Jeez, the snowflaky reactions of straight white men because not every single episode and narrative centres them - anything deviating from that priority is apparently "woke". Get over yourselves, you egomaniacal bigots.
Anyway, another great episode that nicely expanded Ellie's backstory - bonus points for the Mortal Kombat II appreciation, too :nerd:
As Cosmonaut Marcus writes, "It was whatever."
There are some important messages but no revelations, lessons or challenges. Falcon just hears Bradley say, "don't do it", and does it and does fine, because...? So he had self-doubt, hears more doubt from someone else, but does it anyway?
SCORE 5/10
[9.5/10] If there has been one thing consistent about Aang from the beginning, it’s that he follows his own path. From the minute we met him and he was more interested in riding penguins than showing spiritual reserve, it was clear that this was an Avatar who did not fit the mold. There was a uniqueness to him, a purity, that belied the chosen one bearing he had to carry.
That’s what stands out in Avatar: The Last Airbender’s wide-ranging, epic, moving finale. More than the moral turmoil that Aang had experienced in the last few episodes, more than the massive battle between the forces of good and the comet-fueled Fire Nation, there is a young man, making a choice because it’s what feels right to him, what feels true, and it is that trust in himself, that commitment to being who he is, that sees him through.
What is almost as impressive about the final two episodes of A:tLA, which essentially constitute one massive climax for the whole series, is how they manage to give almost every notable figure in the series something meaningful and dramatic to do. The episode truly earns the epic quality of its final frame, whether it’s focusing on the Order of the White Lotus retaking Ba Sing Se; Sokka, Toph, and Suki trying to sabotage the Fire Nation air fleet; Zuko and Katara confronting Azula; or Aang having his showdown with Ozai. The combination of all these great battle, all these profound and grand moments, make for an endlessly thrilling, dramatic finish for this great series.
The siege of Ba Sing Se mostly serves as a series of fist pumps for the viewer, getting to watch these trained masters face their foes with ease. Like the rest of the episode, it shows off the visual virtuosity as the series pulls out all the stops for its final battle. Jeong Jeong redirects fire with awesome force. Bumi launches tanks like play things with his earthbending. Pakku washes away enemies with a might tidal wave, and Piando slides on the frozen path over the wall, slashing away at Fire Nation soldiers all the while.
And Iroh? Iroh breathes in the power of Sozin’s comet. He creates a fireball that bowls through the walls of the famed city. He burns away the Fire Nation banner that hangs over the palace. It is a sign that for as much as A:tLA is a story of the last generation letting down the next one, there are still members of the old guard there to fight for what’s right and make a stand for a better world.
That world is threatened by the Fire Nation Air Fleet. In truth, the cell-shaded CGI war balloons look a little dodgy. Something about the animation is a little too stilted, to where when the cinematography is cool, the computer-generated elements stick out like sore thumbs and hurt the immersion of the show. Nevertheless, there is something truly frightening about Ozai and company at the head of those ships, imbued with power by the comet, launching these fireballs and streams of flaming destruction down on the land below. It is a terrifying image that brings to mind footage from Vietnam of fire raining from above. As much as the cel-shading looks a little off, the imagery of the elemental powers used in the episode is awesome, in the original sense of the term, provoking terror and astonishment.
Thankfully we have our two favorite badass normal folks and the resident (and as far as we know) only metalbender to help destroy the fleet. It is a nice outing for Sokka, Toph, and Suki, who find a way to not only contribute to the great war effort, but to have moments of risk and drama where you wonder if they will make it out alive or not, featuring big damn hero moments for each of them.
It’s hard to even know where to begin. There is Toph launching the three of them onto the nearest ship, turning into a metal-coated knight, and neutralizing the command crew. There is the hilarious interlude where Sokka manages to lure the rank-and-file crewmen into the bombing bay with the promise of cakes and creams, with the lowly henchman making extremely funny small talk before being dumped in the bay. It’s nice that even in these heightened moments, the show has not forgotten its sense of humor.
But that humor quickly gives way to big risks and bravery from the trio. I appreciate that Sokka’s ingenuity gets one last chance to shine, when he’s inspired by Aang’s “air slice” and repositions the ship he’s piloting to cut through the rest of the fleet, downing as much of it as possible. That move, naturally, leads their vessel to go down itself, and the big escape separates him and Suki.
Still, Sokka and Toph are undeterred, and after some close shaves, Toph uses her metal-bending abilities to change the fin on another airship to send it into its neighbors. Again, it’s nice to see the show, even in this late hour, finding creative uses for its characters’ talents, which give each of them a chance to have a hand in saving the day. That includes Sokka and Toph finding themselves pursued by Fire Nation soldiers, and Sokka getting to use both his boomerang and his “space sword” one last time. And when despite having taken out their pursuers, it still looks like all is lost for the pair, there is Suki, having taken command of another airship, there to save them from their tenuous, dangling position.
It’s a superb series of sequences, one that manages to combine some incredible in-the-air action and combat with character moments that feel true to the people we’ve come to know over the course of the series. Toph still has her smart remarks; Suki still manages to be in the right place at the right time, and Sokka, far from shrinking from the moment as he feared after the invasion, employs the creative solutions to difficult problems that have become his trademark. It is a great tribute and final triumph for all three characters.
But they are not the only trio of Avatar characters who find themselves embroiled in combat on the day Sozin’s comet arrives. But far from the larger-than-life, heroic tones of the battle in the skies, the fight between Azula, Zuko, and Katara has an air of tragedy about it.
What’s impressive is how, so near the end of the series, A:tLA can make the audience feel for Azula, even as she is at her most deranged and dangerous. It is late in the day for a character study, and yet we delve into Azula’s broken psyche in a way that the show has only toyed with before. What’s revealed is scary, but also sad, the pained cries and last gasps of a young woman who never really had a chance, who was brought up by a tyrant like Ozai, rather than a kindly old man like Iroh, and it left her damaged and alone.
It also left her paranoid. One of the defining leitmotifs of Avatar: The Last Airbender is the way that Aang, despite being the chosen one, laden with a solitary destiny, has found strength in his connections to his friends, who sustain him in times of doubt and difficulty. The finale underscores the importance of that by contrasting how Azula alienates everything approaching an ally she has, and it leaves her not only vulnerable, but deeply suspicious, until she loses her grip on her own sanity.
That’s dramatized in the way she banishes a humble servant girl for daring to give her a cherry with a pit in it, in how she banishes the Dai Lee for fear that they will turn on her the way that she got them to turn on Long Feng, in her equally harsh banishment of her twin, elderly caretakers (or at least one of them), when they express concern for her well-being. Though Mai and Tai-Lee have only small roles to play in this episode, the force of their presence is felt in the way that their betrayal of Azula leads her to believe that everyone is a backstabber or turncoat in waiting, and that, poetically enough, becomes the source of her downfall, to where when the threat truly emerges, she has no one there to help and protect her.
And yet, that is not the deepest depth of her loneliness. In a particularly difficult moment, one where Azula has taken out her anger on her own hair, she sees an image of her mother in the mirror. It is a bridge too far, the ultimate pain that Azula has refused to confront, replaced with ambition and intimidation so as not to have to face it. But that vision represents a knowing part of Azula, one that understands how she’s succumbed to fear and paranoia, one that cannot help but feel the hurt of the belief that her own mother thinks she’s a monster, and one that knows despite that, her mother still loves her, something that makes that pain all the more unbearable.
It also makes her less capable, less focused, less ready to face her brother in a duel. Zuko sees the way that his sister is slipping, and is willing to face her alone in the hopes of sparing Katara since he believes he can win. Their fight is a beautiful and tragic one. The combination of Azula’s blue flame and Zuko’s red one echoes the red and blue dragons that reinvigorated Zuko and Aang’s firebending abilities, and which represented the conflicting sides of Zuko’s own psyche. The opposing forces swirl and twist in the field of battle.
