’s a certain mood throughout the episode that distinguishes “Forever” from its predecessors.
And as silly as it is, I kind of love the Guardian of Forever. There’s just something so essentially sci-fi about a giant stony circle that speaks in a booming, stilted voice and emits, smoke, light, and black-and-white historical footage. (To that end, it’s also clear to anyone who’s read/played Ellison’s I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream that he enjoys this type of thing.) This giant alien thing that can send our heroes across time is appropriately and enjoyably out there.
The impetus for the whole episode, on the other hand, is less so. Dr. McCoy accidentally injecting himself with some future substance that makes him paranoid and crazy is a weird story-motivator. Kelley is up to the challenge, with his frantic declarations of “killers” and “assassins” seeming appropriately unhinged, but it’s a thin and (given the turbulence-related cause of it) convenient excuse for Kirk and Spock to have to chase him through time.
Still, there’s a certain amount of charm to the pair landing in 1930s New York City and trying to fit in and save Bones (and the future) at the same time. Kirk using reverse psychology on Spock to build a computer is amusing, particularly in Nimoy’s restrained but clearly affronted reactions. The Sesame Street-like environs have a well-worn allure. And again, the premise of the episode is, at worst, solid.
But the whole thing just comes down to Kirk and Keeler, and that’s not enough to sustain “Forever.” It’s hard, to say the least, to be invested in Kirk mourning this woman he barely knew for a week, where we’ve seen far more googly eyes being made than any real depth to their relationship. Binding a fantastical story with the personal loss of a star-crossed romance can add a human dimension to an otherwise outsized tale, but if you make that romance the centerpiece of your story, and it falters rather than flourishes, it can take the entire story down with it. “Forever” has its merits, but by centering the episode around Kirk and Keeler, it’s as doomed as she is.
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@robinm0 Thanks! What's hard is that I can see what the episode is trying to do, and I like the idea. The execution just doesn't click for me.
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP9[8.6/10] I didn’t really anticipate this episode turning into such an affecting mediation on sacrifice, atheism, and faith. That’s probably more than most people expect when diving into an episode about a bunch of superheroes fighting an ersatz Cthulhu, but shame on me for underestimating what this show and its creative team are capable of.
For one thing, they don’t shortchange us on the “fighting the Old Ones” action. “The Terror Beyond pt. 2” introduces some of the DCAU’s most striking and creative visual designs ever. From the hand-screamers that call to mind Pan’s Labyrinth to the grotesque sea creatures invading Atlantis, to the domineering skull-squid himself, the episode does a stellar job at making everyone and everything in Ichthultu’s realm seem off and more than a little disturbing.
But I also appreciated how this episode expanded the show’s history and cosmology. We don’t get a whole lot of insight as to what Aquaman and Dr. Fate’s original plan was, but it basically comes down to sacrificing Grundy using the power of Aquaman’s trident in order to close the gates that the “Old Ones” a group of malevolent “extradimensional beings” use to antagonize our world.
The wrinkles to that are two-fold. First, Aquaman’s trident isn’t just the latest in a line of cool weapons wielded by Justice League allies. It’s an implement used by Poisedon himself to ward off Ichthultu thousands of years ago, absorbing and exhausting all the ambient magic to do, causing Atlantis to sink to the bottom of the sea. And Thanagar isn’t just another lost alien world. It’s a planet where Hawkgirl’s people used to worship the Eldritch Abomination, and even make human (er, hawk-human) sacrifices to him in exchange for his favor centuries ago. That explains the need for Aquaman to be a part of the ceremony and why Hawkgirl’s mace and knowledge of Thanagarian “prayers” turned out to be useful for and against Doctor Fate.
That backstory leads to some pretty cool and meaningful developments down the line. When Arthur Curry stands down an army of the Old One’s aquatic menaces, it’s more than just another random superpowered fracas. It’s him trying to follow in the footsteps of his forebears and protect his kingdom against an invasion with a longstanding antecedent.
And when Hawkgirl faces the Elder God, she’s doing more than just subduing the villain of the week. Instead, she’s expelling and excising the devil’s bargain her people made with his monster, rejecting the authority of any higher power over her in the process.
That’s also what makes this episode as a whole more than just the latest smash-fest. There’s a lot of spiritual questioning at the heart of this one. When questioned, Wonder Woman affirms that calling out to Hera really does feel like it gives her strength. Grundy, despite his mere rudimentary understanding of what’s happening, is on the quest for his immortal soul and seeks the comforts of the afterlife. And Shayera is an atheist, one who affirmatively rejects the comforts of faith given what it cost her people long ago.
