Andrew Bloom

VIP

9

[7.7/10] I’m a sucker for episodes where characters discover what their principles and self-worth are...er...worth to them. (I blame Star Trek.) So I love the concept of Hop Pop being down in the dumps after the loss of his family’s vegetable stand catches up to him, regaining some of his spirit during the mayoral race when he becomes the town’s champion, and hanging onto it even though he loses because it felt good to stand up for something and be reminded of who he is. It’s simple storytelling, but it’s effective and even touching.

The actual mayoral race business is a lot of fun. I enjoy the Amphibia trope where the citizens of Watwood do something similar to how things are done in the human world, only they have some kind of bonkers twist on it. So the fact that a political race in the Valley means monster fighting competitions, soothing giant birds, surviving in the forest (with a nice callback to Hop Pop’s last primal adventure!),and a boxing match is good cause for humor and winning zaniness.

I like the turn in the story too, where Mayor Toadstool essentially offers Hop Pop not only his stand back, but financial security if he throws the race. It’s a great conflict, because on the one hand, it’s the loss of those things that sent Hop Pop into a depression in the first place, but it’s his principled stand and honest approach to the mayoral race that pulled him out of it. Compromising one to get the other is tempting but fraught, so when Hop Pop stands his ground and takes down Toadstool in the ring rather than throwing the match and with it the race, it’s rousing to see him stand up for himself and what he believes in.

My only beef is that his loss feels kind of like a cheat. I don’t want to be too strict about the lore and realism in a very loony show, but it strikes me as odd that Mayor Toadstool's office is apparently voted on by the whole valley, not just Wartwood. Charitably, you could take it as a commentary from the show on gerrymandering, or even on packing-and-cracking given how frogs’ political power is made subordinate to that of toads. But in truth, it just seems like an easy out. Frankly, I kind of thought we’d seen the end of Toadstool as mayor after the tax theft incident, but maybe that was naive on my part.

Still, I like what the show uses Hop Pop’s loss for. The fact that he may not have elected office, but he has the esteem of his fellow members of the community, who pitch in to get him his stand back, is a great, It’s a Wonderful Life-style “not rich, but rich in spirit” place to leave Hop Pop. And his “I wouldn’t put the root vegetables next to the tubers” line helps cut the treacle expertly.

Overall, I really enjoyed this one as a Hop Pop-focused character story, that starts with him in an understandably rough place, but earns him reaching a much better one.

[7.2/10] I’m a little mixed on this episode. I enjoyed the spoof of Twilight and, more broadly, the satire of how internet arguments over pop culture spin out of control into unnecessary vitriol and trialism. I like Sprig resenting his sister but then springing to her defense when things go too far. It’s everything in between that leaves me ab it cold./

“Civil Wart” just can't wring many laughs from the town benign divided over whether they’re Team Edward or Team Jacob (or their fictional equivalents). Anne and Hop Pop trying to play capture the flag to get the two sides together is fine, and the two sides’ devotion to their character of choice brings some mild chuckles, but in truth, I zoned out a bit during the middle since it felt a bit like filler.

Still, the beginning is strong, with simmering resentment between the Plantar siblings and some amusing material about teen genre flicks. And the finish, where Sprig realizes things have gone too far and he doesn't want his little sister hurt is sweet. If they could just shore up the middle a bit, this would have been a quality episode through and through. Plus hey, I’m here for My Dinner with Andre references in a kids’ show!

[7.7/10] What I love about Harley Quinn is that it’s an irreverent, oftentimes raunchy show, with tongue-in-cheek riffs on the lot of the D.C. Universe, but at its core, there’s some really solid character-based storytelling.

To the point, the dilemma for Poison Ivy here is truly well-crafted. She knows that the Legion of Doom is only inviting Harley into the fold in order to get her, and even though she doesn't want to participate in this backwards boys’ club, Ivy doesn’t want to rob Harley of her dream. It’s a legitimately tough position to be in! Does she stick with her principles and reject the Legion’s offer, even knowing that it will crush Harley to be denied her dream, or does she go along with all of this in the name of Harley’s happiness, knowing that her best friend’s achievement will be founded on a lie, something that could make things even worse down the road?

There’s no easy answers, which is often a sign of good writing. The choice to have Ivy tell Harley the truth, figuring that honesty is the best policy at the end of the day, is a strong one, especially as Ivy is plainly willing to go to great lengths to reassure her best friend (hilariously, right down to wearing matching “YASSS KWEEN” outfits) that what they have is better than anything the Legion could offer.

Until it’s destroyed. Lex Luthor is an evil mastermind after all. Clancy Brown’s Luthor from Superman: The Animated Series will always be the definitive version of the character for me, but I can’t pretend my conception of Lex isn’t influenced by the chessmaster version of Luthor from Young Justice from Greg Weisman and company, or his spiritual predecessor from another Weisman show, David Xanatos from Gargoyles. Xanatos in particular was a master at setting things up so that even when he seemed to lose, he won.

That's what it feels like for Harley Quinn’s version of Lex (voiced by a perfectly cast Giancarlo Esposito). Maybe I’m over doing this, but it seems like he perfectly set this scenario up to drive a wedge between Harley and Ivy, sever Harley from the support system that spurred her independence, and return Harley to being under the thumb of Joker. Playing on the tension in their relationship is sharp villainsmanship.

And sadly, it works. Harley feeling undermined in one of her biggest moment, Ivy feeling unappreciated after all she did to get Harley there, the sense that even if Ivy is an ally, she’s not “part of the crew” all comes spilling out in one of those fights that is natural in the moment but that both sides regret. Harley and Ivy’s friendship has been the backbone of the show to date. Seeing it tested and strained like this, with both sides regretful of what happened but too dug in to relent, is softly heartbreaking. This isn’t a terribly sentimental show so far, but there’s a realness to the relationship between Ivy and Harley, so when they’re broken apart, you feel it. This is good stuff from a show that, beneath all the lewd humor and zany comedy, has a surprisingly sound understanding of its character dynamics and storytelling.

Of course, the rude humor and hilarious set pieces are still in force! A Legion of Doom shindig is a great setting for comedy, from Bane threatening some chicken satay, to King SHakr arguing with some guppies, to Aquaman grousing about how all water isn’t the same. There’s also some particularly good line-reads here. I loved Esposito’s reaction to the other L.o.D. there’s in a protracted legal battle with, and Tony Hale/Dr. Psycho’s dry reaction to Clyface saying he has no idea what it’s like to be a giant hideous blob was the funniest moment in the episode. Plus, Kite Man as a caterer is a lovely little addition to bring the laughs.

I’m a little colder on the B-story. Sy isn’t my favorite character in the aries, and him Jane Eyre-ing his tentacle-transformed sister in the mall doesn’t do much for me. But I do like it as an inspiration for Harley to realize that letting wedges build up for too long without reaching out only hurts both sides. So it has a purpose.

Overall though, sound writing, funny stuff as usual, and the biggest change in the status quo yet makes this another superb episode from this season.

[7.6/10] I really enjoyed this one! In a lot of ways, having a dance off episode is a shortcut. Cartoon characters dancing is almost inherently funny, so doing an episode where the Plantars and their hangers on end up busting a move rings the laughs by right. It lets the animators have some fun with funky gestures and movements we don't always get in the show, and it’s simply entertaining to see the lot of them cut loose on the dance floor.

But the other comedy here is also on point. For one thing, I really enjoyed the way they basically pulled a You Got Served for the geriatric set. The combo of a dance off and the seniors participating in it is another inherently funny setup. Likewise, I got some big laughs out of just how abominable Hop Pop is at dancing. Everything from him crashing into an ant pile to smashing his own foot got chuckles out of me.

What I liked best though was the message -- that being yourself in matters of romance is a good thing even if you’re weird, because it’ll help you find the other people on your wavelength. Hop Pop spends so long and so much effort trying to dance in a way that will impress Sylvia, but she tells him when she picks out one of his pumpkins -- she likes the weird ones. The two of them doing their bizarre dance together, because even if the rest of the town hilariously recoils they revel in it, is downright heartwarming.

Maybe I’m a sucker for this because my wife and I are a pair of quirky eccentrics who were excited to find someone to be weird with, but this one tugged at my heartstrings. Here’s hoping Hop Pop and Sylvia get many more years to be weird together!

[7.7/10] This episode follows a pretty typical format. Two characters have different ideas about a situation, only to see one another’s perspective and compromise by the end of the episode. In this case, Sprig wants to have fun at the local fair, whereas Hop Pop wants his grandson to bolster the family name by fulfilling some boring duties. There’s a bit of a unique wrinkle here, since there's not actually a conflict between them, just Sprig resolving himself to accomplish the boring tasks because he wants Hop Pop’s pride and admiration. Despite that, this is pretty standard stuff.

What puts it over the top is that it's just...really really funny. I love the very concept of a “grubhog Day” fair, with goofy ceremony attached to it a la Puxatomy Phil. I love the montage of Sprig and Anne taking the Grubhog on various carnival rides and fair events, which is zany in the right way. I love the meta humor of Hop Pop admitting he doesn’t know why he sprung from the bushes, and a frog at a stand not knowing why anyone would want the socks and buttons he’s selling.

And god help me, I love love love Anne’s puppet routine. Maybe it’s years of practically worshiping at the altar of the Muppets, but seeing Anne do shtick with her hastily reassembled but still pretty good grubhog hand puppet just slayed me. The animators have real fun with it, and the crowd-pleasing antics with her and Sprig are a hoot.