But unlike the rest of the episode, this is not played as an epic confrontation. It is played as a moment of great sorrow. While the whirl of the fire blasts rings out and the structures around the siblings singe and crackle, wailing violins play. Azula cackles and cries out, her eyes wide, her smile crooked, her demeanor unhinged. Zuko is not simply conquering an enemy who has tormented him since he was a little boy; he is doing what he must do against someone who has everything, and yet has lost everything, including her mind.
That just makes Azula all the more dangerous, but that ends up making Zuko all the more noble. While Azula is wild and unsteady, Zuko is prepared, baiting his sister into trying to blast him with lightning in the hopes that he may redirect it and end this. Instead, Azula charges up her power and, at the last second, aims it a bystander Katara rather than her brother. The move throws off Zuko, and in the nick of time, he dives in front of the blast and absorbs the electricity to spare Katara. It is the last sign of his transformation, an indication of his willingness to sacrifice himself for one of the people he once attacked himself. It is a selfless gesture, and a desperate one, that shows how Zuko’s transformation is truly complete.
It also leaves Katara fighting a completely mad Azula all by herself. I must admit, I was mildly irked when Zuko cast Katara aside and intended to fight Azula solo, sidelining one of the show’s major figures, but I should have known better than to think the series would avoid giving her one of those vital moments of glory and bravery.
With a dearth of water in the Fire Kingdom capital, and Azula too crazed and unpredictable to fight straight up, Katara must also be creative. Her water blasts turn to steam against Azula’s electric fury. But Katara is as clever as she is talented, and in yet another inventive way to defeat the enemy, she lures Azula over a sewer grate where, just before Azula is able to launch a deadly attack, Katara raises the water and freezes the both of them in place.
Then, in a canny move, she nabs a nearby chain, uses her waterbending abilities to move through the ice, and confines her attacker so that she is incapable of doing any more damage. It is an imaginative way to end the fight, one that show’s Katara’s resourcefulness and gives her a much-deserved win. She heals Zuko, who has truly and fully earned her respect and admiration. Azula has only earned a bitter end – her manic screams devolve into sobs, the loss of so much, the crumbling security of who she was and what she was fading away, until all that is left is a pitiable, broken young woman.
Azula has been a one-note villain at points in the series, one whose evil seemed inborn and whose nature left her without some of the complexity that other figures in the series have possessed. But here, she becomes a tragic figure, one who has committed terrible deeds and who tries to commit more, but whose being raised to obtain power at all costs leaves her unable to enjoy or sustain the only thing she’s ever wanted, and utterly alone.
Aang, on the other hand, is trapped between two things that he wants very badly: to defeat Ozai in order to end this war and save the world, and also to avoid taking a life. Their confrontation lives up to the billing and hype it’s received over the course of the series. The mountainous range provides the perfect backdrop for their fight, with plenty of earth and water for Aang to summon as he combats the series’s big bad at a time when Ozai is infused with the tremendous power of the comet.
The two dart and dash across those jutting rocks, a furious ballet accented with mortal, elemental beauty. Ozai declares that Aang is weak, that he cannot defeat Ozai, particularly at the height of his powers, and despite the realization that this is not the kind of show where the hero fails in the final act, you fear for Aang, for what will be required of him in order to end this. This is, after all, not how this fight was supposed to happen. Aang was supposed to have mastered all four elements, to be Ozai’s equal, not a talented but inexperienced young upstart trying to best the man who has conquered the world.
So in a difficult moment, he retreats into a ball of rock that provides temporary but needed protection from Ozai’s assault. It calls to mind the big ball of ice that Aang retreated to a century ago, a safe haven when the weight of the world became too much for him, and he hid rather than rose to face it. It cements the possibility that Aang is not ready for this, that he was never ready for this, and for all the good intentions he may have, he will pay the ultimate price for that.
Instead, when Ozai penetrates the rock and sends Aang flying, he reaps more than he bargained for. The former Fire Lord’s blast shoots Aang into a nearby rock, and as a sharp point digs into the scar from where Azula nearly killed him at the end of Season 2, it triggers the Avatar state.
Aang emerges from the pile of rubble that the gloating Ozai approaches. Aang glows and speaks with a voice of thunder and fury. Ozai comes at the demigod with all his power but Aang slaps away his flaming blast with the back of his hand. The Avatar assembles the four elements, bringing them to bear against his opponent. He surrounds himself in a bubble of air; he summons earth, fire, and water in rings that surround him. He comes at Ozai with his full force, sending him reeling through rock and rubble, confining him with the land itself. Aang raises this swirl into a knife’s edge, driving it down into his prone opponent.
And then, once more, at the last minute, he stops. The whirl of elements turned into a lethal weapon evaporates into a harmless puddle. Aang stands, unable to do it. Even in the moment where he seems poised to fulfill his destiny, Aang cannot bring himself to snuff out a life in this world. It is against everything he believes in, everything he stands for. Ozai declares that even with all the power in the world, Aang is still weak, that his inability to do what must be done to his enemy renders him lesser.
It is then that Aang finds another way. He confines Ozai using the earth itself once more, rests his hands on Ozai’s persons, and begins to bend the energy itself. What ensues is a spiritual struggle, one that matches the confluence of red and blue that signified the two sides at war within Zuko. For a moment, it appears as though even in this, Ozai will triumph, that the red glowing embers that represent the cruel spirit of this awful man will overtake our hero. It’s rendered in beautiful hues, a burst of light erupting across a dark landscape.
But Aang is not to be overcome. The outpouring of pure blue light emanates from his body. He will not be moved, not be altered, not be changed. Instead, it is Ozai who falters, his ability to bend fire, his tool for committing all of this evil, is taken away from him. The threat is over; the war is done, and Aang has fulfilled his destiny, on his own terms.
There is release, a chance to reflect and take stock and enjoy the glow of having completed this difficult journey. Aang and Zuko speak to one another as Roku and Sozin once did – as friends. (Incidentally, the also confirm that the entire series took place within just a year, which seems kind of crazy.) They embrace, the two young men who were once bitter enemies now trusted allies. Mai and Tai Lee are released and seem to have new destinies themselves. Zuko credits The Avatar to a throng of people at his coronation as Fire Lord, and he is not surrounded by Fire Nation loyalists, but a balanced group of supporters from all nations, there to help rebuild the world. “The Phoenix King” promised to burn down the old world and make a new one from the ashes, and in a way, he has made good on his promise, albeit not in the way he intended.
There is such hope and catharsis in these last scenes. Aang is at peace, his mission complete, freed from the burden that created so much hardship over the past year. Zuko too is in a place of calm, having restored his honor and ascended to the throne, though not as the vicious ruler his father envisioned, but as the kind and noble man his uncle did, one ready to lead his people to a new era. After one hundred years of war and bloodshed, there is the hope that this new generation, one that has tried to cast off the scars and mistakes of the past, can make a new way forward.
We also get one last scene of Team Avatar as we knew them – simply enjoying one another’s company. Iroh plays music, the rest of the gang chats, and Sokka creates an embellished, mostly inaccurate drawing that he defends in his trademark way. This is a family – an unlikely one, filled with individuals collected from across the world from different backgrounds and temperament, but one that, through their shared vision and efforts and care for another, really did manage to save the world.
Aang gazes upon this scene lovingly as he walks out to see the new day and drink in the peace of his surroundings. Katara follows him, and in a wordless scene, with the glow of golden clouds behind them, the two embrace, and then kiss.
It’s the one scene in this finale that I do not care for. As I’ve said before, despite Aang’s crush, the chemistry between him and Katara always felt more friendly, even motherly, than romantic, a childlike crush Aang would need to one day move past than the trappings of true romantic love. It sends the series out on something of a false note, albeit one that the show has teased many times over the course of its run.