But these notions collide with one another. Grundy becomes a strangely sympathetic character. Despite Superman questioning whether Grundy has the mental wherewithal to consent to what Fate and Quaman want to do with him, he ultimately becomes the key to destroying the Elder God. Instead of being sacrificed, he basically sacrifices himself, arguably earning his soul back through deed, rather than by fiat.
Hawkgirl takes action as well, rejecting this malevolent force despite its boasts that its bargain with the Thanagarians was fair. There’s something symbolic about her finishing the job, permanently throwing off the shackles of this would-be deity and what he extracts and expects of his “children”.
Despite that, in the end, she helps bury Grundy, does so according to human customs and, most notably, tells Grundy that he and his soul will be reunited in the afterlife, despite her beliefs to the contrary. The show seems to come down on the side of faith, or at least on the notion that it can be useful, a comfort in dark times, regardless of whether you’re a believer, or a doubter, or somewhere in between. That’s remarkably profound for a show where a bunch of mulit-colored strongmen stop a squid demon’s portal by wedging a giant rock into it.
But that’s par for the course for Justice League in this period, a show that knows how to balance its fantastical adventures with deeper examinations of what makes its characters, and our world, keep ticking. I hope that Hawkgirl gets some peace out of that world, and that there’s something waiting for Grundy on the other side of it.
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@warden1 Ehhhh, the Justice Leaguers beat demigods all the time. Why not Cthulu, I say? :-)
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP9[5.0/10] It’s nice to know that, whatever Twin Peaks’s other failings, it’s still good at being creepy. Mrs. Bloom noted that the final image of the episode, with Cooper’s former partner having set some random dead man up in Truman’s office with a chessboard, feels very much like a proto-version of something from Dexter. (For the love of god, let’s not use the word “tableau.”) Like most things in the show, it’s a bit cheesy, but it’s still a haunting thing to have our heroes walk in on.
But much more chilling than that is the scene with Shelly and Leo. I’ve been cold on the two of them as a pair of the numerous weak links, but the scene with the two of them was one of the scariest and best in the show. The hum and creep of the power coming on and off, while the music unnervingly stops and starts, creates a frightening mood from the get go. The cinematography -- slow shots of light bulbs and empty furniture -- lend to that scary atmosphere as well. And the smiling face of Leo, with his party hat and cake-covered face, is the best use of the character there’s been yet.
Here’s the other thing I really appreciated about this episode. When Twin Peaks is bad, most of the time it’s just kind of dull, but the stuff that’s bad here is appropriately loony or pulpy that I can at least laugh at it and be entertained by it.
The peak of that is Nadine’s storyline. It actually led to somewhere for once! For one thing, seeing her go all predatory on Mike was its own kind of creepy, but also speaks to the persistence of teenage Nadine that likely helped her in wooing Ed. Even beyond the backstory that Ed gave of the two of them early in the season, that sort of “won’t take no for an answer” perseverance helps the two of them make sense as a couple back in the day.
And her super-strength actually came in handy! I don’t particularly care about Ed and Norma. The forbidden love angle has been weak from the start and their rekindling didn’t do much for me either. (Though is the first time we’ve ever seen the two kiss?) By the same token, Hank being magically behind Ed after he says goodbye to Norma was silly as all get out. But I laughed my head off at Nadine bursting in and using her superpowers to knock Hank around the house. It’s cartoony as hell, but it was fun in a bent sort of way, and I could at least enjoy the ridiculousness of it.
Were that the same could be said for the continuing lame adventures of Deputy Andy and Dick Trelane. Their little escapade to the orphanage drags out this go-nowhere storyline of whether Little Nicky really is a demonspawn even further. Though at least Dick has the smarts to know to get out while they can and read the stolen file in the car.
Also, James’s story continues to be the absolute pits. The cut-rate Kim Bassinger femme fatale angle with Mrs. Marsh is dull, and whether it’s the actor who plays James (who actually smiles here!) or the garbage-level dialogue, the lines exchanged between them about James’s survivor’s guilt over what happened with Laura and Maddy goes over like a lead balloon. The twist with Mrs. Marsh making out with her “brother” could be a Game of Thrones-like twist, but I suspect it’s part of some black widow scheme to have James kill Mr. Marsh so the two of them can inherit the estate and be together. Feh.
But we get some decent material from Major Briggs. While the radioactive symbol floating through the galaxy and then turning into flames was goofier than the Disney character, the way that the normally stoic Briggs was clearly shaken by his experience gave his recounting force. It’s more mumbo jumbo in terms of dialogue, but Briggs sells it, and his struggle between what’s classified and transcendent, better than it has any right to be sold.
We also get a pretty darn good Cooper caper. The sting gone awry with Norma’s prospective father-in-law is a nice setpiece. The hostage exhange gives Cooper some more nobility. It’s a fitting end(?) for Jean Renalt, who is at least able to assess the situation with clear eyes. And we even get Denise/Dennis using her cross-dressing ways (and Cooper’s quick thinking) to save the day! The scene where she shows up dressed as a waitress from the Double R packing a pistol is, again, broad action movie stuff, but it works with the vibe of the show in a fun way.