Naturally, there’s a good moment where everything comes to a head, where the Wartwood community uses the grubhog to tell the weather through dissection, rather than shadow-checking. Sprig springing into action to save Anne rather than save his reputation is a nice moment for their friendship, and Hop Pop realizing he should have let Sprig enjoy the share is a nice note for the two of them as well. The solution of putting on puppet shows instead of dissecting the creature is a little random, but still fun! Plus, good god, I died laughing at the real grubhog commanding the vulture who snatched it up and said that it’s back to war for them. So out there in a way that delights me.

Overall, the bones of this one are nothing special, but the wild humor really elevates the episode for me.

[7.3/10] There’s a good idea behind this one. I like the distinction that Harley is a bad guy but a good person. She doesn’t want to throw friends to the wolves or annihilate civilians, and it’s what separates her from the worst of the worst in the villain department. Watching her befriend a newly freed Queen of Fables and recoil when she sees the craven cruelty and wholesale slaughter helps distinguish the malcontent but mostly decent villain crew from the likes or the truly despicable.

Queen of Fables is a good vehicle for that idea. I’ll admit, having heard her here and in THe Bad Batch, I’m not high on Wanda Sykes as a voice actor. But still, it’s nice to see someone Harley admires as a forerunner and mentor turn out to be so startlingly evil that she can’t stand it.

The weather machine heist adjacent to a family reunion is a nice way to dramatize that idea, and having Queen of Fables use her powers to torture Humpty Dumpty and obliterate a whole family works for things Harley would struggle to cotton to. I appreciate the clockwork writing of Harley seeming to hand over QoF to the surviving Praxis family member, only to inadvertently defeat the guy using the same tech she use to steal Kord Industries’ weather machine. It’s a nice way to bring back the tech, and headfake the audience on Harley seemingly becoming as backhanded and disloyal as QoF only to hang onto her soul.

There’s some good laughs here too. I’ll admit, I enjoyed the shock humor of QoF cracking open Humpty. (I gasped out loud, which is rare!) The resistance mouse gave me a big kick for whatever reason. And King Shark’s excitement over Humpty was adorable.

The real winner in my book, though, was Ivy and ite Man’s date. They’re so adorable together for reasons I can't quite fully articulate. The best I can do is say that Kite Man’s blitheness and child-like enthusiasm, mixed with Ivy’s more reserved and sarcastic but stealthily earnest vibe makes the really click. Doing a subplot about how Ivy likes Kite Man, but is embarrassed to be seen with him (for understandable reasons), only to stop hiding their relationship when she realizes it hurts him is legitimately touching. What can I say? I’m rooting for those two kids.

Overall, a good solid entry in the Harley Quinn canon, with a nice referendum on who Harley Quinn is, and some sound progression on the Ivy/Kite Man front.

[7.9/10] John McClane and Hans Gruber joke a lot about the idea of John as a cowboy. They name drop the likes of John Wayne. McClane drops his famous “yippee-ki-yay motherfucker.” He even adopts the name “Roy” as his nom de guerre, as a wry tribute to Roy Rogers. And it’s not hard to see why. Despite the fact that he’s a beat cop in a corporate tower, he’s a gunslinger and lone vigilante, much in the vein of the “me against the world” heroes who prowled Hollywood’s version of the old west. It’s an appropriate guise for John to slip into, however far he may be in time and backdrop from the cattlemen of old.

But the cowboy boot also fits because of the cultural fixture of cowboys as emblems for the American idea of rugged individualism. They are rough-hewn, hardy champions of the wilderness, existing apart from the niceties of civilization, surviving on the backs of their own grit and determination, without the comforts or the numbers their moneyed and malevolent counterparts do.

While Die Hard trades dusty plains for downtown Los Angeles, and Gene Autry for Run DMC, it trafficks in much the same spirit. It’s sympathetic to John McClane, a beat cop who has to rely on his pluck and his resourcefulness to outwit and outgrit his crafty and well-outfitted enemies. It’s sympathetic to Al Powell, an LAPD desk sergeant who knows from instinct who to trust and who not to. It’s sympathetic to the low-to-the-ground guys who don’t go by the book and exist apart from the softness of luxury or the cluelessness of authority.

And it’s unsympathetic to just about everyone and everything else. Die Hard is a movie of contrasts, there to paint our hero as a man apart. The script, from Jeb Stuart and Steven E. de Souza, immediately paints John McClane as a hardscrabble New York cop who feels uncomfortable and out of place in the world of limousines, boardrooms, and corporate parties that his wife has chosen in Los Angeles. He is a rough-and-tumble dude, who mouths off like a real Noo Yawker and gets gradually filthier as the film progresses, juxtaposed with the well-groomed, suited-up Hans Gruber who utters his orders in a genteel foreign accent.

While the bad guys, his wife’s employers, and his hapless would-be allies all use fancy technology, specialized vehicles, and souped up hardware, John uses whatever’s around and available--whether it’s a sling, a firehose, a ream of packing tape, or even a dead body--to do his dirty work. And while Gruber, the LAPD, and the FBI all deploy elaborate plans so precise and predictable that they all lead to ruin, John wins the day by muddling through and improvising as a “fly in the ointment.”

John is different. That's the point Die Hard makes over and over again in ways both deft and over-the-top. Those differences are why we sympathize with him, why we root for him, why we invest in the story of one unexpected vigilante standing against a host of institutions--corporate hacks, foreign benefactors, mercenary media, hidebound police leadership, smug feds--who are brought down by a decent, regular guy who stands apart and just so happens to be free of their corrupting influences.

In truth, I don’t love it as a theme. There’s a blind adoration of individualism in the bones of Die Hard that seems appropriate for its 1980s time period and also painfully myopic. Throw in the arc of John’s erstwhile partner Al, which can be roughly (and, admittedly, uncharitably) summed up as, “I lost my nerve after shooting a kid, but now I got my shootin’ groove back!”, and you have a film that plays a little uncomfortable to modern eyes, given the way we’ve seen that sort of championing of instinct and the individual over evidence and community-driven solutions that the film implicitly endorses perverted in the decades since Die Hard made the scene.

And yet, I love the fact that Die Hard has something on its mind. Despite the ubiquity and shallowness of how “Die Hard on a _____” practically became its own subgenre in the wake of this film’s success, Die Hard is not an empty action movie. It has something to say, about the little guy taking on multiple goliaths, about the fecklessness of authority figures, about what’s real and what’s phony, about what makes a relationship work, and it uses them all to drive the story and the characters.

Because both absolutely make the movie. You can understand why this was a star-making role for Bruce Willis. His wise-cracking, sharp-eyed, sometimes sad sack persona makes you believe this determined schmuck could take down twelve terrorists with guns and bombs, and makes you like him in the process. Villain Hans Gruber is underdeveloped, but elevated by a crisp performance from the inimitable Alan Rickman, who fills in the gaps with velvet-tongued panache and a certain shitheel charm. And the most underrated part of the film is Reginald VelJohnson as Al, who provides the heart of the picture and delivers material that is comedic, cheesy, or achingly sincere to perfection every time.

In truth, the rest of the film is mostly populated by cartoon characters. Gruber’s goons--including his dragon, Karl--are all pretty interchangeable beyond a chipper hacker and a sly lookout, and even they’re over-the-top. Corporate shill Ellis is the eightiesest eighties guy to ever eighties. Every other member of law enforcement is a wrong-headed, power-hungry, over-the-top stereotype of police authority figures, especially Paul Gleason’s deputy chief. A scruple-free T.V. reporter uses every dirty trick in the book. And although he’s painted with a heart of gold and gets a moment of triumph at the end of the film, Argyle the limo driver is a goofy, outsized figure as well. Likewise, there’s some artifacts of the eighties here. For a movie devoted to the greater “realness” and down-to-earth qualities of John McClane, Die Hard gives him no shortage of dry cool action one-liners, a pathology that affects most of the characters.

But they’re contrasted with the lived-in humanity in some crucial scenes. John’s estranged wife Holly is underwritten, but Bonnie Bedelia imbues her with some steel. More to the point, their conversation during their Xmastime reunion, full of both barely restrained longing and unresolved frustration, plays as true to couples who love one another but face obstacles in difference in what they want. In the same vein, the film’s secret weapon is the conversations between John and Al, two beat cops who understand one another on an intuitive level, with a joking but intimate connection between them that helps to humanize both characters and use that mutual sounding board to add back in some humanity and emotion during the film’s larger than life events.

The funny thing is, the film’s big showpiece sequences are, in some ways, the least interesting parts of the film. Maybe I’m simply inured to big screen spectacle after decades and decades of Die Hard’s successors blowing up bigger and bigger things, but the various missile attacks, bomb drops, and explosions do little to move the needle to modern eyes. Likewise, the fight choreography and the way director John McTiernan and company shoot the combat is fairly indifferent, with plenty of quick cuts and rapidly-shifting geography.

But where the film shines in the action department is its ability to create tension. John hanging from a gun sling and reaching for an exit while the baddies stalk him is stressful; him skulking through the air vents while a vengeful goon prods them with his automatic rifle makes your hair stand up; John swinging from a firehose to escape and explosion and untangling himself before it drags him to his doom is suspenseful as all hell. The composition and editing do well at making you fear the worst and get that sigh of relief when John wriggles out of some predicament yet again.

McTiernan & Co. also preserve the humanity in those bigger moments by focusing on the faces of the key figures. We famously see the strain on John’s face when he uses a lighter to illuminate his way inside the air vent. We see Holly’s realization that it’s her husband who’s saving the day and causing all this ruckus wash over her face. We see Al’s steely visage come into focus from behind his revolver when he takes down Karl in the film’s grace note. And most iconically, we see Gruber’s steady realization of his loss and impending demise as he plummets to his doom. The response and reactions are firmly present here, and help the film’s characters pop.