Still, it represents the larger idea of the episode – that even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aang chooses his own path, one true to who he is and what he believes. I’ve expressed my skepticism about his unwillingness to take Ozai’s life, but however foolhardy it may seem at times, it is a reflection of the young man who never seemed like the Avatar he was supposed to be, who instead, forged his own way. That way was often off-beat, confused, and at times, well-meaning but foolish, but it was always a moral one, and more to the point, one that reflected the unique attitudes of the young man who carried them.
He chose to run rather than be sent on his Avatar training. He chose to fight rather than sever his connection to the people he cared about. And he chose to find another way rather than violate his personal, ethical code against killing another human being. In the end, he became his own sort of Avatar, one that did not simply accede to the will of destiny or expectation and tradition but instead made his own way without sacrificing the purity of his spirit or his convictions. There is something admirable, something true in that, and it makes for a satisfying finish to this incredible series.
Avatar: The Last Airbender truly deserves that superlative. Though the series took some time to find its voice, eventually it would flesh out an incredible world, filled with well-developed characters, a deep, generational lore, and a core cast who grew more multi-dimensional and complex as it progressed. The show deserves to take its place among the great stories of chosen ones, the stellar, epic tales that offer hardship and hope, struggle and success, tragedy and triumph. With an attention to detail and character that made those larger-than-life events meaningful, it captures an amazing journey. The series is the story of a collection of young people, amid a war and a struggle they are not quite ready for, renewing the promises that this world can offer and discovering who they are in the process. In that, they returned harmony to the four nations, and to one another, and that’s what makes A:tLA so great.
Until this point, Bebop is a fun anime with a neat aesthetic. This episode changed a lot of that for me. The montage as Spike is falling from the cathedral is magnificent.
[8.4/10] We live in the finite. Everyone reading this has a limited amount of time on this plane of existence. Maybe you believe there’s an eternal paradise waiting on the other end. Maybe you believe in reincarnation. Maybe you believe that we’re simply waves whose essence is returned to the fabric of the universe. Whatever you believe, almost all of us can agree that whatever we have here, our fragile world and fragile bodies, are not built to last.
That is both terrifying and maddening: terrifying because, like Janet, none of us truly knows what’s on the other side, and maddening because there is so much to do and see and experience even in this finite world, and given how few bearimies we have on this mortal coil, most of us will only have the chance to sample a tiny fraction of it.
So The Good Place gives us a fantasy. It’s not a traditional one, of endless bliss or perpetual pleasure or unbridled success. Instead, it imagines an afterlife where there’s time enough to become unquestionably fulfilled, to accomplish all that we could ever want, to step into the bounds of the next life or the next phase of existence or even oblivion at peace. The finale to Michael Schur’s last show, Parks and Recreation, felt like a dose of wish fulfillment, but with this ending, The Good Place blows it out of the water.
Each of our heroes receives the ultimate send-off. By definition, nearly all of them have found ultimate satisfaction, a sense of peacefulness in their existence that makes them okay to leave it, having connected with their loved ones, improved themselves, and accomplished all that they wanted to. If “One Last Ride” seemed to give the denizens of Pawnee everything they’d ever wanted, “Whenever You’re Ready” makes that approach to a series finale nigh-literal for the residents of The Good Place.
And yet, there’s a sense of melancholy to it all, if only because every person who emerges from paradise at peace and ready to leave, has to say goodbye to people who love them. Most folks take it in stride, with little more than an “oh dip” or an “aw shoot”, but there’s still something sad about people who leave loved ones behind, and whom the audience has come to know and love, bidding what is, for all intents and purposes, a final farewell.
But The Good Place finds ways to make that transcendent joy for each of our heroes feel real. Jason...completes a perfect game of Madden (controlling Blake Bortles, no less). He gets loving send-offs from his father and best friend. He enjoys one last routine with his dance crew. He inadvertently lives the life of a monk while trying to find the necklace he made for Janet. It is the combination of the idiotic, the sweet, and the unexpectedly profound, which has characterized Jason.
Tahani learns every skill she dreamed of mastering (including learning wood-working from Ron Swanson and/or Nick Offerman!). She connects with her sister and develops a loving relationship with her parents. And when it’s time to go, she realizes she has more worlds left to conquer and becomes an architect, a fitting destination for someone who was always so good at designing and creating events for the people she cares about. Hers is one of the few stories that continues, and it fits her.
Chidi doesn't have the same sort of list of boxes checked that leads him to the realization that he has nothing more to do. Sure, he’s read all of the difficult books out there and seemingly refined the new afterlife system (with help from the council) to where it’s running smoothly, almost on automatic. But his realization is more from a state of being happy with where everything is, with what he’s experienced.
He has dinner with his best friend and Eleanor’s best friends and has so many times. He’s spent endless blissful days with the love of his (after)life staring at the sunset. His mom kissed Eleanor and left lipstick on her cheek, which Eleanor’s mom wiped off. I love that. I love that it’s something more ineffable for Chidi, a sense of the world in balance from all the bonds he’s forged rather than a list of things he’s done. And I love that he felt that readiness to move on for a long time, but didn’t for Eleanor’s sake.
Look, we’re at the end of the series, and I’m still not 100% on board with Eleanor/Chidi, which is a flaw. But I want to like it. I like the idea of it. And I especially like the idea of someone being at peace, but sacrificing the need to take the next step for the sake of someone they love. The saddest part of this episode is Eleanor doing everything she can to show Chidi that there’s more to do, only to accept that the moral rule in this situation says that her equal and opposite love means letting him go. Chidi’s departure is hard, but his gifts to Eleanor are warm, and almost justify this half-formed love story that’s driven so much of the show.
Unfortunately, no matter how much peace he finds, Michael cannot walk through the door that leads to whatever comes next. So instead, he gets the thing he always wanted -- to become human, or as Eleanor puts it, a real boy. Ted Danson plays the giddiness of this to the hilt, his excitement at doing simple human things, the symbolism of him learning to play a guitar on earth, on taking pleasure in all the mundane annoyances and simple fun and things we meat-sacks take for granted. Each day of humanity is a new discovery for Michael, and there’s something invigorating about that, something heightened by his own delight at not knowing what happens next in the most human of ways.
The one character who gets the least indication of a next step is Janet. We learn that she is Dr. Manhattan, experiencing all of time at once. We see her accept Jason’s passing, hug our departing protagonists, and take steps to make herself just a touch more human to make her time with Jason a little more right. But hers is a story of persistence, of continued growth, in a way that we don’t really have for anyone else.
Along the way, the show checks in with scads of minor characters to wrap things up. We see the other test subjects having made it into The Good Place (or still being tested). We see Doug Forcett deciding to party hard now that he’s in Heaven. We see Shawn secretly enjoy the new status quo, and Vicky go deep into her new role, and The Judge...get into podcasts! As much as this show tries to get the big things right for all of its major characters, it also takes time to wrap up the little things and try not to leave any loose threads from four seasons of drop-ins across the various planes of existence.
That just leaves Eleanor. She takes the longest of any of the soul squad to be ready. She tries, becoming okay with Chidi’s absence. She overcomes her fear of being alone. But most importantly, she does what she’s come to do best -- help people better herself. There’s self-recognition in the way her final great act, the thing that makes her okay with leaving this plane and entering another, is seeing herself in Mindy St. Clair and trying to save her. The story of The Good Place is one of both self-improvement and the drive to help others do the same. Saving Mindy, caring about her, allows Eleanor to do both in one fell swoop.