Were that the same could be said for Ben Horne and Catherine Martell. Ben’s going nuts and having a Civil War obsession was kind of amusing as a change at first, but now it’s quickly run its course. And I don’t know if anyone was really clamoring for him and Ben to start being romantic with one another again. Similarly, Audrey is mired in this story which is dragged down, naturally, by the inclusion of Bobby who is, as usual, focused on himself and trying to turn this association into a money making scheme, while putting the moves on his latest attempted conquest. Basically anything going on at the Great Northern that doesn’t involve Coop is skippable.
Otherwise this is an episode that you can pretty well divide into the third. There’s the material that’s legitimately good and entertaining, like the Sherrif’s sting operation and the creepy Leo scene. There’s the stuff that is corny but so off the wall that you can’t help from at least appreciating it ironically like the Nadine material. And then there’s the stuff that’s just nigh-unwatchable Drek, like James’s adventures in Dynasty and Ben’s insane playroom, where the only pleasures to derive are from the abject terribleness of the dialogue. Still, that’s better than a lot of Twin Peaks episodes can muster, so I’ll take it.
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@macdeath That fixed it -- thank you!
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP9[5.0/10] It’s nice to know that, whatever Twin Peaks’s other failings, it’s still good at being creepy. Mrs. Bloom noted that the final image of the episode, with Cooper’s former partner having set some random dead man up in Truman’s office with a chessboard, feels very much like a proto-version of something from Dexter. (For the love of god, let’s not use the word “tableau.”) Like most things in the show, it’s a bit cheesy, but it’s still a haunting thing to have our heroes walk in on.
But much more chilling than that is the scene with Shelly and Leo. I’ve been cold on the two of them as a pair of the numerous weak links, but the scene with the two of them was one of the scariest and best in the show. The hum and creep of the power coming on and off, while the music unnervingly stops and starts, creates a frightening mood from the get go. The cinematography -- slow shots of light bulbs and empty furniture -- lend to that scary atmosphere as well. And the smiling face of Leo, with his party hat and cake-covered face, is the best use of the character there’s been yet.
Here’s the other thing I really appreciated about this episode. When Twin Peaks is bad, most of the time it’s just kind of dull, but the stuff that’s bad here is appropriately loony or pulpy that I can at least laugh at it and be entertained by it.
The peak of that is Nadine’s storyline. It actually led to somewhere for once! For one thing, seeing her go all predatory on Mike was its own kind of creepy, but also speaks to the persistence of teenage Nadine that likely helped her in wooing Ed. Even beyond the backstory that Ed gave of the two of them early in the season, that sort of “won’t take no for an answer” perseverance helps the two of them make sense as a couple back in the day.
And her super-strength actually came in handy! I don’t particularly care about Ed and Norma. The forbidden love angle has been weak from the start and their rekindling didn’t do much for me either. (Though is the first time we’ve ever seen the two kiss?) By the same token, Hank being magically behind Ed after he says goodbye to Norma was silly as all get out. But I laughed my head off at Nadine bursting in and using her superpowers to knock Hank around the house. It’s cartoony as hell, but it was fun in a bent sort of way, and I could at least enjoy the ridiculousness of it.
Were that the same could be said for the continuing lame adventures of Deputy Andy and Dick Trelane. Their little escapade to the orphanage drags out this go-nowhere storyline of whether Little Nicky really is a demonspawn even further. Though at least Dick has the smarts to know to get out while they can and read the stolen file in the car.
Also, James’s story continues to be the absolute pits. The cut-rate Kim Bassinger femme fatale angle with Mrs. Marsh is dull, and whether it’s the actor who plays James (who actually smiles here!) or the garbage-level dialogue, the lines exchanged between them about James’s survivor’s guilt over what happened with Laura and Maddy goes over like a lead balloon. The twist with Mrs. Marsh making out with her “brother” could be a Game of Thrones-like twist, but I suspect it’s part of some black widow scheme to have James kill Mr. Marsh so the two of them can inherit the estate and be together. Feh.
But we get some decent material from Major Briggs. While the radioactive symbol floating through the galaxy and then turning into flames was goofier than the Disney character, the way that the normally stoic Briggs was clearly shaken by his experience gave his recounting force. It’s more mumbo jumbo in terms of dialogue, but Briggs sells it, and his struggle between what’s classified and transcendent, better than it has any right to be sold.