So does a surprisingly tight script. There’s scads of little setups and payoffs in the film. John’s airplane seatmate gives him the advice for adjusting to a new environment that accounts for why McClane spends most of the movie running around barefoot. The script establishes the meaning of Holly’s fancy new watch she gets from her job in the early going, which accounts for the symbolism in the climax when John unclasps it to defeat Gruber. And most famously, John’s stray gaze at some tape sets up his gun on his back that lets him get the drop on his adversary.

For as shaggy and bombastic as Die Hard can be in places, those kinds of choices make for an unexpectedly clockwork film. Nearly everyone and everything here has a purpose. Holly’s coworker, Ellis, is a buffoon, but it’s his buffoonery that exposes John’s identity to Gruber and gives Hans another angle on his gun-toting irritant. The news reporter seems like a soapboxing waste of time as a secondary antagonist of sorts, but it’s his careless need to get the story regardless of who might get hurt that exposes the connection between John and Holly to Hans. Hell, even silly Argyle, who’s largely comic relief, plays a role in stopping Gruber’s crew from escaping. Every stray part feeds back into the main plot eventually, which is some deft writing.

The same goes for the clever scenarios and predicaments at play. One of the film’s best conceits is the fact that John, the cops, and the bad guys, all have to communicate on the same C.B. radio channel. It’s good fodder for all the characters to play coy, taunt one another, confide in one another, manipulate one another, say whatever they can without fully saying it, which adds layers to both the dialogue and the film’s cat and mouse game. Likewise, Hans’ ploy to use terrorism as a smokescreen for simple theft turns the audience’s expectations on their ear, and allows for more reveals and ticking clocks as he toys with the authorities and buys time for his real plan.

That's the other big boon of this movie: the cops may be idiots, but Gruber is a legitimately crafty and formidable opponent for John. He’s no pushover or sap. His sharpness in using the textbook FBI response to get into the vault containing the bearer bonds is masterful. His effort to con John into thinking he’s just another hostage, rather than the mastermind, makes for a great dynamic between the two of them and a good excuse to put the duo in the same room in the second act. And while his goons fly off the handle, Gruber is steady and strategic enough to seem like a worthy adversary for McClane in their skyscraper, hostage-filled chess game. The cleverness and intelligence of Hans Gruber, his ability to make smart choices in the moment and seem in control even when things aren’t going to plan, is what makes McClane’s victory over him so satisfying.

Well, that's half of it at least. The other half is something simple but powerful: John McClane is vulnerable and beatable for most of the film. He limps and bleeds and winces as he gets gradually worn down in the fight. He frequently seems overwhelmed and incredulous at his own actions, having to use self-talk to convince him to get through his next daring or foolhardy feat. Despite his heroics, McClane is never the stone cold badass whose victory seems assured. He’s a fallible, ordinary guy caught in an extraordinary situation, as fretful and fallible as anyone would be in such a perilous situation.

John is the action genre’s ultimate everyman, in the way he has to scramble to improvise his way out of some dangerous bind, in the way he’s exasperated by the cops’ response or incredulous at the insanity of his own choices, in the way that, in what he thinks could be his final moments, he wants his wife to know that he’s sorry and should have supported her. Yes, McClane is a lone vigilante in the vein of so many others in cinema, but he has feet of clay in the way that few of those other iconic figures do.

Apart from the broader perniciousness of the perspective behind the film, I love how McTiernan and his team use those ideas to make us root for John. The truth is that John McClane doesn’t represent true heroism in the real world anymore than John Wayne’s misadventures represented the harsher edged reality of the true wild west. But if you can accept them as simply stories, pieces of entertainment meant to make us grip our armrests and cheer for the bad guys’ demise, it’s still fun as hell to see the cowboy saddle up and win the day.

The attraction, and the danger, of the cowboy archetype is that there’s something almost inherently compelling about the lone figure standing against the whole world, doing things the right way, the regular joe’s way, his way. We love to see the man of the plains, or the parts of the concrete jungle that came to represent “realness” in the modern popular consciousness, beat back the better-fueled and better-funded baddies with little more than guts and determination. I don’t love the championing of that idea in real life, but it always made for a hell of a western; and it still makes for a hell of an action movie.

[7.2/10 on a Selman era Simpsons scale] “Do the Wrong Thing” hits three of the four big targets for The Simpsons. It has a solid story, some respectable character work, and something to say. It’s just not particularly funny.

If I’m being honest, as we hit the mid-season finale, that's been a recurring issue for season 35 of the show. There’s a few good lines here. Bart’s comment that if he wanted to see Homer do nothing all day, he’d just visit him at work is clever enough, and Homer’s admonition to Lisa that many folks at the ax-throwing contest have guns is an amusing subversion. Hell, I even liked the country-fried cheater’s tribute song, which had some laugh-worthy lyrics. But a lot of the jokes here were painful (see: Homer catching his own lip with a fishhook and continuing to yank on it), and by the time we got to the more serious part of the episode, the jokes were more smiles (at best), than laughs. I wish the show could be funny while also being incisive.

That said, I like the structure of this one. I thought this was going to be a SImpsons standard A-story + B-story type deal. On the one hand, you’d have Homer and Bart bonding over skullduggery, and on the other, you’d have Lisa frantic to get into a fancy nerd camp at Springfield University. The two stories seemed to be on separate tracks, so I was pleasantly surprised to see them come together in the end.

Bart and Homer finding common ground over bending the rules at various “ESPN 8”-level sports didn’t do much for me, but the sense of them growing closer through something immoral has a decent hook to it. But that storyline kicks up a notch when Lisa discovers that someone fabricated a prowess in crew for her to get into the Springfield U summer program, accusing Homer and Bart, until Marge confesses.

The impact that confession has is tremendous. I like that Homer and Bart don’t see anything wrong with what they’re doing until they realize their example influenced someone as pure and good as Marge to break bad. And I like Lisa being mad at Marge for denying her the opportunity to succeed on her own merits. THere’s some good character work in Marge being driven to this to help her golden child succeed, and everyone taking a different lesson away from it.

But I also appreciate the social commentary in all of this. There’s the obvious social and political commentary on everything from the recent college admissions scandal that's made prominent to references to Trump's treasonous conduct around the 2020 election. On a larger scale, the show does well to tackle a culture of dishonesty, both in the sense that there’s a wave of unethical behavior that seems to cut across all corners of American life, but also the tragedy that it convinces kind souls like Marge to be convinced that they have to engage in the same sort of skullduggery in an unjust world or else they'll be putting their children at a disadvantage. It’s the argument against PEDs in sports. The biggest risk isn’t people having negative health effects due to steroids or what have you, but rather other athletes feeling like they have to do PEDs in order to keep up, whether they want to or not. In a way, that's Marge here.

While the episode is pretty over-the-top and rushed in its commentary, there’s teeth to “Do the Wrong Thing”’s conjecture that institutions like universities practically encourage such behavior at this point, in order to prepare young minds for the way the world is, not the way we’d like it to be. The sense of dishonesty begetting dishonesty begetting dishonesty is disheartening, but pointed, and it makes Lisa’s choice to do things the honest way regardless more inspiring by contrast.

I still wish there were more laughs here. There’s plenty of better comic hay to be made than just referencing a bunch of scandals and invoking other cheap gags. But at a minimum, “Do the Wrong Thing” embraces the Simpson family as recognizable characters, and uses them to address a live, ethical issue in our society today, so it gets credit for the things it does right, not just the places it misses the mark.

[7.0/10] Not bad by any stretch, but lacking some of that Bob’s Burgers holiday magic. The story of the Belchers being stranded in a remote mountain cabin over Xmas has potential, but “The Nightmare 2 Days Before Christmas” doesn't do much with it.

Linda’s obsession with transporting the tree to their temporary new abode has precedent, given how gaga she goes over holidays and how fixated she gets on certain parts of them, but her willingness to risk life and limb for a tree is a little much even for her. There’s not a lot of comedy to it, and her driving on wet roads and spending hours trying to get a tree up a steep hill seems insane even by Linda Belcher standards.

Charitably, I think the intention is for the tree to be a metaphor for the Belchers’ first Xmas away from home since the kids were born. Linda’s used to having things a certain way, and that has sentimental meaning for her. Her struggling to push that tree up the hill, even knowing deep down that it's impossible, is a metaphor for her trying to make their mountain cabin Xmas the same as their usual home Xmas, even though that's impossible. So her being willing to say goodbye to the tree and spend time with her babies is a deeper acknowledgement. I can appreciate that.

In practice though, it plays as a little nuts, and we don’t really get enough connective tissue between inner thought and outward actions in my book. And given how unhinged Linda seems about this, and how real the dangers feel, there’s not a lot of humor to it either.

The other subplots in the episode are perfectly cromulent. Louise worrying that Santa won’t know where to find them and trying to spell out their surname in the snow is cute and worth a few chuckles. Bob trying to make the best of the situation, while managing the creepy insanity of the Fischoeders’ hunting lodge leads to some solid laughs as well. The episode does end on a note of sweetness, with the kids making Linda a substitute tree out of odds and ends in the lodge, and even covering up the creepy painting that'd been unnerving Bob in a cheeky, Belcher kid sort of way.

Overall, not one of Bob’s Burgers’ stand out Xmas episodes, but certainly one with a few charms to offer.

[7.7/10] So intriguing! This episode works on multiple levels. Let's take them one at a time.