So she too walks through the door, beautifully rendered as the bend between two trees in a bucolic setting. Her essence scatters through the universe, with one little brilliant speck of her wave, crashing back into Michael’s hands, reminding him of his dear friend, and inspiring him to pass on that love and sincerity back into the world. It is, as trite as it sounds, both an end and a beginning, something circular that returns the good deeds our protagonists have done, the good people they have become, into some type of cycle that helps make the rest of this place a little better.
Moments end. Lives end. T.V. shows end. The Good Place has its cake and eats it too, returning to and twisting key moments like Michael welcoming Eleanor to the afterlife, while cutting an irrevocable path from here through the crash of the wave. It embraces the way that the finite gives our existence a certain type of meaning, whether we have a million bearimies to experience the joys and wonders of the universe, or less than a hundred years to see and do and feel whatever we can. And it sends Team Cockroach home happy, wherever and whatever their new “home” may be.
In that, The Good Place is a marvel, not just because it told a story of ever-changing afterlife shenanigans, not just because it tried to tackle the crux of moral philosophy through an off-the-wall network sitcom, but because it ended a successful show, after only four seasons, by sending each of them into another phase of existence and made it meaningful. There’s a million things to do with our limited time on this planet, but watching The Good Place was an uplifting, amusing, challenging, and above all worthwhile use of those dwindling minutes, even if we’ll never have as many as Eleanor or Chidi, Michael or Tahani, Janet or Jason, or any of the other souls lucky enough to be able to choose how much eternity is enough.
When I saw the number of episodes, I was wondering how they'd be able to pace everything and expecting for it to be game after game, but they've come up with a lot of clever ideas that both expand the show, and give us just enough perspective on how things work on the inside. Plus, it makes sense that people would do crazy things to find out more about the place.
I also really love how quickly "making allies" is becoming a thing. 218's betrayal was ruthless, he remembered that shit the moment he looked at the symbols.
I'm glad that the show isn't just about the brutal games, and takes its time intelligently. No wonder it's a mega hit.
[8.6/10] So there was a post on Reddit the other day, asking when movies stopped showing people getting into elevators. OK, it’s more complicated than that, but that’s the gist of it. Movies used to show their characters walking to the door, walking down the hallway, getting into the car, stopping for gas, rolling on, arriving at their house, opening the door, and boom, that’s how you got to the next scene. Then, Godard happened, and suddenly you just cut past that stuff. The character was just in one room and then in the next and with a brief establishing shot or transition or even nothing more than the switch of backdrop, we eventually trust the audience to understand that the character did all that boring stuff in the meantime.
It’s the grammar and literacy of film audiences, and it’s just baked into our brains at this point. You don’t need to be told that Michel Poiccard didn’t apparate from one part of Marseille to another. We understand it intuitively in a way that audiences in the 1960s didn’t because we were raised on it. Maybe not to the degree that BoJack Horseman was raised on film and television, but still we know.
There are expectations on how this whole T.V. show thing works. Even in the post-Sopranos, peak T.V. era where everyone wants to do something a little differently, there’s basic rules for what television is, and how its deployed. You may not have A-plots and B-plots. You may not have three cameras or rising and falling action. But there are rules, damnit, and you’d better abide by most of them or risk alienating your audience (or taking refuge in being confusing which means your show is daring and smart).
And one of those rules, not in so many words, is don’t just have your character stand around and talk to the audience for half an hour. Save it for your one man show. Leave it on the stage. But for television, you need dynamism, you need things happening, you need multiple characters and incident and developments or people will get bored. You can’t leave your main character naked out there, especially in an animated show, when you’re not even limited to sets or locations or visual variety in the way that live action does.
But BoJack Horseman does. It gives you 21 uninterrupted minutes of its title character giving his mother’s eulogy, recounting his family history, doing a gallows humor-filled stand up routine, and processing the death of a woman he hated but still wanted approval from in one giant stream of consciousness presentation.
There’s interludes of humor in the form of those black comedy bits and the occasional musical accompaniment gag. There’s a cold open that flashes back to a glimpse of BoJack’s emotionally screwed up and emotionally screwing up father, and of BoJack’s first taste of how he thinks he’s supposed to process his mother’s absence. But for the most part, it’s just BoJack, in a room, practically talking directly to the audience, for a whole episode.
It is bananas. You could perform it as a monologue for your high school. You could print the whole thing out and turn it into one of those giant movie posters where the words make up the imagery of the film in some kind of literary pointillism. You could listen to it in the car and not miss much beyond the occasional coffin-side glance or impressionistic moment. It’s not something that had to be on television, that could only work in this medium.
And somehow, that’s what makes it feel as bold as it does, because it chooses to set aside all those tools in the T.V. toolbox that help make us feel things: the sad music, the hauntingly lit scene, the expressive reactions of other characters. It eschews using those same sweetners that help keep up the audience’s interest during a half-hour sitcom: scene changes, change-of-pace sideplots, pure comic relief. And instead it just gives you a sad, messed up horse on stage, digesting his relationship with his parents in real time for what is an eternity on television, and hopes it can keep your attention, make you feel BoJack’s pain, and thread the complex emotional and familial needles the series has been toying with for four and half season, with words alone.
Television is, as BoJack and BoJack wink at, considered more of a writer’s medium than a visual medium like film. That’s changing, but it comes from the fact that television started out as something much cheaper, much faster, and much more disposable than its cinematic brethren. There wasn’t money or time to worry about fancy images or incredible sets or stunning cinematography. You needed to film twenty something episode in about as many weeks and do it on the budget provided, which meant the spark had to come from the talents of performers like Lucille Ball and the skills of writers who could make three cameras and two rooms feel like an entire world.
That’s the advantage of the T.G.I.F. shows that Horsin’ Around is spoofing. Yeah, it’s easy to make fun at the laugh track or the outrageous situations, or the cornball humor. But those shows emerged from a long and proud tradition, of folks who may have been doing what they had to for a paycheck, but who also made some magic with the meager tools at their disposal, who taught a generation of latchkey kids and people whose lives were far removed from the ease and security of a T.V. family what good could look and feel like it.
It’s a feeling that BoJack has been chasing for his entire life, and it’s led him here, to twenty-minute half-rant/half-confession delivered to his mother’s coffin. And in those twenty minutes, he chews on his confused feelings about his parents, the way that he doesn't so much mourn his mother but mourns the end of a possibility for love from her than he didn’t really believe in in the first place, the way that he tacitly admits his father taught him not to rely on her or anyone, the way he acknowledges the screwed up solace in admitting that you’re drowning together as a family, the way he cherishes those brief respites when you can stop and see your family being as graceful and happy as anyone else’s, the way we confuse and expect big gestures in lieu of the everyday work of being good, the way we look for hidden depths and transcendent meaning in coffee mugs and I.C.U. signs and sad horse shows that may or may not be able to sustain them.
He does it all from a podium, a lecturn, a stage, that lets all that raw emotion and complicated feeling spill out and just sit there with the audience. There’s no subplot to cut to, no wacky interlude from Todd to take the edge off, no break from a man making peace with the fact that he’ll never make peace over this. It’s just there, in one big dose, for BoJack and the audience to have to swallow at the same time, in a way that T.V. almost never makes you do.
T.V. is usually gentler, easier, more escapist than that, even at its most challenging and un-user friendly. If you watch the 1960s Star Trek series you can see the wild new locales the show journeys to every week, the occasionally repetitive but differently-flavored guest stars who would arrive on a daily basis to fight our heroes or help them or just create a problem for them to be solved. And if you watched long enough, you would recognize that every other episode seems to have Captain Kirk schmoozing, smooching, and seducing his way out of (or into) whatever the problem of the week is.
It’s easy to write of Kirk as a womanizer until you realize that T.V. was different in the 1960s. However more colorful and adventure-filled Star Trek was relative to the twenty-minute speech of “Free Churro”, it was also meant to be disposable, watched once and never seen again, before Netflix binges or home video or even syndication were reasonably expectations for people to string all these disparate stories together in one cohesive whole.