We also get a pretty darn good Cooper caper. The sting gone awry with Norma’s prospective father-in-law is a nice setpiece. The hostage exhange gives Cooper some more nobility. It’s a fitting end(?) for Jean Renalt, who is at least able to assess the situation with clear eyes. And we even get Denise/Dennis using her cross-dressing ways (and Cooper’s quick thinking) to save the day! The scene where she shows up dressed as a waitress from the Double R packing a pistol is, again, broad action movie stuff, but it works with the vibe of the show in a fun way.
Were that the same could be said for Ben Horne and Catherine Martell. Ben’s going nuts and having a Civil War obsession was kind of amusing as a change at first, but now it’s quickly run its course. And I don’t know if anyone was really clamoring for him and Ben to start being romantic with one another again. Similarly, Audrey is mired in this story which is dragged down, naturally, by the inclusion of Bobby who is, as usual, focused on himself and trying to turn this association into a money making scheme, while putting the moves on his latest attempted conquest. Basically anything going on at the Great Northern that doesn’t involve Coop is skippable.
Otherwise this is an episode that you can pretty well divide into the third. There’s the material that’s legitimately good and entertaining, like the Sherrif’s sting operation and the creepy Leo scene. There’s the stuff that is corny but so off the wall that you can’t help from at least appreciating it ironically like the Nadine material. And then there’s the stuff that’s just nigh-unwatchable Drek, like James’s adventures in Dynasty and Ben’s insane playroom, where the only pleasures to derive are from the abject terribleness of the dialogue. Still, that’s better than a lot of Twin Peaks episodes can muster, so I’ll take it.
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@macdeath Thanks for the heads up! I've tried re-editing them but nothing seems to work. Very odd!
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP98.7/10.
Here's what I loved about this episode. We finally got to see The Chancellor become The Emperor (It's never been clear to me whether the show has outright acknowledged this or merely hinted at it.) There's a risk in a show like Clone Wars where, with so many characters wielding lightsabers and using force powers, you might dilute the specialness of the biggest players on the scene, and the specialness of the franchise's primary heroes and antagonists. But Clone Wars firmly avoids that with Palpatine here.
There is a pure and overwhelming display of power from Palpatine here. The way he neutralizes Maul's death squad guard while barely moving a muscle, the way he effortlessly tosses his opponents around the room, and the way he seems firmly in control even while fighting both Maul and Savage at the same time really drives home what a powerful force-wielder Palpatine is. There's also a cruelty to him here that is striking even knowing where the character goes to in the franchise's future. Much credit goes to Ian Abercrombie (who, passed away prior to this episode airing) for imbuing such menace into his delivery. The way that Palpatine declares, "you have been replaced" and "you are no longer my apprentice" to Maul is simultaneously fiendish and gutwrenching, particularly as he unleashes the Sith lightning on his former protege.
The best lightsaber battles in Star Wars have meaning behind the action, and this fit that ideal to a tee. The otherwise unflappable Maul being clearly shaken by his master's reappearance; Palpatine's initial impressed tone that quickly curdles into disdain, and the death of Savage (which adds even further stakes to this battle) all make those visual and auditory elements that already serve to heighten the tension into something undergirded by story and character. There's something disturbing, even haunting, about Maul having to say goodbye to his brother and being at the mercy of Palpatine once more.
As Obi Wan points out, Maul didn't choose this life, and while he's done terrible things, he's also seen many terrible things and had many terrible things done to him as well. It's too much to call him innocent, but he is as much a victim of Palpatine as any, and here he's once again beaten by his abuser. That's unexpectedly powerful stuff from a show whose last quartet of episodes devolved into goofy kiddie fare.
The Obi Wan half of the episode was still good, but not quite as good. As with Obi Wan's prior adventures in and around Mandalore, it's nice to see Obi Wan seeming a little more like Anakin here -- going behind the council's back and acting alone in order to help the woman he loves. I certainly wouldn't want the two characters to become clones of one another, but it continues to give an added dimension to a character who could otherwise easily fall into being a monolithic wise old monk. There's humanity beneath Obi Wan's staid exterior, and that's always nice to see.
But I didn't really like how Satine was used here. I don't mind the character dying (well, actually, I do, because I really enjoyed her as a character, but I understand the narrative necessity of this sort of thing). The problem is that whereas in prior episodes, Satine was a full-fledged character with her own goals and distinct personality, here she was mostly just a prop for Obi Wan, something to motivate him and impact his journey. Sure, that can be said for many secondary/tertiary characters on television (and it's arguably as true for Savage here, though he at least gets to be more active in the proceedings), but the villain killing the woman the hero loves in a way that only serves to motivate the hero is a tired trope and something of an ignominious end for one of the more interesting recurring characters. The show also seemed to underplay Obi Wan's reaction to her death, which you can sort of chalk up to his Jedi detachment, but still felt off. I didn't need him to scream or cry, but he seemed mostly unfazed, even quipping, shortly after Maul kills Satine, in a way that blunted the impact the death was supposed to have.