For one thing, it’s neat to see more of the world of Amphibia. Hopadiah let us know there were places beyond the mountains in the show’s first episode, but for the most part, the series has been confined to the provincial affairs of Wartwood. Only one episode after learning of Toad Tower and the Toads as the Valley’s ruling faction, getting to see their Captain and his soldiers in action, seeing their hierarchy and, and watching them fend off predators of their own helps deepen the world.

So does more time with Sasha, one of Anne’s BFFs who’s been stuck in the world of Amphibia (seemingly) just as long as Anne has. One of my favorite things in fiction is the sense that the things we don’t see still matter. From Sasha’s chipper interactions with Percy, the one-man-band/fool, her friendly exchange with Braddock, one of the guards in the Toad army, and her contentious back-and-forths with Captain Grime, the no-nonsense leader of this division, gives you the sense that Sasha’s existence over the last month has been no less eventful (though certainly less free) than Anne’s. The sense that Sasha’s story has been running right alongside Anne’s, even if we weren’t privy to it, is a cool feature of this one.

But apart from the worldbuilding, it’s also a cool one-episode story. A military leader can’t get any useful information out of his unusual prisoner. THat prisoner undermines him at every turn with his reports and his sense of authority. Only then, when under a grace threat, the two work together and not only fend off the danger of the day, but the military leader learns a new, more effective form of command from his erstwhile captive, and convinces her to stay as his number two.

That's a cool progression! The sense of Captain Grime and Sasha as partners by necessity, with each needing something from the other even as they don’t trust one another, is a neat dynamic. The side characters like lovable Percy (Matt Jones from Breaking Bad!) help give the toad contingent some flavor, and Captain Grime himself is intimidating in both design and vocal performance that makes him a formidable antagonist making the scene.

So it’s funny to see Sasha bringing the talents of a middle school social butterfly to bear in the rough and tumble world of quasi-medieval warriors. Her teaching Captain Grime that you can be more effective at earning people’s loyalty through love rather than fear is heartening on the surface, and has the natural humor of mixing the skills of middle school cheerleading with the skills of middle ages crusading.

But what I especially appreciate about this one is the way it paints this as a rousing victory for Sasha in the shadow of a grumpy big bad like Captain Grime, while hinting that there’s something more insidious going on under the surface. Sure, it’s nice that Sasha is able to blow off Grime’s interrogations by talking his guards into abandoning their posts, and that she earns a place at his side by showing him an ostensibly kinder approach to leadership.

And yet, there’s also something plainly manipulative in Sasha’s personality. You don’t get the sense that she harbors any real affection for Percy or Braddock; they’re just means to an end. The puffed up compliments she uses to put words in Captain Grime’s mouth are nice enough, but she and he end up using them to convince a bunch of soldiers to put their lives on the line for someone else’s cause. Yes, Captain Grime ruling with fear is bad, but so is ruling in a way that makes people desperate not to fall out of your good graces. We’ve already seen hints of that between Sasha and Anne in the brief flashbacks to the human world we’ve witnessed, and so Sasha’s victory here is less triumphant than it is worrying about just who she is.

Granted, Sasha looks at the same picture of her BFFs that Anne has and seems earnestly devoted to finding them and taking them home. Hopefully there’s more to the story there. But in an episode like “Prison Break”, we not only see more of the world beyond Wartwood’s shores; we get hints of the best and the worst of Anne’s pal who’s had a very different experience, and a very different personality, than our bushy-haired hero.

[8.0/10] “Toad Tax” is my favorite episode of Amphibia to date. It is the climax of the corrupt Mayor Toadstool arc (or at least that seems to be the case), the beginning of connecting the Plantars’ humble town to the wider world of Toad Tower and the Valley, a big step in Sprig coming of age and showing his potential, and the culmination of Anne’s integration into the communal confines of Wartwood. The episode does all of these things well and nearly seamlessly in unison, which marks it as a real high water mark for the show.

I especially like the emotional throughline here. Anne’s frustrations with the denizens of Wartwood are sympathetic. She’s been in the town for a month, and despite quickly becoming a key part of the community in that time, they still treat her like an outsider and a freak. Derisive names like “scarecrow” and jokes about her size are hurtful, in a way that works as a motivation for her to link up with the Toad Warriors, who seem intrigued and impressed by her height and her prowess, rather than repulsed by those qualities, especially when joining their squad comes with a badge that commands fear and respect.

Look, it’s not hard to see what Amphibia is getting at here, but I still like it as an age appropriate rendition of the idea for a younger audience. When the community seems to reject you for your differences, linking up with a group whose reputation and authority give you some automatic stature in the communal hierarchy is tempting. The Toads seem to be more Anne’s speed (and not for nothing, more Anne’s size), so it’s easy for her to fall in with them.

Until she sees what they actually do. I appreciate the motif of the toads hassling locals that we know and (mostly) like, while Anne tries not to rock the boat but also gives the Wartwood residents their stuff back. It’s hard to watch these folks who paid their taxes and are already being cheated have to be roughed up and effectively robbed by these ruffians who aren't just doing their duty, but seem to take glee in harassing the locals. Anne’s discomfort with that is palpable.

It’s nice, then, that part of what solves the situation is Sprig’s ingenuity, and to some extent his jealousy (or, more accurately, his attachment to Anne). It’s been clear for a while that Mayor Toadstool is crooked, but Sprig tracking him down and discovering that he’s stealing the tax money is the height of his venal nature. And the irony and symbolism of Toadstool stashing his ill gotten gains in a shining statue of him kissing babies is superb. Sprig being the one to expose their corrupt leader, and help spare the townsfolk these indignities is a nice win for him.

Anne gets a nice win too, albeit not in the way she expected. It’s a clever framing that what puts her discomfort over the edge is when the Toads are directed to rough up the Plantar family homestead (and even threaten to take Besty!). The moment where the brutes confront HOp Pop has everything. For one, it has the funniest bit in the episode -- the flashback to a painfully bored Anne suffering through Hopadiah explaining how to do taxes. But more seriously, it forces Anne to choose, between the fear and respect that comes from donning that badge, even if you do wrong, or the family who took her in and treated her with kindness when no one else would, where the hard thing is also what’s right.

This is still a Disney show, so it’s no shock which one she chooses, but I’m still stirred by Anne choosing to forsake her membership in the toad crew to defend her adoptive family, no matter the consequences. Her going toe-to-toe with the bad guys is comic enough not to spook younger viewers, but serious enough to feel momentous, which is a tough line to walk. Amphibia isn’t a terribly badass show, but seeing Anne bust out her sword in one hand, and her tennis racket in another, is surprisingly badass.

The poetry, of course, is that standing up for the Plantars and defending the taxpayers from their brutish collectors ends up being the thing that cuts through the townsfolk’s bigotry and earns her their esteem. It’s a clockwork way to send off this stretch of the show, and one that makes you feel good for Anne, Sprig, and the whole of Wartwood, as we begin to get a peek beyond their little lilypad.

“Toad Tax” is something of a season finale for Amphibia, and in that spirit, the show saves its best for last, having Sprig reach the focus and potential that the first episode hinted at, having Anne choose her loyalty to the Plantars over the respect and station of powerful strangers, and seeing the town accept her, and her found family in the process. Through its first batch of episodes Amphibia has been more of a “like” than a “love” for me, but with this capstone episode, it’s starting to worm its way into my heart.

[9.0/10] White Christmas is a flashy movie. It is awash in luminous color and elegantly constructed sets. Its lead characters travel across the country to put on wildly successful shows. They do it all while wearing stylish, luxurious outfits perfectly tuned to the setting and the moment. The then-novel “Vistavision” shooting format expands the dimensions of the screen and packs it as full of movement and imagery as the form can stand. This is a showpiece, where the stars dance, sing, and pratfall their way with a brash, blaring style and don’t apologize for it.

It would be easy to write that off as empty, if winning entertainment. The setup sees Bob Wallace (Bing Crosby) and Phil Davis (Danny Kaye) trying to recreate their hit New York musical revue at an ailing ski lodge in Vermont, that by odd coincidence, turns out to be owned by the general who commanded them in World War II. And it provides an excuse to sprinkle in sequences of the gang “rehearsing” elaborate musical numbers, meant to thrill or dazzle or tickle the audience. You could excise the lavish “Mandy” number, the toe-tapping “Abraham” number, or even the uproarious “Choreography” number and not lose much, if anything, from the story or the characters.

But if you did, you’d be missing out on the fun. White Christmas is undoubtedly a feast for the eyes and the years. Crosby croons his numbers about lost generals with his signature baritone and, true to the title of the show-within-a-show, isn’t afraid to play around. Kaye is an absolute hoot, with slapstick comic relief, hilarious facial expressions, and a goofy, ribbing tone that makes him endearing. Vera Ellen, plays Judy, one of the two Haynes sisters who become tangled up with Bob and Phil, and she is a dream in dance shoes -- astoundingly fluid, flexible, and expressive -- and the film’s not so secret weapon in the dancing department. And Rosemary Clooney plays the other Haynes sister, Betty, and matches her on the distaff side of the vocal register, anchoring other scenes with her presence and a booming tone in numbers like “Love, You Didn’t Do Right by Me”, where the solo song and the focused framing give the actress nowhere to hide.

This is a star-studded affair, and everyone in the picture is perfectly cast. Even the side characters like Emma, the no-nonsense, eavesdropping caretaker of the lodge; Susan, the general’s wide-eyed granddaughter; and Doris, the dunder-headed showgirl who can’t quite seem to get her introductions straight, fit their roles like a glove. The pure showmanship, with the singing, the dancing, and the comedy, is top notch from beginning to end. If that's all White Christmas had, nothing but flash, it would still be worth the price of admission.