You realize, then, that Kirk wasn’t meant to be a lothario in a series of continuing adventures. He was meant to be a passionate man in a bunch of disconnected stories that happened to feature the same characters. He didn’t leap from bed to bed -- he was just fated by the laws of television to find The One over and over again, because like BoJack says, and the arrival of the Starship Enterprise in last year’s Star Trek Discovery vindicates, the show just goes on.
That’s what we do when people die. We try to make sense of their life, and our relationships with them. We try to take all those individual moments that they lived, all those big events, and the moments that we shared with them, and sew them together into some sort of narrative that makes sense to us.
But lives aren’t stories. They don’t always have happy endings, or arcs, or resolution. Sometimes they just end. Sometimes you only see part of who your parents were and are and try construct the rest into something you can extract meaning from. Sometimes you only feel the ways your absent friends shaped you, or scarred you, and try to understand how and why it happened now that they’re no longer around to be asked. Sometimes you take that rush of moments and try to build it up into something you can wrap your head around, a series of episodes with lovable characters and continuity and choices that are as comprehensible as they are kind.
And sometimes, someone important in your life is gone and everything’s worse now. There are rules for television, unwritten stricture for how we communicate with one another in the medium, expectations that the audience can walk in with that may be subverted but have to be respected.
But life and death have no rules other than that each of us must experience both, however brief or painful or confusing that may be. And there are no rules for grief, the process by which we try to come to terms with a parent’s death, the marks their presence and absence have left on our lives. So BoJack Horseman breaks the rules of television, stops telling us stories, and just gives us twenty minutes of raw, writerly confession and digestion, as interconnected and familiar and yet unknowable as the real life tangles of being alive and watching someone die, without the comforts the glowing screen normally provides its hero, or its audience.
Apart from the two excellent Mandalorian episodes, I could have done without this show. Hopefully the next few Star Wars shows feel a bit more organic.
There is a post-credit scene.
I would have loved this so much more if the age gap between the princess and the prince were less than 10 years
Mogami: "So what you're experiencing is a parallel world that could've easily come to pass had your circumstances been slightly different. I'll just sit back and observe how you fare in this environment without your powers."
Mogami: "You had many relationships in real life, and you were fortunate enough to be surrounded by good people. But situations like that are rare."
Mogami: "You're extremely talented brother is just a stranger here."
Mob: "It'd be so much easier if I was stronger."
Mogami: "I'm sure this seems incomprehensible to you,"
Mogami: "But she's bullying you to secure her position in society."
Mogami: "But after living in this world for six months without your powers,"
Mogami: "After my demise, I became an evil spirit and decided to use my powers for myself this time..."
Mogami: "You are allowed to use your powers for yourself. You should use them for yourself."
Dimple: "You're not staying here? Shigeo's done for. You gotta accept that. Why not run away?"
Reigen: "Because I still have faith in him."
Dimple: "In this situation? You're not really that stupid, are ya?"
Reigen: "Yup, actually, I am. Let me guess: this is the first time someone's placed so much trust in you too, right?"
Mob: "Apologise."
Mogami: "And that's why I didn't want you to travel the same path I did."
Dimple: "Yo."
Mogami: "The six months you spent here are forever etched into your heart and mind."
Mob: "I'm surrounded by good people. I need to be more thankful for them."
Mob: "When you interact with other people, it can have an effect. And because of that, I was able to change. Thanks to them, I'm stronger. Much stronger than if I'd been on my own."
Mob: "Wait... That's right."
[Grabbing hand.]
Mob: "I remember now. I came here to save someone."
Dimple: "He really has changed huh?"
Narrator: "The powerful blast created from Mob's positive emotions at 100 percent annihilated the great and powerful evil spirit Mogami."
Mogami: "No matter how much you struggle, your path will lead you to the same place mine did. To ruin."
But he's doing the opposite of yours, Mogami. Yours led to ruin because you started using your powers for yourself (to save your mother). Mob is using them to help people (which you did before you went down the ruinous path)
God damn, the animation though
Mob: "That people are able to change. Mogami and Minori both taught me it's possible. The people around me changed me as well. Now I understand I can do the same thing for others too."
Mob: "I don't get it, Master. Why aren't you claiming your reward?"
Reigen: "Just look at how many people got hurt. Not exactly a big success. You should never accept money that you feel you haven't earned. If you do, you'll start taking the easy way out every time."Reigen: "You know... You're better off working part-time for me than becoming famous or powerful. I hope this serves a good lesson for ya."
Dimple: "Come on, give me a friggin' break..."
Review
I know that all sounds like a bunch of nonsense, so let me make this simple. I interpreted this episode's message as, "positive emotions will trump negative emotions and that people and positivity can enable you to change." The problem is that this is what the episode propagates in the second half, but in the first half, it's exploring way more ideas like privilege, bullying, and selfishness. But it's forgotten in the second half? Also, the final message still disregards the earlier one on privilege. I guess it's addressed by Mob pledging he'll use his powers to help people?
This episode is really convoluted, unfocused and confused. It's trying to juggle all these different ideas under the guise of "positivity beats negativity" but it comes off as undercooked.
6/10
I didn't like this episode very much. They definitely took things too far and I think this was a very bad first episode because it doesn't at all represent the rest of the show. Thankfully I had heard very good things about it so I kept watching and the rest is a million times better.
They really did an episode that's just the characters being dumb and horny for twenty minutes straight and somehow it's the best episode of the year. THEIR MINDS.
[7.4/10] The A-story here is a little Chang-heavy for my tastes. I know he’s supposed to be annoying/terrible, especially early on, but his jerkassery and racism makes me really just want him off my screen. But I like it as a Jeff story. Jeff hangs out with Chang to soothe his Spanish teacher after a marital separation and reap the benefits of exemptions from Chang’s draconian assignments, only to realize that he’d rather reunite Chang and his wife and get everyone in class off the hook, than have to continue being Chang’s friend just to reap those rewards. It’s a nice instance of Jeff “kind of” doing the right thing for the group.
The B-story, with Troy and Abed trying to recover their lab rat despite Troy’s rodent-phobia’s is a lot of fun. I like the emotional throughline of Troy having to learn to make sacrifices for his friends rather than the other way around, and the American Tail references worked for me hook line and sinker. Plus, Donald Glover’s line read for his remark about Abed dropping the subject was hilarious. It’s a good physical comedy/noise-making episode for Glover in general.
The C-story was good too! It’s rare that we get a Pierce/Shirley story at all, let alone one that doesn't just devolve into sexual harassment. Pierce’s public speaking tips are fun, and the pair have a good comic energy. Shirley embracing Pierce’s tips at the end, right down to a hilarious “Heeeeeeere’s Brownie!” reference, and succeeding, was a good beat.
The more marginal stuff in the episode is all good too. I like the running gag about Pierce thinking Jeff’s ability to get laughs comes from his chair. People pointing out Jeff’s fake outrage and argument tactics is superb. The Dean’s “go green” efforts are a hoot, right down to the “This better not awaken anything in me” line. And the montage that connects Chang’s salsa dancing, Shirley’s presentation, and the meaningful “Somewhere Out There” duet is very well done.
Overall, too much time with Chang, but otherwise a very nice episode.
Notes
Review
Now that I'm 3/4 of the way through this show, I think I'm ready to spew some thoughts before I finish it.
Right now, no matter how unremarkable the writing is, this series will always have me hooked. Just the premise and the animation is enthralling enough; I will watch it until it's cancelled (I hope there's a Season 2)!
After all the Marvel and DC superhero stuff these days, a show like this is refreshing. There's no "make the funny joke and move on" bull crap; these characters go through crises and grow. And it isn't like the DC universe with its edginess and gore for indulgence's sake, but for character development that emphasises its impact. Yes, the animation's limited budget shows itself now and then, but other times, it impresses.