The rest of the episode, featuring the return of Satine's nephew to help her contact the Jedi, Obi Wan's first unsuccessful attempt to rescue Satine, and his later collaboration with Bo Katan to get back to the Jedi and possibly mount a Republic Invasion, had some solid action and excitement with clear goals and well-directed combat to keep the thrill-quotient up. The reveal that Katan is Satine's sister is a little contrived for my tastes, but there's interesting places for the show to go with it.
Overall, this is a landmark episode of Clone Wars that, in many ways, feels like a culmination of much of what the show has built over the past five seasons, and even the unrealized potential of The Phantom Menace. It's built on so much of what we already know about the characters from their prior televised and cinematic adventure, and the convergence of all of these elements (give or take the Katan reveal) feels organic to previously established character motivations, while still advancing the ball and giving the series further room to grow. That's no small feat, and even if elements like Satine's death feel kind of cheap, overall this arc represents the best sustained run of quality from Clone Wars in the series history, and a high water mark in terms of capitalizing on the groundwork previously laid by the show.
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@mrtickleuk Enjoy and thanks for the catch! You are in for a treat.
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP98.7/10.
Here's what I loved about this episode. We finally got to see The Chancellor become The Emperor (It's never been clear to me whether the show has outright acknowledged this or merely hinted at it.) There's a risk in a show like Clone Wars where, with so many characters wielding lightsabers and using force powers, you might dilute the specialness of the biggest players on the scene, and the specialness of the franchise's primary heroes and antagonists. But Clone Wars firmly avoids that with Palpatine here.
There is a pure and overwhelming display of power from Palpatine here. The way he neutralizes Maul's death squad guard while barely moving a muscle, the way he effortlessly tosses his opponents around the room, and the way he seems firmly in control even while fighting both Maul and Savage at the same time really drives home what a powerful force-wielder Palpatine is. There's also a cruelty to him here that is striking even knowing where the character goes to in the franchise's future. Much credit goes to Ian Abercrombie (who, passed away prior to this episode airing) for imbuing such menace into his delivery. The way that Palpatine declares, "you have been replaced" and "you are no longer my apprentice" to Maul is simultaneously fiendish and gutwrenching, particularly as he unleashes the Sith lightning on his former protege.
The best lightsaber battles in Star Wars have meaning behind the action, and this fit that ideal to a tee. The otherwise unflappable Maul being clearly shaken by his master's reappearance; Palpatine's initial impressed tone that quickly curdles into disdain, and the death of Savage (which adds even further stakes to this battle) all make those visual and auditory elements that already serve to heighten the tension into something undergirded by story and character. There's something disturbing, even haunting, about Maul having to say goodbye to his brother and being at the mercy of Palpatine once more.
As Obi Wan points out, Maul didn't choose this life, and while he's done terrible things, he's also seen many terrible things and had many terrible things done to him as well. It's too much to call him innocent, but he is as much a victim of Palpatine as any, and here he's once again beaten by his abuser. That's unexpectedly powerful stuff from a show whose last quartet of episodes devolved into goofy kiddie fare.
The Obi Wan half of the episode was still good, but not quite as good. As with Obi Wan's prior adventures in and around Mandalore, it's nice to see Obi Wan seeming a little more like Anakin here -- going behind the council's back and acting alone in order to help the woman he loves. I certainly wouldn't want the two characters to become clones of one another, but it continues to give an added dimension to a character who could otherwise easily fall into being a monolithic wise old monk. There's humanity beneath Obi Wan's staid exterior, and that's always nice to see.
But I didn't really like how Satine was used here. I don't mind the character dying (well, actually, I do, because I really enjoyed her as a character, but I understand the narrative necessity of this sort of thing). The problem is that whereas in prior episodes, Satine was a full-fledged character with her own goals and distinct personality, here she was mostly just a prop for Obi Wan, something to motivate him and impact his journey. Sure, that can be said for many secondary/tertiary characters on television (and it's arguably as true for Savage here, though he at least gets to be more active in the proceedings), but the villain killing the woman the hero loves in a way that only serves to motivate the hero is a tired trope and something of an ignominious end for one of the more interesting recurring characters. The show also seemed to underplay Obi Wan's reaction to her death, which you can sort of chalk up to his Jedi detachment, but still felt off. I didn't need him to scream or cry, but he seemed mostly unfazed, even quipping, shortly after Maul kills Satine, in a way that blunted the impact the death was supposed to have.