And you could be forgiven for thinking that's all the movie has. There’s a not so subtle motif in the film about the phoniness of showbiz and its practitioners. The new commanding officer who’s stepping in to command Bob and Phil’s division scoffs at the idea of the soldiers putting on a show during Christmas time rather than prepping for battle. Judy isn’t above luring bigtime producers to the Haynes’ sister act under false pretense in the hopes of getting their big break on the great white way. Betty’s genre-mandated conflict with Bob stems from whether big showbiz types are inevitably “working some angle” to enlarge their prestige or their pocketbooks, no matter how sincere they may seem. In other hands, White Christmas itself could bite on that theme and come off phony, or saccharine, or only interested in showing off

But that would ignore what puts the film over the top, and sets it apart from scads of other successors and imitators in the yuletide feelgood showcase department. White Christmas comes with an undeniable streak of sincerity, and sentimentality. Behind the spritely humor, catchy songs, and dizzying dance numbers, there are connections and relationships that, while a touch exaggerated given the time and place, nevertheless come off as genuine and even affecting.

Take the film’s romances. The story of Bob and Betty is a bog standard, “Boy meets girl/Boy and girl fall in love/Boy and girl split up over a painful misunderstanding; Boy and girl reconcile when all is made clear” type of deal. Their flirtations and frustrations depend on contrivance, convenience, and the outsized scheming of their conniving seconds.

But by gum, a surprisingly solid script from screenwriters Norman Krasna, Norman Panama, and Melvin Frank scaffold enough of it to where the admittedly cockamamie setup comes off unexpectedly convincing. The script dutifully sets up Phil and Judy’s willingness to trick and cajole in order to achieve their ends. It establishes Emma’s predilection toward listening in on guests’ conversations and adds a plausible interruption so that she can catch a misleadingly damning part of the discussion between Bob and a T.V. bigwig. Heck, it even deftly cements that General Waverly is near-sighted to explain why he has Bob read his letter from the army out loud where the audience can hear it. The logistics of the sitcom-y schemes and misunderstandings have a surprisingly solid footing, which makes them easier to accept.

The love tangles gain the most strength, though, from the simple but scrupulous work done to establish all of the major characters’ motivations and personalities. Phil is a nervous nellie, who’s not above leaning on saving Bob’s life to nudge his business partner into new ventures or help him find love, if only to give himself forty-five minutes of peace and quiet a day. Judy is a clever operator, happy to work the angles and bat her eyes if it allows her to give fate a push, while worrying that her older sister will always feel the need to mother her.

Betty is more pure, honest to a fault and wanting a knight in shining armor while suspecting that most men are far more craven than that fantasy standard, especially in a mercenary business like showbiz. And Bob is a workaholic who doesn’t have time for love, especially when he’s convinced that he won’t find a woman with two brain cells to rub together in their line of work. The intersections and snags among the foursome are evident from the jump, but the character foundations, what each wants and what they’ll do to get it, make this a legitimately sturdy little romantic entanglement.

In the few places where it’s wobbly, White Christmas makes up for it with the absolutely charming character dynamics. Crosby and Kaye play off one another to perfection, with a ribbing, brotherly vibe that lets them alternate between absolutely pestering one another to showing genuine care and affection without missing a beat. Their clever patter and memorable turns of phrase exemplify the best of the movie’s sharply-written dialogue.

For their part, Clooney and Ellen sure don’t look like sisters, but the vibe between them is no less familiar, with a hot-and-cold mix that makes them different, yet at home with one another. Judy and Phil make for a cute beta couple, throwing off genuine sparks and comic charm despite some outdated tropes and a certain “Wouldn’t you like me to be your beard?” vibe that exists between them.

The main romance, though, depends on the chemistry between Betty and Bob, and thankfully, it’s there in spades. The way the pair politely snipe at one another over drinks, warm to each other after socializing through the night on a train to Vermont, open up to one another about their hopes and dreams over whole milk and liverwurst, and after a rocky patch, reunite when their truest intentions are made plain, thrives on the easy manner between Clooney and Crosby. For an admittedly goofy, ploy-heavy romance to work, you have to buy the affections, and more importantly the shifts, among the couple at the center of it. Thankfully, both of the actors sing, literally and figuratively, in moments of light flirtation and soft sincerity.

It’s those latter moments that truly elevate White Christmas. Director Michael Curtiz (who also directed an obscure art film called Casablanca), shoots the film with an unfussy elegance. Simple pans from a combative conversation between one couple to a lively box step between another give an elegantly-constructed film a sense of naturalism. A wide shot of Bob gazing at Betty far away at the train station comes with a striking composition that underscores the emotional distance between them.

But he also favors simple shots that allow the feeling of the moment to ring out. In a basic over-the-shoulder perspective, we see Bob pour his heart out to Betty with apology and reassurance he worries will fall on deaf ears. When Betty learns the truth -- that Bob isn’t capitalizing on the general’s hard times to feather his own nest, but forgoing any payment to preserve the purity of the his grand gesture -- the camera slowly zooms in on her expression as she becomes overwhelmed with the realization that the noble knight she thought was a fantasy never left.

And most notably, we see General Wavely’s tear-filled eyes, in a straightforward, unbroken shot, as he sees that gesture unfold before him.

His is the story that gives White Christmas ballast. A beloved general is relieved of command. He invests every penny he can scrape together into a wintry inn that falls on hard times when the snow refuses to fall. He feels used up and forgotten when the army doesn’t want him, and civilian life seems to have reduced him to obsolescence. And the men who served under him, be they top flight entertainers or regular (G.I.) joes, heed the call to both revitalize the business that became his dream, and remind him of all the people who still admire and care about him.

I’ll confess, I get a little misty just thinking about it. There’s no reason to look upon war with rose-colored glasses. But there is reason to revel in loyalty, in unbreakable bonds, in those who think themselves useless being reinvigorated and reminded of how much they still have to give and how much they still mean to those whose lives they touched.

Singing and dancing can be marvelous. Love stories, when done well, are heartening. But White Christmas goes one step further, with the story of a man who nearly lost everything, including his spirit, and finds it again in repayment for the kindness he showed so many in the hardest of times.

White Christmas is perennial viewing in my family. We borrow its terms like “weirdsmobile” and quote Bob’s admission that his plan may sound crazy, “But you're working for crazy people.” We chuckle about how many times they sing “Sisters”, how the whole shebang takes place in under a week, and poke fun at the convenience of the snowfall hitting in just the right place, in just the right way, at just the right time. We laugh at Danny Kaye’s comic contortions. We marvel at Vera Ellen’s tempestuous taps. We sing along with Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney’s memorably-performed melodies. There is plenty to entertain folks from one to ninety-two around the holidays packed into the movie’s two hours of screwball humor and musical variety show.

But what keeps us coming back year after year is the substance and sincerity that underlies all that flash. At base, White Christmas is about men at war yearning for the warmth of a home they may never see again; about two people finding the kind of soulmate each was convinced didn’t exist, about a man realizing he’s not forgotten, but instead awash in love. The craft and showmanship on display is impeccable. But there is more beneath the surface of such a spritely picture than you’d expect from a soft and silly classic like this one: a truth and earnestness that belies Betty’s expectations, and the audience’s, and draws out what is sweet and sublime about this season.

[7.3/10] “Plantar’s Last Stand” is a simple episode of Amphibia but one that achieves what it aims to do well. I like the little morality play at the center of this one. Hop Pop is scrupulous and honest to a fault, keeping up a family tradition. Then, when the unscrupulous Mayor Toadstool quadruples the rent, leaving the Plantars falling on hard times, he starts to compromise his values to save their stand. And by gum, he’s good at being a huckster! It gets easier and easier, until he’s reduced himself to selling literal garbage without compunction to make ends meet. Then, a kindly old customer, one who patronized this stand when it belonged to his father, who believes in what the Plantar name stands for, reminds him that there are some things worth more than money.

It’s an old story. There’s what seems like an explicit homage to The Music Man here. But it’s also a venerable sort of tale for a reason. Watching someone be right and true, sell their soul to the devil, and recover their scruples at the last minute is a compelling trajectory. Watching Hop Pop make a big show of conducting himself with honesty, losing his principles amid dwindling funds and easy-selling snake oil, and rediscovering them when Mrs. Croaker reminds him of them with her reflexive trust in his word and his honor, works in that rightly well-worn vein and in what we know about the character.

The dramatization is fairly straightforward. Baked into “Plantar’s Last Stand” is a touch of commentary on unregulated and unsubstantiated health and wellness claims inflicted upon a hopeful and needy public. (Hello Maintenance Phase fans, and apologies for referencing snake oil as a pejorative!) But for the most part, this is a pretty simple narrative, done up with a little bit of flair from how zealously Hop Pop ends up taking to the role of a grifter, and Anne worrying about the monster she’s created. And once again, the giant flies feel like an unnecessary addition required to shoehorn in the mandated-but-superfluous monster fights that seem to afflict Amphibia.

Nonetheless, as simple a story shape as this is, it’s the kind that works on me. As cantankerous and old fashioned as Hop Pop may be, there’s something noble in his heart. Seeing him turn from a simple farmer, to a resounding showman, to a decent man once again is a treat. And the capper, where he realizes that being so honest means they’re financially doomed, acknowledges it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. Interested to see where they go from here!

[7.1/10] This one is mostly noteworthy for giving us a little more backstory on Anne. earning that she’s grown up in a Thai family that runs a restaurant, giving her all sorts of skills about cooking, presentation, and business adds another dimension to her, which I appreciate. Seeing her recognize where the local Wartwood greasy spoon fails and turning it around with the help of its proprietor, Stumpy, is a fun setup. And hey, as someone who writes criticism, I tend to get a kick out of spoofs of critics, even if they’re pretty one-dimensional.