I really like this show, and it's becoming one of my favourites quite quickly. And yes, my ratings for it aren't that high, but they're still respectable. I respect this show. Anyway, that's enough for now, I can't wait to see how the season ends, and I hope season 2 is green-lighted soon.
Yours truly — C. Clobsters
SCORE: 8/10
Notes
Review
Man, that was a wild ride. I was half-expecting there to either be a disaster or a feel-good ending that would make me cheer or something. Instead, this episode presents it like real life. There's no melodrama, no drama at all, really, just catch-up, cocktails and closure. It's beautiful, and I'm glad BoJack doesn't have a closed ending.
I expressed my fear in my previous review that once I finish this show, it'll feel like these character's lives are over. If I never reach the end, it seems like they're living their lives without me. Thankfully, the series is open-ended, and so there are unlimited possibilities. Unlimited. Anything could happen from here on out, and it isn't overly optimistic, sappy or depressing, but it's more hopeful than when the series started.
BoJack Horseman is good at depicting human emotions and real-life moments. Despite 3/5s of their main cast being anthropomorphic animals, each one feels distinctly human. With each meeting and chat with the other four—Mr Peanutbutter, Todd, Princess Carolyn, and Diane—the closure they all share is so mundane that it's relieving.
This ending is perfect. BoJack's finally ready to reintegrate into society, Princess Carolyn has found happiness, Todd has rebuilt his parental relationships, Mr Peanutbutter has looked inward, and Diane has found someone she trusts. They've all grown, changed, and are ready to move on with their lives. Man, I can just imagine what amazing things they will do in the future.
Well... it was nice while it lasted. :)
SCORE: 7/10
With BoJack's perceived death in his own TV show, it leaves me shocked. Not because they actually did it, but because I can't imagine how this show will end. How will everyone else react after everything BoJack's done? Will they see it as only a matter of time? Will they feel sad or happy? What if someone ignores it completely?
I took a long break between seasons, so not every episode is fresh in my mind. I binge-watched the last two seasons, too, so I'm on a BoJack high but haven't given the series much thought. At this point, I think it's time to reflect.
BoJack Horseman is an unusual series that pushes animation and TV's boundaries to the brink. Its storytelling prowess is unimaginable, and the feats it pulls off leave me speechless. Even though I know nothing is like something else, I will never see anything like BoJack Horseman, again, ever.
To follow five characters, develop them and explore their backstories to see how they inform each character is rare. Few shows, movies or books can pull off such a feat, but this show makes it look easy.
I'll never see another show like BoJack Horseman, and I can't wait to hold on to it, forever. I can rewatch this series, entire episodes, and I will, but once you finish a show for the first time, it feels like the journey's over. When I refuse to finish it, it's like their lives are still happening without me. But once I reach the end; that final chapter, this delusion shatters and it feels like a goodbye. Whenever I rewatch an episode and know how it ends, it reminds me of my absence, how I'm a viewer taking a peek into a snapshot of their lives.
SCORE: 8/10
[9.7/10] This episode clearly deserves a longer review, but what I’ll say for now is this:
This may the best parody of anything ever. That’s bold talk, I know, but there’s just such genius in how Harmon and company distill down the tropes and quirks of the Ken Burns-style Civil War documentary and meld it with the insane world of Greendale. The talking heads, the text messages as letters, the sound design over still images, it’s all just perfect. The show captures the rhythms of those documentaries perfectly, in a way that elevates the homage even if you’re not intimately familiar with the source material. There’s a specificity to everything that really works.
And while four characters get most of the spotlight, it’s a nice outing for the rest of the cast too. Shirley is great as one of Troy’s lieutenants, and her descriptions of the battles is a comic highlight. Pierce’s staypuft-esque pillow weapon is a neat way to integrate him into the episode. Chang’s “interns” being enlisted as kids who know nothing but pillow fighting is a fun conceit. And Britta’s blurry, poorly framed photos are a laugh every time.
But what elevates this episode above Community’s other fantastic parodies is that it uses these events for pathos and meaning, not just for comedy. There’s something inherently absurd, and yet so true to form, about Troy and Abed having this massive bedding war. The show plays around with their usual shtick, but also goes to some real places though.
My favorite of these is the intercepted/exchanged letters. Abed’s description of Troy’s fears is funny, but you get why it hurts. And their later exchange -- “You weren’t supposed to see that”/”You weren’t supposed to think those things” -- feels true to real fights between friends. Troy’s response is just as cutting, telling Abed that no one else will have Troy’s patience with him, playing on Abed’s own insecurities in a remark intended only to hurt. There’s a truth to the way that fights between friends are the most painful, because by the very act of friendship, you’ve made yourself vulnerable to someone, and there are few things that sting as badly as someone using those vulnerabilities against you.
What I forgot about “Pillows and Blankets” is how good Jeff’s arc here is. I’d remembered the silly emoji-laden conversation with Annie, and his “it really summed it all up” ending, but I’d forgotten that he has his own journey here. It’s about him deciding to use his words not just to benefit himself, but to do good in the world, or at least for two people he cares about. As is often the dynamic on the show, Annie gives him the moral disapproval and nudge that motivates him to make the change, and it culminates in something outstanding. Cool, detached, self-serving Jeff not only plays along with the “imaginary best friend” hats, but uses his speechifying skills to bring Troy and Abed back together, to do something selfless. It’s some of his most meaningful growth in the whole series.
Of course, it’s wonderful to have Troy and Abed reunite in that fashion. It’s pretty plain, even for a bold show like Community, that they weren’t going to break up arguably the show’s best duo forever, war or no war. But having their friendship on the line in this skirmish, and having them continue to whack each other with pillows so that friendship never has to end, is a way to thread the needle between Ken Burns style “futility of war” missives and the heart that exists between these two lovable weirdos who don’t want to let one another go, even if it means extending their fight to accomplish that. It’s a nice note to go out on, one that deftly puts an end to their feud while staying true to what started it and who these characters are.
(And as an aside, the closing pledge drive mini-skit is a delight to anyone who’s watched a regular array of PBS.)
This is truly one of Community’s high water marks, a mix of parody and character stories and high concept arcs brought together to make something hilarious but touching all the same. Greendale’s Civil War becomes the Civil War, realized in the goofiness, pain, and sincerity of affection between two young men who need one another more than they need to set a record, or stand by their principles, or to win.
IS IT MY FAVOURITE EPISODE SO FAR? IT'S MY FAVOURITE EPISODE SO FAR.
After being grounded by her mum, Hilda discovers her neighbour mysteriously disappears and reappears in the blink of an eye.
This episode was a thrilling time travel tale about regret, reminiscing on what could've been and the consequences of your actions. Because GOD DAMN, HILDA DIED TWICE. Speechless noises. It was just so sudden, distressing yet heartfelt. You can see Hilda means well, but since she doesn't think it through, it all goes to hell. I mean, and I can't stress this enough, she got herself killed, twice, as well as several versions of Mr Ostenfeld, as well as Tildy! This episode has so much death!
I like how they imbued the episode's themes with the other two characters, and it was exciting to see Trolberg back in the 20s? No, the themes & premise aren't anything new, but the way the episode presented them struck a chord with me. Bella Ramsey gives another charming performance, and Rasmus Hardiker's Alfur is just as endearing. Seeing the contrast of second-trip Hilda and the third one, hardened and bitter by time, was heartbreaking; I won't forget her sacrifice.
Hilda: "And all things considered, it didn't work out too badly."
Alfur: "We saw our selves die... twice!"
It's heartwarming, tragic and powerful. I've no issues with this episode, and I think it encapsulates what I love about Hilda so much. This episode is beautiful in every sense of the word.