The rest of the episode, featuring the return of Satine's nephew to help her contact the Jedi, Obi Wan's first unsuccessful attempt to rescue Satine, and his later collaboration with Bo Katan to get back to the Jedi and possibly mount a Republic Invasion, had some solid action and excitement with clear goals and well-directed combat to keep the thrill-quotient up. The reveal that Katan is Satine's sister is a little contrived for my tastes, but there's interesting places for the show to go with it.
Overall, this is a landmark episode of Clone Wars that, in many ways, feels like a culmination of much of what the show has built over the past five seasons, and even the unrealized potential of The Phantom Menace. It's built on so much of what we already know about the characters from their prior televised and cinematic adventure, and the convergence of all of these elements (give or take the Katan reveal) feels organic to previously established character motivations, while still advancing the ball and giving the series further room to grow. That's no small feat, and even if elements like Satine's death feel kind of cheap, overall this arc represents the best sustained run of quality from Clone Wars in the series history, and a high water mark in terms of capitalizing on the groundwork previously laid by the show.
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@mrtickleuk It's been a long time since I've watched these episodes, but that makes sense! I remember The Clone Wars being somewhat cagey about Palpatine as The Emperor, with plenty of strong hints for those who know, but just enough plausible deniability if you're watching the show without having seen RotS for some reason.
[7.5/10] Actions have consequences. That may be the abiding theme that stretches across Better Call Saul and Breaking Bad. You make one small decision, and it pushes you in a certain direction. Then you make another and are pushed a little further. Then another, and another, and another. And before you know it, you’re a long way from where you started, finding yourself looking over your shoulder, worried about what’s lurking in your wake.
Gus decided to take out his business rival. Now he’s wearing bulletproof vests and ankle holsters in his own home and constantly monitoring his neighborhood for fear that vengeance will come. Saul decided to become a “friend of the cartel.” Now he’s got every scruffy-looking hump in New Mexico seeking to retain the legal services of “Salamanca’s guy.” And Kim decided to stay with Jimmy, to tolerate and even enable his coloring outside the lines. Now she’s living in fear of one drug lord while the goons of another are following her.
It’s one of the things I love most about Better Call Saul. (Not people being watched and pursued by drug-runners.) The mark of good storytelling is people making choices that stem from who and what they are, and then navigating the ripples and reactions of those choices. Everything has a cost. Everything has trade-offs. Every decision made means opening some doors and closing other. There may be no show on television more acutely aware of that fact than this one.
That gives “Hit and Run”, a calmer and more sedate episode after the grand events of last week, a bit of thematic oomph even when the show’s at slack tide. There’s comparatively few dramatic events in this installment. Nobody dies. Nobody has a white-knuckle confrontation. Nobody faces down mortal threats or serious peril. Everyone just stews in the messes they’ve made, or are still making, over the last handful of episodes.
Gus is properly paranoid. He divined from Hector’s reaction that Lalo lives. So despite seeming to have settled the most immediate threat with Nacho’s demise, he’s constantly worried that his rival will return with lethal impulses. He has Mike stretching his team thin, working guys for eighteen hour days, setting up an elaborate neighborhood farce to provide cover for his surveillance operation, and fretting over a car that follows his for a mere three blocks.
It took some finagling, but Fring seemed to pull off his big scheme. He arranged for the death of the only young man who would spill his scheme, and his enemy is presumed dead. But he can’t rest easy. The audience knows his fears are justified. But to his crew, it feels like chasing ghosts. Even the meticulous Gus isn’t able to buy himself any peace, with an equally cunning, if less subtle foe still potentially on the board.
Jimmy’s consequences aren’t quite so dire (at least not that he realizes). His interactions with Lalo result in a far more mundane consequence -- nobody at the courthouse wants anything to do with him. The security guard makes him run his belt and shoes through the scanner. His once-friendly clerk gives him the cold shoulder. The prosecutor he traded horses and snacks with thinks he’s gone too far. Whatever temporary advantages dealing with Lalo provided, they’ve left him ostracized by an ecosystem that he used to flit through with a hummingbird’s effortless grace.
Frankly, it’s a touch unbelievable. Maybe everyone in that courthouse draws a line between representing the occasional lowlife and pushing the limits to do so versus advocating for a killer and drug lord, but it’s awfully quick and seemingly coordinated. And yet, I don’t mind the convenience because it succinctly conveys the bridges Saul burns as he sidles up to the cartel.
He’s building new ones though. Doing business with Lalo didn’t just net him a duffle bag full of cash to fund his and Kim’s escapades. It gave him a reputation with, shall we say, a certain type of person who both admires Lalo Salamanca and might have the type of legal troubles that require a man of the...caliber to help a drug lord skip out on a murder rap.
It’s amusing to see Jimmy once again managing clients over the protests of his nail salon-owning landlord. Watching Bob Odenkirk ply his comedy chops once more, shuffling potential clients with his glad-handing, slick ways is a hoot as always. But at the same time, we can see the life of Saul Goodman starting to take shape, and the life of Jimmy McGill steadily slipping away.