That said, there’s just not that much to this one. The restaurant stuff is entertaining enough, but becomes a case of diminishing returns. The humor is solid, but not amazing. And I wish the writers realized that not every episode of the show has to end with a monster fight of some sort. The Kraken inclusion seems random and unnecessary, and there’s not much of a point beyond the hijinks. There’s a bit of sweetness with Stumpy renewing his joy in his work, but that's about it.

Overall, a perfectly solid episode of the show that mostly registers for giving us a little more insight into Anne’s past.

[7.4/10] There’s three interconnected stories here, so let’s take them in turn from smallest to largest.

Look, I can't tell you why, but I got a big kick out of Commissioner Gordon forming a fraternal bond with Clayface’s disembodied hand. The concept of a grown man spilling his guts about his loveless marriage to a childlike limb, reassuring one another as friends and engaging in ridiculous stunts like alley oops together is delightfully absurd. One of the things I like about this show in its early going is Harley Quinn’s willingness to take a ridiculous concept and commit to it, and sad sack Jim palling around with a goopy hand as his emotional outlet is that to a tee.

I also enjoyed Dr. Psycho and Ivy going to track down the infamous “Cowled Critic” who acts as a tastemaker for the Legion of Doom, only to discover that it’s Psycho’s son, Herman. As someone who writes criticism, I tend to get a big kick out of bits making fun of online critics, and this is no exception. The Cowled Critic’s skeptical approach to Harley’s accomplishments, and the rest of the gang’s smash-y or incensed reactions is a good source of fun. And while total B.S., Dr. Psycho’s excuse for his mistreatment of his son being that he hoped it would turn him into the greatest supervillain ever is some great Venture Bros.-esque bullshit parenting. Plus the humor here is on point, with Dr. Psycho responding to Ivy’s question of how intercourse worked with Giganta with a flat “not well”, and Ivy nonchalantly trying to get tongue-twisting expert Brad’s attention.

Harley’s story is good too. Again, the show does a good job of centering episodes around Ivy’s efforts to stand out and make a name for herself, while giving her incremental goals and epiphanies along the way. Her efforts to rob Wayne Enterprises, ending up major Wayne Tech and getting up to some absurd Fast and the Furious style heist misadventures all makes for good comic set pieces.

But I also appreciate her realization here -- that by prioritizing her professional success over her friends, she’s forgotten what’s truly important. Her reaching that epiphany by seeing Batman’s treatment of Jim as a mere “coworker” rather than confidante is a nice way to draw it out, and there’s humor there too with her forgetting King Shark in prison and Batman’s dry acceptance of Gordon’s emotional gut-spilling. (King Shark’s prison tenure was brief but particularly hilarious.)

Overall, another fun outing from Harley Quinn, which goes for more of an A/B/C story format than we’ve seen before, but does it well.

[7.5/10] I’m a sucker for these sorts of “explore a character’s mind”-type stories. As the episode itself acknowledges with dialogue references to A Nightmare on Elm Street, Being John Malkovich, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, there’s a lot of mileage to get out of the concept. And T.V. shows as varied as The Venture Bros. and The Owl House have utilized the idea as well, so there’s a good history of this kind of plot paying dividends.

Some of Harley Quinn’s rendition of the idea is standard. Harley and friends wandering around the equivalent of an art museum with various memories represented as paintings is a typical trope, but one the episode does well. Some of it is a little bolder. The gang getting chased by ravenous, murderous versions of Harley’s ten-year-old self is appropriately freaky, and the action set piece set in the spooky, Joker-filled carnival that is Harley’s subconscious is good stuff.

There’s plenty of laughs to be had from the setup as well. I’ve quickly come to appreciate Dr. Psycho’s acerbic exasperation, and him as the recalcitrant guide to this setup is amusing. King Shark blithely pointing out the tropes and contrivances gets some laughs out of me for the meta-ness of it all. And Clayface talking about performing as Air Bud for a day was darkly funny. Plus, Frankie Muniz was surprisingly game playing himself as Harley’s preteen crush, leading to more dark comedy.

Granted, I wasn’t crazy about the material with Sy and Golda working to haul our heroes into the furnace. There’s some laughs to be had from teh fact that the :suicide squad” t-shirts they’re al in when mind-diving make Sy think they’re in a suicide cult. But the schticky banter between Sy and Golda felt clumsy and not especially amusing.

Apart from the comedy, though, I really like what “Being Harley Quinn” uses the mind-dive conceit for. Harley is too indecisive to pick a new lair, or decide what she wants,and it’s not clear why. The truth turns out to be that she always thought Joker pushed her into the vat of acid that changed her life. It made her feel like someone else was always in control, that her destiny wasn’t her own, that another person was always making the decisions that determined where her life would go.

While a little wonky, I like that she’s able to go into her memory and rewrite history, if only in her own mind. It’s a nice dramatization of her taking control of her own life, owning her past choices, and rediscovering her agency. The fact that it gives her the gumption to choose a lair, which just so happens to be the dead mall Sy was going to dispose of her and her friends in, is the icing on the cake.

This is also a good Ivy episode! One of my favorite scenes in the episode is the point where the rest of the crew is ready to get the hell out of dodge, and Ivy points out what a good friend Harley’s been to all of them. Ivy sticking up for her buddy is heartening, and she makes good points about why Ms. Quinzel is worth fighting for.

Overall, this is a well-trodden concept, as “Being Harley Quinn” acknowledges with its title alone, but the show has great success in cutting its own path with the idea.

[7.8/10] One of my favorite episodes of Amphibia to date. I love the idea of Anne, Sprig, and Polly thinking the Plantar family tree is nothing but farmers who led unremarkable lives, only to find there’s a lot more color in their family’s past than they thought. The notion of a secret chamber under the Plantar homestead with secrets galore is a touch convenient, but well within acceptable limits for a zany show like this one.

It’s nice that all three of the Plantar kiddos find some historical analogue in the annals of family history, that makes them feel like their inheritors of a family legacy, not just a generation of oddballs.

Sprig discovering that there was a mad scientist ancestor in his line is a neat, possibly game changing discovery for the character. I’d never really had him pegged for that, but the idea that his creativity and ingenuity could lead him to a career as a (potentially mad) scientist portends interesting things for the young frog. And apart from the substance, the pumpkin beast is a cool design, and well animated in its movements. Plus, the running gag about Sprig feeling practically compelled to pull levers is quite funny.

Polly finding a “turnt-up warrior” in the Pantars’ past is another nice little boon. I enjoy the little obstacle course they find (and eventually must escape), and it’s rousing how thrilled Polly is to find that there’s a pugnacious member of her fairy she can follow in the footsteps of.

Last but not least, I especially loved Anne’s discovery that a newt became an “honorary Plantar”, affirming that even though she’s a human, she can become a part of this family who is nevertheless worthy of story and song. The fact that this newt traveled the land beyond Wartwood and collected what she found suggests an intriguing future for Anne. And while a bit contrived, her using her Tetris-like gaming abilities to get them out of the dungeon is a nice touch.

While it’s nice that all three of the Plantar kiddos find their way, I love love love the absurd B-story with Hop Pop’s fixation on glue. The ridiculous escalation of needing more adhesive, puzzling over a whole aisle of it, and eventually getting covered in it thoroughly tickled my funny bone. Hop Pop’s grave sincerity about the whole thing is what sells it, and it’s nice to get a return engagement from Loggle. (He’s got eyes! Who knew?)

Overall, this is an episode that balances nice lore, quality character development, and good comedy. Very good stuff!

[6.5/10] This one didn’t really do it for me. The premise of a kid faking sick to get a day off, and feeling remorse when the rest of their family has to tough it out and gets sick in the process isn’t bad. I’m just not a fan of where “Contgi-Anne” goes with it.

There’s not much to this story. The rest of the Plantars are terminally ill (and surprisingly sanguine about it). Anne has to get them to a healing mineral bath at the top of a steep mountain. That's about all there is to this one. Immediate goals and critical stakes are both good things. But there’s not much variation in Anne’s strained efforts to make up for her guilt by hauling the rest of the crew to the mineral bath, and the show can't come up with much in the way of good gags to build around that either.

There’s the occasional mild laugh (Hop Pop matter-of-factly deciding to find a corner to die in tickled my funny bone for some reason), but for the most part, this isn’t especially fun or funny. Anne learns her lesson, but in a cockamamie sort of way, and the inevitable fake out about the rest of the Plantars’ illness feels a bit cheap.

Overall, this one’s still certainly watchable, but it comes off much thinner and less engaging than the average Amphibia.

(As an aside, my crazy theory/speculation is that Hop Pop’s seemingly throwaway line about books being wrong “more often than you think” is subtle foreshadowing that there’s more to the story about his tome’s warnings about Anne’s music box than meets the eyes.)

[7.2/10] This is a hard episode to grade, because half of it wasn’t really my cup of tea. All of the gags about the Planter family going camping, and eventually extreme camping, while Anne is uncomfortable and unhappy but pretending to be in her element fell flat for me. The gags were all pretty stock and unimaginative. If you’ve seen any camping episode of any show, you’ve basically seen the kind of bits “Anne vs. Wild” does here, and it’s most of the episode.

But a few things turned me around on this one. For one, against all odds, I kind of love Soggy Joe. The contrast between his gritty, snarling persona and his matter of fact “let’s go get pancakes early” attitude made for some big laughs. I also enjoy the “mud men” attack, which has a horror, monster movie quality that the show does well. And Anne using her beloved peony bath bomb to save the day is a clever, clockwork, and thematically-satisfying resolution.