TECHNICAL SCORE: 8.5/10
ENJOYMENT SCORE: 9/10
NOW THAT WAS AN EPIC MID-SEASON EPISODE!
Ahlberg's back at it again, with a devious scheme to install an automated bell system all over Trolberg. But in doing so, every creature—woffs, elves, nisse and trolls—are struggling to live in peace. So Hilda and the gang set out on a daring mission to shut it down, once and for all!
This episode had a fun operation that brings together Hilda, Frida, David, Alfur, Tontu and the lost clan! But not only that, we learn more about the bell keeper. We get a little glimpse into his psyche and what's made him so bitter after all these years. After he saves Hilda's life, he convinced me he was someone we could trust. I loved seeing that character's growth and Hilda unite a group of her friends to come together to stop a common enemy: Ahlberg.
Bartell Bragga, the leader of the lost clan, has a few fun little gags, involving Alfur and combat!
Bartell: "We've declared war on the bell tower. We'll take it down brick by brick. Or die trying!"
It's just all-round fun, epic and satisfying to see Ahlberg crushed by one of the bells he had installed, much like Ernesto de la Cruz from Coco. Except Ahlberg doesn't die.
David: "The pigeons are in the coop. Bartell and Agnes look ready for battle. Alfur... not so much. Over."
It's vast in scope, fun and gathers a large cast to fight for the wilderness' creatures. That twist at the end is very menacing. I also hope Hilda gives Johanna more attention in future episodes; she seems worried all the time.
TECHNICAL & ENJOYMENT SCORE: 8/10
[7.5/10] A charming and colorful introduction to this miniseries. This has an Adventure Time meets Miyazaki feel to it in the early going, which is a combo that really works for me. I like the setup here, with Wirt as the older brother who is, as his name portends, a worrywart and also a little dramatic, and Greg as the younger brother who is more sweetly naive and fearless to the point oblivious as they make their way through the woods. It sets up a good dynamic for their adventures, and I like the relationship between them.
That works here when the two brothers encounter a mill-working woodsman who seems a little dark and warns of a mysterious beast but is also willing to give them shelter and maybe directions. Wirt’s abject anxiety over this guy, in contrast to his little brother’s more childlike “just go with it” attitude makes for a nice contrast.
The animation here is also really nice to look at. The character designs have an old world toy look to them, which I like, and the wash of autumnal colors and dark spooky moods are inviting. The skirmishes and escape with the giant wolf creature is visually exciting and even a little gruesome in places, and the lighting in particular makes this feel distinctive.
There’s also a lot of laughs and fun little setups and payoffs. The banter between the two brothers is worth a smile even when it’s not going for an explicit gag. Greg’s various names for his frog, the running gag of him leaving a trail with the candy from his pants, and his effort to execute Wirt’s discarded plan are all good bits.
Christopher Lloyd also makes an impression as the woodsman, adding something dark and a little foreboding to all of this. His talk about the work of keeping the lantern going being his burden and Wirt being responsible for his brother’s actions as the elder sibling suggests a connection or a hard history there that we’re not privy to. There’s a strange, almost philosophical bent to him and his concern about the beast, which I found interesting.
Overall, this makes for a cool introduction to the miniseries, giving us the lay of the land and a good sense for the characters as we continue on Wirt and Greg’s adventures.
[7.9/10] I’ll confess, I’m hesitant about The Owl House’s reluctance to let its characters commit genuine sins rather than simple accidents/misunderstandings. King can’t actually “temporarily disappear” Willow and Gus when he’s jealous, just sprays them by accident. Luz doesn’t really think she’s better than the kids in “detention track”, they just have a miscommunication. Amity didn’t really reject Willow as her friend because Willow was bad a t magic, she was just forced to by someone else.
This is a show for kids, granted, but also an ambitious one, with big reveals and good character arcs that mean it’s fair to hold it to a higher standard than giving its main players moral outs like that. People mess up. That’s real life. This is a good enough series to tackle that head on rather than treating the idea with kid gloves.
And yet, I like the twist here. The show has already hinted at their being former friends with some cryptic, unspoken break-up. That bill is paid now, and it’s a doozy. Despite the pair being playmates as youngins, Amity threw Willow out of her birthday party, ostensibly for being a
“weakling” at magic, and started hanging out with Dasha and others who pick on WIllow constantly.
But the truth is that Amity never wanted to end the friendship, but was told to do so by her parents. I’ll confess, I don’t love that it’s a “cruel to be kind” situation, where Amity’s parents threatened to hurt or otherwise stymie Willow and her family if Amity kept hanging out with her. It lets Amity off too easily.
But I do like that, similarly to Pacifica Northwest in The Owl House’s spiritual predecessor, Gravity Falls, we’re learning that Amity isn’t bad. She is, instead, the product of a home life that’s designed to mold her into something bad. And if anything, she’s tried to find respites away from it, to be a different person than the one she’s expected to be. Throw in the classism and sense of prejudice to the whole thing, and you have a potent story of someone dragged into the muck of arrogance and bigotry, who’s trying, through good, eye-opening friendships, to climb her way out of it. That hits home in a way the nerfing of Amity’s actions doesn’t for me.
I also like the concept here. While it's a little nuts that, even in a magical school, they would have the students “print out” photo memories that could seriously damage the minds of the witchlings they come from if damaged, and then just leave them sitting out. But regardless, it’s fun to have an Inception-like scenario of Luz and Amity running around in Willow’s head, trying to right what went wrong after Amity accidentally burned several of Willow’s memories. (Again, accidentally being the key word here.)
For one thing, Luz is a great side character. I enjoy her as the protagonist, but it’s a reminder that she has a Homemr-esque ability to just being a wacky and hilarious secondary figure for an episode and still excel in that role. Her excitement over Willow’s history, and the fun she has loping around in her mind is neat.
I also like the conceit of the fire monster destroying memories turning out to be “Inner Willow.” Certain other Disney productions prepared me for the twist, but I still like her as a representation of Willow’s anger at Willow. It’s a good way to dramatize the idea that personal betrayals like that can turn joys and fond remembrances and other positive emotions from past memories into nothing but frustration and resentment. The tragedy of not only halting a friendship for the future, but wrecking the fond recollections of the past, is a canny choice.
The B-story is a nice bit of comic relief. Gus trying to find the most interesting person to interview for his school paper project, with Eda and King competing for the spot, is good fodder for hijinks. THere’s not much to it, but the gags are solid. (I like King describing his greatest attribute as his decisiveness, only to then yell, “Wait I changed my mind!”) Plus, the fact that Gus ultimately chooses Hooty is a superb swerve.
But I also like that the ending isn’t just about absolving Amity for the actions in the past; it’s about fixing her actions in the future. Regardless of whether Amity had a comprehensible reason for ending her friendship with Willow, she didn’t have to sit idly by while the mean girls picked on her. Her resolution in the present to stop that teasing, and her impulse to distance herself from the mean girls shows Amity learning and making amends. It’s the kind of thing I do appreciate on this show, that even if they go light on main characters screwing up, they go big on them not just apologizing, but taking steps to make it up.
That’s what makes Amity’s growth here so engrossing. It’s not the excuse for the past. It’s the sense that, as we can see from her brown hair in old photos, she doesn’t quite fit in with the Blythe family. She’s been crammed into a mold that she doesn’t fit into. And now that she’s fund a more supportive, healthy group of people to fuel her, she’s beginning to make good on her mistakes in the past, and chart a better way forward for her life on the Boiling Isles.
I wish that they made the confrontation differ more from Vader and Ahsokas in Rebels.
So far this is still exactly my cup of tea. Some nice relationship growth between the main girls, with no ridiculous over-the-top drama to speak of. Just nice, down-to-earth stuff that makes sense, and some nice "aww" moments too.