It’s a life that includes running scams in his spare time. The most high-octane part of the episode comes as soon as the intro wraps up, as Kim and Jimmy complete the next step of their scheme to convince Clifford Main that Howard Hamlin is unreliable.
The ploy to steal Howard’s car and make it seem like he’s erratic and consorting with sex workers, conveniently within the eyeline of Clifford, is a thrill. The sheer absurdity of seeing Jimmy in his Howard-esque getup for the first time since the first season delights. The way Kim’s lunch with Clifford and Jimmy’s grand theft auto slows coalesce until the point of their seemingly disparate actions emerges is expertly crafted. And the mere involvement of Wendy, a familiar face from Breaking Bad, as their accomplice, makes the bit that much more of a sop to the fans.
The peak, though, comes when it always does -- when things start to go awry. Jimmy’s effort to return Howard’s car runs into a snag. Some inconsiderate jerk removed the traffic cone Jimmy left to save the spot and parked there. Watching Saul improvise -- heaving a parking sign out of the ground and moving it to make his questionable alternate car placement plausible -- adds joy and extra competence to the clockwork scheme. And the comic timing of the sign falling down mere seconds after Howard pulls out is perfect and uproarious.
But there’s a moment of pause there too. Each of the plays we’ve seen so far have skirted on the edge of discovery and disaster. Jimmy had to strip to his skivvies to avoid detection in the premiere. Huell had to rush the locksmith before a devoted valet went back for the keys. Saul had to scramble like mad to pull the car “borrowing” off without detection here.
Our protagonist and his allies are getting lucky. More to the point, they’re pushing their luck, with riskier and riskier plays that come closer and closer to blowing up in their faces. Better Call Saul likes to zig when we expect it to zag, but more in more, it seems like they’re skirting catastrophe, moments if not seconds away from everything blowing up in their faces.
Maybe that's why Kim feels uneasy about all this. She’s thinks she’s doing the right thing, as the diversionary lunch with Clifford turns into a genuine funding possibility for her pro bono efforts. But as Jimmy suggests, there’s a disbelief that, as Jesse Pinkman might put, they keep getting away with it. When you’re on a run of good luck, the sense that it could run out, that there’s some karmic comeuppance or at least reversion to the mean awaiting, puts a psychic weight on you.
That weight helps prompt Kim to spy the men following her (with an assist from Wendy, naturally). It gives her the gumption to walk up to them and call them on it. And it gives her the sterner stuff to earn a visit from none other than Mike Ehrmantraut for catching on.
Let’s be real, after five seasons, it’s a thrill to see two of the show’s major characters sharing a scene for the first time. The two could just talk about the weather, and it would still have the electricity Kim and Mike sitting across from one another after orbiting each other for so long. It doesn’t hurt that Kim’s sharp enough to deduce that Mike was the man with Saul in the desert, or that Mike intuits the steel behind Kim’s eyes that makes her steady and strong enough to deal with his frankness about why she’s being followed. That scene too is a bit of a sop to the fans, but a welcome one.
And it serves a purpose. Mike effectively tells Kim that they are not out of the woods, that Lalo Salamanca might still be on the loose, that he might be coming to them for answers, and that if he does, it might put them on the radar of a rival drug lord. Whether it’s Mike’s men or Lalo’s pursuit or the authorities, she’s now caught in the web of greater, potentially deadly forces.
It shakes her, as it would anyone. She can handle it, even if it leaves her uneasy about what might be around the next corner. But she doesn’t think Jimmy can. Especially when he’s reveling in what the association with Lalo netted him, she can’t burst his bubble, frighten him with the possibility of a side effect from a past decision coming back in a bad way.
He will though. Lalo is the Sword of Damocles hanging over this season. Gus isn’t wrong to be paranoid. Kim isn’t wrong to be frightened. Jimmy might be vulnerable in his blissful ignorance. Sometime, someplace, Lalo will emerge from his desert hideaways and strike, even if his path and target remain obscured.
But the choices these people made led them here. They may not have intended this outcome, but no one is here by accident. The choice to orchestrate a hit on your counterpart, the choice to stop representing run-of-the-mill defendants and help out a true bad guy, the choice not to tell your spouse about the danger that might be coming for them, have all had consequences. And while this moment is calm, the rules of Better Call Saul dictate that, sooner or later, the chickens will come home to roost.
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@mdelatonow I truly appreciate it! Sometimes I feel like I'm shouting into the void with these write-ups, so hearing that sort of compliment really gives me a boost.