What puts the episode over the top, though, is Anne’s explanation for why she chose to pretend she was enjoying all this “roughing it.” The idea that she already feels like an outsider, given that she’s human, and not a blood relative of the Planters, and has trouble feeling like she fit in to begin with means she’s fighting against a sense of rejection, which is sympathetic. The Planters hugging her and promising to include her from now on is a sweet way to go out.

We also get a bit of lore and arc progression! Anne sharing the music box that brought her here with her adoptive family is a big step! And Hop Pop pretending not to know what it is but thumbing through a book where it’s warned of as a dangerous artifact is intriguing!

Overall, the early going of this one is a bunch of canned camping humor, but from there, business picks up considerably, and the episode finishes much stronger than it starts.

[7.6/10] I enjoyed this one a lot! I love the idea that Spring and his young playmate Ivy have a tremendous spark together that occurs naturally from their mutual loose, roughhousing styles, but that in trying to stoke it, their parents and friends almost snuff it out by forcing them into traditional modes and rituals. It’s a little outsized, as most things on Amphibia are, but there’s something true at its core, and something funny in how it satirizes both parental expectations (and machinations) for their children’s romantic lives, and the relationship article industrial complex at the same time.

Part of what makes it work is that Sprig and Ivy are very cute together. The fact that Ivy loves to engage in surprise ambushes of Sprig is adorable. The duo have a great, free spirited energy between them that endears you to them as a pairing. I also enjoyed how mutually awkward but game they felt about having to dress up and do the dance and all the other things their guardians expect of them. And the fact that they cut loose and go watch fireflies instead shows how, despite their parents messing this up by trying to force it, the duo are so natural together.

I do get a kick out of Hop Pop and Felicia Sundew taking a very traditionalist and transactional approach to the budding romance. Both have sclerotic expectations for how a courtship ought to progress that throws roadblocks in love’s way rather than easing its path. And the fact that they see this as much as a business transaction -- trading labor for special seeds -- shows how craven and ridiculous the elder generation’s perspective on such things is.

But I appreciate the fact that there’s a dig at the current generation too. Anne is hardly the voice of reason, necessarily, but she’s closer to having Sprig’s best interests at heart than Hop Pop here. And yet she’s not only blinkered by Cosmopolitan-style nonsense, but she gives Sprig a complex about all the magazine’s made-up/implausible statistics rather than just following his heart with someone he’s already in sync with.

There’s some good gags that follow, with the adorable/terrifying love birds, and as usual Poly being a total blast as the one member of the family who recognizes how ludicrous all this messing with romantic success is. And Ivy and Sprig proving that they’re good doing things their way by rescuing the lot of them from the malevolent love birds is a good note to go out on.

Overall, this is a successful introduction to a new (hopefully) recurring character and relationship for the show, and “Dating Season” does it well. Throw in some good jokes and a nice message, and you have a superb episode.

[7.4/10] A fun, if wooly episode, to be sure. I like the conceit of Harley searching for a nemesis in the same way that many people look for a boyfriend/girlfriend. There’s a fun absurdity to her bringing in a giant sharkman as a social media expert to spruce up her profile. And there’s a Venture Bros.-esque bit of workaday amusement to our sad sack group trying to get an A-list protagonist to go up against and ending up with rejects and children.

Enter Robin! I gotta say, it’s a treat to have Room’s Jacob Tremblay as the Boy Wonder. Most kid characters are voiced by grown-ups, and that could still work here theoretically. But there’s something extra funny about Harley trying to earn the ire of a topline hero, only to end up bickering with an actual ten-year-old. Hearing him spin fish tales about how their confrontation works, or giving lip to Superman, or criticizing the “rubes” in the T.V. audience a la Gabbo from The Simpsons is a hoot.

There’s a lot of good gags here. I love Ivy’s exasperation at Harley’s poor judgment and impulsiveness. The random destruction of various tables and televisions makes for a great runner. And I love the way Ivy keeps trying to put a lid on Harley’s “orrrrrr” segways that inevitably lead to bad ideas. I know I’m making a lot of comparisons to other shows in the early going, but there’s a real Archer quality to the banter here, which tickles my funny bone.

Things do go off the rails a little bit once the episode gets to the big T.V. talk show set piece. I appreciate the setup and payoff of Robin having nosebleeds when he’s nervous, and King shark turning from a jovial hacker into a ravenous beast once he gets a taste. But from there, the “love” pentagon of Robin, Harley, Batman, Ivy, and Joker gets a little nuts. I know that's the point, as a spoof of Jerry Springer style domestic drama repackaged for the superhero set, but it gets a little outsized even in that context.

Still, this is a fun one, with hints at changes in the status quo already, a lot of nice worldbuilding and introduction of other members of the D.C. family in this universe (Superman and Lois!), and a nice additional step along the path of Harley finding her footing as an independent supervillain.

[7.5/10] There’s parts of this one that haven't aged well. Bulldog convincing a stripper to harangue Frasier while he tries to read his holiday parable is sexual harassment. Fraser declaring he’s not made of stone and planting a big kiss on her is treated with hooting rather than as something low key horrifying. And there’s the standard, unpleasant “Roz is a ho” jokes.

But once you get past that, “Frasier Grinch” is a treat. The patter and humor of Frasier and Niles reacting with horror to Marty’s tacky holiday decorations is great. The two of them frantically trying to get the right nerdy presents for Freddie at the mall makes for a superb comic set piece. Even Frasier eagerly awaiting his son’s arrival is cute in an unassuming way.

But it’s the ending, the morall, and the heart that really put this one over the top There’s a steady theme here -- that Frasier gives gifts to people as he’d like to see them, not as they are. His classy, froufrou presents to his father are an example of that, and they end up in the bottom of a box in the storage unit. Martin helping his son to see that is a nice sign that, for all he may be more blue collar than either of his sons, he still has some wisdom and insight they don’t quite possess, is a nice throughline.

It’s driven home when Frasier goes over the top to find a group of educational toys, only to discover that Freddie has his heart set on the latest action figure du jour, and now will be disappointed on Xmas morning. The fact that Martin anticipated this, and has the action figure for his son to give to his grandson, is sweet and cathartic, giving Frasier the only present he really wanted, and cutting a nice tone of intergenerational togetherness. Their embrace and warm feelings at the end befit the holidays.

When you start this episode, it’s easy to worry that Frasier is too of its time to resonate today; but by the end, you remember the fun farce, sharp patter, and sharper character work that are timeless.

[2.5/10 on a Selman era Simpsons scale] Woof. This is pretty easily the worst Simpsons episode I can recall coming from showrunner Matt Selman, which is an ignominious achievement to be sure. This episode is actively unfunny; it doesn’t have much, if anything to say; its mystery isn’t clever; its heart is barely there, and its guest character is annoying and ubiquitous.

Let’s start there. I like Taika Waititi! His directorial works have been a blast and are often moving, from Thor: Ragnarok to Jojo Rabbit. I’ve enjoyed his turns as an actor, from his retiring character in the What We Do in the Shadows film to his amiable matter-of-fact turns as Korg in the MCU. If there’s somebody in the tank for an extended Waititi guest starring role, it’s me.

But my god, he’s annoying here. I’ll give the episode this much credit -- Waititi is willing to be self-deprecating, which is a must for a celebrity appearing as themselves, and the animators make him expressive and distinctive in his movements. But the constant motormouth styles and interjection of him into everything in the story, and feeble showbiz gags, and cheaper New Zealand jokes make so many of his scenes an absolute chore.

His presence contributes to what I’d argue is the other most significant problem in this episode -- it is painfully unfunny. Multiple episodes this season haven't really brought the laughs, but still manage to bottom out around “mild” rather than actively bad. But my god, the extended Love Boat parody, the Wacky Racers/Fury Road mash-up, the shallowest and most low-hanging fruit nerd-bashing jokes are all just the pits here. There were multiple times when gags made me legitimately roll my eyes or let out a deep sigh. If there’s a bright side to it, “Murder, She Boat” gave me a new appreciation for episodes that are simply a “meh” in the humor department.

The main plot is pretty bad as well. I don’t mind the premise, where a valuable figurine is damaged on a nerd cruise and it’s up to Lisa to clear Bart of the crime. But Knives Out, this isn’t. None of the suspects or their motives are interesting, and there’s not enough interstitial events involving them for any of the setup for Milhouse, Mel, or others to really matter.

The solution is no better. Honestly, I would have preferred the “Comic Book Guy did it for the insurance money” answer, which would have been a cliche, but at least mildly clever. Instead, Waititi being the culprit, to replace his own broken figure, comes out of nowhere. Lisa observing the different spelling of “color/colour” on the box is something, but details like there being vegemite on the captain america shield are so random and cheap. And Bart’s mini-scratch coming from a shrimp fork is no better. This isn’t a clever, tightly-plotted mystery. It’s a bunch of screwing around for fifteen minutes followed by five straight minutes of unconvincing exposition.

The result is a piss poor Murder on the Orient Express-style whodunnit that ought to be left out at sea. The only saving grace is that there’s some sweet Bart/Lisa stuff in there, with Lisa going to bat for her brother and Bart being genuinely touched by her loyalty. But that's a meager balm after twenty minutes that tries your comedy patience and practically insults your intelligence with its mystery.

There’s nothing actively offensive or wrong-headed about this episode. It’s just really and truly bad on the merits, which is worse, in a way, because it speaks to pure quality rather than something well-made that has its heart in the wrong place. The clear low-light of Selman’s tenure to date.