Notes
Fennec Shand: "That was fast."
Boba: "We'll lockdown at the palace."
Skad: "It's a bad idea."
[Boba turns.]
Boba: "Is that so?"
Skad: "...it is."
Boba: "And where do you propose we wait for reinforcements?"
Skad: "...here."
Boba: "...here? In these ruins?"
[Skad nods.]
Boba: "Nonsense."
Boba: "The palace offers greater protection."
Drash: "If you want to abandon Mos Espa and hide in your fortress, go ahead. We're staying. The people who live here need our protection."
Mok Shaiz: "Does Fett have any other resources to call upon? He used to live in a Tusken Raider tribe in the desert."
Peli Motto: "It's an X-wing. What's an X-wing doing here?"
Peli: "Well look who it is!"
Boba: "I thought I smelled something."
Cad Bane: "Before you get any ideas. I've got back shooters too."
Drash: "Hey... Thank you."
Fennec: "Manners. I like it. You're welcome."
The Mandalorian: "It's against the Creed. I gave you my word. I'm with you until we both fall."
Boba: "You really buy into that bantha fodder?"
The Mandalorian: "I do."
[Boba nods.]
Boba: "Good."
The Mandalorian: "We got real problems."
The Mandalorian: "Our energy weapons can't get through, and our kinetic weapons have too much velocity."
Pyke: "Sleemo!"
The Mandalorian: "Okay, little guy. I'm happy to see you too."
Drash: "Can you pick off some of the fighters?"
Freetown fighter: "I'm used to desert hunting. Can't miss at this range."
Peli: "Peli's got you covered."
Cad Bane: "What's your angle?"
Boba: "This is my city. These are my people. I will not abandon them."
Cad Bane: "Like the Tuskens."
Cad Bane: "Let's find out."
Boba: "This is my city!"
Cad Bane: "You tried to go straight."
Cad Bane: "I knew you were a killer."
Freetown Bartender: "The rancor's on the loose!"
The Mandalorian: "It's gonna be okay."
Peli: "Where'd you go, kid?!"
Boba: "Thank you."
The Mandalorian: "All right. But this is the last time."
"Directed by ROBERT RODRIGUEZ"
Review
Btw, I still like this episode. And I've gotten complaints that I'm just being negative for no reason, but to preemptively combat this, let me say it's because I'm trying to study the shows I'm watching because I'm a screenwriter. I also criticise stuff I like.
6/10
I just don't know about She-Ra, to be honest. There's a real maturity and warmth to the characterisation that's more or less at odds with the shallow, flighty nature of its plotting. The former creates expectations that the latter is constantly dashing, making for a very frustrating watch. There's so much to appreciate about its diversity, its performances, its design, its worldbuilding, its representation, but most of the time, those aspects just makes me wish the rest of the show was more worthy of them.
[8.6/10] I have to admit, I am a complete sucker for this sort of thing. I love the novelty of a television show or movie reinterpreting its own story as though it’s a story being told in-Universe. From C-3PO recounting the events of Star Wars to the Ewoks in Return of the Jedi to Arya Stark watching a stage play of the events of Game of Thrones, there’s just something about a story exploring how stories distort and reimagine and reshape real events and people for the sake of poetic license that really works for me.
And it worked for me here! For one thing, I love how meta this whole damn episode is. It’s not the sort of thing you can do too often, or your story becomes a little too much of an ouroboros, but once in a while, it’s a delightful opportunity for comedic reflection. (Though Community made a cottage industry out of it.) I laughed out loud at Sokka talking about the play as the sort of “time-wasting crap” he misses. I really enjoyed the touch that the poster for the show mirrors the cover of the AtLA DVDs. Even just the show being split up into three acts, or Suki noting that Teem Avatar gets beaten a lot, was a nice, self-reflective touch.
I also love the craft of the way the episode turns its story into a stage play. Having Aang be played by a woman on stage, Peter Pan-style, is an inspired move. The attention to detail in how bending was portrayed on the stage – with colorful ribbons and other stagecraft, was very creative. And most importantly, it worked as both a parody of Avatar’s story, of theater conventions, and the way that real events become exaggerated when committed to fiction.
That comes through most in how all of the show’s protagonists are caricatured in the stage version of their lives. Sokka as a guy who cannot stop making meat jokes, Katara as someone who’s always crying and making speeches about hope, and Zuko as someone constantly talking about his honor are mighty fine one-note parodies of our heroes. The dialogue and delivery of the show is hilarious, and it provides a nice opportunity for AtLA to make fun of itself, but also to have its characters make fun of each other, with Toph in particular saying there’s a lot of truth on that stage.
That feeds into the way that the show, cartoonish and outsized though it may be, feeds into everyone’s insecurities about who they are and how others see them. The silliest of these in Sokka crying at the story of Princess Yuweh. It’s a broad moment where she’s talking about having eaten pickled herring, but the magnitude of that event still affects Sokka.
The most heartening of them is Zuko regretting the way he betrayed his Uncle Iroh. As silly as the two are portrayed here, it has enough of a ring of truth that it serves as a reminder to Zuko of one of this greatest regrets. He’s still tortured by what he did, and it’s a nice way to show that even silly or inaccurate art can move us or affect us when it touches on something sensitive in our pasts or personalities. But I love the way Toph reassures him that by staking out his own path and joining Team Avatar, Zuko has redeemed himself with his Uncle even if he doesn’t know it. It calls back nicely to Toph’s conversation with Iroh, and her “sign of affection” for Zuko after telling him that he was all Iroh talked about is a sweet moment all around.
The trickiest of them was Aang being upset by the depiction of Katara and Zuko as romantic in the stage show, with stage-Katara talking about Aang as being nothing more than a little brother. It plays into his concern that he is not masculine enough and that his crush does not see him as anything more than a little kid.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not big on the Aang-Katara shipping business. I never really felt the chemistry between them (save for the moment in the titular Secret Tunnel) and as much as I enjoy the relationship between the two characters, it never really scanned as a believably romantic one, which makes all the teasing and agonizing over Aang’s crush on Katara kind of dull to me.
On the other hand, there’s a realness in their scene together outside the theater. Whether or not they make sense, there’s truth in a young kid having a crush on an older girl and worrying that he is not seen as mature or manly enough to cut the muster. (Hell, it happened with me and my wife!) Aang’s pain and frustration at caring for Katara and his distress when it’s not clear that she returns his feelings, feelings he blocked his charka for, are sympathetic.
But so are Katara’s, who very reasonably says that there are much bigger things going on right now than their romantic feelings, and that she is unsure of how she feels. The heightened environment of being on the brink of war and conflict, is not always the best environment to find your true feelings. As much as the last episode set at ember island devolved into overwrought Dawson’s Creek-style teen angst, this felt realer and believably awkward and painful for both Aang and Katara.
And yet for as funny an episode as this is, and as much as it leans into the character’s feelings about themselves and others, the end turns to the greater task at hand. The depiction of Azula slaying Zuko, and Ozai killing The Avatar, are clearly disquieting to the Aang Gang. The theme of the evening has been the way that even this exaggerated show reflects a truth that can unnerve our heroes. Seeing visions of their own failures and deaths is just as worrisome, evincing a fear that the future these men and women on stage are depicting will have as much truth of the real world in it. It’s a chilling reminder of the magnitude of what’s to come, and the threats that lie ahead. Art, as Shakespeare put it, holds up a mirror to nature, and sometimes the reality of what it reflects can rattle us, in the best and worst ways.
This was a really hard episode to watch. Pulled at every single emotional string in your soul. The ending, was beautifully done, but wow, crying like a baby.
I'm a quite sensitive watcher so you can imagine how much I cried during this episode. Like a baby. So sad yet brilliant!
HOW DARE THEY END IT LIKE THIS ASDFGHJKL