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP9[7.3/10] It’s funny, when I was watching Return of the Joker, I thought to myself that despite Terry’s street smarts and the enhanced strength via the suit, we’ve never really seen him receive the sort of hand-to-hand combat training that Bruce did. It’s like somebody from the past read my mind! Bruce not only sending him to receive that sort of training, but sending him to Kairi, the fellow dojo pupil and hostage from “Day of the Samurai” from B:TAS is a real treat for folks watching through the whole DCAU like yours truly.
That said, I still find Kobra kind of tedious. Their status as a lame Hydra ripoff is upped with utterances of “Hail Kobra” here, and what’s worse, there’s no real consistency to them. Are they just thieves? Are they supervillains? Are they martial arts badasses? The show can’t seem to settle on a goal or a mission for them, and turning mooks into dinosaurs or unleashing some kind of dino-bomb doesn’t really move me.
That said, I do like that Terry befriends Xander, another pupil at Kairi’s dojo, who turns out to be the new head of Kobra. Xander isn’t exactly a tragic figure here, especially after he manhandles and kidnaps Max, but you do get the sense of him as a sheltered young man with great expectations placed upon him, ones he struggles to live up to, which gives him more dimension as a villain than a run-of-the-mill “evil for the sake of evil” type baddie.
We see him try pizza for the first time, play video games for the first time, and refuse to lose or be trifled with, whether it’s in a Street Fighter-type game or with a pack of Jokers. The show establishes his personality, his prowess as a fighter, and the sheltered life that he leads before it unveils him as the antagonist (give or take his fierce, evil-looking eyebrows that do the same) which I appreciate.
Still, I’m not enamored with Batman squaring off with some guy who looks like a combo between Mr. T and Aquaman who uses electric nunchucks. I’m also not thrilled with Max being a damsel in distress, even if Xander’s fascination with her adds another wrinkle to him as a bad guy. And I’m curious how the show is going to connect all the disparate kung fu, gene-splicing, and town-destroying bomb elements of this two-parter.
But still, overall the episode definitely does enough to pique my interest in the conclusion, fills in a blank for Terry in an exciting way, and establishes an interesting villain. That’s not bad at all.
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@warden1 I don't watch much Japanese media, but I agree. I think this episode would have made a lot of sense early in the show's run, and that there's plenty of hay to be made from showing Terry gradually learning hand-to-hand combat and needing to develop his skills there rather than just leaping into the villain plot here.
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP9[7.3/10] I’d be lying if I said I was over the moon about this first episode, but there’s plenty to like. I enjoy the fourth-wall breaking conceit. This isn’t the first show to use that device (hello Zach Morris and Woody Allen), but I like how and how well it’s integrated here. This isn’t just a dose of voiceover narration there to give the audience the important facts, but a nice way of adding in Fleabag’s stream of consciousness reactions to what’s happening in the moment in a natural way. Even just the aside looks at the camera (so much Jimming) work well in that regard, and it’s the thing that stands out the most in this pilot episode.
This is also a good first episode in terms of how it sets up the basics of the world. Using a mix of flashbacks and convenient (but still organic) exposition, we get a sense of who Fleabag is, what she’s like, and what she’s after. Right now, the latter part seems to be mostly money and sexual gratification, but that’s interesting! While far from the first to do it, I appreciate the show’s frankness about that, and its effort to make Fleabag understandable, if not exactly likable, in that effort.
It also introduces the major figures in her life, giving each a quick sketch to let us know who she is and her relationship with each is like. She has a, shall we say, prickly relationship with her sister, a barely-there relationship with her dad, and a cold war combative relationship with her stepmom. The one bit of sunshine in her life seems to come from her best friend Boo, and the show does a nice job of punching the audience in the gut over the revelation that she’s dead.
(To be candid, at first I didn’t comprehend that the blonde woman they were flashing back to was the same woman Fleabag was describing to her cab driver.)
I also appreciate the theme of feminism and femininity at play. There’s a nice effort to grapple with the idea that while modern feminism is a good thing and far better than the sexism it’s tried to replace, that it also results in women who feel like they fall short of its standards. Dramatizing that struggle, to be “good” whatever your standard for that is as a modern woman, is an interesting path to follow.
The comedy is light and dry (this did air on the BBC after all) but I got a few solid chuckles here and there. The cafe electricity freeloader was a particular chuckle, and there’s a few good lines or reactions out of Fleabag that tickled my fancy. No guffaws just yet, but it’s still early, and this strikes me as more of a “smile at the cleverness” show than a “laugh out loud” one, which is totally fine.
Overall, if I watched this apart from the hype, I’m not sure I would understand what the fuss is, but there’s enough intriguing groundwork laid here to see potential great things ahead.
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@zachbrownies It's a bit subtle, which I appreciate in hindsight
2024-01-01T00:00:00Z2024-12-31T23:59:59Z