[7.5/10] I was hesitant about this episode at first. The whole idea of Polly having spent too much time around “gross boys” to where Anne thinks she needs spa treatments and tea parties and time at the salon felt reductive in its view of gender roles, and falling into a lot of tired cliches.

Well, I needn’t have worried because that was the point of the episode! Polly has quickly become one of my favorite characters in the show, so seeing her buck up against the expectations for what’s “ladylike”, having her own interests regardless of whether it fits into typical norms, and even saving the day with her “grossness’ made this one a winner for me.

I’ll admit, this one is lighter on laughs than some Amphibia episodes. The show doesn’t gain much comic mileage out of Anne and Polly going off to do girly things. There’s obviously some amusement to be had from Anne reveling in the traditional girl-friendly stuff and Polly rebelling against it, but the routine is the same without much variation across the episode. And I didn’t get a ton of laughs out of the Eastern Bloc masseuse/bounty hunter or the local wild west constable either.

But I do appreciate where this one ends. Not only does Anne affirm Polly for who she is, but she recognizes that she’s been too myopic and prescriptive about “boy activities vs. girl activities”, and the fact that Hop Pop and Sprig are way more interested in the spa than Polly puts a nice button on that idea. Most importantly, I like the idea that despite being a prodigious spitter, Polly can’t quite gin up the force to win the spitting contest and save their hides because she feels ashamed after being dressed down by Anne for her tomboyish proclivities. The fact that it’s not just feeling unladylike, but being seen as “gross” that's emotionally fraught for Polly, and Anne apologizing and validating Polly so that she has the confidence to win the contest, is a lovely note to go out on.

The whole premise of Anne handing out Hop Pop’s IOUs and inadvertently spurring a mob against them is no great shakes. But it dutifully sets up why it’s so important for Polly to use her spitting to win the contest, and the gold trough that comes with it, that lets the Planters pay the debts Anne kicked up while also allowing them to pay tribute to Polly as the spunky kid she is.

Overall, I started out concerned about this one, but it took a turn toward a more admirable direction and highlighted my favorite character on the show in the process!

[7.0/10] Another Amphibia installment that's perfectly fine, but not knocking my socks off. The show’s starting to become a little too predictable, with a “two characters have conflict, then see another’s perspective and compromise” formula that is sturdy but unadventurous. And for crusty old grown-ups like me, the “What if the complaining kids get to be in charge only to see how hard the adults’ job is?” premise in “Sprig vs. Hop Pop” is a cliched one, though presumably the plot will seem fresher to the show’s target audience.

There’s some fun to be had from Sprig staging what amounts to a revolution, only to see that governing isn't always as easy as making suggestions, especially when you’re a kid. The montage of him, Anne, and Polly living it up while things steadily go awry is worth a few chuckles. And while, it’s pretty facile stuff, but Sprig introducing swimming pools, dance parties, and clowns, only to find that the farm is a tough place to live without proper crop management, pest-checks, and, you know, food, is solid enough.

Hop Pop going to live with beetles to learn the lesson of community/democracy is kind of weird and abrupt, but it serves the story's purpose. And the fact that a “Planter family challenge” ends with Sprig willingly taking a dive since he finally feels heard by his dad is a nice enough way to go out. Again,the resolution feels quicker and easier than usual, but Sprig gaining a new appreciation for the responsibilities Hop Pop takes on, and Hop Pop learning that everyone needs to have a say in order to feel a part of something is a good place to take things.

It’s just predictable from the start. Most shows have a certain formula, and I don’t want to knock it too much. The story is in the telling. But Amphibia didn’t wring an overwhelming amount of laughs out of this situation, and when the story seems obvious in its trajectory from the start, it’s tougher to be invested. This isn’t a bad episode of the show by any means, but it does worry me about whether the series will follow the same rhythms over and over again, to the point of exhausted character pairings and diminished dramatic/comedic returns.

[7.9/10] I really enjoyed this one! As someone who suffered from acne as a young adult, I found Anne’s anxiety about her breakout relatable, especially with the added wrinkle that she already feels so rejected and recoiled from for being a human in a world of frogs. I particularly like the twist that, it turns out, the frog word loves her ‘ruby red” warts and it makes her a celebrity. The flip of something you were ashamed of turning into your most revered feature is a bit of cleverness.

The gag work here is also solid. As gross as it is for Anne to rub butter on her face and declare that her babies need to “feed”, the Planters’ jaw-dropped reaction to it made the bit. I also enjoyed the various bits of Anne’s celebrity, particularly her striking poses in real life that match the statues/paintings of her in the scene.

But there’s also a strong emotional undercurrent of this one. You can see the way that Anne and Mayor Toadstool are using one another. Someone who feels self-conscious about her looks instead gets championed for them, and someone whose popularity is suffering in the polls hitches his wagon to a rocketship of popularity to boost his electoral prospects. It’s mercenary, but works as an amusing spoof of the popularity contest that many elections turn into.

And yet, when Anne’s acne clears up, it’s the Planter family, who she’s been practically shunning, who show up when she needs them to help her out. The fact that when push comes to shove, she gives up fortune and fame, to be her real life with the people who accepted her when she was “hideous”, not just the public who only adored her for one feature, is the most heartwarming thing Anne has done on the show to date.

Overall, this is an episode with a fun premise to begin with, that takes its story to places that are both amusing and wholesome. What’s not to like?

[7.5/10] This is one of the few classic cartoon shorts I can remember seeing as a kid, and it’s not hard to see why it stuck with me. This one ahs a classic and engaging premise. The idea of an enterprising inventor, taking items from around the house, and turning it into a toy-filled Xmas morning, is the kind of concept that would enchant a younger kid. The Fleischer studio folks do a great job of finding fun ways to blend the domestic and the toyetic, with percolator-powered locomotives, alarm clock/brillo pad chickens, and vacuum-motored horsey rides. The resourcefulness of the inventor, and the exaggerated fun of the orphans discovering their resorted Xmas morning is outstanding.

The animation is well done too, with amusing little sequences involving the makeshift toys, cute little skips and dances from the orphans, and a jovial spirit realized in the guffaws and gestures of the inventor-turned-Santa impersonator. I watched the restored version of the cartoon, and it’s remarkable how crisp and modern the short looks with the loving treatment it received. The live action elements are well-integrated, adding a proto-CGI like artificial depth to the proceedings. And the main song, while a little insipid in its lyrics, is a total earworm.

Overall, this one is near and dear to my heart from when I was a young boy myself, and seeing it again, done up with such care and color, with a creative bent and a tale of the less fortunate getting to enjoy the day after all, makes this short one worth holding onto in my book.

[7.5/10] A fun episode! The premise is strong. Harley deciding that the latest thing she needs in her “Keeping Up with the Jokers” ethos is her own crew sets up a solid reason for her latest mission. The process of hitting up henching talent agencies, pitching random toughs in bars, and even going to a motivational speaking seminar to figure out how to assemble her team has some nice Venture Bros.-esque hijinks in play. I love Harley’s sense of compassion for her fellow henchmen, having been a maligned and mistreated sidekick herself.

But I also appreciate the fact that even though she has a better pitch and a better attitude, she’s not able to gather the right crew because she’s a woman. There’s honestly something novel about seeing a superhero show directly acknowledge sexism like that. The idea that there’s a glass ceiling on female supervillains is an interesting concept to explore within the confines of the D.C. universe. And the fact that the talent agency sycophants completely exclude Harley when they find out she’s no longer with Joker, the local thugs would rather jump into a hell portal than be bossed around by a woman, and the motivational speaker does nothing but sexually harass her when she comes to him for advice dramatize that idea nicely.

I don’t know -- there’s something real about it all. I know that's a bit crazy to say in an episode where Harley hears a cautionary tale about gender bias in the superhero world from a chain-smoking tax code manual voiced by Wanda Sykes. But having Harley find nothing but closed doors and unnecessary speed bumps when she’s trying to set out on her own, simply from having a pair of X chromosomes, brings legitimate pathos.

But it also brings legitimate triumph. It’s nice to see Harley gathering her own crew despite those challenges and making it work, regardless of the extra difficulties she has to face. I gotta admit, I low key love Dr. Psycho and Clayface. Dr. Psycho is a fun spoof of retrograde dudes in the public eye who have to go on apology tours. Tony Hale is brilliant (as usual) in the role,and his sort of exasperated, The Monarch-like exasperation at his own self-made failures mixed with delusions of grandeur makes him a fun ingredient in the show’s mix. And playing up Clayface’s persona as an actor, to where he goes overly method with their mark, is a source of continuing hilarity in the episode.

Speaking of which, I love the fact that they make the semi-obscure Maxie Zeus the self-absorbed motivational speaking supervillain who does wrong by Harley! He’s a nice fit for someone who’s more of a blowhard than a legitimate baddie elder statesman, and Will Sasso plays him with just the right level of self-aggrandizing scumminess. The fact that the misfit team of Harley, Dr. Psycho, and Clayface manage to best him, steal his most precious prize, and convince him to say that Harley and her crew are “nothing to fuck with” is delightful.

(As an aside, it’s funny that D.C. universe let’s this raunchy show use the word “fuck” unbleeped, but censors the word “cunt.” I wonder if the creative team chose to deliberately bleed it so as to emphasize how galling it is that Dr. Psycho used the word to describe Wonder Woman.)

To the point, I like that Ivy didn’t send Harley to the Queen of Fables to discourage her, but rather to send her in with confidence knowing the type of bias she’s up against. Seeing Harley not only trade Zeus’ medals for the warhead she was after at the beginning of the episode, and even getting a highway named after, is a wonderful instance of her getting a big win.

Overall, this one is a bit lighter and more straightforward than the first two episodes, but still comes with plenty of substance and a strong direction.